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An age-old tension, resolved.

For as long as I’ve been an energy reporter, I’ve been asked a scoffing question by moderates and conservatives: If Democrats really cared about climate change, shouldn’t they embrace nuclear power?
It’s a fair question. Nuclear energy, after all, can produce vast amounts of electricity without emitting planet-warming greenhouse gas pollution. It already generates more zero-carbon electricity in America than wind turbines and solar panels do combined; unlike renewables, it can provide power all day and night, even when the sun isn’t shining and the wind isn’t blowing. The countries that have seen the largest year-over-year drops in carbon pollution — e.g. France — have generally done so by building a new fleet of nuclear reactors.
It’s also a factual question. For years, even as Democrats railed against fossil fuels, they dilly-dallied on nuclear issues. The party’s leaders in statehouses and legislative chambers around the country worked to shut down aging nuclear reactors or approved nuclear-skeptical regulators. President Barack Obama cheered next-generation nuclear in speeches, but appointed extremely nuclear-skeptical regulators to oversee the industry. (One of his first appointees to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, Gregory Jaczko, has called for a global ban on nuclear energy since leaving the government.)
Even though nuclear reactors produced most of America’s zero-carbon electricity, they remained the, well, glowing-blue-haired step-child of America’s grid: Democrats regularly railed against fossil fuels, and they felt comfortable paying lip service to far-off atomic technologies, but they did not lavish nuclear with the unqualified support that they gave renewables. Instead, they let the nuclear industry slip into senescence. This mild toleration was punctuated by moments of extreme cognitive dissonance, such as when New York Governor Andrew Cuomo shut down the Indian Point nuclear power plant in 2021 without lining up new zero-carbon generation to replace it — leading the state’s carbon emissions to soar.
Of course, Democrats didn’t have to do much to kill nuclear: At the same time, the market was doing a perfectly good job of it. As cheap natural gas flooded the American energy system in the 2010s, more and more nuclear plants became too expensive to run. From 2012 to 2022, 12 nuclear reactors shut down in the U.S., taking nearly 10,000 megawatts of low-carbon generation offline.
That was the status quo as recently as 2020 or even 2022. And it has remained the status quo in energy commentary. “What role, if any, does [Vice President Kamala Harris] see for nuclear power in her energy and climate plans?” asked The New York Times columnist Bret Stephens last month, in a column titled “What Harris Must Do to Win Over Skeptics (Like Me).” At the vice presidential debate earlier this month, Republican nominee JD Vance even alluded to the argument amid a broader paean to fossil fuels. “If you really want to make the environment cleaner, you've got to invest in more energy production,” Vance said. “We haven't built a nuclear facility — I think one — in the past 40 years.”
In fact, Vance is wrong: The United States recently turned on two new nuclear reactors in Georgia — the first newly built reactors in America in 30 years. But this idea — Why aren’t we building more nuclear reactors? Why don’t Democrats do more to help nuclear? — has been a throughline of energy punditry since well before Vance was a best-selling author.
So I want to intervene in this conversation and note that the answer has now changed. Democrats are a pro-nuclear party now — not uniformly, but then again, neither are Republicans. Over the past several years, Democratic lawmakers and officials have adopted a slate of aggressively pro-nuclear policies and characterized the technology as pro-climate. Secretary of Energy Jennifer Granholm has called for America to build a new wave of conventional nuclear reactors — going much further than Obama ever did. Sometimes working with Republicans — but sometimes working alone, too — Democrats have pushed billions of dollars of support toward conventional nuclear reactors and the nascent advanced nuclear industry.
It’s worth stepping back here and going over what has actually changed.
For the past 10 years at least, both parties have been credibly committed to building up the advanced nuclear industry — the theoretical next generation of nuclear reactors that will be smaller, cleaner, and safer than the behemoths built during the Cold War. During the Trump administration, Congress passed a bipartisan bill meant to push along the advanced nuclear industry. It also passed the Energy Act of 2020, which authorized a demonstration program for advanced nuclear reactors.
The Biden administration has continued this support. The bipartisan infrastructure law created a $6 billion program that would pay existing nuclear power plants to stay open. At least $1.1 billion of that money will go to keeping Diablo Canyon, California’s only operating nuclear facility and its largest power plant, from shutting down; it was originally slated to close in 2025.
Earlier this year, Biden also extended a key program that indemnifies the nuclear industry for the cost of nuclear accidents and disasters above $16.1 billion.
But perhaps the most important nuclear law passed in the past five years is the Inflation Reduction Act, the Biden administration’s signature climate package. For the first time ever, that law embraced the idea of “technology neutrality,” which means that electricity generated by nuclear reactors is now on the same footing as power from wind turbines or solar panels. If a method of electricity generation emits almost no carbon, then the government subsidizes it under the IRA.
The law is already helping restart nuclear reactors that have recently closed such as the Palisades reactor in Michigan and Three Mile Island in Pennsylvania. The utility giant NextEra is also exploring plans to restart the Duane Arnold nuclear plant in Iowa, which closed in 2020. If those go through, then it will be able to take advantage of Inflation Reduction Act funding, as well.
Lawmakers from both parties have continued to back advanced nuclear research and deployment. Under Biden, Congress passed the ADVANCE Act, containing a hodgepodge of policies meant to help the advanced nuclear industry. Among other changes, it instructs the Nuclear Regulatory Commission to move faster when approving new reactor designs, and it changes that agency’s mission statement to more affirmatively support nuclear development.
Biden administration officials haven’t just backed that legislation, they’ve also asserted that it will “help us build new reactors at a clip that we haven’t seen since the 1970s,” as Michael Goff, who leads the Energy Department’s nuclear office, bragged in a statement.
The irony is that nuclear plants are now doing well enough that Congress has clawed back some of the money from the bipartisan infrastructure law. The industry, seemingly, doesn’t need it any more, and no additional nuclear reactors have been scheduled to shut down. In 2024, Congress stripped up to $3.7 billion to pay for a program to produce a type of high-assay used in next-generation nuclear reactors.
Democrats have begun to brag about their nuclear policymaking efforts on the campaign trail, as well. In her speech on economic policy earlier this month, Kamala Harris included “advanced nuclear” in a list of technologies that her administration would support.
“We will invest in biomanufacturing and aerospace; remain dominant in AI and quantum computing, blockchain and other emerging technologies; expand our lead in clean energy innovation and manufacturing,” she said, “so the next generation of breakthroughs — from advanced batteries to geothermal to advanced nuclear — are not just invented but built here in America by American workers.”
The party’s Senate candidates have become even more positive about nuclear energy. Candidates in Arizona, Michigan, Florida, and Texas have all backed nuclear power, as the reporter Alexander Kaufman at Huffpost has shown.
This transformation has happened even though the big big environmental groups that have historically set the party’s energy priorities have not changed their mind on nuclear. Although many green groups have scaled back or defunded their anti-nuclear activism, their rhetoric remains staunchly anti-nuclear. The Sierra Club calls nuclear power a “uniquely dangerous energy technology for humanity” and states on its website: “The Sierra Club remains unequivocally opposed to nuclear energy.”
The party’s approach to nuclear hasn’t informed all its policy yet. The Biden administration’s nominations to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission have been criticized by pro-nuclear advocates for continuing the status quo or for not knowing enough about the advanced nuclear industry.
But Democrats are, by any measure, much more pro-nuclear now than they were 10 years ago — and much more pro-nuclear than they were a decade before that. (It’s often forgotten now that President Bill Clinton’s would-be climate policy, the BTU tax, also would have levied a fee on nuclear reactors.) Republicans also remain fairly pro-nuclear: Donald Trump has promised to approve “hundreds of new power plants,” including “new reactors,” during his presidency.
What remains unclear is whether both parties can persist in this new pro-nuclear formation. Nuclear energy is popular with a majority of the public, but only just; 56% of Americans favor building more nuclear power plants, according to the Pew Research Center. And there are signs, if you squint, of a potential coming era of GOP skepticism of nuclear power — part of the party’s broader turn against science and high-trust institutions.
Signs like: Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., who has been added to Trump’s transition team, believes that nuclear power is unsafe and uneconomical. Even Trump himself, in conversation with Elon Musk, has worried about “nuclear warming” — it’s not clear what he was talking about, but it might be nuclear war — and said that nuclear has a “branding problem.” Even if Trump continues to support the idea of building “new reactors,” his potentially illegal plan to claw back the Inflation Reduction Act’s unspent funding may lead to pandemonium in the sector. If the nuclear industry is now planning on receiving IRA subsidies, then ending those subsidies — especially in a messy or chaotic way — could spell disaster.
There are identity-driven reasons for Republicans to turn on nuclear, too: The nuclear energy industry is more unionized than any other energy source, and it requires a highly institutionalized and educated workforce. (Yet not all the trends augur a realignment: Nuclear power remains much more popular with men than women.)
For now, though, both parties — including Democrats — support building new nuclear power plants. The economics are good for once, too. The question now is how long that will hold.
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Though the tech giant did not say its purchasing pause is permanent, the change will have lasting ripple effects.
What does an industry do when it’s lost 80% of its annual demand?
The carbon removal business is trying to figure that out.
For the past few years, Microsoft has been the buyer of first and last resort for any company that sought to pull carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. In order to achieve an aggressive internal climate goal, the software company purchased more than 70 million metric tons of carbon removal credits, 40 times more than anyone else.
Now, it’s pulling back. Microsoft has informed suppliers and partners that it is pausing carbon removal buying, Heatmap reported last week. Bloomberg and Carbon Herald soon followed. The news has rippled through the nascent industry, convincing executives and investors that lean years may be on the way after a period of rapid growth.
“For a lot of these companies, their business model was, ‘And then Microsoft buys,’” said Julio Friedmann, the chief scientist at Carbon Direct, a company that advises and consults with companies — including, yes, Microsoft — on their carbon management projects, in an interview. “It changes their business model significantly if Microsoft does not buy.”
Microsoft told me this week that it has not ended the purchasing program. It still aims to become carbon negative by 2030, meaning that it must remove more climate pollution from the atmosphere than it produces in that year, according to its website. Its ultimate goal is to eliminate all 45 years of its historic carbon emissions from electricity use by 2050.
“At times, we may adjust the pace or volume of our carbon removal procurement as we continue to refine our approach toward sustainability goals,” Melanie Nakagawa, Microsoft’s chief sustainability officer, said in a statement. “Any adjustments we make are part of our disciplined approach — not a change in ambition.”
Yet even a partial pullback will alter the industry. Over the past five years, carbon removal companies have raised more than $3.6 billion, according to the independent data tracker CDR.fyi. Startups have invested that money into research and equipment, expecting that voluntary corporate buyers — and, eventually, governments — will pay to clean up carbon dioxide in the air.
Although many companies have implicitly promised to buy carbon removal credits — they’re all but implied in any commitment to “net zero” — nobody bought more than Microsoft. The software company purchased 45 million tons of carbon removal last year alone, according to its own data.
The next biggest buyer of carbon removal credits — Frontier, a coalition of large companies led by the payments processing firm Stripe — has bought 1.8 million tons total since launching in 2022.
With such an outsize footprint, Microsoft’s carbon removal team became the de facto regulator for the early industry — setting prices, analyzing projects, and publishing in-house standards for public consumption.
It bought from virtually every kind of carbon removal company, purchasing from large-scale, factory-style facilities that use industrial equipment to suck carbon from the air, as well as smaller and more natural solutions that rely on photosynthesis. One of its largest deals was with the city-owned utility for Stockholm, Sweden, which is building a facility to capture the carbon released when plant matter is burned for energy.
That it would some day stop buying shouldn’t be seen as a surprise, Hannah Bebbington, the head of deployment at the carbon-removal purchasing coalition Frontier, told me. “It will be inevitable for any corporate buyer in the space,” she said. “Corporate budgets are finite.”
Frontier’s members include Google, McKinsey, and Shopify. The coalition remains “open for business,” she said. “We are always open to new buyers joining Frontier.”
But Frontier — and, certainly, Microsoft — understands that the real point of voluntary purchasing programs is to prime the pump for government policy. That’s both because governments play a central role in spurring along new technologies — and because, when you get down to it, governments already handle disposal for a number of different kinds of waste, and carbon dioxide in the air is just another kind of waste. (On a per ton basis, carbon removal may already be price-competitive with municipal trash pickup.)
“The end game here is government support in the long-term period,” Bebbington said. “We will need a robust set of policies around the world that provide permanent demand for high-quality, durable CDR funds.”
“The voluntary market plays a critical role right now, but it won’t scale, and we don’t expect it will scale to the size of the problem,” she added.
Only a handful of companies had the size and scale to sell carbon credits to Microsoft, which tended to place orders in the millions of tons, Jack Andreasen Cavanaugh, a researcher at the Center on Global Energy Policy at Columbia University, told me on a recent episode of Heatmap’s podcast, Shift Key. Those companies will now be competing with fledgling firms for a market that’s 80% smaller than it used to be.
“Fundamentally, what it will mean is just an acceleration of something that was going to happen anyway, which is consolidation and bankruptcies or dissolutions,” Cavanaugh told me. “This was always going to happen at this moment because we don’t have supportive policy.”
Friedmann agreed with the dour outlook. “We will see the best companies and the best projects make it. But a lot of companies will fail, and a lot of projects will fail,” he told me.
To some degree, Microsoft planned for that eventuality in its purchase scheme. The company signed long-term offtake contracts with companies to “pay on delivery,” meaning that it will only pay once tons are actually shown to be durably dealt with. That arrangement will protect Microsoft’s shareholders if companies or technologies fail, but means that it could conceivably keep paying out carbon removal firms for the next 10 years, Noah Deich, a former Biden administration energy official, told me.
The pause, in other words, spells an end to new dealmaking, but it does not stop the flow of revenue to carbon removal companies that have already signed contracts with Microsoft. “The big question now is not who will the next buyer be in 2026,”’ Deich said. “It is who is actually going to deliver credits and do so at scale, at cost, and on time.”
Deich, who ran the Energy Department’s carbon management programs, added that Microsoft has been as important to building the carbon removal industry as Germany was to creating the modern solar industry. That country’s feed-in tariff, which started in 2000, is credited with driving so much demand for solar panels that it spurred a worldwide wave of factory construction and manufacturing innovation.
“The idea that a software company could single-handedly make the market for a climate technology makes about as much sense as the country of Germany — with the same annual solar insolation as Alaska — making the market for solar photovoltaic panels,” Deich said, referencing the comparatively low amount of sunlight that it receives. “But they did it. Climate policy seems to defy Occam’s razor a lot, and this is a great example of that.”
History also shows what could happen if the government fails to step up. In the 1980s, the U.S. government — which had up to that point been the world’s No. 1 developer of solar panel technology — ended its advance purchase program. Many American solar firms sold their patents and intellectual property to Japanese companies.
Those sales led to something of a lost decade for solar research worldwide and ultimately paved the way for East Asian manufacturing companies — first in Japan, and then in China — to dominate the solar trade, Deich said. If the U.S. government doesn’t step up soon, then the same thing could happen to carbon removal.
The climate math still relied upon by global governments to guide their national emissions targets assumes that carbon removal technology will exist and be able to scale rapidly in the future. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change says that many outcomes where the world holds global temperatures to 1.5 or 2 degrees Celsius by the end of the century will involve some degree of “overshoot,” where carbon removal is used to remove excess carbon from the atmosphere.
By one estimate, the world will need to remove 7 billion to 9 billion tons of carbon from the atmosphere by the middle of the century in order to hold to Paris Agreement goals. You could argue that any scenario where the world meets “net zero” will require some amount of carbon removal because the word “net” implies humanity will be cleaning up residual emissions with technology. (Climate analysts sometimes distinguish “net zero” pathways from the even-more-difficult “real zero” pathway for this reason.)
Whether humanity has the technologies that it needs to eliminate emissions then will depend on what governments do now, Deich said. After all, the 2050s are closer to today than the 1980s are.
“It’s up to policymakers whether they want to make the relatively tiny investments in technology that make sure we can have net-zero 2050 and not net-zero 2080,” Deich said.
Congress has historically supported carbon removal more than other climate-critical technologies. The bipartisan infrastructure law of 2022 funded a new network of industrial hubs specializing in direct air capture technology, and previous budget bills created new first-of-a-kind purchasing programs for carbon removal credits. Even the Republican-authored One Big Beautiful Bill Act preserved tax incentives for some carbon removal technologies.
But the Trump administration has been far more equivocal about those programs. The Department of Energy initially declined to spend some funds authorized for carbon removal schemes, and in some cases redirected the funds — potentially illegally — to other purposes. (Carbon removal advocates got good news on Wednesday when the Energy Department reinstated $1.2 billion in grants to the direct air capture hubs.)
Those freezes and reallocations fit into the Trump administration’s broader war on federal climate policy. In part, Trump officials have seemed reluctant to signal that carbon might be a public problem — or something that needs to be “removed” or “managed” — in the first place.
Other countries have started preliminary carbon management programs — Norway, the United Kingdom, and Canada — have launched pilots in recent years. The European carbon market will also soon publish rules guiding how carbon removal credits can be used to offset pollution.
But in the absence of a large-scale federal program in the U.S., lean years are likely coming, observers said.
“I am optimistic that [carbon removal] will continue to scale, but not like it was,” Friedmann said. “Microsoft is a symptom of something that was coming.”
“The need for carbon removal has not changed,” he added.
What happens when one of energy’s oldest bottlenecks meets its newest demand driver?
Often the biggest impediment to building renewable energy projects or data center infrastructure isn’t getting government approvals, it’s overcoming local opposition. When it comes to the transmission that connects energy to the grid, however, companies and politicians of all stripes are used to being most concerned about those at the top – the politicians and regulators at every level who can’t seem to get their acts together.
What will happen when the fiery fights on each end of the wire meet the broken, unplanned spaghetti monster of grid development our country struggles with today? Nothing great.
The transmission fights of the data center boom have only just begun. Utilities will have to spend lots of money on getting energy from Point A to Point B – at least $500 billion over the next five years, to be precise. That’s according to a survey of earnings information published by think tank Power Lines on Tuesday, which found roughly half of all utility infrastructure spending will go toward the grid.
But big wires aren’t very popular. When Heatmap polled various types of energy projects last September, we found that self-identified Democrats and Republicans were mostly neutral on large-scale power lines. Independent voters, though? Transmission was their second least preferred technology, ranking below only coal power.
Making matters far more complex, grid planning is spread out across decision-makers. At the regional level, governance is split into 10 areas overseen by regional transmission organizations, known as RTOs, or independent system operators, known as ISOs. RTOs and ISOs plan transmission projects, often proposing infrastructure to keep the grid resilient and functional. These bodies are also tasked with planning the future of their own grids, or at least they are supposed to – many observers have decried RTOs and ISOs as outmoded and slow to respond. Utilities and electricity co-ops also do this planning at various scales. And each of these bodies must navigate federal regulators and permitting processes, utility commissions for each state they touch, on top of the usual raft of local authorities.
The mid-Atlantic region is overseen by PJM Interconnection, a body now under pressure from state governors in the territory to ensure the data center boom doesn’t unnecessarily drive up costs for consumers. The irony, though, is that these governors are going to be under incredible pressure to have their states act against individual transmission projects in ways that will eventually undercut affordability.
Virginia, for instance – known now as Data Center Alley – is flanked by states that are politically diverse. West Virginia is now a Republican stronghold, but was long a Democratic bastion. Maryland had a Republican governor only a few years ago. Virginia and Pennsylvania regularly change party control. These dynamics are among the many drivers behind the opposition against the Piedmont Reliability Project, which would run from a nuclear plant in Pennsylvania to northern Virginia, cutting across spans of Maryland farmland ripe for land use conflict. The timeline for this project is currently unclear due to administrative delays.
Another major fight is brewing with NextEra’s Mid-Atlantic Resiliency Link, or MARL project. Spanning four states – and therefore four utility commissions – the MARL was approved by PJM Interconnection to meet rising electricity demand across West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania. It still requires approval from each state utility commission, however. Potentially affected residents in West Virginia are hopping mad about the project, and state Democratic lawmakers are urging the utility commission to reject it.
In West Virginia, as well as Virginia and Maryland, NextEra has applied for a certificate of public convenience and necessity to build the MARL project, a permit that opponents have claimed would grant it the authority to exercise eminent domain. (NextEra has said it will do what it can to work well with landowners. The company did not respond to a request for comment.)
“The biggest problem facing transmission is that there’s so many problems facing transmission,” said Liza Reed, director of climate and energy at the Niskanen Center, a policy think tank. “You have multiple layers of approval you have to go through for a line that is going to provide broader benefits in reliability and resilience across the system.”
Hyperlocal fracases certainly do matter. Reed explained to me that “often folks who are approving the line at the state or local level are looking at the benefits they’re receiving – and that’s one of the barriers transmission can have.” That is, when one state utility commission looks at a power line project, they’re essentially forced to evaluate the costs and benefits from just a portion of it.
She pointed to the example of a Transource line proposed by PJM almost 10 years ago to send excess capacity from Pennsylvania to Maryland. It wasn’t delayed by protests over the line itself – the Pennsylvania Public Utilities Commission opposed the project because it thought the result would be net higher electricity bills for folks in the Keystone State. That’s despite whatever benefits would come from selling the electricity to Maryland and consumer benefits for their southern neighbors. The lesson: Whoever feels they’re getting the raw end of the line will likely try to stop it, and there’s little to nothing anyone else can do to stop them.
These hyperlocal fears about projects with broader regional benefits can be easy targets for conservation-focused environmental advocates. Not only could they take your land, the argument goes, they’re also branching out to states with dirtier forms of energy that could pollute your air.
“We do need more energy infrastructure to move renewable energy,” said Julie Bolthouse, director of land use for the Virginia conservation group Piedmont Environmental Council, after I asked her why she’s opposing lots of the transmission in Virginia. “This is pulling away from that investment. This is eating up all of our utility funding. All of our money is going to these massive transmission lines to give this incredible amount of power to data centers in Virginia when it could be used to invest in solar, to invest in transmission for renewables we can use. Instead it’s delivering gas and coal from West Virginia and the Ohio River Valley.”
Daniel Palken of Arnold Ventures, who previously worked on major pieces of transmission reform legislation in the U.S. Senate, said when asked if local opposition was a bigger problem than macro permitting issues: “I do not think local opposition is the main thing holding up transmission.”
But then he texted me to clarify. “What’s unique about transmission is that in order for local opposition to even matter, there has to be a functional planning process that gets transmission lines to the starting line. And right now, only about half the country has functional regional planning, and none of the country has functional interregional planning.”
It’s challenging to fathom a solution to such a fragmented, nauseating puzzle. One solution could be in Congress, where climate hawks and transmission reform champions want to empower the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission to have primacy over transmission line approvals, as it has over gas pipelines. This would at the very least contain any conflicts over transmission lines to one deciding body.
“It’s an old saw: Depending on the issue, I’ll tell you that I’m supportive of states’ rights,” Representative Sean Casten told me last December. “[I]t makes no sense that if you want to build a gas pipeline across multiple states in the U.S., you go to FERC and they are the sole permitting authority and they decide whether or not you get a permit. If you go to the same corridor and build an electric transmission that has less to worry about because there’s no chance of leaks, you have a different permitting body every time you cross a state line.”
Another solution could come from the tech sector thinking fast on its feet. Google for example is investing in “advanced” transmission projects like reconductoring, which the company says will allow it to increase the capacity of existing power lines. Microsoft is also experimenting with smaller superconductor lines they claim deliver the same amount of power than traditional wires.
But this space is evolving and in its infancy. “Getting into the business of transmission development is very complicated and takes a lot of time. That’s why we’ve seen data centers trying a lot of different tactics,” Reed said. “I think there’s a lot of interest, but turning that into specific projects and solutions is still to come. I think it’s also made harder by how highly local these decisions are.”
Plus more of the week’s biggest development fights.
1. Franklin County, Maine – The fate of the first statewide data center ban hinges on whether a governor running for a Democratic Senate nomination is willing to veto over a single town’s project.
2. Jerome County, Idaho – The county home to the now-defunct Lava Ridge wind farm just restricted solar energy, too.
3. Shelby County, Tennessee - The NAACP has joined with environmentalists to sue one of Elon Musk’s data centers in Memphis, claiming it is illegally operating more than two dozen gas turbines.
4. Richland County, Ohio - This Ohio county is going to vote in a few weeks on a ballot initiative that would overturn its solar and wind ban. I am less optimistic about it than many other energy nerds I’ve seen chattering the past week.
5. Racine County, Wisconsin – I close this week’s Hotspots with a bonus request: Please listen to this data center noise.