In the global race to build bigger and better quantum computers, researchers have taken a step forward. A new machine called Helios is a radically different system compared to other quantum computers.

Quantum computers harness the power of quantum mechanics, the laws that govern how physics operates at atomic and sub-atomic scales. Among various designs for such machines, Helios is a trapped-ion quantum computer, which means it uses charged atoms suspended in free space using electromagnetic fields.

It operates using 98 qubits – the units of information that a quantum computer uses to process data. This number of qubits makes it the largest trapped-ion quantum computer built so far. Quantinuum, the company behind the device, which is based in Cambridge, UK and Broomfield, Colorado, demonstrated earlier machines operating on 32 qubits in 2023 and 56 qubits in 2025.

Helios and its predecessors use an architecture (or operational structure) with separate regions for storing and processing quantum information. The architecture is called a QCCD (quantum charge-coupled device) and was invented in 2002. This is akin to the architecture of classical computers that have a memory for storage (hard disk drives, solid state drives) and a separate processor (CPU, GPU).

The specific geometry of Helios resembles a rosette, with the ring for storage and two streamers for processing. The crucial element is the four-way X junction where they meet. A QCCD physically transports the charged objects (the ions) from the storage to the processing regions electrically.

The processing is done using laser pulses. This requires a quantum algorithm to be broken up into ion transport and quantum processing. This differs substantially from other quantum computing architectures such as superconducting qubits, where the qubits are fixed in space, and processing is executed by electrical signals switched on and off in time.

Error correction

Classical charge-coupled devices, the template for the types now used in Helios, were the central component in early digital cameras. There are three main advantages to now using these in quantum computation.

Gates are the fundamental building blocks of quantum circuits, which operate on qubits. One advantage of the QCCD approach is that gates operating on certain qubits do not affect their neighbours. This reduces a phenomenon known as “crosstalk”, leading to better quality performance.

The second advantage is the ability to measure and reset qubits during a computation. This enables inevitable errors in the computation to be detected and corrected at the earliest possible time, again improving performance.

Finally, as qubits can be accessed from and returned to very different parts of the memory after processing (within limitations), distant qubits can be connected, leading to more efficient operation.

The Helios device demonstrated all the above advantages. It relies on two major advances – one in hardware and one in software. First, the four-way X junction lets the system handle several tasks at once rather than one at a time, which is much faster. That was impossible in earlier QCCD machines, which could only move data back and forth in a single line or loop.

Secondly, judicious use of the freedom offered by the two dimensions of the X junction relies on a new classical control software called Helios runtime which plans the smartest, fastest route for moving and processing the data.

Together, these represent a substantial advance in the engineering of quantum computers. An important consequence is that Helios can perform computations that cannot be performed even on the largest supercomputers using known methods within reasonable amounts of time and power consumption.

Computational prowess

It shows the ability of this device, and its successors, in surpassing the computational prowess of classical computers – albeit their algorithms and hardware are rapidly advancing too.

Having said that, Helios’ computations have just been random benchmark tests, so the practical importance of this leap forward is still limited. To perform quantum computations of practical importance from areas of science and commerce, even the most optimistic estimates suggest that quantum computers must be enormously bigger and better – of the order of a million qubits.

The UK National Quantum Strategy Mission 1 proposes to have a fault-tolerant quantum computer (FTQC) with a trillion operations. For reference, the longest computation Helios ran had about 4,000 operations operating on 98 qubits.

Building FTQCs out of the Helios device, or any other known architecture or system for that matter, remains a formidable challenge. As the numbers suggest, it would require connecting thousands of QCCD devices, each with thousands of qubits, via quantum links.

Visions exist for QCCD devices with a two-dimensional grid layout resembling city streets that can operate on thousands or more qubits. The inevitable challenge of engineering and operating such a system with an immense number of junctions and concomitant qubit-jams – akin to traffic jams – is yet to be encountered, let alone overcome. The physical transporting of qubits is also a very slow process because it uses very precise voltages, and this will only grow with larger devices and more qubits.

As of now, the Helios device is an exciting advance in the field of quantum computing. Whatever form the FTQCs of the future take, they will involve imaginatively engineered quantum hardware devices assisted by smart software.

Animesh Datta receives funding from the UKRI, Horizon Europe programme, UK Space Agency, and European Space Agency.

When people think about climate change and animals, they might picture melting sea ice, drought-stricken landscapes or species struggling in the wild. Far less attention is given to the animals living in our care. Yet as heatwaves become more frequent, intense and unpredictable, zoos may be facing one of the biggest animal welfare challenges of the coming decades.

The recent deaths of three lions at Tama Zoo, Japan during a heatwave that reached over 40°C have brought this issue into sharp focus. Investigations are ongoing, but the incident raises an important question. Do we understand how animals will – or won’t – cope with heat in a rapidly changing climate?

Many people are surprised to learn a lion can be vulnerable to high temperatures. After all, lions evolved in Africa and are often associated with hot, arid landscapes. But this assumption oversimplifies how animals experience heat. Temperature is only one part of the story.

Humidity can play an equally important role. Lions, like many mammals, do not sweat effectively like humans do. Instead, they seek shade, move less and pant to dissipate heat.

High humidity can make these cooling strategies less effective. Perhaps surprisingly, humans are often more heat tolerant than lions. Our ability to sweat over most of the body makes evaporation cooling remarkably effective, allowing us to remain active in conditions that may force lions to rest and seek shade.

In the wild, lions may have more choices available to them that help them to remain cooler. Wild lions can move across large landscapes, select favourable microclimates, rest in shaded areas and adjust their activity patterns – none of which may be feasible in a zoo. Wild lions are famously inactive for much of the day, often waiting until cooler periods to hunt and socialise.

Other vulnerable species are perhaps unsurprising, including polar bears, penguins and red pandas, all of which are adapted to cooler climates. However, climate change may also affect species that people typically associate with warm environments.

Great apes, tapirs, cheetahs and even elephants can struggle with dangerous levels of thermal stress when high temperatures are combined with humidity, which reduces the body’s ability to dissipate heat. For elephants in particular (due to their large body size), the risk is heightened when access to shade, water or other cooling opportunities is limited.

This highlights an important principle in animal welfare science: welfare is influenced not simply by the environment animals are exposed to, but by the degree of choice and control they have within it.

Climate change is changing welfare

Historically, many zoos, particularly in temperate regions such as the UK, were designed with cold weather in mind. Considerable effort has gone into protecting animals from low temperatures and rain. Extreme heat, by comparison, has often been viewed as a relatively minor concern. That assumption may no longer hold.

Climate change is increasing the frequency, duration and intensity of extreme heat events across the globe. As heatwaves become a more regular feature of British summers, zoos will need to think differently about how they manage animal welfare. Temperature control measures that were adequate ten or 20 years ago may not be sufficient for the conditions today and in the future.

Zoos have long managed environmental conditions for species with specialised needs. Tropical animals are often provided with heated indoor shelter, for example. The challenge is that climate change is shifting the environmental baseline upon which many of these systems were designed.

One strength of modern zoo management is its recognition that animals are individuals. Two animals of the same species living in the same enclosure may respond very differently to identical conditions. Older animals may have less physiological resilience. Animals with respiratory conditions or other underlying health issues may be particularly vulnerable.

The good news is zoos routinely maintain detailed individual records on behaviour, personality, social relationships, health history and life experience, which will help them monitor any changes.

Increasingly, extreme heat should be treated in the same way as severe storms, flooding or disease outbreaks: as a foreseeable animal welfare risk. This might involve expanding shaded areas, creating climate-controlled refuges, improving ventilation, installing misting systems and water features, and monitoring temperature and humidity in real time.

But infrastructure alone will not be enough. Zoos may also need to adapt their daily management practices, adjusting feeding and enrichment schedules and modifying routines to minimise heat exposure during the hottest parts of the day.

Tell-tale signs

One of the most valuable and commonly used indicators of animal welfare is behaviour. An animal that appears lethargic, withdrawn or less engaged with its surroundings may be signalling compromised welfare long before clinical symptoms emerge.

An animal experiencing thermal discomfort may alter its activity patterns, spend more time in certain locations, change its posture, eat less food or interact differently with other animals. Humans are no different.

During heatwaves we change our routines, seek cooler places, struggle to sleep and often reduce activity. In people, exposure to extreme heat also affects cognition and behaviour. Evidence suggests that attention, memory and decision-making can deteriorate under thermal stress, raising important questions about how heat may influence the behaviour and welfare of animals in our care.

These insights are relevant not only to zoos, but to all managed animal populations. Farms, wildlife parks, rescue centres and companion animal owners are all likely to confront similar welfare challenges in a future defined by more frequent and intense heatwaves.

Samantha Ward does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

If you’re thinking about moving house or just feeling nosy about your neighbours, your first port of call may be an online property marketing site: Rightmove and Zoopla in the UK, Zillow in the US or Magic Bricks in India.

They offer 3D plans of their properties and a video walkthrough, sometimes with added interactive tools. It all seems very modern – yet it turns out, at least one pioneering London estate agent was offering its clients 3D visual walkthroughs long before the advent of commercial photography.

In the UK, estate agents came into being as a specialised profession in the mid-19th century, as rapid urbanisation and greater social and geographic mobility led to a dramatic increase in the demand for housing.

But in this pre-photography era, how did the Victorian era’s newly monied see what they could buy with their gains from trade or industry? One high-end London estate agent, Brooks & Green, came up with a novel answer.

In 1838, the year of Queen Victoria’s coronation, this Old Bond Street estate agent began advertising an early form of immersive visual technology called a “cosmorama”, to offer prospective buyers a virtual tour of the properties it was selling.

A cosmorama involved looking at paintings or artists’ prints through a large convex lens, which magnified the image and enhanced the perspectival depth, creating a basic 3D effect.

A blackened square frame between the lens and picture hid the edges – enhancing the viewer’s sense of looking at a large scene through an extended opening. Clever lighting effects further enhanced the depth and immersive effects.

To create this cosmoramic view, a skilled artist would have had to visit the estate to prepare the sketches. For 20 years, Brooks & Green promoted its “cosmoramic gallery” as a proto-version of a digital walkthrough. This was nearly 50 years before photography was widely used to advertise property.

The estate agent advertised heavily in the London press. An 1842 advert claimed its office property gallery included “several hundred views of different estates”. Prospective buyers of one property were promised an “aerial perspective, the site and architectural elevation of a mansion, the local scenery and features of a park [and] ornamental grounds”.

The viewing experience of the cosmorama supposedly offered much more realism and detail than a written prospectus – without rich London buyers having to travel miles to inspect the property in question.

But this service was definitely not available to ordinary families. Only high-value mansions and estates were valuable enough to be visualised in this way. Entrance to the Brooks & Green gallery was supposedly free, but you needed an admission card – probably granted only to those who looked like they had suitably deep pockets.

Exhibits around the world

For the first half of the 19th century, the cosmorama was one of the most common forms of visual show across Europe and the Americas. It was first revealed at a Paris exhibition in 1808 by the French showman Abbot Constant Gazzera. His success led to many more exhibitions throughout Europe during the 1820s and ‘30s.

In London, the Cosmorama Rooms opened in 1821 at 29 St James’s Street, moving to Regent Street in 1823. The gallery became one of the established London attractions for over 30 years. With Regent Street only a mile from Old Bond Street, it may have prompted an ambitious Brooks & Green employee to have the idea of using this innovation to market its property.

Also shown across Europe in pleasure gardens, popular science institutions, retail bazaars and fairgrounds, the cosmorama was successful because urbanisation and population growth had created a critical mass of middle-class audiences. It offered a new kind of immersive visual exhibition, reaching audiences who would never visit a fine-art gallery.

Cosmorama means “views of the world” in Greek. It was mainly used to display picturesque landscapes, renowned European sites and striking architectural interiors – such as the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, the canals of Venice or the interior of Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome. The interest in this device reflected the public’s growing desire to be cultivated, and to learn about the wonders of the wider world.

Fascination with 3D worlds

But the cosmorama is just part of the story of immersive pictorial entertainment from the early 19th century. Other popular technologies included peepshows, panoramas and dioramas, all of which offered users a sense of virtual travel.

Panoramas were large circular paintings – the Imax cinema of the age – and dioramas were illusionistic spectacles created from 3D models. At the same time, itinerant exhibitors of peepshow boxes travelled the country’s fairgrounds displaying scenes of national events and sensational murders. Picturegoing had become part of everyday life.

I came across the Brooks & Green adverts for its cosmorama in my research for a historical project led by the Universidade Lusófona in Lisbon, which has mapped cosmorama exhibits across Europe and beyond. In all, Curiositas: Peeping Before Virtual Reality has catalogued more than 650 cosmoramas in Portugal, Spain and the UK.

Many more of these devices were exhibited in countries as far apart as North America, Brazil, Cuba and Australia. The famous US showman P.T. Barnum installed a cosmoramic gallery in his American Museum in New York.

The cosmorama was ultimately superseded by the stereoscope, which also created a 3D photographic experience by looking through lenses. Thus, the cosmorama was an early part of the story of our fascination with virtual worlds – of being taken outside and beyond ourselves, and immersed in another environment.

John Plunkett does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment. He is the co-author of Popular Visual Shows 1800-1914: Picturegoing from Peep Shows to Film (Oxford University Press, 2025)

I teach a university course called Hormones and Behaviour. What surprises students is that biological sex is not produced by a single switch. What surprises me is that many students have never been taught this before. It is basic biology, but it helps explain life.

Sex emerges through a sequence of events before birth and continues at puberty. Chromosomes help direct the formation of gonads, the body parts that usually become ovaries or testes. Gonads make hormones. The body then has to respond to those hormones. In most people, these steps flow in the same direction. But in rare cases, they do not.

These cases are known as disorders, more recently differences, of sex development (DSDs). They are not new but they provide a useful way to understand how bodies develop. DSDs can affect hormone production. Some affect the body’s response to hormones. Some affect chromosomes or gonad development. Two people can have a DSD, yet have very different bodies, medical needs and life experiences.

Each condition reveals what can happen when one step in the normal sequence is altered. Here are five ways sex development can take a different path.

Congenital adrenal hyperplasia

This DSD affects around one in 16,000 births.

The adrenal glands, which normally produce small amounts of male hormones, even in females, are hyperactive in this condition.

A baby with two X chromosomes and ovaries can therefore be born with external genitals that look male.

Complete androgen insensitivity syndrome

In contrast, a child with complete androgen insensitivity syndrome (CAIS), can have XY chromosomes and internal testes that make testosterone, but their body cannot respond to that testosterone.

This lack of a response to testosterone keeps the developing fetus in its “default” female state, leading to female external genitals at birth.

Someone with CAIS will develop breasts at puberty. Since their external anatomy is typically female, people with CAIS are usually raised as girls and may only be diagnosed later, often when their periods do not start.

CAIS is estimated to affect one to five in 100,000 live born females.

5-alpha-reductase deficiency

Another condition, called 5-alpha-reductase deficiency, shows how sex development does not finish at birth.

The body needs an enzyme called 5-alpha-reductase to turn testosterone into a stronger version of the hormone before birth. When a genetic mutation inactivates this enzyme, an XY baby may be born with genitals that are read as female and may be raised as a girl. At puberty, however, the normal surge of conventional testosterone masculinises the body.

The condition is rare worldwide and its exact incidence is unknown, partly because conditions affecting sex development have often been surrounded by silence.

In parts of the Dominican Republic, where this condition is known as guevedoces, studies have reported surprisingly high local rates. A rare genetic mutation is more common in these isolated populations, about one in 90 males.

More recently, some of these communities have begun to recognise guevedoces at birth and raise them as boys.

Sex chromosomes disorders

Usually, females receive one X chromosome from their father and one X from their mother, and are therefore XX, while males receive one X chromosome from their mother and the Y chromosome from their father. However, a person with Klinefelter syndrome, affecting one in 500-1,000 male births, has XXY chromosomes, causing smaller testes, scant body hair, lower testosterone and reduced fertility. It is often never diagnosed.

On the other hand, Turner syndrome, or the loss, in females, of one of the two X chromosomes, affects one in 2,500 female births and impairs growth, puberty and fertility. It can affect physical appearance, for instance a wide neck and broad chest and often comes with health conditions such as hearing loss and kidney problems.

Swyer syndrome is rarer: a person has XY chromosomes but with a mutation in the Y chromosome that disrupts the signal that normally drives testes formation. The gonads do not develop into testes, testosterone remains low and the external and internal anatomy is typically female.

These are the clearer examples. Milder sex differences can result from mutations that reduce, rather than completely inactivate, an enzyme or hormone response. For example, non-classic congenital adrenal hyperplasia, where some enzyme activity remains. Their effects may be less obvious, and their incidence is often unknown because many cause subtler changes or are never diagnosed.

What this does and does not tell us

None of this is new. These conditions have been known to scientists for decades. But now genetic testing can identify the mutation behind some cases.

Specialist clinics and patient groups have pushed for clearer information for parents, better psychological support for patients and greater caution around irreversible childhood surgery when it is not medically urgent. Recent patient-centred research shows that clear information, good communication and psychological support are central to good care for people with DSDs. It’s unclear whether increased awareness has improved people’s lives, but the direction is clear: better information, specialist care and long-term support matter.

The lesson is not that sex is meaningless or endlessly fluid. These rare conditions do not provide a simple answer to every argument about sex and gender.

However DSDs do show sex is not a single event. Just like the growth of our body, it is a process. When chromosomes, gonads, hormones and the body’s response to them all follow the usual sequence, the result often looks simple. When one link changes, the body may no longer fit the binary pattern many of us were taught at school.

For the people affected, this is not an abstract puzzle. Some need lifelong hormone treatment. Some face infertility. Some discover their condition only as teenagers or adults. Chromosomes or sex designation at birth may explain part of the biology behinds DSDs. It does not explain what it feels like to grow up, go through puberty, seek fertility treatment or decide who needs to know.

Jean-Michel Fustin is a Medical Research Council-funded Senior Research Fellow in the Division of Integrative Physiology at The University of Manchester. He contributes the level-3 course Hormones & Behaviour.

A 2025 study by South Korean researchers caught the attention of the astronomy community when it suggested that the evidence behind dark energy could be wrong. Dark energy makes up about 70% of the universe but nobody knows what it is. This makes it a frequent target for scepticism.

Scientists had long known that the universe was expanding. But in the late 1990s, researchers discovered that this expansion was accelerating. Astrophysicists concluded that something must be driving the acceleration. They named this unknown quantity “dark energy”.

The 2025 re-analysis, by a team at Yonsei University in Seoul, suggested that the expansion of the universe was not in fact accelerating.

Our team at the University of Southampton has now gone through the Yonsei team’s findings. Our results, published in Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society (MNRAS), suggest that the results were a false alarm.

However, the Yonsei University team have said they stand by their results and that a follow up study supports their finding that the universe may not be accelerating.

What is dark energy?

In the late 1990s, cosmology was upended by a startling discovery. Scientists knew the universe was expanding, but they had assumed that gravity was gradually slowing down this expansion.

However, by observing incredibly bright, thermonuclear explosions of white dwarf stars, two independent teams of astronomers found the opposite. Because these explosions, known as Type Ia supernovae, have almost the same intrinsic brightness, comparing how bright they appear gives a precise distance.

In 1998, data revealed that distant supernovae were fainter than they should have been in a slowing universe. Because faintness implies distance, the observations placed these supernovae farther away than expected, and implied that the cosmic expansion was not slowing.

In fact, when the calculations were run, it was clear that the expansion of the universe was actually speeding up.

There was no convincing physical explanation for this “cosmic acceleration”. Physicists labelled the mysterious, repulsive force that causes the acceleration “dark energy”.

Cosmic calibration

To understand the Yonsei University group’s claims, we must understand how astronomers use supernovae as “standard candles” to measure cosmic distances. Type Ia supernovae are remarkably alike, but they are not identical.

Cosmologists correct for these differences. They use subtle calibrations to account for relationships between the brightness of the supernovae and measurements like their colour, the duration of their light curves, and the type of galaxies they explode in.

One of those corrections is well known but subtle. It links the brightness of a supernova to the size of the galaxy it exploded in. Big galaxies hold more stars, and so more mass. After the standard corrections, supernovae in those big (massive) galaxies come out a few per cent brighter than ones in small galaxies. Nobody knows why.

But bigger galaxies typically have older stars that are made up of heavier elements, which could in turn influence the properties of the supernovae that some of those stars become. The authors of the 2025 study proposed a far bigger evolutionary effect. They argued that the brightness of Type Ia supernovae changes significantly as the universe ages.

Specifically, they claimed that older white dwarf stars, which are more common in the nearby, present-day universe, produce brighter explosions. That would mean today’s supernovae are inherently much brighter than their distant, early-universe counterparts.

If true, the faintness we observe in distant supernovae would not be a result of their being further away, a relationship that is in turn driven by dark energy, but rather an evolutionary trait of the stars themselves. This claim threatened to dismantle almost three decades of progress in astronomy.

Addressing the claims

Extraordinary claims need careful testing. At the University of Southampton we embarked on an audit of the data, using observations from the Dark Energy Survey (DES), an astronomy project designed to constrain dark energy’s properties, alongside the same dataset used by the authors of the 2025 work. In doing so, we sought to replicate and test their conclusions.

Our re-analysis revealed what we saw as two problems in the Yonsei study: a technical omission and a flawed assumption about stellar populations. Once corrected, the data fell back in line with standard cosmological results, including those of DES.

Crucially, the 2025 study did not account for how supernovae in big galaxies come out a few per cent brighter than ones in small galaxies. When our team reapplied this correction to the same dataset, the correlation between a supernova’s brightness and galaxy age – presented by the Yonsei team in their paper – became far weaker.

This doesn’t mean that the age of a white dwarf star has no effect on the brightness of a resulting supernova. Indeed, most researchers in the field would likely accept that the brightnesses of supernovae are more affected by the age of the stars that explode than by the mass of the galaxy that it is in.

However, measuring a galaxy’s mass is far less expensive in terms of telescope time and requires fewer technical assumptions than measurements of the ages of galaxies, which are challenging. What we showed is that the galaxy mass calibration is adequate to the accuracy required to constrain dark energy.

Secondly, the 2025 analysis relied on a flawed proxy, incorrectly assuming that the overall age of a host galaxy is identical to the specific age of the star that exploded. But galaxies are not uniform like this: even large, ancient galaxies contain localised pockets of young stars.

By overestimating the difference in age between the stars that explode nearby and those that explode in the distant universe, by a factor of three to five, the Yonsei University study overestimated the amount by which the age-brightness calibration could bias supernova distance measurements.

Once these omissions were corrected, the data behaved as expected under the standard model of cosmology. As such, evidence for an accelerating universe remains secure.

Science friction

While the 2025 study turned out to be incorrect, the challenge it posed was valuable. Challenging accepted ideas and rigorously testing our observations is fundamental to scientific progress.

Their claims provided an opportunity for cosmology teams to return to their baseline data, interrogate their core assumptions, and test different ways of calibrating the measurements. When measuring distances, however, the age effect and the mass effect are highly correlated, and therefore we (the Southampton team) believe it is incorrect to make a full age-based adjustment to distances that have already been corrected for the mass effect.

The Southampton team was invited, among others, to a workshop at Yonsei in June 2026, where we discussed our methods and talked about ways to include both stellar mass and stellar ages into the brightness corrections.

In a follow up study, recently accepted by MNRAS, the Yonsei University team maintain that the ages of stars have an important effect on the supernovae they produce. They say that two methods used in earlier studies have suppressed the importance of this phenomenon.

When these effects are accounted for consistently, they explain, it leads to results similar to those in the 2025 study. “We therefore continue to find evidence that stellar-population age is an important factor in Type Ia supernova standardisation,” authors Junhyuk Son and Hyejeon Cho, told The Conversation.

“Because the typical ages of supernova host populations change with cosmic time, understanding this effect is important for precision measurements of the Universe’s expansion history.”

Future measurements will depend on understanding supernova explosions better. It is a job we hope the community can take on together. But none of this removes the need for dark energy: it is still there, and still unexplained.

Ultimately, we have shown that existing measurements of dark energy are robust. Rather than debating whether cosmic acceleration exists, the astrophysical community can return to the exciting task of figuring out what dark energy actually is and how we best measure it.

Over the next 10 years, the Vera C. Rubin Observatory in Chile will carry out a project known as the Legacy Survey of Space and Time, which will produce a sample of supernovae 20 times larger than the DES sample used in our analysis. There is no better time to be investigating the mysteries of dark energy.

Dr Phil Wiseman receives funding from the Science and Technology Facilities Council.

Mark Sullivan receives funding from the Science and Technology Facilities Council.

Jodie Foster tearing up a dirt road, yelling stellar coordinates into a walkie-talkie à la the 1997 sci-fi film Contact. Control rooms alive with a cacophony of “enhance that signal”. Real-time discovery. That’s what I pictured when my PhD supervisor told me I’d be going observing at a telescope.

Cut to 2am on top of a mountain in La Palma last April, at an altitude that makes you forget you’re in the Canary Islands. It was utterly freezing, and I had dressed for the sunny archipelago in thin layers. I almost dropped my mug trying to close the telescope door against the wind.

Coffee and food waited two minutes away in the service building. In the darkness, the wind caught a loose scrap of fabric and scared the life out of me. I fell over within 30 seconds. Winds of 40km/h aren’t uncommon at the observatory; I was just entirely unprepared.

I sat on the road, mourning my dignity. And I looked up. For the first time in my life, I saw the Milky Way. It painted the sky, reminding me violently of my insignificance. Nothing in my life has ever compared to that. I allowed myself to bask in it for ten minutes. Then the work beckoned me: I needed coffee, and hadn’t told my colleague which star was next on the schedule.

How is an observing night prepared?

A night at a telescope begins in the afternoon. At around 4pm, my colleague, who was training me to use the telescope, and I drove up to the Nordic Optical Telescope. It’s a gorgeous piece of kit, with a diameter of 2.56 metres. It collects enough starlight for exquisitely precise measurements.

Every instrument and filter had to be carefully tested. On my side, this was a few lines of code. The telescope operator ensured everything worked properly and set up the telescope. While calibrations ran, I started scheduling the night’s observations.

Telescope time is limited, so having three nights at the helm meant I had to squeeze out every second I could. Hollywood did not prepare me for how many spreadsheets this involves. This sort of scheduling requires careful balancing of many factors. For example, observing stars close together on the night sky consecutively to avoid spending too much time repointing the telescope.

Once calibration and scheduling were complete, I watched the sun set. It was beautiful, but also a warning – working hours will soon begin. If you catch the right moment, you can see a small fleet of astronomers in cars headed to their respective telescopes.

The mountain came to life with domes opening, catching the first starlight of the night. There’s more than 20 telescopes in the observatory on the mountain, whose specialisms range from observing supernovae to exoplanets (any planet beyond our solar system).

The night itself

Around 8pm, the first light from a star – HD153557 in this case , a dwarf star around 59 light-years away – entered the telescope. This is always a bit special. The whir of the dome moving, the shutters opening, seeing the monitors show the first traces of data. I sipped my coffee, turned up the 80s hits, and was content in the knowledge that I’d still be in that chair in 12 hours.

This night started rather predictably. The weather was perfect, not a cloud in sight, and the telescope behaved beautifully. Before long we had a spreadsheet slowly getting filled in with completed observations. I knew the peace wouldn’t last. I’d done ten observing nights at two different telescopes by that point in my career, and not one of them without something disrupting my colour-coded plans. Typically, a cloud will move right in front of a star I’m trying to observe, or it’ll rain and that means we have to close the dome. But every few nights, there’s something a little more exciting.

An email just before midnight brought with it a Target of Opportunity alert. These are observations that need to be done immediately, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. This one was a gamma-ray burst. It’s one of the most violent events in the universe, over a trillion times brighter than our Sun. This was picked up by a space-based detector and emailed to us to request the observation.

Gamma-ray bursts aren’t in my area of expertise – I research stars like the Sun and their surrounding planets. Far less explosive. Between switching observing instruments, rotating the dome, checking calibrations, I was also digesting as much information as I could about what a gamma-ray burst is. This was probably the closest I’ll ever get to my Jodie Foster moment, and it was a rather anticlimactic, blurry image loading very slowly on a screen.

After the gamma-ray burst was observed, the control room became quiet again. Back to my spreadsheets and falling over trying to get coffee. To feeling slightly lonely but seeing another dome rotating under the moonlight when I stepped outside, and being reminded of the other tired astronomers all working beneath the same stars.

It was 8:30am when I finally got back to my room. Ready for a shower, and bed, and to wake up in five hours and do it all again.

The scientific end product

The reality is that scientific interpretation rarely happens in real time. The telescope measurements are first cleaned and calibrated by a computer programme, which turns them into usable spectra. I then apply my own analysis code to these spectra. For me, this comes much later, at my desk in Birmingham once my sleep schedule has recovered. These particular observations gave us stellar spectra: when a star’s light splits into a rainbow, imposed with patterns that reveal its temperature and chemical composition.

The most common observing nights involve balancing spreadsheets, a whole lot of coffee, and slowly surrendering to the delirium of sleep deprivation. Some of them have dramatic alerts. Some of them end up entirely clouded out and allow for an early bedtime.

There is no pivotal “enhance that signal” moment, but there is the quiet, consistent sense of joy that I’m cataloguing and understanding the stars that could one day be found to host another Earth. Hollywood didn’t prepare me for the scientific process. But it got the wonder spot on.

Alix Violet Freckelton receives funding from UKRI.

In the animal kingdom, any hunt for a meal or encounter with a predator is a matter of life and death. To survive both, animals have evolved a multitude of weapons, of which venoms may be one of the most widespread and effective.

But building a chemical weapon presents an evolutionary dilemma. Should venom be optimised to disarm prey, or to cause rapid pain to deter predators? Our new study suggests that in snakes, a meal comes before self-defence.

Venoms are complex chemical cocktails. Their composition is shaped fundamentally by their intended purpose. Predatory venoms disrupt multiple tissues and organs at once to immobilise prey. On the other hand, defensive venoms have only one job: to cause rapid, intense pain to deter predators. Think of a bee sting, for example.

These differences create a conundrum. What if an animal wants to use its venom for both predation and defence? This is not a trivial question, because the storage capacity of venom glands is limited, and producing venoms is thought to carry an energetic cost. That opens the door to an evolutionary trade-off: investing resources into one function might leave less for the other.

Venomous snakes are probably the best-studied venomous organisms, and for a good reason. Unfortunately, snakebite remains a huge medical issue, especially in tropical countries. More than 100,000 people die yearly and more than 400,000 people suffer lifelong injuries as a consequence of snakebite.

In theory, antivenoms could prevent many of those deaths, but there is another problem. Snake venoms are extremely variable, not just between species but also between different populations of the same species. This means that antivenoms developed for one region can fail to work in another. Understanding what drives this immense venom variation is the first step towards more effective treatments.

Snakes use their venoms both for hunting and self-defence. We have good evidence that diet is the central factor shaping venom composition in many snakes. In contrast, defence against predators has rarely been studied as an important evolutionary driver, and never in comparison with diet.

Based on the results of a previous study, we suspected that species that hunt easy, low-risk prey such as insects might not need a highly lethal predatory venom, freeing up resources to invest in more defensive, pain-inducing compounds instead.

To test this idea, we looked at a group of venomous snakes called meadow vipers (Vipera ursinii and relatives). These curious little snakes live in the lowland steppes and alpine meadows of Eurasia. Their diet is unusual among vipers, as they eat mostly or almost entirely grasshoppers, crickets and locusts.

On the other hand, they also regularly fall prey to predators like birds of prey, badgers and foxes. It’s exactly the kind of pressure that might favour a defensive venom.

For our study, we travelled to where their populations can be found across Europe to obtain venom by “milking” them. It’s a process that causes no harm to the snakes, and they were released back to their habitats afterwards. We also collected venom from other European vipers like the adder (V. berus), asp viper (V. aspis) and nose-horned viper (V. ammodytes), which mostly feed on more dangerous prey, like rodents.

If our trade-off theory held, we would expect these venoms to be more predatory and less pain-inducing than those of meadow vipers.

Putting venom to the test

To measure pain, we tested the venoms on cultures of specialised sensory neuron cells. These are cells responsible for detecting harmful stimuli in the body. If such a cell is activated to produce pain, calcium ions flow into the cell. So, to track whether venom triggered these cells, we treated them with a fluorescent dye that reacts to calcium and measured the emitted fluorescence.

To our surprise, regardless of diet, none of the tested venoms activated these cells, not even that of the insect-feeding meadow vipers. So, it appears that European viper venoms, like in most snakes, probably evolved to overcome prey rather than to fend off predators.

All this does does not mean that viper bites don’t hurt. They do. But it seems that the pain is mostly caused as a side effect of other venom actions, such as inflammation, tissue degradation or muscle spasms.

There are however exceptions elsewhere in the snake world. Some toxins found in lanceheads and coral snakes do directly stimulate pain receptors. However, such toxins have been documented in only a handful of species and their ecological function remains enigmatic.

That means the story of snake venom is far from complete. Rather than revealing a universal rule, our findings suggest that, at least in European vipers, the evolutionary pressure to catch prey has outweighed the need to deter predators. Understanding where that pattern holds – and where it doesn’t – could help explain why snake venoms vary so dramatically, an essential step towards developing better treatments for snakebite around the world.

Bálint Üveges received funding from the Leverhulme Trust, the Bangor Fund / Cronfa Bangor, Bangor University and the Taith research mobility programme of the Welsh Government. He currently receives funding from the National Research, Development and Innovation Office of Hungary.

Wolfgang Wüster receives funding from the Leverhulme Trust, Natural Resources Wales, Natural England and the Amphibian and reptile Conservation Trust

The first moment you look inside a newly discovered ancient tomb is at once exciting and terrifying. I was fortunate to experience this recently as director of an international research team carrying out fieldwork in the Theban necropolis, a Unesco world heritage site near the modern Egyptian city of Luxor.

Our project’s primary aim is to implement a conservation and risk management programme for the necropolis (burial ground) of Lower Sheikh ʿAbd el-Qurna. Due to its location at the foothills of the Theban mountain, monuments in this area are extremely vulnerable to flash flooding from intense bursts of rain.

To direct this floodwater away from the tombs, we are systematically removing debris and excavating the area, using archaeological techniques that ensure all historical information is preserved. This is how we came across this previously unknown, roughly 3,000-year-old tomb.

As we prepared to enter it, we had no idea if the ceiling had collapsed, if the tomb had been looted or destroyed, or if it was still well preserved.

Its layout is typical of Theban elite tombs dating to the New Kingdom period (ca. 1550-1069 BC). At this time, Thebes (now Luxor) was Egypt’s capital and main religious and political centre.

The tomb features an outer courtyard, rock-cut chapel and subterranean burial chambers. The well-preserved courtyard area includes a mudbrick platform with a niche for a stela (upright stone grave marker) and staircase with ramps on either side, giving access to the tomb.

Once inside the rock-cut chapel, we noticed its walls are decorated with vivid paintings of the main tomb owner adoring various deities in shrines, and also sitting with his wife in front of an offering table laden with bread, beer, fruits, meat and flowers. Based on the iconography and painting style, we determined that the tomb dates to the Ramesside period (ca. 1292-1069 BC), named after the many pharaohs called Ramesses in that era.

This was a particularly exciting moment. These wall paintings offer invaluable historical details about ancient Egyptian daily life and society. They also shed light on the tomb owner’s position in the Ramesside hierarchy, and on the other family members buried here – plus, potentially, later reusers of the tomb.

Identifying the tomb’s owner

The vast Theban necropolis, comprising an area of around 10km², was Egypt’s main royal and elite cemetery for half a millennium, from ca. 1550 BC onwards.

Situated opposite the city of Thebes on the west bank of the River Nile, it features many world-famous historical sites including the Valley of the Kings (a burial ground for pharaohs including Tutankhamun and Ramesses II) and Valley of the Queens, plus hundreds of private elite tombs, royal memorial temples and remains of royal palaces.

Our team has been carrying out fieldwork here since 2018, in close collaboration with the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities.

Based on a first analysis of the painted decoration inside the tomb, we identified its main owner as a male official named Paser. However, the paintings are covered in a layer of dirt. Once they are cleaned by a conservation specialist, we expect to find out more about the identities and personal narratives of the people buried here.

One of the main research questions associated with our fieldwork focuses on the question of tomb placement and tomb reuse – for which the newly discovered tomb carries important scholarly significance. It will help us explain why in the Ramesside period, officials such as Paser chose to reuse, modify or build tombs adjacent to the monuments of the preceding 18th-dynasty elites.

Specific questions we will try to answer include: how did features of the ancient mortuary landscape (including proximity to processional routes, tombs of relatives, or monuments of special cultic importance) influence the placement of these tombs? And what influenced the decision to reuse them for burial, rather than building new ones?

A race against time

Unfortunately, our work is something of a race against time. As a result of climate change, the frequency and intensity of flash flooding is expected to increase significantly in the coming years here.

This poses a major threat to the tombs in this area. Flooding can lead to immediate, extensive damage such as moisture-activated growth of salt crystals, loss of painted decoration and, potentially, structural collapse. So, one of the most important aims of our project is to implement a preventive conservation and risk management programme that safeguards these monuments for future generations.

At the same time, these activities also allow us to explore this area archaeologically for the very first time, revealing the historical and cultural development of the Lower Sheikh ʿAbd el-Qurna necropolis. Up to now, this area has barely been studied in comparison with famous nearby sites such as the Valley of the Kings and the large temple complexes of Luxor and Karnak.

But our ongoing research shows that Lower Sheikh ʿAbd el-Qurna is rich in archaeological material. This includes exquisitely decorated tombs that offer a unique glimpse into the daily lives, funerary beliefs, artistry and monuments of Egypt’s ordinary people and officials over many centuries.

The project led by Carina van den Hoven is funded by the Gerda Henkel Foundation, and it also receives funding from the Luxor Archaeological Heritage Foundation. A proof of concept study on the digital documentation and material analysis of the ancient wall paintings in Theban Tomb 45 was funded by the Netherlands Institute for the Near East and the Leiden University Centre for Digital Humanities. In 2017 Carina established the Luxor Archaeological Heritage Foundation, a non-profit organisation aimed at providing financial support for the Dutch archaeological expedition to the Theban Necropolis.

Scientists have crossed an important line in biological engineering. In a recent study, researchers used artificial intelligence to design complete sets of genetic instructions for bacteriophages, viruses that infect bacteria. Some of those computer-generated designs produced working viruses when they were built and tested in the laboratory.

These viruses were designed to infect bacteria rather than people. The researchers worked with bacteriophages that target E. coli, and one of the AI models they used, Evo 2, was developed with safety restrictions. Its developers excluded viruses that infect organisms such as animals, plants and humans from the data used to train it.

Even so, the experiment raises an important question: if AI becomes increasingly able to help design biological systems, are our safeguards developing fast enough?

As engineers working in vaccine manufacturing and public health security, we see good reasons to continue this research. Bacteriophages could potentially be used to treat bacterial infections, including those that are becoming harder to treat with antibiotics. But advances in biological design also create new challenges for biosecurity.

Genome language models work in a broadly similar way to AI language models that learn patterns in text. Instead of learning from words and sentences, they learn patterns in genetic code. Evo 2, for example, was trained on trillions of DNA building blocks taken from many different forms of life.

This gives researchers a powerful new way to study biology and generate possible DNA sequences. It also means that part of biological design can now happen on a computer, before anything has been made in a laboratory.

An AI-generated DNA sequence is still several steps away from becoming a real biological threat. A digital design has to be turned into physical genetic material, assembled correctly and tested under the right laboratory conditions. Each of those stages also creates an opportunity to reduce risk.

One safeguard can be built into the AI model itself. The developers of Evo 2 deliberately removed viruses that infect humans and other similar organisms from its training data for safety reasons. Their research found that the model performed poorly when tested on proteins from viruses that infect humans.

Such precautions will need to be tested and strengthened as AI tools for biology become more capable. Researchers have already argued that AI and biosecurity need to be considered together, so that safeguards develop alongside new capabilities.

Another checkpoint comes when digital DNA is turned into physical DNA. Companies that manufacture DNA to order can check both the requested genetic sequence and the person or organisation ordering it for potential security concerns. Researchers working on DNA synthesis screening have argued for common international approaches as this technology becomes more widely available.

Screening may also need to become more sophisticated. A system designed mainly to recognise DNA that resembles known dangerous pathogens may struggle if AI produces something genuinely new. Recent research on identifying “sequences of concern” has therefore considered what a genetic sequence might do, as well as whether it resembles one already linked to a dangerous organism.

Laboratories and research institutions provide another layer of protection. Potentially risky research can be assessed before experiments begin, including questions about how biological material will be contained, who will have access to it and whether the expected benefits justify the risks.

Research funders can also influence how security risks are managed. UK Research and Innovation (UKRI), for example, has established a Trusted Research and Innovation team to help researchers and institutions identify and manage security risks in collaborative research.

Public health preparedness belongs in this discussion too. If biological design becomes faster and more accessible, health authorities will need to be able to detect and investigate unusual outbreaks quickly. The Metagenomics Surveillance Collaboration and Analysis Programme (mSCAPE), led by the UK Health Security Agency, analyses genetic material from samples to help detect and track emerging pathogens.

The programme is not specifically designed to find AI-created viruses. But its approach is relevant because scientists do not have to know exactly which pathogen they are looking for in advance. Systems capable of detecting unusual or previously unseen organisms could become increasingly valuable as biological technologies develop. Preparedness also means being able to develop diagnostic tests, treatments and vaccines quickly when a new threat appears.

In our view, one of the biggest weaknesses in global biosecurity is that countries are not equally prepared. Some already have established systems for identifying and responding to biological risks, while others are still developing them. We see a similar gap in vaccine regulation, where countries vary considerably in their ability to assess new products. Biological threats can cross borders, so effective preparedness will depend on strengthening these capabilities internationally.

There are difficult trade-offs. Heavy restrictions can slow useful research, including work aimed at understanding disease or developing treatments. Weak safeguards can allow scientific capability to develop faster than the systems intended to prevent misuse.

Open science makes this harder. Evo 2 was released openly, including the code and technical information needed for other researchers to use and develop it. Openness can accelerate discovery and widen access to powerful research tools. But once such tools are widely distributed, controlling how they are used becomes harder.

No single safeguard can deal with all of these risks. Biosecurity will need to operate at several stages, from how biological AI models are developed and released to DNA screening, laboratory oversight and public health preparedness.

The recent bacteriophage study does not show that AI can design a pandemic virus. What it shows is significant enough: AI can already help design complete viral genomes that work when they are physically created.

We have an opportunity to decide what responsible safeguards should look like while this technology is still developing. Waiting for more dangerous capabilities to emerge would leave scientists, governments and public health systems trying to develop protections after they are already needed.

AI is beginning to change what humans can design in biology. Our ability to govern that power needs to develop alongside it.

Tuck Seng Wong receives funding from Department of Health and Social Care (DHSC), UK Research and Innovation (UKRI), and Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO).

Kang Lan Tee receives funding from Department of Health and Social Care (DHSC), UK Research and Innovation (UKRI), and Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO).

Battles between rival groups are a story as old as time. This sounds like a human story, but it is also one that is playing out across nature.

Conflict between groups of animals competing for territory and resources is widespread, and contests between animals can be dangerous. Getting ambushed, especially by a larger or more powerful group, can have disastrous consequences.

However, conflict is sometimes unavoidable.

Emerging research shows war preparations are not a trait unique to humans.

A new article by my colleagues and I highlights how many of the same principles apply to animals too, and not just in our closest relatives like apes. We reviewed the literature and found examples throughout the animal kingdom of animals preparing for future conflicts. This behaviour probably explains how animals persist in the face of often intense conflict.

Animals may sense the recent presence of their rivals. Many species, such as dwarf mongooses, leave scent marks to advertise their presence, and react to those laid down by rival groups. Others animals may rely on their memories of past conflict to change their behaviour in situations they deem risky, such as at territory edges or contested resources.

There can be sex differences in how animals approach conflict. Vervet monkeys are a good example here. Males often stand to lose more from conflict, while females stand to benefit – as it could lead to securing long-term access to high-quality food. Researchers have observed males attempting to defuse conflict yet females try to promote male participation.

When assessing that the risk of conflict, there are many questions for animals to consider. Are rival groups likely to be close by? How powerful are they? Are they restricting access to key resources? Do you have vulnerable offspring to protect?

Animals use many different approaches to reduce the dangers rivals may pose. Here are three main ones:

1. Inform yourself

Information is power. Across group-living species, from mongooses to invertebrates, there is evidence that animals can prioritise gathering information in risky situations. Chimpanzees have been seen to climb to the top of hills and wait quietly, listening out for rivals before making their next move.

Similarly, when groups of dwarf mongooses encounter the scent of rivals, they move less, investigate their surroundings more and post more sentinels to look out for danger. Gathering information comes at a cost, often in the form of lost opportunities to find food and engage in social interactions. But if the risk is high this can be a small price to pay.

2. Strategise

The way animals use space can be crucial. Some species, such as long-tailed tits and chacma baboons, choose to minimise the time they spend in risky areas, such as where territory overlaps. Others animals, such as meerkats, lay down scent marks near their burrows, which are a valuable resource.

Staying within familiar areas and defending them can give groups of animals a home advantage, as groups are more likely to win when they are on familiar ground. Groups can also stay closer to one another, reducing the chances of animals getting isolated should a contest arise suddenly.

Many species, including ants and apes, raid rival groups. These include targeted forays into rival territory with the goal of injuring and even killing rivals to reduce the threat they pose to their own group. Raids in ant species also allow groups to steal the brood of their rivals, bolstering their future fighting force.

3. Stick together

Make sure your groupmates have your back. Although groups often cooperate with one another, animals can be out for themselves, especially those less related to their groupmates or with less to gain from winning.

Group members therefore need to be confident that the others won’t turn tail when the going gets tough. This can be achieved by both carrot and stick. Chimpanzees play and groom more before conflict occurs. These bond-building activities aim to ensure nobody defects if backs are against the wall. It happens more on days when they later engage in conflict, which suggests they know to some degree that an attack will be more likely.

Vervet monkeys, however, take a different approach. Monkeys that failed to participate in previous contests can face aggression from groupmates, coercing them to step up and help next time.

All of this preemptive behaviour can require animals to keep track of who their rivals are, how strong they are and where they might be. Gathering and processing this information can take a lot of effort. But if it allows animal groups to survive, then intergroup conflict may lead to the evolution of cognitive abilities. Indeed, researchers have suggested the need to outmanoeuvre rivals contributed to the intelligence we have as humans today. That is not to say that all anticipation is mentally costly. When rivals are predictable, simple rules can suffice.

Although our work focused on animals in groups, many of the same principles should generalise to solitary and pair-living animals too. Just imagine how many potential cold wars are playing out between rival animals, each trying to preempt the other while going about their daily lives.

Josh Arbon receives funding from the University of Cambridge Herchel Smith Fund. He works for the University of Cambridge and has previously worked for the University of Bristol.

Most people set out in life wanting to believe the world is fair. They expect people to wait their turn in queues, to be treated equally in their job, and to be rewarded for hard work. These expectations influence how they understand the world around them, and shape their responses to it.

But what happens when life repeatedly challenges those assumptions? Psychologists have long been interested in this question. Our new research, published in the British Journal of Psychology, suggests adverse experiences shape both how fair people believe the world is, and how they view their place in society.

Over the course of a lifetime, personal setbacks – from illness and bereavement to being a victim of crime – may have a cumulative effect, leading to a growing sense that the world is unfair. We think this is important in the context of today’s increasingly polarised societies, in which trust in institutions has declined severely in the UK and many other countries.

Adversity and unfairness

Our research set out to answer two key questions: do experiences of adversity influence whether people see the world as fundamentally unfair – and if so, what are the societal consequences? We conducted three surveys involving more than 1,200 British participants with an equal gender split and average age of 39.

In one study, we found that people who reported experiencing more lifetime adversity – including illness, bereavement, financial hardship and violence – were more likely to believe the world was unfair.

In another, we compared people who had experienced violent victimisation with those who had not. After accounting for demographic factors, people who had experienced violent crime reported stronger perceptions of injustice.

Our final study found that greater lifetime adversity was associated with lower trust in institutions through perceptions of injustice. This is important because trust underpins many aspects of society, from confidence in public institutions to democratic participation.

Together, these findings suggest that people don’t simply interpret information based on the facts available to them. They also interpret it through the lens of their previous experiences.

Two people can read the same news story, watch the same political debate or hear the same public health advice, yet come away with very different conclusions that may not simply reflect differences in knowledge or politics. It may also reflect differences in how they have come to see the world as a result of the hardships they have faced.

Furthermore, if someone increasingly believes that the world is unfair, they may be more likely to notice fresh examples of perceived injustice, corruption or hidden motives – and interpret new events through that lens.

Belief in conspiracy theories

Previous research has shown that people who feel uncertain, powerless or threatened are often more likely to endorse conspiracy theories. Most of this work, however, has focused on their identities, traits and beliefs.

In our investigation of the impact of adverse life experiences on people, we found a remarkably consistent pattern. When these hardships are associated with stronger perceptions of injustice in the world, the same people more strongly endorse conspiracy beliefs.

Conspiracy theories rarely describe events as random. Instead, they tend to suggest that powerful individuals or organisations are secretly responsible for what happens. They offer explanations that identify intentional causes behind events that might otherwise seem confusing or unjust.

Research suggests that across societies, the level of belief in conspiracy theories is relatively stable over time. But once these beliefs become part of how someone understands the world, they can be difficult to shift.

This makes it all the more important to understand the experiences and psychological processes that may contribute to these worldviews developing in the first place. Our findings suggest that perceptions of injustice are one such pathway.

For someone who increasingly feels the world is unfair, conspiracy theories may become more psychologically appealing – providing a way of making sense of experiences that otherwise feel difficult to understand.

Our research does not suggest that adversity inevitably leads to conspiracy beliefs; nor that conspiracy theories are an inevitable consequence of trauma. Rather, it highlights a long-term psychological process that may help explain why some people become more receptive to these ideas.

In an increasingly polarised world, the media and political focus is often concentrated on what information people consume. But our research suggests we should pay more attention to the experiences that shape the lens through which people interpret information. This could help explain why people can look at the same events and reach very different conclusions.

Ultimately, people’s experiences don’t just affect them in the moment. They shape their worldview – which can influence how they interpret and respond to events and other people’s behaviour far into the future.

So, we believe any effort to reach greater consensus in society may require a deeper understanding of the hardships people have lived through over the course of their lives – and how these can affect their sense of injustice.

Daniel Jolley has received funding from the Leverhulme Trust, the British Academy, and the Engineering and Physical Sciences Research Council (EPSRC). The studies mentioned in this piece were funded by the British Academy/Leverhulme Small Research Grants Scheme (SRG23/230720) and carried out in collaboration between Daniel Jolley, Laura Blackie, and research assistant Anna Maughan.

Laura Blackie has received funding from the British Academy.

A solar eclipse is a rare, visually striking phenomenon. The Moon passes between Earth and the Sun, temporarily hiding our star – a geometrical alignment spanning millions of miles.

A partial solar eclipse occurs when the Moon doesn’t fully block the Sun, resulting in a gentle dimming of the sky. A total solar eclipse, however, dramatically plunges a daytime sky into blackness.

Everything has to be perfect for this to happen. An astonishing cosmic coincidence means that solar eclipses as viewed from Earth are spectacular – and unlike those anywhere else in the solar system.

For a given place on Earth, a total solar eclipse will only occur once in a few hundred years. The next total solar eclipse takes place on Wednesday, August 12 2026. The path of totality (the area where a full eclipse can be seen) will pass through parts of Greenland, Iceland, northern Russia, Spain, and a small portion of Portugal.

In Britain and Ireland, between 90% and 97.5% of the Sun will be obscured by the Moon, depending on where a person is.

The eclipse starts at 6.08pm (BST) in Glasgow and Edinburgh, 6.12pm in Galway and Dublin, 6.13pm in Manchester and Liverpool, 6.15pm in Norwich and Birmingham, 6.17pm in London, Bristol and Cardiff and 6.18pm in Truro.

The UK Health Security Agency warned that looking directly at an eclipse can cause permanent eye damage. There are two safe ways to view an eclipse: specialist eclipse glasses (or handheld solar viewers) and indirect methods.

Eclipse glasses or solar viewers must be genuine and sold by a reputable retailer. They should have specially designed filters that meet the international safety standard ISO 12312-2:2015(E). Indirect methods include projecting the Sun’s image onto a sheet of paper using a simple pinhole projector.

A solar eclipse’s appearance is wrapped up in the geometry of the bodies involved; it depends on the apparent sizes. This apparent size depends on the sizes and distances involved. The total solar eclipse we see from Earth is particularly special.

The Sun is around 400 times wider than the Moon, but also about 400 times further away, hence they appear approximately the same size in our sky. During totality, the Moon fits over the Sun like a puzzle piece slotting into place.

People are incredibly fortunate to be able to fly around our planet chasing such events, allowing eclipse watchers to gather under the Moon’s shadow. So how would solar eclipses look if we were able to travel to other planets?

Mars has two moons; the larger is Phobos, at around 14 miles across, and the smaller, Deimos, is only about 7.5 miles in diameter. Both moons are rather lumpy and irregularly shaped.

Neither moon has an apparent size large enough to produce a total solar eclipse on Mars. Phobos, being closer and larger, produces an eclipse that lasts only around 30 seconds. It’s very different from what we’re used to. Phobos appears as an oddly shaped silhouette that can cover just over one-third of the Sun.

Deimos, being smaller, and further away from Mars, appears as a small dot crossing the Sun. The eclipses of Phobos and Deimos are events we’ve seen, thanks to Nasa’s Perseverance and Curiosity rovers allowing us to see eclipses on another planet.

A view from Jupiter

Jupiter has 101 moons, which includes the four large Galilean satellites. These moons can completely obscure the Sun from Jupiter, casting vast shadows across its cloud tops.

Jupiter, unfortunately, doesn’t have a solid surface, hence an observer would need to float on top of its clouds. From there, the moons would appear much larger than the Sun.

Although dramatic, this lacks the satisfying alignment we see from Earth of the Moon and Sun almost matching each other in size. The Galilean moons orbit so fast around Jupiter that such eclipses happen almost every day.

Their shadows are visible from Earth through amateur telescopes as small, distinct black dots moving across the colour bands of Jupiter. The orbits of the moons can even sometimes align such that double, or even triple, solar eclipses are visible.

Saturn has even more moons, with 274 confirmed. Similar vast shadows are seen on Saturn’s clouds during eclipses, with larger moons such as Titan causing the most dramatic displays. Saturn itself has seasons, similar to the Earth. Depending on the season, solar eclipses can happen daily on Saturn.

The limits of solar eclipses

There are parts of the solar system that will never, or very rarely, see a solar eclipse. Mercury and Venus have no moons, so unfortunately miss out on the spectacle entirely. As we go farther from the Sun, it appears smaller in the sky.

Comparatively small moons can therefore completely obscure it. From Pluto, the Sun would look like a very bright point in the sky. Pluto’s largest moon, Charon, would appear far larger and completely cover it up.

These would definitely class as total solar eclipses, but would be very different from the exquisitely balanced spectacle we see from Earth. Far out in the solar system, the moons don’t delicately fit over the Sun. Instead, they would utterly swallow it.

Throughout the solar system, solar eclipses are possible and, from some planets, frequent. From Earth, the occasional alignment of size, distance and time allows for total solar eclipses that make the Moon look as if it was made to fit perfectly over the Sun.

For a few transcendent moments, we are cast into a shadow that allows us to glimpse the solar corona peeking out from behind the Moon. There are many small, chance events that have made our planet habitable. This fleeting geometrical balance that produces our solar eclipses is a chance alignment that isn’t something functional. It’s just beautiful.

Alix Violet Freckelton does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Perhaps the most evocative windows into the minds of our ancient ancestors are the images they painted on the walls of caves – renderings known simply as rock art or cave paintings.

Rock art, which is found across the world, offers snapshots of human history, preserving representations of cultural traditions, symbolic communication and social identity. Common subjects include animals, hunting scenes and hand stencils – thought to have been made by blowing pigment over the artist’s hand.

Scientists have wrestled with basic questions about the origins of rock art such as: what was used to produce it, when was it made, and who made it?

Now, a recent study of cave art from Spain and Portugal has shown that ancient human DNA can be recovered directly from the cave walls. We may therefore be edging closer to answering “who made it?”

Using this technique to link a specific painting to an ancient artist may be a step too far. But there are still important things it can tell us about the past.

Previously, researchers had made considerable progress in answering the “what” and “when” questions. Scientists can analyse what pigments are preserved in rock art using techniques such as X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy, which allows them to identify materials such as red ochre and charcoal.

Scientists can also estimate the age of the art using techniques such as carbon-14 dating, carried out on minute quantities of organic material, to determine when rock art was created.

For example, in 2026, researchers reported that a stencil of a human hand had been found in Southeast Sulawesi, Indonesia. The researchers used a laser to bore a microscopic hole and collect samples from a fine layer of calcium carbonate that had formed over the painting.

The research team then measured the degradation of radioactive uranium contained in these mineral deposits to assign a minimum age to the painting of 67,800 years – making it the world’s oldest known minimum date for cave art.

The age of this art fits within a period when modern humans (Homo sapiens) are thought to have migrated through the area. But the wider Indonesian archipelago was previously home to other human species, such as Homo erectus and Homo floresiensis (nicknamed “the Hobbits”), which complicates matters significantly.

While the stylistic and technical complexity of the art suggests authorship by Homo sapiens, we have no way to be certain who made it.

Identifying a human linked to a prehistoric item has an established methodology. For example, in 2023, researchers recovered ancient DNA from a deer-tooth pendant found in Denisova cave, southern Siberia.

Analysis of the genetic sequence showed that the pendant was probably worn by a 25,000-year-old woman belonging to an ancient population known as Ancient North Eurasians, who lived across Siberia in Palaeolithic times.

Such discoveries transform otherwise anonymous objects into evidence of real people, giving us an intriguing glimpse into the lives of our prehistoric ancestors.

New genetic reservoirs

In the latest cave art study, scientists systematically sampled both painted and unpainted surfaces of cave walls at 11 sites across Spain and Portugal. Remarkably, they recovered ancient human DNA directly from the walls, demonstrating for the first time that these surfaces can act as reservoirs for genetic information.

Some of these cave wall samples were shown, through both genetic analysis and the archaeological context, to be at least 4,000 years old.

In two of the samples from Covarón cave in northern Spain, human DNA was sufficiently preserved to be identified as belonging to ancient western hunter-gatherers. These were populations that lived across much of Europe during Late Palaeolithic and Mesolithic times.

One of the samples from a pigmented part of a cave wall, in Escoural cave, Portugal, also yielded traces of ancient DNA, but it was not as well preserved as other samples.

Nevertheless, the research establishes a powerful new methodological framework and proof of concept. It raises the tantalising prospect of studying not only the images left behind, but also the communities of people who made them.

However, applying this technique successfully to identify the artist of specific ancient rock art is incredibly unlikely.

This research could, though, potentially resolve one of the most contentious debates in archaeology. This concerns a 66,700-year-old hand stencil discovered within Maltravieso cave in Extremadura, western Spain.

This controversial stencil appears to predate the arrival of modern humans in Europe. Some researchers have therefore argued that Neanderthals, not Homo sapiens, made the art.

Finding DNA from either species in this location, at similar times to the creation of the rock art, could offer a potential route for resolving the debate. But this too is much more difficult than it might seem.

Easy transfer

The presence of human DNA does not prove who created the rock art. DNA is easily transferred – actions as simple as breathing can transfer someone’s genetic material to a location or object. This is why DNA recovered from a knife cannot definitively conclude who committed a stabbing in a forensic case.

DNA establishes the association of someone with an item or location, not the actions they carried out during the deposition of their genetic material. Environmental activities such as rain can also transfer human DNA to these spaces, making it extremely difficult to identify a single person at a location.

Additional DNA can be deposited at very different times to when the painting was produced – by both modern and ancient humans. The potential for contamination is incredibly high, making it difficult to establish who may have been at a given location at a specific time.

Nonetheless, scientists can use this new research to explore important prehistoric questions such as the hominin species, population groups and sexes of those who entered specific cave systems, and their migration routes across landscapes.

In the general sense, we can also begin to connect prehistoric art with the people who created and lived with it.

Behind each rock-art hand stencil or hunting scene is evidence of a real person who, while separated from us by tens of thousands of years, felt the need to communicate their creativity – as we do today. Techniques such as this offer a vital opportunity to understand more thoroughly the human experience via our similarities with ancient people.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

In the early hours of Wednesday morning August 5 the upper stage of a Falcon 9 rocket crashed into the Moon in an uncontrolled collision.

No damage was caused, other than the creation of a new crater several metres in diameter, but the event highlights the increasing problem of space junk left in orbit when it has completed its intended purpose.

Natural impacts occur on the Moon daily. On average, Nasa estimates that 33 metric tonnes of meteoroids (space rocks) hit Earth every day, but most of this burns up in the atmosphere before hitting the ground. A smaller proportion make it through and reach the surface as meteorites.

Most of the human-made space debris that falls back to Earth also burns up on its way through the atmosphere. The Moon has no atmosphere, so any debris – either natural or human-made – on a collision course will hit the surface.

First identified and reported as an upcoming collision months ago, the object in this case was the upper stage of the SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket on a mission to ferry two robotic landing craft to the lunar surface. These were Blue Ghost Mission 1, manufactured by Texas-based firm Firefly Aerospace and Hakuto-R, built by the company ispace, which is headquartered in Tokyo, Japan.

The first stage of the rocket did what it was designed to do, took the second – or upper – stage and the payload of spacecraft into low Earth orbit, detached, and returned safely to a landing pad on Earth to be refurbished for reuse.

The upper stage engines then ignited and took the spacecraft on their intended trajectory to the Moon. However, once it had released the spacecraft, its job was complete and it was left in a high elliptical orbit around the Earth.

In a statement, SpaceX said that, for most missions, the company carries out a controlled de-orbit of the Falcon 9 second stage, so that it safely re-enters Earth’s atmosphere over the ocean. However, the company added that for payloads headed to the Moon, like this one, the de-orbit manoeuvre is not always possible.

On August 5, 2026, its orbit coincided with the position of the Moon and it crashed into the lunar surface, generating a new crater and excavating a large amount of lunar rock and dust. South Korea’s Danuri spacecraft, which entered orbit around the Moon in December 2022, has taken images of the impact site, showing traces of material (ejecta) thrown out across the lunar surface.

With an estimated mass of four tonnes (its exact mass depended on how much unspent fuel was left on board) it was travelling at 2.43 km/s (1.51 miles per second) at the point of impact. This is far slower than most space rocks in the solar system, but fast enough to do some serious damage if it had hit anything of value.

While this was an accidental impact, astronomers made plans to observe the event to advance our understanding of crater formation on the Moon. Given that we know the size, shape and mass of the rocket body, studying the resulting crater will help us better understand the lunar surface and its impact history.

Seismometers (to measure ground motion) deployed during the Apollo landings in the 1960s and 70s, helped us understand the frequency of meteorite impacts on the Moon. But we can only estimate the properties of the impacting object after the crater has formed.

This, as well as other accidental – and deliberate – impacts can help us better understand lunar surface material. As part of an international campaign to observe the impact, the University of Manchester’s Jodrell Bank Observatory used the 76-metre Lovell Telescope as the receiving element in a bistatic radar experiment, where the transmitter and receiver are separated by a large distance.

Radio transmissions from Nasa’s Deep Space Network station near Madrid were directed towards the impact region, while the Lovell Telescope listened for faint radar echoes reflected from the resulting plume of dust and debris excavated from the lunar surface. The observations also included tracking the Falcon 9 upper stage during its final approach to the Moon.

Detecting radar returns from an impact plume at lunar distance is extremely challenging, although the Lovell Telescope has previously demonstrated its radar receiving capability on similarly demanding experiments, both for tracking and characterising objects in orbit and detecting radar echoes from a near-Earth asteroid.

Developing these techniques will be increasingly important for monitoring hazards and protecting future infrastructure and human activity in space.

Keeping space free of clutter is becoming increasingly important, both in low Earth orbit where there are now more than 16,000 active satellites but more than 1.2 million pieces of debris larger than 1cm in size, and around the Moon where more infrastructure is planned.

With several countries aiming to put humans on the Moon for long duration missions, the problem of space debris and impacts will become increasingly pressing. There is also the risk of accidentally destroying sites of historical and cultural importance – such as Neil Armstrong’s first footprint at the Apollo 11 landing site.

Space treaty

The Outer Space Treaty provides the basic framework for international space law. It states that “states shall be liable for damage caused by their space objects”. This applies on the Moon as much as it does around Earth. So, hypothetically, if a US rocket part hit a Chinese lunar base, the Chinese would expect the US to take responsibility, and vice versa.

This principle applies to collisions in low Earth orbit too, as well as to falling debris that survives re-entry. Commercial companies are developing methods of catching and removing defunct satellites and other hazardous pieces of debris before they can cause a collision or crash.

Increasing awareness of this problem is pushing companies and nations to improve how they dispose of their rockets and satellites once they reach the end of their operational lifetime. There are some regional regulations on the disposal of such material, but it is currently far from universal.

In its statement, SpaceX said: “For higher energy missions like those to a lunar transfer orbit, nearly all performance on the vehicle is devoted to successfully placing the payload in the intended orbit, and a controlled disposal manoeuvre is not always possible.”

The company added: “We actively work to be as responsible as possible with hardware left in space to ensure space safety, including for more complex missions. In this case, solar activity and gravity led the second stage toward the Moon.”

Nasa’s Artemis II mission, which carried four astronauts on a loop around the Moon in April 2026, showed that there is significant public interest in sending humans back to the Moon.

This incident illustrates a significant risk that future lunar missions will need to address, both in terms of keeping astronauts and infrastructure safe from old debris, but also looking towards a future where governments and (increasingly) private companies are more responsible with their equipment once it has completed its mission.

Right now, there are no humans on the Moon so there is no risk to life. On this occasion, there were no landers or other equipment in the projected impact location.

But as more and more missions head to the Moon, increasing numbers of spent rocket parts will end up on potential collision courses with the Moon – if we are planning to build a base and have it crewed long term, the last thing you want is for it to be accidentally damaged by a piece of space junk.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Do you ever see comments on social media that seem way off topic, but still manage to wrench the discussion around to divisive political debate?

A discussion about the cost of living suddenly becomes an argument about immigration. A conversation about the war in Ukraine turns into claims about government corruption. It can feel jarring – and sometimes this is deliberate.

As generative AI becomes more powerful, malicious groups are increasingly using it to produce and spread disinformation online. Automated accounts can flood social media with convincing comments designed to sow division, inflame political debate and undermine trust in reliable information.

But our latest research offers a way to spot these attempts. Rather than trying to identify whether a post was written by AI, we focus on something different: whether it’s trying to derail the conversation.

Until recently, identifying malicious accounts was often quite straightforward. Many campaigns relied on people writing in a second language. So, posts sometimes contained grammatical mistakes or unusual word choices. Detection systems could look for these patterns in the language used.

But generative AI has changed that. AI systems can now produce fluent, natural-sounding text that is much harder to distinguish from human writing. For example, patterns like use of em-dashes and the word “delve” used to be telltale signs of a text being generated by AI. But AIs are adapting, and these older systems are increasingly ineffective.

Trying to detect AI purely from the words people use is becoming a losing battle. We believe the better approach is to look at what a message is trying to achieve.

Looking for signs

Attempts to spread disinformation often work by steering conversations away from their original topic, towards more polarising issues. So, instead of analysing individual words, we set out to build a system that could recognise this phenomenon in online discussions.

We analysed comments posted beneath BBC News videos on YouTube, a platform that has previously been targeted by organised disinformation campaigns.

For example, imagine a comment about Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, interacting with senior UK political figures: “Zelensky must be wondering how many foreign secretaries the UK goes through.” Now, imagine another person responding: “Mind you, Zelensky has barely been president for four years. Maybe that’s why the little tyrant bans his opposition.”

Whether that second point is true or false is not the issue. Instead of responding to the original comment, it redirects the conversation towards a different, more divisive topic.

This is known as a red herring: introducing an unrelated issue that distracts from the original discussion. These kinds of shift are difficult for conventional disinformation detection systems to identify, because they are not tied to particular words or phrases.

We manually analysed more than 1,600 comments under BBC News videos, labelling them according to 25 different features of online discussion – and discovered some clear patterns.

We found that 36% of derailing messages had red herrings, 65% had leaps in logic known as “non sequiturs”, and 20% contained personal attacks. They were also much less likely to acknowledge previous comments or express empathy.

Spotting manipulation

The next step was to see whether an AI system could recognise these patterns automatically. We used an AI to catch an AI.

For every genuine online comment, we asked an AI large language model to generate several reasonable, relevant responses. Returning to the example of UK foreign secretaries, the AI suggested replies such as: “The current situation in this country must come as quite a shock” or “One too many?”. Both responded directly to the original point.

The system then compares the real response with our AI-generated replies. If the actual comment differs substantially, it may indicate that someone is attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction. So, rather than searching for suspicious words, our system looks for unexpected changes in the flow of the discussion.

How the system works:

We tested this approach using our manually labelled dataset. In our second study, the system correctly identified derailing comments around 77% of the time.

That’s far from perfect, but no detection system is – particularly when analysing something as complex as human conversation. However, our approach performed around twice as well as existing systems based on word-level sentiment analysis. It also achieved results comparable with the level of agreement between human researchers.

Our approach is effective because the AI learns what a typical response to a conversation looks like. When a reply unexpectedly changes the discussion, the system can identify that change and analyse patterns that earlier methods couldn’t detect.

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Read more: Why science GCSEs matter more than we think in a post-truth age

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Of course, going off topic isn’t necessarily a sign of malicious intent or disinformation. People naturally take conversations in unexpected directions, and there are many legitimate reasons why discussions evolve.

For that reason, this technology may act as an early-warning system rather than a replacement for human judgment. It could help moderators identify conversations that deserve closer attention – but any final decisions should remain with trained experts.

There are also important ethical questions to address. AI systems can reflect biases in the data they are trained on, and they still do not understand conversations in quite the same way that people do. Improving how AI represents and interprets human discussion remains a challenge.

As AI-generated content becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish from human writing, detecting disinformation requires more than simply searching for telltale words. It requires understanding how conversations work, how they are manipulated, and when someone is trying to quietly steer them off course.

Seán Roberts was funded by the AI and autonomy for intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance (A2ISR) project at the Defence Science and Technology Laboratory (Dstl) through the Defence and Security Accelerator (DASA), which is part of the UK Ministry of Defence, United Kingdom.

Kateryna Krykoniuk was funded by the AI and autonomy for intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance (A2ISR) project at the Defence Science and Technology Laboratory (Dstl) through the Defence and Security Accelerator (DASA), which is part of the UK Ministry of Defence, United Kingdom.

In the last few years, some of the UK’s biggest cultural institutions have experienced major threats to their security. A report by the public accounts committee (PAC) has warned that such incidents have exposed serious weaknesses across the sector but that the government has failed to devise a strategy to prevent them. This has left Britain’s cultural institutions open to similar future attacks.

We live in a time when digital systems underpin everything from ticketing to surveillance and building access. Sidelining cybersecurity leaves museums vulnerable to attacks that could threaten both their finances and their collections.

If the UK wants to avoid major attacks and thefts, it needs to learn a lesson from the recent Louvre heist where €88 million (£78 million) of jewels were stolen. An audit conducted just weeks before the incident exposed the Louvre’s spending priorities that left them vulnerable to theft. The report found that €169 million was spent on artwork and exhibitions but only €26.7 million on all forms of maintenance, including security.

The likely thinking of cultural institutions is that to remain financially resilient they have to spend more on money-making attractions, like artwork and exhibitions. However, this means that security sometimes becomes a low priority – less money is spent and less thought given to the importance of keeping it up to date. However, the financial loss from theft affects financial resilience by eroding emergency cash reserves and driving up insurance premiums.

As the Louvre’s audit shows, the museum could have perhaps avoided the theft had it taken its findings more seriously.

The issue of outdated security measures at the Louvre goes back to at least 2017. An audit at the time found that “certain workstations [had] obsolete operating systems (Windows 2000 and Windows XP) which no longer guarantee effective security”. Security updates for Windows 2000 ceased in 2010, and Windows XP in 2014.

Three weeks after the heist in 2025, the Louvre was criticised by France’s Court of Auditors for not taking the audits seriously and spending money on art instead of security in the years before the theft.

Similar weaknesses in investment priorities as the Louvre’s were exposed in a report made by The British Library in March 2024 into their cyber-attack.

In October 2023, The British Library experienced a severe cyber-attack. The library’s systems were infiltrated by hackers who locked out all network users and demanded a ransom of 20 Bitcoin (approximately £590,000). The ransom was not paid and the stolen data was auctioned and then leaked on the dark web.

The library’s report into the attack acknowledged that it happened because it had muddled through with a historical mixture of old systems from many sources, which didn’t have a recovery plan. This meant it took the British Library months to restore the most basic tool – the online catalogue. And even now, five major services, including the catalogue of illuminated manuscripts, remain unavailable.

The cultural institutions, government and even the PAC make the classic mistake of divorcing cybersecurity from physical security.

The report by PAC does mention “bringing together chief digital information officers and chief information security officers” and separately it praises the “National Museum Security Group”. However, there is no mention of encouraging dialogue between the groups.

This divide is very common, and is often built into organisational system. The most junior person responsible for both physical and cybersecurity is often the CEO, or possibly a chief operating officer (COO). This structure worked in the days when physical security did not rely on computers. However, today, when so much physical security relies upon technology, it just does not make sense. There should be someone further down the chain, such as a “chief security manager” or equivalent.

As the report by Apolo Security into the Louvre attack found: “this case highlights another growing challenge: the convergence between operational technology (OT) and information technology (IT). When camera, climate or access control systems are connected to the network, any digital divide can have immediate physical consequences.”

This false split between standard IT cybersecurity (the domain of the chief information security officer), operational technology (the unnoticed computer-enabled devices that keep things working like electronic doors or intruder alarms) and physical security is far from unique to the scope of PAC’s report.

A classic example is the cyber-attack on the Colonial Pipeline in 2021 – an American energy system that connects 29 refineries and serves major airports, military bases and more than 50 million Americans. Only the classic IT systems (billing) were attacked, but management shut down the entire operation as they feared the attack spreading to the operational devices on the pipelines themselves. This stopped all pipeline operations leading to flight alterations, panic buying and over 10,000 petrol stations running dry.

A more integrated approach was exhibited by the train operator Go-Ahead in 2022 in the UK, which had a similar attack on its systems. The company was able, however, to keep the trains running and deal with the source of the attack instead of halting all their operations.

It would be good to think that the UK culture sector would also learn these lessons. But alas, neither the evidence the government gave PAC nor the final report give us any reason to believe that things will become more connected when it comes to a joined-up view of security and stopping future attacks.

James Davenport is a Chartered Fellow of the British Computer Society, and sits on relevant British Standards Institute Committees.

People are overconfident, on the whole. Most of us believe we are more intelligent, more skilful or better drivers than the average person. But we can’t all be right.

Such beliefs are not harmless. Overconfidence – and the self-deception that drives this excessive self-belief – can contribute to extreme risk-taking, failed businesses, disastrous investments, dangerous driving and political miscalculations. Why then have so many of us retained this trait?

According to the late evolutionary biologist Robert Trivers, self-deception evolved in humans because it also helps us deceive others more effectively. He argued that when people genuinely believe in a lie or falsehood, they suppress the subtle cues that betray deception – such as nervousness, hesitation, vocal strain or a forced expression.

But we think something is missing from Trivers’s account. When overconfidence is such a common trait, why should anyone believe your hype simply because you believe it yourself? This is the question our latest research set out to answer.

Our approach was based on the handicap principle developed by Israeli biologists Amotz and Avishag Zahavi. The classic example is the peacock’s tail, which demands enormous metabolic energy to grow and maintain, and makes flying, running and escaping from predators harder.

Only an unusually healthy, capable bird can grow such plumage and survive while dragging it around. Because the tail is so costly, it works as an “honest signal” of these attributes. Our claim is that self-belief is a peacock’s tail for people, signalling attributes that are hard to observe directly.

The signal works because the cost of high self-belief is lower for more capable people. Think of it this way: if a complete novice driver has a self-belief rating of ten out of ten, they are very likely to crash with potentially disastrous results. A near-expert driver with extreme self-belief is, of course, much less likely to crash.

Moreover, the benefit of high self-belief is generally greater for more able people. While self-belief opens doors, ability dictates how far someone goes as a result.

But because self-belief is an effective signal of ability, a confidence “arms race” ensues that culminates in the widespread overconfidence among people that we described earlier. Beliefs become excessive – yet even then, we argue that they remain informative. And that’s why overconfidence is such a common condition.

Reappraising the Dunning-Kruger effect

In an influential 1999 paper, US psychologists David Dunning and Justin Kruger stated that the least competent people tend to be the most confident.

According to their original interpretation, most people who are bad at a task lack the awareness needed to recognise how badly they are doing it. They are “unskilled and unaware of it”.

The original study followed a simple design. Participants completed tests of humour, grammar or logical reasoning. Before receiving feedback, they estimated how well they had performed. Researchers then examined whether the expectations of high scorers were more accurate than those of low scorers – and found they were. Less skilled participants overestimated their performance more egregiously.

However, there is a fundamental flaw in this methodology that even Dunning and Kruger recognised. Test performance depends heavily on random factors like luck. As forecasts cannot take these factors into account, low scorers appear more overconfident to a large degree because they were simply unlucky on the test.

To overcome this statistical illusion, the procedure can be flipped. Instead of sorting people by their test scores, they are grouped by their expectations. Asking whether those with high expectations overestimate by more or less than those with low expectations eliminates the “unlucky” measurement bias.

For our study, we revisited data from one of the largest modern replications of the original Dunning-Kruger experiments, involving several thousand participants. Building on the flipping logic to treat randomness in both test scores and predictions equally, we found that those with high expectations performed better and overall exhibit greater overconfidence – exactly as the signalling theory implies.

Loss aversion – a complicating factor?

The same signalling logic, we think, also illuminates another common human trait: loss aversion. It is sensible to dislike losses, but the evidence shows we dislike them too much.

While loss aversion is easily confused with standard risk aversion, the two are fundamentally different. Risk aversion arises because gaining £300 isn’t twice as joyful as gaining £150, so it is rational to prefer a guaranteed £150 over a 50-50 opportunity to gain £300 or nothing.

The evidence is, though, that many choices cannot be explained by this framework. Instead, it is loss aversion, our excessive aversion to losing, that is now the dominant explanation for our excessive rejection of risks.

Overweighting the downside pulls in the opposite direction to overconfidence: it makes us cautious, wary of risky investments, speculative trades and uncertain ventures.

At first glance, this looks like a problem for the whole story. If loss aversion makes us too cautious to ever act on our confident claims, then surely big talk would cost – and mean – nothing? In which case, why has caution not simply cancelled out overconfidence, leaving us with accurate beliefs and no signal value at all?

We argue there are two reasons it has not. The first is that caution cannot be tuned precisely enough to neutralise overconfidence. Doing so would require a different, finely judged level of loss aversion for every situation we face – entrepreneurship, trading, courtship, competition – and that degree of case-by-case calibration is cognitively far too demanding.

So, on a population-wide level, our estimates of caution offset overconfidence only imperfectly. While this balance varies significantly from person to person, enough average cost survives across the population for the signal to remain credible.

In addition, while confidence must be displayed to be effective, there is obviously no need to brag about your timidity – and no gain to be had from doing so. This means that overconfidence remains a costly, and thus credible, signal for many people.

So, we think former US president Franklin D. Roosevelt had a point when he said of his army general, Douglas MacArthur: “Never underestimate a man who overestimates himself.”

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Around 15 years ago, I created a Facebook page for my cat, Sandi. Friends thought it was weird. Today, social media accounts for cats attract millions of followers, cats travel in backpacks and prams, and surveys consistently show that the overwhelming majority of owners regard their pets as family.

I’ve previously written about how cats became domesticated. But domestication isn’t necessarily a process with an endpoint. Could it still be continuing today?

Examples from wildlife suggest that adaptation to living alongside people can continue long after animals first encounter humans.

Research led by biologist Kevin Parsons at the University of Glasgow provides one of the clearest examples of this process. In 2020, Parsons and his team compared the skulls of urban and rural red foxes from London and the surrounding countryside, and found consistent differences between the two populations.

Urban foxes had shorter, broader snouts and smaller braincases – the rounded part of the skull that encloses the brain. These are changes that often accompany domestication. The researchers suggest that city life may favour foxes that are less fearful of people and better at exploiting food and shelter provided by humans.

A similar story is emerging in Dublin’s Phoenix Park. In 2022, ecologists Laura Griffin, Simone Ciuti and colleagues at University College Dublin found that, while some fallow deer living at the edge of the city rarely came near humans, others consistently approached people for food. Around a quarter of the population were “consistent beggars”, and these bolder females produced heavier fawns – suggesting that animals willing to approach people may be at an advantage.

These studies show that living alongside humans can drive evolutionary change in wild and semi-domesticated species.

But does the same apply to cats, a species domesticated thousands of years ago? There are two possible answers. Cats may still be changing – or perhaps cats have not changed much, and it is our relationship with them that has.

Let’s start with the cats.

Compared with dogs, cats have traditionally been viewed as “less” domesticated. Dogs were bred to work alongside us – herding livestock, guarding homes and helping with hunting – while cats largely domesticated themselves.

Drawn to the rodents attracted by early farming settlements, cats chose to live near people because it suited them, not because we selectively bred them for particular jobs.

One reason cats have been so successful is their flexibility. Unlike many species, they can adjust their behaviour to suit the environment they live in.

Where food is scarce, cats tend to live alone and defend their own territory. But where food is plentiful, such as around people, they can tolerate one another and form stable social groups. In fact, some researchers suggest that cats first evolved to tolerate other cats living nearby, before extending that tolerance to humans.

Although genetics plays a role, kittens that have frequent positive interactions with humans during a critical period (between around two and seven weeks of age) are far more likely to grow into confident, friendly adults.

This suggests cats have long had the capacity to form close relationships with people when the conditions are right. Rather than becoming fundamentally different animals, they may simply be expressing a capacity they have long possessed. If so, the biggest change may not have been in cats, but in us.

People’s changing needs

Over the past century, many people’s way of life has changed significantly. Across much of the world, fertility rates have fallen dramatically, from almost five children per woman in 1950 to just over two today. People are having fewer children, delaying parenthood, living alone for longer, and increasingly relying on companion animals to meet needs once fulfilled by close family relationships.

These demographic shifts have changed not only how families are structured, but also who, or what, occupies the centre of family life.

In Finland, a country that has experienced many of these demographic shifts, a 2023 survey of 857 pet owners found that, when speaking with family and friends, people without children were more likely than parents to refer to themselves as “mom” or “dad” in relation to their pets. They were also more likely to describe their companion animals as kids, children or family members, and reported stronger emotional attachment to them.

As more people delay parenthood or remain child-free, this way of relating to companion animals may become increasingly common. This shift may also be reflected in the growing popularity of cat breeds such as the ragdoll, valued for their affectionate and docile nature.

Changing attitudes have transformed the lives cats now lead. A species once valued primarily for controlling rodents is now just as likely to have health insurance, see a behaviourist and eat a specialist diet.

None of this means cats have stopped evolving. Living alongside humans could still shape their behaviour over many generations. But the evidence suggests that the more dramatic transformation has been in their owners.

We have changed what cats mean to us and, by doing so, changed the lives they now lead. Back when I created a Facebook page for Sandi, people thought it was eccentric. Today, it seems many more people have come round to my way of thinking.

Grace Carroll does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

The recent confirmation of an atmosphere around a rocky exoplanet called LHS 1140b has created a wave of interest within the astronomy community. The planet orbits within the habitable zone around its parent star – a red dwarf located some 48 light years from Earth.

The habitable zone is the region around the star where temperatures are just right for water to remain liquid at a planet’s surface. Astronomers detected helium being lost from the upper atmosphere of LHS 1140b. But heavier chemical compounds, such as water, which is a key ingredient for life, could exist lower in its atmosphere.

Observing distant exoplanets using telescopes opens new doors for science, but will it ever be possible to travel to these worlds and observe them up close? While this has generally been seen as the stuff of science fiction until now, emerging technologies allow us to imagine a future where such missions are possible in the decades ahead.

There is particular interest in miniaturised spacecraft for interstellar voyages. In large part, this is because it’s easier and cheaper to propel a small spacecraft to another star system – and have it get there within a person’s lifetime – than it is to do the same with a large vehicle.

Miniaturisation of sensors has seen great advances, for example through smart phone technology where highly capable cameras with low mass, power and volume are routinely used. Researchers have even developed “smart dust”; sensors that are millimetre-scale in size or smaller that can detect light, temperature or chemicals.

The space probe itself would need a form of propulsion capable of accelerating it to mildly relativistic speeds, say 10-20% of the speed of light. After a travel time of many decades, the sensors would pass through a target star system without stopping, making in-situ observations and then very slowly drip data back to Earth.

This isn’t quite Star Trek, but it’s a potentially plausible idea that would enable us to study neighbouring stars and their planets up close. This kind of concept has been actively pursued by a philanthropically funded venture known as Breakthrough Starshot. This programme investigated the key technologies required for an interstellar journey using small probes.

Lights sails are seen as one of the most suitable forms of propulsion for such a mission. As the name implies, these are thin reflective membranes.

For interstellar travel, directed energy from a laser could be used to push the spacecraft forward. Photons, the quantum packets of energy of which light is composed, transport momentum as well as energy. Therefore, when light reflects off a mirror it exerts a pressure on the mirror.

In most circumstances the pressure due to light is imperceptibly small. However, for an intense enough beam of light, and an ultra-lightweight membrane mirror, light pressure can act as a means of spacecraft propulsion.

In order to accelerate a light sail to relativistic speeds, a hefty laser would be required, with an effective power of tens of gigawatts. This wouldn’t be a single device. Instead, it would probably comprise an array of separate laser devices synchronised together to generate a beam of coherent light.

Accelerated to the stars

Pushing a reflective light sail a few metres across with such a laser would accelerate the sail to its cruising speed in a matter of minutes.

The advantage of beam-power propulsion systems is that the laser assembly is left behind and only a small payload is accelerated to the stars. In contrast, conventional rockets have to haul their own propellant, which puts them at a severe disadvantage for such ultra-high energy missions.

The disadvantage of beam power propulsion is that the payload can’t easily stop, so a probe would pass through its target star system in only a few days.

While multi-gigawatt laser-pushed light sails may seem to be a bit of a stretch at present due to the colossal scale of such a venture, advances in miniaturisation could pave the way for tiny intelligent sensor nodes to be our first interstellar voyagers.

Perhaps we’ll first travel to the stars with an AI asleep at the wheel for decades, until it awakens for a few days of frantic activity as our machine proxies get their first glimpse of alien worlds.

Aside from pushing light sails with gigawatt lasers, reflective membranes can also be pushed by light pressure from the Sun. These “solar sails” have a long and rich history and were first proposed in the 1920s by Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and Friedrich Tsander, two of the great Russian pioneers of astronautics. Tsiolkovsky wrote of using “tremendous mirrors of very thin sheets”.

Tools for exploring

While laser-propelled light sails are for the future, solar sails are for the present. A number of small solar sails have already been launched into Earth orbit for technology demonstration purposes. Scaling up solar sails for deep space missions could deliver a new set of tools for exploring our solar system.

First, since solar sails do not need to carry propellant, they are capable of high-energy, long-duration missions, some of which are just about impossible for conventional spacecraft. For example, to rendezvous with a long period comet on an elliptical or highly inclined orbit about the Sun requires significant energy.

Moreover, returning a surface sample from such a comet to Earth becomes even more difficult. For conventional rocket propulsion, the spacecraft needs to haul propellant for the return journey all the way to the target comet.

For solar sails, returning to Earth is little different to reaching the comet in the first place. Solar sails can “tack” by tilting the sail to gain momentum and so spiral away from the Sun, or flipping the sail to lose momentum and spiral back inwards towards the Sun.

Solar sails can also move along unconventional orbits with light pressure used to offset gravity. For example, this could allow a solar sail to hover stationary high above the poles of the Earth.

Solar sails and light sails are stepping stones from the present to the future, and from exploring our own solar system to exploring distant stars. Perhaps exoplanet LHS 1140b will be visited by a light sail at some point in our future.

Colin McInnes receives funding from the Royal Academy of Engineering, the European Research Council and the Advanced Research + Inventions Agency.

Throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, Europe’s cartographers traded on their reputation for accuracy and detail at a time of huge societal change. But as demand grew for increasingly detailed maps of the world to support industrialisation at home and colonisation overseas, they didn’t always get it right.

For over a century, the Mountains of Kong festooned maps of Africa after the Scottish surgeon and explorer Mungo Park returned from an expedition in the 1790s and described them to his cartographer, James Rennell, as a possible source for the Niger river.

Rennell, who is buried in Westminster Abbey, dutifully produced two maps featuring this supposed mountain chain, extending it well beyond Park’s journey into areas he could never have seen. His maps were widely copied, and doubts only grew about the mountain range’s existence towards the end of the 19th century.

In 1887-88, a French military officer, Louis-Gustave Binger, undertook an expedition to the area and proved it didn’t exist. Yet, in my work as a professor of cartography, I was amazed to stumble upon a reference to “Kong Mountains, French W. Africa” in the index of the 1936 edition of The Oxford Advanced Atlas – almost 50 years after Binger’s expedition.

This underlines the lasting impact that maps have on how we see and understand the world. Mapmakers even enabled important early case law for the copyright protections that are being tested by AI today.

In 1785, London map publisher Robert Sayer sued his local rival John Hamilton Moore for copying his nautical charts – but the court ruled in favour of Moore. It found that earlier charts could be consulted and improved, provided the new work was not simply a “servile imitation” but an improvement on what came before.

This ruling has been cited as a defence of AI, which consumes huge quantities of copyrighted material, but which reconstitutes it in ways that don’t appear as direct imitations.

A breakdown of trust

There has always been a huge amount of trust placed in the technology used to make our maps, from the ancient Greek dioptra (a surveying instrument) to modern satellites. But that trust was brought into question recently when Google added generative AI to its Google Earth satellite image platform, making it possible to create convincing but fictional satellite images.

Rather than take Google’s suggestions to render historic buildings or a “lakeside dream home”, some users were quick to make and share worrying images including bombed suburbs, collapsed landmarks and burning oil refineries.

The outcry was vociferous – including from fact checkers such as BBC Verify. Within 24 hours, Google rolled back the tool, Nano Banana 2, and promised “stronger guardrails” in the future.

The controversy is, in part, a tribute to the deep level of confidence Google Earth has earned from its user base – among them, fact checkers, journalists and the open-source intelligence community who depend on Google’s satellite mapping tool to verify life-threatening events in near-real time, from floods to famines.

Satellite imagery is now a key part of the visual vocabulary of our 24-hour news cycle. Countless times each day, we consult a map on our phones or scroll past satellite imagery in a news feed. These images have become so commonplace because they can track wildfires, reveal the destruction of Gaza, or document US military action in Iran. They offer a god’s eye view of Earth.

‘A mirror of the real world’

Journalists must act fast to verify and publish, which is why embedding generative AI within Google Earth was such a problem. Google stressed there would be an automatic AI watermark with every image generated – but this could be cropped out before sharing.

The process was also subtly different from requesting an entire image be created from scratch. In my test for this article, prompting ChatGPT to “generate a photorealistic satellite image of central London following a severe flood” appeared to return a plausible image.

Looking more closely, however, I could see that some buildings were misshapen and major roads were wonky. Verification against Google Earth (what else?) easily flagged these issues, so the image could safely be ignored and labelled a fake.

By uniting Google Earth with Nano Banana 2, genuine satellite images were being edited. If you wanted to collapse the Eiffel Tower, the points of reference around the disaster would still have aligned with the accredited source imagery. No oddities and errors would be found across the full image, thus providing much less for the fact checkers to go on when validating their sources.

This validation process was used by the independent investigative journalism organisation Bellingcat to show that the Russian government had faked satellite imagery which suggested Malaysia Airlines MH17 had, in fact, been shot down by a Ukrainian fighter jet in July 2014. The headline of the Bellingcat article explaining its approach asked: “Who to trust, Google or the Russian MoD?”

Until the recent Google Earth AI furore, the answer to that question was in little doubt. As Google’s former geospatial technologist wrote: “We used to describe Google Earth and Maps as a mirror of the real world … That absolute bedrock of trust was structurally shattered this week.”

Our trust in maps has been built up over centuries. Trust in Google Earth has taken just two decades (it was originally launched as EarthViewer3D on June 11 2001 by a US tech startup that Google bought three years later). After countless pioneering refinements since the tool’s relaunch on June 28 2005, Google risked flooding the internet with more AI slop and fake images that run counter to what makes Google Earth, and maps in general, so valuable.

But Google’s rapid climbdown offers a welcome reminder about the values that have been at the heart of mapmaking throughout history. In the clamour to insert AI technology in every aspect of our lives, even the most evangelical tech companies still value trust above everything else.

James Cheshire receives funding from UKRI.