The drive to Bozeman took about two hours, mostly because I had to drive over several mountain passes to get there.
When I arrived at the courthouse, I had to pay to park—fuckin’ awesome—and headed inside.
Seeing as I had zero idea where to go, I kind of followed a line of people to some more official looking people and listened to make sure I was in the right place.
I was.
“Take a seat, everyone,” someone from the front called.
We all took our seats in the courtroom, and I found myself sitting next to a very muscular Viking-like man who had a scowl on his face.
“Don’t want to be here, either?” I muttered.
He looked down at me with a bored expression and shook his head.
My lips twitched as he immediately turned away.
Not a talker.
Too bad.
I was.
Which sucked for him because it looked like we were going to be here a while.
“So, it’s going to go like this!” the judge called out. “We’re going to ask you questions. You’re going to answer honestly. We’ll see if you’re a match for this jury.”
Then, the questions began.
And I quickly found out that I was definitely not unbiased.
“Fuckin’ awesome,” I grumbled under my breath. “AI data centers are the worst.”
My seat neighbor looked over at me. “Why?”
“I mean, other than they’re large, take up a lot of natural habitat for animals and are invasive?”
He shrugged.
“AI uses up about a bottle of water each time you ask it five to ten prompts or questions,” I said. “They’re destroying aquiphers literally everywhere. They’re also taking up massive amounts of power to keep these places running. And some of the people surrounding these data centers are seeing major increases in power consumption. Also, they’re freakin’ loud. They disrupt your circadian rhythm like crazy, making it impossible for some people to even sleep. And don’t even get me started on the electronic waste.”
The man’s eyes took me in for long seconds after that long diatribe as he said, “Maybe you should pretend like you’re not so passionate about it, get selected, then stick it to them.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it.
“I’m not necessarily ‘passionate’ about it,” I started.
He snorted.
Okay, so maybe I was passionate.
Being a wildlife photographer, as well as having worked in a wildlife rehab facility since I could walk thanks to my parents’ dedication, I was what you could consider an environmentalist.
I didn’t like seeing the depletion of resources in already drought-prone areas.
Nor did I like to see animals displaced. Land destroyed. Oh, and waste.
“Maybe I won’t be as passionate…” I admitted.
