Dan Simmons - Phases of Gravity

'I just don't get it,' says Tucker and there is anger in his voice. 'The T-38's the safest goddamn plane in the goddamn Air Force.' Baedecker says nothing.

'It averages two goddamn accidents per one hundred thousand hours in the air,' says Tucker. 'Name me one other supersonic aircraft with that sort of record, Dick.' Baedecker crosses to the window and looks out. It is still raining.

'And it doesn't matter a goddamn bit, does it?' says Tucker. He pours himself a third drink. 'It never does, does it?'

'No,' says Baedecker. 'It doesn't.' There is a knock and Katie Wilson enters. Tucker's wife, frizzy-blond and sharp-featured, at first might be mistaken for an aging cocktail waitress with little on her mind, but then one would notice the sharp intelligence and alert sensitivity behind the heavy makeup and southern drawl. 'Richard,' she says, 'I'm glad you're back.'

'Sorry I'm so late,' he says.

'Diane wants to talk to you,' says Katie. 'I made her get ready for bed because I knew she'd be up all night playing the perfect hostess otherwise. She's been awake for forty-eight hours straight, and her due date is in another week, for heaven's sake.'

'I won't keep her up long, Katie,' says Baedecker and goes up the stairs.

Diane Muldorff is in her robe, sitting in a blue chaise longue, reading a magazine. She looks very pregnant to Baedecker. She beckons him in.

'I'm glad you're here, Richard.'

'Sorry I'm so late, Di,' he says. 'I rode up to McChord with Bill Munsen and Stephen Fields.' Diane nods and sets the magazine down. 'Close the door, will you, Richard?' He does so and then comes closer to sit on the low chair near her dresser. He looks at her. Diane's dark hair is freshly brushed, her cheeks pink from a recent scrubbing, but her eyes cannot hide the fatigue and sorrow of the past few days.

'Will you do me a favor, Richard?'

'Anything,' Baedecker says truthfully.

'Colonel Fields, Bob the others they've promised to keep me informed about the crash investigation . . .' She breaks off.

Baedecker watches her and waits.

'Richard, will you look into it yourself? I mean, not just follow the official inquiry, but look into it yourself and tell me everything you find out?' Baedecker hesitates a second, puzzled, and then he reaches across and takes her hand. 'Of course I will, Di. If you want me to. But I doubt that I'll find anything that the Crash Board won't.' Diane nods, but her grip is cool and insistent. 'But you'll try? '

'Yes,' says Baedecker.

Diane touches her cheek and looks down as if suddenly dizzy. 'There are so many little things,' she says.

'What do you mean?' asks Baedecker.

'Things I don't understand,' she says. 'David took the helicopter out to Lonerock, did you know that?'

'No.'

'The weather got worse so he came back in the car we'd stored there,' she says. 'But why did he go there at all?'

'I thought he worked on his book out there,' says Baedecker.

'He was supposed to stop by Salem one night after the fund-raising meeting in Portland,' Diane says. 'Instead, he flew out to Lonerock when the house was all closed up. We weren't planning to stay there until weeks after the baby was born.' Baedecker touches her arm, holds it gently.

'Richard,' she says, 'did you know that David's cancer had returned? I did-n't think he had told anyone, but I thought perhaps he might have called . . .'

'I didn't even have a phone where I was, remember, Di?' he says. 'You had to send that telegram.'

'Yes, I remember,' she says, her voice ragged with exhaustion. 'I just thought . . . He didn't tell me, Richard. His doctor in Washington is a friend . . . He called the day after the accident. The disease had spread to David's liver and bone marrow. They had wanted to do a complete chemotherapy treatment in the spring, using a combination of drugs called MOPP. David had refused. That kind of chemotherapy causes sterility in most cases. Dave had had some radiation and the laparotomy, I knew that. I didn't know about the other . . .'

'Dave told me in October that they were pretty sure they'd caught it all,' says Baedecker.

'Yes,' says Diane, 'they found it again just before Christmas. David didn't tell me. He was supposed to have a flight physical next week. He never would have passed it.'

'Richard!' comes Katie's voice up the stairs. 'Telephone!'

'In a minute,' calls Baedecker. He takes Diane's hand again. 'What are you thinking, Di?' She looks directly at him. In spite of her tiredness and pregnancy, she does not look vulnerable to Baedecker, only beautiful and determined.

'I want to know why he went out to Lonerock when he didn't have to,' she says firmly. 'I want to know why he flew that T-38 by himself when he could have waited a few hours for a commercial flight. I want to know why he stayed in that plane when he must have known it was going down.' Diane takes a breath and smoothes her robe. She squeezes his hand hard enough for it to be painful. 'Richard, I want to know why David is dead rather than here with me waiting for our child to be born.' Baedecker stands up. 'I promise I'll do my best,' he says. He kisses her on the forehead and helps her up. 'Come on now, get in bed and go to sleep. You're going to have guests for breakfast. I may be out early, but I'll call you before I come back.' Diane looks at him as he pauses by the door. 'Good night, Richard.'

'Good night, Di.' Downstairs, Katie is waiting for him. 'It's long distance, Richard. I told them to call back, but they're waiting.' He walks into the kitchen to take it there. 'Thanks, Kate,' he says. 'Know who it is?'

'Someone named Maggie,' calls Katie. 'Maggie Brown. She says that it's important.'

Dave landed the Huey on a ranch half a mile beyond Lonerock. There was a short grassy field, a tattered windsock hanging limp from the cupola of an old barn, and an ancient Stearman two-seater tied down between the barn and the ranch house. 'Welcome to Lonerock International Airport,' said Dave as he switched off the last of the circuit breakers. 'Please remain seated until the aircraft comes to a complete stop at the terminal.' The rotors turned more slowly and then stopped.

'Does every ghost town have an airport?' asked Baedecker. He took off his earphones and cap, ran his fingers through his thinning hair, and shook his head. He could still hear the roar of the turbine in his ears.

'Only where the ghosts are fliers,' said Dave.

A man walked slowly from the barn to meet them. He was younger than either Muldorff or Baedecker, but his face had been darkened and textured by years of working in the sun. He wore western boots, faded jeans, a black cap, and an Indian-turquoise belt buckle. The left sleeve of his plaid shirt was pinned at the shoulder. 'Hullo, Dave,' he called. 'Wondered if you was comin' over this weekend.'

'Evening, Kink,' said Dave. 'Kink, meet Richard Baedecker, friend from the old days.'

'Kink,' said Baedecker as they shook hands. He liked the restrained strength in the man's handshake and the creased laugh lines around his blue eyes.

'Kink Weltner here served three tours as a helicopter crew chief in ‘Nam,' said Dave. 'He lets me park the bird here now and then. Somehow he came into the possession of a big, underground tank of aviation-grade kerosene.'

The rancher walked over and ran his hand lovingly along the cowling of the Huey. 'I can't believe this rusted pile of shit's still flying. Did Chico replace that omni gauge?'

'Yeah,' said Dave, 'but you might want to take a look inside.'

'I'll pull the hell-hole cover when I refuel it,' said Kink.

'See you later,' said Dave and led the way toward the barn. It was cool here in the valley. Baedecker carried his goosedown coat in one hand and his black flight bag in the other. He looked up to watch the hills to the east catch the last bands of evening sunlight. Brittle cottonwood leaves stood out against the fragile blue sky. There was a jeep parked near the barn, keys in the ignition, and Dave threw his stuff in the back and hopped in. Baedecker joined him, grabbing the roll bar as Dave pulled out onto the gravel road at high speed.