Dan Simmons - Phases of Gravity

He drives the short distance to Kink Weltner's ranch. He has parked the Toyota and is about to go up to the house when he catches sight of the Huey tied down in the field beyond the barn. The presence of the helicopter shakes him in some obscure way; he had forgotten that Dave had flown it there. Baedecker walks to it, runs his hand along the tie-down wires, and peers into the cockpit. The windshield is frosted, but he can see the Air National Guard helmet propped on the back of the seat.

'Hullo, Dick.'

Baedecker turns to see Kink Weltner walking toward him. Despite the cold, Kink is wearing only a dark suit, the left sleeve neatly pinned back.

'Hello, Kink. Where are you headed all dressed up?'

'Headed down to Las Vegas for a few days to get rid of this cabin fever,' says Kink. 'Fucking weather gets tiresome.'

'I'm sorry we didn't get to talk after the funeral,' Baedecker says. 'I had a few things to ask you.' Kink blows his nose with a red kerchief and slips it back into the breast pocket of his suit. 'Yeah, well, I had a lot of chores to finish up. Goddamn, I wish that hadna happened to Dave.'

'Me too,' says Baedecker. He taps the side of the fuselage. 'I'm surprised this is still here.' Kink nods. 'Yeah. I've called ‘em twice about it. Talked to Chico both times because nobody wants to take responsibility for a machine that's not supposeta exist. They're waiting for a patch of good weather, I guess. I'm not sure if nobody wants to drive this far or if they're afraid to fly it over the mountains. It's all fueled and ready to go when they want it. I'd fly it back myself, but it's sort of hard to handle a Huey with one arm.'

'I never mastered it with two arms,' says Baedecker. 'Kink, you talked to Dave when he got here, didn't you?'

'Just said hello. I was surprised to see him right after Christmas an' all. I knew he and Diane was comin' up sometime after the baby was born, but I didn't expect him before that.'

'Did you see him again before he left?'

'Nah, the weather'd already closed in when he landed, an' he said he had the Cherokee stored over to the house. He said he'd be back in a couple of weeks to get the Huey if nobody else picked it up before then.'

'Did he say why he'd come out to Lonerock?' Kink shakes his head and then stops as if he had remembered something. 'I did ask him how his Christmas was and he said fine but that he left one of the presents out here. That didn't make a whole lot of sense since they hadn't been out here — far as I know — since you was here with ‘em back before Halloween.'

'Thanks, Kink,' says Baedecker as they walk back toward the house. 'Can I use your phone?'

'Sure, just slam the door shut on your way out. Don't bother to lock it,' says Kink as he climbs into his pickup. 'See ya around, Dick.'

'So long, Kink.' Baedecker goes into the house and tries calling Diane. There is no answer. The afternoon light makes it seem like late evening, as if there is no energy left in the universe.

Baedecker drives back through Lonerock, passes the closed-up house, and turns right toward the school. He sees the curtains still closed, makes a U-turn in the snow out front, and is heading back toward Main Street when he sees the thin figure with its shock of white hair come around the building from the field behind. He stops and is out of the car jogging uphill toward her, thinking that in her long, dark coat, Miz Callahan resembles the scarecrow in her frozen garden.

'Mister Baedecker,' she says and takes his hand in both of hers. 'I was just getting my automobile ready for the trip. I have decided to drive to the coast and spend a few weeks with Mr. Callahan's sister's daughter.'

'I'm glad I caught you,' says Baedecker.

'Isn't it terrible about David?' she says and her hands clench with emotion. 'Yes, it is,' says Baedecker and watches the large Labrador — Sable — come bounding around the side of the building.

And then there they are — four of them — barely big enough to walk, and Baedecker is on one knee, petting them, rubbing behind their ears, and he does not even need the old woman's next words to confirm what he knows.

'So terribly sad,' she says, 'and David had come so far to pick out just the right one for his little boy.' Baedecker calls from Condon. Diane answers on the third ring.

'I'm sorry I wasn't there for breakfast this morning,' he says. 'I decided to go talk to Bill and the rest of them and get a preliminary report.'

'Tell me,' she says.

Baedecker hesitates a second. 'We can talk tonight when there's more time, Di. I hate to go into it all over the phone.'

'Please, Richard. I want to know the important parts now.' Her voice is gentle but firm.

'All right,' says Baedecker. 'First, the starboard engine had shut down completely just like they thought, but they're pretty sure now that Dave got it restarted just a few seconds before the crash. The hydraulics problem was a result of a stress, structural failure . . . no one could have caught it . . . but even that seems to have stabilized at about thirty-five percent assist. I don't know if the gear would've gone down, but Dave was planning to deal with that when the time came.

'Second, he couldn't see a damn thing, Di. He said on the tape that he could see lights when he came out of the clouds at sixty-two hundred, but that was for about two seconds. The mountain ridge he hit was in the center of a squall, heavy rain and zero visibility down to the deck for at least eight miles to the north.

'Third — and this is the important part, Di — the Portland Center controller handling the emergency told Dave that there were ridges up to five thousand feet there. The ridge he hit was at fifty-six hundred; it ran all the way east to Mt. St. Helens. I'd bet anything that Dave had fifty-five hundred as his punch-out altitude. Maybe higher, but the thing is, he'd just got the beast back in the corral — he was on top of the hydraulics problem, he was out of the ice, he'd just got the engine relit, and he was less than four minutes out from Portland. He was doing the best he could, Di, and he would've had it if it hadn't been for that ridge.' Baedecker pauses, seeing . . . no, feeling those last few seconds. Fighting a stick gone as heavy as a crowbar in a box of rocks, pedals trying to kick his knees back into his belly, no time to look out the rain-streaked canopy, watching the tumbling ball, checking the airspeed indicator and altimeter while handling the throttle and waiting for just the right second to try again on the engine restart. And all the time, above the grind and storm, aware of the small noises from the backseat.

Baedecker, knowing in his gut and soul that Dave was no fool, could see him being the first to snort derision at the sentimental suggestion of a pilot spending two seconds too long in a dying airplane because of a dog, but Baedecker could remember the tone of Dave's voice three months earlier, saying, 'I can't remember ever being any happier,' and in that tone he hears the possibility of a pause of one second or two where no pause is permissible, sees that final straw added to the already significant weight of a test-pilot's determination to save a salvageable aircraft.

'. . . appreciate your doing it and telling me; Richard,' Diane is saying. 'I never doubted, really. There were just so many little questions I couldn't answer.'

'Di,' says Baedecker, 'I know why Dave came out to Lonerock. He had a special present he wanted to give you and the baby.' Baedecker pauses. 'It wasn't . . . ah . . . wasn't ready when he was here,' he lies. 'But I'm going to bring it in tonight if that's all right.' Baedecker glances at the Toyota where the puppy is making scrabbling sounds in the box in the backseat next to the box holding Dave's manuscript.

'Yes,' says Diane and takes a breath. 'Richard, you know the sonogram said we're going to have a boy.'