Imagine pulling up to a refueling station and filling your vehicle’s tank with liquid hydrogen, as safe and convenient to handle as gasoline or diesel, without the need for high-pressure tanks or cryogenic storage. This vision of a sustainable future could become a reality if a Calgary, Canada–based company, Ayrton Energy, can scale up its innovative method of hydrogen storage and distribution. Ayrton’s technology could make hydrogen a viable, one-to-one replacement for fossil fuels in existing infrastructure like pipelines, fuel tankers, rail cars, and trucks.

The company’s approach is to use liquid organic hydrogen carriers (LOHCs) to make it easier to transport and store hydrogen. The method chemically bonds hydrogen to carrier molecules, which absorb hydrogen molecules and make them more stable—kind of like hydrogenating cooking oil to produce margarine.

A researcher pours a sample of Ayrton’s LOHC fluid into a vial.Ayrton Energy

The approach would allow liquid hydrogen to be transported and stored in ambient conditions, rather than in the high-pressure, cryogenic tanks (to hold it at temperatures below -252 ºC) currently required for keeping hydrogen in liquid form. It would also be a big improvement on gaseous hydrogen, which is highly volatile and difficult to keep contained.

Founded in 2021, Ayrton is one of several companies across the globe developing LOHCs, including Japan’s Chiyoda and Mitsubishi, Germany’s Covalion, and China’s Hynertech. But toxicity, energy density, and input energy issues have limited LOHCs as contenders for making liquid hydrogen feasible. Ayrton says its formulation eliminates these trade-offs.

Safe, Efficient Hydrogen Fuel for Vehicles

Conventional LOHC technologies used by most of the aforementioned companies rely on substances such as toluene, which forms methylcyclohexane when hydrogenated. These carriers pose safety risks due to their flammability and volatility. Hydrogenious LOHC Technologies in Erlanger, Germany and other hydrogen fuel companies have shifted toward dibenzyltoluene, a more stable carrier that holds more hydrogen per unit volume than methylcyclohexane, though it requires higher temperatures (and thus more energy) to bind and release the hydrogen. Dibenzyltoluene hydrogenation occurs at between 3 and 10 megapascals (30 and 100 bar) and 200–300 ºC, compared with 10 MPa (100 bar), and just under 200 ºC for methylcyclohexane.

Ayrton’s proprietary oil-based hydrogen carrier not only captures and releases hydrogen with less input energy than is required for other LOHCs, but also stores more hydrogen than methylcyclohexane can—55 kilograms per cubic meter compared with methylcyclohexane’s 50 kg/m³. Dibenzyltoluene holds more hydrogen per unit volume (up to 65 kg/m³), but Ayrton’s approach to infusing the carrier with hydrogen atoms promises to cost less. Hydrogenation or dehydrogenation with Ayrton’s carrier fluid occurs at 0.1 megapascal (1 bar) and about 100 ºC, says founder and CEO Natasha Kostenuk. And as with the other LOHCs, after hydrogenation it can be transported and stored at ambient temperatures and pressures.

Judges described [Ayrton's approach] as a critical technology for the deployment of hydrogen at large scale.” —Katie Richardson, National Renewable Energy Lab

Ayrton’s LOHC fluid is as safe to handle as margarine, but it’s still a chemical, says Kostenuk. “I wouldn’t drink it. If you did, you wouldn’t feel very good. But it’s not lethal,” she says.

Kostenuk and fellow Ayrton cofounder Brandy Kinkead (who serves as the company’s chief technical officer) were originally trying to bring hydrogen generators to market to fill gaps in the electrical grid. “We were looking for fuel cells and hydrogen storage. Fuel cells were easy to find, but we couldn’t find a hydrogen storage method or medium that would be safe and easy to transport to fuel our vision of what we were trying to do with hydrogen generators,” Kostenuk says. During the search, they came across LOHC technology but weren’t satisfied with the trade-offs demanded by existing liquid hydrogen carriers. “We had the idea that we could do it better,” she says. The duo pivoted, adjusting their focus from hydrogen generators to hydrogen storage solutions.

“Everybody gets excited about hydrogen production and hydrogen end use, but they forget that you have to store and manage the hydrogen,” Kostenuk says. Incompatibility with current storage and distribution has been a barrier to adoption, she says. “We’re really excited about being able to reuse existing infrastructure that’s in place all over the world.” Ayrton’s hydrogenated liquid has fuel-cell-grade (99.999 percent) hydrogen purity, so there’s no advantage in using pure liquid hydrogen with its need for subzero temperatures, according to the company.

The main challenge the company faces is the set of issues that come along with any technology scaling up from pilot-stage production to commercial manufacturing, says Kostenuk. “A crucial part of that is aligning ourselves with the right manufacturing partners along the way,” she notes.

Asked about how Ayrton is dealing with some other challenges common to LOHCs, Kostenuk says Ayrton has managed to sidestep them. “We stayed away from materials that are expensive and hard to procure, which will help us avoid any supply chain issues,” she says. By performing the reactions at such low temperatures, Ayrton can get its carrier fluid to withstand 1,000 hydrogenation-dehydrogenation cycles before it no longer holds enough hydrogen to be useful. Conventional LOHCs are limited to a couple of hundred cycles before the high temperatures required for bonding and releasing the hydrogen breaks down the fluid and diminishes its storage capacity, Kostenuk says.

Breakthrough in Hydrogen Storage Technology

In acknowledgement of what Ayrton’s nontoxic, oil-based carrier fluid could mean for the energy and transportation sectors, the U.S. National Renewable Energy Lab (NREL) at its annual Industry Growth Forum in May named Ayrton an “outstanding early-stage venture.” A selection committee of more than 180 climate tech and cleantech investors and industry experts chose Ayrton from a pool of more than 200 initial applicants, says Katie Richardson, group manager of NREL’s Innovation and Entrepreneurship Center, which organized the forum. The committee based its decision on the company’s innovation, market positioning, business model, team, next steps for funding, technology, capital use, and quality of pitch presentation. “Judges described Ayrton’s approach as a critical technology for the deployment of hydrogen at large scale,” Richardson says.

As a next step toward enabling hydrogen to push gasoline and diesel aside, “we’re talking with hydrogen producers who are right now offering their customers cryogenic and compressed hydrogen,” says Kostenuk. “If they offered LOHC, it would enable them to deliver across longer distances, in larger volumes, in a multimodal way.” The company is also talking to some industrial site owners who could use the hydrogenated LOHC for buffer storage to hold onto some of the energy they’re getting from clean, intermittent sources like solar and wind. Another natural fit, she says, is energy service providers that are looking for a reliable method of seasonal storage beyond what batteries can offer. The goal is to eventually scale up enough to become the go-to alternative (or perhaps the standard) fuel for cars, trucks, trains, and ships.

In 2016, IEEE Spectrum spotlighted Ohio State University’s Buckeye Current team, a group of engineering students who dared to test their electric motorcycle’s mettle against professionals in the grueling Pikes Peak International Hill Climb. The 20-kilometer “Race to the Clouds” challenged the students with 156 hairpin turns on a trek to the 4,300-meter summit.

By 2022, only two members of the team were holdovers from the Pike’s Peak days. The team roster wasn’t the only change. That year, the Buckeye Current team shifted its focus from conquering mountains to shattering land speed records. In a collaboration with the team’s sponsor, Monaco-based Venturi Group, students started building and testing an entirely new electric motorcycle, the RW-5 Voxan.

In August, the Buckeye Current team and the RW-5 Voxan, piloted by Venturi’s head of engineering, Louis-Marie Blondel, set four new world speed records at the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah during the Bonneville Motorcycle Speed Trials. The trials were overseen by the Fédération Internationale de Motorcyclisme (FIM).

Rebuilding a Record-Setting Team

David Cooke, the senior associate director at OSU’s Center for Automotive Research, is the team’s faculty advisor. He says the successful Pikes Peak team was scattered by the COVID-19 pandemic. “The timing was terrible,” he says. “The team had just wrapped up a whole sequence of races and was just looking to decide what it would do next. Then the pandemic hit, and the team shrank down to almost nothing.”

“On our last day at Bonneville, I told the team, ‘You started a few weeks ago as a great student club, but you’re leaving as a racing team.’” —David Cookie, OSU’s Center for Automotive Research

Cooke recalls that the remnant was two students who were working on related side projects, including an electric dirt bike. They and Laura Friedmann, graduate student who recently earned her master’s degree in mechanical engineering, formed the nucleus of the revived Buckeye Current team. In just two years, they were able to recruit new team members, design and build the RW-5 Voxan, and pick up a host of technical and project management skills and experience that they would never have gained inside the classroom.

Cooke credits the quick bounce-back to OSU’s rich institutional knowledge. “We have seven of these competition teams, with a total of about 300 students, that operate out of our facility,” says Cooke. “All told, we’ve been participating in competitions such as Formula SAE and Baja SAE for 35 years, so there’s a lot of institutional knowledge there. Even when the team has younger students coming in, there’s always some senior people around who know how to teach important skills such as machining, design, and how to organize themselves for quick turnarounds on the track.”

Record-Setting Performance

The FIM assesses a motorcycle’s speed using a straight path measuring 9 miles (14.5 kilometers) long. At the 2-mile (3.2-kilometer) mark, after the motorcycle has reached its top speed, it breaks a laser beam that starts a timer. A second laser, either 1 mile or 1 kilometer farther on the route (depending on the particular record being attempted), the motorcycle interrupts a second laser beam that stops the timer. The rest of the route provides room for the driver to coast down to a speed at which it’s safe to apply the brakes.

The FIM uses an average speed across two runs attempted within a two-hour window in its record considerations. Buckeye Current team president Sabina Williams, a fourth-year student pursuing a bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering, says that by the time the Motorcycle Speed Trials began, the team was able to accomplish the turnaround within one hour.

The Buckeye Current team entered the 148-kilogram RW-5 Voxan in the speed trials’ electric motorcycle category for machines weighing between 100 and 150 kilograms. (There’s also a category for machines between 150 and 300 kg, and an “unlimited” category for anything beyond 300 kg.) Williams says the team added specially machined metal pieces to bring the RW-5 Voxan’s weight right up to the 150 kg limit. The added weight, the team figured, would be balanced out by improving the motorcycle’s traction on the salt flats’ slippery surface: Cooke says that the salt surface at Bonneville has about half the coefficient of friction of asphalt. “So instead of driving on grippy asphalt on a beautiful Sunday,” he says, “you’re driving on a surface whose traction approximates asphalt after anything from a light rain to snow and ice.”

To put the Buckeye Current team’s motorcycle in perspective, consider the iconic Vespa scooter. The peppiest of those lightweight scooters put out 18 kilowatts, or just shy of 25 horsepower, compared with the 130 kW (174 hp) the RW-5 Voxan’s Beyond AXM2 axial flux motor delivers. The electric bike’s power output is comparable to that of Ducati’s Panigale V2, a gasoline-powered, street-legal sport bike that weighs in at 200 kg.

The Buckeye team’s successful pairing of middleweight power in a lightweight package allowed the RW-5 Voxan to set new all-time speed records in four categories:

• Fastest average speed without a fairing (an aerodynamic cover designed to reduce turbulence): 271.323 km/h (168.59 mph) over one mile.
• Fastest average speed without a fairing: 271.515 km/h (168.71 mph) over one kilometer.
• Fastest average speed with a fairing: 289.74 km/h (180.035 mph) over one mile.
• Fastest average speed with a fairing: 289.79 km/h (180.065 mph) over one kilometer.

These records are still pending validation by FIM.

New Challenges for Buckeye Current

Though there was no mountain to climb this time around, the Ohio State team still faced challenges. While prepping in Utah, Williams says that racing the bike at or near peak power caused its motor to burn out. The team replaced it with a spare motor they happened to have on hand. After working late into the night calibrating the new motor, they were able to complete the final two of the four days of timed sprints, during which the bike was pushed to its limits. “That was a significant challenge I was proud to see the team overcome,” says Williams.

A common theme among electric motorcycle teams there, Williams says, was struggling with battery temperatures. The Buckeye Current team had difficulty keeping its machine’s 567-volt lithium-ion battery pack cool in the heat of the salt flats. Williams notes that another team had problems keeping its battery warm enough to race in the mornings when temperatures were low. And all of the teams faced a constant fight to keep the salt from corroding their bikes’ metal parts.

The world record achievements not only highlight the continued success of the Buckeye Current team but also underscore the potential of electric motorcycles to set new benchmarks in speed and performance. “What we had on this team were a lot of really bright aspiring engineers,” says Cooke. “But we didn’t have a single person who had experience with race cars or on a racing team. On our last day at Bonneville, I told the team, ‘You started a few weeks ago as a great student club, but you’re leaving as a racing team.’” Williams says the newly minted race team now has its sights set on a new goal: Eclipsing the 200 mile-per-hour (322-kilometer-per-hour) mark within the next year.

Wesley L. Harris’s life is a testament to the power of mentorship and determination. Harris, born in 1941 in Richmond, Virginia, grew up during the tumultuous years of the Civil Rights Movement and faced an environment fraught with challenges. His parents, both of whom only had a third-grade education, walked to Richmond from rural Virginia counties when the Great Depression left the region’s farming communities destitute. They found work as laborers in the city’s tobacco factories but pushed their son to pursue higher education so he could live a better life.

Today, Harris is a professor of aeronautics and astronautics at MIT and heads the school’s Hypersonic Research Laboratory. More importantly, he is committed to fostering the next generation of engineers, particularly students of color.

“I’ve been keeping my head down, working with students of color—especially at the Ph.D. level—to produce more scholars,” Harris says. “I do feel good about that.”

From physics to aerospace engineering

Harris’s journey into the world of science began under the guidance of his physics teacher at the all-Black Armstrong High School, in Richmond. The instructor taught Harris how to build a cloud chamber to investigate the collision of alpha particles with water droplets. The chamber made it possible to visualize the passage of ionizing radiation emitted by radium 226, which Harris sourced from a wristwatch that used the substance to make the watch hands glow in the dark.

The project won first prize at Virginia’s statewide Black high school science fair, and he took the bold step of signing up for a separate science fair held for the state’s White students. Harris’s project received the third-place prize in physics at that event.

Those awards and his teacher’s unwavering belief in Harris’s potential pushed him to aim higher. He says that he wanted nothing more than to become a physicist like her. Ironically, it was also her influence that led him to shift his career path from physics to aeronautical engineering.

When discussing which college he should attend, she spoke to him as though he were a soldier getting his marching orders. “Wesley, you will go to the University of Virginia [in Charlottesville],” she proclaimed.

Harris applied, knowing full well that the school did not allow Black students in the 1960s to pursue degrees in mathematics, physics, chemistry, English, economics, or political science.

The only available point of entry for him was the university’s School of Engineering. He chose aerospace as his focus—the only engineering discipline that interested him. Harris became one of only seven Black students on a campus with 4,000 undergrads and the first Black student to join the prestigious Jefferson Society literary and debate club. He graduated in 1964 with a bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering. He went on to earn his master’s and doctoral degrees in aerospace engineering from Princeton in 1966 and 1968, respectively.

Harris’s Ph.D. thesis advisor at Princeton reinforced the values of mentorship and leadership instilled by his high school teacher, urging Harris to focus not only on his research but on how he could uplift others.

Harris began his teaching career by breaking down barriers at the University of Virginia in 1968. He was the first Black person in the school’s history to be offered a tenured faculty position. He was also the university’s first Black engineering professor. In 1972, he joined MIT as a professor of aeronautics and astronautics.

Harris’s dedication to supporting underrepresented minority groups at MIT began early in his tenure. In 1975, he founded the Office of Minority Education, where he pioneered innovative teaching methods such as videotaping and replaying lectures, which helped countless students succeed. “Some of those old videotapes may still be around,” he says, laughing.

“I’ve been keeping my head down, working with students of color—especially at the Ph.D. level—to produce more scholars. I do feel good about that.”

Over the years, he has periodically stepped away from MIT to take on other roles, including Program Manager in the Fluid and Thermal Physics Office and as manager of Computational Methods at NASA’s headquarters in Washington, D.C., from 1979 to 1980. He returned to NASA in 1993 and served as Associate Administrator for Aeronautics, overseeing personnel, programs, and facilities until 1995.

He also served as Chief Administrative Officer and Vice President at the University of Tennessee Space Institute in Knoxville from 1990 to 1993 and as Dean of Engineering at the University of Connecticut, in Storrs, from 1985 to 1990.

He was selected for membership in an oversight group convened by the U.S. House of Representatives Science Subcommittee on Research and Technology to monitor the funding activities of the National Science Foundation. He has also been a member and chair of the U.S. Army Science Board.

Solving problems with aircraft

Harris is a respected aeronautical innovator. Near the end of the Vietnam War, the U.S. Army approached MIT to help it solve a problem. Helicopters were being shot down by the enemy, who had learned to distinguish attack helicopters from those used for performing reconnaissance or transporting personnel and cargo by the noise they made. The Army needed a solution that would reduce the helicopters’ acoustic signatures without compromising performance. Harris and his aeronautics team at MIT delivered that technology. In January 1978, they presented a lab report detailing their findings to the U.S. Department of Defense. “Experimental and Theoretical Studies on Model Helicopter Rotor Noise” was subsequently published in The Journal of Sound and Vibration. A year later, Harris and his colleagues at the Fluid Dynamic Research Laboratory wrote another lab report on the topic, “Parametric Studies of Model Helicopter Blade Slap and Rotational Noise.”

Harris has also heightened scientists’ understanding of the climate-altering effects of shock waves propagating upward from aircraft flying at supersonic speeds. He discovered that these high-speed airflows trigger chemical reactions among the carbon, oxides, nitrides, and sulfides in the atmosphere.

For these and other contributions to aerospace engineering, Harris, a member of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, was elected in 1995 to the National Academy of Engineering. In 2022, he was named the academy’s vice president.

A model of educational leadership

Despite his technical achievements, Harris says his greatest fulfillment comes from mentoring students. He takes immense pride in the four students who recently earned doctorates in hypersonics under his guidance, especially a Black woman who graduated this year.

Harris’s commitment to nurturing young talent extends beyond his graduate students. For more than two decades, he has served as a housemaster at MIT’s New House residence hall, where he helps first-year undergraduate students successfully transition to campus life.

“You must provide an environment that fosters the total development of the student, not just mastery of physics, chemistry, math, and economics,” Harris says.

He takes great satisfaction in watching his students grow and succeed, knowing that he helped prepare them to make a positive impact on the world.

Reflecting on his career, Harris acknowledges the profound impact of the mentors who guided him. Their lessons continue to influence his work and his unwavering commitment to mentoring the next generation.

“I’ve always wanted to be like my high school teacher—a physicist who not only had deep knowledge of the scientific fundamentals but also compassion and love for Black folks,” he says.

Through his work, Harris has not only advanced the field of aerospace engineering but has also paved the way for future generations to soar.

Over the past 25 years, the longest driving range of an electric vehicle on a single charge has gone from about 260 kilometers to slightly over 800 km. Increasingly, these advanced battery packs have also begun storing energy from the grid or renewable sources to power homes or businesses. No wonder, then, that the global automotive battery market has surpassed US $50 billion a year, and there is increasing pressure to produce greater numbers of even better batteries.

Now, several companies are applying a well-established chemical technique called atomic layer deposition (ALD) to coat battery electrodes with metal oxides or nitrides, which they claim improves both the energy capacity and the life-span of lithium-ion batteries. The companies include Thornton, Colo.–based Forge Nano, Picosun (a wholly owned subsidiary of Santa Clara, Calif.–based Applied Materials), and Beneq, in Espoo, Finland. The companies are leveraging the technique, which was originally developed in the 1960s. After years of refining their respective processes, these companies now hope to gain a toehold in markets for EV and smartphone batteries dominated by such giants as CATL, Panasonic, and Samsung.

Of the three, Forge Nano appears to have the most-developed technology. The company recently announced that its subsidiary, Forge Battery, has begun sending samples of a prototype battery cell made with ALD-coated materials to customers for testing. Forge Nano says its proprietary ALD formulation, which it calls Atomic Armor, makes batteries’ electrodes better at storing energy and helps them last longer.

What Goes Into a Lithium-Ion Battery?

The batteries found in today’s electric vehicles and smartphones consist of three main components. The anode, or negative electrode, usually made of graphite, is where lithium ions are stored during the charging process. The cathode (positive electrode) is made of a lithium-metal oxide such as lithium cobalt oxide or lithium-iron phosphate. Then there’s the electrolyte, which is a lithium salt dissolved in an organic solvent that allows lithium ions to move between the anode and cathode. Also important is the separator, a semiporous material that allows the movement of ions between the cathode and anode during charging and discharging but blocks the flow of electrons directly between the two, which would quickly short out the battery.

A cathode coating is deposited for R&D battery cells by Forge Nano.Forge Nano

Coating the materials that make up the anode, cathode, and separator at the molecular level, these companies say, boosts batteries’ performance and durability without an appreciable increase in their weight or volume.

The films are formed by a chemical reaction between two gaseous precursor substances, which are introduced to the substrate by turns. The first one reacts with the substrate surface at active sites, the points on the precursor molecules and on the surface of the substrate where the two materials chemically bond. Then, after all the nonreacted precursor gas is pumped away, the next precursor is introduced and bonds with the first precursor at their respective active sites. ALD technology is self-terminating, meaning that when all active sites are filled, the reaction stops. The film forms one atomic layer at a time, so its thickness can be set with precision as fine as a few tenths of a nanometer simply by cutting off exposure of the substrate to the precursors once the desired coating thickness is reached.

In a conventional lithium-ion battery, with a graphite anode, silicon (and sometimes other materials) is added to the graphite to improve the anode’s ability to store ions. The practice boosts energy density, but silicon is much more prone to side reactions with the electrolyte and to expansion and contraction during charging and discharging, which weakens the electrode. Eventually, the mechanical degradation diminishes the battery’s storage capacity. ALD technology, by coating anode molecules with a protective layer, enables a higher proportion of silicon in the anode while also inhibiting the expansion-contraction cycles and thereby slowing the mechanical degradation. The result is a lighter, more energy-dense battery that is more durable than conventional lithium-ion batteries.

Picosun says its ALD technology has been used to create coated nickel oxide anodes with more than twice the energy storage capacity and three times the energy density of those relying on traditional graphite.

How big is the benefit? Forge Nano says that although the third-party testing and validation are underway, it’s too soon to make definitive statements about the coating-enhanced batteries’ life-spans. But a company spokesperson told IEEE Spectrum the data it has received thus far indicates that specific energy is improved by 15 percent compared with that of comparable batteries currently on the market.

The company has made a big bet that the players all along the battery-production chain—from fabricators of anodes and cathodes to Tier 1 battery suppliers, and even electric-vehicle manufacturers—will view its take on ALD as a must-have step in battery manufacturing. Forge Battery is building a 25,700-square-meter gigafactory in North Carolina that it says will turn out 1 gigawatt-hour of its Atomic Armor–enhanced lithium-ion cells and finished batteries when it becomes operational in 2026.

NASCAR, the stock car racing sanctioning body known for its high-octane events across the United States, is taking a significant step toward a greener future. In July, during the Chicago Street Race event, NASCAR unveiled a prototype battery-powered race car that marks the beginning of its push to decarbonize motorsports. This move is part of NASCAR’s broader strategy to achieve net-zero emissions by 2035.

The electric prototype represents a collaborative effort between NASCAR and its traditional Original Equipment Manufacturer (OEM) partners—Chevrolet, Ford, and Toyota—along with ABB, a global technology leader. Built by NASCAR engineers, the car features three 6-Phase motors from Stohl Advanced Research and Development, an Austrian specialist in electric vehicle powertrains. These motors together produce 1,000 kilowatts at peak power, equivalent to approximately 1,300 horsepower. The energy is supplied by a 78-kilowatt-hour liquid-cooled lithium-ion battery, operating at 756 volts, though the specific battery chemistry remains a closely guarded secret.

C.J. Tobin, Senior Engineer of Vehicle Systems at NASCAR and the lead engineer on the EV prototype project, explained the motivation behind the development. He told IEEE Spectrum that “The push for electric vehicles is continuing to grow, and when we started this project one and a half years ago, that growth was rapid. We wanted to showcase our ability to put an electric stock car on the track in collaboration with our OEM partners. Our racing series have always been a platform for OEMs to showcase their stock cars, and this is just another tool for them to demonstrate what they can offer to the public.”

Eleftheria Kontou, a professor of civil and environmental engineering at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign whose primary research focus is transportation engineering, said in an interview that “It was an excellent introduction of the new technology to NASCAR fans, and I hope that the fans will be open to seeing more innovations in that space.”

John Probst, NASCAR’s SVP of Innovation and Racing Development speaks during the unveiling of the new EV prototype. Jared C. Tilton/Getty Images

The electric race car is not just about speed; it’s also about sustainability. The car’s body panels are made from ampliTex, a sustainable flax-based composite supplied by Bcomp, a Swiss manufacturer specializing in composites made from natural fibers. AmpliTex is lighter, more moldable, and more durable than traditional materials like steel or aluminum, making the car more efficient and aerodynamic.

Regenerative braking is another key feature of the electric race car. As it slows down, the car can convert some of its kinetic energy into electric charge that feeds back into the battery. This feature most advantageous on road courses like the one in Chicago and on short oval tracks like Martinsville Speedway in Virginia.

“The Chicago Street Race was a great introduction for the EV prototype because it happens in a real-world setup where electric vehicles tend to thrive,” says Kontou, who also serves on the Steering Committee of the Illinois Alliance for Clean Transportation. “[It was a good venue for the car’s unveiling] because navigating the course requires more braking than is typical at many speedway tracks.”
Though the electric prototype is part of a larger NASCAR sustainability initiative, “There are no plans to use the electric vehicle in competition at this time,” a spokesman said. “The internal combustion engine plays an important role in NASCAR and there are no plans to move away from that.” So, die-hard stock-car racing fans can still anticipate the sounds and smells of V-8 engines burning gasoline as they hurtle around tracks and through street courses.

“The Chicago Street Race was a great introduction for the EV prototype because it happens in a real-world setup where electric vehicles tend to thrive.” —Eleftheria Kontou, University of Illinois

In its sustainability efforts, NASCAR lags well behind Formula One, its largest rival atop the world’s motorsports hierarchy. Since 2014, Formula One’s parent organization, the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), has had an all-electric racing spinoff, called Formula E. For the current season, which began in July, the ABB FIA Formula E World Championship series boasts 11 teams competing in 17 races. This year’s races feature the league’s third generation of electric race cars, and a fourth generation is planned for introduction in 2026.

Asked how NASCAR plans to follow through on its pledge to make its core operations net-zero emissions by its self-imposed target date, the spokesman pointed to changes that would counterbalance the output of traditional stock cars, which are notorious for their poor fuel efficiency and high carbon emissions. Those include 100 percent renewable electricity at NASCAR-owned racetracks and facilities, and tradeoffs such as recycling and on-site charging stations for use by fans with EVs.

The spokesman also noted that NASCAR and its OEM partners are developing racing fuel that’s more sustainable in light of the fact that stock cars consume, on average, about 47 liters for every 100 km they drive (5 miles per gallon). For comparison, U.S. federal regulators announced in June that they would begin enforcing an industry-wide fleet average of approximately 5.6 liters per 100 kilometers (50.4 miles per gallon) for model year 2031 and beyond. Fortunately for NASCAR, race cars are exempt from fuel-efficiency and tailpipe-emissions rules.

While some may be tempted to compare NASCAR’s prototype racer with the cars featured in the ABB FIA Formula E World Championship, Tobin emphasized that NASCAR’s approach in designing the prototype was distinct. “Outside of us seeing that there was a series out there racing electric vehicles and seeing how things were run with Formula E, we leaned heavily on our OEMs and went with what they wanted to see at that time,” he said.

The apparently slow transition to electric vehicles in NASCAR is seen by some in the organization as both a response to environmental concerns and a proactive move to stay ahead of potential legislation that could threaten the future of motorsports. “NASCAR and our OEM partners want to be in the driver’s seat, no matter where we’re going,” says Tobin. “With the development of [the NextGen EV prototype], we wanted to showcase the modularity of the chassis and what powertrains we can build upon it—whether that be alternative fuels, battery electric power, or something unforeseen in the future…We want to continue to push the envelope.”

According to the International Maritime Organization, shipping was responsible for over 1 billion tonnes of carbon dioxide emissions in 2018. A significant share of those emissions came from seaport activities, including ship berthing, cargo handling, and transportation within port areas. In response, governments, NGOs, and environmental watchdog groups are sounding alarms and advocating for urgent measures to mitigate pollution at the world’s ports.

One of the most promising solutions for the decarbonization of port operations involves electrifying these facilities. This plan envisions ships plugging into dockside electric power rather than running their diesel-powered auxiliary generators for lighting, cargo handling, heating and cooling, accommodation, and onboard electronics. It would also call for replacing diesel-powered cranes, forklifts, and trucks that move massive shipping containers from ship to shore with battery-powered alternatives.

To delve deeper into this transformative approach, IEEE Spectrum recently spoke with John Prousalidis, a leading advocate for seaport electrification. Prousalidis, a professor of marine electrical engineering at the National Technical University of Athens, has played a pivotal role in developing standards for seaport electrification through his involvement with the IEEE, the International Electrical Commission (IEC), and the International Organization for Standardization (ISO). As vice-chair of the IEEE Marine Power Systems Coordinating Committee, he has been instrumental in advancing these ideas. Last year, Prousalidis co-authored a key paper titled “Holistic Energy Transformation of Ports: The Proteus Plan” in IEEE Electrification Magazine. In the paper, Prousalidis and his co-authors outlined their comprehensive vision for the future of port operations. The main points of the Proteus plan have been integrated in the policy document on Smart and Sustainable Ports coordinated by Prousalidis within the European Public Policy Committee Working Group on Energy; the policy document was approved in July 2024 by the IEEE Global Policy Committee.

Professor John ProusalidisJohn Prousalidis

What exactly is “cold ironing?”

John Prousalidis: Cold ironing involves shutting down a ship’s propulsion and auxiliary engines while at port, and instead, using electricity from shore to power onboard systems like air conditioning, cargo handling equipment, kitchens, and lighting. This reduces emissions because electricity from the grid, especially from renewable sources, is more environmentally friendly than burning diesel fuel on site. The technical challenges include matching the ship’s voltage and frequency with that of the local grid, which, in general, varies globally, while tackling grounding issues to protect against short circuits.

IEEE, along with IEC and ISO, have developed a joint standard, 80005, which is a series of three different standards for high-voltage and low-voltage connection. It is perhaps (along with Wi-Fi, the standard for wireless communication) the “hottest” standard because all governmental bodies tend to make laws stipulating that this is the standard that all ports need to follow to supply power to ships.

How broad has adoption of this standard been?

Prousalidis: The European Union has mandated full compliance by January 1, 2030. In the United States, California led the way with similar measures in 2010. This aggressive remediation via electrification is now being adopted globally, with support from the International Maritime Organization.

Let’s talk about another interesting idea that’s part of the plan: regenerative braking on cranes. How does that work?

Prousalidis: When lowering shipping containers, cranes in regenerative braking mode convert the kinetic energy into electric charge instead of wasting it as heat. Just like when an electric vehicle is coming to a stop, the energy can be fed back into the crane’s battery, potentially saving up to 50 percent in energy costs—though a conservative estimate would be around 20 percent.

What are the estimated upfront costs for implementing cold ironing at, say, the Port of Los Angeles, which is the largest port in the United States?

Prousalidis: The cost for a turnkey solution is approximately US $1.7 million per megawatt, covering grid upgrades, infrastructure, and equipment. A rough estimate using some established rules of thumb would be about $300 million. The electrification process at that port has already begun. There are, as far as I know, about 60 or more electrical connection points for ships at berths there.

How significant would the carbon reduction from present levels be if there were complete electrification with renewable energy at the world’s 10 biggest and busiest ports?

Prousalidis: If ports fully electrify using renewable energy, the European Union’s policy could achieve a 100-percent reduction in ship emissions in the port areas. According to the IMO’s approach, which considers the energy mix of each country, it could lead to a 60-percent reduction. This significant emission reduction means lower emissions of CO₂, nitrogen oxides, sulfur oxides, and particulate matter, thus reducing shipping’s contribution to global warming and lowering health risks in nearby population centers.

If all goes according to plan, and every country with port operations goes full bore toward electrification, how long do you think it will realistically take to completely decarbonize that aspect of shipping?

Prousalidis: As I said, the European Union is targeting full port electrification by 1 January 2030. However, with around 600 to 700 ports in Europe alone, and the need for grid upgrades, delays are possible. Despite this, we should focus on meeting the 2030 deadline rather than anticipating extensions. This recalls the words of Gemini and Apollo pioneer astronaut, Alan Shepard, when he explained the difference between a test pilot and a normal professional pilot: “Suppose each of them had 10 seconds before crashing. The conventional pilot would think, In 10 seconds I’m going to die. The test pilot would say to himself, I’ve got 10 seconds to save myself and save the craft.” The point is that, in a critical situation like the fight against global warming, we should focus on the time we have to solve the problem, not on what happens after time runs out. But humanity doesn’t have an eject button to press if we don’t make every effort to avoid the detrimental consequences that will come with failure of the “save the planet” projects.

There were early signs that Muhammad Hamza Ihtisham was born to excel in engineering or computer science, but family tradition initially steered him toward a career in medicine. Ihtisham’s mother and other family members were medical professionals. His father is a businessman.

Even though his father had dreamed of having a son in the engineering field, it was assumed that Ihtisham would become a doctor. And he almost did. But when he didn’t pass the medical qualifying exams in high school, he saw it as a sign to switch professions.

Muhammad Hamza Ihtisham

Employer:

Jazz in Lahore, Pakistan

Title:

Network experience specialist in radio

Member grade:

IEEE member

Alma mater:

University of the Punjab

“I asked my parents and my principal for permission to switch my focus from medicine to computer science,” he says. Although the change took effect only three months before he had to take exams, he scored high enough to place third among the computer science students at his school. He has never looked back.

Ihtisham is now a network experience specialist in radio at the largest telecommunications provider in Pakistan: Lahore-based Jazz. Ihtisham monitors, supervises, and troubleshoots nationwide wireless networks and is a team player who implements smart systems and AI-based solutions to optimize network performance.

“We are working with 2G, 3G, and 4G network supervision,” he says, “and we’re also evolving for 5G and optical fiber networks.”

Muhammad Hamza Ihtisham chats with 2018 IEEE President Jim Jefferies.Muhammad Hamza Ihtisham

Early evidence of STEM affinity

Ihtisham didn’t need much encouragement to become an engineer, he says, adding that he always has wanted to work with technology.

When he was young, his father bought him a computer with a Pentium II CPU “at a time when there were very few computers in my town,” he says.

Ihtisham’s curiosity led him to dismantle and explore its components, fostering a deeper interest in technology.

“I destroyed many motherboards and processors when I pulled them out of the computer to see how they worked,” he says. It was part of his innate tendency to get to the bottom of how things worked. “I still have that spark in me, that inner child who wants to open things up and investigate how they work.”

He earned a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering with a specialization in telecommunications from the University of the Punjab in 2018. He returned to pursue a master’s degree in industrial engineering and management—which he received in 2022.

Thanks to his IEEE connections, Ihtisham secured his position at Jazz even before getting his bachelor’s degree. As the university’s IEEE student branch chair, Ihtisham invited an engineer from Jazz to speak to students on campus. When Ihtisham later showed up at the company for a job interview, that same engineer was the department head and immediately recognized him.

Since his college days, Ihtisham has poured time and energy into giving back to the profession through participation in IEEE. He founded his school’s student chapter and today serves as chair of the IEEE Lahore Section’s Young Professionals group. He is also the deputy lead of the global technical and operation committee of the IEEE Young Professionals mentoring program, which connects experts with mentees to help them learn and further their career.

Active IEEE student leader

Ihtisham entered college thinking he would become a computer scientist, but before long he became convinced that his true passion lay in engineering. Noticing a gap in student activities within the school’s EE department, he joined IEEE in his third semester.

Although the university was more than 150 years old, electrical engineering was a relatively new course of study there.

“My graduating class had only the 10th cohort of graduates to earn that degree from the university,” he says.

As founder of the school’s IEEE student branch, Ihtisham set about adding activities and opportunities for would-be engineers that he felt were missing. He was the branch’s first chair, organizing activities, boosting membership, and overseeing initiatives that impacted his university and the wider IEEE Lahore Section. He was then appointed a student representative for the section.

“That was a turning point for me,” he says.

He originally started volunteering with IEEE for a pragmatic purpose that served the entire engineering student body, he says, but as he settled into his new leadership roles, volunteering became a source of personal fulfillment and development.

“When I started my IEEE journey, I was not prepared. But I worked on my leadership, my behavior, and improving my soft skills. So, you could say my involvement with IEEE has transformed my personality and served as leadership training.”

For his efforts, he has been recognized with several awards including the IEEE Lahore Section’s 2018 Outstanding Volunteer for organizing student activities and conferences.

“When I started my IEEE journey, I was not well groomed,” Ihistham says. “But I worked on my leadership, my behavior, and improving my soft skills. So, you could say my involvement with IEEE has transformed my personality and served as leadership training.”

The communications and negotiating skills he picked up by networking with IEEE members across the globe have benefited him at Jazz, he says.

His dedication to IEEE didn’t end with his student years. Today his roles involve mentoring, networking, and leading initiatives to foster growth and collaboration in the engineering community.

Now his leadership skills help him manage and motivate other volunteers and mentor engineering students. He received the 2021 IEEE MGA Young Professionals Achievement Award for organizing YP activities and the 2021 IEEE IAS Young Member Service Award for virtually engaging IEEE Industry Applications Society members during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Advice for aspiring engineers

To students considering a career in electrical engineering, Ihtisham emphasizes the importance of finding the right mentors and embracing open-source collaboration. He advises discussing ideas with experts to gain valuable insights and foster innovative thinking.

His success story underscores the value of mentorship, continuous learning, and community engagement. While he was in graduate school working toward his master’s degree, he began doing research to develop an effective and reliable brain-computer interface. He talked with the medical professionals in his family for information about how the brain works but then found himself at an impasse because there were not enough datasets in Pakistan for training his machine-learning software.

He reached out to the IEEE community and found a mentor for the project at the University of New South Wales in Sydney. Their collaboration was fruitful enough that Ihtisham was invited to present a TEDx talk on what he had learned about addiction and neurofeedback.

Based on that project, he took home third prize in the IEEE IAS Chapters and Membership Department Zucker Undergraduate Student Design Contest in 2019.

Ihtisham’s journey with IEEE exemplifies the impact of dedication, mentorship, and continued learning on building an interesting and successful engineering career.

“My success is having an impact on my younger cousins,” he says. “If they want to pursue a career in engineering or another STEM field, they have someone in the family who can guide them.”

Stop for a second and think about the Internet without digital images or video. There would be no faces on Facebook. Instagram and TikTok probably wouldn’t exist. Those Zoom meetings that took the place of in-person gatherings for school or work during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic? Not an option.

Digital audio’s place in our Internet-connected world is just as important as still images and video. It has changed the music business—from production to distribution to the way fans buy, collect, and store their favorite songs.

What do those millions of profiles on LinkedIn, dating apps, and social media platforms (and the inexhaustible selection of music available for download online) have in common? They rely on a compression algorithm called the discrete cosine transform, or DCT, which played a major role in allowing digital files to be transmitted across computer networks.

“DCT has been one of the key components of many past image- and video-coding algorithms for more than three decades,” says Touradj Ebrahimi, a professor at Ecole Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne, in Switzerland, who currently serves as chairman of the JPEG standardization committee. “Only a few image-compression standards not using DCT exist today,” he adds.

The Internet applications people use every day but largely take for granted were made possible by scientists and engineers who, for the most part, toiled in anonymity. One such “hidden figure” is Nasir Ahmed, the Indian-American engineer who figured out an elegant way to cut down the size of digital image files without sacrificing their most critical visual details.

Ahmed published his seminal paper about the discrete cosine transform compression algorithm he invented in 1974, a time when the fledgling Internet was exclusively dial-up and text-based. There were no pictures accompanying the words, nor could there have been, because Internet data was transmitted over standard copper telephone landlines, which was a major limitation on speed and bandwidth.

“Only a few image-compression standards not using DCT exist today.” –Touradj Ebrahimi, EPFL

These days, with the benefit of superfast chips and optical-fiber networks, data download speeds for a laptop with a fiber connection reach 1 gigabit per second. So, a music lover can download a 4-minute song to their laptop (or more likely a smartphone) in a second or two. In the dial-up era, when Internet users’ download speeds topped out at 56 kilobits per second (and were usually only half that fast), pulling down the same song from a server would have taken nearly all day. Getting a picture to appear on a computer’s screen was a process akin to watching grass grow.

Ahmed was convinced there had to be a way to cut down the size of digital files and speed up the process. He set off on a quest to represent with ones and zeros what is critical to an image being legible, while tossing aside the bits that are less important. The answer, which built on the earlier work of mathematician and information-theory pioneer Claude Shannon, took a while to come into focus. But because of Ahmed’s determination and unwavering belief in the value of what he was doing, he persevered even after others told him that it was not worth the effort.

Raised to Love Technology

It seemed almost preordained that Ahmed would have a career in one of the STEM fields. Nasir, who was born in Bengaluru, India, in 1940, was raised by his maternal grandparents. Ahmed’s grandfather was an electrical engineer who told him that he had been sent to the United States in 1919 to work at General Electric‘s location in Schenectady, N.Y. He shared tales of his time in the United States with his grandson and encouraged young Nasir to emigrate there. In 1961, after earning a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering at the University of Visvesvaraya College of Engineering, in Bengaluru, Ahmed did just that, leaving India that fall for graduate school at the University of New Mexico, in Albuquerque. Ahmed earned a master’s degree and a Ph.D. in electrical engineering in 1963 and 1966, respectively.

During his first year in Albuquerque, he met Esther Parente, a graduate student from Argentina. They soon became inseparable and were married while he was working toward his doctorate. Sixty years later, they are still together.

The Seed of an Idea

In 1966, Ahmed, fresh out of grad school with his Ph.D., was hired as a principal research engineer at Honeywell’s newly created computer division. While there, Ahmed was first exposed to Walsh functions, a technique for analyzing digital representations of analog signals. The fast algorithms that could be created based on Walsh functions had many potential applications. Ahmed focused on using these signal-processing and analysis techniques to reduce the file size of a digital image without losing too much of the visual detail in the uncompressed version.

That research focus remained his primary interest when he returned to academia, taking a job as a professor in the electrical and computer engineering department at Kansas State University, in 1968.

Ahmed, like dozens of other researchers around the globe, was obsessed with finding the answer to a single question: How do you create a mathematical formula for deciphering which of the ones and zeros that represent a digital image need to be kept and which can be thrown away? The things he’d learned at Honeywell gave him a framework for understanding the elements of the problem and how to attack it. But the majority of the credit for the eventual breakthrough has to go to Ahmed’s steely determination and willingness to take a gamble on himself.

In 1972, he sought grant funding that would let him afford to spend the months between Kansas State’s spring and fall semesters furthering his ideas. He applied for a U.S. National Science Foundation grant, but was denied. Ahmed recalls the moment: “I had a strong intuition that I could find an efficient way to compress digital signal data. But to my surprise, the reviewers said the idea was too simple, so they rejected the proposal.”

Undaunted, Ahmed and his wife worked to make the salary he earned during the nine-month school year last through the summer so he could focus on his research. Money was tight, the couple recalls, but that moment of financial belt-tightening only seemed to heighten Ahmed’s industriousness. They persevered, and Ahmed’s long days and late nights in the lab eventually yielded the desired result.

DCT Compression Comes Together

Ahmed took a technique for turning the array of image-processing data representing an image’s pixels into a waveform, effectively rendering it as a series of waves with oscillating frequencies, and combined it with cosine functions that were already being used to model phenomena such as light waves, sound waves, and electric current. The result was a long string of numbers with values bounded by 1 and –1. Ahmed realized that by quantizing this string of values and performing a Fourier transformation to break the function into its constituent frequencies, each pixel’s data could be represented in a way that was helpful for deciding what data points must be kept and what could be omitted. Ahmed observed that the lower-frequency waves corresponded to the necessary or “high information” regions of the image, while the higher-frequency waves represented the bits that were less important and could therefore be approximated. The compressed-image files he and his team produced were one-tenth the size of the originals. What’s more, the process could be reversed, and a shrunken data file would yield an image that was sufficiently similar to the original.

After another two years of laborious testing, with he and his two collaborators running computer programs written on decks of data punch cards, the trio published a paper in IEEE Transactions On Computers titled “Discrete Cosine Transform” in January 1974. Though the paper’s publication did not make it immediately clear, the worldwide search for a reliable method of doing the lossy compression that Claude Shannon had postulated in the 1940s was over.

JPEGs, MPEGs, and More

It wasn’t until 1983 that the International Organization for Standardization (ISO) began working on the technology that would allow photo-quality images to accompany text on the screens of computer terminals. To that end, ISO established the Joint Photographic Experts Group, better known by the ubiquitous acronym JPEG. By the time the first JPEG standard was published in 1992, DCT and advances made by a cadre of other researchers had come to be recognized by the group as basic elements of their method for the digital compression and coding of still images. “This is the beauty of standardization, where several dozen bright minds are behind the success of advances such as JPEG,” says Ebrahimi.

And because video can be described as a succession of still images, Ahmed’s technique was also well suited to making video files smaller. DCT was the compression technique of choice when ISO and the international Electrotechnical Commission (IEC) established the Moving Picture Experts Group, or MPEG, for the compression and coding of audio, video, graphics, and genomic data in 1988. When the first MPEG standard was published in 1993, the World Wide Web that now includes Google Maps, dating apps, and e-commerce businesses was just four years old.

The ramping up of computer speeds and network bandwidth during that decade—along with the ability to transmit pictures and video via much smaller files—quickly transformed the Internet before anyone knew that Amazon would eventually let readers judge millions of books by their covers.

Having solved the problem that had monopolized his time and attention for several years, Ahmed resumed his career in academia. In 1993, the year the first MPEG standard went on the books, Ahmed left Kansas State and returned to the University of New Mexico. There he was a presidential professor of electrical and computer engineering until 1989, when he was promoted to chair of the ECE department. Five years after that, he became dean of UNM’s school of engineering­. Ahmed held that post for two years until he was named associate provost for research and dean of graduate studies. He stayed in that job until he retired from the university in 2001 and was named professor emeritus.

In July, two companies announced a collaboration aimed at helping to decarbonize maritime fuel technology. The companies, Brooklyn-based Amogy and Osaka-based Yanmar, say they plan to combine their respective areas of expertise to develop power plants for ships that use Amogy’s advanced technology for cracking ammonia to produce hydrogen fuel for Yanmar’s hydrogen internal combustion engines.

This partnership responds directly to the maritime industry’s ambitious goals to significantly reduce greenhouse gas emissions. The International Maritime Organization (IMO) has set stringent targets. It is calling for a 40 percent reduction in shipping’s carbon emissions from 2008 levels by 2030. But will the companies have a commercially available reformer-engine unit available in time for shipping fleet owners to launch vessels featuring this technology by the IMO’s deadline? The urgency is there, but so are the technical hurdles that come with new technologies.

Shipping accounts for less than 3 percent of global human-caused CO₂ emissions, but decarbonizing the industry would still have a profound impact on global efforts to combat climate change. According to the IMO’s 2020 Fourth Greenhouse Gas Study, shipping produced 1,056 million tonnes of carbon dioxide in 2018.

Amogy and Yanmar did not respond to IEEE Spectrum‘s requests for comment about the specifics of how they plan to synergize their areas of focus. But John Prousalidis, a professor at the National Technical University of Athens’s School of Naval Architecture and Marine Engineering, spoke with Spectrum to help put the announcement in context.

“We have a long way to go. I don’t mean to sound like a pessimist, but we have to be very cautious.” —John Prousalidis, National Technical University of Athens

Prousalidis is among a group of researchers pushing for electrification of seaport activities as a means of cutting greenhouse gas emissions and reducing the amount of pollutants such as nitrogen oxides and sulfur oxides being spewed into the air by ships at berth and by the cranes, forklifts, and trucks that handle shipping containers in ports. He acknowledged that he hasn’t seen any information specific to Amogy and Yanmar’s technical ideas for using ammonia as ships’ primary fuel source for propulsion, but he has studied maritime sector trends long enough—and helped create standards for the IEEE, the International Electrotechnical Commission (IEC), and the International Organization for Standardization (ISO)—in order to have a strong sense of how things will likely play out.

“We have a long way to go,” Prousalidis says. “I don’t mean to sound like a pessimist, but we have to be very cautious.” He points to NASA’s Artemis project, which is using hydrogen as its primary fuel for its rockets.

“The planned missile launch for a flight to the moon was repeatedly postponed because of a hydrogen leak that could not be well traced,” Prousalidis says. “If such a problem took place with one spaceship that is the singular focus of dozens of people who are paying attention to the most minor detail, imagine what could happen on any of the 100,000 ships sailing across the world?”

What’s more, he says, bold but ultimately unsubstantiated announcements from companies are fairly common. Amogy and Yanmar aren’t the first companies to suggest tapping into ammonia for cargo ships—the industry is no stranger to plans to adopt the fuel to move massive ships across the world’s oceans.

“A couple of big pioneering companies have announced that they’re going to have ammonia-fueled ship propulsion pretty soon,” Prousalidis says. “Originally, they announced that it would be available at the end of 2022. Then they said the end of 2023. Now they’re saying something about 2025.”

Shipping produced 1,056 million tonnes of carbon dioxide in 2018.

Prousalidis adds, “Everybody keeps claiming that ‘in a couple of years’ we’ll have [these alternatives to diesel for marine propulsion] ready. We periodically get these announcements about engines that will be hydrogen-ready or ammonia-ready. But I’m not sure what will happen during real operation. I’m sure that they performed several running tests in their industrial units. But in most cases, according to Murphy’s Law, failures will take place at the worst moment that we can imagine.”

All that notwithstanding, Prousalidis says he believes these technical hurdles will someday be solved, and engines running on alternative fuels will replace their diesel-fueled counterparts eventually. But he says he sees the rollout likely mirroring the introduction of natural gas. At the point when a few machines capable of running on that type of fuel were ready, the rest of the logistics chain was not. “We need to have all these brand-new pieces of equipment, including piping, that must be able to withstand the toxicity and combustibility of these new fuels. This is a big challenge, but it means that all engineers have work to do.”

Spectrum also reached out to researchers at the U.S. Department of Energy’s Office of Energy Efficiency and Renewable Energy with several questions about what Amogy and Yanmar say they are looking to pull off. The DOE’s e-mail response: “Theoretically possible, but we don’t have enough technical details (temperature of coupling engine to cracker, difficulty of manifolding, startup dynamics, controls, etc.) to say for certain and if it is a good idea or not.”

This article was updated on 5 August 2024 to correct global shipping emission data.

Schoolchildren around the world are told that they have the potential to be great, often with the cheery phrase: “The sky’s the limit!”

Gladys West took those words literally.

While working for four decades as a mathematician and computer programmer at the U.S. Naval Proving Ground (now the Naval Surface Warfare Center) in Dahlgren, Va., she prepared the way for a satellite constellation in the sky that became an indispensable part of modern life: the Global Positioning System, or GPS.

The second Black woman to ever work at the proving ground, West led a group of analysts who used satellite sensor data to calculate the shape of the Earth and the orbital routes around it. Her meticulous calculations and programming work established the flight paths now used by GPS satellites, setting the stage for navigation and positioning systems on which the world has come to rely.

For decades, West’s contributions went unacknowledged. But she has begun receiving overdue recognition. In 2018 she was inducted into the U.S. Air Force Space and Missile Pioneers Hall of Fame. In 2021 the International Academy of Digital Arts and Sciences presented her its Webby Lifetime Achievement Award, while the U.K. Royal Academy of Engineering gave her the Prince Philip Medal, the organization’s highest individual honor.

West was presented the 2024 IEEE President’s Award for “mathematical modeling and development of satellite geodesy models that played a pivotal role in the development of the Global Positioning System.” The award is sponsored by IEEE.

How the “hidden figure” overcame barriers

West’s path to becoming a technology professional and an IEEE honoree was an unlikely one. Born in 1930 in Sutherland, Va., she grew up working on her family’s farm. To supplement the family’s income, her mother worked at a tobacco factory and her father was employed by a railroad company.

Physical toil in the hot sun from daybreak until sundown with paltry financial returns, West says, made her determined to do something other than farming.

Every day when she ventured into the fields to sow or harvest crops with her family, her thoughts were on the little red schoolhouse beyond the edge of the farm. She recalls gladly making the nearly 5-kilometer trek from her house, through the woods and over streams, to reach the one-room school.

She knew that postsecondary education was her ticket out of farm life, so throughout her school years she made sure she was a standout student and a model of focus and perseverance.

Her parents couldn’t afford to pay for her college education, but as valedictorian of her high school class, she earned a full-tuition scholarship from the state of Virginia. Money she earned as a babysitter paid for her room and board.

West decided to pursue a degree in mathematics at Virginia State College (now Virginia State University), a historically Black school in Petersburg.

At the time, the field was dominated by men. She earned a bachelor’s degree in the subject in 1952 and became a schoolteacher in Waverly, Va. After two years in the classroom, she returned to Virginia State to pursue a master’s degree in mathematics, which she earned in 1955.

Gladys West at her desk, meticulously crunching numbers manually in the era before computers took over such tasks.Gladys West

Setting the groundwork for GPS

West began her career at the Naval Proving Ground in early 1956. She was hired as a mathematician, joining a cadre of workers who used linear algebra, calculus, and other methods to manually solve complex problems such as differential equations. Their mathematical wizardry was used to handle trajectory analysis for ships and aircraft as well as other applications.

She was one of four Black employees at the facility, she says, adding that her determination to prove the capability of Black professionals drove her to excel.

As computers were introduced into the Navy’s operations in the 1960s, West became proficient in Fortran IV. The programming language enabled her to use the IBM 7030—the world’s fastest supercomputer at the time—to process data at an unprecedented rate.

Because of her expertise in mathematics and computer science, she was appointed director of projects that extracted valuable insights from satellite data gathered during NASA missions. West and her colleagues used the data to create ever more accurate models of the geoid—the shape of the Earth—factoring in gravitational fields and the planet’s rotation.

One such mission was Seasat, which lasted from June to October 1978. Seasat was launched into orbit to test oceanographic sensors and gain a better understanding of Earth’s seas using the first space-based synthetic aperture radar (SAR) system, which enabled the first remote sensing of the Earth’s oceans.

SAR can acquire high-resolution images at night and can penetrate through clouds and rain. Seasat captured many valuable 2D and 3D images before a malfunction caused the satellite to be taken down.

Enough data was collected from Seasat for West’s team to refine existing geodetic models to better account for gravity and magnetic forces. The models were important for precisely mapping the Earth’s topography, determining the orbital routes that would later be used by GPS satellites, as well as documenting the spatial relationships that now let GPS determine exactly where a receiver is.

In 1986 she published the “Data Processing System Specifications for the GEOSAT Satellite Radar Altimeter” technical report. It contained new calculations that could make her geodetic models more accurate. The calculations were made possible by data from the radio altimeter on the GEOSAT, a Navy satellite that went into orbit in March 1985.

West’s career at Dahlgren lasted 42 years. By the time she retired in 1998, all 24 satellites in the GPS constellation had been launched to help the world keep time and handle navigation. But her role was largely unknown.

A model of perseverance

Neither an early bout of imposter syndrome nor the racial tensions that were an everyday element of her work life during the height of the Civil Rights Movement were able to knock her off course, West says.

In the early 1970s, she decided that her career advancement was not proceeding as smoothly as she thought it should, so she decided to go to graduate school part time for another degree. She considered pursuing a doctorate in mathematics but realized, “I already had all the technical credentials I would ever need for my work for the Navy.” Instead, to solidify her skills as a manager, she earned a master’s degree in 1973 in public administration from the University of Oklahoma in Norman.

After retiring from the Navy, she earned a doctorate in public administration in 2000 from Virginia Tech. Although she was recovering from a stroke at the time that affected her physical abilities, she still had the same drive to pursue an education that had once kept her focused on a little red schoolhouse.

A formidable legacy

West’s contributions have had a lasting impact on the fields of mathematics, geodesy, and computer science. Her pioneering efforts in a predominantly male and racially segregated environment set a precedent for future generations of female and minority scientists.

West says her life and career are testaments to the power of perseverance, skill, and dedication—or “stick-to-it-iveness,” to use her parlance. Her story continues to inspire people who strive to push boundaries. She has shown that the sky is indeed not the limit but just the beginning.