Niall Cooper slowly and methodically pulled the rake through the moon dust. It didn’t need raking, but he thought it would look neater if the cold gray regolith was flat and even. He had removed the last of the small rocks the day before to form the outer boundary around the grave. It had taken him almost a week to round up rocks of a similar size. Behind him lay the elongated shadows of the lander wreckage.

 

Cooper’s hundredth day on the Moon was approaching, as well as the first anniversary of the crash, and he wanted to make sure the memorial was well presented, even though nobody else would see it. At least not for a while.

 

The faint Earthlight caught his eye as it touched the small domes of the OreStruck mining base less than a kilometre away. Dark memories gripped him, and he dropped the rake. In his mind’s eye, the tool turned into a pair of glasses: the pair of reading glasses he had held and dropped at mission control after the lander pilot uttered the words: “I’m going down.”

 

He looked at the broken main section of the lander just a few metres away. Its shadow seemed to point mockingly towards that damn base. The ramparts at the southernmost edge of Tycho Crater dwarfed it to the point of almost engulfing it. The little lander had been so close to reaching its destination. A single control thruster had failed less than a minute from reaching its landing area, forcing the small craft to quickly lose altitude. OreStruck’s lunar test pilot had been the lone occupant en route to the first human landing at the mine complex.

 

Cooper had intended to come to the completed base at the start of operations to oversee the start of Helium-3 extraction. Four engineers, a mission specialist, and a pilot would comprise the first crew. The CEO didn't have to be present, but he had insisted. After all, he was an engineer (and it was his money and his idea).

 

Two billion dollars after the foundation and premature collapse of his operation he found himself the only person on the Moon. He was now staring at his own empty mining base, his lonely home in self-imposed exile nearly a quarter of a million miles from Earth. Guilt had brought him here since the crash and he had decided before he left Earth that he would never go back; that he would die here.

 

Feeling numb – the only state he had known since the accident – Cooper walked slowly around his tractor-pod to the rear and placed the rake into a slot next to other tools. Instead of climbing into the driving seat he turned and looked at the grave. He walked over to its rocky edge and decided that tomorrow he would polish the plaque until it was as bright as could be. Of course, it would not appear any brighter than it presently looked on the sterile, airless, windless lunar surface. But to him, it might help the engraved words remain here forever.

 

It read, simply:

 

‘Here lie the remains of Syd Cooper. 1995-2037.’

 

A tear made its way onto the cheek of the only inhabitant of the Moon as he walked back to the tractor-pod. It was a tear for a brave, talented pilot. And for the beloved wife of a rich dreamer. He sighed and drove home.