The benefits of any truly transformative technology are at first exaggerated, but their long-term effects surprise everyone. At the moment, mesh networks are experiencing such misvaluation. Their promoters (and they are many) now describe them with hyperbolic enthusiasm; but in the end they will be the mechanism by which machine intelligence becomes like electricity – that is, invisible and ubiquitous. Mesh networks are not so very new: their conceptual lineage dates back to packet radio, a kind of digital data transmission used by amateur radio hackers in the 1970s. But investments in more reliable and intelligent networks made during the 1990s by the U.S. Department of Defense renewed interest in meshes; and within the last five years, academic institutions like MIT's Media Lab and startups like Aeria, BelAir Networks, Ember, MeshNetworks (now owned by Motorola), and Tropos Networks have rapidly advanced the technology.

Overcoming language barriers can be a matter of life or death in Iraq. Soldiers, medical personnel, and Iraqi citizens struggle to convey crucial information on a daily basis. While human translators are used in many situations, there simply aren't enough who are willing to assist in every important conversation. Last month, Menlo Park-based SRI International announced that it had deployed 32 Windows XP laptops loaded with advanced translation software for military evaluation in Iraq. The software, called IraqComm, facilitates an English-Arabic conversation by recording a person's spoken words, translating them, and playing the translation in a matter of seconds.

Sebastian Thrun knows that true innovation demands risk: the winner of DARPA's 2005 Grand Challenge took more than a few technological gambles to create an SUV that could drive itself across the Mojave Desert. He spoke to us about his love of that uncertainty–and of creating robots that might save lives.

If Algirdas Budrys–who signed his work "Algis Budrys" and answered to "Ajay" among the regular Americans with whom he lived–maintained an apprehensive watchfulness toward much of the human race, it wasn't without justification. To start with, as the small son of Lithuania's consul general in Königsberg, East Prussia, he had seen Adolf Hitler pass in full Nazi pomp, while the citizens of the city where Immanuel Kant lay buried whipped themselves into such frenzies of admiration that they soiled themselves and defecated in public. More than seven decades later, dying in a Chicago suburb, Budrys still remembered what he had seen from the second-story window of his parents' apartment on that spring day in 1936. He told me, "After the Hitlerjugend walked through, Hitler came by in an open black Mercedes with his arm propped up. I'm sure he had an iron bar up his sleeve, because he couldn't have kept his arm that particular way for so long otherwise."

The first 30 minutes after a battlefield injury are dire: that's when nearly 86 percent of battlefield deaths occur. Before attending to the wounded, frontline physicians have to quickly locate the casualty and extract him from the battlefield, often under heavy fire. This can take up costly minutes, as well as expose medics themselves as possible targets. Now researchers at Carnegie Mellon University (CMU) are developing technology to give battlefield medics a helping hand–literally. Howie Choset, an associate professor of robotics at CMU, has engineered a snakelike robotic arm equipped with various sensors that can monitor a soldier's condition.

As always for a presidential inaugural, security and surveillance were extremely tight in Washington, DC, last January. But as George W. Bush prepared to take the oath of office, security planners installed an extra layer of protection: a prototype software system to detect a biological attack. The U.S. Department of Defense, together with regional health and emergency-planning agencies, distributed a special patient-query sheet to military clinics, civilian hospitals and even aid stations along the parade route and at the inaugural balls. Software quickly analyzed complaints of seven key symptoms-from rashes to sore throats-for patterns that might indicate the early stages of a bio-attack. There was a brief scare: the system noticed a surge in flulike symptoms at military clinics.

You've likely heard stories about the birth of the PC: of Xerox PARC as the Mecca of computing; of its creation of the Alto, Ethernet, and the laser printer; of the Homebrew Computer Club, the MITS Altair, Bill Gates and the theft of his Micro-soft Basic; of Steve Jobs and Stephen Wozniak, the founding of Apple, and the Jobs visit to PARC that inspired the Macintosh. But what you may not know about is the really early history. The stories of Doug Engelbart and John McCarthy, of the Augmentation Research Center, and of the early days of the Stanford University AI Lab (SAIL) are not well known. Yes, you may have heard that Engelbart invented the mouse, and that SAIL and Stanford led to companies like Sun and Cisco. But there are better stories, great and old ones from the early days of computing, about the events that led to personal computing as we know it. In his wonderful new book, What the Dormouse Said…, John Markoff tells these stories.

Manufacturing, finance, and the communications industry have in the last decade all come to rely upon artificial intelligence. But there's one industry that continues to put up resistance: the legal profession. The idea of a machine making legal decisions was long considered by opponents to be dangerous and ethically untenable. That's about to change, says John Zeleznikow, a computer scientist at Victoria University in Melbourne, Australia. Zeleznikow believes AI is about to improve people's access to justice and massively reduce the costs of running legal services.

Compared to many aeronautical curiosities that have taken wing at NASA's Dryden Flight Research Center at California's Edwards Air Force Base over the years, the latest military test stunts did not appear very remarkable. Last April, a low-slung aircraft, about the size of a sport utility vehicle but with batlike wings similar to those of the B-2 stealth bomber, took off, flew at 10,500 meters and then dropped a 110-kilogram inert precision bomb while zipping along at 700 kilometers per hour. Four months later, a pair of the aircraft took off and flew together. These were modest stunts, to be sure, except for this fact: the jets have no pilots. They are the future of warfare, the first working models of networked autonomous attack jets, and the U.S. Department of Defense would like to start building them by 2010.

To become a professional antenna designer, you can follow one of two paths: you can enroll in college- and graduate-level courses on electromagnetism, immerse yourself in the empirical study of antenna shapes, and apprentice yourself to an established technician willing to impart the closely guarded secrets of the discipline. Or you can do what Jason Lohn did: let evolution do the work. Physicists know a lot about Maxwell's equations and the other principles governing wireless communications. But antenna design is still pretty much a dark art, says Lohn, a computer scientist working at NASA Ames Research Center outside Mountain View, CA. "The field is so squirrelly. All your learning is through trial and error, the school of hard knocks."