The news came on a Thursday, just after lunch: his assignment letter was ready.
Seven years. He’d waited seven years.
When he joined the agency, his supervisor told him he needed a little more training first. Same thing in year two. Same in year three. In year four, Ueda quit. In year six, Okada quit. He stayed. All he wanted was a spot on the deep-space probe team — communications. That single want had carried him through seven years.
The letter would be handed over on Monday.
Friday night, he couldn’t help himself. He messaged Ueda.
“It’s finally happening.”
“Congratulations.”
Back in under a minute. Short. He’d hoped for more — some warmth, some words — but that was Ueda. Always had been.
Monday morning, four of them gathered in the conference room. His supervisor’s face looked somehow brighter than usual.
“Before we get to it, I want to say something —”
Sakuma, the senior colleague, started to speak.
“About the project —”
“Please.”
The supervisor slid an envelope across the table. His name on the front.
Sakuma had probably been trying to say something. But the moment the envelope appeared, nothing else in the room existed.
He slit it open. Unfolded the paper.
Space Debris Removal Promotion Team — External Liaison
The room went quiet for a moment.
”…What about the probe project?”
“That wrapped up last month. Mission accomplished, program closed.”
The supervisor’s gaze drifted somewhere distant. Mission accomplished. Program closed.
“So this is where you’ll be placed. Space debris is a growing issue, really important work going forward. And as liaison, you’ll get to work with all kinds of departments.”
Sakuma finished the sentence he’d started.
“That project was always going to end, you know. They set the dissolution date the year after launch — goal achieved, shut it down. That was the year you came in. I’m sorry.”
Right. So he’d spent seven years waiting for a project that was already over on the day it began.
Ueda’s “congratulations” — that was a prophecy all along, it turned out.
He folded the letter and slipped it into his breast pocket. Space debris. Well. Space was still space.
Out in the hallway, Sakuma said, “Coffee?”
He nodded. Sure. Why not.