My Uncle Alastair was a member of the Spacemobile. Uncle Alastair came from Scotland.

I didn’t know much about my uncle only he was from a place called Glasgow. I’ve heard a lot about Glasgow but I have never been there.

But Uncle Alastair was never in the spotlight even on the Spacemobile.

He was the accountant.

Now the traditional stereotype is that the accountant’s life is very boring.

Guess again.

Accountants’ lives, if you read the business pages in newspapers, are perilous, full of cliff hangers.

But not in the same way as typical space travelers.

The main thing that accountants have to worry about is whether the star program is spending too much money or whether they are on budget.

In the early days, it seems as though the Spacemobile was Spartan: the space travelers wore the same uniforms all the time and they seldom thought about food.

But the sheer fuel needed to power the glorified skidoo in space cost a lot of money.

However there were some pluses to space travel. The star travelers seemed to enjoy their jobs. They never talked about money; let alone go on strike.

Uncle Alastair wrote to me that he enjoyed accounting as much as any other accountant. But he resented the fact that he didn’t have an office with a window. There wasn’t much to see outside of the spacemobile except blackness and a few stars. But it was a status thing. He had as much seniority as the others but he was in a bleak office in the middle of the ship.

Most people didn’t notice he was there.

He was in constant conflict with the Captain. The Captain didn’t care how much he spent just so long as he was visiting planets and fighting aliens.

And the Captain refused to take “No” for an answer, ever.

Uncle Alastair, from what I gather, always felt that he was going to die within six months. Not from some Jupiter attack. But from a mysterious disease. He would say it was cancer except cancer had been, thankfully, cured a few centuries ago.

One day, a psychiatrist moved into the office beside Uncle Alastair. This happened when the Spacemoble was visiting the Space Station called, Pact with the Sun.

“Hi, I’m Apostle Cligg” said the man. “I am a shrink.”

My Uncle said he had some numbers to crunch, excused himself and quickly closed the door to his bleak, windowless office.

A Story About A Psychiatrist In Space

For Dr. Clifford Posel

This is just the beginning

Mary Cassells

c.2003

What would a psychiatrist in space do?