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 5 - Burn In
Bill unzipped his hoodie, which had served him well before dawn, and now would serve as a cushion. He spent PTO to take the morning off. When he got up, before the sun, there had been a chill in the air. But the temperature had been steadily rising since then.
The gap in the fence had been right where the bike girl had mentioned it. The walk down the bluff in the dark had been a bit treacherous; Bill didn’t want to use his phone to light his path for fear that it might give him away. There had been a few close calls, but he managed to make it without twisting an ankle (or worse).
Bill was surprised to find the drainage ditch, meant for storm water runoff, was wet. This, despite the fact that it had been at least a month since the area had any rain that amounted to anything. And, as Coeburn had mentioned, the area was still in a multi-year drought. In the growing light, he could see the slick discoloration, like this had been a regular occurrence for some time. It turned the concrete scar running parallel to the fence into a treacherous crossing - literally and figuratively.
He had found a patch of scrub. It wasn’t the greatest cover, but it was better than any other alternative that he could see. And he waited.
The first surprise happened well before 10am. There was a regular parade of light trucks starting their shift from 7 or 8, which was expected. What was a surprise was the large water tankers. Using his binoculars, Bill saw them being staged in a temporary area partially obscured by stacked shipping containers. Workers dragged hoses to and fro, coupling them to a row of valves along the data center’s flank. And it was potable water, but from where were they siphoning drinking water from? When one truck finished, another would take its place - was this how they were attempting to bypass monitoring? It certainly didn’t meet any definition of “closed loop” Bill understood.
He took pictures, noting the motor carriers and any USDOT numbers he could make out. That would be worth a follow-up.
The second surprise was how the air seemed to intensify well in advance of the event. The data center always thrummed, 24-7, with a certain amount of unnatural, low-end wobble, a noise pollution that was felt, if not heard, for miles. But, in the last hour, there had been a noticeable increase in pitched whine, a grating screech that gave an unsettling, shrill accompaniment that only grew with the temperature.
The rumble intensified. Bill, through the binoculars, could see steam venting across the roof. The ground seemed to vibrate like a plucked wire. It was like the entire valley was trembling.
This continued well after ten, the relentless cacophony setting his teeth on edge. But, as the humming, whirring, and crackling began to recede, there was a new sound. Bill heard it before he could see it - an rolling static, jets of white noise somewhere further up the drainage ditch. The water got louder and louder until he saw it splash around the bend, flying down the channel toward whatever watershed lied beyond.
At least he thought it was water. The speed made it hard to tell for sure, but it looked wrong. There was a pearlescent sheen on the top, as if there was oil in the mix. The chaotic release and sloshing was also causing a foamy scum on the edges. Leaning forward, on his hands and knees Bill could smell something faintly metallic or chemical.
There was no way this was storm water - or that it should be dumped without treatment.
This was it! This was his proof!
He’d analyzed numbers, filed reports, and attended hearings but he had never had a case so brazenly lie to his face before.
He grabbed his water bottle and hurriedly dumped the last of the contents on the thirsty ground beside his sweatshirt. Then, leaning out over the ditch, he reached down, taking care not to lose the bottle in the sudden rapids. A few seconds later, it was topped off.
He carefully screwed the cap back on, and recorded some additional video with his phone. The water was beginning to slow but he had more than enough, in multiple ways.
And then he heard the crunch of tires on gravel, above.
He crabbed walked the few feet to his scrub-shielded camp. He made out a light truck parked beside his own. A second later, both doors opened. The driver, walked around the front. He looked like security, with gray monochrome from head to toe broken up only with a high-vis vest. He looked out, across the valley, at some point at the far end of the data center, while reaching for the handset clipped at his shoulder.
Bill couldn’t hear what was said. He still didn’t see the passenger. The driver circled the front of his vehicle and then stood looking at Bill’s license plate, for a moment, head arched to speak into his radio.
They’d know whose truck it was soon enough. And what if they did? Bill could feel his initial fear and embarrassment turning to anger. He had every right to be there! What were they even doing patrolling there?
Bill slung his bag over his shoulder and started up the faint switchback. By the time he reached the top, a second security vehicle had arrived, pinning his Tacoma. The two original uniformed employees stood near the open window of this new vehicle, discussing something as Bill crested the ridge.
“Hey there!” Bill said, a bit winded but determined.
The three private security employees looked up, surprised. One - the driver of the first vehicle, Bill thought - was first to speak.
“Sir, is this your vehicle?”
“Sure is. Is there a problem?”
The one to speak put his hands on his hips. “That’s private property. You can’t be down there. I’m gonna have to-“
Bill interrupted the guard with his upheld hand. He put his bag on the hood of his truck, rifling for a second, and then produced his county government lanyard. He approached the trio, offering his badge.
“I’m with the Washoe Planning Commission. As such, the entire community watershed, including the floodplain easement just over there,” Bill nodded below and to the west, “is my jurisdiction”.
The guards exchanged glances with each other.
Bill recognized the hesitation - he’d seen it in a hundred zoning hearings - and pressed his advantage.
“You folks had quite the morning here, huh? Documented case of metering avoidance? Unauthorized discharge?”
The other standing guard, the one yet to speak, answered. “We’re an independent contractor. We just provide security. They don’t tell us what they’re doing.”
“Uh, huh.” Bill put the lanyard around his neck. “Given what I just saw, you are looking at a half dozen regional and state environmental violations, not to mention your site covenants.”
The two guards standing shifted, uncomfortably. The third, still in the second security vehicle, visibly stiffened in his seat.
“And you say you had nothing to do with this? Otherwise, I should probably get your names and any IDs for my report. Or - you’d probably make great collaborating witnesses if the state decides to launch an investigation.”
The driver in the truck called the lead guard over and said something inaudible. Bill couldn’t make it out, but the pickup started and then slowly backed up and left the parking lot, leaving the original two guards.
The lead motioned for his junior to return to their own vehicle.
“You’d best move on, sir,” he said, the authority he spoke with before now gone. “It’s for your own safety. We don’t want to find you back here again.”
Each guard carefully avoided eye contact as Bill watched them back out and drive further up the hillside.
It crested the next rise and disappeared before Bill unlocked and got in his truck. He shut the door and exhaled - a massive, shuddering sigh. Outside, the valley continued to hum; inside, however, he could hear himself over it. His hands, draped on the wheel at ten and two were shaking, but he started to laugh. He whooped, punching the ceiling.
After he got his breathing under control, he reached into his bag and retrieved the aluminum water bottle. Inside, he could feel the contents gently slosh.
Bill smiled. This was everything - not the proof itself, but the knowing.
And that’s a wrap! Thanks for reading The Biggest Little Bill.