Read an Excerpt
IN THE BALANCE
By Russ Zinser iUniverse LLC
Copyright © 2013 Russ Zinser
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-0065-5
CHAPTER 1
The Present Day
Dr. Steve Coulter slowly opens his eyes. Thoughts of his wife come immediately to mind. It seems like just yesterday that he paced in the medical staff's break room, impatiently awaiting the verdict from the team of neurosurgeons who had been working for the past five hours.
He remembers clearly the chief surgeon walking slowly through the swinging doors from the OR—and the look on the surgeon's face as he shuffled up to give Coulter the news. The surgeon looked at the floor as he approached. He placed his hand on Coulter's shoulder for a couple of seconds and then turned and walked away—no words were needed.
Coulter's wife did not make it through the emergency surgery. The cancer had spread too much.
Too hard to get to all of it. Too little time. Too much damage.
Now Coulter stares up at the pristine white ceiling, struggling to regain his strength and muscle control. He slowly blinks his eyes and thinks of the more pleasant days of his life with Diana—his wife, his friend, his proponent, his source of strength for those few short years.
Coulter blinks his eyes again and notices his quickly growing hunger. He painfully pushes against the bed. He squeezes his eyelids tightly, grimacing in pain, and slowly rises to a sitting position. He rubs his face with his open palms. He tries to move around to the side of the bed, but his brain struggles with the messages to his legs. He thinks, How odd. He slowly drags his legs around, and his feet drop to the floor. He pauses for a moment as he gets used to sitting up. Then he slowly rises to his feet.
As Coulter moves with baby steps to the kitchen area, he is impressed by how much he has to concentrate on an activity as simple as walking, something he's done without thinking all his life until this point.
As he walks to the food area, many thoughts fill his head: What can the Centorians possibly want, and why did they pick me? What vital information can they have? We traveled all this way—for what?
He finds the expected premade meal waiting in the food-processing unit in the kitchen area. He removes the plate and takes a few steps—again, slowly—over to a window in the kitchen area.
He takes a mouthful from his plate and looks up. As he stares out the window into the dark abyss for the first time, he is filled with awe as he begins to comprehend that he is now about seven trillion miles, or just over one light-year, from his home planet, Earth.
Eighteen Years Earlier—at Stanford University
Coulter twirls his pen around his fingers, as do many college students sitting in lecture halls. He is looking more than listening. The Physiology Topics professor in the front of the class is animated and convincing, but Coulter cannot take his eyes off the girl sitting six rows in front of him. The auditorium-style classroom—Munzer Hall in the Beckman Center at the Stanford University Medical Center—is sparsely populated with third- and fourth-year med school students, most with visions of BMWs, gorgeous spouses, and big houses at the end of their respective rainbows. The air is a bit thick in the room; it is a sunny, humid April morning in Palo Alto, California.
Diana Grace twirls her hair through her fingers. She listens intently to the professor. She writes vigorously in her notebook—most of the time anticipating correctly what the professor will say next. She shifts slightly in her chair, not missing a word.
The bell rings.
Steve quickly gathers all of his materials, all the while watching Diana as she stacks up her books and completes her discussion with her (also good-looking) friend before moving on to the student union for lunch.
Steve shuffles to the aisle and pauses. He thinks, No more hesitation—here we go! Now!
As Diana moves gracefully to the side aisle to walk down the stairs of the auditorium, Steve hurries down from up above to catch up. He arrives next to her at the bottom of the stairs.
He catches just enough of her eyes to start. "Hi. I couldn't help but notice that you also received an invitation to the dean's party." The dean of medical studies hosts a post-semester party for those med students who maintain at least a 3.8 GPA.
Diana looks down to see her brightly colored invitation sticking out slightly from her notebook. She looks up.
Steve is in sensory overload, transfixed by Diana's deep, peaceful eyes and her intoxicating, musky perfume. He is in her trance.
She smiles. "Yes. But I'm not sure I'm going. I want to get back home as soon as I'm done with finals. I take it you were invited as well. Are you going?" responds Diana. Then, not waiting for an answer, she says, "You're Steve Coulter, aren't you? After all these years here, I'm surprised we haven't formally met."
Steve responds awkwardly, "Yeah, well, that's what med school will do to you. No time. And yes, I'm planning on going to the party. Some of my favorite profs will be there, and well, I'd kinda like to chat with them in a non-classroom environment—ya know, find out about what they do outside of school, their family, all that stuff. Let me know if you end up sticking around. I'd like to go with you."
A gentle smile wafts across Diana's face. "I really think I'm going to be going home. But that shouldn't stop us from doing something in the meantime. If that last remark was a veiled attempt at asking me out, I accept."
Sheepishly, Steve looks down. He feels flush. He knows his face is turning various shades of embarrassment. "Okay, you caught me! Yes, that was kinda bad, wasn't it? Well, now that my plan is out there for all to see, would you like to have dinner some night?"
"Sure. But I can't do anything until I get through Friday's pre-exam. I really need to study, and I'm way behind. And then I have a late lacrosse practice on Saturday. How about Sunday? What did you have in mind?"
Steve, encouraged, says, "Okay. Well, there's a small patio outside of my rental; I have a good view of the Hoover Tower. Well, you have to"—Steve moves his hands in a climbing motion—"get onto the roof, and well"—he leans a bit to his right—"the wind has to be out of the southwest, and ..." They both chuckle a bit. "I'd like to cook up something for us."
Diana, quickly calculating, thinks, I see him all the time around campus. He's involved in a lot of local activities—sports, academic. He's a good guy. And he cooks, too! "Okay. When should I show up?"
"How about seven?"
"Great. I'd like to bring some wine. White or red?"
"Let's see ..." Steve pretends to mull over some vast array of recipes in his head, when actually, he knows how to make basically one thing: steak. "Better make it red."
Diana smiles as she tears off a piece of paper from her notebook. "Sounds great! How about writing down your address so I know how to get to this fine culinary exhibition?" Before she leaves, she adds, knowing Coulter must have some smarts since he also received an invitation to the dean's party, "By the way, what is your GPA?"
"3.82. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. Mine's 4.2." She turns with a smug smile and vanishes out the door, leaving Steve there, drinking up the essence of her perfume floating in the air. He smiles and thinks, Wow! She's terrific!
Diana Grace grew up in a well-to-do family in Marin County, not far from the northern end of the Golden Gate Bridge. Her father, Jim, a Stanford grad, is the CEO of Spectro-Genetics, a large bioengineering company specializing in gene therapy. Her mother, Ann, now retired, was the chief surgeon at Stanford University's teaching hospital.
Diana scored quite high in all of her high school math and science classes, damn near aced the SAT, and subsequently received a full scholarship to Stanford. Being the daughter of two of the largest individual contributors to Stanford's alumni program didn't hurt either.
Although Diana was a superb high school student, she also excelled on her school softball and lacrosse teams, making all-state in lacrosse and all-county in softball. She also was a key member of the lacrosse team during her undergraduate years at Stanford. Her high level of activity kept her trim and resulted in a lifestyle of eating right and regular exercise.
Diana stands about five feet seven inches and has blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. She has an athletic build and is quite attractive to most observers.
Unlike many parents and children, Diana and her parents were always close. They always did things together when she was living at home, and even though her parents had demanding and time-consuming jobs, they always had time to meet and watch Diana compete in softball and lacrosse games throughout her high school and college careers.
Through it all, Diana developed a self-confident and positive personality. She always has a clear picture of where she is going and feels that she can figure it out if something stands in her way.
Steve will eventually fully appreciate that characteristic in Diana and come to rely on her confidence and clarity.
Around three in the afternoon on Saturday, Steve sneaks into Stanford Stadium, which most notably serves as the football stadium. He climbs about halfway up the stands to watch Diana and her team go through their lacrosse practice drills and discuss their next opponent: Pac-10 favorite Oregon. Diana is now an assistant coach since her NCAA eligibility ran out after her four-year undergraduate playing days. However, she still runs all of the drills with the team.
Steve watches her move; she has the speed and grace of a gazelle. He slowly shakes his head as he realizes that one of the brightest minds on campus is also one of the most athletic.
As the head coach brings the team into a huddle for some final comments, Steve stealthily moves back down the stands and eventually out to Campus Drive East. As he begins the long walk back to his rental, he recalls the perfume that he now pleasantly associates with Diana.
* * *
Sunday comes, and Coulter busily works to transform his flat from a state of bachelor disarray into something more suitable for Diana's visit. He has the rib eyes marinating in the refrigerator and now contemplates when to start with the salad preparation and the potato baking in order for everything to come out around seven thirtyish.
* * *
Steve Coulter grew up in Duquesne, a small Pennsylvania town on the Monongahela River, about ten miles southeast of Pittsburgh. Throughout his growing years, his middle-class parents were always busy working and raising him, their only child.
Steve's father, Charles, was an avid Free Mason for most of his adult life. Charles made a living as a chemical engineer for Shell Oil. He was valued as a critical thinker, constantly processing information in search of the truth of the matter—a trait passed on to young Steve. Charles was friendly and fun to be around, but his colleagues knew to not try to set up smoke screens; Charles would always see through them.
Steve's mother, Monique, grew up in Paris. She learned the art of making pastries at the Institut de Pâtisserie in Arrondissement 8. She met Charles when he came into the boulangerie on the Champs-Elysées where she plied her trade. Charles was in Paris on a business trip when he happened to stop into her shop for a treat.
Monique brought charm and elegance into the lives of her husband, her family, and her friends.
As attested by the number of girls that vied for Steve's affection, he was a handsome young man in high school. He stood just over six feet tall, weighed about 180 pounds, and had an athletic build. He kept his light brown hair medium length-long by his father's standards and short by the standards of his peers. Coulter maintained a few relationships with girls throughout high school, but they ultimately ended—usually due to his busy and varied priorities.
Steve did well in high school, showing a penchant for mathematics and most of the sciences. He lettered on his school's football and track teams. Although he was never really the star, his teammates wanted him on their team. He worked hard and was always there to cheer on his teammates; he knew what it meant to work for the good of others.
Steve grew up thinking that anything was possible, but he felt that whatever he did had to be the right thing to do. However, in the back of his mind was the nagging awareness that, at times, he delayed in taking action—for example, not asking a girl in class out on a date. His hesitation was more a slight lack of initiative than a lack of confidence.
When he was a prospective pre-med freshman, Steve's Stanford entry counselor asked him to name his favorite accomplishment in high school. He replied with a story about his experience at the Allegheny County Science Fair as a senior. It wasn't so important that he'd won the top prize, he said; he was proud that he had come up with the idea, completed the research, sketched the design, constructed the project, and written the report—without help from his mom and dad, unlike most of his peers. The science fair judges deemed that his biophysics project on the relationship between the nervous and muscular systems was both unique and artistically the best in show.
Charles's older brother, Joe, was a community college science teacher. One early fall evening, Joe was sitting with his nephew Steve, then a high school junior, out on the Steve's family's patio after a barbecue. Charles and Monique were in the kitchen, preparing a dessert—actually, Monique was preparing the dessert, and Charles was following her instructions.
Nighttime had fallen, and Joe leaned over to the teenage Coulter and pointed to the sky. "Did you ever think about what's going on up there?"
Steve just looked up and waited for Uncle Joe's point.
"First, you know that Earth is twenty-five thousand miles around at the equator, and Earth rotates once every twenty-four hours."
Steve nodded.
"So Earth is spinning how fast?"
Steve wondered why Joe was shifting into teacher mode. "Well, that would be twenty-five thousand miles divided by twenty-four hours—a little over a thousand miles per hour," young Steve said with a triumphant smile.
"Terrific! Yes, a little over a thousand miles per hour at the equator—less everywhere else on the globe. Ya know, I always thought it was incredible that because our atmosphere is being dragged along by the earth below it, we have no sense we're spinning at all!
"But what is more incredible to me is how fast Earth is moving through space. Earth is on an almost perfectly circular orbit around the sun. If it were more of an elliptical or oval orbit, like other planets have, the oceans would freeze half the year and boil the other half. Earth would not be habitable for humans. But lucky for us, that's not the case.
"So we know that Earth is about ninety-three million miles from the sun. We can imagine that the orbit of Earth around the sun is a large circle, and the distance to the sun is the radius of that circle.
"So, Steve, using your well-honed knowledge of geometry, how would we figure out the distance Earth travels in its annual trek around the sun?"
Steve thought for a minute. "Well, you calculate the circumference of a circle by multiplying two times pi times the radius. So whatever two times pi times ninety-three million is, that would be the number of miles."
"Exactly! I don't have a calculator, so let's round down pi from three point one four to three, and round the ninety-three million up to one hundred million—so it's two times three times one hundred million miles. That comes to six hundred million miles. So Earth travels about six hundred million miles every year as it circles the sun."
Steve is a little curious as to where this conversation is going.
"So, Steve, how many days does it take Earth to complete its annual journey around the sun?"
"Three hundred sixty-five."
"Yes. So we travel about six hundred million miles in three hundred sixty-five days. Let's get that in hours. Three hundred sixty-five days times twenty-four hours per day—to make it easy, let's say four hundred days times twenty hours—is about eight thousand hours. So six hundred million miles in eight thousand hours is about how fast?"
Steve looked down as he tried to perform the division in his head. After ten seconds or so, it became clear to Joe that Steve was struggling with the large numbers.
Joe chuckled. "It's about seventy-five thousand miles per hour. I actually sat down with a calculator once and did this; it comes out to about sixty-six thousand seven hundred miles per hour. Can you believe that? Sixty-seven thousand miles every hour! That's, uh, about twenty miles every second! We don't even think about it, but ever since Earth has been in existence, it has been traveling twenty miles every second through space—sixty-seven thousand miles every hour—on its orbit around our star. It travels a distance equivalent to the width of the United States in a little over two minutes!
(Continues...)
Excerpted from IN THE BALANCE by Russ Zinser. Copyright © 2013 Russ Zinser. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
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