Ad Astra

August 27, 2051: Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX

"Captain Jarrus?"

Kanan looked up to see one of the NASA psychiatrists, Dr. Whitford, standing in the doorway, with his enormously bushy eyebrows raised.

"Come on in. We're ready for you."

Kanan got to his feet and walked across the waiting room, following the doctor into the hallway beyond. The air conditioners whined, chugging along at full power in 103 degree heat. This wasn't his first visit to Houston, but the heat was always an unpleasant change from the milder weather he'd become accustomed to at Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Tacoma. The miserably dry heat almost made him miss his Antarctic resupply flights. Beneath his scratchy suit, he felt a tickling rivulet of sweat moving down his lower back, and tried to ignore it. He wasn't entirely sure if he was sweating from the heat, or from the prospect of being grilled by a bunch of psychiatrists for the next hour. Probably both.

Dr. Whitford stopped at the door to one of the medical center's conference rooms, waving Kanan through the door. Two other doctors sat at the end of a long, polished wooden table, regarding him like a vaguely interesting but potentially contagious specimen in a petri dish. The conference room smelled like all conference rooms always do- a blend of old coffee and the stink of misery from sitting through long, tedious and probably unnecessary meetings.  

"Have a seat," Dr. Whitford said, indicating a high-backed leather chair opposite the doctors. Whitford himself flopped into one of the chairs next to Kanan's with a tired huff. Kanan had met with the psychiatrist on a previous visit, primarily to fill out questionnaires. It was one of the only interactions with a shrink that he'd ever remotely enjoyed.

Kanan sat. One of the two doctors across the table, a grey-haired woman with a sharp nose and rimless glasses, said, "I'm Dr. Jan Markham, and this is Dr. Paul Feiner. You know Dr. Whitford already, of course. It's nice to finally meet you, Captain Jarrus. How are you enjoying this heat?"

"I can't say that I'm a fan," he said, with a wry smile.

"Not many of us are," Dr. Whitford said jovially. "Well, let's get right down to it, shall we? As I recall, you're not much of a fan of idle chit chat, either."

"That's accurate," Kanan agreed.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to review the basics with Doctors Markham and Feiner, here," Dr. Whitford said, picking up a tablet. A few taps later, he pulled up Kanan's file and began reading.

"Kanan Jarrus, no middle name, age 26, born November 29, 2025, in San Francisco, California. Biological mother deceased, biological father unknown. Adoptive mother also deceased. One adopted sibling, Ezra, age 15. Undergraduate degree completed at MIT in aerospace engineering, summa cum laude. Joined the United States Air Force immediately following graduation, despite job offers from Jet Propulsion Lab and SpaceX. Graduate degree in aeronautical engineering earned from the Air Force Institute of Technology. Winner of a number of awards and medals, including Marksmanship and Airman of the Year. Not surprisingly, earned the rank of Captain last month, rather ahead of schedule. Bit of a cavalier attitude, but all tests are normal. Psychiatric workup completed, no unusual findings. I think we can proceed, unless either of you have questions."

Dr. Feiner shook his head and glanced at Dr. Markham, who cleared her throat and leaned forward. "No, I think we can move on. Captain Jarrus, this is more of a general screening to determine if you're a good psychological fit for the mission. Would you mind telling me a bit about your brother?"

"Don't you want to know why I want to be an astronaut when I grow up?" Kanan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We'll get to that. The mission you've expressed specific interest in requires lengthy space travel, at significant risk to you. Are you comfortable leaving your brother?"