Below Zero (The STEMinist Novellas, #3)

by Ali Hazelwood

I lie here, in my half-awake, half-unconscious state. I feel my body yield precious degrees of heat.

I watch the ultraviolet morning light reach inside the crevasse that trapped me hours ago,

I am a NASA scientist. I have a doctorate in aerospace engineering and several publications in the field of planetary geology.

My near-death dreams are ridiculous and scientifically inaccurate. I would laugh about it, but I have a sprained ankle and I’m approximately ten feet below the ground. It seems better to just save my energy for what’s to come. I never really believed in an afterlife, but who knows? Better hedge my bets.

“Hannah. I’m coming for you.”

I had this feeling, my entire life, that I was never going to be enough.

I was never going to be as good, as smart, as lovable, as wanted as my perfect older brother and my flawless older sister, and after several failed attempts at measuring up, I just decided to stop trying.

People obsessed with space are split into two distinct camps. The ones who want to go to space and crave the zero gravity, the space suits, drinking their own recycled urine.

And there’re people like me:

is to know about space. At the beginning it’s simple stuff: What’s it made of? Where does it end? Why do the stars not fall and

crash onto our heads?

Why would a sunset be blue? And on a red planet, no less? It seemed like something worth knowing. So I spent the night in my room, googling dust particles in the Martian atmosphere.

I spent the rest of high school busting ass to make up for the ass I hadn’t busted for the previous decade.

NASA was the place to be.

Let’s do the top thirty-five.”

So I moved to Atlanta, and I gave it my all. I chose the majors and the minors I knew NASA would want to see on a CV.

I got the federal internships. I studied hard enough to ace the tests, did the fieldwork, applied to grad school, wrote the thesis. When I look back at the last ten years, school and work and schoolwork are pretty much all that stand out—with

with the notable exception of meeting Sadie and Mara, and of begrudgingly watching them carve spots for themselves in my hea...

I did not come here to make friends, but hurt my weird Cheez-It friend or my other weird soccer friend and I will beat you up with a lead pipe till you piss blood for the rest of your life.

He is, very simply, a never-before-experienced mix of cute and overwhelmingly masculine.

Wow. A male engineer who’s not an asshole. The bar is pretty low, but I’m nevertheless impressed.

“Beautiful. You are very, very beautiful. Probably the most . . . And you’re obviously smart and funny, so . . .”

He wants me to explain to him that I don’t really have the time or the emotional availability for any kind of romantic entanglement?

Ian was chosen as head of engineering for Tenacity, the rover that landed safely in the de Vaucouleurs Crater just last year.

Most of NASA funding is tied to specific projects, but every year there is a discretionary pot that’s up for grabs, usually for junior scientists

who come up with research ideas that seem worth exploring.

“Unless the reason was personal. And you vetoed my proposal because I didn’t sleep with you, what, five years ago.”

“Did he also tell you why I vetoed it?”

“Your project is too dangerous. It specifically asks that you travel to a remote location to drop off equipment at a time of the year in which the weather is volatile and often totally unpredictable. I’ve been in Longyearbyen in February, and avalanches develop out of the blue. It’s only gotten worse in the last few—”

“Hannah, Merel is not always trustworthy. There have been incidents under his watch that—” “What incidents?”

“What do you mean, Merel made sure that your project was funded anyway?” His grip tightens.

I will never think of Ian Floyd again.

Ian is not wearing the gear NASA usually issues to AMASE scientists.

Ian is true to his promises and manages to get me out of the crevasse in barely a couple of minutes, but the instant I’m on the surface, I try to

limp around, and . . . it’s not looking good. My foot touches the ground and pain spears through my entire body like lightning.

Down in the crevasse, I was able to pretend it wasn’t happening. But now that I’m out, and I don’t feel numb anymore, it’s all flooding back, and I cannot stop seeing them, all the things, all the things that I almost—

“We really need to go. I’ll carry you to the coast. I have a light brace for your ankle, just to avoid messing it up even more.” “The coast?” “My boat is less than an hour away.”

“I need you to let AMASE know that you’re safe,” he tells me the second we’re on the boat. I look around, noticing for the first time that there

are no other passengers on board.

“Ian.” He falls quiet. “Why are you not wearing a NASA survival suit?”

“This isn’t a NASA boat, either.”

“Because it’s a great project. It’s absolutely brilliant, and it has the potential to revolutionize future space exploration missions. High risk, high reward.” His fingers push a strand behind my ear, then run down my hair. “Too high risk.”

There were two serious injuries during my second expedition, and both of them happened because he pushed scientists to finish fieldwork when conditions weren’t optimal.”

“Why were you out there alone?”

“Merel was supposed to come for backup. But he wasn’t feeling well. I offered to wait for him, but he said we’d be losing valuable days of data and that I should just go alone, and

“AMASE didn’t send you,” I say. It’s not a question. Ian won’t admit it to me, but in this bunk, next to him, it’s so obvious what happened. He came to Norway to keep me safe. Every step of the way, all he did was to keep me safe. “How did you know that I was going to need you?”

“I was just afraid that something might happen to you. And I don’t trust Merel. Not with you.”

“Hannah, there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I’m just . . . really not that kind of person.” “What kind of person?” “The kind that people enjoy being with for anything that isn’t . . . well, sex. Or sex related. Or directly leading up to sex.”

You’ll probably end up not liking me.” He smiles. “Seems improbable, since I already like you.”