The Dark Side of the Moon

"Look," said Augustus Bush, "the simple fact is that we hired you for consultations about new initiatives for International Development Machine.  Now we find you were stealing your ideas from an Australian mining heiress!"

"That's not true!" protested the Bo-oz 5G consultant, Fen Do Ping.  "Gina Rinehart may have stolen the idea from us!  We are exploring legal options."

"You're going to sue her for lauding $2/day wages in Africa?" asked Liv Cigemeier.

"Our plan for setting up call centers in refugee camps is intellectual property," stated the consultant.  "If she's only talking about mining, that's one thing, but if she's talking about wages in general--"

"Poppycock!" said Bush.  (Every now and then his Cayman Islands accent popped out.)  "We can't wait around for some lawsuit that's going to drag on for years!  We've already put in the proposal to USAID!"

"Yes, I understand, President Bush," said the consultant to the president of IDM.  "We've come up with something to push it to the next level--something the U.S. government can do but an Australian mining heiress cannot."

"I'm listening," said Bush, chewing on sugar cane.

"Refugee mining camps on the moon!" said the consultant.  (Stunned silence.)  "They're refugees, nobody wants to take in refugees anymore, we send them to the moon to mine rare minerals for the U.S. government."

"And you think you can do this for $2 per day per refugee?" asked Cigemeier, who felt as if she had dropped into a parallel universe.  (Will I still have my husband in the parallel universe?  Will we be able to have a baby?)

"Well, naturally there would be significant non-personnel costs involved, but using foreign refugees instead of American citizens trained to be astronauts makes the mining enterprise not only solvent but lucrative."  The consultant asked for somebody to dim the lights, and he queued up his PowerPoint presentation.  "Remember," Fen Do Ping said, with a deliberate infusion of additional Chinese accent, "if the U.S. doesn't do this, China will!"

A few miles away, former Senator Evermore Breadman marched into the Prince and Prowling partner's office.  "Cigemeier," he said, tossing a file on the desk, "I need you to set up some more Delaware shell corporations.  Glove needs more foreign contributions ASAP."

"Who's Glove?" asked Cigemeier, unaware of Breadman's nickname for Mitt Romney.

"Funny," said Breadman, not smiling.  "Two Israelis, four Swiss bankers, two Mexicans, and a Mormon in France--one of Glove's converts."I want these corporations funded tomorrow and contributing to the SuperPacs by Saturday.

"Well, I--"

"Let me know when the corporations are up," said Breadman, exiting before Cigemeier could say another word.

Cigemeier (who had yet to feel he was in partnership with Breadman) opened the file and started reading the names of the shells to be incorporated:  Tutti Frutti Mutti, Wuzzup Your Honor, Delicate Pink Glow Rose, Moon Goon Tune....

A few miles to the east, attorney Atticus Hawk walked back into the Justice Department, smiled at the security guard, swiped his reactivated ID card, and began the return journey to his office.  After a month of procedural haggling and additional lab tests, it was now proven that his random drug test flag had been a false positive based on the interaction of various prescription drugs.  For good measure, Hawk had also peed into some additional cups to show his boss that he was not going to trigger any more drug flags of any sort--because it was imperative that his boss know that Hawk would never again have to be yanked from a case for a month.  When Hawk finally unlocked his office, he found several memos had been slid under his door--as well as an issue of "High Times".  Ha ha, real funny, guys!  He sat down at his desk, tossed the magazine in the recycling bin, dropped the memos into his in-box, opened his briefcase, and pulled out two framed photos:  one of girlfriend Basia Karbusky standing next to Mega Moo (her cow), and the other a photo of him and Karbusky sitting on the porch with a full moon rising behind them.  Oh, I miss you! he thought, but the drug-test-proof chemicals which the neo-Nazi scientist had given him assured he would retain a calm, warm feeling even now--back in the city, far from the Potomac Manors haven he had enjoyed for a month.  I'm back! he exulted inwardly, unafraid to return to the torture memos (and tortured research) that had led to his nervous breakdown and heart attack.  I'm back!

A couple miles away, Ann Bishis hung up her framed print of Vincent Van Gogh's "Starry Starry Night" and immediately noticed a scratch on the glass just above the moon.  Oh, well--if I stay, I'll replace it.  She sat down at her new desk in her new office and began rearranging the objects in front of her.  I have three months to turn this interim position into a permanent one.  She took a deep breath, pulled the pelican and Glaucos figurines from her bag, and placed them in the center drawer just above her lap.  Watch over me.  Bishis had been functioning as Congressman Herrmark's chief of staff since the former one went missing in May, but she had not gotten a raise or a new title until today.  He would have made it official sooner if I had told him she was dead!  She pulled out her iPad and got to work, pushing the thoughts of the decapitated zombie out of her mind.  He IS going to win reelection, and next year he will keep me as chief of staff!

Several miles to the west, Federal Reserve Board economist Luciano Talaverdi was also fretting with ambition.  He scratched the irritated skin under his (cursed) Rolex and resumed typing his latest warning memo to Ben Bernanke about the long-term effects of quantitative easing.  Talaverdi had been taken aside more than once with a reminder that the Fed was also tasked with maximizing employment, but he was becoming more and more entrenched in his stark viewpoints.  "We are approaching the dark side of the moon," typed Talaverdi.  "Nobody knows what we will find there."  He reread his last paragraph, pondering whether he was incorrect about the dark side of the moon, but he liked it too much as a metaphor to let it go.  "We need to stay where things are bright and clear," he added--though, in truth, his soul was bright and clear because of a cold sheet of ice covering it up.

Out in the river, Ardua of the Potomac rejoiced over the coming autumn equinox and the growing darkness Washington would come to know.