Loathe to Love You by Ali Hazelwood

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            See this thread right here? It’s mostly about the behavior of one of the rover’s sensors, the LN-200. We combine its information with the one provided by the encoders on the wheels to figure out positioning.”

            “Huh. So the sensor doesn’t run constantly?”

            Ian turns to me, away from the chunk of programming code he’s been showing me. We’re sitting in front of his triple-monitor computer, side by side at his desk, which is a giant, pristine expanse with a stunning view of the floodplain JPL was built on. When I mentioned how clean his workspace was, he pointed out that it’s only because it’s a guest office. But when I asked him if his usual desk back in Houston is any messier, he glanced away before the corner of his lip twitched.

            I am almost certain he’s starting to think that I’m not a total waste of time.

            “No, it doesn’t run constantly. How can you tell?”

            I gesture toward the lines of code, and the back of my hand brushes against something hard and warm: Ian’s shoulder. We’re sitting closer than we were at the coffee shop, but no closer than I’d feel comfortable being with one of the—always unpleasant, often offensive—guys in my Ph.D. cohort. I guess my crossed knees kind of pressed against his leg earlier, but that’s it. No big deal. “It’s in there, no?”

            The section is in C++. Which happens to be the very first language I taught myself back in high school, when every single Google search for “Skills + Necessary + NASA” led to the sad result of “Programming.” Python came after. Then SQL. Then HAL/S. For each language, I started out convinced that chewing on glass would surely be preferable. Then, at some point along the way, I began thinking in terms of functions, variables, conditional loops. A little after that, reading code became a bit like inspecting the label on the back of the conditioner bottle while showering: not particularly fun, but overall easy. I do have some talents, apparently.

            “Yeah.” He’s still looking at me. Not surprised, precisely. Not impressed, either. Intrigued, maybe? “Yes, it is.”

            I rest my chin on my palm and chew on my lower lip, considering the code. “Is it because of the limited amount of solar power?”

            “Yes.”

            “And I bet it prevents gyro drift errors during the stationary period?”

            “Correct.” He nods, and I’m momentarily distracted by his jawline. Or maybe it’s the cheekbones. They’re defined, angular in a way that makes me wish I had a protractor in my pocket.

            “It’s not all automated, right? Earth-based personnel can direct tools?”

            “They can, depending on the attitude.”

            “Does the onboard flight software have specific requirements?”

            “The pointing of the antenna relative to Earth, and . . .” He stops. His eyes fall on my chewed-on lip, then quickly move away. “You ask a lot of questions.”

            I tilt my head. “Bad questions?”

            Silence. “No.” More silence as he studies me. “Remarkably good questions.”

            “Can I ask a few more, then?” I grin at him, aiming for cheeky, curious to see where it’ll take us.

            He hesitates before nodding. “Can I ask you some, too?”

            I laugh. “Like what? Would you like me to list the specs of the maze-solving bot I built for my Intro to Robotics class back in college?”

            “You built a maze-solving robot?”

            “Yup. Four-wheel, all-terrain, Bluetooth module. Solar powered. Her name was Ruthie, and when I set her free at a corn maze somewhere near Atlanta, she got out in about three minutes. Scared the crap out of the children, too.”

            He is fully smiling now. He has a heart-stopping dimple on his left cheek, and . . . Okay, fine: he’s aggressively hot. Despite the red hair, or because of it. “You still have her?”

            “Nope. To celebrate, I got wasted at a bar that didn’t bother to check IDs and ended up leaving her at some University of Georgia frat house. I didn’t want to go back, because those places are scary, so I gave up on Ruthie and just built an electronic arm for my Robotics final.” I sigh and look into the mid-distance. “I’ll need a lot of therapy before I can become a mother.”