Page 103 of Pets in Space 10

The Interstellar Agency building towers over the street, a shimmering obsidian monolith that pierces the Yamato skyline.

Its sleek, curved lines hint at the work within, a silent promise of journeys to distant stars and the unraveling of cosmic mysteries.

I always feel a swell of pride as I approach its entrance.

The I.A. is more than just a workplace; it’s a symbol of humanity’s boundless ambition, our relentless pursuit of knowledge and exploration. They send teams to scout new planets for colonization, develop cutting-edge propulsion systems, and do a lot of other things that I can barely comprehend.

I rest my palm on the scanner at the entrance.

The system scans my face and body, and the gate clicks open.

The air inside is cool and crisp, a welcome contrast to the humid Yamato morning.

I grasp the fabric of my shirt and pump it a few times to get a cool breeze close to my skin.

Ahhhh. Thank goodness for air conditioning.

The lobby is a minimalist masterpiece of polished chrome and holographic displays, showcasing images of distant galaxies and potential new homes for humanity. Scientists, engineers, and administrators hurry along. It’s already a busy morning.

A tiny pang of regret hits me as I limp through the lobby towards the lifts, a familiar ache that always surfaces when I’m reminded of my own unfulfilled ambitions.

As a kid, I devoured every sci-fi novel and film I could get my hands on, dreaming of piloting starships and discovering alien civilizations.

But my academic strengths lay elsewhere.

Science and math? Not my strong suits. I scraped by in astrophysics and dropped orbital mechanics in the first week.

But I still yearned to be part of the grand adventure, to contribute to humanity’s expansion into the cosmos.

That’s why I gravitated towards counseling.

While I may not be charting courses through nebulae, I can help the people who are.

I guide astronauts through the intense psychological preparation for long-duration missions and support engineers coping with the stress of developing groundbreaking technology.

It’s a small piece of the puzzle, but it’s mine.

My office is on the seventh floor, a modest but comfortable space overlooking the sprawling Yamato cityscape.

The walls are decorated with calming images of Orihimé, curated to ease the anxieties of my clients.

A plush, ergonomic chair sits in the corner next to a small table with a selection of herbal teas.

I drop my bag onto the floor with a thump, Raimei letting out a muffled groan of protest. “Must you be so rough, Rosa? A gentleman needs his rest.”

“Sorry, buddy,” I say, reaching into the bag and pulling him out. I deposit him in the bed by my desk, where he begins to survey his domain with an air of regal superiority.

“Much better,” he says, sniffing at a nearby stack of files. “Any new crises?”

“Let’s see.” I pull up my schedule on my computer. “It looks like I have a double session with the Kojiki colonization team. Hmmm. I thought it was only one. They’re starting to get a little… stir-crazy.”

Kojiki. A potentially habitable planet in our same system. The team assigned to colonize it has been in simulated isolation for months, preparing for the real thing. I’d hate to be cooped up for that long.

“Ah, yes,” Raimei says with a knowing nod. “The perils of prolonged confinement. Humans weren’t meant to be crammed into tiny spaceships for years on end. It’s unnatural. A dog needs room to roam, to sniff, to mark his territory.”

“Maybe you should sign up for the next mission,” I say, grinning. “You could offer your expert advice on territorial management.”

Raimei shudders. “Absolutely not. Space is far too… empty. And what about my kibble? Would they have organic, free-range kibble on Kojiki? I think not.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Of course,” he says, puffing out his chest. “That’s why you love me.”

I get to work. Kojiki Team. Session notes.

Psychological evaluations. Personality profiles.

It’s a lot of information, a jumble of anxieties, hopes, and potential interpersonal conflicts, all magnified by the pressure of their upcoming mission.

I classify, make notes, and file it where it’s supposed to be.

As lunchtime approaches, I unpack my bento box.

I take a bite of the onigiri, the savory spicy fish roe filling a small comfort.

My knee throbs in a dull counterpoint to the anxieties I’m reading about.

Containment. Isolation. Limited resources.

All things I can relate to, on some trivial level, these days.

I circle a note about the team leader, Dr. Ito, and his increasing irritability.

A classic sign of stress, and something I need to address in our session.

“Irritability,” Raimei comments, his nose twitching as he inhales the scent of my lunch. “A common symptom of kibble deprivation, I might add. Are you sure you packed enough for me today? My stomach is making noises that could rival a collapsing star.”

“You had a full breakfast, drama queen. And you’re getting extra treats later, remember? For being such a good boy during the physical therapy appointment.”

He lays his head back down. “Hmph. Bribes. That’s all it is. But effective ones, I must admit.”

My tablet buzzes with an incoming message. It’s from Kenji, a fellow counselor in the astronaut training division. “Lunch?” the message reads.

I reply, “Can’t. Buried.”

I tap my finger on the desk as I eat. I prefer to lunch alone, reviewing my notes and preparing for my appointments. I need some peace and quiet to get my head in the game.

But a knock on my open door breaks the quiet. I look up to see Kenji poking his head in, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Buried, huh? Looks more like you’re enjoying a picnic with your furry overlord,” he says, gesturing to Raimei, who is now grooming his paws.

“It’s called multitasking.” I gesture for him to come in. “Fueling the body and the mind simultaneously.”

Kenji steps inside, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, fuel your ears with this, then. Heard some whispers in the breakroom. Budget reviews are coming up.”

My stomach performs a little flip. Budget reviews. Ugh. Every employee’s biggest worry. The I.A., despite its grand mission, is not immune to the realities of funding and resource allocation.

“Whispers? About what?” I set my onigiri aside because my throat is suddenly tight.

Kenji shrugs. “The usual. Cuts, restructuring, ‘optimizing efficiency.’ You know the drill.”

I force a smile. “We hear those rumors every year. It’s just… noise.”

“Maybe,” Kenji says, his grin fading. “But this time, it feels different. There’s talk of merging departments, consolidating resources… laying people off.”

My blood pressure spikes. Layoffs. The word echoes the anxieties in the Kojiki files. Containment. Isolation. Fear of the unknown. Only this time, it’s not about a spaceship; it’s about my career, my future.

I push the files aside and force the lightness back into my voice. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. No point in panicking until there’s something to panic about, right?”

Kenji smiles, but there’s worry in his eyes. “Right. But you should dust off that resume, just in case.” He pats the doorframe as he’s about to leave, but stops and turns around.

“Hey, how did that date go the other night?” Kenji is a good guy, married with two kids, and he tends to look after me like a big brother, even though I already have one of those.

Date? I had forgotten all about that.

I wave my hand at him. “It was one drink, and then he made excuses and left.” I shrug a shoulder.

He tips his head to the side. “Too bad.”

I push a smile to my face because I don’t care about dating when my job may blow up. I love this job as much as I love soccer. And if I lost my job while also not being able to play? I think that would be the end of me.

Yeah, that would definitely be the end of me.

Here lies Rosa. She died of heartbreak after losing her love of soccer and therapy.

I push away the tears. They can come later.

“His loss,” I say with a smile.

Kenji gets the hint. “Atta girl.” And then he saunters off.

But now, I have thoughts. Lots of them. All swirling around like a chaotic nebula, threatening to pull me into a black hole of worry. Budget cuts. Layoffs. My knee. My career. Soccer. It’s a tangled mess, and I don’t know where to untangle it.

“You’re frowning,” Raimei observes, his head cocked to the side. “A frown does not become a therapist. It inspires… unease. Clients prefer a calm, reassuring presence. Like a well-fed dog, basking in a sunbeam.”

I manage a weak smile. “Thanks for the tip, Dr. Raimei. I’ll try to channel my inner sunbeam.”

The sunbeam, though, is distant, obscured by the storm clouds gathering in my head. I force myself to refocus, to push aside my personal anxieties and prepare for the Kojiki team session. It’s what I do, after all. Help others navigate their storms, even when my own is raging.

The session is… intense. The team, a mix of seasoned astronauts and eager young scientists, is a pressure cooker of conflicting personalities and mounting fears.

Dr. Ito, the team leader, is indeed irritable, snapping at his colleagues and exhibiting a rigid approach to problem-solving.

The others are anxious or withdrawn or overly optimistic, a volatile combination that threatens to derail their mission.

I listen, I empathize, I guide. I draw on all my training, all my experience, to create a space for them to vent, to share their concerns, to find common ground.

I use techniques I’ve honed over the years: active listening, reflective questioning, cognitive reframing.

I help them see their fears not as weaknesses but as natural responses to an extraordinary situation.

“It’s okay to be scared,” I tell them, my voice calm and steady, even as my knee throbs with a dull, persistent ache.

“Fear is a survival mechanism. It’s what keeps us alert, aware of potential dangers.

But it shouldn’t control us. We need to acknowledge it, understand it, and then find ways to manage it. ”

I talk about coping mechanisms, about the importance of communication, about finding moments of joy and connection even in the most challenging environments.

I share anecdotes from past missions, stories of resilience and teamwork, of astronauts who faced almost insurmountable odds and emerged stronger.

There are days when I have no idea where all this data comes from.

My brain is saturated with these stories from working here for the last three years.

It’s challenging, draining work. So draining. I have to stay present, focused, attuned to the subtle shifts in their emotions, the unspoken anxieties lurking beneath the surface. I have to be a rock, a source of stability in their turbulent world, even when my foundation is shaky as hell.

… And my knee is really throbbing the more I sit here.

By the end of the session, they seem calmer. Not completely at peace, of course, but less frayed around the edges. Dr. Ito even manages a small, hesitant smile, a flicker of hope in his weary eyes.

“Thank you, Rosa,” he says, his voice softer than before. “This helped. More than you know.”

I nod. “That’s what I’m here for.”

As they file out of the meeting room, I lean back in my chair, exhaustion washing over me. It’s a good exhaustion, though, the kind that comes from knowing I’ve made a difference, however small.

“Well done.” Raimei rises from his spot in the corner and stretches. “You managed to maintain a semblance of composure, despite the impending doom of budget cuts and your throbbing knee. Impressive.”

“Thanks... I think.”

I check the time. Physical therapy in an hour. I gather my things, the movement sending a sharp twinge through my knee. I wince, grab my bag, and head for the door. Raimei trots after me, his tail wagging.

“Come on, fuzzball,” I say, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Time to face the torture chamber. Maybe I can convince my therapist to let me forego the strength training today.”

“Again?” Raimei asks, his tone amused. “It didn’t work last time.”

“I’m willing to try. Desperate times,” I say, limping towards the elevator. “Desperate measures.”

The lift descends, carrying me away from the simulated worlds of space exploration towards the very real, very painful reality of my injured knee. Sigh. And getting my body back in shape is only one of the challenges ahead.