High school sleuths search fish guts for clues to plastics pollution
Forceps in hand, Mia Fricano, a high school junior, was about to investigate. She turned over the fish, a bluegill, and slid in a blade, before extracting its gastrointestinal tract. Then, she carried the fish innards to a beaker filled with a solution that would dissolve the biological material, revealing if there were any tiny particles of plastic - known as microplastics - inside.
Mia and two other high schoolers working alongside her in a lab this spring were part of a program at the American Museum of Natural History designed to give young people hands-on experience in professional science. Called the Science Research Mentoring Program, or SRMP (pronounced "shrimp"), the program enrolls roughly 60 high school juniors and seniors each year who collaborate with scientists on a research project.
Mia and her peers were matched with Ryan Thoni, an ichthyologist and curatorial associate in the museum's division of vertebrate zoology. Thoni's project to gather information on when and how microplastics began to enter the environment relied on the museum's vast collection of fish specimens dating from more than a century ago - some 3.2 million in total.
Concern about the tiny pieces of plastic debris has grown in the last few years, along with early-stage research on the health risks they pose. The particles are found in human blood, breast milk and even the brain - and in animals, including, as it turned out, nearly all the fish in Thoni's lab.
"It was kind of shocking to see just how many we did find," Mia said later. "We weren't expecting to find more than two to three per fish but in some fish, we would find over 15." Specimens from the 1970s or earlierwere less likely to contain high levels of microplastic, more than three or so pieces, and fish near urban centers seemed to have more of the plastics, on average, than fish from less populated areas.
"It really does make you realize just how much the environment has been affected," said Mia. "There hasn't been a lot of research on it yet," she added. "Our project might be able to help future people who are also doing research on microplastics."
Related: Want to read more about how climate change is shaping education? Subscribe to our free newsletter.
SRMP, started in 2009, is operating at a time when the federal government is eliminating fellowships and other support for early career scientists, and defunding scientific research broadly. That both amplifies the need for, and complicates the work of, programs like this one, said Amanda Townley, executive director of the nonprofit National Center for Science Education. Over the last 15 years in particular, such programs have played a big role in giving students a chance to do the kind of applied science that is rarely available in K-12 classrooms because of money and time constraints, she said.
"Museums, university extensions, sometimes libraries, have really done this tremendous job of creating spaces for high school and younger students to engage with scientists doing science," said Townley. "Those museums, libraries and universities are all under attack." She added: "We're going to see a generational impact."
While the American Museum of Natural History has received some federal government funding, the SRMP program's money comes from private foundations and individual donors, with additional support from the New York City Council. Students in SRMP participate in a summer institute in August, when they learn basics like how to investigate research questions. Then they spend two afternoons a week during the school year on their projects.
Each student receives a stipend, $2,500 over the course of the year. "It's really important for high school students to know their time is valuable," said Maria Strangas, the museum's assistant director of science research experiences. "They are doing something here that is really useful for the researchers; it's an education program, but they aren't the only ones who are benefiting."
Students from New York City schools that partner with the museum can apply, as well as those who have participated in programs with the museum in the past. SRMP has also spawned a network of about 30 similar programs across the city, with institutions including Brooklyn College, Bronx River Alliance and many others participating.
In the lab on the sixthfloor of the museum, Mia, who attends the New York City Museum School, cleaned out a beaker, while Yuki Chen, a senior at Central Park East High School, sat at a metal table, dissecting a pike. Thoni inserted a slide containing material harvested from one of the fish under a microscope, and pointed out a few microplastics, which looked like threads.
Freyalise Matasar, a junior at the Ethical Culture Fieldston School in the Bronx, plucked a white sucker fish from a jar. She said SRMP had altered her career trajectory. Before the program, she was considering studying journalism in college, but her experience this year persuaded her to focus on engineering and data science instead.
"I have totally fallen in love with science," she said. "It's been an amazing experience to see what professional science looks like - and more than just see it, to be a part of it."
Freyalise said she wanted to build those skills in order to help fight climate change, perhaps by working on weather models to predict climate risks and ideally spur people to action. "It's the biggest problem faced by our generation. It's inescapable and unignorable, no matter how much people try," she said. "It's everyone's responsibility to do what they can to fight it."
Related: So much for saving the planet. Science careers, and many others, evaporate for class of 2025
Microplastics contribute to climate change in several ways, including by potentially disrupting oceans' ability to sequester carbon and by directly emitting greenhouse gases.
Interest in climate science among young people is growing, even as the federal government tries to zero out funding for it. Other climate-related topics SRMP students explored this year included the climate on exoplanets, the ecology of sea anemones and aquatic wildlife conservation in New York City.
Sometimes the fish dissections were gross: Mia, who plans to study biology and machine learning in college, sliced into one large fish to find poorly preserved, rotten innards - and a major stink. Sometimes they provided a lesson beyond pollution: Yuki identified a small pickerel inside a larger one. (Pickerels prey even on members of their own species, the students learned.)
The scientists in the program, most of whom are postdoctoral fellows, are trained on how to be effective mentors. "Scientists are often not trained in mentorship; it's something that people pick up organically seeing good or bad examples in their own lives," said Strangas. "A lot of it comes down to: 'Think about the impact you want to have, think about the impact you don't want to have, think about the power dynamic at play, and what this student in front of you wants to get out of it.'"
Thoni earned rave reviews from the students, who said he ensured they understood each step of the research process without being patronizing.
Thoni's next steps include working to publish the microplastics research, which could earn the students their first co-authorship in a scientific journal. "Aside from forgetting to put on gloves," he said in a playful jab at one student, "they can operate this machine on their own. They do science."
Contact editor Caroline Preston at 212-870-8965, via Signal at CarolineP.83 or on email at preston@hechingerreport.org.
This story about science careers was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter on climate and education.
The post High school sleuths search fish guts for clues to plastics pollution appeared first on The Hechinger Report.
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Miami Herald
24-06-2025
- Miami Herald
High school sleuths search fish guts for clues to plastics pollution
NEW YORK - The fish, glassy-eyedand inert, had been dead for decades. Yet its belly held possible clues to an environmental crisis unfolding in real time. Forceps in hand, Mia Fricano, a high school junior, was about to investigate. She turned over the fish, a bluegill, and slid in a blade, before extracting its gastrointestinal tract. Then, she carried the fish innards to a beaker filled with a solution that would dissolve the biological material, revealing if there were any tiny particles of plastic - known as microplastics - inside. Mia and two other high schoolers working alongside her in a lab this spring were part of a program at the American Museum of Natural History designed to give young people hands-on experience in professional science. Called the Science Research Mentoring Program, or SRMP (pronounced "shrimp"), the program enrolls roughly 60 high school juniors and seniors each year who collaborate with scientists on a research project. Mia and her peers were matched with Ryan Thoni, an ichthyologist and curatorial associate in the museum's division of vertebrate zoology. Thoni's project to gather information on when and how microplastics began to enter the environment relied on the museum's vast collection of fish specimens dating from more than a century ago - some 3.2 million in total. Concern about the tiny pieces of plastic debris has grown in the last few years, along with early-stage research on the health risks they pose. The particles are found in human blood, breast milk and even the brain - and in animals, including, as it turned out, nearly all the fish in Thoni's lab. "It was kind of shocking to see just how many we did find," Mia said later. "We weren't expecting to find more than two to three per fish but in some fish, we would find over 15." Specimens from the 1970s or earlierwere less likely to contain high levels of microplastic, more than three or so pieces, and fish near urban centers seemed to have more of the plastics, on average, than fish from less populated areas. "It really does make you realize just how much the environment has been affected," said Mia. "There hasn't been a lot of research on it yet," she added. "Our project might be able to help future people who are also doing research on microplastics." Related: Want to read more about how climate change is shaping education? Subscribe to our free newsletter. SRMP, started in 2009, is operating at a time when the federal government is eliminating fellowships and other support for early career scientists, and defunding scientific research broadly. That both amplifies the need for, and complicates the work of, programs like this one, said Amanda Townley, executive director of the nonprofit National Center for Science Education. Over the last 15 years in particular, such programs have played a big role in giving students a chance to do the kind of applied science that is rarely available in K-12 classrooms because of money and time constraints, she said. "Museums, university extensions, sometimes libraries, have really done this tremendous job of creating spaces for high school and younger students to engage with scientists doing science," said Townley. "Those museums, libraries and universities are all under attack." She added: "We're going to see a generational impact." While the American Museum of Natural History has received some federal government funding, the SRMP program's money comes from private foundations and individual donors, with additional support from the New York City Council. Students in SRMP participate in a summer institute in August, when they learn basics like how to investigate research questions. Then they spend two afternoons a week during the school year on their projects. Each student receives a stipend, $2,500 over the course of the year. "It's really important for high school students to know their time is valuable," said Maria Strangas, the museum's assistant director of science research experiences. "They are doing something here that is really useful for the researchers; it's an education program, but they aren't the only ones who are benefiting." Students from New York City schools that partner with the museum can apply, as well as those who have participated in programs with the museum in the past. SRMP has also spawned a network of about 30 similar programs across the city, with institutions including Brooklyn College, Bronx River Alliance and many others participating. In the lab on the sixthfloor of the museum, Mia, who attends the New York City Museum School, cleaned out a beaker, while Yuki Chen, a senior at Central Park East High School, sat at a metal table, dissecting a pike. Thoni inserted a slide containing material harvested from one of the fish under a microscope, and pointed out a few microplastics, which looked like threads. Freyalise Matasar, a junior at the Ethical Culture Fieldston School in the Bronx, plucked a white sucker fish from a jar. She said SRMP had altered her career trajectory. Before the program, she was considering studying journalism in college, but her experience this year persuaded her to focus on engineering and data science instead. "I have totally fallen in love with science," she said. "It's been an amazing experience to see what professional science looks like - and more than just see it, to be a part of it." Freyalise said she wanted to build those skills in order to help fight climate change, perhaps by working on weather models to predict climate risks and ideally spur people to action. "It's the biggest problem faced by our generation. It's inescapable and unignorable, no matter how much people try," she said. "It's everyone's responsibility to do what they can to fight it." Related: So much for saving the planet. Science careers, and many others, evaporate for class of 2025 Microplastics contribute to climate change in several ways, including by potentially disrupting oceans' ability to sequester carbon and by directly emitting greenhouse gases. Interest in climate science among young people is growing, even as the federal government tries to zero out funding for it. Other climate-related topics SRMP students explored this year included the climate on exoplanets, the ecology of sea anemones and aquatic wildlife conservation in New York City. Sometimes the fish dissections were gross: Mia, who plans to study biology and machine learning in college, sliced into one large fish to find poorly preserved, rotten innards - and a major stink. Sometimes they provided a lesson beyond pollution: Yuki identified a small pickerel inside a larger one. (Pickerels prey even on members of their own species, the students learned.) The scientists in the program, most of whom are postdoctoral fellows, are trained on how to be effective mentors. "Scientists are often not trained in mentorship; it's something that people pick up organically seeing good or bad examples in their own lives," said Strangas. "A lot of it comes down to: 'Think about the impact you want to have, think about the impact you don't want to have, think about the power dynamic at play, and what this student in front of you wants to get out of it.'" Thoni earned rave reviews from the students, who said he ensured they understood each step of the research process without being patronizing. Thoni's next steps include working to publish the microplastics research, which could earn the students their first co-authorship in a scientific journal. "Aside from forgetting to put on gloves," he said in a playful jab at one student, "they can operate this machine on their own. They do science." Contact editor Caroline Preston at 212-870-8965, via Signal at CarolineP.83 or on email at preston@ This story about science careers was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter on climate and education. The post High school sleuths search fish guts for clues to plastics pollution appeared first on The Hechinger Report.
Boston Globe
20-06-2025
- Boston Globe
Edward Anders, who duped Nazis and illuminated the cosmos, dies at 98
Settling in New York City, Edward enrolled at Columbia University and studied chemistry. One day, his professor — a curator at the American Museum of Natural History — brought a handful of meteorite rocks to pass around in class. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up 'I found them tremendously exciting,' Dr. Anders said in a 2001 interview with the journal Meteoritics & Planetary Science. 'I would even use the word romantic. Here were samples from far beyond the Earth's orbit, older than any rock on Earth, and you can get your hands on them, and even do respectable research on them.' Advertisement Dr. Anders's research turned out to be more than merely respectable. At the University of Chicago, his academic home for more than 30 years beginning in 1955, he conducted a series of groundbreaking studies into the early history of the solar system. He demonstrated that meteorites were fragments from asteroids and not, as was believed at the time, debris from the moon or comets. He quantified the elements of the solar system in a journal article that has been cited more than 14,000 times. And he uncovered evidence of the global wildfires that helped lead to the dinosaurs' extinction. Advertisement 'I find it hard to conceive of our science without Ed Anders,' Michael J. Drake, a planetary science professor at the University of Arizona, said in a speech in 1990 in which he presented Dr. Anders with the V.M. Goldschmidt Award, the top honor of the Geochemical Society. Dr. Anders spoke about the cosmos whimsically, with a sense of curiosity and awe. In an interview with Discover magazine in 1991, he marveled at the rather mind-bending notion that everything about Earth — on it, in it, under it, around it — was unoriginal. 'The material in the solar system is secondhand,' he said. 'All of it originally was older than the solar system, but most of it has been reprocessed.' He called meteorites 'the poor man's space probe,' because they deliver pieces of asteroids that scientists are able to study without traveling to outer space. The mysteries in the stardust they carry — of diamonds, graphite and silicon carbide — are never-ending, like the stars. 'What was the raw material of the solar system?' he asked in the Discover interview. 'Where did it come from? What were the nuclear and chemical processes in the parent stars? And how was this material altered in the early solar system?' Dr. Anders spent his life trying to answer these celestial, seemingly impossible questions, even as painful, seemingly inexplicable ones about his childhood haunted him. Advertisement Edward Alperovitch was born June 21, 1926, in Liepaja and changed his surname to Anders when he became a naturalized US citizen in 1955. His father, Adolph Alperovitch, was a merchant. His mother, Erica (Sheftelovitch-Meiran) Alperovitch, was a file clerk. When Edward was 14 years old, Soviet forces occupied Latvia, and his parents were forced to rent rooms in their apartment to Russian border guards. In June 1941, the Soviets began mass deportations to Russia. Edward's family was on the deportation list and received orders to pack their belongings. One of their border-guard tenants, feeling sympathy for the family, removed them from the list. 'For the moment, we were saved,' Dr. Anders recalled in 1997 in an oral history interview for the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington. After Germany invaded the Soviet Union and occupied Latvia, Jews faced restrictions on their movements and on their ability to practice their faith. Several hundred were massacred in a local park during a Nazi rampage. Edward and his family thought their days were numbered. Then his father had an idea: Concoct a story about how his wife was not the biological child of Jewish parents, but rather an Aryan found on their doorstep in a basket with a note saying that she had been baptized. That made Edward and his brother half-Jews — 'only second class rather than total outcasts,' he said in the museum oral history. 'It was an absolutely crazy story for us to start,' he added, 'extremely audacious.' It worked, but not for Edward's father, who had essentially sacrificed himself as part of the plan. He hid in the family's apartment but was discovered in November 1941 and arrested. A week later, a firing squad executed him. Advertisement The 'half-Jew' ruse continued for several years, and it ultimately spared Edward, along with his mother and brother, from a trip to a Nazi death camp. 'If we had any inkling that the war was going to last another four years, we never would have tried this plan, because this is a lie that simply couldn't go on for four years,' he said. 'We were just playing for time. Well, it worked, all right.' Edward never finished high school, nor did he receive a bachelor's degree. After the war, he studied chemistry at a school in Munich affiliated with the United Nations. He later taught himself chemistry as a lab assistant at the University of Munich. After emigrating to the United States, he earned a doctorate from Columbia in 1954. Throughout his career as a cosmochemist, Dr. Anders rarely, if ever, spoke about his childhood. 'You file it away in the proper place,' he said. 'You know where to find it when you need it. The file drawers don't pop open spontaneously.' But after retiring, he began to revisit his memories in greater detail. He wrote a memoir, 'Amidst Latvians During the Holocaust' (2011), and created a database of the more than 7,000 Jews who were alive in Liepaja when the Germans rolled in. 'Most Holocaust victims have become nameless statistics,' he wrote in the journal Holocaust and Genocide Studies. 'That would have pleased Hitler.' Using government documents, directories, diaries and other materials he found in archives, Anders cataloged what happened to thousands of Jews in his town. He gave them back their names. Advertisement 'Edward always saw himself as a bridge builder between past and present, between Jews and non-Jews, between the continents,' Uwe Neumärker, a historian who helped arrange for Anders' memoir to be published in German, said by email. Dr. Anders married Joan Fleming in 1955. She died in 2019. In addition to his son, George, he is survived by a daughter, Nanci Schiman; five grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren. His brother, Georg, died of diphtheria in 1944. Dr. Anders was raised Jewish but described himself as agnostic. 'In a way, peering into the solar system had an almost a spiritual component for him,' his son said in an interview. 'This was the creation story, and the creation story was pretty exciting and pretty amazing and pretty mysterious.' This article originally appeared in
Scientific American
19-06-2025
- Scientific American
Gaia's Long Goodbye
This observatory has probably been the most transformative astronomy project of the 21st century, but there's a good chance you've never heard of it. Just last week, for instance, the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) in New York City debuted a new 'space show' called Encounters in the Milky Way —and this often overlooked spacecraft is its scientific superstar. But you're more likely to know about actor Pedro Pascal's narration in the show than you are to be familiar with the single space mission that serves as the presentation's backbone. The observatory is called Gaia. And, like so many good things, you wouldn't really miss it until it's gone—and now it is. Launched in 2013 by the European Space Agency (ESA), it ceased operations this past March, when it used what little fuel it had left to steer into a graveyard orbit around the sun. From its station in a quiescent region of deep space more than 1.6 million kilometers from Earth, Gaia's mission was, in essence, quite simple: it was designed to give us a better sense of where we are—a celestial 'reference frame' on overlapping interplanetary, interstellar and intergalactic scales. To do that, it used twin sky-sweeping telescopes and three instruments, including a billion-pixel camera, to painstakingly measure the distances, positions, motions, and more of about two billion celestial objects, most of them stars in our own galaxy. It made some three trillion observations in all, producing (among many other things) the largest, most precise three-dimensional map of the Milky Way ever made. On supporting science journalism If you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today. 'Gaia was our best galactic cartographer, and I sometimes say that Encounters in the Milky Way is my love letter to it,' says Jackie Faherty, a senior research scientist at the AMNH, who curated the new space show and regularly works with Gaia data. 'It turns out you can learn a lot by determining where and how far off the stars are from you—and especially by how they are moving.... Gaia's creation of this map is something we all should celebrate because it's just as iconic and useful as the maps of Earth we all see in school or pull up on Google. Looking at it, you can find and explore all sorts of different things you want to know.' From Gaia's map, more than 13,000 peer-reviewed studies have already emerged, and many have concerned the fundamental structure and deep history of the Milky Way. Thanks to Gaia, scientists now can better gauge the amount of dark matter within our galaxy and have been able to track the Milky Way's growth and evolution across eons via relic streams of stars strewn from ancient mergers with other, smaller galaxies. 'Stars retain memories of their origins in their ages, motions and chemical compositions—all of which Gaia measured,' says Amina Helmi, an astronomer at the Kapteyn Astronomical Institute in the Netherlands. She and her colleagues used the mission's data to discover evidence of a major galactic merger that, some 10 billion years ago, shaped our home galaxy into the Milky Way we know today. 'With all that information, it was like a veil being lifted…. We could suddenly perform what's sometimes called 'galactic archaeology,' reconstructing the Milky Way's history to see when and how this merger happened with another, smaller galaxy that was about a third to a quarter of our galaxy's mass.... Gaia allows us to look billions of years into the Milky Way's history—before our solar system even formed—to see what actually happened back then, which is absolutely amazing.' Tracing perturbations from one more recent and ongoing merger, astronomers have even managed to reveal an apparent warp in the Milky Way's disk, offering a new twist—literally—on the classic image of our cosmic home. At smaller scales, the spacecraft has refined the orbits of more than 150,000 asteroids, surveilling hundreds of them to see if they have their own moons. It has spied hints of thousands of worlds and even a few black holes orbiting other stars. At larger scales, it has helped estimate the expansion rate of the universe, and it has also teased out the subtle tugging of the Milky Way's heart upon the solar system across tens of thousands of light-years. Gaia's sprawling cosmic reckoning is now a cornerstone for most state-of-the-art Earth- and space-based telescopes, which rely on the mission's target-dense celestial map to orient and calibrate their own observations and operations. Whether it's NASA's James Webb Space Telescope, ESA's Euclid mission, the ground-based, U.S.-built Vera C. Rubin Observatory or Europe's under-construction Extremely Large Telescope, practically all of the world's most exciting starlight-gathering telescopes will, in some sense, be guided by Gaia. And stunningly, the best is yet to come. More than two thirds of the mission's treasure trove of data is still under wraps. It is being prepared in a time-consuming process for two major upcoming milestones: about half of Gaia's total data are targeted for release next year, and the mission's full data are set to arrive no earlier than 2030. But because it didn't beam back images ready-made for lush wall posters and desktop backgrounds, Gaia was destined from the start to be 'criminally under-recognized outside astronomy,' says Mark McCaughrean, an astronomer and former senior adviser to ESA. 'And because Gaia provided utterly essential, if mundane, information such as precise stellar distances, it's been doomed with this curse of simultaneous ubiquity and obscurity as many people use its data but take it for granted as just 'coming from a catalog.'' Anthony Brown, an astronomer at Leiden University in the Netherlands, who leads the mission's data processing and analysis group, puts it most succinctly: 'For astronomers, Gaia has become almost like the air you breathe,' he says. At the heart of Gaia's mapmaking is a technique called astrometry, the measurement of celestial positions and motions in the plane of the sky. Paired with a phenomenon called parallax—the apparent shift of an object's position when viewed from two vantage points—astronomers can use Gaia for determining distances, too. You can see the parallax effect with your own two eyes: hold your thumb out at arm's length and watch as it appears to jump around as you blink one eye and then the other. The closer the object is, the bigger its displacement will be. And the bigger your baseline is between two vantage points, the smaller the displacement will be that you can discern. Your eyes have a baseline of about six centimeters; Gaia's was 300 million kilometers, set by the opposite sides of Earth's orbit around the sun. A Gaia predecessor, ESA's Hipparcos mission, used that same gigantic baseline to survey the sky from 1989 until it ran out of fuel in 1993. But the technology of the time limited Hipparcos's astrometric reckoning to a precision of about one milliarcsecond, with high-quality measurements only for about 100,000 objects within about 200 parsecs (650 light-years) of the solar system. (A single arc second is a very small angular slice of the heavens, making Hipparcos's milliarcsecond precision all the more noteworthy. The moon, for instance, takes up about 1,800 arc seconds in Earth's sky.) As impressive as Hipparcos was, Gaia shattered the records set by its precursor—although not without challenges, such as precision-threatening sprays of stray light that leaked around the edges of the spacecraft's sun shield and through a hole punched by an errant micrometeoroid. But ultimately, Brown says, Gaia's measurements achieved on the order of 100 times greater precision—reaching about 10 microarcseconds. And within the Milky Way, the spacecraft's view encompassed 100 times more volume and included 10 times more targets. The numbers underpinning Gaia are so alien to everyday experience that they border on nonsensical, says Michael Perryman, a former ESA researcher, who has served as project scientist for Hipparcos and Gaia and played a crucial developmental role for both missions. He likens Hipparcos's precision to discerning a second's worth of growth of a human hair from a distance of one meter. Gaia's 100-times-better view, he says, is more like measuring the width of a single hydrogen atom from the same distance. Another comparison involves the size of the two missions' datasets. When the Hipparcos team printed out its complete catalog, Perryman recalls, it comprised five thick volumes—almost enough to fill a single shelf of a bookcase. Printing out the full Gaia catalog with the same density of information per page, he says, would require about 10 kilometers of shelf space. 'The mind boggles,' he says. 'It's almost incomprehensible; these are numbers and dimensions we're simply not equipped to visualize, so even the analogies are very difficult to grasp.' The best example of the heights such precision can reach may be Gaia's tour de force determination of the solar system's acceleration with respect to a vast, sky-encompassing field of quasars. Quasars are the conspicuously bright cores of remote galaxies that harbor actively feeding supermassive black holes. As such, quasars are among the most powerful beacons astronomers can use to probe distant regions of the universe. Gaia pinpointed the positions of more than one and a half million of them to establish a fixed backdrop of sorts, against which various minuscule motions of our solar system or other nearby celestial objects could be seen. One motion Gaia managed to measure was an astonishingly small acceleration of just 0.232 nanometer per second squared—a continuous atom-scale deflection in the solar system's 220-kilometer-per-second trajectory through the Milky Way, attributed to the gravitational pull from our galaxy's center some 26,000 light-years away. Writ large, the displacement adds up to less than a meter per day—and essentially reflects the real-time sculpting of our galactic orbit as the solar system carves a path through the Milky Way's gravitational field. 'It's an almost circular motion around the galactic center, and it's directed toward the supermassive black hole there,' says astronomer Sergei Klioner of Germany's Dresden University of Technology, who led much of the work behind the measurement. 'No other observational data could come anywhere close to competing with Gaia here.... You often hear the term 'astronomical' in the sense of something being very large—but this is an example where Gaia has shown us something that's astronomically small.' Now that Gaia has gone dark, there's already talk of what comes next. 'Do we really need another astrometry mission?' asks Brown, who first began working on Gaia in 1997. 'Well, not immediately, but the extremely precise stellar reference frame it gave us—upon which many other observatories depend—will eventually deteriorate because all the stars are moving, right?' ESA is envisioning a follow-on mission, which would potential launching in the 2040s. This time that mission would be optimized for infrared observations to allow astronomers to see through the dust that otherwise clouds their view of the Milky Way's star-packed disk and galactic center. 'It's, in a way, wonderful but also a bit sad that people take Gaia for granted because, my God, it was a tough mission,' Perryman reflects. 'I don't feel sadness that it's gone; I'm just delighted and relieved it lasted so long, and I'm very conscious of how remarkable it is that we live in a time when society is willing to pool its resources to support such things, and we have the technology in place to do them. I hope this period continues—but I worry we've been taking that for granted, too.'
