B1: Lướt qua bài báo và note lại các từ mới, tra nghĩa cẩn thận

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Lưu ý: tuyệt đối không up bài lên chat GPT hoặc gg dịch nhờ dịch vì sẽ không có tác dụng trong việc cải thiện kỹ năng đọc của các bạn và AI dịch không thể mượt giống người!

The Internet is full of diets and dietary advice. In recent years, much has been written about intermittent fasting. This is only eating inside an 8-hour window, leaving a 16-hour gap with no food. Supporters of this say it improves metabolism and helps cellular repair. However, a new study has cast doubt on its merits. Researchers in Shanghai concluded that people who restricted their eating to eight hours a day faced a 91 per cent higher risk of dying from cardiovascular diseases than those who ate across a period of 12 to 16 hours.

The researchers analyzed data from 20,000 adults over a six-year period. The lead researcher said he was taken aback by his findings. He said: "We were surprised to find that people who followed…a time-restricted eating schedule were more likely to die from cardiovascular disease." He added: "Our study's findings encourage a cautious…approach to dietary recommendations, ensuring they are aligned with an individual's health status." The Mayo Clinic says fasting has been popular for over 1,500 years, but advised it is "safer with supervision from your healthcare team".

The climate crisis may be an existential threat to sharks. A new study shows that the acidification of the world's oceans is decaying sharks' teeth. It is well known among scientists that increasing ocean acidity is damaging species like corals and shell-dwelling sea creatures. This led biologists to look at whether shark teeth are at similar risk. Researcher Maximilian Baum investigated whether sharks that swim with their mouths open and have constant exposure to seawater "might also be vulnerable". He concluded that "the teeth of…predators show visible damage".

Baum analyzed 42 teeth from blacktip reef sharks at an aquarium in Germany. He put the teeth in two separate water tanks for eight weeks. The salt water in one tank had a pH level similar to current ocean averages. The water in the other tank was more acidic. Baum found that the teeth in the more acidic water had visible damage. This included cavities, root decay, and structural deterioration. He said ongoing damage could impact how sharks feed. He added that such damage could potentially trigger "domino effects" across many marine ecosystems.

El Salvador is cracking down on school discipline. The president appointed a former army captain as education minister. She has started inspecting schools in army dress. She is also a physician and was head of the country's coronavirus pandemic vaccination rollout. She has required all school principals to become role models. They must greet students as they come to school each morning. They will also check pupils' haircuts and uniforms. She warned: "Failure to comply with these provisions…will be considered a serious breach of administrative responsibility."

The main focus of the new education initiative is on appearance and conduct. Boys must have closely-cropped, military-style haircuts, while all students must wear neat uniforms and greet all teachers. There has been a mixed reaction to the policy. A teachers' union called it a "regrettable militarization" of schools. It worried the country was going back to the days of military dictatorship. It is concerned abuses of power against students might increase. However, many parents support the new rules. One said: "That's how you straighten children out from a young age."

The National Drought Group (NDG) in the UK has warned that data centres are putting a strain on the water supply. This is also a worry in many countries. The group did not say to what degree these facilities are causing drought conditions in parts of the UK. The centres use up to 10 billion litres of water per year to cool their facilities. One water company said a large data centre can use as much water as 50,000 households. Despite environmental concerns, the UK is pushing ahead to build many more data centres. The UK said the centres were essential for economic growth.

The NDG has asked people to cut back on the water they use. One measure is to delete unwanted emails and large images. This could cut the demand for water as data centres require huge amounts of water to cool their systems. The NDG chairperson said a simple everyday action such as deleting email will "really help the collective effort to reduce demand and help preserve the health of our rivers and wildlife". However, experts say the water saved from deleting files stored in the cloud is merely a drop in the ocean and may not help with water shortages.

The popularity of matcha is skyrocketing. Supplies of the green tea powder are low. Most of the world's matcha is produced in Japan. Record high temperatures there have lowered harvests of the tea leaves. Increased demand and lower crop yields have resulted in record prices. A farmer from Kyoto told the Reuters news agency about his lower harvest. He was only able to harvest 1.5 tons of leaves this year, instead of his usual two tons. He added: "Last year's summer was so scorching that it damaged the bushes, so we couldn't pluck as many leaves."

Matcha has exploded in popularity. It was once a niche product. Now it is a trendy flavouring for drinks, desserts, and even skincare products. A tea association said Japan's tourism boom is making the green tea shortages worse. It said: "Many foreigners buy lots of matcha…as souvenirs, sometimes even in bulk." It added that the increased demand was in part fuelled by social media. The founder of the store Tealife said demand had grown ten-fold. He is always out of stock. "Matcha mania" has resulted in a scarcity that is also affecting Japan's traditional tea ceremonies.

The U.K. will lower the voting age to 16. This is two years lower than the current age. This "seismic" change is part of a set of reforms that will give the electoral system more integrity. The first chance 16- and 17-year-olds will have to cast their vote will be in the UK's next general election. The government said: "We are modernizing our democracy, so that it is fit for the 21st century. By [extending] the vote to younger people, we are taking a generational step forward in restoring public trust and boosting engagement in UK democracy."

There has been mixed reaction to the change. Supporters say 16-year-olds work and pay taxes, so they should be allowed to vote. The UK prime minister agreed. He said: "If you pay in, you should have the opportunity to say what you want your money spent on." The UK's deputy prime minister said: "Young people already contribute to society by…paying taxes and serving in the military. It's only right they can have a say on the issues that affect them." Critics say 16-year-olds cannot drink alcohol or get married without their parents' consent, yet they will be able to vote.

Georgia O'Keeffe (1887–1986) was one of the most influential figures in American art, celebrated for her ability to capture the essential, abstract forms of nature. She maintained a distinctive style for seven decades, focusing on subtle variations of color, light, and shape that fascinated audiences worldwide.

Raised on a Wisconsin farm, O'Keeffe decided early to become an artist. After formal training at top art schools, she worked as a teacher until her experimental charcoal drawings caught the attention of photographer and art promoter Alfred Stieglitz. With his support, she moved to New York in 1918, where he organized more than twenty solo exhibitions of her work. The two married in 1924, and Stieglitz famously documented their life together in hundreds of portraits.

By the mid-1920s, O'Keeffe was acclaimed for her bold depictions of New York skyscrapers and magnified flower paintings, which transformed everyday objects into striking abstract compositions.

From 1929 onwards, she spent much time in New Mexico, whose dramatic landscapes and sun-bleached animal bones became central to her art. In 1949, she made the state her permanent home.

In her later years, O'Keeffe expanded her horizons through international travel and produced large-scale sky and river series inspired by aerial views. Despite declining health and near-blindness in her final decades, she left behind a legacy of nearly 900 paintings, securing her place as a pioneer of American modernism.

Around the globe, countries are turning to creative solutions to adapt to the inevitable effects of climate change. Despite efforts to cut emissions, rising sea levels and extreme weather continue to reshape communities.

In Miami Beach, USA, roads are being raised by up to 61 centimetres and powerful pumps installed to combat flooding. Officials acknowledge that further adjustments will be needed as the environment changes.

On the northern coast of Java, Indonesia, traditional seawalls have failed against erosion, so Wetlands International is experimenting with bamboo and brushwood dams to recreate natural mangrove conditions. Early results show promise where land subsidence is limited.

In Vietnam’s Mekong Delta, amphibious houses that float during floods are proving a cheaper and safer alternative to elevated homes, while still preserving cultural design.

In Bangladesh, farmers are adapting to rising soil salinity by cultivating salt-tolerant vegetables such as carrots, cabbages, and beetroots, increasing harvests and food security.

Meanwhile, Los Angeles, USA, is tackling extreme urban heat through its “Cool Streets” programme, using reflective pavements and tree planting to reduce surface and air temperatures.

These diverse strategies highlight how innovation, rooted in local needs, is becoming vital to survival in a warming world.

Livestock guard dogs, once used mainly to defend sheep and goats from wolves and bears, are experiencing a comeback – but with a surprising twist: they are now helping save the predators they once kept away.

Today, around 50 breeds are used worldwide, trained from puppyhood to bond with livestock and protect them by barking or chasing threats. Studies in Portugal and Australia show they are highly effective, with most farmers reporting major drops – even complete stops – in livestock attacks.

This success has changed attitudes toward predators. In Namibia, where most cheetahs live near farmland, the introduction of guard dogs cut livestock losses and reduced farmers’ need to kill predators. Similar results have been seen in other regions, supporting both ranchers and conservationists.

However, researchers warn of side effects: predators may simply move to neighbouring farms, jackal killings have increased in some areas, and dogs may spread diseases or disrupt ecosystems.

Despite these concerns, guard dogs have shown unexpected benefits – even protecting ground-nesting birds and boosting biodiversity. Experts believe that if managed carefully, these dogs could play a vital role in balancing human needs with wildlife conservation.

The idea of using ice to preserve food dates back over 10,000 years, but the modern frozen food industry only began in the 20th century. Early methods included storing blocks of Arctic ice for shipping and creating mechanical ice in 1870, first used to cool beer and later to transport meat overseas.

A turning point came in 1912 when Clarence Birdseye observed Inuit techniques of flash-freezing fish in Canada. Returning to the US, he invented quick-freezing machines and packaging methods that preserved flavor and texture. His innovations, including the use of transparent cellophane, laid the foundation for frozen food as we know it.

Although the industry faced obstacles in the 1930s due to a lack of freezers in shops and homes, sales rose during World War II, when canned food was rationed. By the 1950s, affordable refrigerators allowed families to embrace frozen meals. The launch of the Swanson “TV Dinner” in 1954 was a cultural milestone, selling 13 million units in its first year.

Today, frozen food has become a $67 billion business in the US, with products consumed both at home and in food service institutions. From potatoes dried in the Andes to convenient TV dinners, frozen food has transformed how people eat across the globe.

A striking new coral reef tank has been unveiled at London Zoo’s Tiny Giants gallery, featuring vivid species such as branching coral, yellow scroll and blue ridge, alongside reef fish like blue tang and clownfish. The exhibit aims not only to showcase the beauty and biodiversity of coral reefs but also to raise awareness of the crisis they face.

Coral reefs cover just 0.1% of the ocean floor yet provide homes for more than 25% of marine species. Often described as the “rainforests of the sea,” they are under severe threat from rising sea temperatures, bleaching, acidification, pollution and climate change. Scientists warn that more than 90% of reefs could be lost by 2050 if urgent action on greenhouse gas emissions is not taken.

At the same time, research offers some hope. Scientists are identifying coral species that can survive in warmer, more acidic waters and are experimenting with artificial spawning to speed up coral reproduction. London Zoo has built laboratories behind its reef display to support this global effort, testing techniques that could help restore damaged ecosystems.

By linking with international research centres, the zoo hopes to play a role in developing resilient coral and to demonstrate progress to the public. According to Paul Pearce-Kelly, senior curator of invertebrates and fish, “Coral reefs are dying and they are telling us that all is not well with our planet. Saving them is now a critically important ecological goal.”

Three leading academics have shared their views on the role of robots in society, from space exploration to artificial intelligence.

Cosmologist Martin Rees believes robots will soon map the solar system and mine asteroids, though he warns against colonising planets in ways that harm them. Engineer Daniel Wolpert questions the need for planetary colonisation, suggesting robots should instead be used to exploit resources closer to Earth.

Anthropologist Kathleen Richardson takes a more ethical stance, arguing that “colonisation” of other planets raises moral concerns and should be approached with respect for “the Other.”

On the question of whether machine intelligence will surpass humans, Rees predicts more advanced robots could match human adaptability later this century, raising moral questions about exploiting them. Wolpert notes machines already outperform humans in some tasks, though true creativity remains far away. Richardson suggests fears of machines come less from their capabilities and more from humans’ tendency to project our own traits onto them.

When asked if we should fear artificial intelligence, Rees warned of risks such as the “singularity” and uncontrolled computer networks. Wolpert pointed out that while AI can be misused, its benefits outweigh dangers. Richardson argued robots have never truly threatened human supremacy, and many people welcome them.

On science fiction, Rees praised its imaginative value, Wolpert highlighted its predictive power, and Richardson observed that the line between fiction and science has always been blurred, meaning society should combine these perspectives rather than fear them.

Manatees, or sea cows, are large aquatic mammals belonging to the order Sirenia, which also includes dugongs. While both species share similar shapes and flexible flippers, manatees have broad, rounded tails, unlike the whale-like fluked tails of dugongs. There are three manatee species: the West Indian, African, and Amazonian manatees.

These slow-moving herbivores feed mainly on seagrasses and other aquatic plants, consuming up to 15% of their body weight each day. African manatees are partly omnivorous, occasionally eating molluscs and fish. Their flat molar teeth are constantly replaced due to wear from their abrasive diet, and their prehensile lips help them tear plants from the seafloor.

Manatees must surface to breathe every few minutes and may adjust their buoyancy using stored air in their intestines. The West Indian manatee, which grows up to 3.5 metres and 500 kilograms, inhabits both salt and fresh waters from the Bahamas to Brazil, with Florida manatees seeking warm refuges in winter. The African manatee lives along the west coast of Africa and in inland rivers, while the smaller Amazonian species inhabits the freshwater Amazon Basin.

All manatee species are threatened or vulnerable. African and Amazonian manatees have suffered from hunting and accidental capture in fishing nets, while West Indian manatees are at risk from plastic ingestion and boat collisions.

Although protective laws and boat-speed limits now exist in parts of Florida, scientists warn that populations may still decline by 20% over the next four decades, highlighting the urgent need for conservation.

Procrastination is the tendency to delay important tasks by focusing on easier or more pleasant activities instead. While it may seem like a harmless habit, psychologists warn that it can have serious consequences for both performance and well-being. According to research, procrastination is not caused by laziness or poor time management, but rather by difficulties in managing negative emotions. When a task feels unpleasant or threatens our self-esteem, we avoid it to escape anxiety or self-doubt.

People with low self-esteem and perfectionists are particularly prone to procrastination, using avoidance as a temporary “mood repair.” However, this relief is short-lived and often replaced by guilt, which reinforces the cycle of delay. Studies have shown that chronic procrastinators perform worse academically, earn less income, and experience more job instability. The behaviour is also linked to physical and mental health problems, including stress, poor sleep, and even heart issues.

Experts suggest that breaking the cycle begins with improving emotional regulation. Strategies include reminding ourselves why the task is meaningful, creating a focused environment, and showing self-compassion rather than self-criticism. Recognising procrastination as an emotional response rather than a moral failure can make it easier to move forward and rebuild motivation.

When umpire Fred DeJesus first used the Automated Ball-Strike System (ABS) in a minor league baseball game, it marked a turning point in the sport’s 150-year history. The “robo-umpire,” a missile-tracking device mounted above the stands, fed strike and ball decisions directly into DeJesus’s earpiece, ending on-field arguments that had long been part of baseball’s character. Major League Baseball (MLB) claimed the system’s precision—accurate to within fractions of an inch—would make games fairer and reduce controversy.

Yet not everyone is convinced this is progress. Critics such as coach Frank Viola argue that human umpires brought personality and nuance to the game, rewarding skill and intuition. By contrast, ABS is seen as “unforgiving and pedantic.” MLB executive Morgan Sword explains that the move toward automation is part of a broader effort to attract younger audiences and make baseball more dynamic, much like other sports that have embraced technologies such as Hawk-Eye and VAR.

However, some observers, including Berkeley professor Alva Noë, view robo-umpires as another step in society’s overreliance on algorithms. To them, removing human judgment risks erasing the imperfections and debates that make baseball—and life itself—so compelling. As player Joe Russo put it, “Perfect would be weird. What is there to talk about?”

The kākāpō, also known as the owl parrot, is a large, forest-dwelling bird, with a pale owl-like face. Up to 64 cm in length, it has predominantly yellow-green feathers, forward-facing eyes, a large grey beak, large blue feet, and relatively short wings and tail. It is the world's only flightless parrot, and is also possibly one of the world's longest-living birds, with a reported lifespan of up to 100 years.

Kākāpō are solitary birds and tend to occupy the same home range for many years. They forage on the ground and climb high into trees. They often leap from trees and flap their wings, but at best manage a controlled descent to the ground. They are entirely vegetarian, with their diet including the leaves, roots and bark of trees as well as bulbs, and fern fronds.

Kākāpő breed in summer and autumn, but only in years when food is plentiful. Males play no part in incubation or chick-rearing - females alone incubate eggs and feed the chicks. The 1-4 eggs are laid in soil, which is repeatedly turned over before and during incubation. The female kākāpō has to spend long periods away from the nest searching for food, which leaves the unattended eggs and chicks particularly vulnerable to predators.

Before humans arrived,kākāpō were common throughout New Zealand's forests. However, this all changed with the arrival of the first Polynesian settlers about 700 years ago. For the early settlers, the flightless kākāpō was easy prey. They ate its meat and used its feathers to make soft cloaks. With them came the Polynesian dog and rat, which also preyed on kākāpō. By the time European colonisers arrived in the early 1800s, kākāpō had become confined to the central North Island and forested parts of the South Island. The fall in kākāpō number was accelerated by European colonisation. A great deal of habitat was lost through forest clearance, and introduced species such as deer depleted the remaining forests of food. Other predators such as cats, stoats and two more species of rat were also introduced. The kākāpō were in serious trouble.

In 1894, the New Zealand government launched its first attempt to save the kākāpō. Conservationist Richard Henry led an effort to relocate several hundred of the birds to predator-free Resolution Island in Fiordland. Unfortunately, the island didn't remain predator-free - stoats arrived within six years, eventually destroying the kākāpō population. By the mid-1900s, the kākāpō was practically a lost species. Only a few clung to life in the most isolated parts of New Zealand.

From 1949 to 1973, the newly formed New Zealand Wildlife Service made over 60 expeditions to find kākāpō, focusing mainly on Fiordland. Six were caught, but there were no females amongst them and all but one died within a few months of captivity. In 1974, a new initiative was launched, and by 1977, 18 more kākāpō were found in Fiordland. However, there were still no females. In 1977, a large population of males was spotted in Rakiura - a large island free from stoats, ferrets and weasels. There were about 200 individuals, and in 1980 it was confirmed females were also present. These birds have been the foundation of all subsequent work in managing the species.

Around 25 million elms, accounting for 90% of all elm trees in the UK, died during the 1960s and '70s of Dutch elm disease. In the aftermath, the elm, once so dominant in the British landscape, was largely forgotten. However, there's now hope the elm may be reintroduced to the countryside of central and southern England. Any reintroduction will start from a very low base. 'The impact of the disease is difficult to picture if you hadn't seen what was there before,' says Matt Elliot of the Woodland Trust. 'You look at old photographs from the 1960s and it's only then that you realise the impact [elms had] … They were significant, large trees... then they were gone.'

The disease is caused by a fungus that blocks the elms' vascular (water, nutrient and food transport) system, causing branches to wilt and die. A first epidemic, which occurred in the 1920s, gradually died down, but in the '70s a second epidemic was triggered by shipments of elm from Canada. The wood came in the form of logs destined for boat building and its intact bark was perfect for the elm bark beetles that spread the deadly fungus. This time, the beetles carried a much more virulent strain that destroyed the vast majority of British elms.

Today, elms still exist in the southern English countryside but mostly only in low hedgerows between fields. 'We have millions of small elms in hedgerows but they get targeted by the beetle as soon as they reach a certain size,' says Karen Russell, co-author of the report 'Where we are with elm'. Once the trunk of the elm reaches 10-15 centimetres or so in diameter, it becomes a perfect size for beetles to lay eggs and for the fungus to take hold. Yet mature specimens have been identified, in counties such as Cambridgeshire, that are hundreds of years old, and have mysteriously escaped the epidemic. The key, Russell says, is to identify and study those trees that have survived and work out why they stood tall when millions of others succumbed. Nevertheless, opportunities are limited as the number of these mature survivors is relatively small. 'What are the reasons for their survival?' asks Russell. 'Avoidance, tolerance, resistance? We don't know where the balance lies between the three. I don't see how it can be entirely down to luck.'

For centuries, elm ran a close second to oak as the hardwood tree of choice in Britain and was in many instances the most prominent tree in the landscape. Not only was elm common in European forests, it became a key component of birch, ash and hazel woodlands. The use of elm is thought to go back to the Bronze Age, when it was widely used for tools. Elm was also the preferred material for shields and early swords. In the 18th century, it was planted more widely and its wood was used for items such as storage crates and flooring. It was also suitable for items that experienced high levels of impact and was used to build the keel of the 19th-century sailing ship Cutty Sark as well as mining equipment.

Some of the most important decisions of our lives occur while we're feeling stressed and anxious. From medical decisions to financial and professional ones, we are all sometimes required to weigh up information under stressful conditions. But do we become better or worse at processing and using information under such circumstances?

My colleague and I, both neuroscientists, wanted to investigate how the mind operates under stress, so we visited some local fire stations. Firefighters' workdays vary quite a bit. Some are pretty relaxed; they'll spend their time washing the truck, cleaning equipment, cooking meals and reading. Other days can be hectic, with numerous life-threatening incidents to attend to; they'll enter burning homes to rescue trapped residents, and assist with medical emergencies. These ups and downs presented the perfect setting for an experiment on how people's ability to use information changes when they feel under pressure.

We found that perceived threat acted as a trigger for a stress reaction that made the task of processing information easier for the firefighters - but only as long as it conveyed bad news.

This is how we arrived at these results. We asked the firefighters to estimate their likelihood of experiencing 40 different adverse events in their life, such as being involved in an accident or becoming a victim of card fraud. We then gave them either good news (that their likelihood of experiencing these events was lower than they'd thought) or bad news (that it was higher) and asked them to provide new estimates. 

People are normally quite optimistic - they will ignore bad news and embrace the good. This is what happened when the firefighters were relaxed; but when they were under stress, a different pattern emerged. Under these conditions, they became hyper-vigilant to bad news, even when it had nothing to do with their job (such as learning that the likelihood of card fraud was higher than they'd thought), and altered their beliefs in response. In contrast, stress didn't change how they responded to good news (such as learning that the likelihood of card fraud was lower than they'd thought).

Back in our lab, we observed the same pattern in students who were told they had to give a surprise public speech, which would be judged by a panel, recorded and posted online. Sure enough, their cortisol levels spiked, their heart rates went up and they suddenly became better at processing unrelated, yet alarming, information about rates of disease and violence.

In 2016, the British professional tennis player Andy Murray was ranked as the world’s number one. It was an incredible achievement by any standard - made even more remarkable by the fact that he did this during a period considered to be one of the strongest in the sport’s history, competing against the likes of Rafael Nadal, Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic, to name just a few. Yet five years previously, he had been regarded as a talented outsider who entered but never won the major tournaments.

Of the changes that account for this transformation, one was visible and widely publicised: in 2011, Murray invited former number one player Ivan Lendl onto his coaching team - a valuable addition that had a visible impact on the player’s playing style. Another change was so subtle as to pass more or less unnoticed. Like many players, Murray has long preferred a racket that consists of two types of string: one for the mains (verticals) and another for the crosses (horizontals). While he continued to use natural string in the crosses, in 2012 he switched to a synthetic string for the mains. A small change, perhaps, but its importance should not be underestimated.

The modification that Murray made is just one of a number of options available to players looking to tweak their rackets in order to improve their games. ‘Touring professionals have their rackets customised to their specific needs,’ says Colin Triplow, a UK-based professional racket stringer. ‘It’s a highly important part of performance maximisation.’

Consequently, the specific rackets used by the world’s elite are not actually readily available to the public; rather, each racket is individually made to suit the player who uses it. Take the US professional tennis players Mike and Bob Bryan, for example: ‘We’re very particular with our racket specifications,’ they say. ‘All our rackets are sent from our manufacturer to Tampa, Florida, where our frames go through a . . . thorough customisation process.’ They explain how they have adjusted not only racket length, but even experimented with different kinds of paint. The rackets they use now weigh more than the average model and also have a denser string pattern (i.e. more crosses and mains).

The primary reason for these modifications is simple: as the line between winning and losing becomes thinner and thinner, even these slight changes become more and more important. As a result, players and their teams are becoming increasingly creative with the modifications to their rackets as they look to maximise their competitive advantage.

When one mentions pirates, an image springs to most people’s minds of a crew of misfits, daredevils and adventurers in command of a tall sailing ship in the Caribbean Sea. Yet from the first to the third millennium BCE, thousands of years before these swashbucklers began spreading fear across the Caribbean, pirates prowled the Mediterranean, raiding merchant ships and threatening vital trade routes. However, despite all efforts and the might of various ancient states, piracy could not be stopped. The situation remained unchanged for thousands of years. Only when the pirates directly threatened the interests of ancient Rome did the Roman Republic organise a massive fleet to eliminate piracy. Under the command of the Roman general Pompey, Rome eradicated piracy, transforming the Mediterranean into 'Mare Nostrum' (Our Sea).

Although piracy in the Mediterranean is first recorded in ancient Egypt during the reign of Pharaoh Amenhotep III (c 1390-1353 BCE), it is reasonable to assume it predated this powerful civilisation. This is partly due to the great importance the Mediterranean held at this time, and partly due to its geography. While the Mediterranean region is predominantly fertile, some parts are rugged and hilly, even mountainous. In the ancient times, the inhabitants of these areas relied heavily on marine resources, including fish and salt. Most had their own boats, possessed good seafaring skills, and unsurpassed knowledge of the local coastline and sailing routes. Thus, it is not surprising that during hardships, these men turned to piracy. Geography itself further benefited the pirates, with the numerous coves along the coast providing places for them to hide their boats and strike undetected. Before the invention of ocean-going caravels* in the 15th century, ships could not easily cross long distances over open water. Thus, in the ancient world most were restricted to a few well-known navigable routes that followed the coastline. Caught in a trap, a slow merchant ship laden with goods had no other option but to surrender. In addition, knowledge of the local area helped the pirates to avoid retaliation once a state fleet arrived.

One should also add that it was not unknown in the first and second millennia BCE for governments to resort to pirates’ services, especially during wartime, employing their skills and numbers against their opponents. A pirate fleet would serve in the first wave of attack, preparing the way for the navy. Some of the regions were known for providing safe harbours to pirates, who, in return, boosted the local economy.

The first known record of a named group of Mediterranean pirates, made during the rule of ancient Egyptian Pharaoh Akhenaten (c 1353-1336 BCE), was in the Amarna Letters. These were extracts of diplomatic correspondence between the pharaoh and his allies, and covered many pressing issues, including piracy. It seems the pharaoh was troubled by two distinct pirate groups, the Lukka and the Sherden. Despite the Egyptian fleet’s best efforts, the pirates continued to cause substantial disruption to regional commerce. In the letters, the king of Alashiya (modern Cyprus) rejected Akhenaten’s claims of a connection with the Lukka (based in modern-day Turkey). The king assured Akhenaten he was prepared to punish any of his subjects involved in piracy.

Misinformation - both deliberately promoted and accidentally shared - is perhaps an inevitable part of the world in which we live, but it is not a new problem. People likely have lied to one another for roughly as long as verbal communication has existed. Deceiving others can offer an apparent opportunity to gain strategic advantage, to motivate others to action, or even to protect interpersonal bonds.

Moreover, people inadvertently have been sharing inaccurate information with one another for thousands of years.

However, we currently live in an era in which technology enables information to reach large audiences distributed across the globe, and thus the potential for immediate and widespread effects from misinformation now looms larger than in the past. Yet the means to correct misinformation might, over time, be found in those same patterns of mass communication and of the facilitated spread of information.

The main worry regarding misinformation is its potential to unduly influence attitudes and behavior, leading people to think and act differently than they would if they were correctly informed, as suggested by the research teams of Stephan Lewandowsky of the University of Bristol and Elizabeth Marsh of Duke University, among others. In other words, we worry that misinformation might lead people to hold misperceptions (or false beliefs) and that these misperceptions, especially when they occur among large groups of people, may have detrimental, downstream consequences for health, social harmony, and the political climate.

At least three observations related to misinformation in the contemporary mass-media environment warrant the attention of researchers, policy makers, and really everyone who watches television, listens to the radio, or reads information online.

First of all, people who encounter misinformation tend to believe it, at least initially. Secondly, electronic and print media often do not block many types of misinformation before it appears in content available to large audiences. Thirdly, countering misinformation once it has enjoyed wide exposure can be a resource-intensive effort.

Knowing what happens when people initially encounter misinformation holds tremendous importance for estimating the potential for subsequent problems. Although it is fairly routine for individuals to come across information that is false, the question of exactly how - and when - we mentally label information as true or false has garnered philosophical debate. The dilemma is neatly summarized by a contrast between how the 17th-century philosophers Rene Descartes and Baruch Spinoza described human information engagement, with conflicting predictions that only recently have been empirically tested in robust ways. Descartes argued that a person only accepts or rejects information after considering its truth or falsehood; Spinoza argued that people accept all encountered information (or misinformation) by default and then subsequently verify or reject it through a separate cognitive process. In recent decades, empirical evidence from the research teams of Erik Asp of the University of Chicago and Daniel Gilbert at Harvard University, among others, has supported Spinoza’s account: people appear to encode all new information as if it were true, even if only momentarily, and later tag the information as being either true or false, a pattern that seems consistent with the observation that mental resources for skepticism physically reside in a different part of the brain than the resources used in perceiving and encoding.

The Industrial Revolution began in Britain in the mid-1700s and by the 1830s and 1840s had spread to many other parts of the world, including the United States. In Britain, it was a period when a largely rural, agrarian* society was transformed into an industrialised, urban one. Goods that had once been crafted by hand started to be produced in mass quantities by machines in factories, thanks to the invention of steam power and the introduction of new machines and manufacturing techniques in textiles, iron-making and other industries.

The foundations of the Industrial Revolution date back to the early 1700s, when the English inventor Thomas Newcomen designed the first modern steam engine. Called the 'atmospheric steam engine', Newcomen’s invention was originally used to power machines that pumped water out of mines. In the 1760s, the Scottish engineer James Watt started to adapt one of Newcomen’s models, and succeeded in making it far more efficient. Watt later worked with the English manufacturer Matthew Boulton to invent a new steam engine driven by both the forward and backward strokes of the piston, while the gear mechanism it was connected to produced rotary motion. It was a key innovation that would allow steam power to spread across British industries.

The demand for coal, which was a relatively cheap energy source, grew rapidly during the Industrial Revolution, as it was needed to run not only the factories used to produce manufactured goods, but also steam-powered transportation. In the early 1800s, the English engineer Richard Trevithick built a steam-powered locomotive, and by 1830 goods and passengers were being transported between the industrial centres of Manchester and Liverpool. In addition, steam-powered boats and ships were widely used to carry goods along Britain’s canals as well as across the Atlantic.

Britain had produced textiles like wool, linen and cotton, for hundreds of years, but prior to the Industrial Revolution, the British textile business was a true ‘cottage industry’, with the work performed in small workshops or even homes by individual spinners, weavers and dyers. Starting in the mid-1700s, innovations like the spinning jenny and the power loom made weaving cloth and spinning yarn and thread much easier. With these machines, relatively little labour was required to produce cloth, and the new, mechanised textile factories that opened around the country were quickly able to meet customer demand for cloth both at home and abroad.

The British iron industry also underwent major change as it adopted new innovations. Chief among the new techniques was the smelting of iron ore with coke (a material made by heating coal) instead of the traditional charcoal. This method was cheaper and produced metals that were of a higher quality, enabling Britain’s iron and steel production to expand in response to demand created by the Napoleonic Wars (1803-15) and the expansion of the railways from the 1830s.

The latter part of the Industrial Revolution also saw key advances in communication methods, as people increasingly saw the need to communicate efficiently over long distances. In 1837, British inventors William Cooke and Charles Wheatstone patented the first commercial telegraphy system. In the 1830s and 1840s, Samuel Morse and other inventors worked on their own versions in the United States. Cooke and Wheatstone’s system was soon used for railway signalling in the UK. As the speed of the new locomotives increased, it was essential to have a fast and effective means of avoiding collisions.

It isn’t easy being a professional athlete. Not only are the physical demands greater than most people could handle, athletes also face intense psychological pressure during competition. This is something that British tennis player Emma Raducanu wrote about on social media following her withdrawal from the 2021 Wimbledon tournament. Though the young player had been doing well in the tournament, she began having difficulty regulating her breathing and heart rate during a match, which she later attributed to ‘the accumulation of the excitement and the buzz’.

For athletes, some level of performance stress is almost unavoidable. But there are many different factors that dictate just how people’s minds and bodies respond to stressful events. Typically, stress is the result of an exchange between two factors: demands and resources. An athlete may feel stressed about an event if they feel the demands on them are greater than they can handle. These demands include the high level of physical and mental effort required to succeed, and also the athlete’s concerns about the difficulty of the event, their chance of succeeding, and any potential dangers such as injury. Resources, on the other hand, are a person’s ability to cope with these demands. These include factors such as the competitor’s degree of confidence, how much they believe they can control the situation’s outcome, and whether they’re looking forward to the event or not.

Each new demand or change in circumstances affects whether a person responds positively or negatively to stress. Typically, the more resources a person feels they have in handling the situation, the more positive their stress response. This positive stress response is called a challenge state. But should the person feel there are too many demands placed on them, the more likely they are to experience a negative stress response - known as a threat state. Research shows that the challenge states lead to good performance, while threat states lead to poorer performance. So, in Emma Raducanu’s case, a much larger audience, higher expectations and facing a more skilful opponent, may all have led her to feel there were greater demands being placed on her at Wimbledon - but she didn’t have the resources to tackle them. This led to her experiencing a threat response.

Our challenge and threat responses essentially influence how our body responds to stressful situations, as both affect the production of adrenaline and cortisol - also known as ‘stress hormones’. During a challenge state, adrenaline increases the amount of blood pumped from the heart and expands the blood vessels, which allows more energy to be delivered to the muscles and brain. This increase of blood and decrease of pressure in the blood vessels has been consistently related to superior sport performance in everything from cricket batting, to golf putting and football penalty taking. But during a threat state, cortisol inhibits the positive effect of adrenaline, resulting in tighter blood vessels, higher blood pressure, slower psychological responses, and a faster heart rate. In short, a threat state makes people more anxious - they make worse decisions and perform more poorly. In tennis players, cortisol has been associated with more unsuccessful serves and greater anxiety.

Let us start by looking at a modem ‘genius’, Maryam Mirzakhani, who died at the early age of 40. She was the only woman to win the Fields Medal - the mathematical equivalent of a Nobel prize. It would be easy to assume that someone as special as Mirzakhani must have been one of those ‘gifted’ children, those who have an extraordinary ability in a specific sphere of activity or knowledge. But look closer and a different story emerges. Mirzakhani was born in Tehran, Iran. She went to a highly selective girls’ school but maths wasn’t her interest - reading was. She loved novels and would read anything she could lay her hands on. As for maths, she did rather poorly at it for the first couple of years in her middle school, but became interested when her elder brother told her about what he’d learned. He shared a famous maths problem from a magazine that fascinated her - and she was hooked.

In adult life it is clear that she was curious, excited by what she did and also resolute in the face of setbacks. One of her comments sums it up. ‘Of course, the most rewarding part is the “Aha” moment, the excitement of discovery and enjoyment of understanding something new . . . But most of the time, doing mathematics for me is like being on a long hike with no trail and no end in sight.’ That trail took her to the heights of original research into mathematics.

Is her background unusual? Apparently not. Most Nobel prize winners were unexceptional in childhood. Einstein was slow to talk as a baby. He failed the general part of the entry test to Zurich Polytechnic - though they let him in because of high physics and maths scores. He struggled at work initially, but he kept plugging away and eventually rewrote the laws of Newtonian mechanics with his theory of relativity.

There has been a considerable amount of research on high performance over the last century that suggests it goes way beyond tested intelligence. On top of that, research is clear that brains are flexible, new neural pathways can be created, and IQ isn't fixed. For example, just because you can read stories with hundreds of pages at the age of five doesn’t mean you will still be ahead of your contemporaries in your teens.

While the jury is out on giftedness being innate and other factors potentially making the difference, what is certain is that the behaviours associated with high levels of performance arc replicable and most can be taught - even traits such as curiosity.

In early April 2019, Dr Ceri Shipton and his colleagues from Australian National University became the first archaeologists to explore Obi, one of many tropical islands in Indonesia’s Maluku Utara province. The research team’s discoveries suggest that the prehistoric people who lived on Obi were adept on both land and sea, hunting in the dense rainforest, foraging on the seashore, and possibly even voyaging between islands.

The excavations were part of a project to learn more about how people first dispersed from mainland Asia, through the Indonesian archipelago and into the prehistoric continent that once connected Australia and New Guinea. The team’s earlier research suggested that the northernmost islands in the group, known as the Wallacean islands, including Obi, would have offered the easiest migration route. It also seemed likely that these islands were crucial ‘stepping stones’ on humans’ island-hopping voyages through this region millennia ago. But to support this idea, they needed archaeological evidence for humans living in this remote area in the ancient past. So, they travelled to Obi to look for sites that might reveal evidence of early occupation.

Just inland from the village of Kelo on Obi’s northern coast, Shipton and his colleagues found two caves containing prehistoric rock shelters that were suitable for excavation. With the permission and help of the local people of Kelo, they dug a small test excavation in each shelter. There they found numerous artefacts, including fragments of axes, some dating to about 14,000 years ago. The earliest axes at Kelo were made using clam shells. Axes made from clam shells from roughly the same time had also previously been found elsewhere in this region, including on the nearby island of Gebe to the northeast. As on Gebe, it is highly likely that Obi’s axes were used in the construction of canoes, thus allowing these early peoples to maintain connections between communities on neighbouring islands.

The oldest cultural layers from the Kelo site provided the team with the earliest record for human occupation on Obi, dating back around 18,000 years. At this time the climate was drier and colder than today, and the island’s dense rainforests would likely have been much less impenetrable than they are now. Sea levels were about 120 metres lower, meaning Obi was a much larger island, encompassing what is today the separate island of Bisa, as well as several other small islands nearby.

Roughly 11,700 years ago, as the most recent ice age ended, the climate became significantly warmer and wetter, no doubt making Obi’s jungle much thicker. According to the researchers, it is no coincidence that around this time the first axes crafted from stone rather than sea shells appear, likely in response to their heavy-duty use for clearing and modification of the increasingly dense rainforest. While stone takes about twice as long to grind into an axe compared to shell, the harder material keeps its sharp edge for longer.

Wetlands are areas where water covers the soil, or is present either at or near the surface of the soil, for all or part of the year. These are complex ecosystems, rich in unique plant and animal life. But according to the World Wide Fund for Nature (WWFN), half of the world’s wetlands have disappeared since 1990 - converted or destroyed for commercial development, drainage schemes and the extraction of minerals and peat*. Many of those that remain have been damaged by agricultural pesticides and fertilisers, industrial pollutants, and construction works.

Throughout history, humans have gathered around wetlands, and their fertile ecosystems have played an important part in human development. Consequently, they are of considerable religious, historical and archaeological value to many communities around the world. ‘Wetlands directly support the livelihoods and well-being of millions of people,’ says Dr Matthew McCartney, principal researcher and hydrologist at the International Water Management Institute (IWMI). ‘In many developing countries, large numbers of people are dependent on wetland agriculture for their livelihoods.’

They also serve a crucial environmental purpose. ‘Wetlands are one of the key tools in mitigating climate change across the planet,’ says Pieter van Eijk, head of Climate Adaptation at Wetlands International (WI), pointing to their use as buffers that protect coastal areas from sea-level rise and extreme weather events such as hurricanes and flooding. Wetland coastal forests provide food and water, as well as shelter from storms, and WI and other agencies are working to restore those forests which have been lost. ‘It can be as simple as planting a few trees per hectare to create shade and substantially change a microclimate,’ he says. ‘Implementing climate change projects isn’t so much about money.’

The world’s wetlands are, unfortunately, rich sources for in-demand commodities, such as palm oil and pulpwood. Peatlands - wetlands with a waterlogged organic soil layer - are particularly targeted. When peatlands are drained for cultivation, they become net carbon emitters instead of active carbon stores, and, according to Marcel Silvius, head of Climate-smart Land-use at WI, this practice causes six per cent of all global carbon emissions. The clearance of peatlands for planting also increases the risk of forest fires, which release huge amounts of CO2 ‘We’re seeing huge peatland forests with extremely high biodiversity value being lost for a few decades of oil palm revenues,’ says Silvius.

The damage starts when logging companies arrive to clear the trees. They dig ditches to enter the peat swamps by boat and then float the logs out the same way. These are then used to drain water out of the peatlands to allow for the planting of corn, oil palms or pulpwood trees. Once the water has drained away, bacteria and fungi then break down the carbon in the peat and turn it into CO2 and methane. Meanwhile, the remainder of the solid matter in the peat starts to move downwards, in a process known as subsidence**. Peat comprises 90 per cent water, so this is one of the most alarming consequences of peatland clearances. ‘In the tropics, peat subsides at about four centimetres a year, so within half a century, very large landscapes on Sumatra and Borneo will become flooded as the peat drops below water level,’ says Silvius. ‘It’s a huge catastrophe that’s in preparation. Some provinces will lose 40 per cent of their landmass.’

Noise, Alex Waibel tells me, is one of the major challenges that artificial speech translation has to meet. A device may be able to recognise speech in a laboratory, or a meeting room, but will struggle to cope with the kind of background noise I can hear in my office surrounding Professor Waibel as he speaks to me from Kyoto station in Japan. I’m struggling to follow him in English, on a scratchy line that reminds me we are nearly 10,000 kilometres apart - and that distance is still an obstacle to communication even if you’re speaking the same language, as we are. We haven’t reached the future yet. If we had, Waibel would have been able to speak more comfortably in his native German and I would have been able to hear his words in English.

At Karlsruhe Institute of Technology, where he is a professor of computer science, Waibel and his colleagues already give lectures in German that their students can follow in English via an electronic translator. The system generates text that students can read on their laptops or phones, so the process is somewhat similar to subtitling. It helps that lecturers speak clearly, don’t have to compete with background chatter, and say much the same thing each year.

The idea of artificial speech translation has been around for a long time. Douglas Adams’ science fiction novel, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, published in 1979, featured a life form called the 'Babel fish’ which, when placed in the ear, enabled a listener to understand any language in the universe. It came to represent one of those devices that technology enthusiasts dream of long before they become practically realisable, like TVs flat enough to hang on walls: objects that we once could only dream of having but that are now commonplace. Now devices that look like prototype Babel fish have started to appear, riding a wave of advances in artificial translation and voice recognition.

At this stage, however, they seem to be regarded as eye-catching novelties rather than steps towards what Waibel calls ‘making a language-transparent society’. They tend to be domestic devices or applications suitable for hotel check-ins, for example, providing a practical alternative to speaking traveller’s English. The efficiency of the translator is less important than the social function. However, ‘Professionals are less inclined to be patient in a conversation,’ founder and CEO at Waverly Labs, Andrew Ochoa, observes. To redress this, Waverly is now preparing a new model for professional applications, which entails performance improvements in speech recognition, translation accuracy and the time it takes to deliver the translated speech.

For a conversation, both speakers need to have devices called Pilots (translator earpieces) in their ears. ‘We find that there’s a barrier with sharing one of the earphones with a stranger,’ says Ochoa. That can’t have been totally unexpected. The problem would be solved if earpiece translators became sufficiently prevalent that strangers would be likely to already have their own in their ears. Whether that happens, and how quickly, will probably depend not so much on the earpieces themselves, but on the prevalence of voice-controlled devices and artificial translation in general.

According to conservationists, populations of around two thirds of butterfly species have declined in Britain over the past 40 years. If this trend continues, it might have unpredictable knock-on effects for other species in the ecosystem. Butterfly eggs develop into caterpillars and these insects, which are the second stage in a new butterfly’s lifecycle, consume vast quantities of plant material, and in turn act as prey for birds as well as bats and other small mammals. Only by arming themselves with an understanding of why butterfly numbers are down can conservationists hope to halt or reverse the decline.

Butterflies prefer outdoor conditions to be ‘just right’, which means neither too hot nor too cold. Under the conditions of climate change, the temperature at any given time in summer is generally getting warmer, leaving butterflies with the challenge of how to deal with this. One of the main ways in which species are ensuring conditions suit them is by changing the time of year at which they are active and reproduce. Scientists refer to the timing of such lifecycle events as ‘phenology’, so when an animal or plant starts to do something earlier in the year than it usually does, it is said to be ‘advancing its phenology’.

These advances have been observed already in a wide range of butterflies - indeed, most species are advancing their phenology to some extent. In Britain, as the average spring temperature has increased by roughly 0.5 °C over the past 20 years, species have advanced by between three days and a week on average, to keep in line with cooler temperatures. Is this a sign that butterflies are well equipped to cope with climate change, and readily adjust to new temperatures? Or are these populations under stress, being dragged along unwillingly by unnaturally fast changes? The answer is still unknown, but a new study is seeking to answer these questions.

First, the researchers pulled together data from millions of records that had been submitted by butterfly enthusiasts - people who spend their free time observing the activities of different species. This provided information on 130 species of butterflies in Great Britain every year for a 20-year period. They then estimated the abundance and distribution of each species across this time, along with how far north in the country they had moved. The data also, crucially, allowed researchers to estimate subtle changes in what time of the year each species was changing into an adult butterfly.

When Professor Mat Upton found that a microbe from a deep-sea sponge was killing pathogenic bugs in his laboratory, he realised it could be a breakthrough in the fight against antibiotic-resistant superbugs, which are responsible for thousands of deaths a year in the UK alone. Further tests confirmed that an antibiotic from the sponge bacteria, found living more than 700 metres under the sea at the Rockall trough in the north-east Atlantic, was previously unknown to science, boosting its potential as a life-saving medicine. But Upton, and other scientists who view the deep ocean and its wealth of unique and undocumented species as a prospecting ground for new medicines, fear such potential will be lost in the rush to exploit the deep sea’s equally rich metal and mineral resources.

‘We’re looking at the bioactive potential of marine resources, to see if there are any more medicines or drugs down there before we destroy it for ever,’ says Upton, a medical microbiologist at the University of Plymouth. Me is among many scientists urging a halt to deep-sea mining, asking for time to weigh up the pros and cons. ‘In sustainability terms, this could be a better way of exploiting the economic potential of the deep sea,’ he argues. Oceanographers using remotely operated vehicles have spotted many new species. Among them have been sea cucumbers with tails allowing them to sail along the ocean floor, and a rare ‘Dumbo’ octopus, found 3,000 metres under the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of California. Any one of these could offer lifesaving potential. Upton estimates it could take up to a decade for a newly discovered antibiotic to become a medicine - but the race towards commercial mining in the ocean abyss has already begun.

The deep sea contains more nickel, cobalt and rare earth metals than all land reserves combined, according to the US Geological Survey. Mining corporations argue that deep-sea exploration could help diversify the supply of metals and point to the fact that demand for resources such as copper, aluminium, cobalt for electric car batteries and other metals to power technology and smartphones, is soaring. They say that deep-sea mining could yield far superior ore to land mining with little, if any, waste. Different methods of extraction exist, but most involve employing some form of converted machinery previously used in terrestrial mining to excavate materials from the sea floor, at depths of up to 6,000 metres, then drawing a seawater slurry, containing rock and other solid particles, from the sea floor to ships on the surface. The slurry is then ‘de-watered’ and transferred to another vessel for shipping. Extracted seawater is pumped back down and discharged close to the sea floor.

But environmental and legal groups have urged caution, arguing there are potentially massive and unknown ramifications for the environment and for nearby communities, and that the global regulatory framework is not yet drafted. ‘Despite arising in the last half century, the “new global gold rush” of deep-sea mining shares many features with past resource scrambles - including a general disregard for environmental and social impacts, and the marginalisation of indigenous peoples and their rights,’ a paper, written by Julie Hunter and Julian Aguon, from Blue Ocean Law, and Pradeep Singh, from the Center for Marine Environmental Sciences, Bremen, argues. The authors say that knowledge of the deep seabed remains extremely limited. ‘The surface of the Moon, Mars and even Venus have all been mapped and studied in much greater detail, leading marine scientists to commonly remark that, with respect to the deep sea, “We don’t yet know what we need to know”.’

There has long been a general assumption that human beings are essentially selfish. We’re apparently ruthless, with strong impulses to compete against each other for resources and to accumulate power and possessions. If we are kind to one another, it’s usually because we have ulterior motives. If we are good, it’s only because we have managed to control and transcend our innate selfishness and brutality.

This bleak view of human nature is closely associated with the science writer Richard Dawkins, whose 1976 book The Selfish Gene became popular because it fitted so well with - and helped to justify - the competitive and individualistic ethos that was so prevalent in late 20th-century societies. Like many others, Dawkins justifies his views with reference to the field of evolutionary psychology. Evolutionary psychology theorises that present-day human traits developed in prehistoric times, during what is termed the ‘environment of evolutionary adaptedness’.

Prehistory is usually seen as a period of intense competition, when life was such a brutal battle that only those with traits such as selfishness, aggression and ruthlessness survived. And because survival depended on access to resources - such as rivers, forests and animals - there was bound to be conflict between rival groups, which led to the development of traits such as racism and warfare. This seems logical. But, in fact, the assumption on which this all rests - that prehistoric life was a desperate struggle for survival - is false.

It’s important to remember that in the prehistoric era, the world was very sparsely populated. According to some estimates, around 15,000 years ago, the population of Europe was only 29,000, and the population of the whole world was less than half a million. Humans at that time were hunter-gatherers: people who lived by hunting wild animals and collecting wild plants. With such small population densities, it seems unlikely that prehistoric hunter-gatherer groups had to compete against each other for resources or had any need to develop ruthlessness and competitiveness, or to go to war.

On top of a striking new exhibition hall in southern Paris, the world’s largest urban rooftop farm has started to bear fruit. Strawberries that are small, intensely flavoured and resplendently red sprout abundantly from large plastic tubes. Peer inside and you see the tubes are completely hollow, the roots of dozens of strawberry plants dangling down inside them. From identical vertical tubes nearby burst row upon row of lettuces; near those are aromatic herbs, such as basil, sage and peppermint. Opposite, in narrow, horizontal trays packed not with soil but with coconut fibre, grow cherry tomatoes, shiny aubergines and brightly coloured chards.

Pascal Hardy, an engineer and sustainable development consultant, began experimenting with vertical farming and aeroponic growing towers — as the soil-free plastic tubes are known — on his Paris apartment block roof five years ago. The urban rooftop space above the exhibition hall is somewhat bigger: 14,000 square metres and almost exactly the size of a couple of football pitches. Already, the team of young urban farmers who tend it have picked, in one day, 3,000 lettuces and 150 punnets of strawberries. When the remaining two thirds of the vast open area are in production, 20 staff will harvest up to 1,000 kg of perhaps 35 different varieties of fruit and vegetables, every day. ‘We’re not ever, obviously, going to feed the whole city this way,’ cautions Hardy. ‘In the urban environment you’re working with very significant practical constraints, clearly, on what you can do and where. But if enough unused space can be developed like this, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t eventually target maybe between 5% and 10% of consumption.’

Perhaps most significantly, however, this is a real-life showcase for the work of Hardy’s flourishing urban agriculture consultancy, Agripolis, which is currently fielding enquiries from around the world to design, build and equip a new breed of soil-free inner-city farm. ‘The method’s advantages are many,’ he says. ‘First, I don’t much like the fact that most of the fruit and vegetables we eat have been treated with something like 17 different pesticides, or that the intensive farming techniques that produced them are such huge generators of greenhouse gases. I don’t much like the fact, either, that they’ve travelled an average of 2,000 refrigerated kilometres to my plate, that their quality is so poor, because the varieties are selected for their capacity to withstand such substantial journeys, or that 80% of the price I pay goes to wholesalers and transport companies, not the producers.’

A tree’s ‘value’ depends on several factors including its species, size, form, condition, quality, function, and accessibility, and depends on the management goals for a given forest. The same tree can be valued very differently by each person who looks at it. A large, straight black cherry tree has high value as timber to be cut into logs or made into furniture, but for a landowner more interested in wildlife habitat, the real value of that stem (or trunk) may be the food it provides to animals. Likewise, if the tree suffers from black knot disease, its value for timber decreases, but to a woodworker interested in making bowls, it brings an opportunity for a unique and beautiful piece of art.

In the past, Pennsylvania landowners were solely interested in the value of their trees as high-quality timber. The norm was to remove the stems of highest quality and leave behind poorly formed trees that were not as well suited to the site where they grew. This practice, called ‘high-grading’, has left a legacy of ‘low-use wood’ in the forests. Some people even call these ‘junk trees’, and they are abundant in Pennsylvania. These trees have lower economic value for traditional timber markets, compete for growth with higher-value trees, shade out desirable regeneration and decrease the health of a stand’ leaving it more vulnerable to poor weather and disease. Management that specifically targets low-use wood can help landowners manage these forest health issues, and wood energy markets help promote this.

Wood energy markets can accept less expensive wood material of lower quality than would be suitable for traditional timber markets. Most wood used for energy in Pennsylvania is used to produce heat or electricity through combustion. Many schools and hospitals use wood boiler systems to heat and power their facilities, many homes are primarily heated with wood, and some coal plants incorporate wood into their coal streams to produce electricity. Wood can also be gasified for electrical generation and can even be made into liquid fuels like ethanol and gasoline for lorries and cars. All these products are made primarily from low-use wood. Several tree- and plant-cutting approaches, which could greatly improve the long-term quality of a forest, focus strongly or solely on the use of wood for those markets.

One such approach is called a Timber Stand Improvement (TSI) Cut. In a TSI Cut, really poor-quality tree and plant material is cut down to allow more space, light, and other resources to the highest-valued stems that remain. Removing invasive plants might be another primary goal of a TSI Cut. The stems that are left behind might then grow in size and develop more foliage and larger crowns or tops that produce more coverage for wildlife; they have a better chance to regenerate in a less crowded environment. TSI Cuts can be tailored to one farmer’s specific management goals for his or her land.

Last year, commercial companies, military and civil departments and amateurs sent more than 400 satellites into orbit, over four times the yearly average in the previous decade. Numbers could rise even more sharply if leading space companies follow through on plans to deploy hundreds to thousands of large constellations of satellites to space in the next few years.

All that traffic can lead to disaster. Ten years ago, a US commercial Iridium satellite smashed into an inactive Russian communications satellite called Cosmos-2251, creating thousands of new pieces of space shrapnel that now threaten other satellites in low Earth orbit — the zone stretching up to 2,000 kilometres in altitude. Altogether, there are roughly 20,000 human-made objects in orbit, from working satellites to small rocket pieces. And satellite operators can’t steer away from every potential crash, because each move consumes time and fuel that could otherwise be used for the spacecraft’s main job.

Concern about space junk goes back to the beginning of the satellite era, but the number of objects in orbit is rising so rapidly that researchers are investigating new ways of attacking the problem. Several teams are trying to improve methods for assessing what is in orbit, so that satellite operators can work more efficiently in ever-more-crowded space. Some researchers are now starting to compile a massive data set that includes the best possible information on where everything is in orbit. Others are developing taxonomies of space debris — working on measuring properties such as the shape and size of an object, so that satellite operators know how much to worry about what’s coming their way.

The alternative, many say, is unthinkable. Just a few uncontrolled space crashes could generate enough debris to set off a runaway cascade of fragments, rendering near Earth space unusable. ‘If we go on like this, we will reach a point of no return,’ says Carolin Frueh, an astrodynamical researcher at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana.

Even as our ability to monitor space objects increases, so too does the total number of items in orbit. That means companies, governments and other players in space are collaborating in new ways to avoid a shared threat. International groups such as the Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee have developed guidelines on space sustainability. Those include inactivating satellites at the end of their useful life by venting pressurised materials or leftover fuel that might lead to explosions. The intergovernmental groups also advise lowering satellites deep enough into the atmosphere that they will burn up or disintegrate within 25 years. But so far, only about half of all missions have abided by this 25-year goal, says Holger Krag, head of the European Space Agency's space-debris office in Darmstadt, Germany. Operators of the planned large constellations of satellites say they will be responsible stewards in their enterprises in space, but Krag worries that problems could increase, despite their best intentions. ‘What happens to those that fail or go bankrupt?’ he asks. ‘They are probably not going to spend money to remove their satellites from space.’

In theory, given the vastness of space, satellite operators should have plenty of room for all these missions to fly safely without ever nearing another object. So some scientists are tackling the problem of space junk by trying to find out where all the debris is to a high degree of precision. That would alleviate the need for many of the unnecessary manoeuvres that are carried out to avoid potential collisions. ‘If you knew precisely where everything was, you would almost never have a problem,’ says Marlon Sorge, a space-debris specialist at the Aerospace Corporation in El Segundo, California.