A solar panel was malfunctioning in Cluster 4, Quadrant 6 of the Prudhoe Array. Measuring approximately three hundred miles across and hovering one thousand feet above the water, the floating array was co-owned by NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association, and SARC, the Subarctic Regional Corporation, which had bought out the floundering renewables divisions of three oil companies on the North Slope after prospecting was banned in the Arctic and the crude oil market tanked. In news reports, the solar array was always referred to by its government name, but locals always called it Noah’s Arc. As in, “Looks like we got another leak on Noah’s Arc.”
“I got it,” Xiomara said, noting that the other part-time technicians had laid out the blanket for a game of snerts and were distracted.
Only Charlene paused to ask, “Are you sure? This looks to me like maybe a two-hour job, plus travel to the Arc, and your shift’s almost over.”
Xiomara didn’t mind. Between panicking about her exams and worrying that her crush, Amka, wouldn’t come to her birthday party tomorrow, she couldn’t sit still. Better to move, she thought, than to keep reading the same essays on solar engineering over and over without retaining a word. “No worries. I’ll take this one. You folks enjoy your game.”
Charlene frowned over her glasses. “Do you want any backup?”
“Aww, let her take it, Charlie,” another tech said, shuffling the deck. “With her gone, one of us could actually win for a change.”
