“The problem? Look at me, Doc: I’m happy.”

 

“Go on. You’re happy, but. . . ?”

 

“No ‘but’ to it, Doc. I’m totally happy. Happy as Larry — that’s how you Terrans put it, right? Happy, happy, happy.”

 

“Forgive me, Executive Rax. I’m afraid I don’t quite see the issue.”

 

“Just Rax, please. I’m Ondeen. Ondeens don’t get happy. But I am happy therefore something’s wrong. And not normal wrong, Doc. We’re talking goat rodeo wrong.”

 

“One moment, Rax. I’m downloading the United Planets psychological files on your species… Okay. Hmm. Ondeen evolution saw traits favouring happiness being rejected.”

 

“Yes, Doc. Happiness to an Ondeen is like, I don’t know, depression to a Terran. But much worse. Terrans get depressed all the time but you never see a happy Ondeen. Until now.”

 

“Let’s be clear: you want me to cure you of your happiness?”

 

“Exactamundo, Doc. Do you think you can help?”

 

“By the Almighty Dollar, Rax, I’ve been practicing for over twenty years but I’ve never heard of anything like this. Still, I shall certainly do my level best. Perhaps you could explain how this happiness is negatively impacting your well-being?”

 

“I can’t think straight. My performance in all areas has taken a nose-dive. That’s why the supervisor said I had to see a shrink.”

 

“I prefer the term clinical psychologist.”

 

“Either I sadden down or I lose my job. You know what happens to staff who lose their job?”

 

“They get dropped off at the next port of call.”

 

“Uh-huh. And the next port is Kazeeg — home of the Bloody Scimitars. I’d rather not get press-ganged into a hoard of space-pirates, thank you very much.”

 

“You’re saying it’s vital we restore your usual disposition?”

 

“Correctopolis. So, what do you suggest, Doc?”

 

“Well, before we can eliminate your happiness, we need to understand the cause.”

 

“That’s just it, Doc. There’s nothing I can think of that’s making me happy.”

 

“Nothing? Let me pull up your details… Oh, it says here one of your pod partners has recently spawned.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Well, surely that’s it? The miracle of birth. The arrival of new life.”

 

“I don’t quite follow you, Doc.”

 

“In the Name of the Bottom Line, it’s obvious; becoming a parent has filled you with the utmost joy.”

 

“It most certainly has not. To an Ondeen birth is one of the saddest necessities — bringing offspring into this cruel universe to suffer and die in the meaningless charade of existence? No, Doc, the arrival of younglings is the only thing taking the edge off my euphoria.”

 

“Well, if your current situation isn’t responsible, the answer may lie in your past.”

 

“You’re the expert, Doc. As I understand it, happy Ondeens couldn’t move as fast. I guess they just sat around, laughing, so they’d get picked off by predators until the trait was practically bred out of us.”

 

“No, no. I was thinking a little more recent. Your infancy. Childhood trauma. Can you remember any particularly cheery moments from your early life?”

 

“Zilch, Doc. My four parents all loved me dearly so my youth was entirely dull.”

 

“Quarterly Reports! This really is a challenge.”

 

“There must be something you can do, Doc.”

 

“Let’s try a visualisation exercise. It’s proved useful on other patients.”

 

“Perfect. I have three eyes so I’ll be swell.”

 

“For this to work, I need you to use your imagination. Picture yourself in the office of your superior.”

 

“Right-a-rooney.”

 

“Your supervisor is very angry. He’s seething with rage. Says you’re lousy at your job. Never wants to see you again. He fires you. Now, how does that make you feel?”

 

“Intellectually, I know it’s a bad thing. Emotionally, I could sprout wings I’m so happy.”

 

“Remember, this means you will be torn from your family and dropped off at a grimy nest of space-pirates.”

 

“Whistling a jolly tune, Doc.”

 

“Your future is grim and the only possible release is a quick death in some grungy space battle. How about that?”

 

“Meh. Elated. It’s no use, Doc.”

 

“Holy Profit and Loss, there’s always hope. Wait a moment… ”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m wondering if your time on a Human-centric vessel is behind this unfortunate malady. It’s possible our capitalistic need to submerge dark emotions beneath a thin veil of superficial optimism, the forced smile of the employee, if you will, has had an adverse effect on you.”

 

“You mean I’ve been, like, infected?”

 

“And if that’s true, the only cure would be some kind of dehabituation therapy.”

 

“Keep talking, Doc.”

 

“However, the process would be long and arduous. Months, if not years, of intense labour.”

 

“I don’t have that long, Doc. We stop at Kazeeg in a week.”

 

“Alas, I’m afraid our time is up.”

 

“Already?”

 

“Now, here’s the bill for today and the estimated cost for a twelve-week course of intensive therapy.”

 

“Thanks… Whoa. What is this? Twelve thousand credits? For one session? That’s more than my monthly salary, Doc.”

 

“My rates are quite reasonable, Rax. I assure you. Especially considering I’m the only trained psychologist on board.”

 

“This is… ”

 

“Yes?”

 

“This is amazing.”

 

“It is?”

 

“I feel depressed, Doc. You’ve done it! I could kiss you I feel so bad. Best hour’s money I’ve ever spent. Thanks, Doc.”

 

“Oh, well, I’m happy for you.”

 

“I’m not. Goodbye, Doc.”

 

“Goodbye… Well, that was odd… Still, onwards and upwards… Mr Kitto, who’s my next patient? … Uh-huh… Thinks he’s a what? A Hyperspace engine? Thank the Invisible Hand, something inside my comfort zone.”