Interstellar

“For years we’ve tried to solve it without changing the underlying assumptions about time,” she said.

“And?” he replied mildly.

“And that means each iteration becomes an attempt to prove its own proof. It’s recursive. Nonsensical—”

“Are you calling my life’s work ‘nonsense,’ Murph?” he snapped irritably.

“No,” she replied, feeling unaccountably a little angry herself. “I’m saying you’ve been trying to solve it with one arm—no, with both arms tied behind your back.”

She suddenly felt, not uncertain but… wary.

“And I don’t understand why,” she finished.

Professor Brand gazed at the floor, then started wheeling his chair away.

“I’m an old man, Murph,” he said. “Could we pick this up another time? I’d like to talk to my daughter.”

She nodded, watching him go, wondering what the hell was going on.

* * *

Amelia Brand watched her father age before her eyes. He talked about the mission, asked how she was, made note of minor aches and pains, and filled her in on the people she might remember. Someone named Getty had become a medical doctor. At first she didn’t know who he meant, because the Gettys she remembered had both been cyberneticists—until she remembered that they’d had a son, ten or twelve years old when she left.

She had been his babysitter, once or twice.

He told her that he had a bright new assistant: Cooper’s daughter. The girl, Murph, was working with him on the gravity equation, and he seemed confident that they nearly had it solved.

As the years passed, he continued to be optimistic. She kept hoping that in the next message he would declare “Eureka!” but in the course of messages that spanned more than two decades, it never happened. Still, plan A was proceeding apace, he assured her. The first of the huge ship-stations was nearing completion, awaiting only something to lift it free of the tyranny of planetary gravity.

He never said anything about it, but at some point she realized he was in a wheelchair, and it was probably permanent. And yet, even as frail as he appeared, she could still hear the passion in his voice, see it in his eyes. He had not bowed to time, and he didn’t expect anyone else to do so.

“Stepping out into the universe,” he told her toward the end, eyes watery but alert, “we must first confront the reality that nothing in our solar system can help us. Then we must confront the realities of interstellar travel. We must venture far beyond the reach of our own life spans, must think not as individuals, but as a species…”

TWENTY-TWO

Cooper nodded as Brand joined them. It was time to decide what to do next, to stop licking their wounds and move on.

“Tars kept Endurance right where we needed her,” Cooper said. “But it took years longer than we anticipated…”

An orbit was a controlled fall, really, and most weren’t stable over time. That had been known as far back as Newton, who spent gallons of ink trying to figure out why the planets hadn’t tumbled into the sun or spun off into space. In the end his best guess was that God just didn’t want it that way, so now and then He would toss a comet through the solar system to put everything back on track.

He put up the images of the remaining planets: Mann’s white dot and Edmunds’ red one.

“We don’t have the fuel to visit both prospects,” he said. “We have to choose.”

“How?” Romilly asked. “They’re both promising. Edmunds’ data was better, but Dr. Mann is the one still transmitting.”

“We have no reason to suppose Edmunds’ results would have soured,” Brand said. “His world has key elements to sustain human life—”

“As does Dr. Mann’s,” Cooper pointed out.

“Cooper,” Brand said, shooting him a look, “this is my field. And I really believe Edmunds’ planet is the better prospect.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Gargantua, that’s why,” she said. She stepped over to the display. “Look at Miller’s world—hydrocarbons, organics, yes. But no life. Sterile. We’ll find the same thing on Dr. Mann’s.”

“Because of the black hole?” Romilly asked.

She nodded. “Murphy’s Law—whatever can happen will happen. Accident is the first building block of evolution—but if you’re orbiting a black hole not enough can happen. It sucks in asteroids and comets, random events that would otherwise reach you. We need to go further afield.”

Murphy’s Law. In an instant he was back home, leaning on the truck, explaining to Murph that her name wasn’t something bad, that it was really an affirmation that life brought surprises, both good and bad. That he and Erin were prepared to deal with things as they came.

He knew he needed to focus on the moment. He understood what Brand was trying to say, and it sounded like a good argument. But he also knew there was something else behind her words, and Edmunds’ planet was so much further away…

“You once referred to Dr. Mann as the ‘best of us,’” Cooper said. He felt a tickle of conscience—he knew he was setting her up. But this was too important to let it slide.

“He’s remarkable,” Brand agreed, without hesitation. “We’re only here because of him.”