In 1917, a year after Albert Einstein’s general theory of relativity was published—but still two years before he would become the international celebrity we know—Einstein chose to tackle the entire universe. For anyone else, this might seem an exceedingly ambitious task—but this was Einstein.
Einstein began by applying his field equations of gravitation to what he considered to be the entire universe. The field equations were the mathematical essence of his general theory of relativity, which extended Newton’s theory of gravity to realms where speeds approach that of light and masses are very large. But his math was better than he wanted to believe—his equations told him that the universe could not stay static: it had to either expand or contract. Einstein chose to ignore what his mathematics was telling him.
The story of Einstein’s solution to this problem—the maligned “cosmological constant” (also called lambda)—is well known in the history of science. But this story, it turns out, has a different ending than everyone thought: Einstein late in life returned to considering his disgraced lambda. And his conversion foretold lambda’s use in an unexpected new setting, with immense relevance to a key conundrum in modern physics and cosmology: dark energy.
There’s something rejuvenating about escaping civilization for the quiet isolation of unadulterated wilderness. But could you leave it all behind — forever? That’s the fate that awaits the men and women still in contention for a one-way ticket to the Red Planet.
Blood samples are an invaluable tool, but often they’re just the tip of the diagnostic iceberg, something that determines whether additional, more sensitive tests and scans might be necessary. But new technology may make it possible to use individual cells in a patient’s blood sample to get far more specific and actionable information. A technique being developed by San Diego–based Epic Sciences can determine whether a cancer patient is an appropriate candidate for a drug, and even whether the drug is losing its efficacy.
In research presented last month at the Personalized Medicine World Conference in Palo Alto, CA, Epic described how their technology can be used to reliably pick out rare cells from a blood sample. In the case of cancer, these rare, circulating tumor cells could one day tell an oncologist not only whether a patient’s cancer has returned, but also whether it’s growing resistant to the current treatment regimen—something only expensive scans and invasive biopsies can do with any accuracy today.
This article was originally published on The Conversation.
Most office workers send dozens of electronic communications to colleagues in any given working day, through email, instant messaging and intranet systems. So many in fact that you might not notice subtle changes in the language your fellow employees use.
Instead of ending their email with “See ya!”, they might suddenly offer you “Kind regards.” Instead of talking about “us,” they might refer to themselves more. Would you pick up on it if they did?
These changes are important and could hint at a disgruntled employee about to go rogue. Our findings demonstrate how language may provide an indirect way of identifying employees who are undertaking an insider attack.
My team has tested whether it’s possible to detect insider threats within a company just by looking at how employees communicate with each other. If a person is planning to act maliciously to damage their employer or sneak out commercially sensitive material, the way they interact with their co-workers changes.
The Sochi Olympics are churning out dramatic victories – but athletes aren’t the only ones who fine-tuned their craft to get here. As U.S. bobsledders, skaters and lugers compete during these Games, they’re doing so with cutting-edge technology that’s gone through an equally exhaustive testing process.
These technological upgrades, which look to bolster their respective sports with faster times and improved features, will help athletes stand their best chance yet at scoring the gold this year. Here we take a look at three notable improvements.
With speed skating, the difference between scoring a gold medal and walking home empty-handed is determined by a fraction of a second. To help put U.S. Olympic speed skaters on the winning side of that difference, sporting goods manufacturer
Under Armour and defense contractor Lockheed Martin created the Mach 39 speed skating suit to shave off those precious nanoseconds.
Whereas most suits try to be as slick and aerodynamic as possible, Under Armour went the opposite direction by installing “flow-molding” on the backside of the Mach 39 suits. These strategically placed dimples work like the bumps on a golf ball, cutting back drag that accumulates behind high-velocity objects. “We’re trying to disrupt that air flow before it bulks up behind a skater,” Chief of Innovation Kevin Haley said.
Along with reduced air drag, the suits also cut down on friction generated between the athlete’s thighs as they cross over one another for tight track turns. Dubbed “Armour Glide,” these textiles are strategically located on the athlete’s inner thighs, where t
he most friction—and energy waste—occurs. With the textiles, athletes see a 65% drop in the coefficient of friction between the legs, letting them redirect their strength onto the ice and “put more power into the skates,” Haley said.
Earlier this month, when a few high-traffic news websites reported a strange object or wedge-shaped craft on Google Moon, I was skeptical. Surprised, too, because when I opened the application, there it was, a distinct V-shape of bright lights inside a tiny crater on the moon’s far side. It did not look natural. I marked its location at 142 degrees and 34 minutes east and 22 degrees 42 minutes north, at the edge of Mare Moscoviense.
The “Acknowledgements” section of a scientific paper is usually a good cure for insomnia—just a list of names of collaborating scientists and funding agencies. So what is the U.S. National Swim Team doing in the acknowledgements of a new paper on dolphins?
Turns out our swim team held the answer to one of marine biology’s oldest conundrums—how dolphins swim so fast with limited muscle power.
The problem dates back to 1936, when Sir James Gray studied a dolphin clocked swimming at 22.4 mph around a boat (note: that’s fast for water). Using a simple hydrodynamic model and what he knew about the dolphin’s size and power, Gray concluded that there was no way the dolphin could move that fast without some fluid mechanics wizardry, such as some special technique to modify the flow of the water and reduce the amount of drag. Herein lay what became known as “Gray’s paradox”—short of having the same trainer as Alex Rodriguez, how could dolphins move at that speed?
For years, medical researchers have been talking about the day when babies will have their whole genomes sequenced at birth, the day when genomic analysis will allow every patient to be treated not just based on her condition but on which treatment is the best match for her genetic quirks. There will be a day, they say, when we will all carry our genomes around on a thumb drive. But the hurdles, fiscal and otherwise, have proven difficult to overcome.
The DNA of one set of human chromosomes contains 3 billion base pairs—most cells are diploid and have two sets of chromosomes, one from each parent. Sequencing these six billion base pairs, one pair at a time, is unquestionably faster and cheaper than it once was: Since its less-than-humble beginnings almost 15 years ago, human genome sequencing has dropped from $100 million to around $1000. Instead of years, it can now be completed in a day or two.
Yet while that’s incredible progress, it’s not quite enough. Not only is it still too pricey for everyday use, but once that genome has been sequenced it also has to be mapped and analyzed—the process in which the sequenced base pairs are assigned to the correct chromosome and assessed for mutations, something that can take a couple of days or more. What to do with the resulting data is another problem: The genome and its resulting analysis typically occupy about 400GB. (For reference, the 2013 laptop I’m using to write this post has a storage capacity of 250GB—my genome wouldn’t come close to fitting on it.) Securely storing data from 500 or 5000 patients—at about $1 per gigabyte—typically costs hundreds of thousands of dollars per year.
Outside it is cold, cold — ten degrees below, give or take. I step out with my coat zipped up to my chin and my feet encased in heavy rubber boots. The glittering street is empty; the wool-gray sky is low. Under my scarf and gloves and thermals I can feel my pulse begin to make a racket. I do not care. I observe my breath. I wait.
A week before, not even a whole week, the roads showed black tire tracks and the trees’ bare branches stood clean against blue sky. Now Ottawa is buried in snow. My friends’ house is buried in snow. Chilling winds strafe the town. The sight of falling flakes makes me shiver; it fills the space in my head that is devoted to wonder. How beautiful they are, I think. How beautiful are all these sticky and shiny fragments. When will they stop? In an hour? A day? A week? A month? There is no telling. Nobody can second-guess the snow.
The neighbors have not seen its like in a generation, they tell me. Shovels in hand, they dig paths from their garage doors out to the road. The older men affect expressions both of nonchalance and annoyance, but their expressions soon come undone. Faint smiles form at the corners of their wind-chapped mouths. Granted, it is exhausting to trudge the snowy streets to the shops. Every leg muscle slips and tightens; every step forward seems to take an age.
When I return, my friends ask me to help them clear the roof. I wobble up a leaning ladder and lend a hand. A strangely cheerful sense of futility lightens our labor: in the morning, we know, the roof will shine bright white again. Hot under my onion layers of clothing, I carry a shirtful of perspiration back into the house. Wet socks unpeel like Band-Aids from my feet; the warm air smarts my skin. I wash and change my clothes.
In case you were asleep yesterday and missed the big news, the European Space Agency’s (ESA) Rosetta spacecraft woke up from its 31-month hibernation. After the robotic equivalent of a drinking a black coffee — warming its navigation systems, pulling out of a spin, and pointing a radio dish toward Earth — Rosetta beamed a message to its home planet: Hello, world. NASA’s Goldstone antenna in California picked up the transmission and sent it to a roomful of scientists, who engaged in some unprecedented fist-pumping at the news that their comet-chronicling craft was alive and well. Rosetta’s Twitter account then said “hello” to the world in 23 different languages.
Rosetta is on its way to Comet 67P/Churyumov-Gerasimenko, a 1.9 by 3.1-mile (3 by 5-kilometer) chunk of dust and ice that’s headed toward the sun. When the spacecraft reaches its destination, it will begin to orbit the comet, spending two months scrutinizing the surface. This is a first: While astronomers have taken fly-by pictures, no one has ever tried to give a comet a satellite.