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Before the UNESCO conference and his subsequent firing, Dr. Ryland Grace had caused another incident that had resulted in a warning from the chair of his department. This incident had happened during his PhD thesis defense and they had hired him on as a postdoc anyway, so really, they'd brought UNESCO onto themselves. At least, that's what Ryland has always stood by.
On a sunny, late-May morning in the main conference room of the astrobiology department at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Ryland Grace prepares to defend his doctoral thesis. He's spent the past five years studying interplanetary development and evolution, writing what has become a 150-page dissertation, and pissing off approximately 97% of the faculty and staff. (The three percent leftover accounts for two elderly women on the astrobiology administration team who have been consistently endeared by Ryland and appreciate his dedication. They also think he's quite handsome and he always says hi to them when he passes the main office).
Today, those two elderly ladies, Meg and Peg, helped him get the AV working, set up the light refreshments provided by the department’s catering, and wished him well before shuffling back to their work. His defense had gone flawlessly up until the Q&A.
One of Ryland’s committee members, Dr. Stephen Klein, raises his hand. Ryland points to him, wordlessly inviting him to speak.
“On slide 30-” Dr. Klein looks down at his notes before continuing, “you state that ‘the Goldilocks zone is for idiots.’ Could you please explain why you think that?”
Ryland scoffs but clicks back to the slide in question. He points to the rest of the text on the screen.
“Well, if you'd been paying attention to the past two and a half hours, you'd know why as that has been my entire thesis,” Grace replies. Klein looks offended.
“Ryland, I think you know what he means,” Ryland’s primary advisor, Dr. Jonathan Pine says. Dr. Pine has his hands folded politely on the tabletop, his notebook and pen sit neatly next to his right hand.
“I think it means he didn't even read any iterations of my paper either, in addition to not paying attention to my defense,” Grace replies. “Honestly, Klein, what are you even employed for? To look astonishingly stupid and make the other faculty members feel smarter than they really are?”
Dr. Klein has gone completely still, his ears have turned red and the vein in his forehead pulses. Ryland’s third advisor sits between Klein and Pine but doesn't say anything. She just watches the conversation unfold. Pine rubs his temples.
“Grace, that's enough. We’ll end the Q&A portion and go straight to deliberating. If everyone but my two fellow advisors could please leave the room,” Pine says. He sounds pained, but also resigned, almost like he's had to deal with Ryland’s attitude for the past five years. Ryland nods and shuffles out of the meeting room with members of his cohort, a few faculty he'd worked for over the years, and Peg from the front office. She'd snuck in at some point before the Q&A. She gives Ryland an excited, double thumbs up as she passes him out of the room. Ryland gives her a weak but still charming smile. He's nervous, of course. His insubordination could cost him his degree. But he's also cocky to a fault and he knows that if he works toward something, he'll get it. Dr. Klein be damned.
Twenty minutes go by, and Ryland is in the bathroom when one of his classmates pokes his head in and tells him his advisors are ready with their decision. Ryland finishes peeing, washes his hands, and makes his way back to the conference room. Dr. Pine is standing in the doorway waiting for him.
“Dr. Grace, nice of you to join us again,” the advisor says. Ryland stops in his tracks. He's imagined this moment for the past ten years. He is unusually lost for words.
“Dr. Klein refuses to continue working with you, but it was a unanimous decision,” Pine explains. Ryland shakes his head to come back to himself.
“His loss, it's not like he's the foremost expert in the field or whatever,” Ryland says with a shrug. Pine sighs but Ryland can tell he's trying to cover a chuckle. Then Pine is suddenly serious.
"Don't speak like that to a superior again and we won't have any problems," Pine warns. Ryland shrugs.
“Congratulations, son,” he adds. He claps Ryland on the back and leads him into the conference room. There's a sheet cake waiting for him with white frosting underneath the words, “you did it!” in fancy handwriting. Hand-piped diplomas, graduation caps, and the school’s mascot decorate the empty spaces. Meg and Peg stand behind the cake, armed with knives and spatulas. There's no sign of Klein, but Ryland couldn't care less. Not when he's passed his defense, not when he's Dr. Ryland Grace now, not when he's secured the conditional postdoctoral fellowship he and Pine had discussed the previous semester. He'll get to present at conferences all over the world, tell off who knows how many idiots who shouldn't have even considered the field, and he's going to prove his thesis.