Interstellar

“Dr. Brand,” he said quietly, “I have no idea what this ‘mess’ is. I’m scared for my little girl, and I want her by my side. Then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He paused to let that sink in. “Okay?”

It felt to him like she considered his plea for a long time before turning back to the machine.

“Get the principals and the girl into the conference room,” she said, before returning her attention to Cooper. “Your daughter’s fine,” she said. “Bright kid. Must have a very smart mother.”

* * *

As Brand led him down a corridor, Cooper was acutely aware that the robot was there, too, only a pace or so behind him—well within striking distance. And for all of his talk of turning the thing into a toaster or whatever, he knew that in a straight-up fight he didn’t have the slightest chance against it. It could split his skull with a single economical motion.

So there was no point in worrying about it. Instead, he put his mind to sussing out where they were. Or, perhaps more importantly, what this place had been built to accomplish.

Whatever it was, Cooper realized, the amount of time they’d spent walking said that it was big—bigger than an arms factory needed to be. Unless they were building nukes, and the ICBMs required to send them out.

That might explain it. Running with the thought, he began to build scenarios. A neutron bomb detonated over, say, the Ukrainian breadbasket, would kill the crops and all of the farmers—and the fields could be used again within a year or two. More food for team America.

Could that be the mission? He really didn’t want to believe it.

And yet, there were lots of corridors going off in all directions. They had to go somewhere. He didn’t see any windows, skylights, or doors that showed the outside world, though. So were they underground?

It seemed the likely explanation. Otherwise, someone would have stumbled upon this place a long time ago. And an underground facility would be perfect for building big, nasty, unethical things. Hell, this could even be one of the old NORAD installations, replete with the remains of a once-vast nuclear arsenal.

He’d never heard anything about a base being located in this particular mountain range, but what he didn’t know about the old Cold War would fill volumes of books.

The more he saw, the less reassured he was. Even if it was underground, a place like this would need supplies. To hide something this big would take a certain of amount of… determination. Attention to detail.

He thought again of the military robot clanking along behind him, always within arm’s reach.

“It’s pretty clear you don’t want visitors,” he said. “Why not let us back up from your fence, and be on our way?”

“It’s not that simple,” Brand said.

“Sure it is,” he said, trying not to sound panicky. “I don’t know anything about you or this place.”

“Yes, you do,” she countered. Which didn’t sound good at all, because that meant even knowing the coordinates was too much.

TEN

After a bit more fretting and walking, they arrived at their destination. It was a typical, old-fashioned conference room, with a series of photos on the walls and a large table in the middle. No window, of course.

She ushered him in.

There were several people present, but the only one who came into focus for him was Murph. Still alive, thank God, and apparently in one piece. At least for the moment.

But he couldn’t shake the sense that they were deep underground, that no one knew where they were, and that if they went missing, no one would ever know why. Tom would take over the farm, and Donald would help as long as he was able. People would wonder a little what had happened to old Cooper and his daughter.

“Probably just got buried in a dust storm,” most would say. People didn’t have a lot of time or tolerance for mysteries these days.

An old man was crouched down next to Murph, talking to her. She looked up when he came in.

“Dad!” she shouted, and she bounded across the room into his arms. For a moment he was lost in just having her there, but when he saw the old man stand and smile at him, recognition struck him almost physically.

“Hello, Cooper,” the man said.

For a moment he couldn’t say anything.

“Professor Brand?” he finally managed.

“Just take a seat, Mr. Cooper,” one of the men at the table—youngish, with black hair and a beard—said. Professor Brand remained silent.

Head reeling, Cooper did as he was asked, drawing up a seat. Murph sat beside him. There were five other people sitting at the table. One—an older fellow with glasses and an air of authority—leaned toward them.

“Explain how you found this facility,” he demanded.

“Stumbled across it,” Cooper lied. “Looking for salvage and I saw the fence—”

The man held up a hand and stopped him. The tight wrinkles that formed his face clinched into disapproving lines.