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    Statistical optimization of a sustainable fertilizer composition based on black soldier fly larvae as source of nitrogen

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    Developing an inclusive culture at South Africa’s research institutions

    Phakamani M’Afrika Xaba speaks at a botanical workshop.Credit: Nong Nooch/Tropical Botanical Garden

    For Black communities in today’s South Africa, the legacies of colonialism and apartheid still prevail, shaping social structure and limiting access to opportunities. Colonialism displaced Black South Africans from the mid-seventeenth century, eroding cultural and social systems.From the 1950s, apartheid legalized systematic racial discrimination against disenfranchised, mainly Black, people. It limited their economic opportunities and social standing, prescribing an inferior education system to deliberately shape a poor quality of life. The policy fuelled systemic sexism, sexual-orientation discrimination, ageism, and the use of ethnicity as a divide-and-conquer strategy.Seventy years later, even after more than 25 years of democracy following the end of apartheid in 1994, schools and suburbs are still predominantly segregated, with government funding unevenly allocated in terms of facilities and quality of education.Former South African president Nelson Mandela once said, “In Africa there is a concept known as ubuntu — the profound sense that we are human only through the humanity of others; that if we are to accomplish anything in this world, it will in equal measure be due to the work and achievement of others.”As three past and present employees of the South African National Biodiversity Institute (SANBI), a conservation organization founded in 2004 to manage the country’s biodiversity resources, we have been advocating for a culture of treating others in the way we want to be treated: by applying universal shared human values, redefining institutional culture and systems to be inclusive, and opening safe spaces for a diversity of ideas. We have proposed a ground-up approach that aims to focus on holistic transformation at different levels in our organization.Our approach was to initiate a platform to identify inclusivity challenges, foster awareness and collaboration among staff and collectively develop innovative ideas and solutions. These would be aligned to existing organizational values, such as ubuntu, growth, respect and tolerance, excellence, accountability and togetherness. We strive to bring about institutional cultural change through facilitated, constructive conversations, by strengthening connections and cohesion among staff and through creative and proactive problem-solving across our institution.Mentorship that thrivesInstitutional culture needs to enable successful mentoring by creating a safe space. For example, SANBI’s mentoring programme for interns, students and early-career scientists involves quarterly meetings between them and dedicated human-resources staff — check-ins that provide a space to engage with programme coordinators without early-career researchers’ supervisors being present. In addition to sharing feedback on institutional policies and procedures, early-career scientists have the opportunity to discuss challenges they might face because of their supervisor or work placement. When issues are identified early, transfers or exchanges between work programmes can be arranged.Every year, we each sign up to mentor junior researchers to provide a supportive environment for guidance, counselling and the transfer of skills. We develop structured workplans with specific goals and outputs, and we discuss expectations with our protégés. In addition, we offer shared workspaces for interns and encourage peer learning, so that interns can form a peer support network. In these relationships, trust is crucial and can be a gateway to broader professional and personal networks.

    Early-career researchers doing fieldwork training at the Stellenbosch University Experimental Farms in South Africa.Credit: Tlou Masehela

    Institutions should recruit outside of their walls, if necessary, to ensure that appropriately skilled mentors are paired with early-career researchers. For mentorship to thrive, institutions must also create an enabling environment. In non-supportive environments, staff — particularly those from under-represented groups — who remain inadequately skilled and work without guidance become frustrated. Some can even feel they don’t belong because they see themselves as lagging behind their peers.Institutions often focus too strongly on outputs — such as publications, products or technologies — at the expense of reflecting on the values that uphold the institution. These values might be outdated and out of touch with those of staff, or with those held by partners, stakeholders or society at large. If staff cannot relate to the institutional culture and systems, job satisfaction and retention rates can suffer.Until a few years ago, for example, venues at our organization were named after former staff, as a way of acknowledging their contributions. Inevitably, these were mostly white, male, senior staff, such as Harold Pearson, the first director of Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden, and Brian Rycroft, who served as director in the 1950s. But the contributions of staff who were employed in junior positions for 20–30 years also needed to be acknowledged. After an outcry around 2014, then-chief-executive Tanya Abrahamse, the first Black woman to hold the post, decided to acknowledge contributions of staff no matter their position. As a result, we now have Richard Crowie Hall, an exhibition space named after one of SANBI’s longest-serving staff members.The protracted legacy of apartheid in South Africa means that if institutional implicit biases are left unaddressed, they can create a fertile ground for racial, ethnic, tribal, financial and gender tensions. We urge more institutional recognition of the contributions of all.Fostering safe spacesThrough our engagements with each other, we have discovered a set of shared values, aligned with those of our institution, and have set out to establish a space to build our vision of a supportive, safe environment based on these values. Safe spaces are required for expressing controversial or uncomfortable views and to do the hard work of finding solutions to inequities. Confidentiality and trust cultivate such safe spaces, which can be created initially in small groups, then expanded to constructive formal or informal spaces. The conversations and suggestions of informal discussion groups about staff development and transformation can be elevated to management for implementation.
    Decolonizing science toolkit
    Safe spaces are a necessity for institutions that wish to truly address their legacies of racism and colonialism. Policies alone will not create these spaces — they require dedicated staff, too. Such spaces should ensure that those who speak up can do so without fear of being labelled as troublemakers or victimized.As a first step in pursuing this vision, we met with the senior teams at our organization to share ideas around the need for and benefits of an inclusive culture. We highlighted that inclusivity improves work–life balance, productivity and mental well-being for all employees.Any change, transformative or otherwise, is a process that takes perseverance, patience and determination. For any individual scientist to grow and flourish, they need a supportive environment, rich mentorship, a safe space and an enabling culture. It’s time for those factors to apply to all scientists equitably, no matter their gender, race, ethnicity or tribe. By fostering this mindset, we aim to reframe the narrative of our history and, in doing so, give all South African scientists their chance to thrive. More

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    Standardized multi-omics of Earth’s microbiomes reveals microbial and metabolite diversity

    Dataset descriptionSample collectionOur research complies with all relevant ethical regulations following policies at the University of California, San Diego (UCSD). Animal samples that were sequenced were not collected at UCSD and are not for vertebrate animals research at UCSD following the UCSD Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee (IACUC). Samples were contributed by 34 principal investigators of the Earth Microbiome Project 500 (EMP500) Consortium and are samples from studies at their respective institutions (Supplementary Table 1). Relevant permits and ethics information for each parent study are described in the ‘Permits for sample collection’ section below. Samples were contributed as distinct sets referred to here as studies, where each study represented a single environment (for example, terrestrial plant detritus). To achieve more even coverage across microbial environments, we devised an ontology of sample types (microbial environments), the EMP Ontology (EMPO) (http://earthmicrobiome.org/protocols-and-standards/empo/)1, and selected samples to fill out EMPO categories as broadly as possible. EMPO recognizes strong gradients structuring microbial communities globally, and thus classifies microbial environments (level 4) on the basis of host association (level 1), salinity (level 2), host kingdom (if host-associated) or phase (if free-living) (level 3) (Fig. 1a). As we anticipated previously1, we have updated the number of levels as well as states therein for EMPO (Fig. 1b) on the basis of an important additional salinity gradient observed among host-associated samples when considering the previously unreported shotgun metagenomic and metabolomic data generated here (Fig. 3c,d). We note that although we were able to acquire samples for all EMPO categories, some categories are represented by a single study.Samples were collected following the Earth Microbiome Project sample submission guide50. Briefly, samples were collected fresh, split into 10 aliquots and then frozen, or alternatively collected and frozen, and subsequently split into 10 aliquots with minimal perturbation. Aliquot size was sufficient to yield 10–100 ng genomic DNA (approximately 107–108 cells). To leave samples amenable to chemical characterization (metabolomics), buffers or solutions for sample preservation (for example, RNAlater) were avoided. Ethanol (50–95%) was allowed as it is compatible with LC–MS/MS although it should also be avoided if possible.Sampling guidance was tailored for four general sample types: bulk unaltered (for example, soil, sediment, faeces), bulk fractionated (for example, sponges, corals, turbid water), swabs (for example, biofilms) and filters. Bulk unaltered samples were split fresh (or frozen), sampled into 10 pre-labelled 2 ml screw-cap bead beater tubes (Sarstedt, 72.694.005 or similar), ideally with at least 200 mg biomass, and flash frozen in liquid nitrogen (if possible). Bulk fractionated samples were fractionated as appropriate for the sample type, split into 10 pre-labelled 2 ml screw-cap bead beater tubes, ideally with at least 200 mg biomass, and flash frozen in liquid nitrogen (if possible). Swabs were collected as 10 replicate swabs using 5 BD SWUBE dual cotton swabs with wooden stick and screw cap (281130). Filters were collected as 10 replicate filters (47 mm diameter, 0.2 um pore size, polyethersulfone (preferred) or hydrophilic PTFE filters), placed in pre-labelled 2 ml screw-cap bead beater tubes, and flash frozen in liquid nitrogen (if possible). All sample types were stored at –80 °C if possible, otherwise –20 °C.To track the provenance of sample aliquots, we employed a QR coding scheme. Labels were affixed to aliquot tubes before shipping when possible. QR codes had the format ‘name.99.s003.a05’, where ‘name’ is the PI name, ‘99’ is the study ID, ‘s003’ is the sample number and ‘a05’ is the aliquot number. QR codes (version 2, 25 pixels × 25 pixels) were printed on 1.125’ × 0.75’ rectangular and 0.437’ circular cap Cryogenic Direct Thermal labels (GA International, DFP-70) using a Zebra model GK420d printer and ZebraDesigner Pro 3 software for Windows. After receipt but before aliquots were stored in freezers, QR codes were scanned into a sample inventory spreadsheet using a QR scanner.Sample metadataEnvironmental metadata were collected for all samples on the basis of the EMP Metadata Guide, which combines guidance from the Genomics Standards Consortium MIxS (Minimum Information about any Sequence) standard74 and the Qiita Database (https://qiita.ucsd.edu)51. The metadata guide provides templates and instructions for each MIxS environmental package (that is, sample type). Relevant information describing each PI submission, or study, was organized into a separate study metadata file (Supplementary Table 1).MetabolomicsLC–MS/MS sample extraction and preparationTo profile metabolites among all samples, we used LC–MS/MS, a versatile method that detects tens of thousands of metabolites in biological samples. All solvents and reactants used were LC–MS grade. To maximize the biomass extracted from each sample, the samples were prepared depending on their sampling method (for example, bulk, swabs, filter and controls). The bulk samples were transferred into a microcentrifuge tube (polypropylene, PP) and dissolved in 7:3 MeOH:H2O using a volume varying from 600 µl to 1.5 ml, depending on the amounts of sample available, and homogenized in a tissue lyser (QIAGEN) at 25 Hz for 5 min. Then, the tubes were centrifuged at 2,000 × g for 15 min, and the supernatant was collected in a 96-well plate (PP). For swabs, the swabs were transferred into a 96-well plate (PP) and dissolved in 1.0 ml of 9:1 ethanol:H2O. The prepared plates were sonicated for 30 min, and after 12 h at 4 °C, the swabs were removed from the wells. The filter samples were dissolved in 1.5 ml of 7:3 MeOH:H2O in microcentrifuge tubes (PP) and sonicated for 30 min. After 12 h at 4 °C, the filters were removed from the tubes. The tubes were centrifuged at 2,000 × g for 15 min, and the supernatants were transferred to 96-well plates (PP). The process control samples (bags, filters and tubes) were prepared by adding 3.0 ml of 2:8 MeOH:H2O and recovering 1.5 ml after 2 min. After the extraction process, all sample plates were dried with a vacuum concentrator and subjected to solid phase extraction (SPE). SPE was used to remove salts that could reduce ionization efficiency during mass spectrometry analysis, as well as the most polar and non-polar compounds (for example, waxes) that cannot be analysed efficiently by reversed-phase chromatography. The protocol was as follows: the samples (in plates) were dissolved in 300 µl of 7:3 MeOH:H2O and put in an ultrasound bath for 20 min. SPE was performed with SPE plates (Oasis HLB, hydrophilic-lipophilic-balance, 30 mg with particle sizes of 30 µm). The SPE beds were activated by priming them with 100% MeOH, and equilibrated with 100% H2O. The samples were loaded on the SPE beds, and 100% H2O was used as wash solvent (600 µl). The eluted washing solution was discarded, as it contains salts and very polar metabolites that subsequent metabolomics analysis is not designed for. The sample elution was carried out sequentially with 7:3 MeOH:H2O (600 µl) and 100% MeOH (600 µl). The obtained plates were dried with a vacuum concentrator. For mass spectrometry analysis, the samples were resuspended in 130 µl of 7:3 MeOH:H2O containing 0.2 µM of amitriptyline as an internal standard. The plates were centrifuged at 30 × g for 15 min at 4 °C. Samples (100 µl) were transferred into new 96-well plates (PP) for mass spectrometry analysis.LC–MS/MS sample analysisThe extracted samples were analysed by ultra-high performance liquid chromatography (UHPLC, Vanquish, Thermo Fisher) coupled to a quadrupole-Orbitrap mass spectrometer (Q Exactive, Thermo Fisher) operated in data-dependent acquisition mode (LC–MS/MS in DDA mode). Chromatographic separation was performed using a Kinetex C18 1.7 µm (Phenomenex), 100 Å pore size, 2.1 mm (internal diameter) × 50 mm (length) column with a C18 guard cartridge (Phenomenex). The column was maintained at 40 °C. The mobile phase was composed of a mixture of (A) water with 0.1% formic acid (v/v) and (B) acetonitrile with 0.1% formic acid. Chromatographic elution method was set as follows: 0.00–1.00 min, isocratic 5% B; 1.00–9.00 min, gradient from 5% to 100% B; 9.00–11.00 min, isocratic 100% B; followed by equilibration 11.00–11.50 min, gradient from 100% to 5% B; 11.50–12.50 min, isocratic 5% B. The flow rate was set to 0.5 ml min−1.The UHPLC was interfaced to the orbitrap using a heated electrospray ionization source with the following parameters: ionization mode, positive; spray voltage, +3,496.2 V; heater temperature, 363.90 °C; capillary temperature, 377.50 °C; S-lens RF, 60 arbitrary units (a.u.); sheath gas flow rate, 60.19 a.u.; and auxiliary gas flow rate, 20.00 a.u. The MS1 scans were acquired at a resolution (at m/z 200) of 35,000 in the m/z 100–1500 range, and the fragmentation spectra (MS2) scans at a resolution of 17,500 from 0 to 12.5 min. The automatic gain control target and maximum injection time were set at 1.0 × 106 and 160 ms for MS1 scans, and set at 5.0 × 105 and 220 ms for MS2 scans, respectively. Up to three MS2 scans in data-dependent mode (Top 3) were acquired for the most abundant ions per MS1 scans using the apex trigger mode (4–15 s), dynamic exclusion (11 s) and automatic isotope exclusion. The starting value for MS2 was m/z 50. Higher-energy collision induced dissociation (HCD) was performed with a normalized collision energy of 20, 30 and 40 eV in stepped mode. The major background ions originating from the SPE were excluded manually from the MS2 acquisition. Analyses were randomized within plate and blank samples analysed every 20 injections. A quality control mix sample assembled from 20 random samples across the sample types was injected at the beginning, the middle and the end of each plate sequence. The chromatographic shift observed throughout the batch was estimated as less than 2 s, and the relative standard deviation of ion intensity was 15% per replicate.LC–MS/MS data processingThe mass spectrometry data were centroided and converted from the proprietary format (.raw) to the m/z extensible markup language format (.mzML) using ProteoWizard (ver. 3.0.19, MSConvert tool)75. The mzML files were then processed with MZmine 2 toolbox76 using the ion-identity networking modules77 that allow advanced detection for adduct/isotopologue annotations. The MZmine processing was performed on Ubuntu 18.04 LTS 64-bits workstation (Intel Xeon E5-2637, 3.5 GHz, 8 cores, 64 Gb of RAM) and took ~3 d. The MZmine project, the MZmine batch file (.XML format) and results files (.MGF and .CSV) are available in the MassIVE dataset MSV000083475. The MZmine batch file contains all the parameters used during the processing. In brief, feature detection and deconvolution was performed with the ADAP chromatogram builder78 and local minimum search algorithm. The isotopologues were regrouped and the features (peaks) were aligned across samples. The aligned peak list was gap filled and only peaks with an associated fragmentation spectrum and occurring in a minimum of three files were conserved. Peak shape correlation analysis grouped peaks originating from the same molecule and annotated adduct/isotopologue with ion-identity networking77. Finally, the feature quantification table results (.CSV) and spectral information (.MGF) were exported with the GNPS module for feature-based molecular networking analysis on GNPS79 and with SIRIUS export modules.LC–MS/MS data annotationThe results files of MZmine (.MGF and .CSV files) were uploaded to GNPS (http://gnps.ucsd.edu)52 and analysed with the feature-based molecular networking workflow79. Spectral library matching was performed against public fragmentation spectra (MS2) spectral libraries on GNPS and the NIST17 library.For the additional annotation of small peptides, we used the DEREPLICATOR tools available on GNPS80,81. We then used SIRIUS82 (v. 4.4.25, headless, Linux) to systematically annotate the MS2 spectra. Molecular formulae were computed with the SIRIUS module by matching the experimental and predicted isotopic patterns83, and from fragmentation trees analysis84 of MS2. Molecular formula prediction was refined with the ZODIAC module using Gibbs sampling85 on the fragmentation spectra (chimeric spectra or those with poor fragmentation were excluded). In silico structure annotation using structures from biodatabase was done with CSI:FingerID86. Systematic class annotations were obtained with CANOPUS41 and used the NPClassifier ontology87.The parameters for SIRIUS tools were set as follows, for SIRIUS: molecular formula candidates retained, 80; molecular formula database, ALL; maximum precursor ion m/z computed, 750; profile, orbitrap; m/z maximum deviation, 10 ppm; ions annotated with MZmine were prioritized and other ions were considered (that is, [M+H3N+H]+, [M+H]+, [M+K]+, [M+Na]+, [M+H-H2O]+, [M+H-H4O2]+, [M+NH4]+); for ZODIAC: the features were split into 10 random subsets for lower computational burden and computed separately with the following parameters: threshold filter, 0.9; minimum local connections, 0; for CSI:FingerID: m/z maximum deviation, 10 ppm; and biological database, BIO.To establish putative microbially related secondary metabolites, we collected annotations from spectral library matching and the DEREPLICATOR+ tools and queried them against the largest microbial metabolite reference databases (Natural Products Atlas88 and MIBiG89). Molecular networking79 was then used to propagate the annotation of microbially related secondary metabolites throughout all molecular families (that is, the network component).LC–MS/MS data analysisWe combined the annotation results from the different tools described above to create a comprehensive metadata file describing each metabolite feature observed. Using that information, we generated a feature-table including only secondary metabolite features determined to be microbially related. We then excluded very low-intensity features introduced to certain samples during the gap-filling step described above. These features were identified on the basis of presence in negative controls that were universal to all sample types (that is, bulk, filter and swab) and by their relatively low per-sample intensity values. Finally, we excluded features present in positive controls for sampling devices specific to each sample type (that is, bulk, filter or swab). The final feature-table included 618 samples and 6,588 putative microbially related secondary metabolite features that were used for subsequent analysis.We used QIIME 2’s90 (v2020.6) ‘diversity’ plugin to quantify alpha-diversity (that is, feature richness) for each sample and ‘deicode’91 to quantify beta-diversity (that is, robust Aitchison distances, which are robust to both sparsity and compositionality in the data) between each pair of samples. We parameterized our robust Aitchison principal components analysis (RPCA)91 to exclude samples with fewer than 500 features and features present in fewer than 10% of samples. We used the ‘taxa’ plugin to quantify the relative abundance of microbially related secondary metabolite pathways and superclasses (that is, on the basis of NPClassifier) within each environment (that is, for each level of EMPO 4), and ‘songbird’ v1.0.492 to identify sets of microbially related secondary metabolites whose abundances were associated with certain environments. We parameterized our ‘songbird’ model as follows: epochs, 1,000,000; differential prior, 0.5; learning rate, 1.0 × 10−5; summary interval, 2; batch size, 400; minimum sample count, 0; and training on 80% of samples at each level of EMPO 4 using ‘Animal distal gut (non-saline)’ as the reference environment. Environments with fewer than 10 samples were excluded to optimize model training (that is, ‘Animal corpus (non-saline)’, ‘Animal proximal gut (non-saline)’, ‘Surface (saline)’). The output from ‘songbird’ includes a rank value for each metabolite in every environment, which represents the log fold change for a given metabolite in a given environment92. We compared log fold changes for each metabolite from this run to those from (1) a replicate run using the same reference environment and (2) a run using a distinct reference environment: ‘Water (saline)’. We found strong Spearman correlations in both cases (Supplementary Table 8), and therefore focused on results from the original run using ‘Animal distal gut (non-saline)’ as the reference environment, as it has previously been shown to be relatively unique among other habitats. In addition to summarizing the top 10 metabolites for each environment (Supplementary Table 3), we used the log fold change values in our multi-omics analyses described below.We used the RPCA biplot and QIIME 2’s90 EMPeror93 to visualize differences in composition among samples, as well as the association with samples of the 25 most influential microbially related secondary metabolite features (that is, those with the largest magnitude across the first three principal component loadings). We tested for significant differences in metabolite composition across all levels of EMPO using PERMANOVA implemented with QIIME 2’s ‘diversity’ plugin90 and using our robust Aitchison distance matrix as input. In parallel, we used the differential abundance results from ‘songbird’ described above to identify specific microbially related secondary metabolite pathways and superclasses that varied strongly across environments. We then went back to our metabolite feature-table to visualize differences in the relative abundances of those pathways and superclasses within each environment by first selecting features and calculating log-ratios using ‘qurro’94, and then plotting using the ‘ggplot2’ package95 in R96 v4.0.0. We tested for significant differences in relative abundances across environments using Kruskal–Wallis tests implemented with the base ‘stats’ package in R96.GC–MS sample extraction and preparationTo profile volatile small molecules among all samples in addition to what was captured with LC–MS/MS, we used gas chromatography coupled with mass spectrometry (GC–MS). All solvents and reactants were GC–MS grade. Two protocols were used for sample extraction, one for the 105 soil samples and a second for the 356 faecal and sediment samples that were treated as biosafety level 2. The 105 soil samples were received at the Pacific Northwest National Laboratory and processed as follows. Each soil sample (1 g) was weighed into microcentrifuge tubes (Biopur Safe-Lock, 2.0 ml, Eppendorf). H2O (1 ml) and one scoop (~0.5 g) of a 1:1 (v/v) mixture of garnet (0.15 mm, Omni International) and stainless steel (0.9–2.0 mm blend, Next Advance) beads and one 3 mm stainless steel bead (Qiagen) were added to each tube. Samples were homogenized in a tissue lyser (Qiagen) for 3 min at 30 Hz and transferred into 15 ml polypropylene tubes (Olympus, Genesee Scientific). Ice-cold water (1 ml) was used to rinse the smaller tube and combined into the 15 ml tube. Chloroform:methanol (10 ml, 2:1 v/v) was added and samples were rotated at 4 °C for 10 min, followed by cooling at −70 °C for 10 min and centrifuging at 150 × g for 10 min to separate phases. The top and bottom layers were combined into 40 ml glass vials and dried using a vacuum concentrator. Chloroform:methanol (1 ml, 2:1) was added to each large glass vial and the sample was transferred into 1.5 ml tubes and centrifuged at 1,300 × g. The supernatant was transferred into glass vials and dried for derivatization.The remaining 356 samples received from UCSD that included faecal and sediment samples were processed as follows: 100 µl of each sample was transferred to a 2 ml microcentrifuge tube using a scoop (MSP01, Next Advance). The final volume of the sample was brought to 1.5 ml, ensuring that the solvent ratio is 3:8:4 H2O:CHCl3:MeOH by adding the appropriate volumes of H2O, MeOH and CHCl3. After transfer, one 3 mm stainless steel bead (QIAGEN), 400 µl methanol and 300 µl H2O were added to each tube and the samples were vortexed for 30 s. Then, 800 µl chloroform was added and samples were vortexed for 30 s. After centrifuging at 150 × g for 10 min to separate phases, the top and bottom layers were combined in a vial and dried for derivatization.The samples were derivatized for GC–MS analysis as follows: 20 µl of a methoxyamine solution in pyridine (30 mg ml−1) was added to the sample vial and vortexed for 30 s. A bath sonicator was used to ensure that the sample was completely dissolved. Samples were incubated at 37 °C for 1.5 h while shaking at 1,000 r.p.m. N-methyl-N-trimethylsilyltrifluoroacetamide (80 µl) and 1% trimethylchlorosilane solution was added and samples were vortexed for 10 s, followed by incubation at 37 °C for 30 min, with 1,000 r.p.m. shaking. The samples were then transferred into a vial with an insert.An Agilent 7890A gas chromatograph coupled with a single quadrupole 5975C mass spectrometer (Agilent) and an HP-5MS column (30 m × 0.25 mm × 0.25 μm; Agilent) was used for untargeted analysis. Samples (1 μl) were injected in splitless mode, and the helium gas flow rate was determined by the Agilent Retention Time Locking function on the basis of analysis of deuterated myristic acid (Agilent). The injection port temperature was held at 250 °C throughout the analysis. The GC oven was held at 60 °C for 1 min after injection, and the temperature was then increased to 325 °C at a rate of 10 °C min−1, followed by a 10 min hold at 325 °C. Data were collected over the mass range of m/z 50–600. A mixture of FAMEs (C8–C28) was analysed each day with the samples for retention index alignment purposes during subsequent data analysis.GC–MS data processing and annotationThe data were converted from vendor’s format to the .mzML format and processed using GNPS GC–MS data analysis workflow (https://gnps.ucsd.edu)97. The compounds were identified by matching experimental spectra to the public libraries available at GNPS, as well as NIST 17 and Wiley libraries. The data are publicly available at the MassIVE depository (https://massive.ucsd.edu); dataset ID: MSV000083743. The GNPS deconvolution is available in GNPS (https://gnps.ucsd.edu/ProteoSAFe/status.jsp?task=d5c5135a59eb48779216615e8d5cb3ac), as is the library search (https://gnps.ucsd.edu/ProteoSAFe/status.jsp?task=59b20fc8381f4ee6b79d35034de81d86).GC–MS data analysisFor multi-omics analyses including GC–MS data, we first removed noisy (that is, suspected background contaminants and artifacts) features by excluding those with balance scores 1.5–2 kb DNA fragments’ (Oxford Nanopore Technologies). The resulting product consists of uniquely tagged rRNA operon amplicons. The uniquely tagged rRNA operons were amplified in a second PCR, where the reaction (100 µl) contained 2 U Platinum SuperFi DNA Polymerase High Fidelity (Thermo Fisher) and a final concentration of 1X SuperFi buffer, 0.2 mM of each dNTP, and 500 nM of each forward and reverse synthetic primer targeting the tailed primers from above. The PCR cycling parameters consisted of an initial denaturation (3 min at 95 °C) and then 25–35 cycles of denaturation (15 s at 95 °C), annealing (30 s at 60 °C) and extension (6 min at 72 °C), followed by final extension (5 min at 72 °C). The PCR product was purified using the custom bead purification protocol above. Batches of 25 amplicon libraries were barcoded and sent for PacBio Sequel II library preparation and sequencing (Sequel II SMRT Cell 8M and 30 h collection time) at the DNA Sequencing Center at Brigham Young University. Circular consensus sequencing (CCS) reads were generated using CCS v.3.4.1 (https://github.com/PacificBiosciences/ccs) using default settings. UMI consensus sequences were generated using the longread_umi pipeline (https://github.com/SorenKarst/longread_umi) with the following command: longread_umi pacbio_pipeline -d ccs_reads.fq -o out_dir -m 3500 -M 6000 -s 60 -e 60 -f CAAGCAGAAGACGGCATACGAGAT -F AGRGTTYGATYMTGGCTCAG -r AATGATACGGCGACCACCGAGATC -R CGACATCGAGGTGCCAAAC -U ‘0.75;1.5;2;0’ -c 2.Amplicon data analysisFor multi-omics analyses including amplicon sequence data, we processed each dataset for comparison of beta-diversity. For all amplicon data except that for bacterial full-length rRNA amplicons, raw sequence data were converted from bcl to fastq, and then multiplexed files for each sequencing run uploaded as separate preparations to Qiita (study: 13114).For each 16S sequencing run, in Qiita, data were demultiplexed, trimmed to 150 bp and denoised using Deblur122 to generate a feature-table of sub-operational taxonomic units (sOTUs) per sample, using default parameters. We then exported feature-tables and denoised sequences from each sequencing run, used QIIME 2’s ‘feature-table’ plugin to merge feature-tables and denoised reads across sequencing runs, and placed all denoised reads into the GreenGenes 13_8 phylogeny123 via fragment insertion using QIIME 2’s90 SATé-Enabled Phylogenetic Placement (SEPP)124 plugin to produce a phylogeny for diversity analyses. To allow for phylogenetically informed diversity analyses, reads not placed during SEPP (that is, 513 sOTUs, 0.1% of all sOTUs) were removed from the merged feature-table. We then used QIIME 2’s ‘feature-table’ plugin to exclude singleton sOTUs and rarefy the data to 5,000 reads per sample. Rarefaction depths for all amplicon analyses were chosen to best normalize sampling effort per sample while maintaining ≥75% of samples representative of Earth’s environments, and also to maintain consistency with the analyses from EMP release 1. We then used QIIME 2’s90 ‘diversity’ plugin to estimate alpha-diversity (that is, sOTU richness) and beta-diversity (that is, unweighted UniFrac distances). The final feature-table for 16S beta-diversity analysis included 681 samples and 93,260 features. We performed a comparative analysis of the data including and excluding the reads not placed during SEPP, and note that both alpha-diversity (that is, sOTU richness) and beta-diversity (that is, sample–sample RPCA distances) were highly correlated between datasets (Spearman r = 1.0) (Supplementary Fig. 5). We thus proceeded with the SEPP-filtered dataset and used phylogenetically informed diversity metrics where applicable.For 18S data, we used QIIME 2’s90 ‘demux’ plugin’s ‘emp-paired’ method125,126 to first demultiplex each sequencing run, and then the ‘cutadapt’ plugin’s127 ‘trim-paired’ method to trim sequencing primers from reads. We then exported trimmed reads, concatenated R1 and R2 read files per sample, and denoised reads using Deblur’s122,128 ‘workflow’ with default settings, trimming reads to 90 bp, and taking the ‘all.biom’ and ‘all.seqs’ output, for each sequencing run. We then used QIIME 2’s ‘feature-table’ plugin to merge feature-tables and denoised sequences across sequencing runs, and then the ‘feature-classifier’ plugin’s ‘classify-sklearn’ method to classify taxonomy for each sOTU via pre-fitted machine-learning classifiers129 and the SILVA 138 reference database130. We then used QIIME 2’s90 ‘feature-table’ plugin to exclude reads assigned to bacteria and archaea, singleton sOTUs and samples with a total frequency of More

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    Soil organic matter formation and loss are mediated by root exudates in a temperate forest

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    Mapping the planet’s critical natural assets

    Extent and location of critical natural assetsCritical natural assets providing the 12 local NCP (Fig. 1a) occupy only 30% (41 million km2) of total land area (excluding Antarctica) and 24% (34 million km2) of marine Exclusive Economic Zones (EEZs), reflecting the steep slope of the aggregate NCP accumulation curve (Fig. 1b). Despite this modest proportion of global land area, the shares of countries’ land areas that are designated as critical can vary substantially. The 20 largest countries require only 24% of their land area, on average, to maintain 90% of current levels of NCP, while smaller countries (10,000 to 1.5 million km2) require on average 40% of their land area (Supplementary Data 1). This high variability in the NCP–area relationship is primarily driven by the proportion of countries’ land areas made up by natural assets (that is, excluding barren, ice and snow, and developed lands), but even when this is accounted for, there are outliers (Extended Data Fig. 2). Outliers may be due to spatial patterns in human population density (for example, countries with dense population centres and vast expanses with few people, such as Canada and Russia, require far less area to achieve NCP targets) or large ecosystem heterogeneity (if greater ecosystem diversity yields higher levels of diverse NCP in a smaller proportion of area, which may explain patterns in Chile and Australia).The highest-value critical natural assets (the locations delivering the highest magnitudes of NCP in the smallest area, denoted by the darkest blue or green shades in Fig. 1c) often coincide with diverse, relatively intact natural areas near or upstream from large numbers of people. Many of these high-value areas coincide with areas of greatest spatial congruence among multiple NCP (Extended Data Fig. 3). Spatially correlated pairs of local NCP (Supplementary Table 4) include those related to water (flood risk reduction with nitrogen retention and nitrogen with sediment retention); forest products (timber and fuelwood); and those occurring closer to human-modified habitats (pollination with nature access and with nitrogen retention). Coastal risk reduction, forage production for grazing, and riverine fish harvest are the most spatially distinct from other local NCP. In the marine realm, there is substantial overlap of fisheries with coastal risk reduction and reef tourism (though not between the latter two, which each have much smaller critical areas than exist for fisheries).Number of people benefitting from critical natural assetsWe estimate that ~87% of the world’s current population, 6.4 billion people, benefit directly from at least one of the 12 local NCP provided by critical natural assets, while only 16% live on the lands providing these benefits (and they may also benefit; Fig. 2a). To quantify the number of beneficiaries of critical natural assets, we spatially delineate their benefitting areas (which varies on the basis of NCP: for example, areas downstream, within the floodplain, in low-lying areas near the coast, or accessible by a short travel). While our optimization selects for the provision of 90% of the current value of each NCP, it is not guaranteed that 90% of the world’s population would benefit (since it does not include considerations for redundancy in adjacent pixels and therefore many of the areas selected benefit the same populations), so it is notable that an estimated 87% do. This estimate of ‘local’ beneficiaries probably underestimates the total number of people benefitting because it includes only NCP for which beneficiaries can be spatially delineated to avoid double-counting, yet it is striking that the vast majority, 6.1 billion people, live within 1 h travel (by road, rail, boat or foot, taking the fastest path17) of critical natural assets, and more than half of the world’s population lives downstream of these areas (Fig. 2b). Material NCP are often delivered locally, but many also enter global supply chains, making it difficult to delineate beneficiaries spatially for these NCP. However, past studies have calculated that globally more than 54 million people benefit directly from the timber industry18, 157 million from riverine fisheries19, 565 million from marine fisheries20 and 1.3 billion from livestock grazing21, and across the tropics alone 2.7 billion are estimated to be dependent on nature for one or more basic needs22.Fig. 2: People benefitting from and living on critical natural assets (CNA).a,b, ‘Local’ beneficiaries were calculated through the intersection of areas benefitting from different NCP, to avoid double-counting people in areas of overlap; only those NCP for which beneficiaries could be spatially delineated were included (that is, not material NCP that enter global supply chains: fisheries, timber, livestock or crop pollination). Bars show percentages of total population globally and for large and small countries (a) or the percentage of relevant population globally (b). Numbers inset in bars show millions of people making up that percentage. Numbers to the right of bars in b show total relevant population (in millions of people, equivalent to total global population from Landscan 2017 for population within 1 h travel or downstream, but limited to the total population living within 10 km of floodplains or along coastlines 80%) of their populations benefitting from critical natural assets, but small countries have much larger proportions of their populations living within the footprint of critical natural assets than do large countries (Fig. 2a and Supplementary Data 2). When people live in these areas, and especially when current levels of use of natural assets are not sustainable, regulations or incentives may be needed to maintain the benefits these assets provide. While protected areas are an important conservation strategy, they represent only 15% of the critical natural assets for local NCP (Supplementary Table 5); additional areas should not necessarily be protected using designations that restrict human access and use, or they could cease to provide some of the diverse values that make them so critical23. Other area-based conservation measures, such as those based on Indigenous and local communities’ governance systems, Payments for Ecosystem Services programmes, and sustainable use of land- and seascapes, can all contribute to maintaining critical flows of NCP in natural and semi-natural ecosystems24.Overlaps between local and global prioritiesUnlike the 12 local NCP prioritized here at the national scale, certain benefits of natural assets accrue continentally or even globally. We therefore optimize two additional NCP at a global scale: vulnerable terrestrial ecosystem carbon storage (that is, the amount of total ecosystem carbon lost in a typical disturbance event25, hereafter ‘ecosystem carbon’) and vegetation-regulated atmospheric moisture recycling (the supply of atmospheric moisture and precipitation sustained by plant life26, hereafter ‘moisture recycling’). Over 80% of the natural asset locations identified as critical for the 12 local NCP are also critical for the two global NCP (Fig. 3). The spatial overlap between critical natural assets for local and global NCP accounts for 24% of land area, with an additional 14% of land area critical for global NCP that is not considered critical for local NCP (Extended Data Fig. 4). Together, critical natural assets for securing both local and global NCP require 44% of total global land area. When each NCP is optimized individually (carbon and moisture NCP at the global scale; the other 12 at the country scale), the overlap between carbon or moisture NCP and the other NCP exceeds 50% for all terrestrial (and freshwater) NCP except coastal risk reduction (which overlaps only 36% with ecosystem carbon, 5% with moisture recycling; Supplementary Table 4).Fig. 3: Spatial overlaps between critical natural assets for local and global NCP.Red and teal denote where critical natural assets for global NCP (providing 90% of ecosystem carbon and moisture recycling globally) or for local NCP (providing 90% of the 12 NCP listed in Fig. 1), respectively, but not both, occur; gold shows areas where the two overlap (24% of the total area). Together, local and global critical natural assets account for 44% of total global land area (excluding Antarctica). Grey areas show natural assets not defined as ‘critical’ by this analysis, though still providing some values to certain populations. White areas were excluded from the optimization.Full size imageSynergies can also be found between NCP and biodiversity and cultural diversity. Critical natural assets for local NCP at national levels overlap with part or all of the area of habitat (AOH, mapped on the basis of species range maps, habitat preferences and elevation27) for 60% of 28,177 terrestrial vertebrates (Supplementary Data 3). Birds (73%) and mammals (66%) are better represented than reptiles and amphibians (44%). However, these critical natural assets represent only 34% of the area for endemic vertebrate species (with 100% of their AOH located within a given country; Supplementary Data 3) and 16% of the area for all vertebrates if using a more conservative representation target framework based on the IUCN Red List criteria (though, notably, achieving Red List representation targets is impossible for 24% of species without restoration or other expansion of existing AOH; Supplementary Data 4). Cultural diversity (proxied by linguistic diversity) has far higher overlaps with critical natural assets than does biodiversity; these areas intersect 96% of global Indigenous and non-migrant languages28 (Supplementary Data 5). The degree to which languages are represented in association with critical natural assets is consistent across most countries, even at the high end of language diversity (countries containing >100 Indigenous and non-migrant languages, such as Indonesia, Nigeria and India). This high correspondence provides further support for the importance of safeguarding rights to access critical natural assets, especially for Indigenous cultures that benefit from and help maintain them. Despite the larger land area required for maintaining the global NCP compared with local NCP, global NCP priority areas overlap with slightly fewer languages (92%) and with only 2% more species (60% of species AOH), although a substantially greater overlap is seen with global NCP if Red List criteria are considered (36% compared with 16% for local NCP; Supplementary Data 4). These results provide different insights than previous efforts at smaller scales, particularly a similar exercise in Europe that found less overlap with priority areas for biodiversity and NCP29. However, the 40% of all vertebrate species whose habitats did not overlap with critical natural assets could drive very different patterns if biodiversity were included in the optimization.Although these 14 NCP are not comprehensive of the myriad ways that nature benefits and is valued by people23, they capture, spatially and thematically, many elements explicitly mentioned in the First Draft of the CBD’s post-2020 Global Biodiversity Framework13: food security, water security, protection from hazards and extreme events, livelihoods and access to green and blue spaces. Our emphasis here is to highlight the contributions of natural and semi-natural ecosystems to human wellbeing, specifically contributions that are often overlooked in mainstream conservation and development policies around the world. For example, considerations for global food security often include only crop production rather than nature’s contributions to it via pollination or vegetation-mediated precipitation, or livestock production without partitioning out the contribution of grasslands from more intensified feed production.Gaps and next stepsOur synthesis of these 14 NCP represents a substantial advance beyond other global prioritizations that include NCP limited to ecosystem carbon stocks, fresh water and marine fisheries30,31,32, though still falls short of including all important contributions of nature such as its relational values33. Despite the omission of many NCP that were not able to be mapped, further analyses indicate that results are fairly robust to inclusion of additional NCP. Dropping one of the 12 local NCP at a time results in More

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    Population genomics reveal distinct and diverging populations of An. minimus in Cambodia

    Population sampling and sequencingWe generated whole genome sequence data from 302 wild-caught individual An. minimus female mosquitoes collected from five different field sites in Cambodia using the Illumina HiSeq 2000 platform with 150 bp paired-end reads with a target coverage of 30X for each. Mosquito collections in Thmar Da, in Eastern Cambodia, were done in 2010. Longitudinal monthly collections were performed from February 2014 to January 2015 in two sites in each of the Preah Vihear, and Ratanakiri provinces. Quarterly collections were also done in 2016 in one site in Preah Vihear province, Cambodia.Variant discoveryThe methods for sequencing and variant calling closely follow those of the Anopheles gambiae 1000 Genomes project phase 2 (Ag1000G)27. Sequence reads were aligned to the An. minimus reference genome AminM128. We restricted our analysis to the largest 40 contigs, which cover 96.6% of the AminM1 reference genome, as many smaller-sized contigs can confound diversity and divergence calculations. We found that 138,161,075 (75.4%) of sites within these 40 largest contigs pass our site filters and thus were accessible to SNP calling. Of these, we discovered 38,000,285 segregating single nucleotide polymorphisms (SNPs) that passed all of our quality control filters of 55,307,039 total segregating SNPs. 13.4% of these SNPs were multiallelic, with 32,906,471 biallelic SNPs. There were 4,807,355 triallelic and 286,459 quadriallelic SNPs. A total of 100,160,790 sites were invariant. The median genome-wide coverage was 35X.Population structureA principal component analysis (PCA) over biallelic SNPs distributed over the genome of 302 individual field-collected mosquitoes showed that there is clear population structure of An. minimus in Cambodia. Samples collected from five sites in three provinces split into three distinct clusters; here, we report on 283 individuals that could be clearly assigned to these clusters (Fig. 1), excluding 9 anomalous and 10 outlying individuals. One cluster includes all samples from the western collection site Thmar Da and the northern collection sites in Preah Vihear province, with two further clusters with samples from Ratanakiri province in the northeast. These clusters split primarily along the first and second principal components. This was a surprising finding because this population structure did not correlate to the geographic sampling of these mosquitoes. Individuals collected from the western and northern sites cluster tightly together despite being hundreds of kilometers apart.Fig. 1: Population structure of An. minimus in Cambodia.The map indicates the five Cambodian collection sites. Principal component analysis (PCA) of whole genome sequences of 283 individual An. minimus s.s. collected in five villages in Cambodia shows that there is a distinct population structure and three populations. When performing the same PCA on a large X-chromosomal contig (KB664054), these individuals break into four populations: TD from the West, PV from the northern province in Preah Vihear, and RK1 and RK2, both collected in two sites in Ratanakiri province in the Northeast.Full size imageTo further explore this population structure, we performed the same PCA over individual contigs from different regions of the genome. Performing PCA over the largest X-chromosomal contig KB664054 resulted in a splitting of the western and northern samples, indicating four distinct populations of An. minimus in Cambodia (Fig. 1). PCA from this contig on a quickly evolving sex chromosome revealed more population structure compared to autosomal contigs. The populations defined by these PCA clusters are designated in this study as TD from Thmar Da, in Western Cambodia (n = 41), on the Thai-Cambodian border, PV from the Northern province Preah Vihear (n = 156), and the two distinct populations collected in Ratanakiri province in the Northeast, each including individuals collected at both collection sites, these are designated as populations RK1 (n = 58) and RK2 (n = 28).To confirm our results from PCA, we also performed an admixture analysis. We ran admixture on each of the largest 10 contigs for values of K between 2 and 6 (Supplemental Fig. 1). At K = 2, the samples from Northeastern Cambodia split from Northern and Western Cambodia samples. At K = 3, the two different groups in Ratanakiri were separated, consistent with the PCA results. At K = 4, there was some evidence for geographical population structure between the Western TD and Northern PV populations, but the admixture results did not perfectly correspond with geographic sampling, with some evidence of mixed ancestry in the PV samples. Again, this is consistent with the PCA groupings, with the generally weaker evidence of geographic population structure between TD and PV. A cross-validation analysis showed the lowest cross-validation error for K = 2 and K = 3, consistent with the strongest evidence for population structure between the two RK groups and other populations. Cross-validation error was higher at K = 4, consistent with the weaker differentiation between TD and PV. At no point was their an indication of admixture between RK1 and RK2.To examine population differentiation, we computed differences in allele frequencies between each population using Pairwise Fst. Pairwise Fst between all 4 populations over the largest contig, KB663610, representing 16% of the An. minimus genome, (Fig. 2) shows that differentiation was relatively low between populations of TD and PV with an average pairwise Fst of 0.003, while the difference between RK2 and the other three populations is tenfold higher, around 0.03. Pairwise Fst estimates comparing these populations over other large An. minimus contigs indicate a similar level of differentiation, with average pairwise Fst values over 0.03 (Supplementary Data 3). The two sympatric populations from the Ratanakiri collection sites are as differentiated from each other as they are from the northern and western clusters.Fig. 2: Population diversity and divergence.Nucleotide diversity (π), Watterson’s Theta (θW), and Tajima’s D statistics were calculated over fourfold degenerate sites on autosomal contigs. The error bars indicate 95% confidence intervals calculated over 100 bootstrap replicates over samples. An average pairwise Fst in the table here was calculated in 20 kb windows over the largest contig KB663610.Full size imageThis level of differentiation of RK2, even from the RK1 population, might indicate an emerging cryptic species within An. minimus A or a newly diverging clade. RK1 and RK2 are sympatric populations, both being collected in the same two sites in Northeastern Cambodia. The differences seen here between RK1 and RK2 populations are consistent with cryptic taxa in other anopheline groups. For example, in the An. gambiae complex, the level of differentiation between recently diverged sibling species An. coluzzii and An. gambiae in West Africa is approximately 0.0319.Population diversity and variationTo characterize population diversity among these populations, nucleotide diversity (π), Watterson’s Theta (θW), and Tajima’s D statistics were calculated over 4-fold degenerate sites on autosomal contigs larger than 2 megabases with 100 bootstrap replicates over samples. These 17 contigs represent 80% of the Anopheles minimus genome (Fig. 2). The populations were downsampled for these calculations to have sizes equal to that of the smallest population RK2 (n = 28).There are small but significant differences in the magnitude of the genetic diversity summary statistics between these four different populations. In particular, there were notable differences between the putatively cryptic taxa RK1 and RK2, two populations that were collected in the same sites in Northeastern Cambodia. RK1 had higher levels of nucleotide diversity and lower levels of Tajima’s D than RK2. These differences are consistent with different population size histories between these sympatric groups. Lower values of Tajima’s D suggest stronger population growth in RK1. Comparing all four populations, higher levels of genetic diversity indicate larger effective population sizes of TD and PV compared to RK1 and RK2.RK2 has a significantly reduced nucleotide diversity and Watterson’s Theta compared to the other three populations. This may indicate a smaller population size and a recent bottleneck of the RK2 population in Cambodia. All four An. minimus populations have a negative Tajima’s D, indicating an excess of rare variants, particularly in RK1. This suggests recent population expansions in all populations.Signals of evolutionary selectionWe used Fst to scan across the Anopheles minimus genome to look for regions of the genome with increased differentiation. When we scanned the genome using pairwise Fst, there were no apparent long signals of differentiation that might indicate a large inversion or other structural variants, known to be major drivers of adaptive evolution in other Anopheles groups. To investigate increased differentiation across large regions of the genome, we performed scans of nucleotide diversity (π), Watterson’s Theta (θW), and Tajima’s D over the largest 14 contigs (representing 80% of the An. minimus genome). As with the Fst scans, there were no large regions of higher differentiation in any of the populations that might indicate major structural variants or inversions (Supplementary Figs. 2–4).Whole-genome sequencing allowed us to identify pointed signals occurring across the entire genome using scans of average pairwise Fst. Isolated points of high differentiation were compared over single contigs with average pairwise Fst calculated over windows of 1000 SNPs each and plotted over whole contigs. The strongest signals, indicated by the highest Fst value at the peak of a strong signal of differentiation, were ranked and compared. The five top signals in each of the six comparisons between the four populations are listed in Table 1. These isolated points of high differentiation are one indication of a signal of evolutionary selection. The most differentiated regions by Fst occurred when comparing the RK2 population to the other three populations, with the highest selection peaks with pairwise Fst over 0.4. RK2 also had more distinct signals of selection when compared to the other populations than RK1. Since these signals of differentiation were highly localized, we could look to known gene annotations and gene predictions across the AminM1 reference genome to see which genes were within 100 kbp of the peaks of these signals. We have noted candidate genes of interest that were near the strongest Fst signal peaks and also had known or predicted gene functions (Table 1, Supplementary Fig. 6, Supplementary Fig. 8).Table 1 The top five Fst signals of high differentiation within each of six population comparisons are reported here.Full size tableThere is almost no indication of selection when comparing the Thmar Da population with Preah Vihear, with all but one signal with Fst values below 0.05. The one strong signal between TD and PV (Fst = 0.125) is near a Carbohydrate sulfotransferase, which is involved in detoxification processes. Comparing TD to RK1 and RK2 reveals multiple strong signals of selection, some which are present in both Northeastern populations, as well as many unique RK2-specific signals (Fig. 3, Supplementary Fig. 5).Fig. 3: Signals of selection over a single autosomal contig.Pairwise Fst was calculated in 1000 SNP windows over autosomal contig KB664266, comparing the Thmar Da population to the three other populations, Ratanakiri 2, Ratanakiri 1, and Preah Vihear. There is almost no indication of selection when comparing Thmar Da with Preah Vihear. There is a strongly supported signal of differentiation in both Ratanakiri 1 and Ratanakiri 2 populations at 7.5 Mbp, which is in the same location as a cluster of GSTe genes, including GSTe2, which are known to be involved in metabolic resistance to DDT and pyrethroids. The signal with the highest Fst peak here in RK2, at 6 Mbp is close to an Ecdysteroid UDP-glucosyltransferase gene, shown to confer pyrethroid insecticide resistance in other anophelines. These are a few of many selection signals identified in this study that may be associated with insecticide pressure on these An. minimus populations.Full size imageMany of the strongest signals identified in this study may be associated with insecticide pressure on these An. minimus populations. The strongest selection signals in every population comparison were close to genes that are involved in detoxification, signal transduction, and adaptations to oxidative stress, or have been functionally validated to have mutations that confer resistance to insecticides (Table 1). Some signals of interest include a strongly supported signal of selection in both RK1 and RK2 populations at 7.5 Mbp on the contig KB664266, which is in the same location as a cluster of glutathione-S-transferases, including GSTe2, which has been shown to be involved in the metabolism of DDT and pyrethroids, mutations in which mediate metabolic insecticide resistance29. The signal with the highest pairwise Fst peak on the same contig KB664266, at 6 Mbp is an RK2-specific signal and close to an Ecdysteroid UDP-glucosyltransferase gene, which has been shown to confer pyrethroid insecticide resistance in An. stephensi30.Another notable signal is between the RK1 and RK2 populations on the contig KB663610, a Peptidase S1 domain-containing protein AMIN002286, which has been shown to be involved in response to parasite pathogens in insects31. The signals of selection observed in this study are mostly distinct from the main selection signals seen in An. gambiae complex mosquitoes19, the primary vectors of Plasmodium falciparum in Africa.Insecticide resistanceWe report here variants at known insecticide resistance-associated alleles for each of the four An. minimus populations. Variants occurring at a frequency of more than 2% in at least one of the four populations are reported in the known insecticide-resistance-associated genes Ace1, Rdl, KDR, and GSTe2 (Supplementary Data 2). GSTe2 mutants are present in multiple populations, at a low rate, and there are a few individuals in Thmar Da and Preah Vihear with the Rdl resistance mutation, which is known to confer resistance to cyclodiene insecticides, despite evidence from other studies that species in this region lack this resistance mutation32. We did not investigate copy number variation, which is one mechanism by which GSTe2 confers insecticide resistance. These SNP variants indicate variation throughout these insecticide-resistance-associated genes, and though most of these populations do not currently have high rates of validated insecticide resistance-associated mutations, this underlying variation provides the potential for structural and transcriptional events resulting in greater levels of insecticide resistance in An. minimus populations. More

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