SNOWBRAWLS - Snowball Earth - page 82

those cements and said they'd formed in place!” he said loudly, looking directly at Martin. “But I
know what they are.” All conversation around the table ceased. Everyone was staring. “I feel like I
always did when my parents were fighting,” interjected one of the students, sotto voce . “Poor Martin,”
mouthed another, silently. Dan sighed. He looked at Martin and said carefully: “Paul has sent you a
signed review making that comment . . .”
“Yes,” Paul interrupted, louder still. “And I had to tell you about it today in private or tomorrow in
public.” Martin by now was lookingaghast. Dan jumped up and headed towards him. “Look, it's OK”,
he said soothingly. “You'll talk about it tomorrow.” He put his arm under Martin's elbow and guided
him out of the pub.
The next day, at the Snowball workshop, Paul was doing his best to be friendly again. Every so
often during the presentations, Paul would turn and mutter something conspiratorially to Martin, who
would grin and whisper back. And at the end of the day, as the assembled researchers were leaving the
lecture theatre, Paul walked over to Martin and shook his hand firmly.
“All the best, Martin,” he said. “And I'm glad you're back . . . in the publishing world.” Martin
had spent some time working at Exxon, where commercial research is conducted behind closed doors.
He'd only recently rejoined the academic world and started being allowed to publish his research
again. Paul was trying to be polite. But as soon as he said it, he and Martin both thought of the cements
manuscript, the one Paul had reviewed unfavourably, the one that might well not be published now
because of Paul's comments.
“I guess I could have put that better,” Paul said uncomfortably. Martin shrugged. “Well, you know
. . .” he said, and turned to leave.
Paul started to follow him up the stairs. “But it could still be accepted, right? Mine was only one
review.”
“I think you have more influence than you realize,” Martin replied.
“I was trying to spare you embarrassment.”
“Oh, I don't think you have,” said Martin. “In fact, you're going to spare me tenure if this goes
on.” Unlike Paul, Martin was not yet a tenured professor. Whether his position at the University of
California at Riverside was made permanent would ultimately depend on a careful assessment of what
papers he had published and how successful his research had been.
Paul was still trying to justify his review. “I wanted to show you these pictures,” he said. “Listen,
have you got time now?” Martin hesitated, then shrugged again. “OK,” he said.
The lecture theatre was empty now. Paul climbed quickly to the top of the stairs, and began fum-
bling with his slides. Click. He showed a grainy image of a Namibian carbonate rock. This, he said,
was the older rock formation, the one he believed Martin's samples originally came from. Click. There
was another. This was the younger Snowball formation, with a chunk of the older rock embedded in
it. Martin stared at the screen. He looked appalled. “Paul,” he said, “that's not what I collected.”
There was an awkward silence. Paul was standing stock-still at the top of the stairs. “What I
wanted to say was . . .” he began, but Martin interrupted. He was clearly upset now, fighting to keep
control of his voice. The images had convinced him that Paul's damning review was based on rocks
that were entirely different from his own. “The cements that you showed are not the same as the ones
I collected, Paul,” he said formally. “But thank you for showing me the photographs.” And then he
turned abruptly and left the room.
A few weeks later, Martin's paper was accepted after all. 4 Even if his data hadn't impressed Paul,
the other reviewers found his analysis sufficiently compelling. Paul, it turned out, had concluded his