“Wouldn’cha know he missed the moon,” Vu said, “by about a heck of a lot, eh.”

“Make you now an around turn,” I said to Jacques. “U-turn.”

“Oui,” he said. “L’espace ressemble à l’uterin. L’acte du creation est tres evident. ”

The whole thing was a public-relations nightmare for the CIA, which was forced to deny ordering over eighty kiloliters of beer delivered to Martyr’s Park in downtown Ottawa. Mulroney’ s men confiscated all our documents, and then they began killing us. Vu was thrown down an ice crevasse, Scotty was immolated below the launchpad of a Yukon ballistic base, and rumor has it that Mansoor’s last date was with our own centrifugal chamber. The labs were burned and the bunkers buried in an attempt to hide the embarrassing truth that the great nation of Canada could put a man on the moon, but not bring him back. The only evidence this country ever even had a space program is the total wasteland we made of north-central Canada.