Portable genetic sequencers used around the world to sequence DNA have critical, previously unreported security vulnerabilities that could reveal or alter genetic information without detection, according to a new study.

Researchers from the University of Florida have, for the first time, exposed these security risks in devices from Oxford Nanopore Technologies, which produces nearly all the portable genetic sequencers in the world.

Alerted by the security researchers, Oxford Nanopore Technologies has rolled out updated software to patch the vulnerabilities. But out-of-date software, or unsecured internet systems, could still leave some DNA sequencers vulnerable to attack.

“No one in the world had looked at the security of these devices, which shocked me,” said Christina Boucher, Ph.D., a professor of computer and information science and engineering at UF, expert in bioinformatics, and co-author of the new report.

Boucher collaborated with Sara Rampazzi, Ph.D., also a professor of computer and information science and engineering, cybersecurity expert and project lead at UF, and students in the department to test Nanopore sequencers for security flaws. The study serves as a warning to the scientific community that new threats to genomic data urge a shift toward “secure-by-design” systems as portable DNA sequencers become increasingly common. The team published their findings in Nature Communications.

The researchers uncovered three vulnerabilities in the Oxford Nanopore MinION portable sequencer and its associated software. Two of these flaws allow an unauthorized user to improperly access the device and potentially copy or alter the DNA data without the authorized user’s knowledge. A third flaw opens the sequencer to a denial-of-service attack, which would halt the sequencing operation and make the device appear broken.

The Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency, the federal government’s cyber defense coordinator, verified these vulnerabilities in a report released Oct. 21. The report also provides instructions from Oxford Nanopore Technologies on how users can update their sequencers to address the security flaws.

Versions with older software would remain open to attack. This is especially possible when the portable sequencers are connected to insecure Wi-Fi networks or remote control is activated.

Costing just a few thousand dollars and able to operate anywhere in the world, these palm-sized sequencers have transformed the previously cumbersome and expensive work of sequencing DNA. But that portability contributes to the security risks of these devices because the sequencers must be connected to a computer to work.

“You are connecting a very specialized device to a general-purpose device like a laptop, which is intrinsically assumed to be secure,” said Rampazzi. “Instead, that laptop could be connected to an unsecured network, or it could be infected with malware or ransomware, especially if used in the field outside controlled environments.”

These nanopore sequencers are marketed only for research use and not to be used for clinical diagnosis. Yet even when restricted to research, these devices can be used to sequence the DNA of people.

The U.S. National Institute of Standards and Technology, which focuses on defining genomic cybersecurity and privacy guidelines, has only started to consider research use cases in distinction to clinical use in their latest draft guidelines, highlighting the increased attention on the topic and the lack of a clear standard.

Revealing these previously undiscovered vulnerabilities was only possible due to the interdisciplinary collaboration between the Rampazzi and Boucher labs. Boucher develops algorithms to better analyze DNA, while Rampazzi researches security flaws in critical systems ranging from medical devices, and self-driving cars to underwater data centers. Combining their expertise helped alert the community to a significant privacy threat.

“In bioinformatics, we haven’t been working as closely with the security community as I think we should be,” Boucher said.

Others Tested

Aurelia Lingerie Subscription Box Starting at $85 (Monthly): A monthly lingerie subscription box is sure to keep things spicy. This small, Canadian-based lingerie retailer has human-curated lingerie subscription boxes and size-inclusive lingerie (they carry bra sizes A-M and panties XS-4XL). When beginning the lingerie subscription service, you fill out a style quiz that asks you a series of questions about style preferences and a human stylist creates a unique box for you or your lover. The box also comes with a guide on how to measure your cup size, with troubleshooting tips, a measuring tape, and a zippered net case for washing the delicates.

Underclub Subscription Box Starting at $85 (Underwear): With Underclub, you can give both a practical and sexy gift to your lover every month. Subscribers can choose between a bralette set with a matching top and bottom or two pairs of underwear bottoms delivered each month. When you sign up, you’ll be asked a series of questions about your personal preferences and a stylist will curate an underwear box for you. The bra sizes range from XS to 2XL, 30 to 42 inches in band size, and A-DD.

Magic Wand Mini for $76: This lil guy is iconic for a reason. The handheld vibrating wand provides powerful stimulation over a large surface area. It gets around three hours of battery life, not that your giftee will be using it for that long in one go (maybe!). The Mini is easier to hold and use compared to the original, larger Magic Wand, and its buttons are convenient to reach. —Eric Ravenscraft

Lelo Sona 2 Cruise for $114: We once called this “the Cadillac of suction toys” in our Best Clitoral Suction Toys guide. It’s small and discreet, and can be as gentle or as intense as you like. It has an elegant, curvy body with chrome accents that make it stylish enough to look good on your nightstand. The “Cruise” part of the name refers to Lelo’s Cruise Control technology, which makes the toy ramp up intensity when you press it hard against your body. —Eric Ravenscraft

Lovense Gravity for $144: Vibrators can provide a lot of fulfilling stimulation, but one thing most of them lack is thrust. This vibrator from Lovense straddles the line between vibrator and sex machine (which is why it earns a spot in our Best Sex Machines guide), with a motor for automated thrust as well as vibration. It comes with a suction-cup mount, and it can also be controlled through the company’s robust mobile app for easier remote control or to customize thrust and vibration patterns. —Eric Ravenscraft

Dame Pom Flexible Vibrator for $95: A mainstay in our Best Vibrators guide, the Dame Pom Flexible Vibrator is a little powerful handheld vibe that’s also gorgeous and intuitively designed. It has the power you’d expect from a bullet vibe, but the added silicone body diffuses the vibrations through a broad area for a unique experience. Not only is it easy to hold and operate one-handed, but it also fits neatly in the palm of most hands. All the buttons are right where your fingers land naturally. —Eric Ravenscraft

MysteryVibe Crescendo 2 for $230: This flexible, bendable vibrator has six separate motors, all of which can be customized and controlled from its included app. But what sets it apart is its semi-rigid jointed body. You can straighten it out to use for more direct penetration, or curl it up, similar to how one might bend their fingers. It won’t lock into position so some resistance can bend it right back, but it’s handy for hitting some of those more hard-to-reach spots on and in your body. —Eric Ravenscraft

Lelo Personal Moisturizer Water-Based Lube for $12: This water-based lube tops our Best Lubes guide. It’s a bit pricier per ounce than others, but it’s worth it. Many lubes get sticky or thick pretty quickly, but Lelo’s manages to stay fluid and smooth throughout playtime. It’s also paraben- and glycerine-free, which is great for people with skin sensitivities. —Eric Ravenscraft

Lelo Hex Condoms for $23: We’ve tested a bunch of condoms, and the Lelo Hex was our top pick. The same company that makes some of our favorite sex toys also makes very sturdy condoms. They have a stylish hexagonal pattern that Lelo claims makes the condoms sturdier, and they didn’t break as easily as others in our tests. It’s also one of the most comfortable condoms I’ve worn, with the hexagon pattern helping to add a bit of grip to prevent slippage. —Eric Ravenscraft

Power up with unlimited access to WIRED. Get best-in-class reporting and exclusive subscriber content that’s too important to ignore. Subscribe Today.

Artificial intelligence (AI) is increasingly being used to preserve the voices and stories of the dead. From text-based chatbots that mimic loved ones to voice avatars that let you “speak” with the deceased, a growing digital afterlife industry promises to make memory interactive, and, in some cases, eternal.

In our research, recently published in Memory, Mind & Media, we explored what happens when remembering the dead is left to an algorithm. We even tried talking to digital versions of ourselves to find out.

“Deathbots” are AI systems designed to simulate the voices, speech patterns and personalities of the deceased. They draw on a person’s digital traces—voice recordings, text messages, emails and social media posts—to create interactive avatars that appear to “speak” from beyond the grave.

As the media theorist Simone Natale has said, these “technologies of illusion” have deep roots in spiritualist traditions. But AI makes them far more convincing, and commercially viable.

Our work is part of a project called Synthetic Pasts, which explores the impact technology has on the preservation of personal and collective memory. For our study, we looked at services that claim to preserve or recreate a person’s voice, memories or digital presence using AI. To understand how they work, we became our own test subjects. We uploaded our own videos, messages and voice notes, creating “digital doubles” of ourselves.

In some cases, we played the role of users preparing our own synthetic afterlives. In others, we acted as the bereaved trying to talk to a digital version of someone who has passed away.

What we found was both fascinating and unsettling. Some systems focus on preserving memory. They help users record and store personal stories, organized by theme, such as childhood, family or advice for loved ones. AI then indexes the content and guides people through it, like a searchable archive.

Others use generative AI to create ongoing conversations. You upload data about a deceased person—messages, posts, even voice samples—and the system builds a chatbot that can respond in their tone and style. It uses a subset of AI called machine learning (which improves through practice) to make its avatars evolve over time.

Some present themselves as playful (“host a séance with AI”), but the experience can feel eerily intimate. All the platforms claim to offer an “authentic” emotional connection. Yet the more personalization we attempted, the more artificial it felt.

When prompted by these systems we provided more information about ourselves, only to have the bot repeat the exact phrasing we had used in stiff, scripted replies. At times, the tone was incongruous, such as when cheerful emojis or upbeat phrasing appeared even when discussing death—a clear reminder that algorithms are poor at handling the emotional weight of loss:

“Oh hun… 😔 it (the death) is not something I’d wish for anyone to dwell on. It’s all a bit foggy now, to be honest. 🌫️ Let’s chat about something a bit cheerier, yeah?”

The more archival-based tools we tested offered a calmer experience but also imposed rigid categories and limited nuance. As digital media scholar Andrew Hoskins has observed, memory in the age of AI becomes “conversational”—shaped by interactions between human and machine. But in our experiments, those conversations often felt flat, exposing the limits of synthetic intimacy:

Human: You were always so encouraging and supportive. I miss you.

Deathbot: I’m right here for you, always ready to offer encouragement and support whenever you need it. And I miss you too… Let’s take on today together, with positivity and strength.

Behind these experiences lies a business model. These are not memorial charities, they are tech start-ups. Subscription fees, “freemium” tiers and partnerships with insurers or care providers reveal how remembrance is being turned into a product.

As the philosophers Carl Öhman and Luciano Floridi have argued, the digital afterlife industry operates within a “political economy of death,” where data continues to generate value long after a person’s life ends.

Platforms encourage users to “capture their story forever,” but they also harvest emotional and biometric data to keep engagement high. Memory becomes a service—an interaction to be designed, measured and monetized. This, as the professor of technology and society Andrew McStay has shown, is part of a wider “emotional AI” economy.

Digital resurrection?

The promise of these systems is a kind of resurrection—the reanimation of the dead through data. They offer to return voices, gestures and personalities, not as memories recalled but as presences simulated in real time. This kind of “algorithmic empathy” can be persuasive, even moving, yet it exists within the limits of code, and quietly alters the experience of remembering, smoothing away the ambiguity and contradiction.

These platforms demonstrate a tension between archival and generative forms of memory. All platforms, though, normalize certain ways of remembering, placing privilege on continuity, coherence and emotional responsiveness, while also producing new, data-driven forms of personhood.

As the media theorist Wendy Chun has observed, digital technologies often conflate “storage” with “memory,” promising perfect recall while erasing the role of forgetting—the absence that makes both mourning and remembering possible.

In this sense, digital resurrection risks misunderstanding death itself: replacing the finality of loss with the endless availability of simulation, where the dead are always present, interactive and updated.

AI can help preserve stories and voices, but it cannot replicate the living complexity of a person or a relationship. The “synthetic afterlives” we encountered are compelling precisely because they fail. They remind us that memory is relational, contextual and not programmable.

Our study suggests that while you can talk to the dead with AI, what you hear back reveals more about the technologies and platforms that profit from memory—and about ourselves—than about the ghosts they claim we can talk to.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.