I’ve spent years writing about the intersection of technology, culture, and policy. When concepts like megawatt and megabyte are reshaping the very places we live, I’m finding that work increasingly relevant.
It is one thing to write an essay here or a newsletter there. Given the potential harms, utilizing adding additional forms, like narrative, seems warranted. The Biggest Little Bill is part tech satire, part civic noir. It’s a reminder that accountability doesn’t just live in boardrooms or algorithms; like all things, it starts with people.
I hope you enjoy this one, and maybe see a bit of your own fight in it.
This is the third scene. If you missed the first, you can begin at the beginning.
~Matthew
Scene 3 - Reconnaissance
Bill pulled his Tacoma onto the rare level patch off the frontage road that locals used as a parking lot. On weekends, the bluff was filled with BMX kids and dirt bikers getting their thrills riding the dusty, ashy-blonde trails. But on a weekday afternoon, it was just him, the sun-blasted rock, and an unobstructed view of the Osirtek complex gleaming below.
He hummed the Mission Impossible theme to himself as he reached back into the rear seat. Next to the team softball bag was the black, nylon drone case. A gift to his oldest last Christmas, he had snuck it out of the house that morning for official county reconnaissance duty. Now, mid-afternoon, the heat was already starting to get oppressive, the shimmer snaking off the horizon’s asphalt.
From the drivers seat, he flipped open the container. Inside, the tiny gray plastic lump was about the size of his fist, rotors balled up protectively.
“How hard can it be?” Bill muttered, examining the drone.
He got out, surveyed the surrounding hills to make sure he was alone, and then carefully unfolded the drone on the Tacoma’s hood.
Bill had made sure to download the app at work, but he wasn’t prepared for the litany of pop-ups that followed. Thankfully, it stopped just short of making him fill out a flight plan, although given all the legalese he clicked-through, who knew what he agreed to?
After twenty minutes of fiddling, the drone was finally armed and ready. Bill squinted at the data center below.
“Target acquired.”
Bill eased up on the thumb stick. Each of the blades along the slender arms began spinning, lifting the drone unsteadily off the hood and into the air, holding position a few feet from the metal. With a gentle nudge with his thumbs, Bill practiced rotating the drone left, then right. He then had it strafe along the edge of the overlooking ridge, almost hitting a boulder on the high side when he got aggressive and applied too much speed. Stopping just in time, it bucked with Bill’s overcorrection.
Bill blew out his breath in relief, which he hadn’t realized he had been holding.
He set the controller on hood and shook out his hands while the drone continued to hover where he had stopped it in a panic. He rolled his shoulders once, and picked the controller back up. Time to see what the public sector can do.
“By the power vested in me by the Washoe County Planning Commission,” he muttered, as he nudged the drone’s path over the edge of the cliff, “I hereby deputize you, Agent D.”
As the droning plastic disappeared down the hill, he watched its camera feed in the app. The megacampus, with a roof spanning at least a dozen football fields, grew larger. It was an unbreakable expanse of white tiled off into the distance, its uniformity broken at regular intervals by massive HVAC units, each sprouting countless ductwork. Heat vented from several of these, causing their own shimmer.
Sheesh, it was hot. Was it the day or was he really that nervous?
Bill snapped a picture, then another. The drone was still outside the perimeter and if he could just zoom in a bit, he might be able to see something more conclusive. As he reached to pinch in the app, however, he bumped the thumb stick. The feed from the camera spun dizzily. Bill snapped his head up, trying to see where the drone had been.
He tried to regain control but with his lack of experience, he over-corrected, jerking left, right, and then diving directly straight toward the perimeter fence. A gust of wind finished the job, the distant buzz of the rotors whining slightly higher pitched for a second before cutting out completely. Only the sound of baking shale remained.
“No, no, no!” Bill shouted as he ran to the edge of the parking lot’s rim, over-looking the scene below. “Shit.”
“That was painful.”
Bill snapped back toward his truck. Next to it was a kid astride a well-loved dirt jumper, scratched helmet in her lap, shock of pink attitude swept across her head. He recognized the look from his own kids; a mix of curiosity and disdain that only a middle-schooler could manage, 12 or maybe 13 years old. With all his focus on the drone, he hadn’t heard her roll-up behind him.
“Hey,” Bill straightened, unsure of what to do with the controller.
“Hey, yourself.”
“So you, um, saw that practice flight, huh?”
The girl looked incredulous, and walked her bike toward the lip so she could get a better look. “Practice for what? Crashing?”
She peered down the bluff while shading her eyes. Bill was still trying to decide how to answer when she suddenly pointed. “It’s just on the inside of the fence, just on the edge of the drainage ditch, I think. There. You want me to go get it?”
Bill hesitated. “You can get down there?”
“Yeah. There’s a service gap about a quarter mile down. Everybody rides through there to cut across the west end. Nobody cares. It’s all empty. Expansion or something. The serious cameras and fences are further inside.”
Bill squinted at her. “How do you know that?”
“Because I live here, dude.”
Fifteen minutes later, the kid pedaled back up to where Bill had been pacing. She swung the drawstring off her back, producing ‘Agent D’. It was a little dusty, and maybe scratched where it had skidded across the rocks, but otherwise in one piece.
“Wow, I can’t believe it! You have no idea- Thank you!” Bill reached for his wallet. “I think I have a $20. I really appreciate-“
“Nah”. The bike girl reshouldered her bag. “Keep your money.” She aimed her bike back down the hill. “Just.. Uh, maybe don’t mess with Mordor unless you’re serious.”
Bill laughed, partly from the unexpected reference and partly because his intent has been so obvious even to middle-schooler. He gestured a thumb toward the data center. “Mordor, huh?”
“It makes noise all night. And the lights never go off. Makes sense to me.”
As the kid rode away, Bill turned to look again at the data center. Even from atop the ridge, he could hear the faint humming; an entire valley vibrating mechanically in time with the heat.
End Scene 3 - Check back tomorrow for the next installment of Biggest Little Bill.