Category Archives: Automation

Time to rest my servos?

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By Timothy Revell

Therobot takeoverwill start in the smaller cities. Towns and small cities have a smaller proportion of jobs that will be resilient to automation than larger urban centres, according to a new study.

By looking at the jobs that are most susceptible toautomationand their distribution across different US cities, Iyad Rahwanat the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Media Lab and his team have found a trend between the size of a city and the impact we should expect artificial intelligence and robots to have on human workers. Roughly speaking, cities with fewer than 100,000 inhabitants are more at risk.

The East Coast cities are full of jobs that should be resilient to automation. Washington DC, for example, has many government-related roles that are hard to automate, and New York, with its population of 8.5 million, is able to support many specialist jobs too.

On the other hand, in Madera County in California a wine-growing area with a population of just 60,000 many of the agricultural jobs can be done by machines. Nearby San Francisco with a population of 850,000 will be resilient due to its size and thanks to being a centre of innovation.

Thats the overall trend, but there are, of course, outliers. Las Vegas is relatively large, having about 600,000 residents, but its economy is very dependent on the gambling industry, much of which will probably be automated. Another exception is Boulder in Colorado, a small city with some 100,000 residents. It should be resilient to automation because, like San Francisco, it is home to many start-up companies.

We shouldnt be alarmist, saysRahwan. We shouldnt think that automation will mean massive unemployment, but there will be some kind of a shock. The impact may lead toretraining, migration or new types of jobs, not simply unemployment.

One example from history is the impact that the invention of the ATM had on bank tellers. Initially people thought bank tellers would disappear, but actually their numbers increased. ATMs meant it was cheaper to open new branches, and staff could focus on customer service instead of counting cash.

Much of the recent hype around automation comes froma study from the University of Oxford in 2013, which asked experts how easy certain jobs would be to automate using artificial intelligence and robotics. The study then extrapolated from this and found that 47 per cent of all US jobs were at high risk of computerisation.

Guessing absolute numbers is tricky, because predicting the impact of automation is really just an educated guess. But looking at the relative impact whether one place is more susceptible than another can still be revealing.

In the new study, Rahwan and his team have found that the types of jobs that are hardest to automate become increasingly prevalent in larger cities. For example, the job of a checkout assistant is relatively easy to automate, and so regardless of a citys population you would expect the proportion of residents there with that job to remain the same.

But the proportion of people with jobs that rely on analytical, management and organisational skills, such as computer scientists or chemists, increases with city size. Once a city becomes large enough, it can support more technical jobs than smaller cities.

The study adds evidence to the idea that megacities will become even more important, says Lesley Giles at the Work Foundation in London. Larger cities attract resources, skills and expertise, and this creates a virtuous circle of improvements and growth, she says.

These findings are also likely to apply in Europe where cities have a similar range of jobs. But some places follow a different model. In China, for example, cities often specialise in one type of product, which could make the influence of automation quite different.

The future effect of automation on jobs is yet to be fully determined, but it looks as if city size will play a part. For us to survive the tidal wave of automation we need to be able to do more creative work and combine our skills with others in a creative way, says Rahwan. Maybe the metropolis is the answer to our fears.

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Automation will have a bigger impact on jobs in smaller cities - New Scientist

Robotics, automation taking root on...

SANTA MARIA, Calif. - Technology is rapidly changing how we live, work and learn here on the Central Coast and all indications point to that trend continuing.

At their workshop next to Atascadero High School, Team 973 The Greybots is celebrating their second World Team Robotics Championship they recently won in Houston, Texas.

"We created a robot with both an effective gear mechanism and an effective shooter that set us up to rank high at competitions and win", says team member Leila Silver.

Team 973 had just six weeks to conceptualize, design and build their award-winning Bloodhound Robot.

"We take chunks of metal and we make it do amazing things, like win a world championship", says Team 973 member Bryce Nelson, "what we're learning here and what we're seeing in the world, pretty much the application for robots is endless."

Students in the Cal Poly Mechanical Engineering Department's Robotics Program have designs of their own in what has become a fast-growing industry.

"They are becoming more and more intelligent", says Cal Poly Professor Saeed Niku, "we give them the intelligence, they don't really learn that on their own, they don't create that intelligence, but we can have processes where they actually learn behavior."

"Its applications in general surgery has pretty much exploded", says general surgeon Dr. Brian Tuai who has performed a record 500 robotic surgeries at St. John's Regional Medical Center in Oxnard.

"It allows us to perform the operation in a safer manner, more precise manner", Dr. Tuai says, "people talk about you have to have the hand of a surgeon, I think you may have to change that to you have to have the hand of a robot, there's really no tremors at all, it gets rid of any kind of tremor that's in a surgeon's hand."

Dr. Tuai says the robot has dramatically altered surgical procedures including gall bladder and hernia operations.

"I think anecdotally we see that, from experience, patients recoveries are significantly quicker and better", Dr. Tuai says.

Mechanization has been part of Central Coast agriculture for decades but with a growing shortage of agricultural workers, due in large part to a lack of federal immigration reform, and more stringent regulations, robotics and automation are quickly becoming a viable option for local growers and farmers trying to stay in business.

"I think it has to be", says Kevin Merrill with Mesa Vineyards and the Santa Barbara County Farm Bureau, "when we're seeing labor rates going up, we're paying 12, 14,15 dollars an hour, they're talking about limiting the number of hours you can work out in the field, something has to give."

Merrill is the seventh-generation in his family to work in agriculture.

"Unfortunately new folks coming along, kids in high school and going into college, they're not attracted to come out here and work in the fields, they don't want to, its a hard job", Merrill says, "so somewhere we have to replace those bodies and we're lucky in the wine grape industry that we're able to do that mechanically."

Those who are profiting from the transition to automation say they are creating jobs just as the robots they make take jobs away.

"The problem with robots is they also do replace human workers in many situations", says Cal Poly Professor Niku, "so we always have to think about that in the back of our minds, what do the robots do to other people, the workers."

"It still relies on the surgeon's expertise and experience, it is not going to do everything by itself, it doesn't do anything by itself", says Dr. Brian Tuai, "it is completely under control of the surgeon during the operation."

In the meantime, the future is now and very bright for members of Team 973 The Greybots.

"That's kind of for our generation because what we see here, we're learning more and more about robots", says Team 973 member Bryce Nelson, "we need to kind of find that balance between jobs that robots can do more efficiently and also having jobs for the American people."

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Robotics, automation taking root on Central Coast - KEYT

Kansas City Star

Digital Life: Potential automation of KC jobs less than Las Vegas, but Kansas City Star A report this month from the Institute for Spatial Economic Analysis mapped out where automation could, potentially, eliminate the most jobs. It concluded that areas with the most low-wage workers with the fewest skills would be hit hardest places ...

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Digital Life: Potential automation of KC jobs less than Las Vegas, but - Kansas City Star

Local Business

May 14, 2017

According to Dale Decker, executive vice president of Decker Truck Lines Inc., Fort Dodge, automation within the trucking industry is continuously being developed.

For the trucking industry, automation has helped to make the jobs of truckers as theyre on the road safer as it protects them from traffic issues.

And automation continues to evolve for the trucking industry, according to Dale Decker, executive vice president of Decker Truck Line Inc. in Fort Dodge.

Decker said most people arent even aware that automation exists.

Weve been a part of it without knowing, he said, adding that most common methods of automation are part of truckers daily lives.

In fact, Decker said trucks without any form of automation are rare today.

At level zero (of automation), the human does everything, he said. Youd probably have to go far back in time to see that.

The most common level of automation is level one, which includes traction control and stability control.

Level zero would include blind spot detection and turn assistance.

Its kind of the first stage of the autonomous vehicle, he said.

Decker added that automation within the trucking industry is continuously being developed.

Eventually, it may get to the point where the trucks are able to drive themselves without drivers.

But Decker said thats still a long way down the road.

Theyre not talking fully automated vehicles until 2025, he said.

And even if fully automated trucking does come on board, Decker said thats not something Decker Truck Line Inc. is interested in pursuing.

Our purpose with automation is not to eliminate the driver, he said, but give them the tools to make their jobs easier through advancements in technology.

Decker said the push for driverless trucks is mostly coming from the freight market. Because there is a shortage of truck drivers, Decker said the capacity of shipments made via trucking isnt as much as it could be.

But he added truck drivers are critical to the success of the trucking industry.

We know the importance of the professional driver in our industry and economy, he said. Were focusing on the role they play, but giving them the tools through professional automation to make them do their jobs easier and more effectively.

Cutting drivers jobs is not something the company wants to do.

But we dont like looking at eliminating drivers, he said. In science fiction, maybe youll see that (driverless trucks), but not in the real world. Its not really on our radars.

Automation has improved the jobs of truck drivers in multiple ways, according to Decker.

Its made their jobs safer, he said. Theres a collision mitigation system to reduce the chance of a collision. We look at adaptive cruise systems. Stability control systems to reduce rollovers. All of these increase the safety of the vehicles.

And the technology continues to evolve, according to Decker.

One piece of technology that is being developed is known as platooning.

He said this will allow trucks to speak to each other wirelessly so they can interact. If theyre all heading the same direction, one truck will serve as the leader and the other trucks will fall in line behind that one.

The trucks will then automatically go the same speed as each other to stay in line and travel together.

But when its time to make deliveries, the drivers will be able to take over for the last few miles before their stop, he said.

There are many different levels of autonomy and different applications of autonomy, he said.

NEVADA Read a 17-page speech written by USDA staff, or speak from the heart? U.S. Secretary of Agriculture ...

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The present, and future, of transportation includes automation that makes trucks safer - Fort Dodge Messenger

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Make the automation conundrum job No. 1 Pittsburgh Post-Gazette That's because digitization and automation continued to grind away in the background, and not just in the U.S., but around the world. Computer systems and software are like rust they never sleep and they consume a greater slice of Gross Domestic ...

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Make the automation conundrum job No. 1 - Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

MATT O'SULLIVAN

Last updated08:43, May 14 2017

For the first time, the captain of the imperilled Qantas Flight 72 reveals his horrific experience of automation's dark side.

Returning from the toilet,second officer Ross Hales straps into the right-hand-side seat beside Captain Kevin Sullivan in the Qantas jet's cockpit. "No change," Sullivan tells him in his American accent. He is referring to the Airbus A330-300's autopilot and altitude as it cruises at 37,000 feet above the Indian Ocean on a blue-sky day.

Within a minute, the plane's autopilot disconnects. It forces Sullivan to take manual control of Qantas Flight 72, carrying 303 passengers and 12 crew from Singapore to Perth. Five seconds later, stall and over-speed warnings begin blaring.St-aaa-ll, st-aaa-ll,they screech. The over-speed warnings are louder, sounding like a fire bell.Ding, ding, ding, ding. Caution messages light up the instrument panel.

"That's not right," Sullivan exclaims to Hales, who he met for the first time earlier in the day on a bus taking crew from a Singapore hotel to Changi Airport. His reasoning is simple: how can the plane stall and over-speed at the same time? The aircraft is telling him it is flying at both maximum and minimum speeds. Barely 30 seconds earlier, nothing was untoward. He can see the horizon through the cockpit windows and cross-check instruments to determine that the plane is flying as it should.

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD

Captain Kevin Sullivan: "We were never given any hint during our conversion course to fly this aeroplane that this could happen. And even, I think, the manufacturer felt this could never happen. It's not their intention to build an aeroplane that is going to go completely haywire and try and kill you."

"You'd better get Peter back," Sullivan says, urgency in his voice. Minutes earlier, first officer Peter Lipsett, a former Navy Seahawk pilot, left for his scheduled break. Hales picks up the plane's interphone to call the customer service manager to track down the first officer.

READ MORE: *Glitch blamed for Qantas plane plunge *Couple seek compo over Qantas flight

CHRIS SKELTON

Former flight attendant Fuzzy Maiava - once an Auckland policeman - has not worked since the incident aboard QF72 and suffers chronic physical and psychological injuries.

In the rear galley, flight attendant Fuzzy Maiava slides his meal into an oven. He can relax slightly after collecting meal trays from passengers. Window blinds are drawn in the cabin, and calm has descended following lunch service. Some passengers queue for toilets. As Maiava closes the oven door, an off-duty Qantas captain and his wife, who have been on holiday, join him in the galley.

"Hey Fuzz, where's your wine?" they ask.

"Just help yourself you know where it is," Maiava laughs. As they pour a glass, Maiava glances at the oven's timer. There are 13 seconds left.

"It just looked like the Incredible Hulk had gone through [the plane] in a rage and ripped the place apart," Sullivan says.

Booooom.A crashing sound tears through the cabin. In a split second, the galley floor disappears beneath Maiava's feet, momentarily giving him a sense of floating in space. Blood rushes to his head as he, the off-duty captain and his wife are propelled into the ceiling, knocking them out.

In the cockpit, Sullivan instinctively grabs the control stick the moment he feels the plane's nose pitch down violently at 12.42pm (Western Australia time). The former US Navy fighter pilot pulls back on the stick to thwart the jet's rapid descent, bracing himself against an instrument panel shade. Nothing happens. So he lets go. Pulling back on the stick does not halt the plunge. If the plane suddenly returns control, pulling back might worsen their situation by pitching the nose up and causing a dangerous stall.

Within two seconds, the plane dives 150 feet. In a gut-wrenching moment, all the two pilots can see through the cockpit window is the blue of the Indian Ocean. "Is my life going to end here today?" Sullivan asks himself. His heart is thumping. Those on board QF72 are in dire trouble. There are no ejection seats like the combat jets Sullivan flew in the US Navy. He has no control over this plane.

JASON REED/REUTERS

In the air, complex computer systems oversee a new generation of planes, reducing the control of pilots who spend long periods of flights keeping watch.

"It's the worst thing that can happen when you are in an aeroplane when you are not in control," he recalls. "And you have a choice. You can either succumb to that or you fight it. I was fighting that outcome and have been ever since."

Eight years after QF72 dived towards the ocean,the Top Gun pilot nicknamed "Sully" since his teens is breaking his silence. "We're in an out-of-control aeroplane, we're all juiced up by our own bodies because, we thought, we are in a near-death situation, and we've got to be rocket scientists to figure out how we can go in there and land the plane outside of any established procedures," he says.

"We were never given any hint during our conversion course to fly this aeroplane that this could happen. And even, I think, the manufacturer felt this could never happen. It's not their intention to build an aeroplane that is going to go completely haywire and try and kill you."

Passengers and crew hit the ceiling as QF72 went into a sudden nosedive, suffering moderate to severe injuries.

The events of October 7, 2008, are not merely about how three Qantas pilots found themselves fighting to save a passenger plane from itself. It serves as a cautionary tale as society accelerates towards a world of automation and artificial intelligence.

The days of driverless cars, trucks and trains becoming commonplace are fast approaching. South Australia ran the country's first on-road trial of driverless cars in 2015. In two years, Sydney will become the first city in Australia to run driverless passenger trains ona new A$20 billion (NZ$21.5 billion) metro railway. Proponents tout the multiple benefits of autonomous vehicles, such as the removal of human error dramatically reducing crashes.

In the air, complex computer systems already oversee a new generation of planes, reducing the control of pilots who spend long periods of flights keeping watch. The technology has helped make the world's ever-more crowded skies safer. Yet paradoxically, it is technology that threatened the lives of those on QF72. And Sullivan still harbours fears about greater automation of flying after the computer system on the Airbus aircraft he was captaining wrenched control from its three pilots in 2008.

Paramedics assess injured passengers after QF72's emergency landing at a West Australian RAAF base.

"Even though these planes are super-safe and they're so easy to fly, when they fail they are presenting pilots with situations that are confusing and potentially outside their realms to recover," he says. "For pilots to me it's leading you down the garden path to say, 'You don't need to know how to fly anymore.' You just sit there until things go wrong."

CABIN CARNAGE

Seconds after the A330 nosedives, Sullivan begins to receive responses to his control-stick movements. Slowly, it starts to give him control. As it does, he lets the plane continue to descend before gingerly levelling off and climbing back to 37,000 feet. Sullivan knows intuitively there will be serious injuries in the cabin. The plunge is of a magnitude he generated in fighter jets during his days flying from US aircraft carriers in the Persian Gulf and North Atlantic during the Cold War.

Yet this is apassenger plane. In less than a second, the gravitational force bearing on those on board switches from positive 1G to negative 0.8G. As the plane drops, it literally flings into orbit people not belted into their seats. A G-force of 1G allows you to keep your feet on the Earth's surface, while 0G creates weightlessness. Negative 1G will propel you at your body weight into freefall. In all, the Qantas aircraft drops 690 feet in 23 seconds. A savinggrace is that Hales, the second officer, presses a button for the seatbelt sign to alert passengers the moment he feels the plane lurch.

It is too late for more than 60 passengers and crew, bouncing about like in a pinball machine. Malcolm Yeo is standing near the rear galley, talking with a flight attendant about buying a duty-free watch when he hears the engines reduce power. The then aviation lecturer at Perth's Edith Cowan University assumes the pilots are preparing for clear-air turbulence. It is common at high altitudes and occurs in cloudless skies when air masses collide, causing severe buffeting of planes. Seconds after gazing out a window, Yeo is propelled into the cabin ceiling. The sound of passengers screaming and glass breaking rips through the cabin. Seated in the middle of the cabin, Yeo's wife, Shirley, is worried sick about her husband. She was dozing when he left his seat.

A few metres from Yeo, Maiava lies on the rear-galley floor after hitting the ceiling. On the way down, he hit the galley bench and was thrown against the meal-cart storage. Regaining his senses, Maiava sees blood gushing from the off-duty Qantas captain's head. He lies unconscious on the floor. The captain's wife also a senior Qantas flight attendant begins to regain consciousness.

Beyond the galley curtain, two unaccompanied sisters Maiava has been watching over scream. Fear in her eyes, the youngest reaches a hand out to Maiava. Barely conscious, he cannot do a thing to comfort her. Oxygen masks dangle from the ceiling, swaying from side to side. Baggage and broken bottles litter the cabin floor.

Suddenly, a passenger from an Indian tour group rushes into the galley in a panic, pointing at an inflated life jacket around his neck. His face is turning blue.

"The guy's choking," Maiava shouts. Maiava knows how to deflate the jacket. But in a semi-conscious state, his mind freezes. The off-duty captain's wife thrusts a pen at the passenger, pointing at a nozzle in the life jacket.Thrusting the pen into the nozzle, the passenger deflates his jacket and gasps for breath. Seconds later, he bows in gratitude. Maiava tells him bluntly to get back to his seat.

SECOND NOSEDIVE

In the cockpit, over-speed and stall warnings keep ringing in the pilots' ears as the plane recovers to 37,000 feet above the Indian Ocean, about 150 kilometres west of the small Western Australian town of Exmouth. Sullivan and Hales have no idea what caused the plane to dive. The computer system does not tell them. Sullivan hand-flies as they begin responding to fault and warning messages. One of the aircraft's three flight control primary computers which pilots refer to as PRIMs is faulty. They begin to reset it by flicking the on-off switch.

Then without warning, the plane dives again. Sullivan pulls back on his control stick like he did in the first pitch down. Again, he lets go. It takes several seconds for the plane to respond to the commands. In little more than 15 seconds, the Qantas jet falls 400 feet.

In the rear galley, Maiava senses the aircraft is about to plunge the moment he hears a roar. It sounds like a speedboat running at full throttle as it is suddenly thrown into reverse. In absolute fear, he locks eyes with the wife of the off-duty Qantas captain. The second nosedive less than three minutes after the first propels them towards the ceiling. This time, they avoid hitting it by hanging onto a handrail. Lying on the floor seconds later, Maiava fears they are about to die. He prays death will come quickly and without pain.

"What the hell was that?" second officer Hales exclaims to Sullivan.

"It's the PRIM," the captain replies.

A realisation of their predicament has dawned on Sullivan. The flight control computers the brains of the plane are supposed to keep the plane within an "operating envelope": maximum altitude, maximum and minimum G-force, speed and so on. Yet against the pilots' will, the computers are making commands that are imperilling all on board.

In a conventional aircraft without flight control computers, pilots are responsible for keeping it within the bounds of safe flying. In a passenger jet like the A330, the computers have unfettered control over the horizontal tail 3000 pounds per square inch of pressure that can be moved at the speed of light. It enables the aircraft to descend or climb. For reasons unknown to the pilots, the computer system has switched on "protections".

"The plane is not communicating with me. It's in meltdown. The systems are all vying for attention but they are not telling me anything," Sullivan recalls. "It's high-risk and I don't know what's going to happen."

TOP GUN TO TRAUMA

For a six-year-old,San Diego's North Island is beyond imagination. Perched on a peninsula in San Diego Bay, the naval base is home to aircraft carriers and fighter jet squadrons. On a clear day in 1961, a mass of steel glistens in the sun and American flags flutter in the breeze. John Sullivan, a World War II submariner, has brought his eldest son to see the Blue Angels. The aerial acrobatics of the US Navy's precision flying team leaves a young Kevin Sullivan in awe. "One plane came out of nowhere about 50 feet [15 metres] over the top of me and scared the s...out of me," he recalls. "As soon as I saw that, and I saw the power and I heard the noise, what little boy wouldn't want to be in one of those?"

Eighteen years later, the third-eldest of five children became a US Navy pilot. Within two years, he was flying F-14 jets for the Fighting Aardvarks from the USS America during the Iran hostage crisis. In 1982, his squadron selected him forTop Gun, the Navy's fighter weapon school, made famous by the film of the same name. (His flying "buddies" later featured as extras in the opening scenes ofTop Gunfilmed on the USS Enterprise). In a matter of a few years, he was living an adventure.

His life took another twist in 1983 when he became the first US Navy exchange pilot to the RAAF. His stay in Australia was meant to last three years. But after marrying an Australian and having a daughter, he decided against returning to the US. He joined Qantas.

Three decades later, home is Seaforth in Sydney's northern suburbs and his flying career and marriage are behind him. Now in his early sixties, his silver hair has thinned. As much as he can, he wants to retain control over his life. He guards his privacy and that of those close to him.

Despite intense interest in QF72 in its aftermath, the identity of Sullivan and the two other pilots has remained largely unknown outside Qantas. I contacted Sullivan almost three years ago to hear his account. He was still flying and declined due to sensitivities within Qantas about him talking. His silence ended last year when he left the airline and he got in touch. Over several months, we meet about five times to talk about the event that upended his life.

His former colleagues have noticed changes. "A lot of people mistake Kev for being Canadian because he is not in-your-face," one pilot says. "He has become much more reserved, and he is much more guarded about what he says. He was much more laid-back and laconic in the past."

In reliving QF72 during our meetings, Sullivan's face reddens and he breathes sharply. For a long time afterwards, he did not want to talk about it. Many passengers and crew still don't. It sits apart from other emergencies because it challenges the notion that technology is near fail-safe and superior to pilots' frailties.

CONFUSION RISK

The fly-by-wire systems of modern airliners are a world away from earlier generations of planes flown using stick and rudder. In the Boeing 747 jumbo the backbone of global aviation for almost five decades pilots' control sticks are connected by wires and pulleys to parts of the plane such as the tail. In newer planes, pilots adjust a side-stick to make requests of the flight computer to move. The computer has command over "flight control surfaces" such as the tail or rudder. It sends an electronic signal to move those parts of the plane. A direct mechanical link between most pilots' controls and parts such as wing flaps has been removed.

The intent of the technology is to make flying safer and it has. In the past decade, the number of commercial flights worldwide has surged by almost a quarter to about 40.5 million last year. Despite the surge in flying, fatalities in accidents involving planes carrying more than 14 passengers have fallen from 773 in 2007 to 258 last year, according to the Aviation Safety Network.

While flying is indeed safer, Sullivan's fear is that greater automation risks confusing pilots in an emergency. Eight months after QF72, an Air France A330 jet carrying 228 people on a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Pariscrashed into the Atlantic Ocean, killing all of those on board. Investigators found incorrect speeddata was sent to the plane's flight control systems after ice crystals formed on air-pressure probes mounted on the nose. The autopilot disconnected, surprising the pilots and causing them to react to the false information displayed. They incorrectly pulled up the plane's nose, and seconds later it stalled before plunging into the ocean.

After QF72's second dive,the number three flight control primary computer faults again. Sullivan tells second officer Hales they will not touch it. He knows from a previous check of faults that the plane plunged as soon as they reset PRIM three to operational status. A minute later, Sullivan tells the passengers over the PA system they are dealing with flight control problems, and to stay seated and fasten their seatbelts.

The flight attendants call the pilots on the interphone to find out what is happening. Sullivan is too busy to talk. His priority is to get the first officer, Peter Lipsett, back to the flight deck. Following plane hijackings in the US on September 11, 2001, passengers are banned from entering cockpits in-flight. The crew of QF72 will need to go through a cockpit access procedure an ordeal that takes several minutes when every second matters. Nursing a broken nose from hitting the cabin ceiling, Lipsett eventually rushes into the cockpit.

"It's carnage out there," he exclaims.

"Sit down, strap in, we're in trouble," Sullivan replies. In more than three decades of flying, Sullivan has never before uttered those words. The then 53-year-old has no idea whether they can safely land the plane. At any second, it could lurch into another dive. The systems are going haywire. Stall and over-speed warnings continue to blare. Most of the caution messages want the pilots to give them priority. The pilots face no end to the distractions as they begin intricate work. The button to silence aural warnings is not working.

Harnessed in his seat, Lipsett asks Sullivan whether he wants to declare a PAN, a warning one step from a mayday. "Yes," he responds. Shortly before the plane dived, they had flown past a RAAF base at Learmonth, near Exmouth on the North West Cape. Learmonth is the diversionary airport for north-west Australia, its runway long enough to handle an A330.

Knowing passengers are likely to be badly injured, the second officer Hales asks for adamage report from the flight attendants. The response shocks: passengers and crew suffering moderate to severe injuries with broken bones and lacerations.

"That's it declare a mayday," Sullivan says.

'WE'RE IN DEEP S....'

Lying on the ground near the rear galley, Malcolm Yeo feels his body for breakages. His hip, shoulder and head are sore. Anxious about his wife, he decides to make his way back. The scene that confronts him is distressing. Passengers groan and cry; ceiling panels lie everywhere. Yeo eventually makes it to his seat, where his wife meets him with relief.

In the rear galley, the wife of the off-duty Qantas captain helps her husband and Maiava as best she can. She calls the flight deck, telling first officer Lipsett that both men are seriously injured. He warns her that the plane could dive again. Maiava is eager to get seated. "We have to move we have to get to our seats," he says. Together, they shuffle to nearby jump seats.

Minutes later, they hear another announcement over the PA from the captain. Sullivan tells passengers he expects to land within 15 minutes at Learmonth where emergency services will be waiting. They need to stay seated with their seatbelts fastened.

As soon as air-traffic control in Melbourne responds to the mayday, alerts stream to authorities around the country. Planes in northern Western Australia on the same radio frequency hear the distress call, and controllers broadcast QF72's plight to the rest of the country's airspace. With QF72 diverting, Qantas' crisis centre in Sydney is activated while West Australian police and a small medical centre at Exmouth kick into gear. Because of the airfield's remoteness, emergency services need at least 30 minutes to prepare. The services in the area are basic: a fire truck and two ambulances.

Yet Sullivan still does not know whether they can land. The computer system is not telling them what data it is sampling and what it is doing. Thoughts race through the captain's mind: "What is my strategy? How will I stop a pitch down if it happens during landing?" In less than three minutes, the A330 has dived twice. Will it do it again?

Yet their only real option is landing at Learmonth. Flying on to Perth could worsen matters. "I have nine crew injured out of 12 and mass casualties that is serious," Sullivan recalls. "It means we're in deep s...." They punch "Learmonth Airport" into the computer used for navigation. The computer shows an error.

"After that second pitch down, I was really furious I was being put in a position to question my mortality," Sullivan says. "I was cursing like a drunken sailor." As best they can, the pilots have to suppress their physiological reactions. These might help someone lift a car in a life-or-death situation, but they cloud thinking.

LANDING BLIND

Circling Learmonth, the pilots run through a checklist. The plane's two engines are functioning. But they do not know if the landing gear can be lowered or wing flaps extended for landing. And if they can extend the flaps, they have no idea how the plane will react. As much as they can, the pilots try to assert control over the A330 while the computer system operates. It cannot be fully disengaged. Turning off the three flight control computers could trigger unintended consequences. They may fail or fault.

Pulling paper charts out for Learmonth, the pilots make more inputs into the system, to no avail. It means they will have to conduct a visual approach. The precariousness of their situation islaid bare in a lengthy summary of faults on their screens. They include the loss of automatic braking and spoilers to prevent lift once the plane is on the runway. The pilots do not know whether they can use the nose-wheel to steer the plane until it is on the ground.

Sullivan plans to rely on a strategy he practised in fighter jets. Flying at 10,000 feet above the airfield, he intends to reduce power and descend into a high-angle, high-energy spiral before lining up the runway and flying in fast in the hope of preventing another nosedive.

But before they can land, they have to check whether their flight control system is working properly. Flying over Learmonth, the wing flaps are extended as the pilots conduct two S-turns to confirm they are OK, and the landing gear is lowered. It is enough for Sullivan. He is desperate to get the plane on the ground. The extent of injuries will not be known until emergency services are on board.

The first officer, Peter Lipsett, makes a final announcement, telling passengers to follow instructions. Minutes later, Sullivan lowers the A330's nose, and power to idle as he begins a final approach. Lipsett reminds him the speed is greater than it should be. "Noted," Sullivan replies. None of them know whether it will pitch down again. That is the risk they take. They have little choice.

Fifty minutes after the first dive, the A330's wheels scrape the runway at Learmonth. Passengers clap wildly as it glides along the tarmac. The pilots hear the cheering through the cockpit door, the sense of relief almost overwhelming.

As the plane grinds to a halt, Sullivan turns to his pilots. "So, a little excitement in an otherwise dull day," he quips, imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger inTrue Lies. In the US Navy, Sullivan used humour to relax in highly stressed environments. It is to be a rare bit of levity on this day in 2008. Sullivan knows the satellite phone is about to ring incessantly. Before it does, he sends a text to his 20-something daughter travelling in Europe. "I'm OK and I love you," it reads.

10 SIMULTANEOUS FAILURES

The pilots cannot allow themselves to relax. Passengers and crew suffering moderate to severe injuries have to be evacuated from an airfield in the middle of nowhere. Despite being parked on the ground, stall and over-speed warnings keep blaring in the cockpit. In a shocked state, the plane's customer service manager rushes in from the cabin.

"What was that?" she exclaims.

"I don't know. I don't know what happened," Sullivan replies.

He grabs her hand, assuring her they are safe. Co-ordinating with emergency services to help the injured now rests on her shoulders. The pilots will be tied up dealing with all manner of questions. The satellite phone is ringing.

Lipsett begins to check a summary from the plane's maintenance computer. "Well, here's the problem," he says, pulling out a printout half a metre long. It shows 10 simultaneous failures at the same time-mark. Further down the page, they learn the flight control primary computers have failed or faulted.

"It was basically a computer crash," Sullivan recalls. "It had stopped communicating with us and was distracting us. It started confusing us."

After dealing with multiple calls over the satellite phone, Sullivan is finally able to enter the cabin more than an hour after landing. Before him ambulance officers nurse passengers; compartment doors ripped from hinges; smashed bottles, glasses and baggage strewn on the floor. The further along he walks, the greater the destruction and injuries. "It just looked like the Incredible Hulk had gone through there in a rage and ripped the place apart," he recalls.

Parents hold bandaged children. They stare at Sullivan, some with accusing looks. He tells them he does not know what caused the nosedives, but he and his co-pilots tried to stop them. It's the only assurance he can give. The sight of injured children will stick with him for years.

PTSDAND LAWSUITS

The events still haunt Sullivan and Maiava.They have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and, with other crew members, remain part of a lawsuit in the US against Airbus and aerospace company Northrop Grumman. (About 100 passengers injured in the mishap have settled compensation claims.)

Michael Hyland, an aviation lawyer at Sydney firm LHD who is advising Sullivan, says it has had a devastating impact. "The QF72 incident was a science-fiction nightmare that became a reality," he says.

Sullivan knew his life and career would change forever. He took eight months off. When he returned, he was hyper-alert and concerned about another potential loss of control. He no longer enjoyed a job that had defined him. His professional attitude meant he would not continue his flying career beyond his ability to do so effectively. He reached that point last year after three decades at Qantas.

"The cards of life, in your poker hand of life, those cards have been taken off the table. I've got some pretty crappy cards now," Sullivan says. Instead of suppressing thoughts of QF72, he believes it better to admit it has affected him and seek help. "I can still play those cards, I have to. Otherwise, as we see with returning defence force personnel, police, first responders, there is the potential for depression, substance abuse or self-harm."

Maiava, a former policeman from Auckland, cherished his job as a flight attendant. It was glamorous; every trip different. "I was going to retire in that job until that happened, and my whole life just turned around," he says. He has not had paid work since and suffers chronic physical and psychological injuries. "I get spasms continuously, every day, non-stop. Those are what trigger the flashbacks, the memories, the nightmares it just hasn't gone away," he says. He has endured six operations since 2008. "The pain is chronic; the medication I'm on is unreal. I hate it but I have to take it because it's helping me."

It has taken a toll on those closest to him. A father of five children and grandfather to eight, Maiava withdrew from family and friends, holed up in his bedroom staring out the window for hours on end. He reached a low in 2012 when he tried to take his life. He woke from a coma to find his family at his hospital bedside in tears. He now relies on strategies from psychiatrists and psychologiststo improve his life, and believes telling his story will aid his recovery. "The QF72 incident has lived inside me every single day, 24/7," he says. "It controlled my life but I intend to get better."

Three years after the near-disaster,the Australian Transport Safety Bureau issuesa final report.It finds incorrect data on measures such as airspeed and angle of attack (a critical parameter used to control an aircraft's pitch) was sent by one of the A330's three air-data computers each of which has its own sensors on the fuselage to other systems on the plane. One of the three flight control primary computers then reacted to the angle-of-attack data by commanding the plane to nosedive.

NO CLOSURE

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The terrifying untold story of QF72: What happens when 'psycho' automation leaves pilots powerless? - Stuff.co.nz

Do you think automation will change your job in the next five years? Accountants seem to think so.

Pretty much every accountant believes their work will be either partly or completely automated by 2022. A new report by FreeAgent says 96 percent of accountants agree with this claim, and just three percent say they dont think automation will change their work.

Almost two thirds (62 percent) of those accountants participating in the survey for the report also say they dont believe they will be performing the same tasks they do today in the next five years.

But they are getting ready for the future, thats for sure. More than four in ten (42 percent) want to retrain to make sure they stay on role in the future, while a quarter (23 percent) say theyre thinking about retraining. Another 20 percent, on the other hand, say they dont plan on going through any additional training.

"Our survey results suggest we are seeing a continuing shift in the landscape of the accounting profession," says Ed Molyneux, CEO and co-founder of FreeAgent. "Technology is driving new ways of working with clients, while forthcoming legislative changes such as Making Tax Digital and PSD2 will significantly accelerate the pace of automation."

"However, this should not be cause for alarm. Rather, these changes represent a unique opportunity for accountancy practices to grow their higher-value, advisory propositions and stay at the forefront of the profession -- and its really positive to see that the majority of accountants we surveyed are not only recognizing this shift, but are already starting to consider how they will adapt to the changes," adds Molyneux.

"The age of automation is dawning and the accountancy profession currently faces a choice over how to proceed. I firmly believe that forward-thinking accountants who embrace and adapt to this change now will be the ones who benefit most in the future," concludes Molyneux.

Published under license from ITProPortal.com, a Future plc Publication. All rights reserved.

Photo Credit: NicoElNino/Shutterstock

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Automation will transform accountants' jobs in the next five years - BetaNews

May 12, 2017 This spring, a team of agricultural engineers in Britain began to plant barley seeds in a field with what they claim is the worlds first autonomous tractor. In August, the machine, controlled by a computer from afar, will then harvest the crop. Not a single farmer will toil the land.

Rather than fear this latest example of work-replacing robots, many farmers welcome it. The experimental machines, unlike human-driven tractors, will be lighter on the soil. And they will bring other benefits in efficiency and profits.

Such a response runs counter to the drumbeat of fear about the long-range impact of robots and artificial intelligence. In his farewell address, President Barack Obama warned of the relentless pace of automation in allegedly eliminating jobs. In February, the European Union took up a proposal to tax companies for any jobs lost to robots. Even techno-optimist Elon Musk of Tesla warns of a massive social challenge from future automation.

Such fear is hardly new. Decades ago, famed economist John Maynard Keynes predicted mass unemployment from technology. He and others were right to a degree. Workers in areas where factories have switched to robots have been dislocated. Many of them were a major source of votes for Donald Trump. But such a localized impact should not distort the larger picture of progress and especially the record 86 months of nonfarm job growth in the United States. Two recent studies paint a hopeful picture of automations continuing promise.

One study, published this month by the National Academy of Sciences, looked at the probable impact of information technologies. The conclusion from an academy panel: We expect new job opportunities to emerge as increasingly capable combinations of humans and machines attack problems that previously have been intractable. In addition, Americans will see a boost in income, wealth, shortened work time, and new goods and services.

The other study, from the Washington-based think tank Information Technology and Innovation Foundation, looked at the dislocation and creation of occupations from 1850 to 2010 using US Census data compiled by the University of Minnesota. It came to a very counterintuitive conclusion about the impact of technology: In the past two decades, the level of occupational churn or the rate at which some occupations expand while others contract is at a historic low. The rate is 38 percent of that from 1950 to 2000, and 42 percent of the levels from 1850 to 2000. If anything, the United States is not being innovative enough, a fact reflected in the low rate of worker productivity in recent years.

That historical perspective suggests public leaders should not play to the fear of automation but instead encourage the development of it, even as they also help workers with out-of-date skills adjust to a changing economy. Americans will not support investments in education and research if they are told the worst about technology.

The public may be ahead of the doom-sayers. In a Pew poll last year, two-thirds of people agreed that their own jobs were secure even though they believe robots are taking over much of the work done by humans. Like farmers in Britain looking at the advent of robot tractors, they see the upside and ignore the fear.

The rest is here:

When fear of automation is too robotic - CSMonitor.com - Christian Science Monitor

Nearly half of the wages paid to local workers could be lost in the next 20 years.

The Sarasota-Manatee region could be among the hardest hit in the nation by job losses from automation, a new study warns.

More than 62 percent of jobs in the two counties may be targeted for automation in the future, the fifth-highest share among the 100 largest U.S. metro areas, according to theInstitute for Spatial Economic Analysis.

The impact of automation on jobs may be more severe than experts previously thought, ISEA said. With recent advances in machine learning and mobile robotics, even jobs like truck driving, heath care diagnostics and education could be affected.

The replacement of jobs by machines has been happening continuously since the Industrial Revolution, but its expected to significantly accelerate in the coming 10 or 20 years, said Professor Johannes Moenius, director of ISEA. Pretty much everyone will be affected, but some metropolitan areas will see a lot more jobs vanish than others.

Jobs in office and administrative support, food preparation and serving, and sales account for half of the occupations that could be shifted to automation in the future, ISEA said.

The leisure-hospitality and professional-business services sectors are among the largest employers in Sarasota and Manatee counties. Employment in the leisure industry rose 7.6 percent over the year in March, according to state figures, but jobs in professional services declined 2.6 percent.

Anthony Gagliano, director of business services at CareerSource Suncoast, said jobs in those sectors can be found in the region. Pollo Tropical, for example, just hired 16 workers for its new restaurant in Sarasota.

Automation also is creating jobs. RND Automation & Engineering in south Manatee County, amaker of custom automation machines, has been expanding for several years.

But automation could change the employment picture in the future.

"In the short term, I don't think so," Gagliano said. "But in the long term, it's something we will have to take a look at."

The Las Vegas area topped the list of potential jobs losses to automation. Orlando ranked seventh.

Nearly half of the wages paid to workers in Sarasota-Manatee could be lost in the next 20 years if the study's automation forecast comes true.

"Since lower-income jobs face higher automation risk, the effect on employment will be much more drastic than the effect on wages," the study said. "Metro areas with a high share of low-paying jobs will have larger job and wage losses."

The research group stressed that the probability of automation does not equal future unemployment rates. Automation often works together with new job creation in skilled and less-skilled labor.

However, the speed and the high share of automation in less skilled jobs raises many questions about whether the economy will be able to make up for the expected job losses," said study lead author Jess Chen. "What we do expect is that automation will create winners and losers among cities and regions of the U.S., where losers may not recover to their original employment levels within even a decades time.

The ISEA, based at the University of Redlands in California, provides science- and research-based analysis and forecasts of economic phenomena.

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Automation is serious threat to jobs in Sarasota-Manatee, study warns - Sarasota Herald-Tribune

Returning from the toilet, second officer Ross Hales straps into the right-hand-side seat beside Captain Kevin Sullivan in the Qantas jet's cockpit. "No change," Sullivan tells him in his American accent. He is referring to the Airbus A330-300's autopilot and altitude as it cruises at 37,000 feet above the Indian Ocean on a blue-sky day.

Within a minute, the plane's autopilot disconnects. It forces Sullivan to take manual control of Qantas Flight 72, carrying 303 passengers and 12 crew from Singapore to Perth. Five seconds later, stall and over-speed warnings begin blaring. St-aaa-ll, st-aaa-ll, they screech. The over-speed warnings are louder, sounding like a fire bell. Ding, ding, ding, ding. Caution messages light up the instrument panel.

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For the first time, the captain of the imperilled Qantas Flight 72 reveals his horrific experience of automation's dark side.

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For the first time, the captain of the imperilled Qantas Flight 72 reveals his horrific experience of automation's dark side.

"That's not right," Sullivan exclaims to Hales, who he met for the first time earlier in the day on a bus taking crew from a Singapore hotel to Changi Airport. His reasoning is simple: how can the plane stall and over-speed at the same time? The aircraft is telling him it is flying at both maximum and minimum speeds. Barely 30 seconds earlier, nothing was untoward. He can see the horizon through the cockpit windows and cross-check instruments to determine that the plane is flying as it should.

"You'd better get Peter back," Sullivan says, urgency in his voice. Minutes earlier, first officer Peter Lipsett, a former Navy Seahawk pilot, left for his scheduled break. Hales picks up the plane's interphone to call the customer service manager to track down the first officer.

In the rear galley, flight attendant Fuzzy Maiava slides his meal into an oven. He can relax slightly after collecting meal trays from passengers. Window blinds are drawn in the cabin, and calm has descended following lunch service. Some passengers queue for toilets. As Maiava closes the oven door, an off-duty Qantas captain and his wife, who have been on holiday, join him in the galley.

"Hey Fuzz, where's your wine?" they ask.

"Just help yourself you know where it is," Maiava laughs. As they pour a glass, Maiava glances at the oven's timer. There are 13 seconds left.

Booooom. A crashing sound tears through the cabin. In a split second, the galley floor disappears beneath Maiava's feet, momentarily giving him a sense of floating in space. Blood rushes to his head as he, the off-duty captain and his wife are propelled into the ceiling, knocking them out.

In the cockpit, Sullivan instinctively grabs the control stick the moment he feels the plane's nose pitch down violently at 12.42pm (Western Australia time). The former US Navy fighter pilot pulls back on the stick to thwart the jet's rapid descent, bracing himself against an instrument panel shade. Nothing happens. So he lets go. Pulling back on the stick does not halt the plunge. If the plane suddenly returns control, pulling back might worsen their situation by pitching the nose up and causing a dangerous stall.

Within two seconds, the plane dives 150 feet. In a gut-wrenching moment, all the two pilots can see through the cockpit window is the blue of the Indian Ocean. "Is my life going to end here today?" Sullivan asks himself. His heart is thumping. Those on board QF72 are in dire trouble. There are no ejection seats like the combat jets Sullivan flew in the US Navy. He has no control over this plane.

"It's the worst thing that can happen when you are in an aeroplane when you are not in control," he recalls. "And you have a choice. You can either succumb to that or you fight it. I was fighting that outcome and have been ever since."

Eight years after QF72 dived towards the ocean, the Top Gun pilot nicknamed "Sully" since his teens is breaking his silence. "We're in an out-of-control aeroplane, we're all juiced up by our own bodies because, we thought, we are in a near-death situation, and we've got to be rocket scientists to figure out how we can go in there and land the plane outside of any established procedures," he says.

"We were never given any hint during our conversion course to fly this aeroplane that this could happen. And even, I think, the manufacturer felt this could never happen. It's not their intention to build an aeroplane that is going to go completely haywire and try and kill you."

The events of October 7, 2008, are not merely about how three Qantas pilots found themselves fighting to save a passenger plane from itself. It serves as a cautionary tale as society accelerates towards a world of automation and artificial intelligence.

The days of driverless cars, trucks and trains becoming commonplace are fast approaching. South Australia ran the country's first on-road trial of driverless cars in 2015. In two years, Sydney will become the first city in Australia to run driverless passenger trains ona new $20 billion metro railway. Proponents tout the multiple benefits of autonomous vehicles, such as the removal of human error dramatically reducing crashes.

In the air, complex computer systems already oversee a new generation of planes, reducing the control of pilots who spend long periods of flights keeping watch. The technology has helped make the world's ever-more crowded skies safer. Yet paradoxically, it is technology that threatened the lives of those on QF72. And Sullivan still harbours fears about greater automation of flying after the computer system on the Airbus aircraft he was captaining wrenched control from its three pilots in 2008.

"Even though these planes are super-safe and they're so easy to fly, when they fail they are presenting pilots with situations that are confusing and potentially outside their realms to recover," he says. "For pilots to me it's leading you down the garden path to say, 'You don't need to know how to fly anymore.' You just sit there until things go wrong."

Seconds after the A330 nosedives, Sullivan begins to receive responses to his control-stick movements. Slowly, it starts to give him control. As it does, he lets the plane continue to descend before gingerly levelling off and climbing back to 37,000 feet. Sullivan knows intuitively there will be serious injuries in the cabin. The plunge is of a magnitude he generated in fighter jets during his days flying from US aircraft carriers in the Persian Gulf and North Atlantic during the Cold War.

Yet this is a passenger plane. In less than a second, the gravitational force bearing on those on board switches from positive 1G to negative 0.8G. As the plane drops, it literally flings into orbit people not belted into their seats. A G-force of 1G allows you to keep your feet on the Earth's surface, while 0G creates weightlessness. Negative 1G will propel you at your body weight into freefall. In all, the Qantas aircraft drops 690 feet in 23 seconds. A savinggrace is that Hales, the second officer, presses a button for the seatbelt sign to alert passengers the moment he feels the plane lurch.

The impact of the nosedives dislodged compartment doors, signage and ceiling panels. Photo: Supplied

It is too late for more than 60 passengers and crew, bouncing about like in a pinball machine. Malcolm Yeo is standing near the rear galley, talking with a flight attendant about buying a duty-free watch when he hears the engines reduce power. The then aviation lecturer at Perth's Edith Cowan University assumes the pilots are preparing for clear-air turbulence. It is common at high altitudes and occurs in cloudless skies when air masses collide, causing severe buffeting of planes. Seconds after gazing out a window, Yeo is propelled into the cabin ceiling. The sound of passengers screaming and glass breaking rips through the cabin. Seated in the middle of the cabin, Yeo's wife, Shirley, is worried sick about her husband. She was dozing when he left his seat.

A few metres from Yeo, Maiava lies on the rear-galley floor after hitting the ceiling. On the way down, he hit the galley bench and was thrown against the meal-cart storage. Regaining his senses, Maiava sees blood gushing from the off-duty Qantas captain's head. He lies unconscious on the floor. The captain's wife also a senior Qantas flight attendant begins to regain consciousness.

Beyond the galley curtain, two unaccompanied sisters Maiava has been watching over scream. Fear in her eyes, the youngest reaches a hand out to Maiava. Barely conscious, he cannot do a thing to comfort her. Oxygen masks dangle from the ceiling, swaying from side to side. Baggage and broken bottles litter the cabin floor.

Suddenly, a passenger from an Indian tour group rushes into the galley in a panic, pointing at an inflated life jacket around his neck. His face is turning blue.

"The guy's choking," Maiava shouts. Maiava knows how to deflate the jacket. But in a semi-conscious state his mind freezes. The off-duty captain's wife thrusts a pen at the passenger, pointing at a nozzle in the life jacket.Thrusting the pen into the nozzle, the passenger deflates his jacket and gasps for breath. Seconds later, he bows in gratitude. Maiava tells him bluntly to get back to his seat.

In the cockpit, over-speed and stall warnings keep ringing in the pilots' ears as the plane recovers to 37,000 feet above the Indian Ocean, about 150 kilometres west of the small Western Australian town of Exmouth. Sullivan and Hales have no idea what caused the plane to dive. The computer system does not tell them. Sullivan hand-flies as they begin responding to fault and warning messages. One of the aircraft's three flight control primary computers which pilots refer to as PRIMs is faulty. They begin to reset it by flicking the on-off switch.

Then without warning, the plane dives again. Sullivan pulls back on his control stick like he did in the first pitch down. Again, he lets go. It takes several seconds for the plane to respond to the commands. In little more than 15 seconds, the Qantas jet falls 400 feet.

In the rear galley, Maiava senses the aircraft is about to plunge the moment he hears a roar. It sounds like a speedboat running at full throttle as it is suddenly thrown into reverse. In absolute fear, he locks eyes with the wife of the off-duty Qantas captain. The second nosedive less than three minutes after the first propels them towards the ceiling. This time, they avoid hitting it by hanging onto a handrail. Lying on the floor seconds later, Maiava fears they are about to die. He prays death will come quickly and without pain.

"What the hell was that?" second officer Hales exclaims to Sullivan.

"It's the PRIM," the captain replies.

A realisation of their predicament has dawned on Sullivan. The flight control computers the brains of the plane are supposed to keep the plane within an "operating envelope": maximum altitude, maximum and minimum G-force, speed and so on. Yet against the pilots' will, the computers are making commands that are imperilling all on board.

In a conventional aircraft without flight control computers, pilots are responsible for keeping it within the bounds of safe flying. In a passenger jet like the A330, the computers have unfettered control over the horizontal tail 3000 pounds per square inch of pressure that can be moved at the speed of light. It enables the aircraft to descend or climb. For reasons unknown to the pilots, the computer system has switched on "protections". "The plane is not communicating with me. It's in meltdown. The systems are all vying for attention but they are not telling me anything," Sullivan recalls. "It's high-risk and I don't know what's going to happen."

For a six-year-old, San Diego's North Island is beyond imagination. Perched on a peninsula in San Diego Bay, the naval base is home to aircraft carriers and fighter jet squadrons. On a clear day in 1961, a mass of steel glistens in the sun and American flags flutter in the breeze. John Sullivan, a World War II submariner, has brought his eldest son to see the Blue Angels. The aerial acrobatics of the US Navy's precision flying team leaves a young Kevin Sullivan in awe. "One plane came out of nowhere about 50 feet [15 metres] over the top of me and scared the shit out of me," he recalls. "As soon as I saw that, and I saw the power and I heard the noise, what little boy wouldn't want to be in one of those?"

Eighteen years later, the third-eldest of five children became a US Navy pilot. Within two years, he was flying F-14 jets for the Fighting Aardvarks from the USS America during the Iran hostage crisis. In 1982, his squadron selected him for Top Gun, the Navy's fighter weapon school, made famous by the film of the same name. (His flying "buddies" later featured as extras in the opening scenes of Top Gun filmed on the USS Enterprise). In a matter of a few years, he was living an adventure.

His life took another twist in 1983 when he became the first US Navy exchange pilot to the RAAF. His stay in Australia was meant to last three years. But after marrying an Australian and having a daughter, he decided against returning to the US. He joined Qantas.

Three decades later, home is Seaforth in Sydney's northern suburbs and his flying career and marriage are behind him. Now in his early sixties, his silver hair has thinned. As much as he can, he wants to retain control over his life. He guards his privacy and that of those close to him. He prefers to meet at Good Weekend's office instead of his home.

Despite intense interest in QF72 in its aftermath, the identity of Sullivan and the two other pilots has remained largely unknown outside Qantas. I contacted Sullivan almost three years ago to hear his account. He was still flying and declined due to sensitivities within Qantas about him talking. His silence ended last year when he left the airline and he got in touch. Over several months, we meet about five times to talk about the event that upended his life.

His former colleagues have noticed changes. "A lot of people mistake Kev for being Canadian because he is not in-your-face," one pilot says. "He has become much more reserved, and he is much more guarded about what he says. He was much more laid-back and laconic in the past."

In reliving QF72 during our meetings, Sullivan's face reddens and he breathes sharply. For a long time afterwards, he did not want to talk about it. Many passengers and crew still don't. It sits apart from other emergencies because it challenges the notion that technology is near fail-safe and superior to pilots' frailties.

The fly-by-wire systems of modern airliners are a world away from earlier generations of planes flown using stick and rudder. In the Boeing 747 jumbo the backbone of global aviation for almost five decades pilots' control sticks are connected by wires and pulleys to parts of the plane such as the tail. In newer planes, pilots adjust a side-stick to make requests of the flight computer to move. The computer has command over "flight control surfaces" such as the tail or rudder. It sends an electronic signal to move those parts of the plane. A direct mechanical link between most pilots' controls and parts such as wing flaps has been removed.

The intent of the technology is to make flying safer and it has. In the past decade, the number of commercial flights worldwide has surged by almost a quarter to about 40.5 million last year. Despite the surge in flying, fatalities in accidents involving planes carrying more than 14 passengers have fallen from 773 in 2007 to 258 last year, according to the Aviation Safety Network.

While flying is indeed safer, Sullivan's fear is that greater automation risks confusing pilots in an emergency. Eight months after QF72, an Air France A330 jet carrying 228 people on a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Paris crashed into the Atlantic Ocean, killing all of those on board. Investigators found incorrect speeddata was sent to the plane's flight control systems after ice crystals formed on air-pressure probes mounted on the nose. The autopilot disconnected, surprising the pilots and causing them to react to the false information displayed. They incorrectly pulled up the plane's nose, and seconds later it stalled before plunging into the ocean.

After QF72's second dive, the number three flight control primary computer faults again. Sullivan tells second officer Hales they will not touch it. He knows from a previous check of faults that the plane plunged as soon as they reset PRIM three to operational status. A minute later, Sullivan tells the passengers over the PA system they are dealing with flight control problems, and to stay seated and fasten their seatbelts.

The flight attendants call the pilots on the interphone to find out what is happening. Sullivan is too busy to talk. His priority is to get the first officer, Peter Lipsett, back to the flight deck. Following plane hijackings in the US on September 11, 2001, passengers are banned from entering cockpits in-flight. The crew of QF72 will need to go through a cockpit access procedure an ordeal that takes several minutes when every second matters. Nursing a broken nose from hitting the cabin ceiling, Lipsett eventually rushes into the cockpit.

"It's carnage out there," he exclaims.

"Sit down, strap in, we're in trouble," Sullivan replies. In more than three decades of flying, Sullivan has never before uttered those words. The then 53-year-old has no idea whether they can safely land the plane. At any second, it could lurch into another dive. The systems are going haywire. Stall and over-speed warnings continue to blare. Most of the caution messages want the pilots to give them priority. The pilots face no end to the distractions as they begin intricate work. The button to silence aural warnings is not working.

Harnessed in his seat, Lipsett asks Sullivan whether he wants to declare a PAN, a warning one step from a mayday. "Yes," he responds. Shortly before the plane dived, they had flown past a RAAF base at Learmonth, near Exmouth on the North West Cape. Learmonth is the diversionary airport for north-west Australia, its runway long enough to handle an A330.

Knowing passengers are likely to be badly injured, the second officer Hales asks for adamage report from the flight attendants. The response shocks: passengers and crew suffering moderate to severe injuries with broken bones and lacerations.

"That's it declare a mayday," Sullivan says.

After the A330's first nosedive, items from unsecured meal and drinks trolleys were thrown about the galley. Photo: Supplied

Lying on the ground near the rear galley, Malcolm Yeo feels his body for breakages. His hip, shoulder and head are sore. Anxious about his wife, he decides to make his way back. The scene that confronts him is distressing. Passengers groan and cry; ceiling panels lie everywhere. Yeo eventually makes it to his seat, where his wife meets him with relief.

In the rear galley, the wife of the off-duty Qantas captain helps her husband and Maiava as best she can. She calls the flight deck, telling first officer Lipsett that both men are seriously injured. He warns her that the plane could dive again. Maiava is eager to get seated. "We have to move we have to get to our seats," he says. Together, they shuffle to nearby jump seats.

Minutes later, they hear another announcement over the PA from the captain. Sullivan tells passengers he expects to land within 15 minutes at Learmonth where emergency services will be waiting. They need to stay seated with their seatbelts fastened.

As soon as air-traffic control in Melbourne responds to the mayday, alerts stream to authorities around the country. Planes in northern Western Australia on the same radio frequency hear the distress call, and controllers broadcast QF72's plight to the rest of the country's airspace. With QF72 diverting, Qantas' crisis centre in Sydney is activated while West Australian police and a small medical centre at Exmouth kick into gear. Because of the airfield's remoteness, emergency services need at least 30 minutes to prepare. The services in the area are basic: a fire truck and two ambulances.

Yet Sullivan still does not know whether they can land. The computer system is not telling them what data it is sampling and what it is doing. Thoughts race through the captain's mind: "What is my strategy? How will I stop a pitch down if it happens during landing?" In less than three minutes, the A330 has dived twice. Will it do it again?

Yet their only real option is landing at Learmonth. Flying on to Perth could worsen matters. "I have nine crew injured out of 12 and mass casualties that is serious," Sullivan recalls. "It means we're in deep shit." They punch "Learmonth Airport" into the computer used for navigation. The computer shows an error.

"After that second pitch down, I was really furious I was being put in a position to question my mortality," Sullivan says. "I was cursing like a drunken sailor." As best they can, the pilots have to suppress their physiological reactions. These might help someone lift a car in a life-or-death situation, but they cloud thinking.

Circling Learmonth, the pilots run through a checklist. The plane's two engines are functioning. But they do not know if the landing gear can be lowered or wing flaps extended for landing. And if they can extend the flaps, they have no idea how the plane will react. As much as they can, the pilots try to assert control over the A330 while the computer system operates. It cannot be fully disengaged. Turning off the three flight control computers could trigger unintended consequences. They may fail or fault.

Pulling paper charts out for Learmonth, the pilots make more inputs into the system, to no avail. It means they will have to conduct a visual approach. The precariousness of their situation islaid bare in a lengthy summary of faults on their screens. They include the loss of automatic braking and spoilers to prevent lift once the plane is on the runway. The pilots do not know whether they can use the nose-wheel to steer the plane until it is on the ground.

Sullivan plans to rely on a strategy he practised in fighter jets. Flying at 10,000 feet above the airfield, he intends to reduce power and descend into a high-angle, high-energy spiral before lining up the runway and flying in fast in the hope of preventing another nosedive.

But before they can land, they have to check whether their flight control system is working properly. Flying over Learmonth, the wing flaps are extended as the pilots conduct two S-turns to confirm they are OK, and the landing gear is lowered. It is enough for Sullivan. He is desperate to get the plane on the ground. The extent of injuries will not be known until emergency services are on board.

The first officer, Peter Lipsett, makes a final announcement, telling passengers to follow instructions. Minutes later, Sullivan lowers the A330's nose, and power to idle as he begins a final approach. Lipsett reminds him the speed is greater than it should be. "Noted," Sullivan replies. None of them know whether it will pitch down again. That is the risk they take. They have little choice.

Fifty minutes after the first dive, the A330's wheels scrape the runway at Learmonth. Passengers clap wildly as it glides along the tarmac. The pilots hear the cheering through the cockpit door, the sense of relief almost overwhelming.

As the plane grinds to a halt, Sullivan turns to his pilots. "So, a little excitement in an otherwise dull day," he quips, imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger in True Lies. In the US Navy, Sullivan used humour to relax in highly stressed environments. It is to be a rare bit of levity on this day in 2008. Sullivan knows the satellite phone is about to ring incessantly. Before it does, he sends a text to his 20-something daughter travelling in Europe. I'm OK and I love you, it reads.

The pilots cannot allow themselves to relax. Passengers and crew suffering moderate to severe injuries have to be evacuated from an airfield in the middle of nowhere. Despite being parked on the ground, stall and over-speed warnings keep blaring in the cockpit. In a shocked state, the plane's customer service manager rushes in from the cabin.

"What was that?" she exclaims.

"I don't know. I don't know what happened," Sullivan replies.

He grabs her hand, assuring her they are safe. Co-ordinating with emergency services to help the injured now rests on her shoulders. The pilots will be tied up dealing with all manner of questions. The satellite phone is ringing.

Lipsett begins to check a summary from the plane's maintenance computer. "Well, here's the problem," he says, pulling out a print out half a metre long. It shows 10 simultaneous failures at the same time-mark. Further down the page, they learn the flight control primary computers have failed or faulted.

"It was basically a computer crash," Sullivan recalls. "It had stopped communicating with us and was distracting us. It started confusing us." After dealing with multiple calls over the satellite phone, Sullivan is finally able to enter the cabin more than an hour after landing. Before him ambulance officers nurse passengers; compartment doors ripped from hinges; smashed bottles, glasses and baggage strewn on the floor. The further along he walks, the greater the destruction and injuries. "It just looked like the Incredible Hulk had gone through there in a rage and ripped the place apart," he recalls.

Parents hold bandaged children. They stare at Sullivan, some with accusing looks. He tells them he does not know what caused the nosedives, but he and his co-pilots tried to stop them. It's the only assurance he can give. The sight of injured children will stick with him for years.

Rescue and medical workers from the Western Australian town of Exmouth met the flight after the emergency landing, 50 minutes after the first nosedive. Photo: Supplied

The events still haunt Sullivan and Maiava. They have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and, with other crew members, remain part of a lawsuit in the US against Airbus and aerospace company Northrop Grumman. (About 100 passengers injured in the mishap have settled compensation claims.) Michael Hyland, an aviation lawyer at Sydney firm LHD who is advising Sullivan, says it has had a devastating impact. "The QF72 incident was a science-fiction nightmare that became a reality," he says.

Sullivan knew his life and career would change forever. He took eight months off. When he returned, he was hyper-alert and concerned about another potential loss of control. He no longer enjoyed a job that had defined him. His professional attitude meant he would not continue his flying career beyond his ability to do so effectively. He reached that point last year after three decades at Qantas.

"The cards of life, in your poker hand of life, those cards have been taken off the table. I've got some pretty crappy cards now," Sullivan says. Instead of suppressing thoughts of QF72, he believes it better to admit it has affected him and seek help. "I can still play those cards, I have to. Otherwise, as we see with returning defence force personnel, police, first responders, there is the potential for depression, substance abuse or self-harm."

Maiava, a former policeman from Auckland, cherished his job as a flight attendant. It was glamorous; every trip different. "I was going to retire in that job until that happened, and my whole life just turned around," he says. He has not had paid work since and suffers chronic physical and psychological injuries. "I get spasms continuously, every day, non-stop. Those are what trigger the flashbacks, the memories, the nightmares it just hasn't gone away," he says. He has endured six operations since 2008. "The pain is chronic; the medication I'm on is unreal. I hate it but I have to take it because it's helping me."

It has taken a toll on those closest to him. A father of five children and grandfather to eight, Maiava withdrew from family and friends, holed up in his bedroom staring out the window for hours on end. He reached a low in 2012 when he tried to take his life. He woke from a coma to find his family at his hospital bedside in tears. He now relies on strategies from psychiatrists and psychologiststo improve his life, and believes telling his story will aid his recovery. "The QF72 incident has lived inside me every single day, 24/7," he says. "It controlled my life but I intend to get better."

Three years after the near-disaster, the Australian Transport Safety Bureau issues a final report. It finds incorrect data on measures such as airspeed and angle of attack (a critical parameter used to control an aircraft's pitch) was sent by one of the A330's three air-data computers each of which has its own sensors on the fuselage to other systems on the plane. One of the three flight control primary computers then reacted to the angle-of-attack data by commanding the plane to nosedive. While finding a "failure mode" affected the air-data unit, investigators cannot pinpoint the exact mechanism that triggered the stream of incorrect data. They reason that the failure mode was "probably initiated by a single, rare type of trigger event". The investigation pored over potential triggers such as a software bug or hardware fault but found them all unlikely.

The report also reveals that a "design limitation" in the flight control primary computer'salgorithm failed to handle multiple spikes in the angle-of-attack data. Airbus later rede - signed the algorithm and Northrop Grumman, the manufacturer of the air-data units, made modifications to improve the detection of data transmission failures.

But it fails to bring closure for QF72's captain. The inability to pinpoint the trigger leaves a crucial question unanswered. The air-dataunit was taking good information in and pumping out extreme data. "They don't know why it did that. And there is no result," Sullivan says. "Everything that I have done in my life was tested that day. A good pilot makes his own luck but in this case we got lucky."

Roof damage in the A330's cabin: 'It just looked like the Incredible Hulk had gone through there in a rage and ripped the place apart,' Kevin Sullivan recalls. Photo: Supplied

In thehierarchy on Airbus planes, the computer system sits higher than pilots. Until they printed out the maintenance log after landing, the pilots of QF72 did not know that the A330 had sustained 10 simultaneous failures at the same moment. Instead of alerting them to the failures, the computer system responded on its own to the faults. "That information was hidden from us," Sullivan says. "There was one air-data computer that went rogue. It didn't identify itself to say, 'I'm going psycho.' As a human, I should have a right to veto [the computer's commands]."

Mick Quinn, a former head of safety at Emirates and manager of air-safety investigation at Qantas, says automation has made flying safer but it needs to be remembered that humans lie behind its design.

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The untold story of QF72: What happens when 'psycho' automation leaves pilots powerless? - The Sydney Morning Herald