By Ashleigh Hallinan < Back to Issue 3 Space exploration in Antartica By Ashleigh Hallinan 10 September 2022 Edited by Tanya Kovacevic and Breana Galea Illustrated by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin Next The isolated southern expanse of the Earth is an alien realm, with vast expanses of white ice and blue sky that appear to stretch on infinitely. Despite its barren landscape, the Antarctic continent holds secrets to the origins of our Earth and the solar system in the form of meteorites. Meteorites are solid pieces of debris that originate in outer space, survive the journey through our atmosphere, and fall to the Earth’s surface.(1) Their unique components and pungent smells contain fascinating stories of cosmic clouds, condensing stardust and the fiery collisions of entire planets. These ‘space rocks’ can land anywhere on Earth, but the vast majority of meteorites are found in the cold deserts of Antarctica.(2) So, why Antarctica? Across the globe, meteorite abundance is dependent on two factors: the meteorites must be easy to spot, and their preservation must be guaranteed over long time periods.(3) It is the conditions of the Antarctic landscape that make all the difference when it comes to meteorite discovery. The cold, dry nature of Antarctica helps to preserve these extraterrestrial rocks, allowing for more pristine samples to be collected. In this way, we may think of Antarctica as a ‘natural freezer’. In fact, meteorites can be buried and preserved in the Antarctic ice for up to millions of years, allowing for a deep dive into the origins of the solar system upon analysis. Furthermore, meteorites are easier to find in Antarctica due to the stark contrast between the dark colours of meteorites and the white ice. And since so few rocks naturally form on ice sheets, you can be fairly certain the majority of rocks found in Antarctica are extraterrestrial. However, an expedition to Antarctica for meteorite hunting is no small feat. Thankfully, landscape processes occurring on the Antarctic continent create concentrated pockets of meteorites, making the hunt for meteorites less like trying to find a needle in a haystack. These meteorite hotspots are largely a result of the local geology and movement of ice across the Antarctic landscape.(4) As meteorites strike glaciers, they are buried and encased in the ice. These glaciers move across the landscape, acting as ‘conveyor belts’ that carry the meteorites until they reach a large barrier, such as the Transantarctic Mountains. The ice flow is blocked and builds up at the base of the mountain. Here, dry Antarctic winds slowly erode the ice, revealing a bounty of imprisoned meteorites. Traditionally, meteorites have been divided into three broad categories: stony, stony-iron, and iron.(5) While stony meteorites are made up of silicate minerals, iron meteorites are almost completely made of metal. Unsurprisingly, stony-iron meteorites are composed of nearly equal amounts of metal and silicate crystals. Alarmingly, warmer temperatures and melting ice associated with global warming may hinder our search for meteorites. This is particularly the case for iron meteorites, which conduct heat more efficiently than other meteorite types due to their higher metal content.(6) Consequently, meteorites can sink into the ice and out of sight. Despite Antarctica’s otherworldliness, it is not free of the impacts brought about by human activity occurring on landmasses separated by vast seas. However, with the help of artificial intelligence and machine-learning, the quest for meteorite discovery continues. Scientists recently estimated there are as many as 300,000 more meteorites to be discovered in Antarctica, their stories waiting to be uncovered in a never-ending game of hide-and-seek.(7) Using machine learning to combine satellite measurements of temperature, surface slope, speed of ice flow, and reflection of radar signals by ice, scientists have developed a ‘treasure map’ containing the predicted locations of concentrated meteorite zones.(7) The ’treasure map’ is accessible online,(8) so anyone can search the Antarctic continent for rocky remnants left over from the formation of the solar system. When we think of space exploration, we conjure up images of astronauts and spaceships. But Antarctica provides us with the opportunity to peer into the cosmos without ever leaving Earth, given we are brave enough to face the inhospitable conditions and pervasive alienness of the Earth’s southernmost continent. References 1. Sephton M, Bland P, Pillinger C, Gilmour I. The preservation state of organic matter in meteorites from Antarctica. Meteoritics & Planetary Science. 2004;39(5):747-54. 2. Corrigan C. Antarctica: The Best Place on Earth to Collect Meteorites. CosmoELEMENTS; 2011. p. 296. 3. Schlüter J, Schultz L, Thiedig F, Al‐Mahdi B, Aghreb AA. The Dar al Gani meteorite field (Libyan Sahara): Geological setting, pairing of meteorites, and recovery density. Meteoritics & Planetary Science. 2002;37(8):1079-93. 4. Steigerwald B. NASA Scientist Collects Bits of the Solar System from an Antarctic Glacier Greenbelt: NASA; 2018 [Available from: https://www.nasa.gov/feature/goddard/2018/antarctic-meteorites. 5. Lotzof K. Types of meteorites [Internet]. Natural History Museum; [Available from: https://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/types-of-meteorites.html. 6. Evatt G, Coughlan M, Joy K, Smedley A, Connolly P, Abrahams I. A potential hidden layer of meteorites below the ice surface of Antarctica. Nature communications. 2016;7(1):1-8. 7. Tollenaar V, Zekollari H, Lhermitte S, Tax DM, Debaille V, Goderis S, et al. Unexplored Antarctic meteorite collection sites revealed through machine learning. Science Advances. 2022;8(4). 8. Tollenaar V, Zekollari H, Lhermitte S, Tax DM, Debaille V, S G. Antarctic Meteorite Stranding Zones [Internet]. [Available from: https://wheretocatchafallingstar.science/. Previous article Next article alien back to

By Mia Horsfall < Back to Issue 3 AI and a notion of 'artificial humanity' By Mia Horsfall 10 September 2022 Edited by Breana Galea and Andrew Lim Illustrated by Matthew Duffy Next In the cradle of the day, a girl blinks to life. The sun is cool, still crouched beyond the trees, waiting for its cue to take centre-stage. Knees and knobs and spokes and all, she struggles to stand in the grass, furrowing her toes into the Earth for traction. Clean, unmarked and without memories, she looks to the sky with contentment, unaware of the work ahead. The notion of “Artificial” Intelligence is an interesting way to describe the vast and variegated mechanisms it encompasses. Not only does it pre-suppose the existence of “intelligence” within these machines, but it implies the existence of some antithetical “natural” intelligence. The term itself is a dichotomy, simultaneously alienating and connecting AI to humans. This poses some significant moral and ethical dilemmas that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. As the advent of AI becomes more intricately interwoven with mundane happenings, we are forced to grapple with the seemingly unanswerable question: At what point does “Artificial” Intelligence become indistinguishable from “Authentic” Intelligence? With the advent of Artificial Intelligence, public opinion surrounding the role AI should and does occupy has undergone dramatic alterations. Films and books such as “Her” (2013) and “Klara and the Sun” (2021) have explored the implications of assimilation of AI with humanity. In both pieces, AI transcends the purely utilitarian role originally defined and progresses into emotional connections with human counter-parts. It stands to reason that if these AI can enter and engage in emotionally significant relationships in the same capacity as humans, what exactly does the distinction between human and machine become? In order to define what AI is, we should first come to a conclusion of what it means to be human. So why is it so important to arrive at a definition of humanity in considering the ethics of AI inclusion in society? Well, as Hauskeller points out ‘the term ‘human’ is not primarily used to refer to a particular kind of entity...it implies a particular moral status’ (Hauskeller, 2009). That is, a subject is assigned a higher moral value in its assignment as ‘human’ and a purely physical application of the word would result in little distinction between us and other species. ‘A meaning of the word is a kind of employment of it’ (Wittgenstein, 1953), suggesting meanings and the terms to describe them are co-dependent and self-referential. Hence what it means to be ‘human’ is directly aligned with what subjects are assigned such a title. But arriving at a definition for “human” is no easy task. Philosophers and scientists have debated what constitutes the term human with little success, the definition changing across historical periods. In order to demonstrate the transient nature of the term ‘human’, a comparative analysis of definitions across historical periods provides a comprehensive overview of the dynamism that defines humankind. Hauskeller contends that any given definition of ‘human’ is ‘persuasive’. That is, each attempt ‘implicitly or explicitly claims to be of prime significance for the way we ought to lead our lives’ (Haukeller, 2009). By nature of the fact there exists multiple definitions of what characterises humanity, it can be inferred ideals of human society are themselves transient. For instance, Plato contends intelligence prevails above every aspect of human nature (White, 2013) as it is ‘the only part of himself which he does not share with the animal kingdom’ (Plato, referenced in White 2013). Whilst this definition may appear simplistic or constrictive, it is also not intrinsically wrong, merely indicative of the era in which it was formulated. Kant expounds upon the need to define ‘humanity’ asserting that any definition of an individual in isolation from a collective is futile and insufficient. Rather, it is only the ability ‘to treat himself and others according to the principle of freedom under the laws’ (Kant, referenced in Cohen, 2008) that defines humanity. In essence, it is only in relation to others that individuals may exist as human, congruent with Cohen’s assertion that ‘the study of the other is the yardstick by which men measure their own common humanity’ (Cohen, 2008). Heidegger adopts a markedly different approach in his ‘Being and time’, recognising the fluidity of human nature and creating Dasein who Oleson asserts is ‘the being of a human being, understood as the being that is concerned with being itself’ (Oleson, 2013), embodying the definition of humanity through a representation of the history of being (Oleson, 2013). Dasein exists as ‘the connection between historicality and temporality’ (Heidegger, 1927), and in this way, Heidegger seeks to define humanity by means of its instability. From these hugely variegated definitions of what constitutes the state of being human, it becomes clear we are unlikely to determine one singular, immutable definition of what it is to be human. Hence, it is difficult to have a constant point of comparison to see whether AI has “surpassed” its limits and transcended into some form of humanity. But with the increasing capabilities of AI, it stands to reason there be provisions in place in both law and politics to account not only for the implications of AI upon humanity, but for the representation of AI and its potential forms. Even if this representation or legislation is aspirational, it stands to reason there be policies in place, as various machine learning figures become more and more prominent in society and culture. At the end of the day, the girl stands cemented in her place. The line between her arms and the cogs she operates is indistinguishable amongst the black haze of smoke. In a town not too far from here, children kiss their mothers good night and fall asleep. But here, in this place, with this grime, she stands cold and unfeeling, the sky obscured by the machinery above. Previous article Next article alien back to

About Us OmniSci Magazine is a science magazine at the University of Melbourne, run entirely by students, for students. Our team consists of talented feature writers, columnists, editors, graphics designers, social media and web development officers, all passionate about communicating science! Past Contributor Interviews Editors-in-Chief Ingrid Sefton President Kara Miwa-Dale President Current Committee Jess Walton Secretary Ciara Dahl General Committee Esme MacGillivray Treasurer Luci Ackland General Committee Kylie Wang Events and Socials Saraf Ishmam General Committee Elijah McEvoy Events and Socials Past Editors-in-Chief Aisyah M. Sulhaddin 2024-2025 Yvette Marris 2022-2023 Rachel Ko 2022-2024 Sophia Lin 2021-2022 Patrick Grave 2021-2023 Maya Salinger 2021-2022 Caitlin Kane 2022-2023 Felicity Hu 2021-2022

< Back to Issue 6 Cosmic Carbon Vs Artificial Intelligence by Gaurika Loomba 28 May 2024 Edited by Rita Fortune Illustrated by Semko van de Wolfshaar “There are many peculiar aspects of the laws of nature that, had they been slightly different, would have precluded the existence of life” - Paul Davies, 2003 Almost four billion years ago, there was nothing but an incredibly hot, dense speck of matter. This speck exploded, and the universe was born. Within the first hundredth of a billionth of a trillionth of a trillionth second, the universe began expanding at an astronomical rate. For the next 400 million years, the universe was made of hydrogen, helium, and a dash of lithium – until I was born. And thus began all life as you know it. So how did I, the element of life, the fuel of industries, and the constituent of important materials, originate? Stars. Those shiny, mystical dots in the night sky are giant balls of hot hydrogen and helium gas. Only in their centres are temperatures high enough to facilitate the collision of three helium-4 nuclei within a tiny fraction of a second. I am carbon-12, the element born out of this extraordinary reaction. My astronomical powers come from my atomic structure; I have six electrons, six protons, and six neutrons. The electrons form teardrop shaped clouds, spread tetrahedrally around my core, my nucleus, where the protons and neutrons reside. My petite size and my outer electrons allow my nucleus to exert a balanced force on other atoms that I bond with. This ability to make stable bonds makes me a major component of proteins, lipids, nucleic acids, and carbohydrates, the building blocks of life. The outer electrons also allow me to form chains, sheets, and blocks of matter, such as diamond, with other carbon-12 atoms. Over the years of evolution, organic matter buried in Earth formed fossil fuels, so I am also the fuel that runs the modern world. As if science wasn’t enough, my spiritual significance reiterates my importance for the existence of life. According to the Hindu philosophy, the divine symbol, ‘Aum’ is the primordial sound of the Cosmos and ‘Swastika’, its visual embodiment. ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’, the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet, represent the beginning and ending, that is the ‘Eternal’ according to Christian spirituality. When scientists photographed my atomic structure, spiritual leaders saw the ‘Aum’ in my three-dimensional view and the ‘Swastika’ in my two-dimensional view. Through other angles, the ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’ have also been visualised (Knowledge of Reality, 2001). I am the element of life, and within me is the divine consciousness. I am the beginning and I am the end. My greatness has been agreed upon by science and spirituality. In my absence, there would be no life, an idea humans call carbon chauvinism. This ideology and my greatness remained unquestioned for billions of years, until the birth of Artificial Intelligence. I shaped the course of evolution for humans to be self-conscious and intelligent life forms. With the awareness of self, I aspired for humans to connect back to the Cosmos. But now my intelligent toolmakers, aka humans, are building intelligent tools. Intelligence and self-consciousness, which took nature millions of years to generate, is losing its uniqueness. Unfortunately, if software can be intelligent, there is nothing to stop it becoming conscious in the future. Soon, the earth will be populated by silicon-based entities that can compete with my best creation. Does this possibility compromise my superiority? A lot of you may justifiably think so. The truth is that I am the beginning. Historically, visionaries foresaw asteroid attacks as the end to human life. These days, climate change, which is an imbalance of carbon in the environment, is another prospective end. Now, people believe that conscious AI will outlive humans. Suggesting that I will not be the end; that my powers and superiority will be snatched by AI. So the remaining question is, who will be the end? I could tell you the truth, but I want to see who is with me at the end. The choice is yours. References Davies, P. (2003). Is anyone out there? https://www.theguardian.com/education/2003/jan/22/highereducation .uk Knowledge of Reality (2001). Spiritual Secrets in the Carbon Atom . https://www.sol.com.au/kor/11_02.htm Previous article Next article Elemental back to

< Back to Issue 6 Out of our element by Serenie Tsai 28 May 2024 Edited by Luci Ackland Illustrated by Louise Cen A land teeming with lush forestry and fresh air seems like a far reach from the current state of the world. Not too long ago, this was Earth’s reality. However, with the onset of industrialisation, and the subsequent exploitation of our natural resources, our environment rapidly deteriorated. We polluted our atmosphere and contaminated our waterways with oil and debris. Not only did we pose a threat to human health, we also risked the safety of our future. Experimenting with elements Not long after the Industrial Revolution, the use of nuclear energy arose as an alternative to fossil fuel to combat climate change. Society’s view on nuclear energy became contentious when the largest nuclear disaster to date occurred in Chernobyl in 1986. The explosion of the nuclear reaction caused hundreds to be afflicted by Acute radiation syndrome and many died within a few weeks from this disease (World Nuclear Association, 2022). Following the accident, a 30-kilometre exclusion zone around the power plant was enforced to prevent further contamination to humans. Yet unexpectedly, forest coverage has since increased 1.5 times over (Matsala et al., 2021). In the absence of humans, wildlife appears to be flourishing—in particular, grey wolves are thriving and have become the top predator in the exclusion zone (Itoh, 2018). There remains a lack of research surrounding the long-term implications of radiation on the health of wildlife (Itoh, 2018), good and bad. The negative effects of radiation are evident in the increase of cases of tumour growth and deformed beaks and claws in local birds (Itoh, 2018). The local flora were also negatively impacted with tree rings during the period of the incident indicating that radiation caused a reduction in tree growth (Mousseau et al., 2013). Natural disasters becoming more disastrous Similarly, the impacts of industrialisation have become especially discernible with the increasing severity of natural disasters; effects of which have been further compounded by climate change. Human activities such as the consumption of fossil fuels has played an overwhelming role in the increase of global temperatures, leading to more extreme weather conditions (Wuebbles & Jain, 2001, Nema et al., 2012). These higher temperatures have consequently amplified the intensity of droughts and fire seasons (Liu et al., 2010). Air pollution levels into some areas cause citizens to be perpetually smothered by smoke. Nature’s takeover As the foundation of Earth, nature has the capacity to reclaim areas that humans once inhabited. In Houtouwan, China, a once-thriving fishing village has now been overrun by vegetation. Almost every inch of the village has been camouflaged by vegetation—only mere silhouettes of the buildings remain amongst the greenery. It makes sense that an open area combined with abundant rain and shine would give way to overgrown vegetation; yet a Banyan tree elsewhere in China managed to slowly take root through even just the cracks of a brick floor. In Bangkok, a half-demolished shopping mall is now an oasis for aquatic life. This did not happen of its own accord; the mall was abandoned when it failed local regulations and was then flooded during monsoon season. Locals then introduced fish to prevent insects from breeding in stagnant waters and it has been flourishing ever since. Life is nothing without nature, yet there is a fine line between using nature’s resources for greater good or using it to our demise. There is a dire need to regulate the use of our finite resources. Nature thrives in abandoned places and has the potential to overcome human-inflicted disasters and outlive humanity. References Itoh, M. (2018). Wildlife in the Exclusion Zone in Chernobyl . 177–187. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-70757-0_11 Liu, Y., Stanturf, J., & Goodrick, S. (2010). Trends in global wildfire potential in a changing climate. Forest Ecology and Management , 259 (4), 685–697. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.foreco.2009.09.002 Matsala, M., Bilous, A., Myroniuk, V., Holiaka, D., Schepaschenko, D., See, L., & Kraxner, F. (2021). The Return of Nature to the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone: Increases in Forest Cover of 1.5 Times since the 1986 Disaster. Forests , 12 (8), 1024. https://doi.org/10.3390/f12081024 Mousseau, T. A., Welch, S. M., Chizhevsky, I., Bondarenko, O., Milinevsky, G., Tedeschi, D. J., Bonisoli-Alquati, A., & Møller, A. P. (2013). Tree rings reveal extent of exposure to ionizing radiation in Scots pine Pinus sylvestris. Trees , 27 (5), 1443–1453. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00468-013-0891-z Nema, P., Nema, S., & Roy, P. (2012). An overview of global climate changing in current scenario and mitigation action. Renewable and Sustainable Energy Reviews , 16 (4), 2329–2336. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.rser.2012.01.044 World Nuclear Association. (2022). Chernobyl Accident 1986 . World Nuclear Association. https://world-nuclear.org/information-library/safety-and-security/safety-of-plants/chernobyl-accident.aspx Wuebbles, D. J., & Jain, A. K. (2001). Concerns about Climate Change and the Role of Fossil Fuel Use. Fuel Processing Technology , 71 (1-3), 99–119. ScienceDirect. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0378-3820(01)00139-4 Previous article Next article Elemental back to

Curious what an OmniSci Editor-in-Chief actually does? We spoke to Rachel about drawing anatomy, interviewing a med student hero, and helping build the the science communication universe! Rachel is a writer and Editor-in-Chief at OmniSci, now in her first year of the Doctor of Medicine. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is writing an interview with science communicator, Dr Karen Freilich. Meet OmniSci Writer and Committee Member Rachel Ko Rachel is a writer and Editor-in-Chief at OmniSci, now in her first year of the Doctor of Medicine. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is writing an interview with science communicator, Dr Karen Freilich. interviewed by Caitlin Kane What are you studying? I am currently studying a Doctor of Medicine and I’m in my first year. Before that, I was studying a Bachelor of Biomed. What first got you interested in science? Exposure through education, stuff I’d studied in school. It sparked interests outside of school and I realised it was something that I wanted to pursue as a career. Something that really reinforced my love for science was doing a major in human structure and function, so anatomy. I really enjoyed that I could weave it in with my other passions in things like art and drawing and painting. I was able to look at science in a way that was really the artsy side of science. It's something I’ve tried to pursue with OmniSci as well. Do you have any advice for younger students? Don’t be afraid of trying all areas of science. Because I loved a specific area of science so much, I wanted to make sure that was what reeled me in as compared to other things. I tried a bunch of research projects, some of them I didn’t really love and I had to stick it out to the end, but then I could tick that off my list as having done that, and never have to do it again. But then I did another project which was 3D modelling a bone. It was just me sitting there for hours with a pen, drawing the bone in 3D space, which was very much up my alley. Don’t be afraid of trying everything, even if it feels like a waste of time in the moment. It isn't, it’s the process of filtering out and finding out what you love. And I’m still in that process. I have no idea what kind of medicine I want to go into, but I’m going by process of elimination and finding where I fit in the realm of science in that way. How did you get involved with OmniSci? Like I said, I like the artsy side of science. I actually sought out a few non-science related magazines at uni. I’ve always been into journalism and I love writing as well, so it made sense for me to look into that in my undergrad years. OmniSci emerged during those undergrad years and I thought, “Perfect!” I was a columnist first and I started doing some illustrations as well. Then I dropped my role at Farrago completely just to concentrate on this because I found it was a really nice intersection of what I love to do. My column was about vestigial features, like useless body parts, which I thought would be a fun, light column–I just wanted something cute and fun. So I started that, and now… I’m in the committee. What is your role at OmniSci? I am an Editor-in-Chief at the moment, and I have also written one of the pieces for Issue 4, purely because of my love for writing and contributing. I might step in as an illustrator at some point… I’m hoping in this break I can sit down and draw a little more than I used to. As Editors-in-Chief, we work with the committee to coordinate the things being published and try to envision what role OmniSci plays within the science communication universe. And whilst figuring out what we’re publishing and putting out to the world, we’re also trying to include the rest of the student community. We also have social events so that we can share our love for…whether it’s science or art or writing… any of the parts that OmniSci encompasses. We're there to keep everything chugging along!. What is your favourite thing about contributing at OmniSci so far? The people that you meet along the way. I do eventually want to pursue science communication myself, alongside medicine. I don’t know what that will look like, but I know that the people who will be involved in that space are the people you meet at the moment. Even with the committee, chatting about things and discussing interests has been super enlightening. When you expand that to the rest of the OmniSci community, I think it’s super super rewarding. Also seeing something tangible come out of it all… I just love seeing the magazine come together. When we printed it—though not ideal for the environment for every issue—to have the paper magazine in our hands from last year was super rewarding to see. Can you give us a sneak peak of what you're working on this issue? Well as Editor-in-Chief, the whole issue is kind of our collective baby! Personally I interviewed Dr Karen Freilich, a GP specialising in sexual health and working in education as well. I was lucky enough to have her as one of my sexual health elective tutors. She also started a podcast when she was in medical school called Humerus Hacks. It is basically super famous within the med student community. It sounds like such a simple thing, but just to hear her and the friend she started the podcast with talk things through and make things entertaining… it was such a fresh way of getting the information out. It’s kind of what we do at OmniSci: make science more accessible to people who might feel intimidated by those bigger, wider topics that they might never have ventured into. And the whole point of a magazine is to get information out to more people, and to spark interest, and show people that these things exist. As a med student, I kind of came across it as naturally as you could have. And as she was my tutor, I thought it was such an important opportunity to talk to her about why she did it and where she sees science communication going. What do you like doing in your spare time (when you're not contributing at OmniSci)? Well, there’s the anatomical art. I haven’t had a lot of time to do that… and I’ve been really wanting to try and incorporate it into my study but I spend a lot of time on one painting so it wouldn’t have been time efficient. But my plan for this break is to go to a bar, get myself a drink and just paint on my own… relax in that way. Otherwise, I play the violin, something I like to destress. It’s actually been a surprisingly big part of my life in med because there's a medical student orchestra. The rehearsals are quite long but it’s actually quite worth it to be sitting there not thinking about medicine. And yeah, just catching up with friends, going cafe hopping, bar hopping, that’s what I like to spend time doing. Which chemical element would you name your firstborn child (or pet) after? Let me pull up a visual aid. I actually don’t mind chemistry, but after year twelve I’ve kind of put a line between myself and it. Have you seen that trend online where people are pulling up words that would be really pretty baby names if they didn’t mean what they meant? Ooh, I’m going to go with Livermorium, Liv for short. Element 160. There’s some good ones—you could go Rutherfordium, Ruth for short. Read Rachel's articles Silent Conversations: How Trees Talk to One Another Wiggling Ears Our Microbial Frenemies Hiccups The Evolution of Science Communication Law and Disorder: Medically Supervised Injection Centres “Blink and you’ll miss it”: A Third Eyelid? Mighty Microscopic Warriors!

< Back to Issue 6 Fire and Brimstone by Jesse Allen 28 May 2024 Edited by Sakura Kojima Illustrated by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin CW: references to death, religion The year is 1783, and it seems that the end is nigh – at least, that is the impression of Icelandic priest Jón Steingrímsson. His diary offers a striking firsthand account of a fissure eruption which would last around eight months and claim the lives of approximately 9,000 people. These events are characterised by the emergence of molten magma through a crack in the Earth’s crust; and though they might lack the dramatic, Vesuvian spectacle of a typical volcanic eruption, they can be no less devastating (Witt et al., 2018). Steingrímsson recounts how “the ground swelled up with tremendous howling” before “flames and fire erupted” and sent “great blocks of rock and pieces of grass…high into the air”. There could only be one explanation for such apocalyptic scenes: these were surely “the signs of an angry god” (Bressan, 2013). In a last-ditch effort to save the local populace from this act of divine wrath, Steingrímsson held a church service in the town of Kirkjubæjarklaustur – which the relentless magma threatened to engulf – in which he urged repentance and led feverish prayers for mercy. It has gone down in Icelandic folklore as the Eldmessa , or ‘fire mass’ (Andrews, 2018). Since October 2023, Iceland’s Reykjanes Peninsula has been beset with an intense new wave of seismic activity and fissure eruptions (Andrews, 2024). In these ‘rift zones,’ magma can seep upwards through splits in the Earth’s crust towards the surface, forming large dikes and potentially creating multiple vents from which lava fountains can occur (Witt et al., 2018). At the time of writing, the situation has been declared stable by the Icelandic Met Office. But after centuries of dormancy, it has made the extraordinary power residing beneath the surface of our planet abundantly clear to local and international observers alike. It might seem that people are helpless in the face of such raw, elemental forces; all we can do is hope and pray. Yet, thanks to the tireless work of local authorities and dedicated scientists, it has become possible to decode the previously ineffable language of the fiery interior – and save lives in the process (Andrews, 2024). At the heart of this effort lies the Interferometric Synthetic Aperture Radar (InSAR), which enables scientists to map surface deformations and, hence, to infer magma movements (Tolpekin, 2023). This imaging technique records the backscatter of microwave signals as they ‘bounce’ off the surface (European Space Agency, n.d.). When two images are taken of the same location at different times – and then aligned pixel by pixel – the level of deformation can be represented with an interferogram, which functions like a brightly coloured topographic map (NASA, n.d.). This technology has major implications for planning authorities (Ducrocq et al., 2024). The increased frequency and intensity of tremors that began late last year, for instance, heralded the possibility of an imminent eruption. In conjunction with Iceland’s network of over 50 seismographs – ground-based devices which detect movement in all directions – InSAR provided the early warning on November 10 (Icelandic Met Office, n.d.). Beyond measuring the deformation magnitude (around 50 centimetres), scans also showed the localised area that was most likely to be affected, around the town of Grindavik. A state of emergency was declared by the Icelandic government on November 12, and the town was subsequently evacuated. The Reykjanes fissure first erupted in December and has done so three more times since then, as of 19th March 2024 (Baker, 2024). Having lain dormant for centuries, the peninsula could now face decades, even centuries, of heightened volcanic activity (Andrews, 2024). Situated on the ridge between the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates, Iceland has long been a hotbed for geologists and other scientists; the most recent eruptions will continue to foster a deeper knowledge of the primordial forces at work beneath the crust. Even technology such as InSAR cannot flawlessly predict where the next fissure will occur, with the systems at work simply too complex and subject to unpredictable changes, nor does it offer the opportunity to tame these forces. But forewarned is forearmed: the lives that have already been saved illuminate the role of scientific understanding as a force for overcoming our powerlessness in the face of the elements. The fury of heaven, as Steingrímsson would surely have it. References Andrews, R.G. (2024, February 20). Inside Scientists’ Life-Saving Prediction of the Iceland Eruption. Quanta Magazine . https://www.quantamagazine.org/inside-scientists-life-saving-prediction-of-the-iceland-eruption-20240220/ Andrews, R.G. (2018, April 4). The Legend of The Icelandic Pastor Who Appeared To Stop A Lava Flow. Forbes . https://www.forbes.com/sites/robinandrews/2018/04/24/the-legend-of-the-icelandic-pastor-who-appeared-to-stop-a-lava-flow/?sh=703ae4301798 Baker, H. (2024, March 19). Iceland volcano: 'Most powerful' eruption yet narrowly misses Grindavik but could still trigger life-threatening toxic gas plume . Live Science. https://www.livescience.com/planet-earth/volcanos/iceland-volcano-most-powerful-eruption-yet-narrowly-misses-grindavik-but-could-still-trigger-life-threatening-toxic-gas-plume Bressan, D. (2013, June 8). June 8, 1783: How the “Laki-eruptions” changed History . Scientific American. https://www.scientificamerican.com/blog/history-of-geology/8-june-1783-how-the-laki-eruptions-changed-history/ Ducrocq, C., Arnadottir, T., Einarsson, P., Jonsson, s., Drouin, V., Geirsson, H., & Hjartadottir, A.R. (2024). Widespread fracture movements during a volcano-tectonic unrest: the Reykjanes Peninsula, Iceland, from 2019-2021 TerraSAR-X intereferometry. Bulletin of Volcanology , 86 (14). https://doi.org/10.1007/s00445-023-01699-0 European Space Agency (n.d.). How does interferometry work? https://www.esa.int/Applications/Observing_the_Earth/How_does_interferometry_work Icelandic Met Office (n.d.). 100 Years of Seismic Observations . https://en.vedur.is/earthquakes-and-volcanism/conferences/jsr-2009/100_years/ NASA (n.d.). Interferometry . https://nisar.jpl.nasa.gov/mission/get-to-know-sar/interferometry/#:~:text=Interferometry%20is%20an%20imaging%20technique,reveal%20surface%20motion%20and%20change . Tolpekin, V. (2023, November 17). ICEYE Interferometric Analysis: Monitoring Potential Volcanic Eruption in Iceland . ICEYE. https://www.iceye.com/blog/iceye-interferometric-analysis-monitoring-potential-volcanic-eruption-in-iceland Witt, T., Walter, R.T., Muller, D., Gudmundsson, M.T., & Schopa, A. (2018). The relationship between lava fountaing and vent morphology for the 2014-2015 Holuhraun eruption, Iceland, analysed by video monitoring and topographic mapping. Frontiers in Earth Science , 6. https://doi.org/10.3389/feart.2018.00235 Previous article Next article Elemental back to

< Back to Issue 6 A Brief History of the Elements: Finding a Seat at the Periodic Table by Xenophon Papas 28 May 2024 Edited by Arwen Nguyen-Ngo Illustrated by Rachel Ko What are we made of and where did it all come from? Such questions have pervaded the minds of scientific thinkers since ancient times and have entered all fields of enquiry, from the physical to the philosophical. Our best scientific theory today asserts that we’re made of atoms, and these atoms come in different shapes and sizes. Fundamentally, they can be described by the number of subatomic particles (protons, neutrons, and electrons) they contain (Jefferson Lab, 2012). Neatly arranged in a grid, these different elements form the periodic table we know and love today; but it was not always this way. The story of how the periodic table of elements came to be harks back to Ancient Greece and winds its way through the enlightenment into the 20th century. It is an unfinished story of which we are at the frontier of today: in search of dark matter and the ultimate answer to what the universe is made of. We may never know for sure exactly what everything in existence consists of, but it’s a pursuit our earliest ancestors would be proud to see us follow. Thales was first in the ancient Greek-speaking world to postulate about the origins of all material things. He theorised that all matter in the universe was made up of just one type of substance – water – and any other forms of solids, liquids and gases were just derivatives thereof. This idea was not initially opposed, given Thales was one of the earliest of the Ancient Greeks to pursue such questions of a scientific nature. Afterall, he’s remembered today as the “Father of Science” in the Western world. As Thales was from Miletus, a city on the coast of the Ionian Sea in modern day Türkiye and part of Magna Graecia in the 6th cent BC, it is not hard to imagine that water was a crucial aspect in trade, agriculture, and daily life at the time. However, this seemed to oversimplify the matter to some of his contemporaries. Empedocles, who was considered more a magician than a philosopher, revised this mono-elemental theorisation in the 5th Century BC. He proposed four basic substances from which all others were made (Mee, 2020). We know them today famously as the four classical elements: Earth, Air, Water and Fire. This asserted a fundamental principle of “fourness”, encompassing the cardinal directions in the Western world during this time. Interestingly, concurrent to this other traditions such as those in China acknowledged five elements and compass points instead. A generation later to Empedocles’ work, Plato embraced his “fourish” formulation. Being heavily influenced by mathematics as the medium through which we make reason of the natural world, Plato related each of these elements to a mathematical object: a convex, regular polyhedron in three-dimensional Euclidean space, otherwise known as a Platonic solid. Earth was associated with the cube, air with the octahedron, water with the icosahedron, and fire with the tetrahedron. Lastly, the most complicated solid, the dodecahedron – itself made up of composite regular polygons – was associated with the makeup of the constellations and the Heavens themselves, their workings said to be unfathomable by human minds (Ball, 2004). His student, Aristotle, ran with this idea and devised a clever way to break up the elements based on their "qualities”, akin to a first periodic table. These binary roles were hot and cold, wet and dry, with an element containing just two of these qualities each. According to Aristotle, each of these elements could be converted to the other by inverting one of their qualities, seemingly bringing about an early form of alchemy. To these four elements, he also appended a fifth - aether or “pure air” - to fill the expanses of the heavens, which also became associated with the fifth Platonic solid. In the Western World, Aristotle’s word was taken as doctrine for a very long time owing greatly to the fall of Rome and the cultural instability thereafter. Where Europe plummeted into the Dark Ages with a reverence for the scholars of antiquity, scientific and literary endeavour flourished in the Middle East – the word alchemy itself having etymologically Arabic roots. It was not until the late 17th century that the likes of Galileo, Newton, and Descartes revived Western scientific pursuit, and sought to understand how the natural world arranged itself. In the 18th century, new discoveries were being made on the frontiers of science in major cities throughout Europe. In 1772, in Paris, Antoine Lavoisier began work on combustion of materials like phosphorus and sulphur. Lavoisier concluded that if something decomposes into simpler substances, then it is not an element. For example, while water can be turned into a gas when passed over hot iron and is therefore not an element, oxygen and hydrogen are indeed elemental. English chemist John Dalton took after Lavoisier and in 1808 began to arrange elements spatially into a chart, accounting for their various properties. In Strasbourg 1827, Wolfgang Döbereiner recognised that groups of threes arose from the list of elements which behaved similarly, known as “Döbereiner's triads" (Free Animated Education, 2023). John Newlands in 1866 put forward the “Law of Octaves”. Elements with similar properties ended up at regular intervals, dividing the elements into seven groups of eight – hence octaves. However, this method of dividing up the elements broke down in some special cases. Now turning to St. Petersburg, Russia, in February of 1869. Dmitri Mendeleev sits at his desk, with a mess of cards covering the surface of his working space. The professor of chemistry rearranges these elemental cards like a jigsaw puzzle, arranging and rearranging them to align them in accordance with their properties. Supposedly after coming to him in a dream, a pattern emerged. Mendeleev saw the ability for the simple tabulation of the elements based on their atomic number and hence their common properties. This newfound tool, based on Lavoisier’s work a century prior, allowed for the prediction of properties of elements which had not even been discovered yet. Elements which Mendeleev believed to exist, even though they presented as empty gaps in the grid structure of the periodic table. Within just twenty years, Mendeleev’s prediction of the existence of such elements like gallium, scandium, and germanium had been validated with experimental fact. All of this was predicted without knowledge of the true reason for similarities of elemental properties – the electron shell arrangement at a subatomic level. Mendeleev had totally changed the way chemists viewed their discipline and has been immortalised for perhaps the greatest breakthrough work in the history of chemistry (Rouvray, 2019). Today we recognise that all the elements in the universe have origins in the high-pressure hearts of stars. Like a hot furnace, they churn out heavier and heavier elements under their immense internal pressures. Once this life cycle comes to an end, the star erupts into a fiery supernova, releasing even more of the heavier elements we see further down the periodic table. In the last 75 years, scientists have added an additional 24 elements to the periodic table, some of which are so difficult to produce that their half-lives last only a few fractions of a millisecond before decaying away to nothing (Charley, 2012). This begs the question; how do we find new elements? Elements can be created via either fission, splitting apart a heavier atom, or fusion, binding two bodies of atoms together. The heavier an element, that is, the more protons and neutrons in its nucleus, the more unstable it is. Hence it is with great difficulty that scientists attempt to churn out new elements from large particle accelerators, by colliding and combining elements into new ones (Chheda, 2023). The story of physical matter is just one aspect in the search for what “everything” is made of. Dark matter and dark energy – so named because they do not interact with light – have been found to drive the expansion of the universe and the rotation speeds of galaxies. We know remarkably little about these substances, given that they make up around 95% of the total mass of the universe! Without a doubt, we have only just begun the journey to find out what makes up the universe around us. References Chheda, R. (2023, March 31). Can we add new elements to the periodic table? Science ABC. https://www.scienceabc.com/pure-sciences/can-we-add-new-elements-to-the-periodic-table.html Charley, S. (2012). How to make an element. PBS. https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/insidenova/2012/01/how-to-make-an-element.html Free Animated Education. (2023, February 10). Perfecting the periodic table [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tbMGKGgCRA&ab_channel=FreeAnimatedEducation Jefferson Lab. (2012, November 20). The origin of the elements [Video]. YouTube. Ball, P. (2004). The elements: A very short introduction . Oxford University Press. Mee, N. (2020). Earth, air, fire, and water. In Oxford University Press eBooks (pp. 16–23). https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780198851950.003.0003 Rouvray, D. (2019). Dmitri Mendeleev. New Scientist. https://www.newscientist.com/people/dmitri-mendeleev Previous article Next article Elemental back to

< Back to Issue 4 Talking to Yourself: The Biology of Hallucinations by Lily McCann 1 July 2023 Edited by Arwen Nguyen-Ngo and Yasmin Potts Illustrated by Zhuominna Ma What is consciousness? No small question. To this day it hasn’t been entirely satisfied. Consider a conversation: There are voices from the outside, stimuli that talk to all the sensory receptors that we have. They pass on messages to our fingertips that we are touching something cold; they tell our eyes that we are seeing certain wavelengths of light; and they tell the cochlea of our ears what sounds we are hearing. The sensory circuits of our bodies bring these words from outside and turn them inward, presenting them to the centre of our consciousness: Here - this is what we are experiencing. This is what we are taking from the world outside. But already, at the base of this consciousness, an idea of the world has been established. The central experience of our mind is built upon prediction: we are constantly conjuring up an estimate of how the outside world will be. The ‘Predictive Processing’ model of consciousness states that it is the conversation between this predictive perception of the world and the feedback from our sensory experience that defines what it is to feel consciousness (1). In 1971, Nature published the conclusions of a study titled, ‘Preliminary Observations on Tickling Oneself’ (2). In this experiment, a device was used to compare the experience of being tickled by an experimenter to the experience of tickling oneself, and both were compared to the intermediate of passively following the experimenter’s arm as they tickled the participant. The study concluded that the action of tickling oneself produced no effect as the planned action of tickling cancelled out the sensation of being tickled; the lack of an action in the case of the experimenter tickling the subject’s hand, allowed for a full ‘tickle’ sensation. Interestingly, the third process of passively following the tickling action was rated at a level in between these two responses. This showed that it was not the action of tickling alone that cancelled out the sensation of the stimulus as tickling, but that a knowledge of the tickle, a prediction of it, were enough to reduce the effect. This experiment reflects the idea that it is not just our planned actions and our sensory perception that drive consciousness, but that it is prediction that has a core place in driving experience. For centuries, hallucinations have been recognised as distortions of our sense of being conscious in the world. In 1838, Esquirol wrote in his ‘Mental Maladies: A Treatise On Insanity’ that the experience of a hallucination is “a thorough conviction of the perception of a sensation, when no external object, suited to excite this sensation, has impressed the senses.” (3) Anything that distorts our ‘perception’ or ‘sensation’ can therefore give rise to a hallucination. This can occur in the context of infection, psychosis, delirium, use of certain drugs - and the aptly named ‘exploding head syndrome’. Contrary to popular opinion, hallucinations are not a feature of psychotic disorders alone. In fact, analysis has shown that no single aspect of schizophrenia-related hallucinations is specific to this disease (4). In 2000, the idea of the ‘Tickling’ study was elaborated with respect to hallucinations in an investigation comparing the experience of self-produced and externally implemented stimuli for those who both did and did not suffer from hallucinations. It was shown in this study that for participants with hallucinatory disorders, there was a breakdown in the ability to differentiate between stimuli produced externally and internally (5). This study is in line with a certain theory of hallucination purported by Frith, who suggests in his discussion of positive symptoms of schizophrenia that the foundation of hallucination is a “fault in the system which internally monitors and compares intentions and actions” (6). There is another interesting theory that describes hallucinations as memories released from suppression. The authors suggest that the hallucination itself is a cacophony of memory signals set loose, where normally they are shut out of our conscious mind. One study described auditory hallucinations in those with hearing loss as an “uninhibition syndrome”. They argued that in the cases studied, a lack of sensory auditory input seemed to “uninhibit neuronal groups storing auditory memory” (7). The brain is an incredibly complex organ and theories regarding consciousness and hallucinations abound. The question of greatest practical importance is what part of the process of hallucinations can we understand and therefore, what can be targeted when we are called to treat this system in a medical setting. Recent investigations have linked various molecules, receptors and genes to hallucinatory disorders or states, whilst imaging studies demonstrate networks and regions of the brain activated during hallucinations. Investigation of certain receptor-modulating drugs has revealed the place of certain molecules in delusion and sensation; and the association of certain genes to hallucination-prone phenotypes has established a genetic cause for susceptibilities to hallucination. This research yields molecular and genetic targets for therapies that can help reduce the burden of hallucinations on an individual. It is a remarkable faculty of our minds, the ability to create a world - or aspects of the world - for ourselves and convince our own consciousness that it is real. Hallucinations reveal the capacity of the human brain for imagination; they show that all we experience is indeed creative, merely restricted by what we see as truth. But the grounding fact of knowing what is real is essential to functioning in society. Losing the ability to check our own creative experience of consciousness is exceedingly frightening and disempowering. Anything that helps us to maintain the right balance of conversation between the experiences we create and those we feel allow us to maintain a sense of self in the world. Elucidating the biology behind these conversations and the effects of hallucination itself can bring us closer to a definition of consciousness. References Hohwy J, Seth A. Predictive processing as a systematic basis for identifying the neural correlates of consciousness. Philosophy and the Mind Sciences. 2020;1(2). 3. https://doi.org/10.33735/phimisci.2020.II.64 Weiskrantz L, Elliot J, Darlington C. Preliminary observations on tickling oneself. Nature. 1971 Apr 30. 230: 598–599 https://doi.org/10.1038/230598a0 Esquirol J. Mental maladies: A treatise on insanity. France: Wentworth Press; 2016 Waters F, Fernyhough C. Hallucinations: A systematic review of points of similarity and difference across diagnostic classes. National Library of Medicine. 2016 Nov 21. doi: 10.1093/schbul/sbw132 Blakemore S.J, Smith J, Steel R, Johnstone E.C. The perception of self-produced sensory stimuli in patients with auditory hallucinations and passivity experiences: Evidence for a breakdown in self-monitoring. Psychological Medicine. 2000 Oct 17. 30(5): 1131-9. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0033291799002676 Frith C. The positive and negative symptoms of schizophrenia reflect impairments in the perception and initiation of action. Psychological Medicine. 1987 Aug. 17(3): 631-648. Doi: 10.1017/s0033291700025873 Goycoolea, M., Mena, I. and Neubauer, S. (2006) ‘Spontaneous musical auditory perceptions in patients who develop abrupt bilateral sensorineural hearing loss. an uninhibition syndrome?’, Acta Oto-Laryngologica, 126(4), pp. 368–374. doi:10.1080/00016480500416942. Previous article Next article back to MIRAGE

< Back to Issue 8 Terror Birds: The Discovery of Prolific Hunters by Jason Chien 3 June 2025 Edited by Luci Ackland Illustrated by Max Yang It began in the 1880s with a toothless jaw. And then some leg and hip bones and a vertebra were found. The leg bones, comparable in size to those of African ostriches, also bore similarities to fossils of the unrelated, giant, flightless Gastornis birds of Europe. Across the 1880s and 1890s, these discoveries slowly led archaeologists to realise they were dealing with a hitherto unknown group of giant, fearsome birds (1). With more complete fossil specimens subsequently discovered and clues provided by their unique morphologies, it did not take long for paleontologists to realise that all members of the “terror birds”, or Phorusrhacids, were carnivores, and that some were apex predators. Through isotopic dating of sediments in which terror bird fossils were found, paleontologists concluded that this taxonomic family existed from 43 million years ago (mya) – possibly even earlier – until their extinction 100,000 years ago (although no single species of Phorusrhacids survived this long) (2,3). Various fossils have since been found in South America and deemed to belong to Phorusrhacids species. Though most fossils have been found in Argentina, they have also been found in Brazil, Uruguay, Chile, Bolivia, Peru, the Southern United States and most recently, in Colombia. Throughout South America, there are various more fossils currently being discovered, some of which are being assigned to new species. At the moment, there are at least 18 characterised species, with some fossil-described species in contention of belonging to Phorusrhacids (4). Although size differed between species, there are morphological features common to all Phorusrhacids. Species such as Kelenken guillermoi , Phorusrhacos longissimus , and a few individuals of the North American Titanis walleri were giants at least 2 meters tall, weighing more than 100kg. Meanwhile, the shorter North American Titanis walleri was 1.4 to 1.9m in height and weighed an impressive 150kg (5,6). At the other extreme, the comparatively tiny Psilopterus bachmanni weighed only 4.5kg (7)! Smaller Phorusrhacids preyed on small vertebrates and invertebrates, with some species perhaps capable of short flight durations, filling a different predator niche than their larger counterparts (7). Though the prehistoric South American environment, unlike today's, was generally grasslands and woodlands, different Phorusrhacids species lived in distinct habitats. These differences include variation in aridity, as well as differences in the large and small prey present in different localities (8). Furthermore, Earth’s overall climate also varied during the more than 40 million years in which terror birds were present, such that the habitats of different terror bird species living in different periods of geologic time also differed. Reconstruction of some specifics of each locality’s prehistoric environment is not always possible (9). Lastly, the earliest and latest discovered fossils of each species indicate the period during which a species survived, but the boundary at which a species becomes distinctly different from an ancestral species is not always clear (10). Here are some terror birds whose habitats are better understood: Phorusrhacos longissimus : an environment with water bodies and a mix of open and enclosed areas. For instance, the first discovered terror bird fossils originated from longissimus individuals living in what was later reconstructed to be temperate forests and bushlands. This bird survived during parts of the Miocene period (23 mya to 5 mya) (8,10) Titanis Walleri : Tropical grasslands with springs, similar to today’s Florida. This species lived in a more unique environment than other terror birds, from 5 mya to 1.8 mya (5,6) But what did all the terror birds, large and small, have in common regarding how they hunted? From the structure of the terror birds’ legs, feet and hips, a paleontologist can infer features that suggest some terror birds were fast runners (11), or otherwise had limbs adapted for running. Despite natural uncertainties associated with paleontology, there is some headway into the running speeds of some terror bird species. For instance, the running speed of the 1m tall, 45kg Patagornis marshi was estimated to be 50 km/h (12,13), more than enough to chase down their prey. Once the prey was chased down, some terror birds would use their powerful legs to kick and incapacitate it, as suggested by features indicating strength in the bones of some species (14). Furthermore, some terror bird species possessed sharp claws, which are thought to have been used to stab prey (14). Though not all terror birds – especially the smaller species – were fast runners, all terror birds used their beaks when hunting, relying on beak strikes rather than the biting force used by many other birds. Their long necks were able to be flexed far backwards and forwards, allowing them to frontally strike prey repeatedly and powerfully with their beaks. Unlike that of many other birds, their ancestors and even their closest living relatives (the seriemas), the skull structure of most terror bird species is such that there is no moveable hinge between the upper beak and the skull due to the fusion of some bones in that region. This adaptation allows the skulls of Phorusrhacids to specifically resist loads from striking prey without suffering damage – though only if the strikes are precise (15). Other interesting features of the terror birds include gaze stabilisation and their hearing capacity. Based on their inner ear anatomies, the terror birds had the capacity for fast head movements while maintaining sight on their prey, evidencing their agility. Further evidence from the inner ear anatomies indicate the enhanced ability of the terror birds to hear low frequency sounds. Low frequency sound waves can travel a longer distance and are less affected by obstacles that absorb and scatter sound, allowing the terror birds to hear prey far out of sight. If terror birds were capable of producing low frequency sound as well, this would have enabled them to communicate from long distances apart (11). If one were to picture the heterogeneity of the terror bird species, they would probably imagine a predator in the act of hunting, or doing something else. In periods of geologic time with the greatest terror bird diversity, you may even be able to picture individuals of two different terror bird species, though you wouldn’t see two species of apex predator terror birds together (10). However, if you were to imagine beyond the bird, you would wonder how the flora, the other animals present, the climate, and many more all played a role in the story of the terror birds. Tracing the lineages of the Phorusrhacids backwards, one would reach a bird capable of flight. The characteristic of complete flightlessness arose specifically in large Phorusrhacids species, which were apex predators that consumed large mammals (10). The extinction of dinosaurs, and the absence of large placental carnivores in South America from 65 mya to 3 mya, made the apex predator niche unfilled (16). Subsequently, they started to be filled by the ancestors of large Phorusrhacids. But with diverse fauna, why did terror birds become one of the apex predators, and not many other animal groups, for instance the South American marsupial mammals? It is a persistent evolutionary mystery in perhaps all of paleontology, with many possible explanations but few, if any, ways to test them (17). Two hypotheses have been proposed to explain the demise of the terror birds: the encroachment of North American fauna into South America beginning 9 mya; and the episode of global cooling that occurred 3 mya. Due to continental drift, the North and South American continents were drifting towards each other, with a land bridge formed by 3 mya, though the movement of some groups of animals across the gap began much earlier. Known as the Great American biotic exchange, North American placental carnivores, some of them large predators, moved into South America and rapidly diversified (9). The former hypothesis suggests that competition with these predators drove the terror birds to extinction. In the latter hypothesis, rapid cooling not only affected the terror birds, but also affected the ecosystems where the terror birds lived (9). Despite the lack of direct evidence that is able to resolve this uncertainty, the contingent belief is that the latter hypothesis is more likely to be true and that the encroachment of North American fauna in the former hypothesis had a small to none effect on the extinction of the terror birds (9,12). Attached to every bone and bone fragment is a history of discovery, of being dated, of measurement, of cataloging and sometimes, of reexamination. Every bone was once a part of the organism, each with the potential to yield valuable information. As a testament to how far science has come since the early days of fossil hunting, we now have a much larger cache of fossils to make comparisons to, we have the tools to model an organism’s mass and some of its biomechanics based on fossilised bones, and we even have the means to look at the bone structures under a light or electron microscope to infer some of an organism’s probable behavioural characteristics. The fact that we figured out this much about the birds is astounding. Fossils form only under specific conditions – an organism has to be buried before there is a chance of it being eaten and then covered with sediments in conditions where microorganisms that decompose the body cannot survive (such as anoxic environments). Scientists estimate that the fossil record contains less than 0.1% of all species that have ever lived (18)! Furthermore, it is common ecological knowledge that for every ecosystem, the population of apex predators is small and are less likely to be preserved in the fossil record. Many mysteries, ranging from their colours to their various behaviour, remain. Perhaps these mysteries are what deepen our curiosity and account for our fascination with these organisms. Still, we are truly fortunate to be able to infer so much from the terror birds’ unique morphology and get to know of them and their stories, beyond just what we imagine them to be. References Buffetaut, E. Who discovered the Phorusrhacidae? An episode in the history of avian palaeontology. In: Göhlich UB, Kroh A, editors. Proceedings of the 8th International Meeting Society of Avian Paleontology and Evolution; 2013 Dec 10; Naturhistorisches Museum Wien. Vienna (AT): Naturhistorisches Museum Wien, 2013 [cited 2025 May 12.]. p.123-134. Available from: https://verlag.nhm-wien.ac.at/buecher/2013_SAPE_Proceedings/10_Buffetaut.pdf Jones W, Rinderknecht A, Alvarenga H, Montenegro F, Ubilla M. The last terror birds (Aves, Phorusrhacidae): new evidence from the late Pleistocene of Uruguay. PalZ [Internet]. 2018 Jun [cited 2025 May 12];92(2):365–72. Available from: http://link.springer.com/10.1007/s12542-017-0388-y Acosta Hospitaleche C, Jones W. Insights on the oldest terror bird (Aves, Phorusrhacidae) from the Eocene of Argentina. Historical Biology [Internet]. 2025 Feb [cited 2025 May 12];37(2):391–9. Available from: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/08912963.2024.2304592 Degrange FJ, Cooke SB, Ortiz‐Pabon LG, Pelegrin JS, Perdomo CA, Salas‐Gismondi R, et al. A gigantic new terror bird (Cariamiformes, Phorusrhacidae) from middle Miocene tropical environments of La Venta in northern South America. Papers in Palaeontology [Internet]. 2024 Nov [cited 2025 May 12];10(6):e1601. Available from: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/spp2.1601 Gould GC, Quitmyer IR. Titanis walleri : bones of contention. Bull Fla Mus Nat Hist. 2005 [cited 2025 May 12]. 45(4):201-229. Available from https://flmnhbulletin.com/index.php/flmnh/article/download/flmnh-vol45-no4-pp201-230/vol45-no4/1140 Baskin JA. The giant flightless bird Titanis walleri (Aves: Phorusrhacidae) from the Pleistocene coastal plain of south Texas. Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology [Internet]. 1995 Dec 27 [cited 2025 May 12];15(4):842–4. Available from: http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/02724634.1995.10011266 Degrange FJ, Noriega JI, Areta JI. Diversity and paleobiology of the Santacrucian birds. In: Bargo MS, Kay RF, Vizcaíno SF, editors. Early Miocene Paleobiology in Patagonia: High-Latitude Paleocommunities of the Santa Cruz Formation [Internet]. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; 2012 [cited 2025 May 13]. p. 138–55. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511667381.010 Vizcaíno SF, Bargo MS, Kay RF, Fariña RA, Di Giacomo M, Perry JMG, et al. A baseline paleoecological study for the Santa Cruz formation (Late–early miocene) at the Atlantic coast of Patagonia, Argentina. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology [Internet]. 2010 Jun [cited 2025 May 13];292(3–4):507–19. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.palaeo.2010.04.022 Prevosti FJ, Romano CO, Forasiepi AM, Hemming S, Bonini R, Candela AM, et al. New radiometric 40Ar–39Ar dates and faunistic analyses refine evolutionary dynamics of Neogene vertebrate assemblages in southern South America. Sci Rep [Internet]. 2021 May 10 [cited 2025 Jun 1];11(1):9830. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-021-89135-1 LaBarge TW, Gardner JD, Organ CL. The evolution and ecology of gigantism in terror birds (Aves, Phorusrhacidae). Proc R Soc B [Internet]. 2024 Apr 30 [cited 2025 May 13];291(2021):20240235. Available from: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/10.1098/rspb.2024.0235 Degrange FJ. Research: The “Terror Bird:” Paleobiology of a Fierce Bird. 2015. Accessed May 13, 2025. https://www.myfossil.org/research-the-terror-bird-paleobiology-of-a-fierce-bird/ Marsà JAG, Agnolín FL, Angst D, Buffetaut E. Paleohistological analysis of “terror birds” (Phorusrhacidae, Brontornithidae): Paleobiological Inferences. Diversity (14242818) [Internet]. 2025 Mar 1 [cited 2025 May 12];17(3):153. Available from: https://doi.org/10.3390/d17030153 Blanco RE, Jones WW. Terror birds on the run: a mechanical model to estimate its maximum running speed. Proc R Soc B [Internet]. 2005 Sep 7 [cited 2025 May 13];272(1574):1769–73. Available from: https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/10.1098/rspb.2005.3133 Melchor RN, Feola SF, Cardonatto MC, Espinoza N, Rojas-Manriquez MA, Herazo L. First terror bird footprints reveal functionally didactyl posture. Sci Rep [Internet]. 2023 Sep 30 [cited 2025 Jun 1];13(1):16474. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-023-43771-x Degrange FJ, Tambussi CP, Moreno K, Witmer LM, Wroe S. Mechanical analysis of feeding behavior in the extinct “terror bird” Andalgalornis steulleti (Gruiformes: Phorusrhacidae). Turvey ST, editor. PLoS ONE [Internet]. 2010 Aug 18 [cited 2025 Jun 1];5(8):e11856. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0011856 Marshall LG. Scientific American. 1994 [cited 2025 Jun 1]. The terror birds of south america. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1038/scientificamerican0294-90 Olson ME, Arroyo-Santos A. How to study adaptation(And why to do it that way). The Quarterly Review of Biology [Internet]. 2015 Jun [cited 2025 Jun 1];90(2):167–91. Available from: https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/10.1086/681438 How can I become a fossil? [Internet]. 2018 [cited 2025 Jun 1]. Available from: https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20180215-how-does-fossilisation-happen Previous article Next article Enigma back to

< Back to Issue 8 Thinking Outside the Body: The Consciousness of Slime Moulds by Jessica Walton 3 June 2025 Edited by Han Chong Illustrated by Ashlee Yeo Imagine yourself as an urban planner for Tokyo’s public transport system in 1927. Imagine mapping out the most efficient paths through dense urban sprawl, around obstructing rivers and mountains. And imagine meticulously designing the most efficient possible model, after years of study and expertise… only to find your design prowess, 83 years later, matched by a slime mould: a creature with no eyes, no head nor limbs, nor nervous system. Of course, this is anachronistic. For one, the Tokyo railroad system developed over time, not all at once. But it was designed to meet the needs of the city and maximise efficiency. Yet in 2010, when researchers exposed the slime mould Physarum polycephalum to a plate mimicking Tokyo city (with population density represented by oat flakes) it almost exactly mimicked the Tokyo railroad system (1). This became one of the most iconic slime mould experiments, ushering in a flood of research about biological urban design asking the question: Could a slime mould, or other similar organisms, map out human cities for us? But a slime mould doesn’t know what cities are. They’re single-celled organisms; they don’t understand urban planning, or public transport, or humans. They are classified as protists, largely because we’re not sure how else to categorise them, not because they’re particularly ‘protist-y.’ They have no brain and are single-celled for most of their life; so they can’t plan routes, have preferences, or make memories. Right? Except, perhaps they can. Slime moulds are extremely well-studied organisms because they exhibit precisely these behaviours. But how do they think? And what does it mean— to think ? Slime moulds have evidenced memory and learning. The protoplasm network they form is really just one huge cell that eventually develops into a plasmodium, growing and releasing spores. While plasmodial slime moulds (like P. polycephalum ) do this during reproduction, cellular slime moulds (dictyostelids) are able to aggregate together into one cell like this when food is scarce or environments are difficult (meaning they must be able to detect and evaluate if these things are true). Most slime mould behaviour is understood through cell signalling and extracellular interaction mechanisms; responding to chemical gradients using receptors along their membrane, which signal to the cells to move up the concentration gradient of a chemoattractant molecule and away from a chemorepellent. This makes sense; bacteria (like almost every other living organism) do this all the time and it’s the chief way that they make decisions . But what about memory and preferences? What about stimuli beyond the immediate detected chemicals? Slime moulds can, for example, anticipate repeated events and avoid simple traps to reach food hidden behind a U-shaped barrier (2,3). These are beyond input-to-output; something more complex must be happening. Something conscious? Thinking ? The idea of consciousness requiring complex neuronal processes is becoming rapidly outdated as we observe patterns of thinking in organisms that, according to classical definitions, really should not be able to. Using the slime mould as an example, Sims and Kiverstein (2022) argue against the ‘neurocentric’ assumption that an organism must have a brain to be cognisant. Instead, P. polycephalum is suggested to exhibit spatial memory, with cognition being suggested to sometimes include external elements (3). They showed it may undergo simple, habitual learning and hypothesised it uses an oscillation-based mechanism within the cell (3). Similarly, oscillator units along the slime mould’s extending tendrils oscillate at a higher frequency at higher concentrations of food source molecules (like some tasty glucose), signalling to the slime mould to move in that direction (4). Sims and Kiverstein (2022) also posit that the slime trail left by slime mould could function as an external memory mechanism. They found that P. polycephalum avoids slime trails as they represent places it has already been; suggesting a method of spatial memory (4). This was further proved as not a pure input-output response by showing that the avoidance response could be overridden when food is placed on or near slime trails (5). They suggest that the slime mould was able to balance multiple inputs, including oscillation levels and slime trail signals, exhibiting simple decision-making. Should we count these processes as thinking ? This topic is debated by philosophers as much as biologists. Sims and Kiverstein (2022) use the Hypothesis of Extended Cognition, being that mind sometimes extends into the environment outside of the brain and body, to argue firmly that it does count. But at the end of the day, despite understanding the chemical and electrical processes between neurons signalling and the cellular makeup of the brain, we still don’t understand how electrical signals through a series of axons make the leap to complex consciousness. Rudimentary and external cognition pathways, as seen with the slime mould, may also be an evolutionary link in the building blocks to more complex, nerve-based consciousness and decision making (3). We don’t yet understand the phenomena inside our own skulls—how can we hope to define it across all other organisms? Slime moulds clearly have something beyond simple chemical reactions. This begs the question: Aren't our own minds also fundamentally just made of simple chemical reactions? And if a slime mould is able to evaluate multiple inputs, how wonderfully complex must such processes be inside (and outside) a sea anemone, a cockroach or a cat? There’s no way to know what such a consciousness would look like or feel like to our frame of reference. When a slime mould, moving as a network around an agar plate, ‘looks up’ (or an equivalent slime mould action) and perceives unfathomable entities, how does it process that? What does the slime mould think of us? Bibliography 1. Kay R, Mattacchione A, Katrycz C, Hatton BD. Stepwise slime mould growth as a template for urban design. Sci Rep. 2022 Jan 25;12(1):1322. 2. Saigusa T, Tero A, Nakagaki T, Kuramoto Y. Amoebae Anticipate Periodic Events. Phys Rev Lett. 2008 Jan 3;100(1):018101. 3. Sims M, Kiverstein J. Externalized memory in slime mould and the extended (non-neuronal) mind. Cognitive Systems Research. 2022 Jun 1;73:26–35. 4. Reid CR, Latty T, Dussutour A, Beekman M. Slime mold uses an externalized spatial “memory” to navigate in complex environments. Proc Natl Acad Sci U S A. 2012 Oct 23;109(43):17490–4. 5. Reid CR, Beekman M, Latty T, Dussutour A. Amoeboid organism uses extracellular secretions to make smart foraging decisions. Behavioral Ecology. 2013 Jul;24(4):812–8. Previous article Next article Enigma back to

Each issue of OmniSci Magazine is created by a team of passionate students, who contribute as writers, editors, designers, and behind the sciences as our organising committee. This interview series highlights six from our exceptional team for Issue 4: Mirage. Interview Series Each issue of OmniSci Magazine is c reated by a team of passionate students, who contribute as writers, editors, designers, and behind the sciences as our organising committee. This interview series highlights six from our exceptional team for Issue 4: Mirage, released in July 2023! Interviews by Caitlin Kane, Graphics by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin Meet OmniSci Editor Ta ny a Kovacevic Ever wondered what it's like to contribute to OmniSci? We spoke to Tanya Kovacevic about her experience, from starting writing during lockdown to what's in the words for Issue 4: Mirage! Tanya is currently in her third year of the Bachelor of Biomedicine and studying a concurrent diploma in Italian. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is contributing to four articles as an editor. READ MORE Meet OmniSci Writer Mahsa Nabizada Doubting time is real? We spoke to first-year uni student Mahsa Nabizada about her upcoming article on this very topic, plus advice for starting university and why Thorium has a special place in her heart. Mahsa is a writer at OmniSci and a first-year university student planning to study mathematical physics. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is writing about the illusion of time. READ MORE Meet OmniSci Writer and Editor Elijah McEv oy Bored of that one topic you need to keep revising this week? Read our chat with Elijah McEvoy about getting inspired by all areas of science, his sci-fi movie recommendations, and hear about his upcoming article about artificial intelligence. Elijah is a writer and editor at OmniSci and a second-year Bachelor of Science student. For Issue 4: Mirage, he is writing about artificial intelligence that masquerades as human, and contributing to two articles as an editor. READ MORE Meet OmniSci Designer and Committee Member Aisya h Mohammad Sulhanuddin Thinking of joining the OmniSci committee? We spoke to Aisyah, who incorporates her love for design into illustrations, events and social media at OmniSci, and shares her advice for those interested in getting involved (just do it!). Aisyah is a designer and Events Officer at OmniSci in her final year of a Bachelor of Science in geography. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is contributing to social media and as an illustrator. READ MORE Meet Omni Sci Writer and Committee Member Rachel Ko Curious what an OmniSci Editor-in-Chief actually does? We spoke to Rachel about drawing anatomy, interviewing a med student hero, and helping build the the science communication universe! Rachel is a writer and Editor-in-Chief at OmniSci, now in her first year of the Doctor of Medicine. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is writing an interview with science communicator, Dr Karen Freilich. READ MORE Meet OmniSci Designer Jolin See New to science? New to Melbourne? New to OmniSci? Yes, yes and yes! We spoke to Jolin about joining OmniSci with an art background, growing through challenges, and her best local exhibit recommendations. Jolin is a designer at OmniSci and an exchange student from Singapore studying Psychology and Arts & Culture Management. For Issue 4: Mirage, she is contributing to our website, and to two articles as an illustrator. READ MORE