Although it’s commonly suspected that migratory birds fly in a ‘V’ formation due to this saving energy for the birds in the slipstream, understanding the exact aerodynamics behind this and how it affects the way that the birds use their wings to maintain this optimal pattern. After all, unlike airplanes and cars, our feathered avian dinosaur friends need to flap their wings if they want to have any chance of staving off plummeting back to Earth. Recent research by Brown University researchers now have provided a simulated model that answers many questions.

The major question was how this would work in the up- and down-wash zones created in this type of formation, with every bird following the lead bird dealing with the vortices created by the flapping of the wings of the bird before them. These wake vortices are quite complex, and thus required careful modelling to make sense of them.

As described in the paper by [Olivia Pomerenk] et al., the model is based on northern bald ibises, taking into account live-bird measurements for validation of the model. The main effect that can be observed is a reduced flapping amplitude, leading to an 11% energy savings for the birds in the leader’s wake.

The main advantage of having such a model is of course that it provides insight into the kinematic and aerodynamic mechanisms, meaning the ability to model virtual flocks of birds, predict the efficiency of specific in-flight configurations, and apply the lessons to swarms of drones, or whatever else we want to put in the air.

Although life tends to find a way, something first has to kickstart said lifeforms. Exactly how the first biological cells formed on Earth – and potentially on other worlds – remains an enduring mystery. Some theories point to the early Earth’s surface conditions as a viable laboratory for the self-assembly of the first viable membranes, RNA, DNA and associated molecular machinery, while seeding of the Earth’s primitive atmosphere by sugars and other precursors from asteroids and kin is required in other theories.

Recently [Izaskun Jiménez-Serra] et al. added to this debate with the reported detection of four-carbon sugars in the form of erythrulose in the interstellar medium. Using the 40 meter radio telescope at Yebes and the 30 meter radio telescope at Granada the signatures of this sugar was detected in a molecular cloud near the center of the Milky Way.

These sugars likely form on these interstellar dust grains from more basic two-carbon aldehydes and alcohols, with them providing conceivably a source of energy for early metabolic processes of developing lifeforms. This specific type of sugar is highly prevalent in Earth’s fruits, and thus its prevalence in interstellar space is at the very least an interesting coincidence, if not another puzzle piece in the overarching question of abiogenesis.

Finding another planet outside of our solar system that can comfortably be called ‘Earth-like’ is one of those discoveries that — if confirmed — would be a major event. The complication here is that with every exoplanet that we discover through observations, determining the type of planet is hard enough, never mind figuring out whether it has an atmosphere, much less what’s in that atmosphere. This makes a recent report on LHS 1140 b rather exciting, as it strongly suggests that this super-Earth may have something close to an Earth-like atmosphere.

In the paper by [Collin Cherubim] and others in Science, the findings of helium occasionally escaping from its atmosphere have led to considerable excitement, as this time-variable atmospheric escape of helium suggests a helium-rich upper atmosphere that’s further depleted in hydrogen.

It should be noted, of course, that these assumptions are based on observations from roughly 49 light-years away, so there’s always some room for later adjustments. Even if confirmed, the star that LHS 1140b orbits is a red dwarf, with a nearly 25-day orbital period and light levels less than half of what Earth receives from the Sun. This would make the surface of LHS 1140b with its proposed oceans rather dim, even if it’s conceivably at temperatures well within the comfort range of us Earth-based mammals.

At 49 light-years distance, it’s also not close enough that — barring an FTL drive — we could do direct observations or visitations, but if these results hold, it’d be on the short list along with a number of other plausibly habitable exoplanets to check out once we build that first warp drive-powered starship.

Unlike most cutting lasers, femtosecond lasers don’t vaporize materials; rather, they produce such short, intense bursts of light that the affected region is ablated without having the chance to heat its surroundings. This makes them good at cutting away material without damaging the surroundings, something [Ben Krasnow] exploited to cut cross-sections of samples while still in a scanning-electron microscope.

In this case, the samples were crickets, and before imaging they had to be prepared. First, the bodies were soaked in glutaraldehyde to cross-link the proteins and stabilize the structure. Next, a series of solvent exchanges replaced the water in the bodies with a low-surface-tension solvent; this meant that during the next step, drying, surface tension wouldn’t distort the crickets’ internal structure. Finally, the insect bodies were charred under argon, which made the bodies conductive and more absorptive to laser light.

The laser itself and the scanning galvo are mounted outside the microscope, and shine in through a transparent window. To protect the detector and electron optics from a spray of ablated carbon, a servo motor swings an aluminium shutter between these and the sample while the laser is active. This caused some mysterious problems during testing: after the first ablation run, the electron microscope’s image would contain so much noise as to be unusable, but it would improve over time. As it turned out, the shutter was painted, and the other side of the paint was getting coated with charged carbon particles. This created a small capacitor which disrupted the electron optics as it discharged. Eventually, after solving this and a few other strange problems, [Ben] was able to take several time-lapse videos of the laser gradually ablating a cricket, 30 microns at a time, revealing its inner structure.

Although scanning-electron microscopes are unfortunately shard to come by, it’s still possible to restore a secondhand microscope or, as [Ben] did, build your own. Femtosecond lasers are yet more inaccessible, though they can be used to replicate themselves.

A fascinating aspect in evolutionary biology is that of convergent evolution — whereby similar structures and functions evolve independently from each other. The highly advanced nervous system of octopuses is a good example here, displaying levels of intelligence and capabilities far beyond those of other cephalopods and matching that of primates, despite no evolutionary link here. Exactly how octopuses developed this rather unique capability remained a mystery, though recent research by [Rishav Mitra] points at the rather unique ribosomes in these animals.

Ribosomes are the molecular machinery at the core of each cell that enable the synthesis of proteins. Due to their highly crucial role, they tend to remain evolutionary unchanged, which makes the big change observed in the octopus (i.e. order Octopoda) in the form of this H88 rRNA break quite remarkable.

This H88 break increases the accuracy of translated proteins, something that is essential for complex nervous systems as it reduces cases of misfolded proteins (proteinopathy). Because of how well-preserved ribosomes are across species, the researchers were able to run a number of experiments including a similar rRNA break in E. coli that confirmed many of the assumptions about how these octopus ribosomes performed.

Since proteinopathy results in misfolded proteins that are either useless or harmful to the organism – as seen in various human diseases – this can especially harm long-lived cells like neurons. Unsurprisingly, we can see a similar change to ribosomes in other animal groups, including that of us primates. Although the reasons for octopuses to develop more complex nervous systems wasn’t due to social pressures but rather to cope with highly complex and dynamic environments, it would seem that both types of environmental pressures led to the same convergent path, with a little ribosomal help.

Although Einstein’s Theory of Relativity is typically associated with really large and really heavy things like planets in solar systems and big things in universes in general, it turns out that even at an atomic scale its effects can be measured. These are the findings of Brown University scientists, whose measurements on very heavy elements indicate the presence of relativistic bonds.

Unfortunately the paper by [Kirk A. Peterson] et al. in Science is paywalled without a convenient ArXiv version to ogle details beyond the supplemental, but the Brown press release gives quite a few details by itself, including the use of photoelectron spectroscopy to measure the strength of the bonds between the examined nuclei.

The essential summary is that our concept of how triple bonds work may be flawed, with the assumption that there are distinct sigma and pi bonds, the latter being the awkward, weaker ‘side bonds’ where the overlapping atomic orbitals do not directly line up as with a sigma bond. As it turns out, if there’s enough mass involved, relativistic effects smudge both types of bonds together into a hybrid type of bond.

Although the sigma-pi triple bond theory still seems to hold up for lighter atomic nuclei, in the case of the examined bismuth-carbon triple bond, the typical, slightly radioactive bismuth-209 nucleus with atomic number 83 is heavy enough to affect the orbital mechanics and with it the chemical bonds that these produce.

This is an important finding, as it affects our basic understanding of how strong the bonds between certain elements are. Pi bonds are after all significantly weaker than sigma bonds, so a hybrid form would effectively make triple bonds involving a heavier element stronger than one between lighter elements.

You may or may not remember in some ancient chemistry class studying or even performing chromatography. The short definition is using media like paper or powder to separate a mixture. It is an old technique, but [Suchir2004] is using it as an art form.

Chromatography works because the parts of the liquid mixture travel through the media at different speeds. While experimenting, [Suchir2004] noted that black ink and water perfused into constituent pigments. A butterfly ensued.

Is it art? Yes! Is it science? Well, sort of. Especially since the post does talk about how the effect works and even does some simple tests to start. This would be an excellent project for a class where some students are more motivated by art and others by science. Even with an individual kid, it might show you where their interests lie.

There’s nothing particularly difficult. A sketch pen, some paper, a coffee filter, a glue stick, and a few other household items are all you really need to get started.

Want something more practical? How about measuring caffeine content?

If any astute Hackaday reader saw [dongvua90]’s Newton’s cradle go on without human intervention all day long, they’d probably suspect the truth: there’s a battery and a magnet involved. But it is a nice desk piece, and you might be able to fool your less enlightened friends that you’ve discovered perpetual motion. Watch the resulting faux perpetual motion machine in action in the video below.

The trick is to sense the ball’s travel and inject a little electromagnetic pulse at just the right time. No problem for an ESP32 and a proximity sensor like the ones you find on some 3D printers. In fact, there’s very little custom circuitry. Everything is a module, and even the Newton’s cradle is cut out of a premade toy. A printed case and some software are really the heart of the design.

We can imagine this might be an interesting science demonstrator. Show the class the cradle with the electronics turned off, then subtly turn it on and ask the class what changed. You could even make the point by having students do it normally, while only you can get it to keep going forever, and challenge them to deduce what’s going on.

You might correctly imagine that this isn’t the first one of these we’ve seen. You can also build one that is sort of simulated.

Preservationists usually take great care to prevent fungi from appearing the world of art, but in the case of [Kexin Wang]’s Funguy project, the fungus itself is the art. It uses a laser diode to repeatedly trace an outline onto a dish of agar gel in which fungus is growing, and the photophobic fungus grows only up to the edge of the laser-traced figure, potentially creating complex designs.

This project evolved out of a research project in which they developed a computer model for fungal growth, then used its predictions and a laser to control a fungus’s growth pattern. The model has two parts: a temporal convolutional neural network which learns fungi growth patterns from a series of images, and a cellular automaton to simulate these growth patterns under different starting conditions. The cellular automaton’s rules aren’t fixed; each cell runs a small neural network which learns the rules under supervision from the convolutional network. By training these networks on images of the growth stages of three different fungi, it was able to realistically predict the different growth patterns of the different species.

To actually control the growth pattern, the researchers tried a series of different wavelengths and laser powers; shorter wavelengths tended to work better, with a 405 nm laser working best. The growth model complemented the laser setup by predicting in which areas the growth medium had run out of nutrients. Since fungus would no longer spread in these regions, the laser no longer needed to trace these sections. The Funguy kit’s laser system itself is similar to a laser engraver, with an XY-kinematic system seemingly built from a DVD drive frame. It uses fungi from the Mucor genus, though it can print with other photophobic microorganisms, such as slime molds.

This project seems aimed at artistic and educational uses, but considering the various electronic parts that have been made of fungi, more functional applications should be possible.

Generally chemical synthesis involves putting a variety of compounds together in an environment where they will react and self-assemble into the desired product. You could also imagine simply putting the atoms in the right place: direct mechanical manipulation. This mechanosynthesis is however not that simple, despite the deceptive appearance of those ball-and-stick representations in high school chemistry class.

This is demonstrated in a recent (pre-publication) study by [Megan Cowie] et al. using inverted-mode STM. Using a scanning tunneling microscope (STM) you can measure a surface on a nanoscale, with the inversed principle used in inverted-mode STM (IM-STM) to physically move individual molecules. In the paper the construction of carbon-based 3D structures using IM-STM is demonstrated.

In the paper it is demonstrated how C₂ units can be moved using the tip of an IM-STM setup for subsequent polyyne structure construction through C-C bond formation at the target site. Although it’s not quite yet the leap into Neal Stephenson’s The Diamond Age with its science-based matter compilers – i.e. molecular assemblers – it’s definitely another step closer to making advanced feats of nanotechnology a part of every day life.

Unlike almost every other kind of microscope, atomic-force microscopes (AFMs) don’t use any kind of optical beam to image their subjects. Instead, they physically detect the subject’s surface with a tiny probe, repeating this thousands of times to build up a height map of the subject, sometimes with a resolution below a single nanometer. [Ben Krasnow] got to use an AFM in an investigation of one of his projects, and shared some unusual uses of it in his latest video.

For his first demonstration, [Ben] took a video of the probe head in action. Since the probe oscillates at nine kilohertz, this was less straightforward than it sounds, but a stroboscopic welding camera filming near that frequency could visualize its motion. The next project was to image some biological samples, particularly bacteria. First, [Ben] let the bacteria from nattō (fermented soybeans) multiply in a sterile growth medium, then centrifuged and washed them.

He spin-coated a thin layer of gelatine onto part of a silicon wafer, which provided a very flat substrate. The gelatine is electrostatically attracted to the bacteria, adhering them to the slide and letting [Ben] wash away other contaminants. This let the AFM image the bacteria clearly, even revealing how a spin-coating step had oriented them all in the same direction.

[Ben] also imaged a few other samples, including silver nanoprisms and track-etched membranes. Track-etched membranes use high-energy radiation and an etchant to cut very consistent, fine holes into a plastic filtration membrane. Finally, [Ben] used it to image his laser-etched diffraction gratings; to find out how the laser had created these diffraction patterns, he tried to selectively etch away the laser-exposed metal, using the AFM to verify that this metal had been stripped away. Neither an acidic nor a basic etch worked, but electrochemical etching seemed promising.

If after seeing this you want your own atomic force microscope, we’ve seen a few DIY AFMs, including one which can resolve individual atoms.

Thanks to [H Hack] for the tip!

When light reflects off a surface, not all of it reflects off at the same wavelength; some photons impart a portion of their energy to raising the vibrational energy of the surface’s molecules, and are thus scattered away at a lower energy and longer wavelength. This is called Raman scattering, and the precise wavelength shifts are characteristic of the particular molecule being illuminated. It can therefore be used in Raman spectroscopy to identify molecules; these spectrometers are normally elaborate, expensive instruments, but [Allegedly Science] was able to build a simple system with surprising sensitivity.

The system is named the CubeRaman, after the cube-shaped body containing the main optical path. It uses a cheap 532-nm laser module as a monochromatic light source, with a bandpass filter to eliminate stray infrared light. The beam then reflects off a 45-degree dichroic mirror and passes through a microscope objective onto the sample. Raman-shifted light then scatters back through the objective, passes through the dichroic mirror and a long-pass optical filter, and is focused by an achromatic lens onto the slit of a spectrometer. The entire housing is 3D-printed, as are most parts of the kinematic mounts; the kinematic mounts use adjustment screws running through inserts in the mount, with the tips of the screws held in place by magnets.

[Allegedly Science]’s first test was with a raw diamond, which clearly showed the expected Raman shift. When trying to test a chemical inside a glass bottle, it mainly returned the signature of silica, making thin-walled cuvettes essential. Ethanol inside a plastic bottle was similarly interesting; varying the focal distance changed whether it detected the characteristic shift of ethanol or polypropylene. Nevertheless, [Allegedly Science] thinks there’s still room for improvement, particularly by eliminating stray light and using a narrower slit in the spectrometer.

Although we’ve seen an open-source Raman spectrometer before, this design is significantly more accessible. It does still require a separate spectrometer, though, so it might be worth considering some other spectrometer options.

For some reason there’s heated debate around the topic of whether high current carrying wiring ought to use crimped or soldered connections, even though the industry standard is to crimp everything. As a practical demonstration of why this is the case, [Will Prowse] set up a test involving a rig capable of dispensing a few hundred amps through both a crimped and a soldered copper cable.

Prior to making things go spicy, [Will] made sure to check the resistance of the two cables, noting that the soldered version had significantly lower resistance than the crimped connectors. This could be one metric that proponents of soldered connectors can point to as a benefit.

Of course, the main benefit of crimping is that you create a cold weld if crimped properly, which is a sold-state welding process that effectively blends two metal surfaces together. This is also why wire wrap is generally considered to be so very reliable, as it creates a gas-free, solid connection that does not rely on a softer, dissimilar material like solder to hold things together. Of note here is also that the cold weld process tends to continue for a while, so this kind of connection is likely to get better over time.

In the subsequent testing this difference is demonstrated quite well, especially when both cables are subjected to the sort of mechanical abuse that would be expected in an installation, such as vibrations and direct impacts. Here the soldered connections quickly begin to fail, resulting in one soldered connector even unsoldering itself due to heat development. Ultimately cold welding is simply superior over relying on a flimsy and capricious interface of intermetallic compounds.

Doing something once is fun, but if you get interesting feedback from viewers on how to make things even more fun, you can only follow all of these instructions and put more random objects on top of an induction cooker, as [Brainiac75] fortunately did.

Much like in the first video, the goal here is to use the Lorentz force that is induced in the object for levitation, ideally without having said object depart for orbit, melt into a puddle of molten metal or be a general hazard to anyone standing in the same room.

Some of the suggestions were rather benign, such as improving the aluminium foil ring by adding four times more layers to create more mass. Unfortunately adding more layers here had the device refuse to turn on due to the absence of a suitable ferromagnetic target. The difference between the working versions with one to three layers was here also not really noticeable. Various aluminium and copper tape configurations were then attempted, but without much success.

Of note is that while levitating, the metal gets pretty hot. At one point a CD even gets melted to aluminium foil. Even the use of water-filled aluminium cans will only give you so much time, and ramping down the power level on the induction cooker only revealed that this particular model operates only at either at full blast or off. Correspondingly a new induction cooker with claimed constant output was obtained for the next experiments at lower levels.

Interestingly, it was this new induction cooker set to a more reasonable output level that showed the first reasonably static levitation results without immediate conflagration or molten metal splatter risk. Whether this is the kind of levitation display that you want to set up in your living room in lieu of a boring magnetic one is still a good question, but at least this demonstration got downgraded to something potentially safe enough to play around with in a physics class.

In these trying times it seems appropriate to work through some ‘what if ‘ scenarios, such as the local gas station suddenly not having any more gasoline to sell you, or said gas station ceasing to exist altogether. In that case it can be incredibly useful to be able to create your own gasoline alternative in the form of ethanol. As demonstrated by [Hyperspace Pirate] in a recent video this process is fairly straightforward once you have procured an appropriate feedstock, such as here sugar (sucrose).

Although baker’s yeast (Saccaromyces cerevisiae) is more commonly associated with the production of ethanol-laced drinks, there’s nothing that says that you cannot distill out the approximately 10-15% ethanol that results from a yeast feeding frenzy and resulting waste products.

How to do this distillation step is explained in the video, with the mixture heated and put through a self-made reflux column to deal with the fact that the water/ethanol mixture is an azeotropic mixture, meaning that a lot of water is expected to make its way out of the condenser along with ethanol without this measure to condense as much of the water vapor before it can make its way to the top of the column.

Ultimately the conversion rate of plain white sugar to ethanol is about 54%, with the rest turning into CO₂. With an appropriately converted combustion engine for running on 100% ethanol, it runs pretty well, though the final cost per liter of ethanol will heavily depend on your feedstock.

With the full costs of the electric heater of the distillation column taken into account – at 2.57 kWh/L – as well as the cost of the off-the-shelf sugar, [Hyperspace Pirate] with his Florida kWh cost of $0.12 paid around $2.62/L, or $9.91 per gallon. Even with how much prices at the gas pump have shot up recently, you’d pretty much need to find a free source of feedstock and otherwise optimize the process for it to make much sense, even in this economy.

That said, it’s crazy that the world of Mad Max doesn’t run on ethanol. If tomorrow a certain bubble were to implode and the global economy fell apart as a result, producing bioethanol would seem to be a highly marketable skill.

We all love a good bit of bounce now and then, with everything from trampolines to bouncy castles and bouncy balls forming the staple of a wholesome childhood for many. That said, most of our bouncy experiences in day to day life concern bouncy objects that meet immovable or rigid objects, including said child having a blast in a bouncy castle. Where the physics get arguably more interesting and less intuitive is when you combine two objects that are both bouncy, with [Steve Mould] recently taking a look at the tuning of said bounciness to even kill the bounce completely.

Understanding how to achieve this tuning means understanding how the kinetic energy is stored in each flexible material, and how to dissipate it in a way that doesn’t result in the aforementioned bounciness. In the simple physical demonstration setup the addition or removal of weights to the lower sprung platform tunes the response to the bouncy ball that is dropped on top of it.

After going through the science behind bounciness and springiness using the practical application of this science in the context of golf balls and clubs, [Steve] introduces the simulation tool that he created. This allows you to tweak the parameters of such a double spring system, which may bring back some high school physics lessons for some.

In a system like that of a golf club and the ball, having undesirable oscillations (bouncing) reduces the final kinetic energy transferred to the ball. Although ‘bouncy’ is perhaps not the first thought that comes to mind when handling a golf ball or a club, ultimately they are just as bouncy as a bouncy ball or an electric switch, just on their own scales, with their own opportunities for optimization and analysis.

The phenomenon of cable-shaped indents in the plastic cases of retro systems is one that’s probably painfully familiar to many a collector of such systems. Although in these situations neither side got hot enough to cause any melting – especially while disconnected in storage – it still has that same melted appearance. The real cause here is not heat, but plasticizer migration, as detailed in a recent video by [Run Stop Restored] over on YouTube.

Plasticizers are an additive to many plastics that aim to make it more flexible (‘plastic’), as well as improve other characteristics of the base material, with PVC in particular relying on plasticizers to give it its desired properties for applications where PVC has to be flexible. Here the flexible cable insulation of these devices generally uses PVC, which over time can migrate to other polymers when brought into close contact for extended periods of time.

The – usually ABS – enclosures of e.g. Commodore tape drives as in this video demonstration thus get correspondingly inundated with the same type of plasticizers that ABS is also highly susceptible to. Since in storage the cables tend to be wrapped – tightly – around the device they’re attached to, this results in a solid contact which thus enables this gradual process to work its magic, whether it’s a Commodore datasette or a power supply brick.

Correspondingly the PVC insulation becomes brittle as it loses its plasticizer, with the process sped up by higher environmental temperatures. To prevent this, never wrap a PVC cable around a device, and keep it physically separated from susceptible plastics like ABS as much as reasonably possible. Along with a cool environment this should prevent plasticizer migration from ruining what used to be a pristine case.

This problem is particularly significant for retro gear from the 1980s and thereabouts, before phthalate-free plasticizer alternatives were developed, along with other changes such as more stable formulations that prevent this migration process. Adding a coating can also help, especially for protecting older gear, but flexible PVC in particular should be viewed with suspicion and treated carefully.

A central problem with the arguably overhyped field of quantum computing remains the difficulty in objectively ascertaining performance and new developments, as much here relies on indirect measurements. Such is especially the case with topological quantum computing, with its use of Majorana fermions. For a few years now Microsoft’s quantum computing department (Azure Quantum) has made claims here of major progress, which have subsequently repeatedly been shot down in peer review. Their most recent attempt at said progress in topological quantum computing now got a blistering response (PDF) by Henry F. Legg in an article in Nature.

We previously reported on Microsoft’s attempts here in early 2025, when they claimed the detection of the crucial Majorana Zero Mode (MZM), before it faced the criticisms of peer review, including by Legg, which included academically vicious language by some researchers, including terms like ‘essentially fraudulent’.

This raises the awkward question of whether Microsoft’s quantum researchers are just too eager to confirm a discovery, or whether a more benign reason exists.

Majorana Versus Dirac

In traditional quantum computing generally Dirac fermions are used as the qubits for quantum computations, but so far this approach has been fraught with complications and challenges, with decoherence and noise intrusion making long-running computations extremely hard and necessitating the need to run computations multiple times for error-correction algorithms to have a shot at divining a plausible result.

This is where topological quantum computing comes into play, as although it imposes some limitations on its feature set, it would be much more resilient to outside influences. Some confusion here may exist with the referencing of Majorana particles, as fermions come in Dirac, Majorana and Weyl flavors. What is referenced here is actually a Majorana anyon, a quasiparticle that just happens to have the same property as Majorana fermions of being its own antiparticle.

By combining these anyons with braid theory using the intertwining of the anyon world lines it becomes possible to perform operations, which theoretically can be used to create a topological quantum computer.

Essentially, this swaps the very fickle, trapped quantum particles for significantly more stable braided Majorana anyons, which – if confirmed – could herald a significant breakthrough in the world of quantum computing.

Is It Majorana Shaped?

Even if you have created a device that theoretically should create Majorana anyons, the next challenge is to confirm that this is in fact the case. This, roughly speaking, is the challenging point where Microsoft’s attempts the past years have repeatedly ending up beaching themselves. As mentioned earlier, the evidence here is determined indirectly rather than through simple direct measurements or experiments.

When the first semiconductor transistor was demonstrated at Bell Laboratories in 1947 in the form of the world’s first point-contact transistor, it came after many years of theorizing and failed attempts starting in at least the 1920s.

Here the evidence of a working transistor was impossible to ignore, as it obviously worked as an amplifier of current, with even the simple current- and voltage-measuring devices of the era sufficing to establish the simple truth. Subsequently this design was commercialized before eventually being replaced with the bipolar junction transistor and a flurry of other devices that followed once the basic principles had been demonstrated.

In the case of quantum processors, whether traditional or topological, there is no obvious way to replicate such a basic demonstration at this point in time. Even the far more basic case of quantum annealing in the form of D-Wave’s commercial offerings is mired in controversy whether there is any ‘quantum advantage’ to be found here. This is territory where even mighty IBM has seen its quantum advantage claims trolled and outperformed by researchers using a lowly Commodore 64.

Where it concerns Majorana anyons and evidence of MZM, you can of course try to build a finished device that demonstrates a clear quantum advantage, or you can build a more limited device where you deduce the existence of these fundamental elements based on what remain mostly theoretical assumptions.

For its most recent attempt at proving that they had succeeded at creating these anyons and with it topological superconductors, Microsoft’s team used a new procedure they called the Topological Gap Protocol (TGP), which purportedly was able to perform a parity readout from their manufactured devices and use this to prove that they had really achieved their goal this time.

Broadside Peer Review

Consequently, Legg’s most recent critique comes as response to Microsoft Azure Quantum’s paper in Nature which got published as a result of that new approach. In this paper it’s claimed that this time they really did detect topological qubits in this improved test setup with TGP, based on – again – indirect measurements and analysis of recorded data. In Legg’s critique it is this analysis of the measurements that’s being attacked as having been performed incorrectly.

The main issue that he identifies is a selective interpretation of the measurements, focusing on the data that supports the experiment’s assumptions, in what would essentially be confirmation bias. There’s also the argument that Microsoft’s researchers made a number of mistakes in their Python code, where they use the array index rather than its value. After adjusting for said basic Python errors, Legg then got entirely different results based on the same measurements.

As noted by Legg, you can get very similar data signatures from sources like quantum dots. Along with the somewhat fundamental data processing issues, this obviously puts into question just how close the Microsoft team was to actually having created these topological qubits.

Microsoft Strikes Back

Of course, Microsoft’s team got in their reply (paywalled) after taking that broadside salvo. Their main arguments seem to be that TGP has no role in interpreting the RF results – being just a tune-up procedure – that form the basis of the original conclusions, nor do they recognize the issues with TGP that Legg indicated as being valid.

Another point is that Legg offers no alternative physical model that is capable of reproducing the capacitance signal or the RTS phenomenology, and thus the response basically seems to boil down to a curt ‘nuh uh’.

They did acknowledge an off-by-one pixel bug in the TGP processing, but insist that it is only a minor issue.

Effectively, the criticism is rejected, with the original 2025 paper maintained as being valid. This would mean that these topological qubits were truly detected, and with this knowledge a functional topological quantum processor could be constructed and integrated into a larger system.

The Science Continues

As much as academics and science in general can often appear to resemble a shooting gallery where the parties involved are happy to do some sniping, ultimately the scientific method has to prevail. This means the publishing of results, of experimental setups and methods with sufficient details that other researchers can attempt to reproduce the results from fundamentals.

If the Microsoft researchers are correct, then this might be a point-contact transistor moment within the world of quantum computing, which would naturally quickly be confirmed by other teams who would create their own devices and run their own tests, making it a historical fact.

Of course, just in the past few years we saw the Korean LK-99 room temperature superconductor and the controversial EmDrive meet a dismal end at the uncaring hands of peer review, while cold fusion is clinging on in a continuous state of limbo, even as it’s now called ‘low-energy nuclear reactions’.

Perhaps the best part of science is that even if nothing comes out of a research direction, it still offers a fascinating opportunity to learn more about physics, mathematics and so much more. Just in the course of writing this article I had to expand my knowledge of some subjects and refresh it on others. Ultimately this makes even something as controversial as topological quantum computing such a delightful topic to occasionally dive into.

In the world of scientific publishing there are many reasons why a paper can be retracted, but generally there is an obvious and clearly communicated reason for doing so. Thus when [Yves Gingras] – a historian of physics – and [Mahdi Khelfaoui] – a colleague – noticed recently that two 1940s papers by [Max Planck] had been quite recently retracted, this resulted in an eyebrow-raising double-take, before naturally publishing their investigation’s findings on arXiv.

They first became aware of this courtesy of the site Retraction Watch and their list of ‘Retractions by Nobel Prize winners‘, which had the authors do a spit-take when they saw [Max Planck] listed. This page led them to a total of two database entries, as listed above. One is for a 1940 paper, the other for a 1942 paper, only five years before [Planck]’s death.

As for the provided reasons, both articles were struck with a generic ‘copyright violation’, which at the very least seems somewhat puzzling, and started both authors of this recent investigation on their journey. What they found was less of a nefarious plot and more of an accidental black hole that had formed when scientific journals began to digitize papers.

The original journal that [Planck]’s papers were published in was absorbed like so many into Springer Nature, where an automated system then tried to sort through all the papers, including the usual detecting of copyright issues. With these papers predating the era of convenient DOIs and the more standard forms of citing related works, said automated system appears to have become rather confused and hurt these papers in its confusion.

From the side of Springer Nature there has so far been no commentary on this, and as of writing the original papers are still listed as withdrawn. Although one can still read the original scanned papers via the Internet Archive, such as here the 1940 paper, it’s disturbing to see that automated systems have apparently been let loose on these veritable archives of scientific and academic history, heedless of the damage inflicted along the way.

Although after fifteen years these two retractions were finally noticed, the more harrowing question is probably just how many papers from potentially less well-known authors were quietly scuttled. If this can happen to [Planck]’s works, it would appear that nobody is safe, including legends like [Bohr], [Einstein] and so many others.