“What’s the plan?” Derek asked.

“We go to the canal site,” I said. “We can’t let them lock the gates.”

I grabbed my denim jacket from the back of my chair.

As I pulled it on, my eyes drifted to a topographical map pinned to the corkboard behind my desk.

It was a map of the outer valley, miles beyond the city line, where agricultural workers lived in trailer parks with no reliable utility grid.

It was our next goal, a place where we could build a massive, independent microgrid that no city council could ever touch.

The seed of that future project was already planted in my mind, but right now, we had to survive the afternoon.

“Let’s go,” Derek said, grabbing his truck keys.

We ran out to the parking lot.

The afternoon fog was rolling in from the bay, thick and gray, swallowing the tops of the downtown towers.

Derek started the engine, and the truck rumbled to life.

He navigated the narrow streets of the industrial district, pushing the speed limit.

“If they lock the battery trailers, we can’t bypass the main switch,” Derek said, gripping the steering wheel tight.