Astrobiology Revealed #32: Alta Howells

on the intersection of astrobiology and applied science

by Aubrey Zerkle

For this Astrobiology Revealed, we asked Alta Howells about the recent perspective paper she co-authored, entitled “Searching for extraterrestrial life advances terrestrial sustainability.” Alta is a Research Associate in the Department of Geological Sciences at the University of Colorado and an Affiliate Research Scientist at Blue Marble Space and NASA Ames Research Center. Alta explains why astrobiologists are well-positioned to inform many areas of applied science and engineering, and encourages the community to more carefully consider and highlight these connections.

In your LinkedIn profile, you list yourself as a "Burgeoning Applied Microbiologist." What do you mean by that, and how did you come to combine this with astrobiology?

My interest in space, the possibility of life beyond Earth, and the origins of life on our planet began in childhood. Growing up, I loved Star Trek, especially The Next Generation. Even as a kid, I had a hunger to explore the unknown and to understand how life functions at its smallest scales, though it never occurred to me then that a field called astrobiology would exist and could be an actual career.

My path into astrobiology began as an undergraduate at Montana State University. The summer after my freshman year, I joined a bioinorganic chemistry lab, where hands-on research taught me how life (even at the protein level) is shaped by its chemical environment. I had always loved visiting the hot springs of Yellowstone National Park as a child, so I was determined to study the microorganisms that thrive there. Through an undergraduate research Howard Hughes Medical Institute funding opportunity, I worked on projects involving iron-sulfur cluster proteins found in many extremophiles. These clusters closely resemble minerals like pyrite, and a central focus of the work was understanding how life evolved the ability to use something inorganic in nature to catalyze reactions.

The lab I joined happened to lead a NASA Astrobiology Institute, and that opened the door to seminars with working astrobiologists — including Tori Hoehler, who would go on to become my postdoctoral advisor at NASA Ames a decade later.

I went on to pursue graduate school with Dr. Everett Shock, where I continued research on microorganisms living in hot springs and was introduced to a geological process called serpentinization. Serpentinization is a water-rock reaction that generates hydrogen-rich, methane-rich, carbon-poor, hyperalkaline fluids — conditions that, remarkably, certain microbes on Earth can thrive in. We believe similar processes may be occurring on ocean worlds elsewhere in our solar system, such as Enceladus, a moon of Saturn.

My research through graduate school and into my postdoctoral fellowship at NASA Ames with Tori Hoehler centered on understanding how microorganisms survive such extreme conditions on Earth, and what that tells us about the potential for life elsewhere. It was through this work that I began to see direct connections between fundamental astrobiology and applied science. The hydrogen produced through serpentinization holds promise as a clean fuel source, and the hyperalkaline nature of serpentinized fluids, along with the organisms that inhabit them, may have the potential to facilitate carbon capture.

In your recent paper in Nature Communications, you argued that efforts in astrobiology and applied environmental science can be complementary. Can you explain the broad societal implications of studying astrobiology?

We are driven by a desire to understand life on Earth and the potential for life beyond it. But how do we balance our fundamental research motivations with a growing awareness that our skills and knowledge could also help address the environmental challenges we face today and in the future? This is something I wrestle with and was a big motivator for me and my co-authors to write this article

Fundamental science has always been essential — not only to the advancement of human knowledge, but as the engine behind discoveries that, by chance and good fortune, end up benefiting society in ways no one anticipated. These are discoveries that could only emerge from the sometimes-unpredictable walk of curiosity-driven science.

On one hand, astrobiology, the pursuit of answers to some of humanity's deepest questions, shapes how we understand our place in the solar system, our galaxy, and beyond. I work for a nonprofit called Blue Marble Space, and embedded in our mission is the recognition that we all share one planet. Our existence on this blue marble floating in space unites us. From a philosophical perspective, astrobiology helps many of us understand not just life itself, but ourselves.

On the other hand, and from a practical perspective, every discovery carries translational potential. I don't expect every astrobiologist to become an applied scientist, but I do believe we have a responsibility to share our work beyond our own sphere. You never know who is listening. Someone in your audience might be an engineer or industry partner who has a lightbulb moment and realizes your findings could inform the development of more sustainable mining practices. We explore exactly this kind of connection in our article with the example of Rio Tinto, a Mars analog site and natural representation of acid mine drainage with microbes currently being evaluated for their potential to facilitate more Earth-friendly mining.

Are there one or more fields that you think will be the quickest or easiest for astrobiologists to integrate with?

Being an astrobiologist means developing a broad range of knowledge, skills, and experience. Because you're trying to answer questions about life at the scale of whole systems — even at a planetary level — you learn techniques that span multiple disciplines, and you build strong collaborations to fill the gaps your own expertise can't cover. The result, and I'll admit some bias here, is that astrobiologists are uniquely positioned to inform and even actively contribute to a wide range of applied science and engineering fields.

My own skill set draws from protein biochemistry, microbial ecology, and aqueous geochemistry. While I see many avenues open to astrobiologists, my personal toolbox points me toward sustainable biotechnologies as a particularly promising direction. During my graduate studies and NASA Postdoctoral Program fellowship at NASA Ames, one thread of my research focused on microorganisms that oxidize methane as an energy source. This work was motivated by two fundamental questions. First, how well does chemical energy availability — a parameter essential to all life — predict the presence of methane-oxidizing microorganisms in a given environment? Answering this would help validate habitability assessments based on chemical energy calculations, with direct implications for evaluating other planetary bodies. Second, how do methane-oxidizing organisms affect our ability to detect life elsewhere? Since methane itself is a potential biosignature, organisms that consume it could obscure the very signal we'd be looking for in other planetary systems.

Through this research, I'm beginning to see clear connections between my fundamental observations and potential applications in critical mineral mining and carbon sequestration.

Some methanotrophs — the very lineages I detect in the hot springs of Yellowstone National Park — incorporate lanthanides into their proteins. Lanthanides have become a hot topic in recent years because of their widespread use in electronics; they are, in other words, critical minerals. This means that organisms found in Yellowstone could potentially support e-waste recycling and critical mineral recovery.

The methanotrophs I detect in Oman live in hyperalkaline serpentinized fluids, where CO₂ from the atmosphere is naturally converted to carbonate mineral upon contact with the fluid, effectively sequestering carbon. Because methanotrophs in these systems also oxidize methane to CO₂, those adapted to hyperalkaline conditions may be well suited to sequester not only methane, but also CO₂.

That said, I'd describe myself as a burgeoning applied microbiologist, and I mean that earnestly. There are many steps between a promising idea and a real-world solution with measurable economic impact. I gained a valuable perspective on this recently while attending a panel titled "Exploring the Intersection of Biotechnology and Climate Change," hosted by the nonprofit Homeworld Collective. For those looking to make a similar transition into applied biotech, Homeworld Collective offers excellent resources, including their Biomining Handbook.

How would you suggest the astrobiology community go about better translating their work into societal impact? Will this require an entire paradigm shift, or just a broadening mindset?

I don't think a paradigm shift is needed at all. In fact, one of the central points of our Nature Communications article was that translational astrobiology is already happening. What we wanted to do was acknowledge it and encourage the community to be more intentional about highlighting the applied potential embedded in the fundamental research we're already doing.

I think the mindset shift required is a modest one. It's less about changing how we do science and more about changing how we talk about it and who we talk to. When we publish or present our work, are we asking ourselves whether there are connections to applied fields worth surfacing? Are we seeking out audiences beyond our immediate community, such as engineers, industry partners, and policymakers who might see our findings through a completely different and potentially transformative lens? All this requires is a willingness to look up from our own corner of the field.

There's also real value in simply being aware of what others in adjacent spaces are working on. Some of the most exciting translational opportunities won't come from astrobiologists pivoting into applied science, but from building relationships with people who are already there. Low-friction ways of bridging the gap are conversations, shared seminars, and a co-authored perspective piece, as we did.

My suggestion to the community would be this: keep doing the fundamental science that drives you, but take a moment to ask what your work might look like from the outside. The connections are often already there. We just need to make them visible.

Is there anything else you’d like to discuss that I haven’t asked you about?

One thing I'd like to touch on is the position that early-career astrobiologists find ourselves in right now. As funding landscapes shift and research priorities evolve, I actually think our community — and especially those of us earlier in our careers — is remarkably well-positioned to adapt. Our interdisciplinary training is an asset. We're accustomed to moving across fields, picking up new techniques, and finding common ground with scientists and engineers who work in different fields than we do. Our flexibility is valuable in any climate.

I also think that leaning into the applied dimensions of our work may be one of the ways astrobiology stays vibrant and visible during periods when fundamental science isn't at the forefront of institutional priorities. We shouldn’t think of translational astrobiology as a departure from what we do. It can be an extension that connects naturally to some of the most ambitious human endeavors currently on the horizon, such as returning humans to the Moon and eventually sending people to Mars. Understanding life, habitability, and planetary environments is central to those goals.

For early-career researchers who may be feeling uncertain about the road ahead, as I am, I'd say: our breadth is our strength. The ability to pivot, to connect fundamental questions to real-world problems, and to speak across disciplines, this is what this moment calls for.