Below Zero by Ali Hazelwood

Author:Ali Hazelwood [Hazelwood, Ali]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-07-05T00:00:00+00:00

Here is the issue: the reviews are . . . positive. Overwhelmingly positive. Even from a crowd of scientists that, I am well aware, feeds on being mean and scathing. The science doesn’t seem to be a problem, the relevance to NASA’s mission is there, my CV is good enough, and . . . it doesn’t add up. Which is why I’m not going to sit here and take this bullshit.

I slam my laptop closed, aggressively stand from my desk, and march right out of my office.

“Hannah? Where are you—”

I ignore Karl and make my way through the hallways till I find the office I’m looking for.

“Come in,” a voice says after my knock.

I met Dr. Merel because he was my direct superior during AMASE, and he is . . . an odd duck, honestly. Very stiff. Very hard-core. NASA is full of ambitious people, but he seems to be almost obsessed with results, publications, the kind of sexy science that makes big splashy news. Initially I wasn’t a fan, but I must admit that as a supervisor he’s been nothing but supportive. He’s the one who selected me for the expedition to begin with, and he encouraged me to apply for funding once I went to him with my project idea.

“Hannah. How nice to see you.”

“Do you have a minute to talk?” He’s probably in his forties, but there is something old-school about him. Maybe the sweater-vests, or the fact that he’s literally the only person I’ve met at NASA who doesn’t go by his first name. He takes off his metal-rimmed glasses, sets them on his desk, then he steeples his fingers to give me a long look. “It’s about your proposal, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t offer me a seat, and I don’t take one. But I do close the door behind me. I lean my shoulder against the doorframe and cross my arms on my chest, hoping I won’t sound the way I feel, i.e., homicidal. “I just got the rejection email, and I was wondering if you have any . . . insight. The reviews didn’t highlight areas needing improvement, so—”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says dismissively.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“It’s inconsequential.”

“I . . . Is it?”

“Yes. Of course it would have been convenient if you’d had those funds at your disposal, but I’ve already discussed it with two of my colleagues who agree that your work is meritorious. They are in control of other funds that Floyd won’t be able to veto, so—”

“Floyd?” I raise my finger. I must have misheard. “Hold up, did you say Floyd? Ian Floyd?” I try to recall if I’ve heard of other Floyds working here. It’s a common last name, but . . .

Merel’s face doesn’t hide much. It’s obvious that he was referring to Ian, and it’s obvious that he wasn’t supposed to bring him up, fucked up by doing it anyway, and now has no choice but to explain to me what he hinted at.

I have exactly zero intention of letting him off the hook.

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