Phases of Gravity

'Uh-huh,' said Baedecker.

'When Di was a social worker in Dallas, she used to see lots of teenage suicide attempts,' said Dave. 'She said that boys were a lot more efficient than girls. Their methods were more final — guns, hanging, that sort of thing. Girls tended to take overdoses of Midol after calling their boyfriends to say goodbye. Di says that a lot of kids classified as gifted kill themselves. They're almost always successful when they try, she says.'

'Makes sense,' said Baedecker. 'Can we slow down a little? This ride's killing my kidneys.'

'The two men I admired most killed themselves with guns,' said Dave. 'One was Ernest Hemingway. I guess the why was because he couldn't write anymore. The when was July ‘61. The where was the foyer of his house in Ketchum, Idaho. The how was a double-barreled Boss shotgun he'd used to shoot pigeons. He used both barrels against his forehead.'

'Jesus, Dave,' said Baedecker. 'It's too pretty a morning for this stuff.' They bounced along for a minute. The road ran along a wooded ridgeline where Baedecker could look out and see valleys ahead. 'Who was the other man you admired?' he asked.

'My father,' said Dave.

'I didn't know your father killed himself,' said Baedecker. 'I thought you told me once that he died of cancer.'

'No,' said Dave. 'I said that cancer led to his death. So did booze. So did terminal loneliness. You want to see his ranch?'

'It's near here?' asked Baedecker.

'About six miles north,' said Dave. 'He and Mom got divorced back when it wasn't so fashionable. When I was a little kid, I used to take the train out from Tulsa to spend summers on his ranch. He's buried in a cemetery a couple of miles above Lonerock.'

'That's why you bought a house out here,' said Baedecker.

'That's why I knew the area. Di and I had been interested in ghost towns and such down in Texas and California. When we came out to Salem, I showed her this part of the state and we found the house for sale in Lonerock.'

'And that's why you think about suicide?' said Baedecker. 'Hemingway and your father?'

'Naw, it's just a topic of interest to me,' said Dave. 'Like building models or poking around in ghost towns.'

'But you don't see it in relation to yourself?'

'Not at all,' said Dave. 'Well, wait a minute, that's not quite true. Remember on the mission, when we had that eight-minute live-broadcast spot to fill during the last EVA? I did give some thought to it then. Dave Scott'd done that Galileo experiment shtick with the rock hammer and the falcon's feather, remember? That was a hard act to follow, so I figured, what if I just say something like, ‘Well, folks, one of the things we don't know much about up here on the moon is the effect of explosive decompression in hard vacuum on your basic government employee. Here goes nothing.' And then I'd pop open the urine transfer collector valve on my EMU and go squirting out of it like toothpaste out of a stomped-on tube of Colgate right there on prime-time, three-network, live American television.'

'I'm glad you didn't do that,' said Baedecker.

'Yeah,' said Dave and drove on in thoughtful silence for a minute. 'Yeah, I decided that if we couldn't think of anything else to do to fill the eight minutes, I'd go through pretty much the same song and dance and then I'd open your UTC valve.'

'Scott?'

'Dad, is that you?'

'Yes,' says Baedecker. 'My God, it's hard to get hold of you. I've called five times and been put on hold each time, then I was cut off. How are you, Scott?'

'I'm okay, Dad,' says Scott. 'Where are you?'

'Right now I'm up at McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma,' says Baedecker, 'but I'm staying down in Salem for a few days. Scott, Dave Muldorff was killed last week.'

'Dave?' says Scott. 'Oh, shit, Dad. I'm really sorry. What happened?'

'Aircraft accident,' says Baedecker. 'Look, that's not why I called. I heard that you were sick, even in the hospital for a while. How are you feeling now?'

'I'm okay, Dad,' Scott says, but Baedecker can hear the hesitation. 'A little tired still. Look, Dad, how'd you know I was here?'

'Maggie Brown told me,' says Baedecker.

'Maggie? Oh, yeah, Bruce probably talked to her. Dad, I'm sort of sorry about your visit to Poona last summer.' The pay phone clunks, and for a second Baedecker can hear nothing. 'Scott?'

'Yeah, Dad.'

'What is it? Your asthma worse again?' Several seconds of silence pass. 'Yeah. I thought the Master'd cured it last summer, but I've been having some trouble at night. That and some other stuff I picked up in India.'

'Do you have your medication and inhalator?' asks Baedecker.

'No, I left that stuff back at school last year.'

'Have you seen a doctor?'

'Sort of,' says Scott. 'Hey, Dad, are you just out here because of Dave, or what?'

'For now,' says Baedecker. 'I quit my . . .'

'Please deposit seventy-five cents for the past two minutes overtime,' says a synthesized voice.

Baedecker fumbles for change and feeds in the quarters. 'Scott?'

'What'd you say, Dad?'

'I said I quit my job last summer. I've been traveling since then.'

'Jesus,' says Scott, 'you not working? Where have you been?'

'Here and there,' says Baedecker. 'I spent Thanksgiving in Arkansas working on Dad's cabin. Look, Scott, I'm going to be over in your neck of the woods tomorrow and I want to stop by and talk to you.' There is a hiss of interference and a muted buzz of voices.

'What, Scott?'

'I said . . . I said, I don't know, Dad.'

'Why not?'

'Well, there's been some trouble around the ashram here . . .'

'What sort of trouble?'

'Not here exactly,' Scott says quickly. 'But in the area. Some of the ranchers and locals are all upset. There've been some shots fired. The Master's thinking of closing the grounds to outsiders.' There is the sound of another voice speaking to Scott. 'Uh, Dad, I've got to get going now . . .'

'Just a second, Scott,' says Baedecker. He feels an inexplicable panic rise in him. 'Look, I'm going to stop by tomorrow. Scott, I could use some help finishing the job on the cabin. That place could be very nice if I could get it fixed up this spring. Would you think about taking a few weeks off and working on it with me?'

'Dad, I don't . . .'

'Just think about it, please,' says Baedecker. 'We'll talk tomorrow.'

'Dad, I'm afraid that . . .'

The line goes dead. Baedecker tries to call back several times and gives up. He goes into the other room where Kitt Toliver is sitting. Toliver is in his mid-thirties, tall and solidly built. He reminds Baedecker a bit of Deke Slayton because of his crew cut and intensity of gaze. 'Thanks for waiting, Sergeant,' says Baedecker.

'No problem, Colonel.'

'You understand that I'm not part of the official inquiry,' he says. 'I have no official status whatsoever. I'm just trying to find some answers because Dave was a friend of mine.'

'Yessir,' says Toliver. 'I'll be glad to tell you everything I told Colonel Fields and the others.'

'Good,' says Baedecker. 'You did the preflight on the Talon?'

'Yessir, twice,' says Toliver. 'Once in the morning and again after I got the call from Major Munsen telling me that Congressman Muldorff would be flying it.'

'Did Dave do a preflight?'

'Sure did,' says Toliver. 'He said he had to connect with a commercial flight in Salt Lake, but he still took time to look at my PIF and did his own look-see. Did it right, too.'

'And you're convinced that the aircraft was airworthy?'

'Yessir,' says Toliver and there is steel in his voice. 'You can read my PIF 720, sir. They say there was a structural failure after takeoff and I can't argue with what happened, but as far as we could tell from the external inspection and cockpit check, that machine was in perfect order. The engines were new, sir. Less than twenty flying hours on them.' Baedecker nods. 'Kitt, did Dave do anything or say anything during the preflight that you thought was unusual?' Toliver frowns slightly. 'During the preflight? No, sir. Oh, he told me a joke about . . . uh . . . well, about having oral relations with a chicken. But other than that, no sir.' Baedecker grins. 'Did he have luggage with him?'