Scientists hope to prevent deaths from climate change, but heat and cold are more complicated than we thought. Libby Cowgill is an anthropologist at the University of Missouri who hopes to revamp the science of thermoregulation. Libby Cowgill, an anthropologist in a furry parka, has wheeled me and my cot into a metal-walled room set to 40 F. A loud fan pummels me from above and siphons the dregs of my body heat through the cot's mesh from below. A large respirator fits snug over my nose and mouth. The device tracks carbon dioxide in my exhales--a proxy for how my metabolism speeds up or slows down throughout the experiment. Eventually Cowgill will remove my respirator to slip a wire-thin metal temperature probe several pointy inches into my nose. Cowgill and a graduate student quietly observe me from the corner of their so-called "climate chamber. Just a few hours earlier I'd sat beside them to observe as another volunteer, a 24-year-old personal trainer, endured the cold. Every few minutes, they measured his skin temperature with a thermal camera, his core temperature with a wireless pill, and his blood pressure and other metrics that hinted at how his body handles extreme cold. He lasted almost an hour without shivering; when my turn comes, I shiver aggressively on the cot for nearly an hour straight. I'm visiting Texas to learn about this experiment on how different bodies respond to extreme climates. I jokingly ask Cowgill as she tapes biosensing devices to my chest and legs. After I exit the cold, she surprises me: "You, believe it or not, were not the worst person we've ever seen." Climate change forces us to reckon with the knotty science of how our bodies interact with the environment. Cowgill is a 40-something anthropologist at the University of Missouri who powerlifts and teaches CrossFit in her spare time. She's small and strong, with dark bangs and geometric tattoos. Since 2022, she's spent the summers at the University of North Texas Health Science Center tending to these uncomfortable experiments. Her team hopes to revamp the science of thermoregulation. While we know in broad strokes how people thermoregulate, the science of keeping warm or cool is mottled with blind spots. "We have the general picture.

Perhaps no area of tech has been more buzzy in recent years than the shiny sector of artificial intelligence startups. That happy innovation workshop may have just hit hard times. AI execs and investors say market volatility and regulations clamping down on data may soon lead to AI startups getting gobbled up by companies with cash and data to burn. The market intelligence firm CB Insights said in a report this year that the 100 best-funded startups in artificial intelligence have raised over $7.4B in funding across 300 deals from 600 unique investors. Now as the market skyrockets, then plummets in extreme volatility amid the coronavirus crisis, that may be endangered.

The power of such technology will be immediately apparent to any employer scrambling to fill jobs in a tight labor market -- not least positions for data scientists, whom companies like Google, Facebook and Amazon are competing to attract. Thanks to services like Eightfold, which rely on sophisticated algorithms to match workers and jobs, many employers may soon have access to a universe of prospective workers -- even for hard-to-fill roles -- whom they might not otherwise have come across. And while that could also help some candidates, there's a potential downside for job seekers: Such algorithms may also lower wages in these fields, said Bo Cowgill, an economist at Columbia University who has studied the use of artificial intelligence in hiring. "You get the more nontraditional, equally qualified, equally high-performing people," Mr. Cowgill said. But the employer "doesn't seem to have to compete for them as much."