My man in the moon

"The moon's clean tonight," said Shelly.

"Well, it's well looked after," I replied. We both giggled.

After Shelly left I went for a walk and basked in the warmth and beauty of a full, clean moon, soaking up the rays that give us life.

Gary's up there now, cleaning it. There are 476,000 men up there altogether, making sure the moon's clean, making sure that the solar panel's reflect as much of the sun's light as possible, keeping us alive.

Gary's contract says that he can return home as soon as they've finished cleaning it. What we didn't realised when he signed, was how big the moon was, that by the time they've finished cleaning the last bit, the first panel's dirty again. Unless they find some new improved cleaning system, they might never come home. I may never see Gary again.

When we first met, we used to see each other every day. Used to make love every day, sometimes twice a day. Then Gary got called up for the Just In Case War and I only got to see him every few months. Every few months. It seemed a lifetime, but what would I give for that now, physical contact, every year. I haven't seen Gary for four years now.

He phones once a month, once a lunar month. I dress up 'specially for the occasion, get my hair done, wear some of my skimpier clothing. That monthly bout of telephone sex is the closest we get to each other. Sometimes we don't have sex, just talk, like the old times, about the old times, talk about the world, our respective worlds.

Gary says he curses the Big Bad Cloud that's blocked off the sun and is the reason we need to keep the moon clean, the reason it's now our only source of light and warmth.

Personally, I blame the Just In Case War. If it hadn't happened there wouldn't be a Big Bad Cloud. We'd still have sunlight, like we did when we met, before the Government had implemented its Emergency Initiatives. Just in case of what, I ask, just in case of what?