Quick note from the Author: I'm sorry! I realize that I should have probably put a Trigger Warning for the mentions of real-world deaths last Chapter. That subject matter might be upsetting/shocking for some, so I apologize for that- it won't happen again. This Chapter is safe, and I'll be sure to include appropriate warnings in the future if things get too bad. Now, on to Chapter 8!

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Chapter 8• The olive branch

*Still Day 3 of Origenes Crisis*

Doctor Ulrich managed to wrap everything up…

She was speaking then, of course, to a group of eight astros and not nine. But I was certain the Labrador would be back.

I wondered though, what would happen if he didn't return.

I couldn't waste time on hypotheticals, mostly because I was learning the vital ins and outs of the Cygnus launch vehicle.

It was somewhat new NASA tech, made for travel and landing to "other celestial bodies"- by which they meant the moon.

The rocket had three stages- the first two would break off at specific points in the mission.

The first stage was our launch vehicle, which was meant to get the crew capsule off the ground and into orbit, then it would split and the 2nd stage would fire to keep us up. At some point, this stage would break off and then the most streamlined version of our rocket would be on the way to the last half of the mission.

The last piece would be the trickiest, however.

Our vehicle, at that point, would be nothing but a lunar landing module attached to a command module- which are constructed to allow movement between the two while they are linked.

The rocket was constructed with this maneuverability in mind, as the lunar module would be facing upright (away from the ground while we're on the launch pad) for the entire mission until the instance where we undock for landing while over the moon. This is where the engineer and the lunar module pilot would enter the lander before a final descent to the surface, while the command module would orbit around the moon for as long as we needed.

Being a command module pilot already isn't a historically glamorous position. Most of the time, the 'Michael Collins's of the Apollo-era often find themselves forgotten- since they didn't actually get to walk on the moon. In truth, however, they are absolutely vital to the success of the mission.

The Cygnus CSM (command and service module) is unique in that it's constructed to be significantly longer than any others. This is because they needed room for the "support items" on board- tools necessary for fixing the damaged circuitry, schematics to fill in the gaps, and the components of a propellant heavy portable ascent engine (definitely a hazardous aspect) meant to lift the massive 43.5-foot-long telescope off of the moon.

Unfortunately, the Command Module wasn't invincible, it still couldn't receive radio signal on the far side of the moon. So, whoever would fill the spot would have to endure 40 minutes of radio silence after an hour and 20 minutes of instruction from Mission control. This cycle would go on for however long it took those on the surface to land, fix the telescope, put the portable ascent engine underneath it, pray it makes it off of the moon (or you're back to square one), and ascend into lunar orbit themselves. Only then could the CSM pilot attempt a rendezvous to pick up the astros first, jettison the empty lander, then use every ounce of the craft's 30-foot frame to push the much larger and heavier Origenes telescope out of lunar orbit while the command module wasn't attached to the lunar module, and thus in a significantly lighter and weaker state.

This burn would be the crux of the mission, in a way, because there could be no other way for NASA to regain control of Origenes if it weren't back in Earth's orbit. One contingency plan would be for the Lunar Module to stay on the surface (of course, packed with enough food and supplies to sustain the stranded astros) and for a 2nd Cygnus to launch specifically to retrieve them, while the original command module and its pilot pushed the telescope back to Earth. Because of this chance, there would actually be two Cygnus launch vehicles mission-ready on the day of launch (Day 13 of the crisis).

We were also told that we'd receive an impact report at around noon the next day, since the telescope would have found its new resting place long before then. NASA had plenty of other satellites in orbit for surveillance purposes. While they couldn't see as far as Origenes- which could literally manage light-years away from Earth- they could see the moon crystal-clear. The trajectory was still in good enough shape for the telescope to miss a direct impact, and rather catch into lunar orbit before skimming the surface like a smooth stone over water.

The moon would be in its Waxing Gibbous phase, which would allow for a successful landing. However, it was the weather on Earth that presented the most threat since that was something we couldn't control. Even if we concocted the most fool-proof plan for our three most experienced astros- it would all be for nothing if the weather on our planet didn't cooperate. We were in a race against the clock, and a single thunderstorm 200 miles from the Cape could lead to a launch being completely scrubbed.

With that being said, we were told by both Dotson and Kingsley to keep our heads high and not to take any unnecessary risks. Training would be difficult, but we'd always be under close watch by someone NASA-trained.

At least, that's what they said.

Training would be our entire lives for the next ten days, but that wasn't how the orientation ended. While we were told we were free to leave, there was one last command.

We, being the eight canine astronauts that made it to the end, were all instructed to open the folders underneath our seats and check our itineraries. The only thing that even resembled free-time (outside of sleeping) was a 20-minute period which started that exact second. We were all encouraged to at least have passing, acquaintance-like, conversation with the other astros. After all, unprecedented stuff aside, I would be stuck with two of them for at least a week going to the moon and back.

After seeing the Cygnus vehicle, I actually liked thinking of myself on it- so I decided to carry that confidence into my extending of the olive branch to my fellow NASA canines. That, and I didn't want to ruin the chance to act before my anxieties could stop me.

The first dog I wanted to speak to was the Jack Russel Terrier that sat one astro down from me.

Thankfully, it didn't look as though I rudely walked past the Shiba Inu, since the group all broke out into a casual mingle at the conclusion of the talk.

I decided not to put a ton of thought into what I'd say, but rather to just be myself and try to add light to the situation.

"Hey there, I can't be the only one who's a little overwhelmed, huh?", I said, regretting it as soon as it left my mouth.

He smiled, "Eh, I wouldn't worry about it. That Dotson guy acts tough, but he's just old-fashioned that's all. I don't know if you ever played sports or anything like that, but the whole- 'if you don't show up, you'll get taken off the prime crew'- thing is kinda like a coach's tool."

I smiled and nodded as he spoke, just elated that he was reciprocating the conversation instead of telling me to get lost.

"Yeah, I mean it wouldn't make much sense- I mean, if the prime crew can't get something done or needs help, you wouldn't get much help by sending someone who isn't a good fit on the mission instead. Motivation from embarrassment maybe?", I said.

He laughed, "I have embarrassed myself in front of other candidates plenty of times. I can confirm- I always let it serve as motivation."

I found out after a few minutes of back-and-forth that this Terrier, named Arlo, had been training to be an astronaut for years. He lived and breathed this stuff, the exact type of person I would expect to be there.

He was friendly, in a way. But I'm sure it was obvious to both of us after a bit of talking that we were very different people, and it wasn't just because he was a bit older than me.

Arlo had a quiet leadership vibe to him that reminded me a lot of Chase. But where Chase radiated a welcoming and helpful personality, Arlo was all business and a bit icy. In his eyes, the prime crew would be the only crew that mattered and if they couldn't get it done, the backups would be "better off just going home."

Charming.

Something made me wonder though, was he putting on a façade or did he really feel that way.

Arlo took off, but not before he wished me luck.

"I can tell you're new, NASA doesn't call up young talent unless they've got potential. So, try not to mess up too bad- no shame in accepting that THIS time may not be THE time."

"Oh-uhh, thanks Arlo", I said, even though I knew he'd just let me know that failure may very well be in my immediate future.

Ok, time for the next one, I thought.

At that point, there were NASA people and pups working their way into the mix. A few of them introduced themselves to me, both humans and canines alike. A lot of them knew who I was, since the PAW Patrol was somewhat well-known.

We were a big deal when we first started rescuing, at least regionally. Many credited us with making dog-centered rescue forces somewhat acceptable in other cities, but dogs had always been special, and everyone knew it.

Still, it was nice to see so many people wishing me well.

Some remarked at my young age. Others promised to look out for me as I embarked on my training.

The group had shifted so that the astro nearest to me was the Shorthaired Pointer that had spoken up. I remembered his name- Walt.

I shook paws, answered the who, what, where, and why's of my life, and belted out promises to give it my all on my way over to him.

Walt noticed and put a pin in his conversation with the Labradoodle.

I spoke first, "Nice to meet you! Walt, was it? Regardless of what Dr. Dotson said, I think it's great what SpaceX has done."

I tried to play to his strengths with some SpaceX praise.

He shrugged, "It's not like I expected any different. NASA isn't what it used to be, but SpaceX offered to help anyway- so I guess it's on us too."

This conversation went a lot worse than my previous one. It seemed that was pretty much all Walt really intended to say.

But I did figure out that he'd been a SpaceX pilot for two years but hadn't been cleared to fly since he had a recent surgery.

He was the same "type" as Arlo, but he was nowhere near as friendly. It wasn't because he was angry about what Dotson had said, he just didn't seem too terribly interested in talking once I told him I was only recently "recruited" by NASA for this flight specifically.

I knew I shouldn't have said it, but it came out anyway.

The reddish labradoodle cut in right before the conversation flatlined, "Hey mixed breed! Good to see we've got some representation out here", he said.

Walt chuckled, which marked the one and only time I saw him smile.

During the second half of our now three-way conversation, I learned that this labradoodle was one commissioned by Boeing. Callum, although he insisted people call him Cal, was the oldest astro in the program at 10 years.

It made sense, since Boeing was the other company at the time that was commissioned to build spacecraft to help NASA back into the human spaceflight game. SpaceX got the crew dragon off of the NASA launchpad first, but Boeing was still around it seemed.

"It's really impressive what you do over in Adventure Bay kid, just take deep breaths during the G-force training and you'll be alright", Cal said. I couldn't tell if this was encouraging advice, or if it was pseudo-sarcasm to assure me that failure was coming my way.

I thanked him anyway.

Cal didn't say much else, but before he resumed whatever conversation he was having with Walt, he pointed me over to the Border Collie and recommended I speak to her.

That was when I started to get nervous. I regained my composure and told myself that it would be no different (but in a good way).

Cal had already told me that her name was Lucille and that she, like Walt, was also a SpaceX trained pilot.

I walked, one paw in front of the other.

At that point she saw my approach and came to meet me halfway.

"I suppose you aren't coming over to offer me a job, are you?", she asked.

Lucille's presence alone made it hard for me to think straight. Her fur was swathes of pure white and a dark brown that was almost black. Her eyes were an autumn gold. I was out of sorts, so her joke almost didn't register.

I laughed, probably a little louder that I should have. She smiled, but it was more than that. She spoke smoothly and deliberately, and she barely moved as she did so. Almost as if she wanted to give whoever she talked to her undivided attention. And as of that moment, that person was me.

I kept the ball rolling, waiting my turn while she talked and then returning the energy during my turn. Whoever said conversation was an artform had it exactly right.

Even though I was nervous, I was analyzing every piece of info I was hearing, not just from her but from everyone.

It wasn't until I mentioned the elephant in the room that her smile went away- we'd covered the PAW Patrol and what I did with the pups- plus she even told me that she was born in a city not too far from the Cape and that she found out she wanted to be an astronaut the day one of NASA's unmanned rockets produced a sonic boom that shook her house. She also let me know that she was the closest to my age in the group, just eleven months older than me. But when I mentioned the upcoming Cygnus mission, she hit the brakes.

"Rocky, I'll tell you this because no-one else is going to. SpaceX and NASA's relationship is odd, to say the least, we don't want to step on NASA's toes but we also don't want them taking all the credit either. It's incredibly likely that a NASA team is going to be the unit that fixes the NASA telescope, it just makes sense, yes?", she almost scoffed.

I nodded, although I felt that she was doing the non-NASA astros kind of a disservice.

"Don't get me wrong, backup crews can step in and take a stab at it if we need to, but I won't be working myself to death trying to make prime crew- though, I won't be rolling over either."

I nodded, "I get it, for sure… but…... I think everyone here at least deserves a shot at becoming a famous astronaut, making the image of the canine astronaut regular, you know?"

This time she really scoffed.

"Who said anything about being famous? I mean, I guess you've been famous your entire life so you think it will just fall into your lap afterwards, huh?"

"Well….", I began.

I almost wanted to drop my ears and shrink away from her; the warm tone was gone and now her eyes weren't as soothing.

"Rocky, you stand a good chance of making prime crew, blowing it would embarrass us all-not just you. Remember that, okay?", she said. Then she walked away.

That was a blow to my confidence for sure, but I don't think I said anything wrong-just used a wrong word.

My thoughts were scattered still, but I had to finish my "tour."

At that point, I turned to anyone I could to change the tone.

I awkwardly approached a group of executives at the far end of the room. A few had been eying me and they were right next to the Irish Wolfhound from seat 7. I exchanged pleasantries with a few of them, all humans who appeared to be between their twenties and thirties.

Of course, the conversations naturally veered away from the mission and towards my PAW Patrol exploits. Eventually, the room started to clear out, and the group I was chipping away at whittled down to me and the Irish Wolfhound whose name I had learned by then was Soot.

Soot was a lot different than the others, that I could tell by our opening words to one another. He had a very friendly demeanor, like an older brother.

He didn't ask me the questions that the others had, as if he were actually trying to get to know me as a person and not just a co-worker.

"What you and those other dogs do is really something, but I'm sure you've gotten plenty of that treatment with the types in here- you don't have to talk about that", he said at one point.

I found myself laughing. I could have talked to him for hours.

I learned a ton from Soot. For starters, Soot worked for Virgin Galactic, the American British spaceflight company within the Virgin airlines Group, headed by Sir Richard Branson.

Their spacecraft were different, as they weren't the typical rocket that would take off from a launchpad from a vertical position. Instead, it consisted of a plane that carried a "rocket-plane" vehicle, much like the x-15's that were used by the Air force before the Apollo Era. The regular plane would drop the rocket, which would ignite as it fell, then it would "merge" out of the atmosphere like a car changing lanes on a highway. I was all too familiar with the technology and couldn't believe they had a K-9 division of pilots (or at least one K-9 pilot).

Soot also told me that the Lab who had stormed out earlier was an Air force pilot named Reece. Apparently, Reece was prone to flying off the handle like that, but he hadn't said anything we didn't all feel according to Soot. The Bernese, a Navy pilot dog named Raisel, had also left during the mingling, but Soot admired that I wanted to make the effort to speak to all of my "potential work partners."

"Well, the way I see it, you might as well start some kind of dialogue if there's a chance we'll be cooped up in a cold cylinder in space for a week", I said.

Soot found that funny.

He looked at his watch and his eyes widened, then he smiled.

"No advice I could give you would ease that web of thoughts I'm sure are bouncing around in there", he said as he tapped my head, "But, if something doesn't feel right with any of the tech you're about to deal with, take the safe route. Don't be a dead hero, understand?"

"…Yeah, you've got it. Can't have that", I said.

I knew what he meant, but it felt odd hearing it out loud. PAW Patrol conduct was safety over everything, but we rarely found ourselves in instances where we had to face existential dread. Well, I didn't anyway.

Sure, every now and then Mayor Humdinger would come around and mess things up- steal a picnic or replace some water balloons with paint balloons or sabotage some mayor-related competition- but still. 9 times out of 10 he'd manage to get himself in trouble and we'd end up saving him.

Adverse weather, suspicious individuals, freak accidents; The other pups could write memoirs about them. Things rarely got too bad when I was in action, though.

Just before he left the room, Soot turned back and said, "Oh, and check that itinerary!"

One last scan and I was ready to leave. The room was all but empty, but I didn't get to talk to the Shiba Inu.

I sighed. The closest pup to me when I first came in and I managed to take too long to speak to him, I thought.

My itinerary was brutal, but I didn't get to look at it too long.

I opened the doors at the back of the room and followed arrows taped to the floor.

I went down a corridor, through some double-doors, and then stopped.

Down the hallway, facing me, was the Shiba Inu himself.

He looked up from a notebook. I smiled, although I realized quickly that he and I were completely alone. I couldn't help but get nervous.

As he approached, I started to get a good look. He was incredibly fit.

All of the Shiba Inu that I had seen usually had more roundish builds. Wide in the face and lower to the ground. Not that this was their fault, it's just how different breeds were.

But this Shiba Inu was much different. Tall, trim, and sturdy, so much so that he looked more like a German Shepard that had orange and cream fur than anything else.

I seriously wondered if he was a mixed breed, however, his tail had the signature tight curl that all Shiba Inu had.

He walked up to me and spoke, "So, have you... satisfied your curiosities? You know, gotten to know everyone?"

His tone was strange, not exactly sarcastic, but definitely not sincere.

I thought to myself, was he offended that I didn't talk to him?

I thought wrong.

I swallowed, "Oh... No…. Well, yeah. Yes, I got to talk to some folks yeah, but…. Well. I didn't get to see you yet. Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

"I don't care", he said sharply. "Y'know, that stuff doesn't impress me, or anyone here for that matter. It's kind of childish you know; this isn't the juvenile rescue daycare thing you do- this is serious."

I hadn't really prepared myself for an outright rejection, but I assumed there would be an "all-business" type that would give me hell for not getting the picture. But still.

"There's too much riding on this to muddy up the works with 'friendship' and stupid platitudes. NASA is built on professional cooperation, anything further is extra crap we don't need, understand?", he shot.

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to disagree with him, but NASA and the PAW Patrol weren't going to be the same, I knew that going in.

I stammered, "Well, I mean. Yeah… of course".

I screamed at myself in my own head- Whatever you do, don't say you're sorry Rocky!

"I, just. I don't-"

He couldn't contain a chuckle and passed back the way I had come, shaking his head.

"Oh boy, it's going to be a long-shot for us to see you on a NASA spaceflight, Rocky", he said.

Then, I was alone.

I knew that last thing was an insult. No way to spin it otherwise.

I couldn't even figure out what I wanted to say, but he wouldn't have accepted anything from my mouth, that was clear. He had a point though. He'd likely been through rigorous NASA training and some upstart from the PAW Patrol was here to- to some degree- compete for his chance to ride a NASA craft to the moon.

He had said all of that without stuttering, without frowning, without breaking form, until the condescending laugh at the end.

It was no secret. Any of these dogs could man any position on the prime crew with their experience. I was just taking up a seat, I was at a major disadvantage- were the others just too polite to tell me that straight up?

I had no clue if any of them had actually been to space before, nor did I expect to be told. No matter what, this would be the debut mission for the fated trio that would be selected down the road.

I had nothing, nothing at all.

Nothing but arrows to follow.

I did, however, catch his name. As he snickered and walked past me, dismissing me and whatever "juvenile" accomplishments managed to get me in the door, his lanyard finally flipped around.

"Weston"

****End of Chapter 8****