* * *
"Newt?" It was Old Friend calling.
Newt held the phone at a distance, and heard the tinny voice of his friend. It was gray outside. An airplane was smoking in a field out in the distance. Newt's house was powered by multiple generators, and was not affected by the wide-scale power outage.
"Newt?"
"Yeah," Newt said, his voice cracking, holding the phone out. He closed his eyes, swallowed, regained his composure, and held the phone to his ear, fiery and ready to talk like nothing was wrong with him. "I'm alive. How are you?"
"Oh, fine. I've been learning to live without electricity for years." There was an extended silence. "So have you heard any reasons why roughly nothing is working?"
"Pretty standard infrastructure problems, really. If only we had privatized it, we would have been okay."
Old Friend was quiet again. "Are you still going to space?"
"Private industry, my friend!" Newt yelled. Newt felt excitement again; his brain was clicking with policy ideas. He grabbed a nearby napkin and started searching around for a pen. He couldn't find one, and remembered he was having a conversation, so it was only civil to actually talk. "I mean, it's still going off. They're good at what they do, the Mellon company."
"Hrm," Old Friend said. "Have you heard what people are saying about you?"
"Ha!" Newt said. "The Intergalactic Culture War? I mean, those people are crazy, the ones that say I'm going to come back and announce that. Irresponsible. I'm a sensible guy, Old Friend. That's why you voted for me as Speaker."
"So true, Newt."
"And anyway: the Moon People have already announced it."
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