Get a
taste of what awaits you in print from this compelling
excerpt.
Late one autumn day at the aquatic center in Ancenis,
France, something went quietly, horribly wrong. With its two
well-kept pools and teaching facilities, the center serves as
a modern swimming hole for an entire sector of historic
Brittany, attracting 150,000 French villagers a year. An
18-year-old named Jean-François LeRoy was a regular, coming
often in the early evenings to swim laps in the 25-meter
(82-foot) pool.
Drownings are often difficult to spot; they are rarely the
splashy, flailing events depicted on television. Most are
near-silent episodes where the victim quickly sinks out of
view.
On this particular day maybe the lifeguards weren't paying
as close attention as they should have been. Certainly they
believed the trim, athletic LeRoy was not a high-risk swimmer.
But on this evening LeRoy was practicing apnea
swimming—testing how far he could swim underwater on one
breath—and at some point, without making any visible or
audible disturbance on the water's surface, he blacked out.
The guards failed to notice as he stopped swimming and
descended to the bottom of the deep end of the pool. With his
arms crossed over his head and his feet twitching, he was
unconscious and drowning. It would take him as little as four
minutes to die.
Although the human lifeguards watching the pool were
oblivious, 12 large machine eyes deep underwater were watching
the whole thing and taking notice. Just nine months earlier
the center had installed a state-of-the-art electronic
surveillance system called Poseidon, a network of cameras that
feeds a computer programmed to use a set of complex
mathematical algorithms to distinguish between normal and
distressed swimming. Poseidon covers a pool's entire swimming
area and can distinguish among blurry reflections, shadows,
and actual swimmers. It can also tell when real swimmers are
moving in a way they're not supposed to. When the computer
detects a possible problem, it instantly activates a beeper to
alert lifeguards and displays the exact incident location on a
monitor. The rest is up to the humans above the water.
Sixteen seconds after Poseidon noticed the large, sinking
lump that was Jean-François LeRoy, lifeguards had LeRoy out of
the pool and were initiating CPR. He started breathing again.
After one night in the local hospital, he was released with no
permanent damage. Poseidon—and, more precisely, the handful of
French mathematicians who devised it—had saved his life.
Machines like Poseidon will redefine how we live. Think of
your life before the answering machine, the ATM, e-mail. Think
of your grandparents' lives before the television and the
airplane. Think of your great-grandparents' lives before the
telephone. All told, the shift will be that substantial.
Machines will recognize our faces and our fingerprints. They
will watch out for swimmers in distress, for radioactivity-
and germ-laden terrorists, for red-light runners and highway
speeders, for diabetics and heart patients.
Imagine devices that monitor the breathing rhythms of
infants in cribs, watch toddlers at day care, and track
children as they go to and from school; that can keep an eye
on our home supply of orange juice and let us know when the
milk is sour. Machines might watch our calorie intake and
burn-off, monitor air quality in our homes, and look out for
mice and bugs.
Envision sensors as large as walls and as small as
molecules in your bloodstream sending quiet signals to nearby
computers, which will process and relay information to you,
your doctor, your lawyer, your grocer, your building manager,
your car mechanic, your local fire or police department. As
time and technology march on, less and less will escape the
attention of sophisticated machines. They'll have us covered.
Get the whole story in the pages of
National Geographic magazine.