2026-06-20 02:00:01
Large language models have moved out of the research lab and into engineers’ daily workflow. LLMs serve as reasoning engines that can orchestrate complex tasks including identifying vulnerabilities in source code and transforming fragmented project discussions into rigorous technical specifications.
While the general public uses AI tools to write email and plan vacations, technical professionals use LLMs as core architectural elements that are fundamentally changing how digital infrastructures are built and maintained. As the AI models move into mainstream engineering practice, the demand for technical expertise is rising.
The LLM technology market is expected to grow by about 33 percent every year through 2030, according to MarketsandMarkets. The rapid expansion suggests that proficiency in implementing and securing the models is transitioning from a niche into a core requirement for technologists.
To use LLMs effectively, technical professionals must move beyond treating them as conversational robots. At a fundamental level, the AI systems are built on the transformer architecture, a framework that replaced the older method of processing data in a fixed, sequential order. Unlike earlier models that analyzed information one step at a time, transformers use self-attention mechanisms to ingest vast datasets simultaneously.
For technical professionals, LLMs are core architectural elements that are fundamentally changing how digital infrastructures are built and maintained.
Relying on such LLMs without understanding their internal logic creates a significant reliability risk. To build tools that work consistently, developers must understand the core principles that govern how the models process information and generate results. By mastering how a model processes information and how its internal settings influence the result, developers can move away from a trial-and-error approach toward a more precise one to ensure the AI tool handles complex data reliably.
Here are areas that integrate large language models.
Moving past basic prompts. Developers are using application program interfaces (APIs) to connect LLMs directly to their databases and software tools. Employing the APIs allows AI to perform work such as executing code or searching through internal repositories.
Fixing the “hallucination” problem. LLMs are at risk of hallucinations, which are generated facts or code that looks correct but actually is wrong or broken. To fix the problem, retrieval-augmented generation (RAG) forces AI to look up information in a trusted source such as a company’s database.
Prioritizing data security. When using AI with proprietary code, security is a major concern. Engineers must learn how to set up “private” instances of the models to ensure that sensitive company data stays within a secure cloud environment and is not used to train public versions.
The future of collaboration. By automating repetitive coding tasks and summarizing thousands of pages of documentation, LLMs let engineers spend more time on high-level designs and solving important issues.
The gap between people who use AI and those who understand how to build with it is growing wider. To help technical professionals stay ahead, IEEE offers a five-course online program, Large Language Models Demystified, available through the IEEE Learning Network.
The program, developed by IEEE Educational Activities in partnership with the IEEE Computer Society, is built for people who want to understand the “how” and the “why” behind the technology. Rather than just teaching basic prompting, the curriculum dives into the engineering behind generative AI, including:
Upon completion of the program, participants earn professional development credits and a digital badge from IEEE to verify their expertise.
Enroll in the course program on the IEEE Learning Network.
Organizations looking to prepare their teams to work on LLMs can connect with an IEEE content specialist to discuss group enrollment and tailored training paths.
2026-06-19 18:00:00
In 2018, Amazon brought me in as the lead UX Sound Designer for Astro, their first consumer home robot. Astro used cameras and other sensors to map and navigate your home and workplace, and could proactively patrol, check up on loved ones, and transport small items using its built-in cargo bin. While there was a well-defined feature set and form factor, initially there was no character direction. In fact, even before Astro had a name, there were two main questions—was it simply Alexa on wheels, or was it a robot with its own character?
The Astro team was divided. One option was to focus on Alexa, and treat the mobile robot simply as an added utility. I argued for Astro to not focus on Alexa, along with the majority of the UX team. Our belief was that a thing that moves through your home and turns toward you with intent can never be just an appliance. People would ascribe character to whether we wanted them to or not, and so the only question was whether we shaped that character or let it happen by accident.
Ultimately, Astro became Astro rather than Alexa, and user testing backed up our decision. People didn’t see the robot as Alexa. They saw it as its own character, and that’s what they wanted it to be. Alexa on the device felt somewhat strange and creepy, but building Astro its own voice was too slow and expensive in 2018. So, we settled on Alexa as a supporting character that handled any actual talking, while Astro was the main character, communicating as much as it could without words, through sound, motion, and facial expressions.
I had been brought on to the Astro team to define the robot’s sound design language and voice. But there was no one to flesh out the robot’s actual character. You cannot make a single real decision about a character without defining it first. Every choice about how Astro moved, sounded, paused, or reacted was a character choice, and those choices required all disciplines working together. As Sound Lead, I was weaving together sound, motion, and character, and how they played together inside each story moment. The animators, who programmed Astro’s motion and facial expressions, were extraordinary at what they did, but the emotional arc they were animating came from the sound (and therefore character) work first. So I stepped into that role, which is where my real work started. What I learned about building character for robots applies to nearly everything being built in embodied AI right now.
Developing a character for Astro meant answering questions that had never been asked about a product at Amazon: What is the emotional range of this robot’s baseline state? How does this robot communicate uncertainty without eroding trust? Where is the line between being expressive and annoying? What are the vulnerabilities of this device’s character?
These are design questions. They have real answers, and every team working on the product has to build from them. For example, Astro’s emotional range was designed to be relatively small at first. We never wanted Astro to get too sad or too angry. It could play sad, but would snap out of it quickly and end the reaction on a high note to keep things positive.
Character leaks out of every seam and can create a disjointed experience if not defined correctly. Even if it’s just animation timing that’s slightly off, or a response that’s technically correct but contextually tone-deaf, users feel every one of these inconsistencies, even if they can’t name them. Watch what happens at the beginning and end of this Sing sequence:
Astro goes from nothing, into the emotional moment, and then lands back on nothing. No build up, no cool down, no sense that the feeling came from somewhere or had anywhere to go. I pushed hard for better character stitching, the transitions in and out of expressive moments that make a performance feel continuous rather than assembled, but it never got implemented. The moment itself works. But without the stitching, it reads as a clip playing on a robot rather than coming from within the robot character itself.
We had decided that Astro would have no spoken dialogue, but it had something that functioned the same way: a vocabulary of sounds, tones, and rhythms that acted as its voice. This vocabulary became the leading output of the character’s personality. The robot’s motion and facial expressions were built around it.
Astro’s wake-up sequence is a great example. Waking wasn’t just a boot animation on the screen; it was an entire performance. Slow and humble at first, the robot oriented itself quietly, then stretched its screen, checked its wheels, and finally, with an upward gesture toward its telescoping mast, it popped it up slightly, and did a little dance of joy. Sound, motion, and eyes hit every beat together in full choreography.
The character’s output in that sequence was first written as a story. Astro is waking up in its new home for the first time. Its main aspiration is to be part of a family, so this is the moment it has been waiting for, this is its purpose. Being the responsible character that it is, it wants to make sure everything is good to go before it introduces itself and starts learning its new home.
This narrative came first because it drove every other decision that we made. After the story was written, sound gave that story a metaphorical voice: the excited tones, the pacing as it checked its wheels, and the bright melodic phrase as Astro looked up at its new family for the first time and introduced itself. Once the sound was laid down, animation did their thing with motion and facial expressions, taking cues from the emotional arc the sound had established. Motion didn’t lead—it followed the feeling of the story and the sounds, the same way an animator follows a recorded vocal take.
That wake up sequence became one of the most-discussed moments in early user testing. People described it as “alive.” What they were responding to wasn’t any single element. It was all three channels (sound, motion, and facial expressions) expressing the same defined character in harmony.
The most compelling characters are defined not by a fixed disposition but by how they respond to their environments and the people in them. They’re still recognizably themselves even as they adapt. This is what I call contextual character. A robot living in a home doesn’t occupy a single emotional state. It moves through rooms with different energy, encounters people in different moods, operates at different times of day, and responds to an endless range of social situations it was never explicitly designed for.
We got close to a contextual character output with Astro’s sound. When a specific piece of environmental context was fed in, the system adapted beautifully, and Astro felt completely alive. But every state like this was still a prediction we made by hand—a situation we had to imagine in advance and design a response for. A random home throws more situations at a robot than anyone can possibly predict, so there was always a longer tail of moments the system was never prepared for.
The difference between a product people describe as “smart” and one they describe as “aware” often comes down to this. Smartness is capability. Awareness is context. Presence is character. And character is always in reaction to the people around it, to its environment, to its own evolving state. That’s what makes it feel like something is emotionally present with you.
This is where AI changes the game for character design in ways that go well beyond what was possible with Astro. AI-driven adaptation doesn’t require the contextual predictions that we relied on. It learns the specific rhythms, preferences, and emotional context of the people it lives and works with. The character doesn’t just respond to context. It grows into it.
The character and soul of the impending wave of embodied AI products appears to almost always be an afterthought. And character defined late is character defined by default. It becomes the sum of a thousand small decisions made by different people thinking about anything but character. People project character onto devices whether you plan for it or not, especially if those devices move—a robot that moves is already a character. If nobody has designed this character, the result will be products that feel like nothing, or worse, feel confusing and not trustworthy. Technically impressive, but lifeless.
We did not get this fully right with Astro. So many things were moving in parallel that character was rarely treated as a utility, and it made sense why. When you are building a first-of-its-kind product, the things that are the loudest are the ones that break, the deadlines, the costs, the features a customer can point to on a box. Character is quieter than all of that. It’s easy to assume it can come later. On a team as large as the Amazon Astro team, it’s lucky to get any idea onto the roadmap when it is competing with a hundred others that all feel more urgent in the moment. None of this came from people not caring. It came from character being the kind of thing that is hard to prioritize until you see what its absence costs you.
If you are building a product that will share physical or conversational space with people, three things are worth considering:
Define character before you define interactions. You need a defensible character with enough emotional logic to answer hard questions consistently. Find answers to character questions early, and have every discipline build from the same foundation.
Build story and sound into the character pipeline, not the production pipeline. Story and sound developed alongside character definition has the chance to inform motion, expression, and interaction logic. This requires a different kind of collaboration, and a different kind of hire.
Design for adaptation, not just consistency. A consistent character is necessary, but the products that will matter most in people’s lives are the ones that deepen through use. The infrastructure to support that is more and more accessible, but the design thinking to take advantage of it is still rare.
An unabridged version of this story can be read on Medium.
2026-06-18 02:00:02
The rapid evolution of the global engineering landscape requires continuous education. For one week in April, the IEEE community focuses on its educational frameworks. IEEE Education Week, which just concluded its fifth year, provided a comprehensive overview of the resources available to professionals and students.
From 11 to 19 April, the organization supplied a variety of live and virtual events, online resources, and promotions that champion the cycle of lifelong learning.
IEEE President Mary Ellen Randall kicked off the week with the keynote: “Inspiring Tomorrow’s Innovators: How IEEE Educational Resources Can Open Pathways Into STEM.” The event served as a central point for programs that run throughout the year.
“Education Week allows different units to share resources with members and the public, covering everything from preuniversity programs to advanced professional training,” says Jamie Moesch, managing director of IEEE Educational Activities.
The event relied on the cooperation of 120 IEEE partners. Involved organizational units included the IEEE Communications Society, the IEEE Education Society, and chapters and sections from around the world, including in Brazil, Colombia, and India. They produced 114 events, 23 resources, and 11 special offers.
“These collaborations help members remain current in a changing technological environment,” says Timothy Kurzweg, vice president of IEEE Educational Activities. “The goal is to provide accessible tools that assist members in both their own professional development and their efforts to mentor new engineers.”
“The week allows different units to share resources with members and the public, covering everything from preuniversity programs to advanced professional training.” —Jamie Moesch, managing director of IEEE Educational Activities
The participation metrics reflect a broad geographic interest. The IEEE Education Week website recorded more than 4,770 visitors, with primary engagement coming from India, Nigeria, and the United States. Nearly 240 digital badges were issued to people who completed educational quizzes.
To encourage participation, organizers enlisted 72 volunteer ambassadors to promote the week’s activities across their local networks and share key resources on social media.
Here are a few of the virtual events held during Education Week—most of which are available on demand:
The Education Week website highlights resources and offers shared by IEEE organizational units, including:
Individuals who were unable to attend the live sessions can find the archived content on the IEEE Education Week website.
The website also accepts donations for education-related funds managed by the IEEE Foundation.
Updates and technical resources continue to be shared through the #EducationAtIEEE hashtag on social media channels.
Planning for IEEE Education Week 2027, scheduled for 3 to 11 April, is underway.
2026-06-18 00:13:01
This article is crossposted from IEEE Spectrum’s careers newsletter. Sign up now to get insider tips, expert advice, and practical strategies, written in partnership with tech career development company Parsity and delivered to your inbox for free!
I’ve sat on both sides of the interview table several times over the past decade. You might be surprised to hear that I’ve often been just as nervous interviewing candidates as I was when being interviewed!
Nearly all the interview advice out there is about the candidate’s side, but understanding the other side can also help you prepare. Let me show you what I’ve seen firsthand, and what I’d bet is happening at the company you just interviewed with.
If you recently got rejected after an interview, this might explain what actually happened.
One caveat, because I’ve been on the receiving end of this: A couple of my recent interviews were run entirely by AI. These were screening rounds, but a growing share of job seekers now report being interviewed by a bot somewhere in the process. Everything below assumes you reached a person.
You might assume companies train people to run interviews. Many don’t.
In practice, your interviewers may be much less prepared than it seems. Their prep might look like this: “Here’s a rubric from three years ago, figure it out.” Or: “Let’s grab a conference room between meetings and decide what to ask.”
The questions are often whatever the interviewer personally studied when they were job hunting. These days, they may be generated with an LLM the morning of.
Then the panel negotiates. One person wants to quiz candidates on data structures and algorithms for a role in which they design websites. Another insists system design is essential for a junior level position. People default to what was done to them and assume it’s normal because it was normal to them.
What’s normal to the spider is chaos to the fly.
After an interview, some processes I was part of had one simple scale to score candidates: yes, no, strong yes, strong no.
The result is predictable. Like the candidate? Strong yes. They rubbed you the wrong way but answered everything correctly? Somehow a soft yes at best.
Structured scoring with defined criteria measurably reduces this. The research backs it, and the rare times I saw it used well, it changed my own assessments. Yet many teams I worked on never used this approach.
Even with a strong scoring system, bias and office politics can change the outcome.
For instance, I once interviewed someone I was strongly against hiring. It was clear they didn’t know what they were doing, and they’d be running critical infrastructure. I gave a strong no with objective reasons, scoring notes, specific examples from the technical round.
Leadership pulled me into a meeting right after and asked why. I walked them through my notes.
What I didn’t know: Several of them already knew the candidate personally. They liked them. They wanted them hired. I said the decision was theirs, my assessment hadn’t changed, and wished them luck.
I’ve also watched a strong resume short-circuit an entire loop. The team saw a top-tier company name, skipped the standard technical rounds, lobbed a few softballs, and basically welcomed the candidate in.
But once this engineer got started, it turned out to be a poor fit. And it wasn’t the candidate’s fault. They were set up for failure, because nobody checked whether this person could do this job at this company.
In both cases, it didn’t work out.
You could read all this and decide the system is broken or rigged.
The broken part is fair. The rigged part isn’t. People who are genuinely good at interviewing pass more often. It’s messy, but it’s not a lottery.
You can’t fight bias, politics, or a sloppy process. That’s like being mad at the weather. You can only play the two cards you’re dealt: your technical ability and your behavioral presence.
Most candidates obsess over the technical side and forget the behavioral rounds exist. But product managers, designers, and cross-functional leads—people with zero technical background—will judge you entirely on whether you can tell a clear story and seem like someone worth working with. If you’re unlikeable in the room, you’ve roughly halved your odds at every stage.
So here’s the unglamorous advice that actually works: put yourself on camera.
Talk through a project you led, a mistake you made, a hard problem you solved. Record it. Watch it back. Cringe. Do it again.
Think out loud, under pressure, with another human watching.
If you keep failing interviews, the fix isn’t always more technical prep. It’s getting better at being in a room with other people who are potentially more nervous, less prepared, and more biased than you ever imagined.
The process is broken. You can still win.
—Brian
A new initiative from the U.S. National Science Foundation plans to distribute $1.5 billion of funding over 10 years to independent research organizations, which it calls “X-Labs.” The program is meant to support work being done outside of academic institutions, starting with two areas: scientific instruments for sensing and imaging, and interconnects and integrated photonics for quantum systems.
We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again: AI is changing the engineering profession. So how can you stay in demand as the field’s tools evolve? A senior engineering manager at Walmart Global Tech offers seven quick tips.
For even more expert tips, check out the new career advice collection from The Institute. These articles feature guidance written by working engineers, meant to help those in all stages of their careers stay at the forefront of their profession. Discover tips for technical presentations, dive into a specific career path like cybersecurity consulting, and more.
2026-06-17 23:04:23
Musicians are accustomed to getting paid each time their creative work is used. Across vinyl/CD sales, streams, radio, cover versions, and those numerous niches like karaoke, there are agreements in place about what “use” means. Underlying this is a simple economic principle: The more something is used, the more money it makes.
Generative AI has complicated the definition of use. On the one hand, you could argue that the use of a piece of musical training data happens just once, at the point of training. On the other hand, creators would be right to complain that the creative essence of their work lives on in the structure of the model, used every time the model produces an output.
Now, companies like Sureel and SoundVerse are working to re-create the essential economic principle that motivates creativity in an era of AI. Such initiatives aim to turn the generative AI industry from one guilty of “the biggest act of copyright theft in history” into one that coexists harmoniously with hardworking artists.
Sureel, a startup Warner Music Group just acquired, has partnered with the Swedish copyright agency STIM to explore the potential for music creators to get paid when their music is used to train generative AI tools. Sureel’s software labels online media, such as a music file, with instructions determined by the owner. The instructions specify whether an AI company may use the media freely in training, limit its influence in any given training set, or avoid it altogether. The software then tracks how the AI company uses the media in training and sets licensing fees accordingly.
Meanwhile, the founders of the AI music company SoundVerse “[reject] one-time royalty buyouts as insufficient and [advocate] for ongoing participation of artists in the AI lifecycle,” they wrote in a 2025 white paper. They argue that each time a generative AI system produces an output, certain pieces of training data play a greater role than others. If the system outputs music resembling jazz, the jazz in the training set has arguably contributed more than, say, the folk music. You can therefore differentially reward each piece of training data for each output.
Sureel’s Co-President Benji Rogers told me, “Attribution isn’t about re-creating the old economics. It’s about measuring, for the first time, the thing the old economics only approximated.”
Such influence attribution needs to do more than superficially measure how similar a training data point is to the AI output. The challenge is to attribute causality, or a relationship between the training data and the trained AI, Sureel CEO Tamay Aykut says.
Even if the AI industry achieved that, however, it might encourage people to create music designed to maximize training-data royalties. While all creative markets lead to new incentives (music streaming, for example, has driven songs to have shorter intros), the industry could do without another economic structure that is easily gamed, in which someone’s reverse-engineered pastiche diverts royalties away from original works of creative expression.
Inferring the influence of a particular piece of music on a generated piece of music, if a well-defined problem at all, may involve more advanced information theoretic principles, or modelling the actual historical role and impact of individual works. Aykut proposes that in carefully designed attribution systems, more unusual and unpolished musical works could even have more inherent value than radio standards.
Simon Gozzi, Head of Business Development at STIM, says the company is in the process of seeing how Sureel’s attribution reports could underlie licensing agreements between musicians and AI companies. Could generative AI attribution strategies not only sustain the economic logic that “popularity pays,” but also motivate musical experimentation and diversity? It’s a compelling concept when public sentiment rightly fears generative AI’s threat to cultural vibrancy, pushing power towards tech companies, deskilling creative workers, shrinking revenue in the creative sector, and filling the internet with slop. “Attribution is one of the few credible tools we have,” Rogers says.
There’s a window of opportunity to debate and establish approaches to paying for AI training data that serve a vibrant and sustainable creative sector.
The technical problem of training data attribution is both complex and ill-defined. Just as a simplistic attribution strategy based on measuring similarity might motivate people to reverse-engineer the canonical works of a genre to capture royalties, a more complex attribution strategy based on some information theory of originality might be easily gamed or fail to reward human cultural production.
For creative workers, there’s good reason to fear that even with the best intentions, AI attribution will only compound the baroque and opaque arms races that they are already weary of navigating. Some voices within the music AI sector are also skeptical. Drew Silverstein, president of SourceAudio, says, “Attribution would seem to be the obvious answer, but it’s flawed in AI, so we have to look at other models.” He advocates simple negotiated agreements with an agreed or annually recurring price at the point of training.
Meanwhile, the copyright lawsuits that have dominated the generative AI revolution are beginning to give way to an increasing number of privately negotiated agreements, such as those between Universal, Warner, and major AI companies to work together on training models with copyright consent. Although little is certain, these agreements may have considerable influence over the industry norms that arise.
Right now, there’s a window of opportunity to debate and establish approaches that pay for AI training data while also sustaining a vibrant creative sector. Sophisticated engineering solutions will have a role to play, but they need to take into account the cultural complexity of the challenge, and enable fairness and transparency through good design.
It remains to be seen whether monolithic generative models such as Suno actually have as much credibility as first touted. In many creative applications of AI, there’s a renewed focus on smaller customized models that are tailored for specific human creative expressive needs such as IRCAM’s RAVE model or Jen’s Style Filters. Meanwhile, more mainstream “end user” creative applications may be shifting towards a focus on fan engagement. OpenAI’s sudden dropping of Sora, despite being in negotiations with Disney and Suno’s recent emphasis on building fan engagement experiences that draw directly on the work of artists, following its deal with Universal, both point to teething troubles in the creative AI sector.
A move to smaller, more targeted models and applications would give more room for creator alliances. For example, collectives of musicians might band together to provide the training data for a smaller custom model, for which revenue splits might be egalitarian or based on other principles of fairness.
The same may possibly be true of hybrid model architectures and structured training regimes where different data sources are used at different points in the training process, as well as retrieval augmented generation, which mixes context-specific information with training data to improve results. An approach that produces worse results but enables fairer or more transparent paths of attribution may be more successful if it brings creators on board with more lucrative royalty flows and even clear credits.
Also, no matter how sophisticated an attribution algorithm is, it will always be grounded in human decisions, ranging from the wise and the fair to the arbitrary and corrupt. Ask a music industry insider to explain how the percentage split between recording and songwriting royalties is determined, and you’re in for a long answer. At best, the machinery of training data attribution will enable open and informed discussion about what makes our creative and cultural sectors fair and vibrant. At worst, it will conceal already opaque private agreements in complex black boxes.
This is where national policies are vital. Attribution must be “multi-layered and auditable, open to expert and regulatory scrutiny,” Rogers says. Crafting such policies will take expertise from computer science, musicology, law, and economics. AI-competitive governments will be able to boost their cultural and creative sectors by supporting institutions that fulfil this purpose.
Even the most neoliberal economies look beyond markets to sustain cultural expression, whether through public arts funding or measures like local music quotas for radio. As the economic impact of generative AI in the creative sector takes form, taxation, redistribution, and active support of cultural infrastructures may still be the most effective way to support positive social outcomes. Taxing big AI and redistributing that revenue back to the creative workers that contributed to the industry’s wealth is, after all, another “AI attribution strategy.”
2026-06-17 20:19:27
On April 19, 2026, the Honor Lightning humanoid robot ran a half-marathon in 50 minutes and 26 seconds, beating the human world record by 7 minutes and the best robot time from 2025 by almost two hours.
How did they do it? Is there some magical technology or technique that unlocked this performance? How did they beat the significantly better-known Unitree (who reportedly had to supply an ice backpack to try and complete the race without overheating)? My doctoral thesis involved building and controlling hopping and running robots, and since then I’ve tried to design and build efficient commercial legged robots, giving me a decent idea of the constraints involved. In this article, we take a look at the fundamental underlying constraints to try and answer these questions.
Running consists of alternating phases of a leg pushing against the ground (“stance phase”) and the body flying through the air (“aerial phase”). In the aerial phase, the body falls due to gravity, losing vertical momentum. The leg in stance phase pushes against the ground to redirect the vertical momentum upward, while the other leg swings forward to reposition for the next foothold.
Electric motors use energy to produce torque- the higher the torque, the more energy lost as heat. Adding a geartrain after the motor amplifies its torque and reduces its speed. A large reduction helps with torque production, but since the rotor of the motor itself has to spin faster, it becomes very sluggish at accelerating its output. This is obviously bad for the swing phase described above. These competing effects mean that for a particular motor, there is usually a sweet spot for the gear ratio:
The power consumed by a robot leg is minimized at an optimal gear ratio (30:1 in this example).Avik De/Datawrapper
While the Lightning’s motor specifications are not published, the hip and knee motors roughly have a 110-150mm outer diameter. For an approximate set of motor parameters, I looked to the ILM115x25 motor due to its relevant size and detailed specifications.
We can use a simple physics model to estimate the power consumption for running at 7 m/s (the Lightning’s average half marathon speed) as gear ratio varies:
The light blue curve shows how to pick the optimal gearing (45:1). The dark blue curve shows how much heat will be produced in the knee motor, ~150W for the optimal gearing.Avik De/Datawrapper
We see that the drivetrain is not magical: with a gear ratio chosen for this task (we’ll return to this below), the approximate robot power consumption would be a very reasonable 400W.
However, the dissipated knee power ( typically the main thermal limiting factor) is ~150W. This is almost an unavoidable consequence — running at human speeds with a humanoid-sized robot will inevitably generate this amount of heat! Over a prolonged period, keeping the motor from overheating would be a challenge, but the Lightning has a trick up its sleeve:
According to Honor, the liquid - cooling pipes penetrate deep into the motors like capillaries. The high - power liquid pump has a heat - exchange flow rate of more than 4 liters per minute. Each of the four drive motors in the lower limbs is equipped with an independent liquid - cooling circuit.
Liquid cooling is not new, but it’s definitely not a commodity. It has shown up in research periodically, and on the commercial side Apptronik tried it for a few of their prototypes but (to my knowledge) does not use it on their main Apollo platform. Basic air convection-based cooling would not continuously be able to extract 150W out of the knee motor, and so the cooling technology is a key enabler of this type of performance.
Why did Honor’s competitors, including more established and widely-shipped humanoids such as from Unitree or Agibot, not compete as well?
We can use the same model to generate an equivalent energetics plot for walking at 1.5 m/s, a much more modest but potentially more common activity for a commercial humanoid robot:
The solid and dashed light blue lines show a running-optimized design, while green lines show a walking-optimized design. The optimal ratio for walking is much lower (30:1 vs 45:1). However, the power dissipated in the knee motor while running (dark blue) is much higher at 30:1 vs 45:1—the price to pay for running with a walking-optimized design.Avik De/Datawrapper
The plot adds a new green curve for the walking power, and the optimal gearing is significantly different!
Let’s say you design your robot to excel at the normal walking task and choose the green design with 30:1 gearing. The knee motor power to run a half marathon is over 300W (red arrow), more than 2x what we had with the running-optimized design. It wouldn’t be so surprising to need ice packs!
Conversely, visually following the green curve shows that the running-optimized robot wastes more power for walking. Using larger motors sized for running increases the weight of the robot and wastes power when it is standing or walking. The larger motors also pose practical issues like bumping into objects while operating in homes or factories.
Honor’s half marathon performance was an impressive engineering effort and result. It didn’t need any magical leaps in technology, but the deployment of the capillary motor cooling solution is a notable advance without which this running pace would have been unsustainable. The cooling, weight optimization, and robustness advances may well be useful for more practical purposes like carrying heavy payloads down the line.
The Honor Lighting robot [right] has much larger motors driving its legs than the Unitree H1 robot [left], making it a more efficient runner but a less efficient walker.Left: Wei Zhiyang/Zhejiang Daily Press Group/VCG/Getty Images; Right: VCG/Getty Images
However, the Lightning is not as well-suited to other tasks as a robot designed for greater versatility. Engineering is always characterized by tradeoffs, and making the correct ones separates good products from great ones. With consistently improving AI language models, this very human skill is becoming the most valuable one an engineer can have.
The news coverage seemed to overly focus on the fact that the human half-marathon record had been broken by a robot. Machines and humans have very different capabilities and constraints, so why should we ever have expected the half marathon time for a robot and human to be related? As in Deep Blue’s 1997 defeat of Garry Kasparov in chess, where it couldn’t physically move the pieces, the Honor robot’s capabilities are much narrower than a human running elbow-to-elbow with other runners while visually navigating the course without GPS. Comparing the robot runner to a human runner is just an apples-to-oranges comparison, and only risks diminishing Honor’s engineering achievement on one hand, and human athletic achievement on the other.