When you think of outer space, you’re likely picturing stars, planets and moons. But much of space is filled with clouds of gas, plasma and stardust – known as interstellar clouds.

In the local parts of our galaxy alone there’s a complex of roughly 15 individual interstellar clouds. The Solar System is currently traversing one of them, aptly named the Local Interstellar Cloud. The origin and history of these clouds are believed to be tightly connected to the birth and death of stars. But we can see their imprints right here on Earth, in a place you might not expect – Antarctic ice.

My colleagues and I have been studying stardust trapped in old Antarctic snow and ice to trace the history of our solar neighbourhood, including the Solar System itself.

In a new study published in Physical Review Letters, we found a subtle clue that reveals our Solar System’s movement through the local interstellar environment over the past 80,000 years.

Looking down to see the sky

Astronomy usually looks outward. Telescopes collect light from distant stars and galaxies, allowing us to observe events across vast stretches of space and time. From these observations, we infer how stars live and die, how elements are formed, and how the universe evolves.

Our approach turns that idea on its head.

Instead of observing the light coming to us, we study the debris of exploding stars right here on Earth. As cosmic furnaces, stars forge many elements in their cores, from carbon and oxygen to calcium and iron. This includes rare isotopes (variants of chemical elements) such as iron-60.

When massive stars explode into supernovae at the end of their life, these elements are ejected into space and become interstellar dust.

Tiny grains of this dust then drift through the galaxy and occasionally find their way to Earth’s surface. Radioactive iron-60, a fingerprint of stellar explosions, is embedded within these grains. By searching for these atoms in geological archives on Earth, we can probe astrophysical events like supernovae long after their light has faded.

This is why Antarctica is so valuable. Its snow accumulates slowly and remains largely undisturbed, forming a layered record that stretches back tens of thousands of years. Each layer captures a snapshot of the material that was present in our cosmic neighbourhood at the time.

Finding stardust in Antarctic ice

When we studied 500kg of recent snow in Antarctica, we unexpectedly found this rare radioactive isotope. Where did it come from? There was no recent near-Earth supernova.

But our solar neighbourhood is filled with 15 clouds, with the Solar System currently traversing at least one of them. Is the stardust waiting in the clouds to be picked up by Earth? If yes, then the amount of stardust Earth collects should be related to their structure: the denser the clouds, the more iron-60 they contain. This was our educated guess in 2019.

Soon, other explanations were brought forward. Millions of years ago Earth received large showers of iron-60 from massive supernovae. Is the iron-60 in Antarctic snow the last remnant or an echo of this signal? A rain that became a drizzle?

To find out, we analysed a 300kg section of Antarctic ice, dating from 40,000 to 80,000 years ago. The process is painstaking. The ice needs to be melted and chemically treated to isolate tiny amounts of iron, including the iron-60 from the stardust.

Then, using the sensitive atom counting technique of accelerator mass spectrometry at the Heavy-Ion Accelerator Facility at Australian National University, we counted individual atoms of iron-60.

The expectation was straightforward: based on previous measurements from surface snow of Antarctica and several thousand-year-old ocean sediments, we anticipated a certain steady level of iron-60 deposition.

Instead, we found less. Not zero, but noticeably lower than expected.

This result suggests that less interstellar dust was reaching Earth during that period. This is a remarkable change on a comparatively short astrophysical timescale and does not fit the long timescales of the iron-60 deposits that landed here millions of years ago. Instead, we needed to look for a smaller, more local source for the isotope.

A fitting story

Naturally, astronomers are also quite interested in the clouds around the Solar System. Last year, a study reconstructing the history of the clouds arrived at the conclusion that they most likely originated in a stellar explosion. Furthermore, they found the Solar System has been traversing the Local Interstellar Cloud from sometime between 40,000 and 124,000 years ago.

If that’s correct, we would expect that the amount of iron-60 collected on Earth should have changed sometime in the same time period – between 40,000 and 124,000 years ago.

This is exactly what our results showed in Antarctica.

The story doesn’t fit perfectly, though. If these clouds did originate directly from an exploding star, we would expect way more iron-60 than we actually see in Antarctic ice.

Nevertheless, these clouds are imprinted in Earth’s geological record. If we look deeper and analyse even older ice, we might soon unravel the mystery of these local interstellar clouds, revealing their full history and uncertain origins.

Dominik Koll receives funding from the Australian Institute of Nuclear Science and Engineering (AINSE).

When it comes to space debris, what goes up is coming down more often – and not safely.

When spacecraft launch, some components, including nonreusable rocket boosters, are jettisoned to decrease weight, leaving them to intentionally burn up as they reenter the atmosphere. Satellites also enter the atmosphere at the end of their life, supposedly burning up. But in many cases, they are not doing so as predicted.

Debris from partially burned-up spacecraft components and satellites reentering Earth’s atmosphere can pose a risk to people and structures on the ground. The surge in launches, driven largely by private players such as SpaceX, is turning a once-remote risk into a growing threat.

Our materials research group at the University of Wisconsin-Stout is studying the materials that allow reentry debris to survive. We look for ways to safely modify their exceptional heat-resistant qualities to make them safer for atmospheric reentry.

Debris landing on Earth

Reentry debris has fallen on both private and public property around the world multiple times since 2021. Some of the most notable events involve pieces from SpaceX Dragon’s carbon fiber trunk, which stays attached to the crewed capsule until just hours before its reentry. These trunks are larger than a 15-passenger van and used for storage.

Trunk debris from the Crew 7 mission to the International Space Station has landed in North Carolina, and fragments from the Crew 1 mission landed in New South Wales, Australia. Similarly, debris from the Axiom 3 mission landed in Saskatchewan, Canada.

In addition to trunk debris, carbon fiber components that hold pressurized gases to adjust a spacecraft’s orientation also make up a lot of recovered reentry debris. Some of these most recent recoveries have been in Australia, Argentina and Poland.

Most of the debris that reenters the atmosphere burns up, so why are these pieces making it down to Earth’s surface?

Atmospheric reentry

Satellites such as SpaceX’s Starlink reside in low Earth orbit, typically between 190 and 1,240 miles (300 and 2000 kilometers) above the Earth’s surface. To stay there, they need to move really fast, at about 17,000 miles (27,000 km) per hour. To reach this speed, a rocket with a million pounds of fuel had to accelerate it, and part of this energy is still contained within the satellite’s momentum.

As an object in orbit drifts down, closer to Earth’s upper atmosphere, it starts to collide with air molecules, slowing the object down. The amount of heat generated from this interaction rapidly consumes the satellite, melting metal at over 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit (1,600 degrees Celsius).

More launches

Countries around the world have been launching items into space since the 1950s, so why is reentry a concern now?

Starting in the 1960s, about 100 objects were launched into space every year – or at least that was the case until 2016. Since then, the number has been increasing exponentially. In 2016, 200 objects launched. But in 2025, that number was 4,500, meaning 20% of all objects launched into space since the 1950s were launched last year.

Most of these launches came from companies in the United States, such as SpaceX and Rocket Labs. Companies like these, along with those outside of the U.S., have plans for large satellite constellations composed of hundreds of thousands to a million satellites.

The more objects and payloads launched, the more reentry events occur. Satellite operators are required to remove their decommissioned satellites from orbit after 25 years to comply with regulations set in place by international committees. Groups across the world, including the Federal Communications Commission in the U.S., have pushed to shorten the deorbit window to five years. Because of these guidelines, the full influx of reentry debris events from these recent launches will not be felt for another 10 or more years.

The objects launched and policy decisions made today will have a lasting effect on future safety.

Carbon fiber

As the world has progressed technologically, efficiency for launching items into space has too.

Satellites and spacecraft are becoming lighter, stronger and more heat resistant because of materials such as carbon fiber-reinforced plastics and new metals. These strong materials are sought after because they’re lightweight, but they can also cause deorbiting debris to withstand reentry temperatures.

Carbon fiber, once used exclusively in space technology, is now found in common items such as bicycle frames and racing car bodies. It is still the gold standard for fabricating high-strength, low-weight materials for spacecraft components such as rocket fuselages, interstaging – the protective housing found between the rocket stages – and pressure vessels that experience extreme temperatures and high mechanical stress and strain.

Simple metals such as aluminum and steel melt and burn away, while complex materials such as carbon fiber, which is manufactured at up to 5,000 F (3,000 C), burn away unpredictably, changing the way jettisoned components break up upon reentry.

Since the early 2000s, a majority of recovered space debris contains either carbon fiber-reinforced plastic sections or metal components wrapped with carbon fiber. The carbon fiber can act as an unintentional heat shield for heavier, more harmful debris.

Design For demise

Design for demise is a major area of research focused on mitigating the risk of reentry debris. Instead of relying on controlled and meticulously timed deorbits that send components that survive reentry into the ocean at the end of their lives, spacecraft components are engineered to ensure they completely disintegrate while deorbiting through the atmosphere.

Design for demise can take many forms. These range from changing to more heat-susceptible materials to relocating harder-to-burn components to areas of the spacecraft that will be hotter during reentry, or using linkages that break apart at high temperatures to separate structures into smaller components to help them burn up.

With so much focus historically on spacecraft being made from the lightest, strongest and most heat-resistant materials available, it may seem counterintuitive to intentionally make some materials weaker. The key is making materials smarter, so they maintain their strength during their mission but weaken under the heat of reentry.

Matthew Ray's lab is developing and working toward patenting a system to decrease risk from future carbon fiber based reentry debris.

Reese Hufnagel conducts research on space debris and is developing ways to make future carbon composites safer for use in orbit.

A pair of stars spiralling around each other. That’s the origin of a new source of repeating radio bursts we’ve detected, called ASKAP J1745.

In recent years, astronomers have been puzzling over mysterious bursts of radio signals, known as long-period transients because of how slowly they repeat. They were first discovered by chance with telescopes scanning large chunks of the sky.

To date, astronomers have only found a dozen of these weird sources, and we’re still trying to understand exactly what they are.

In a new study published today in Nature Astronomy, we describe a first-of-its-kind detection – both radio and X-ray bursts repeating with each orbit.

ASKAP J1745 is exciting because we’ve figured out what it is, unlike 10 of the 12 known long-period transients. Even better, we were able to detect it with a bunch of different telescopes that observe all different kinds of light.

Bearing the same message in three forms of writing, the famous Rosetta stone once helped scholars decipher ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. Similarly, this extra information we found about ASKAP J1745 will help astronomers better understand the mystery of all long-period transients.

What do long-period radio transients look like?

Long-period transients are things in space that produce bright, repeating bursts of light at radio wavelengths. Little is known about the origins of most long-period transients. In addition, many have been discovered close to the dusty region in the middle of our galaxy, so it can be hard to see them with visible-light telescopes.

Even with just a dozen of these strange sources discovered so far, they seem to come in a few different shapes and sizes. Their radio bursts repeat on timescales of minutes to hours.

Some have been making regular pulses for more than 30 years, while others turn off for days at a time or go permanently radio-silent.

Where do they come from?

Astronomers initially thought long-period transients were just very slowly spinning neutron stars, called pulsars. These are the fast-rotating dense cores left after the supernova explosions of massive stars.

The first few of these radio transients discovered were repeating roughly every 20 minutes. That’s much slower than the average pulsar, which repeats every few seconds.

Furthermore, when pulsars slow down their spin, they should stop producing radio light. This means we shouldn’t see radio bursts from neutron stars rotating so slowly.

So astronomers investigated other theories involving white dwarfs – the slowly cooling dead centres of less massive stars. And recently we discovered some long-period transients in binary systems (two stars in a close orbit) with evidence of both a white dwarf and a lower-mass red dwarf star.

The discovery of ASKAP J1745

ASKAP J1745 is a new long-period radio transient we found with the ASKAP radio telescope, owned and operated by CSIRO, Australia’s national science agency. It’s the first one of these strange sources that we’ve identified as a “cataclysmic variable”.

Cataclysmic variables are systems with two stars – one of them a white dwarf – that orbit each other closely enough to interact. If the stars are close enough, the white dwarf’s gravity can pull (or “accrete”) material from the other star. That’s why these systems are also known as accreting white dwarf binaries.

Another long-period radio transient was recently discovered with X-ray bursts, repeating with the same regularity as the radio. However, the origin of the bursts and their shared timing remained unclear.

Now, for the first time, we have combined observations from radio, X-ray and optical telescopes to find that ASKAP J1745 produces both X-ray and radio bursts with each orbit of its two stars.

In these rapidly orbiting systems, the X-ray light is thought to come from the material heating up as it streams onto the white dwarf.

The bright radio bursts were a bit more of a mystery. But knowing that this is an accreting binary system helped us figure things out.

The type of pulsed radio light we detected is typically caused by energetic particles interacting with strong magnetic fields. Here, we have the perfect combination: two stars with strong magnetic fields (typically thousands of times stronger than an MRI machine), with charged particles flowing towards the white dwarf from the other star.

What this means for the future of astronomy

This discovery is unique because we have more information and at more different wavelengths than any other previous long-period transient.

Just like the Rosetta stone was key to decoding ancient Egyptian symbols, ASKAP J1745 will be key to deciphering the origins of other long-period radio transients that lack information at other wavelengths.

ASKAP J1745 is the first long-period transient showing signs of accretion across the spectrum of light – from radio waves to visible to X-rays. And this stream of charged material is a crucial ingredient for making the radio light we detect from these systems.

Exploring the mechanism that produces long-period radio bursts gives us a new laboratory to learn about extreme physics such as plasma flows and magnetic fields in conditions we can’t recreate on Earth.

We acknowledge the Wajarri Yamaji as the Traditional Owners and Native Title Holders of Inyarrimanha Ilgari Bundara, the CSIRO Murchison Radio-astronomy Observatory where ASKAP is located.

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

The science academies of G7 member countries have identified international space governance as a pressing issue for the G7 Leaders’ Summit, to be held from June 15-17 in Evian, France.

The explosive growth of large satellite constellations over the last decade offers great promise for near-universal access to broadband internet. But this growth comes with risks that are not yet fully understood.

These include contamination of the night sky, disruption of astronomy research, increasing risk of satellite collisions and hazards from large numbers of satellites falling back to Earth.

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Read more: A million new SpaceX satellites will destroy the night sky — for everyone on Earth

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Our understanding of the human impact on the near-Earth space environment is at a similar stage to our understanding of climate change back in the 1990s. We know that increased human activity is causing large disruptions to the space environment, but whether a tipping point is soon to be reached is not yet clear.

In this context, one of the most significant recommendations for G7 member states is to establish an intergovernmental panel on space sustainability (IPSS).

Impacts on atmospheric chemistry

Research and understanding of human impacts in space is still at a very early stage. For example, we don’t really know when some orbital altitudes will become so overpopulated with space debris that they reach operational capacity.

Scientists have also recently recognized that the increased global rocket-launch rate — with more than one rocket now being launched every day — may lead to a reversal in the recovery of the ozone layer.

Similarly, we are aware that satellites burning up as they fall back to the Earth’s atmosphere will have significant effects on the chemistry in the upper atmosphere. We know there are now several of these large satellite re-entries occurring every day, but the full effects of this are not clear.

Messy space governance

Several scientific bodies now advise on policy in different areas of space sustainability. One is the Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee, which focuses on space debris degradation of the environment.

Another is the International Astronomical Union Centre for the Protection of the Dark and Quiet Sky, which co-ordinates efforts to reduce the impact of satellites on optical and radio astronomy.

But no single body exists to provide comprehensive policy input to governments for policy and regulatory decisions. The situation is similar to that in climate change research, when the early Advisory Group on Greenhouse Gases (AGGG), formed in the 1980s, transitioned to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC).

We urgently need an intergovernmental panel on space sustainability (IPSS).

Ten years ago, the number of active satellites in low-Earth orbit numbered almost 2,000; today, it’s close to 20,000. In recent years, governments and corporations have announced plans for up to a million more.

Defining global thresholds

How could this IPSS be structured, to approach space governance in a similar way to how the IPCC approached the climate change problem?

A primary goal should be to define global thresholds for sustainability. Much like the 1.5 C limit in climate science, the panel should identify thresholds beyond which specific orbital altitudes have reached carrying capacity.

Like the IPCC, an IPSS should include several working groups to provide transparent and accessible summaries of scientific results for policy makers.

One should focus on the physical science of the orbital environment. This means the state of low-Earth orbit as a finite resource — including estimates of space debris and collision growth, effects of space weather and models of sustainable future launch traffic.

Another working group should centre on the environmental and societal impacts of large satellite constellations. This would assess stratospheric ozone depletion caused by rocket launch emissions, the effects of higher satellite re-entry rates, changes to atmospheric chemistry and increased casualty risks. It would also quantify their impact on ground-based astronomy.

Finally a working group on mitigation and policy could set the stage for clear international standards for post-mission satellite disposal, active debris removal and new licensing requirements that account for a constellation’s “system-wide” rather than “per-satellite” risk.

Space traffic footprints

A useful addition to the IPSS would be a Task Force on Space Traffic Footprints. Modelled after the IPCC’s Task Force on National Greenhouse Gas Inventories, this body would develop standardized methodologies for states to report their “space traffic footprint” — the burden their space objects pose to the safety and sustainability of the low-Earth orbit environment.

Similar to the IPCC’s role in vetting climate models, the IPSS needs to provide independent assessment of claims regarding satellite demisability — the way satellites are safely decommissioned and de-orbited. This should evaluate how successful de-orbiting technologies are and how well we can track satellites and estimate their location uncertainties.

By creating a co-ordinated international approach now, the IPSS will help balance the enormous promise of commercial activity in space with the environmental risks — just as the IPCC has done with Earth’s changing climate from human activities.

Peter Brown receives funding from the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada, the United Sstates National Aeronautics and Space Administration, the European Space Agency, Natural Resources Canada and Defence Research and Development Canada

The moment of first contact with extraterrestrials is a staple of science fiction. It usually involves a frantic scientist having a Eureka moment, realising in a single dramatic instant that Earth is being visited by creatures from light-years away.

Aliens are in the public consciousness once again thanks to Steven Spielberg’s latest film, Disclosure Day, which follows a whistleblower’s attempts to reveal extraterrestrial visitations to the world.

In reality, the discovery of extraterrestrial intelligence is far more likely to emerge as a faint anomaly in astronomical data, followed by a slow, painstaking process of verification, peer review and intense international deliberation. There might be no single Eureka moment, and no lone scientist with the answer.

As our telescopes have advanced, so too has the complexity of the world we live in. That is why a committee of the International Academy of Astronautics (IAA) has just voted to accept a major overhaul of the “post-detection protocols” – the scientific code of conduct for what happens after we find evidence of life beyond Earth.

The IAA body that has approved the changes is the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (Seti) Committee. Seti is the collective term for scientific projects dedicated to searching for signs of intelligent alien life in the universe.

The previous version of these principles was adopted way back in 2010. To put that in perspective, in 2010, the “fake news” era hadn’t quite arrived, social media was in its infancy, and the broader idea of “technosignatures”, looking for signs of alien technology such as waste heat from giant structures in space, was still largely on the fringes of mainstream astronomy.

Today, the field has exploded. We are no longer just listening out for artificial radio signals from a few select stars. Projects like Breakthrough Listen have globalised the search, and we now observe the entire electromagnetic spectrum for any sign of advanced technology.

Furthermore, the information landscape has become a minefield. In an era of deepfakes and instant global connectivity, a single unverified claim could trigger global panic or widespread misinformation before scientists have even had a chance to check their data.

At the heart of the 2026 update is a commitment to scientific rigour. The new protocols make it clear: we do not shout “alien” the moment we see a strange blip in our data. If a researcher detects a candidate signal, which could be an artificial radio signal, or something else, such as a sign of alien technology, the first step isn’t a post on social media; it’s a quiet, rigorous attempt to prove themselves wrong. The discovery must be independently authenticated by multiple organisations using different instruments.

Only when a consensus is reached that the signal is truly credible is it brought to the world. This isn’t about secrecy for secrecy’s sake. There is no obligation to disclose verification efforts while they are ongoing, precisely to avoid embarrassing and damaging false alarms.

However, once a discovery is confirmed, the protocols demand full transparency. The data, the analysis methods, and the code used must be made open to the entire global scientific community and, indeed, the general public for replication.

Should we talk back?

One significant addition to the 2026 declaration is the focus on researcher safety. We’ve seen in recent years how scientists at the centre of high profile news stories can become targets for harassment or “doxxing”, where malicious individuals post the scientist’s personal details online. The new guidelines urge institutions to protect their researchers from negative professional repercussions and physical or digital harassment.

The protocols also address the “trash” of our own making: radio frequency interference (RFI). The radio frequency bands that Seti scientists use to listen for E.T. are increasingly polluted – from below by mobile networks, radar and poorly shielded electronics, and from above by the growth of satellite “mega-constellations” like Starlink.

The declaration calls for extraordinary international efforts to protect the frequencies where a signal is detected, ensuring our “communication channel” isn’t drowned out by our own technology.

The most controversial part of Seti isn’t the searching; it’s the messaging. Known as Meti (Messaging Extraterrestrial Intelligence), the idea of intentionally sending signals to other worlds splits the community. As enshrined in the earlier declarations, the 2026 Declaration remains firm on one point: no response should be sent until there has been a broad, international consultation.

Deciding how to represent Earth to an alien civilisation is a choice that belongs to all of humanity, not a single institution or individual. These consultations must take place through the United Nations or other broadly representative global bodies.

The discovery of intelligent life beyond Earth would stand as one of the most transformative events in human history. To help manage the profound aftermath, the IAA SETI Committee is establishing a permanent Post-Detection Sub-Committee.

This body will not simply be a room full of astronomers; it will include international experts in ethics, law, social sciences and communications to advise on the complex, long term societal implications of contact.

The new protocols themselves are designed to be living documents, supplemented by a separate Code of Conduct and Best Practices Guidelines that will be periodically reexamined and updated to reflect the “best practice” of the day.

The revised declaration has recently been formally adopted by the IAA Board of Trustees and over the rest of the year it will be filed with other appropriate organisations for their endorsement.

The next goal will be to present the finished framework to the wider scientific community at the International Astronautical Congress in Turkey in August 2026. Beyond that, the Committee hope that the new protocols will also be reviewed and noted by the UN.

By establishing these rigorous rules now, we ensure that if, or when, that signal finally arrives, the world is prepared to listen, verify, and respond as one planet.

Michael Garrett led a task group that included Professor Kathryn Denning (York University, Canada), Professor Carol Oliver (University of New South Wales, Australia) and Mr. Les Tennen (Law Offices of Sterns and Tennen, USA, and Full member and Legal Counsel of the International Academy of Astronautics Board of Trustees). This group drafted the updated 2026 protocols.

Every four years, the men’s World Cup delivers some certainties. The pitch dimensions are tightly regulated, offside is signaled with a flag, and referees end the match with a blast of a whistle. But one key piece of equipment is changed on purpose: the ball.

Adidas, which has supplied World Cup soccer balls since 1970, introduces a new match ball for every tournament, and with that comes fresh aerodynamic calculations for players. How will it fly through the air, weave and dip?

For the past 20 years, my engineering colleagues in Japan and England and I have put the new balls through their paces, investigating soccer ball aerodynamics. Our work begins by putting balls in wind tunnels to measure drag, side and lift forces. We use the measurements from these tests in trajectory simulations that tell us how the ball will behave in a real-game setting.

That may all sound a little academic, and we do produce an academic paper on our findings. But what our data indicates could mean the difference between a goal or a miss for strikers, a save or a blunder for goalkeepers, and jubilation or heartache for fans.

At the World Cup, the ball is the most important piece of equipment in the biggest tournament of the world’s most popular sport.

This year’s ball, the Trionda, is especially interesting. When FIFA and Adidas unveiled it in fall 2025, the first thing many people noticed was the color and the paneling.

The ball’s red, blue and green graphics correspond to the three host countries, with maple leaf, star and eagle motifs representing Canada, the United States and Mexico. And for the first time in men’s World Cup history, matches will be played with a four-panel ball.

But with so few panels, has Adidas made the ball too smooth? That is the trap engineers fell into with the Jabulani ball used at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa that became notorious for sudden dips and swerves, which made goalkeepers’ lives far trickier.

You do not want the World Cup ball to feel like the start of a science experiment once it is in the air. And if it behaves strangely, players and goalkeepers notice immediately.

The evolution of soccer balls

World Cup balls have come a long way over the decades. If you go back to 1930, the ball looked very different. The first World Cup final used two different leather balls: Argentina’s Tiento in the first half and Uruguay’s T-Model in the second. Both were hand-sewn, multipaneled balls, inflated through a bladder opening that had to be tied off and tucked back beneath the laces. In damp conditions, the leather absorbed water, making the ball heavier and less predictable in play.

By 1994 – when the United States last hosted the men’s tournament – the official ball, Adidas’ Questra, had evolved into a foam-based design. The modern World Cup ball is no longer just stitched leather. It is an engineered aerodynamic surface.

Trionda pushes that evolution further. It has only four panels, the fewest in men’s World Cup history, which have been thermally bonded – melded together using heat and adhesive.

Fewer panels might suggest less total seam length and therefore a smoother ball. And smoothness matters because the thin boundary layer of air clinging to the ball determines where the flow separates, how large a wake forms, and how much drag the ball experiences.

The Trionda has intentionally deep seams, three pronounced grooves on each panel and fine surface texturing.

But will these textures and grooves do the trick? To find that out, my colleagues and I measured the ball’s seam geometry and overall aerodynamic behavior. We compared it with Trionda’s four predecessors: 2022’s Al Rihla, 2018’s Telstar 18, the Brazuca used in 2014 and the Jabulani in 2010.

What the measurements show

In our wind tunnel tests at the University of Tsukuba, we measured something called the drag coefficient, which is a way of describing how much air resistance a ball experiences as it moves.

Using this data, we gained insights into how the airflow changes around the ball after it is kicked. The tests helped identify the drag crisis, the speed range in which changes in the boundary layer and flow separation produce a sharp change in drag, which can alter the ball’s acceleration, trajectory and range.

We found that the Trionda is effectively rougher than those predecessors.

Trionda reaches its drag crisis at a lower speed, at about 27 mph (43 kph). That is below the roughly 31-40 mph (50-65 kph) range for Al Rihla, Telstar 18 and Brazuca, and far below Jabulani’s roughly 49-60 mph (79-97 kph) range, depending on orientation.

Why does all that matter? Because a ball can feel ordinary off the boot and still behave differently in flight. When the drag crisis occurs in the middle of game-relevant speeds, small changes in launch speed, orientation or spin can shift the ball from one aerodynamic regime to another.

That was Jabulani’s problem. Once kicked with little spin, it had a tendency to slow down too much as it passed through its critical-speed range.

Trionda does not look like that kind of ball. It has a more steady and consistent drag coefficient in the range of speeds associated with corner kicks and free kicks.

But there is a trade-off. Our measurements also showed that once Trionda enters the higher-speed, turbulent-flow regime, its drag coefficients are somewhat larger than those of Brazuca, Telstar 18 and Al Rihla.

In plain language, that suggests a hard-hit long ball may lose a little range.

In our simulations, the difference is not huge. But it is large enough that players may notice long kicks coming up a few meters short.

It is also important to note that we tested a nonspinning ball. As such, our results do not provide a prediction of every pass, clearance or free kick fans will see this summer. Balls in flight often spin due to off-center kicks. That, along with altitude, humidity, temperature and air pressure all influence how a ball flies through the air once kicked.

The big test yet to come

Fewer panels and more texturing aren’t the only differences with the new ball.

Trionda also carries technology that has little to do with its flight and a great deal to do with officiating. Like Al Rihla, Trionda includes “connected-ball technology” that lets computers know when the ball is kicked, helping with offside decisions.

But the architecture has changed. In 2022, the measurement unit was suspended at the center of the ball. With Trionda, it sits in a specially created layer inside one panel, with counterbalancing weights in the other three panels. The chip sends data to the video assistant referee, or VAR, system and the tournament’s semi-automated offside system.

That tweak will help referees, but will the new ball in general help or hinder players?

The evidence from our tests suggests that the ball won’t be behaving in a way that leads to baffling and erratic flight.

But the more intriguing possibilities are subtler and outside the scope of our tests. Will the grooves on Trionda help players generate more backspin on the ball, generating more lift and possibly offsetting Trionda’s somewhat larger high-speed drag coefficient?

That is why I keep studying World Cup balls both in the lab and through their behavior in play. Every four years, a new design offers a fresh way to watch physics enter the game, not in theory, but in the movement of an object in which every player on the soccer field must place their trust.

John Eric Goff currently works as a visitor in the Department of Physics at the University of Puget Sound in Tacoma, Washington. Following the conclusion on 30 June of that one-year appointment, he will start on 1 July as Professor of Engineering Practice in the Weldon School of Biomedical Engineering and the School of Mechanical Engineering at Purdue University.

Astronomers using the MeerKAT radio telescope in South Africa have discovered the most distant hydroxyl megamaser ever detected, opening a new radio astronomy frontier. A hydroxyl megamaser is a natural space laser, and this one is located in a violently merging galaxy more than 8 billion light-years away.

We spoke to the astronomers, Thato Manamela, a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Pretoria, and Roger Deane, director of the Inter-University Institute for Data Intensive Astronomy and a professor at the universities of Cape Town and Pretoria, about their study.

What you’ve found has been described as a ‘new frontier’ in space research. Why is it extraordinary?

This discovery is extraordinary because of the record distance at which we’ve detected it, over eight billion light-years away. That places it deep into the early universe. This means that we aren’t seeing the galaxy as it exists today. We are seeing it as it was 8 billion years ago. Since the Big Bang happened about 13.8 billion years ago, we are looking at a “toddler” version of the universe. At that stage where the maser signal was transmitted by the host galaxy, galaxies were much more “chaotic”, they collided more often and were much more active than the stable, mature galaxies we see nearby today.

It gives us a rare glimpse of galaxy interactions and extreme star-forming environments when the cosmos was less than half its current age. Think of light like a letter in the mail. If a friend sends a letter from overseas, by the time you read it, the news is old. In space, light is the letter. The “news” from this galaxy took 8 billion years to reach us. We see the galaxy as a “toddler” even though, in its own time, it has already grown up or changed.

We detected this megamaser, which operates on a scale of power millions of times greater than a typical galactic maser. Both megamasers and gigamasers are cosmic radio lasers. While a megamaser is a million times more luminous than a standard maser found in the local universe, a gigamaser is a billion times more luminous, making it 1,000 times more powerful than a megamaser.

In just five hours of observing time we found a signal that typically requires hundreds of hours of observation, given its distance and rarity. But gravitational lensing boosted the signal enough to detect it. Additionally, while we were targeting neutral hydrogen, MeerKAT’s wide bandwidth enabled the surprise discovery of the megamaser signal in the same data.

This rapid detection suggests that future surveys with MeerKAT and the upcoming SKA Observatory could uncover many more such distant, extreme objects. Its ability to find this so quickly proves that we finally have the technology to see faint signals from the very distant past. It’s a preview of what the upcoming Square Kilometre Array (SKA), a unique, one-of-a-kind international mega-project, might achieve.

But a highly complementary next-generation facility called the next-generation Very Large Array (ngVLA) is being planned and designed for construction in the US. The SKA Observatory (SKA-Low and SKA-Mid) focuses on low-to-mid radio frequencies. The ngVLA will operate at much higher frequencies. Together, they will form two of the major pillars of next-generation global radio astronomy. The finding gives astronomers a new way to study how galaxies evolved in the early universe.

What technologies or capabilities made this possible?

The discovery was made possible by the sensitivity and wide frequency coverage of the MeerKAT radio telescope. Its ability to detect faint signals over a broad frequency range allows us to search for spectral lines across large cosmic volumes. A spectral line is a cosmic chemical fingerprint. Every atom or molecule emits electromagnetic waves at specific frequencies. Detecting those frequencies tells astronomers what the gas is made of.

In this case, MeerKAT’s wide bandwidth allowed us to detect both the hydroxyl line and neutral hydrogen absorption in a single observation. Previously, with older technology, this would have taken two separate observations.

Equally important are advances in data processing and computing. The data were processed using high-performance computing resources at the Inter-University Institute for Data Intensive Astronomy (IDIA).

Processing such massive amounts of data is like trying to drink from a firehose. MeerKAT collects gigabytes of information every second, resulting in files far too large for a standard computer to handle. To find a signal from 8 billion years ago, which is millions of times fainter than a cell phone signal, we must use robust calibration pipelines. These act like an automated high-tech car wash to scrub away digital noise and sharpen the telescope’s focus. This “cleaning” process requires trillions of mathematical calculations, necessitating the use of supercomputers that work for days to transform raw radio interference into a clear scientific discovery.

Gravitational lensing also played a key role. A massive foreground object, like a star or galaxy, for example, amplified the signal from the distant galaxy, effectively acting as a natural telescope and boosting our ability to detect it.

How does what you’ve found change our understanding of the universe?

It’s rare that a single astrophysical system, a collection of celestial objects, in this case, two galaxies forming a lens system, can change our understanding of the universe. We typically need large sample sizes to do that. But the combination of the recording-breaking distance and the speed of the discovery was impressive.

It suggests that systematic searches – such as those conducted by deep MeerKAT surveys – could convert these once-rare finds into powerful probes of extreme, yet highly obscured star formation in the distant universe. As a result of this observation, the SKA Observatory and other future telescopes won’t just be looking for more of the same; they will be looking for hidden history.

Hydroxyl megamasers are usually associated with galaxy mergers. We expect some galaxy mergers to host pairs of supermassive black holes. Almost every large galaxy has a supermassive black hole at its centre. When galaxies merge, the supermassive black holes at their centres can eventually spiral towards each other, producing gravitational waves, ripples in space-time. Finding systems like this helps astronomers study an important stage in galaxy evolution and the environments where these extreme events occur.

By using megamasers to find these pairs, we can study the final stages of how the largest objects in the universe are built. This is a major milestone in a galaxy’s life. By finding these galaxies now, we are catching them at a key evolutionary stage, the final countdown before they collide and release a massive burst of energy that our next generation of detectors will be able to hear.

The strength of the MeerKAT-detected hydroxyl signal after such a short observation time therefore implies that astronomers will be able to detect large numbers of these systems across most of cosmic time.

What does the discovery say about South Africa’s place in data-intensive radio astronomy?

This discovery highlights South Africa’s leading role in radio astronomy. Facilities such as MeerKAT, combined with data-intensive platforms like IDIA, provide world-class capabilities for both observation and analysis. It also demonstrates strong local expertise in handling large, complex datasets.

Discoveries like this rely on advanced data processing, signal extraction and scientific interpretation. These are all key strengths within the South African research community. As we move from using current scout telescopes like MeerKAT to building and operating the world’s largest radio observatory, the SKAO, South Africa is well positioned to remain a hub for data-intensive astronomy. Results like this reinforce the country’s role in shaping the future of the field.

Thato Manamela works for the University of Pretoria. He receives funding from the National Research Foundation (NRF SARAO). He is affiliated with UP and IDIA.

Roger P. Deane previously held an SKA Research Chair in Radio Astronomy, funded by the South African Radio Astronomy Observatory, which is a facility of the National Research Foundation (NRF), an agency of the Department of Science, Technology and Innovation (DSTI).