Indholdsfortegnelse for January 2017 i WIRED

Why fiction? Glad you asked. We live in uncertain times. One of this publication’s most important jobs is to see the big trends, spot important business models, and chronicle landmark innovations that show us where we’re going. But right now, that is hard to do. In this rapidly changing, aggressively agitated moment, it’s very difficult to discern what the future holds. So we decided to consider things a little more obliquely. Sometimes to get a clearer sense of reality, you have to take some time to dream. To this end, we reached out to a number of our favorite fiction authors and gave them a simple mission: Pick a plausible innovation or change in the world and spin out a near-term scenario. Don’t stick to the current moment. See where…

TOMAS WRENCHES the wheel hard left, his Crabber’s eight balanced wheels grinding beneath as the flexsteel grabs Martian shale. “Five minutes,” says a voice in his headset. It’s Julie, already fading. He’s too far from the station. “I’m three away.” “Are you sure—” “Are you kidding?” he shouts back into the comms. Tomas winces. He did not mean to be short. But he knows this terrain. Knows every inch of the path. Endless months of preparation, computations, arguments, planning. He has to be right. FIVE YEARS OLD. Old enough to understand death, not old enough to accept it. Old enough to be frightened of infinity, not old enough to be inspired by it. “Why why WHY can’t he come back?” His father rubs the back of his own neck, a…

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CogNet init: Paul SRINIVASAN Recip: Thandiwe SOLOMON Datime: 2206.12.15.16:45 [OPTIMIZED BY COGNET!] Thandi, the commission votes Tuesday. The team’s disappearance isn’t the key issue, but I don’t like how they’re rushing this. Help me out here, OK? Off the record. Recall transcript, WEI Aihua Meeting with local Influential 1 Datime 2204.1.22.10:10 [OPTIMIZED BY COGNET!] [ALL SENSORY RECALL EXCEPT AUDITORY SUPPRESSED TO AID LIGHTSTREAMING.] “So what would you like to know, evaluator?” “Tell me more of your people, Loves China.” “If you don’t mind, would you call me Aihua, please?” “Oh? Your assistant mentioned that your names sometimes have meaning.” “Yes, but … [.] That doesn’t mean we like those meanings.” “Ah. Please forgive, Aihua. Your language still confuses.” “I’m amazed by your facility with my language, actually.” “We learned from…

WE OPEN OUR eyes as a welder’s mask descends, and we are thinking of a countdown. Down to what, we don’t know, but the pungent brimstone smell triggers a subterranean childhood fear of open flames while we are thinking, “10 … 9 … 8 …”—and the tension is unbearable. We can feel our heartbeat almost choking off our admittedly extremely witty thoughts. It turns out we’re robbing a bank. We don’t actually know how to do it. And then, as with all artistic endeavors, we do it anyway. Pity the poor bank robber who, having achieved his share of loot, finds that the love of his father is still locked away in the impregnable vault of his father’s not-so-paternal heart. Such is the premise of past master Raymond Lemoin’s new…

From Bill Gates and Serena Williams to Christopher Nolan and J.J. Abrams, we’ve had some amazing guest editors over the years—but none we were more honored to work with than President Barack Obama. Like us, he’s fascinated by science and technology and wants to see people change the world. Plus, the man loves Star Trek. Under the guidance of Obama and his staff, we pursued stories about medicine, space, climate change, cybersecurity, AI, and much more. And many of you responded with smart, critical, wide-ranging thoughts— the most letters we’ve received all year. Keep ’em coming. Re: “Frontiers” “I HAVE A PIECE OF HISTORICAL WRITING IN MY HAND. THANK YOU.” Cara Cobb via email Re: “Frontiers” “Though I have always enjoyed and learned from each issue of WIRED, competition for…

“WHICH WORD feels sadder: lonely or lonesome?” This question pops up on the KloudsKape, and my first thought is: How did they know? I’m in the middle of a downward spiral, almost crying as I choke down my lysine-dopamine smoothie and hunch over the teak bar at the Zyme Shack. As with all these questions, I don’t even have to ponder before I answer with an eyeblink—it’s lonesome, of course. Something about the way you have to purse your lips for a nonexistent kiss at the end of the word, the extra weight of that second syllable—the word lonesome is definitely more miserable. I should know. Soon I’ve answered a dozen other questions in the retinal sensorium, about everything from Koffee Kop™ to a local bike-lane ordinance, each of them…

Lately this feeling or maybe it’s a thought what’s the difference great another thing to think about add it to the list. Hard. To feel. Sure about anything it’s in the CUPBOARD. NEXT TO THE MOUTHWASH. Can she not hear me why can’t she hear me DID YOU FIND IT? This thought-feeling or whatever can’t quite grasp it yet but has something to do with IT’S IN THE CUPBOARD is she messing with me? The CUPBOARD, next to the MOUTHWASH she’s messing with me NO, HONEY, SORRY, TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO USE THIS THING? SURE I CAN PACK THE LUNCHES TODAY why can’t she just pack the lunches today why do you have to do everything? Allison needs her CLARINET TODAY OK just WAIT A MINUTE OK TRYING…

THE LIFEBRARIAN was installed just after Sumi’s first birthday. Her grandparents insisted on paying for it. They insisted on the whole thing. Liliana was reluctant; she wanted her daughter to have the kind of life she still thought of as normal. “It will probably affect the way her brain evolves,” she argued to Hideyoshi. “Imagine if you never had to remember anything.” Hideyoshi didn’t feel as strongly about it. A lot of people were having it done for their kids at that point. “She doesn’t have to ever use the recall function if she doesn’t want to.” “And she’s so young to have surgery.” Liliana’s voice sounded as if she was pleading, and Sumi, too young to understand if not too young for surgery, looked up from her building blocks,…

In an increasingly connected world it’s getting harder and harder to get lost. But that doesn’t mean your travels can’t surprise and delight along the way. Beyond the tourist traps and must-see monuments there’s an entire world of technological wonder hiding in plain sight. Through a special partnership with Lufthansa and WIRED Brand Lab, we’ve curated an insider’s guide to some of Europe’s most easily accessible, tech-progressive cities. Best of all, you can hit most of our points-of-interest between stops at the major sights. PRAGUE The Cross Club is a block-wide international boho favorite, blending the best parts of a live music venue with the most thought-provoking aspects of a bustling community arts center. Most everything inside—from the DJ booths and stages, to its décor, walls, and stairwells— is…

NO ONE DRANK MORE than the scientist. Every night, after whatever patriotic black-tie gala we’d played props at, he could be found at the hotel bar, trying to extract existential meaning from a banana colada. It was an odd drink of choice for such a serious man, but only once did he respond to our interrogations about it. “It pleases the nerve fibers,” he said, all baritone to his voice, before disappearing into the chilled yellow muck again. We were in New Tulsa, debriefing after a grueling dinner with a bunch of white-haired solar energy execs. We’d been on the road for months, and morale had gone the way of the glacier. I ordered a round for the table, and we toasted to the hustle. Heroes of the nation, peddling…

FOR EHUD SAD COW A. had a recurring dream. He dreamed it almost every night, but in the morning, when Goodman or one of the instructors woke him and asked if he remembered what he had dreamed, he was always quick to say no. That wasn’t because the dream was scary or embarrassing, it was just a stupid dream in which he was standing on the top of a grassy hill beside an easel, painting the pastoral landscape in water colors. The landscape in the dream was breathtaking, and since A. had come to the institution as a baby, the grassy hill was probably an imaginary place he had created or a real place he had seen in a picture or short film in one of his classes. The only…

“DOES HÉCTOR PRIMA live around here?” My host’s expression went cool. He was a middleaged man with a wide face and shoulders and pale stubble on his cheeks and chin that held the promise of a lush beard. In the four hours I’d spent in his home since the evacuated rail from Nové Město had deposited me in Sagrado, he’d been nothing but jovial and expansive. His warmth and his pleasure in having a guest had lulled me into feeling safe. I had overplayed my hand. “Who?” he asked. “I think he’s a writer my sister likes,” I said, motioning vaguely. “She said he was in this part of the country somewhere. But I may have that wrong.” “She is mistaken. Héctor Prima is a pen name. There are rumors…

THE YEAR JOJO AND I started eighth grade, the power plant officially cut electricity to two hours a day. We’d already been through years of brownouts, of flickering lights, blinking monitors, older ag drones without artificial neural networks rebooting in their stations and randomly launching to spray the fields again or overfeed the chickens. So when Public Works & Electric issued a message to all our devices telling us about its irregular hours of operation, no one was surprised. The message was full of obfuscating language, but anyone with a tide chart could spot the correlation. Anyone driving down the causeway to the airport, past the power plant, could see through its chain-link fence the turbines standing silent, tense as raised shoulders; the grounds swamped in seawater, the ebbing tide…

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