Newt Goes To the Moon: Trailer One

There was commotion, frenzy; were people moving back and forth, children jumping up and down, hopscotch games, hoboes, almost all of those people armed. They mulled around the largest landing pad, the one that Earth dignitaries used when coming onto the moon. Women, men, people who identified as neither gender, children aping adults, all chattering:

"What will he do?"

"Will be bring us government?"

"Will he force Earth laws on us?"

"Will he force us to re-implement the Thirteenth Amendment?"

"He will DESTROY small business!"

"He will DESTROY moon culture!"

"He will DESTROY our families!"

"But he's a conservative!"

"Not conservative enough for MOON PEOPLE!"

Oh and the hours people had to wait! It felt like forever and an Earth day.

Amos stood next to Abraham, their second cousin Alcabadias stood behind them, their wives who went without names on account of their family's sacred custom in a betrothed-woman-pocket half a mile away, their children running wherever through the crowd. Amos, Abraham, and Alcabadias, like most of the men, cradled automatic weapons.

"The news aggregator told me he roughed up welfare and built more prisons than any of us could imagine," Alcabadias said.

"Oh, I'm sure he did all that. But a slick Earth politician is a slick Earth politician," Amos said, nervously locking and unlocking his trigger lock. "Earth is broken, and he helped make it that way."

And still the spaceship did not land.

Amos's Collection, Et Cetera

Amos was sharpening his knives in the backroom of Amos's Discount Tireyard, listening to his high school band--Lunar Reed--over the stereo, and talking to himself. "This is what's magical and such," he said with a sing-songy quality, dragging the blade of a speedknife delicately across the inside of his index finger. "Few things to love more than quiet time with sharpness, in terms of intelligence and music and literal sharpness." His mouth affected an innocent smile, rehearsed and yet convincing, if anybody would have seen it. He looked into a shiny pornographic poster made of cheap, flimsy mirrorlike material to his right, about five feet away, to model his smile. He smiled even bigger, satisfied with his look.

It was then that Abraham burst in, and Amos threw his speedknife into the wall, directly in front of himself, and spun around to see his brother.

"We got too many customers for me and Ma and Rebekah to deal with, Brother!"

Amos nodded. "Well, that was the plan."

"It's working, Brother! And it seems like everybody's worried about this man from the government comin'! This lady just ran up with eight tires, afraid she'd have to drive and set up on the Darkside once this feller came and brought government! Too bad for John Birch Byerson that he just up and died before this panic!"

Amos nodded again and smiled his pretend-innocent smile. "Too bad for John Birch Byerson indeed, Brother." He hopped to. "Afraid of government coming, we all are?"

"Yes, Brother!"

"Well then," Amos said, taking a step to his brother, keeping constant eye contact with Abraham while walking and talking. "Let's go sell us some panic tires."

"Yes, Brother!" Abraham said, scurrying out the door and leaving it ajar.

"Yes, Brother," Amos said, turning to smile at the stereo, a shiny pornographic poster, and eighty-five well-sharpened knifes sticking handle-out from a much-knived wall.

Moon People: An Introduction

Amos was one of the colonists that chose to go without a last name--it was a way to represent the break with the millennia of civilization on earth. It was also a good way to further avoid any kind of pestering from the police--not that there was much police presence on the moon, moon people being so fiercely antigovernment and all.

So, avoiding the police:

Amos sold lunar tires in the lunar state of Franklin. So did John Birch Byerson. JB had been lowering prices like a madman. Amos didn't get how. Amos had made the switch to slaves, and JB hadn't. Amos had his brother Abraham raid a tire manufacturing plant over in Columbus (, Moon), and Birch still bought tires from Goodyear. Amos had been constructing ledgers for John Birch Byerson's Tirerama, based on dumpster-diving-retrieved documents (dumpster-driving services care of Abraham). Dumbass Birch didn't shred anything. Still--JB's tires were about twenty dollars less than Amos's, and freaking JBBT still pulled in more than Amos's Discount Tireyard, and at a profit! Amos slashed prices, and people stayed with JBBT. Amos had his marketing people do massive surveying; the data showed that people just "trusted" John Birch Byerson, for whatever reason. So Amos learned that JB was going on a hiking expedition outside of the oxygen dome over the last weekend in February, and Amos followed JB to the mountain range, and Amos walked up to JB, and JB said "Amos, what are you doing here?" and Amos slowly, but successfully, drove a screwdriver through JB's helmet.

This was the moon.