"Are you running a diesel plant over there?" Frank’s voice crackled through the speaker. "The whole neighborhood looks like a runway."
"Solar and storage," Thomas said.
"That's impossible," Frank said. "The storm knocked out the substation three miles back. Nobody has juice."
"I am islanded," Thomas said.
"My freezer is defrosting," Frank said. "Can I run an extension cord across the fence line?"
"No," Thomas said.
He ended the call and set the phone back on the oak surface. The amber monitor hummed quietly, holding ninety-four percent charge against the freezing dark. The municipal utility trenching along the easement twelve months prior had left fresh scars in the soil that were now buried deep beneath the sleet.
Far down the road, a single set of high-beam headlights cut through the storm, moving slowly toward his gate.
Frost rime clung to the forty-eight monocrystalline panels on the ridge. Thomas adjusted his safety glasses, buffing the left lens against his denim shirt tail. The amber production curve glowed on the low-glare kitchen pantry monitor against the Sangre de Cristo foothills. A white SUV idled at the base of the gravel drive, its exhaust pluming in the dry air.
Karen Whitmore stepped out onto the red dirt in blindingly white linen trousers holding a leather clipboard. She tapped her designer sunglasses against her forearm in a rigid staccato.
"Thomas, we need to talk about the grid fluctuations," Karen said, pointing toward the southern field.
Thomas kept his feet planted on the concrete threshold. He did not invite her past the gate line.
"My system is off-grid, Karen," Thomas said.
"The entire upper loop has experienced severe voltage sags," Karen said. She tapped her sunglasses against her forearm again. "My appliances are humming. The homeowners on the western parcels are lodging formal complaints."
"Talk to the utility," Thomas said. "My breakers are open."
"The utility points right at your ridge," Karen said. Her eyes narrowed behind the dark lenses. "They say your new hardware is injecting harmonics into the municipal lines."
Thomas wiped his glasses again, his thumb steady against the wire frame. Twelve months prior, municipal crews had trenched along the easement, ostensibly laying fiber-optic cables for the subdivision.
"The county inspected the installation," Thomas said.
"The HOA architectural committee has not signed off," Karen said. She slapped the clipboard against her thigh. "You will shut down the array immediately while our engineers review your permits."
"The statutory review period expired forty-five days ago," Thomas said.
Karen’s jaw tightened. She turned back toward her vehicle, gravel popping beneath her leather heels.
"This is not finished, Thomas," Karen called over her shoulder.