WIRED January 2017

The Wired mission is to tell the world something they've never heard before in a way they've never seen before. It's about turning new ideas into everyday reality. It's about seeding our community of influencers with the ideas that will shape and transform our collective future. Wired readers want to know how technology is changing the world, and they're interested in big, relevant ideas, even if those ideas challenge their assumptions—or blow their minds.

United States
Conde Nast US
Читать больше
2 119,37 ₽
12 Выпуск(ов)

в этом номере

2 мин.
the power of science fiction

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…

2 мин.
thought leader

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 my time has—as with most…

19 мин.
know your enemy

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 war…

8 мин.

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 tic Tomas would come to know—not anger,…

8 мин.
stochastic fancy

“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 just a…

18 мин.

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 thing that…