Greg Keyes - Interstellar

“Nature can’t be evil?” Cooper said.

“Formidable,” Brand said. “Frightening—not evil. Is a tiger evil because it rips a gazelle to pieces?”

Cooper reflected on that. If you were the gazelle, he mused, it was a moot point what was going on in the tiger’s heart and soul—whether it was evil, or just staying alive. Plenty of human beings had justified immensely evil acts in the name of survival and the “natural order of things.”

“Just what we bring with us then,” he said. He didn’t want to get into a real argument, but stubbornly found himself unwilling to let the point slide past completely.

Apparently she noticed.

“This crew represents the best aspects of humanity,” Brand said, a little testily, but he let it go. Why start the trip with a pointless philosophical argument? They had to live with one another for a long time.

In fact, he realized, what they had—along with Romilly and Doyle—was a lot like a marriage. They had to make it work, and they didn’t have the recourse of separation or divorce if things started to get unpleasant. Friction had to be kept at a minimum.

“Even me?” Cooper asked, trying to lighten things back up.

Brand smiled.

“Hey, we agreed,” she said. “Ninety percent.” With that she went to her own cryo-bed. Cooper returned his gaze to the infinite space outside of the ship.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Brand instructed. “We can’t spare the resources.”

“Hey,” Cooper objected with mock chagrin. “I’ve been waiting a long time to be up here.”

“You are literally wasting your breath,” she said. She got into the bed and lay down. The lid slid shut over her, encasing her in a plastic sheath. Liquid began filling in around the plastic, where it would freeze into a shield that would help protect her from the two years’ worth of radiation that would sleet through the hull as she slept.

Sweet dreams , he wished her, and wondered if one did in fact dream in cryo-sleep.

Cooper turned away and went to join TARS.

“Show me the trajectory again,” he told the machine. A diagram appeared on the screen.

“Eight months to Mars,” TARS said, “just like the last time we talked about it. Then counter-orbital slingshot around—”

Cooper saw Brand’s bed darken, then begin withdrawing into the deck.

“TARS,” he interrupted, speaking in a whisper. After all, he’d seen the trajectory so often he could draw it blindfolded. He didn’t need a bedtime review. But there was something about the… social situation on board, and a bit of pertinent information he needed to figure out.

Purely for sociological reasons.

“TARS,” he began, “was Dr. Brand—”

“Why are you whispering?” TARS asked. “You can’t wake them.”

He had been whispering, hadn’t he? Why? He knew TARS was right.

Was he embarrassed?

Nah , he decided. Just being considerate. And this might be important.

Later.

“Were Dr. Brand and Edmunds… close?” he asked carefully.

“I wouldn’t know,” TARS replied.

“Is that ninety percent, or ten percent ‘wouldn’t know?’” Cooper pursued.

“I also have a discretion setting,” the robot informed him.

“So I gather,” Cooper replied. He stood up. “But not a poker face.”

With that he dragged himself reluctantly to the comm station. Everyone else had recorded their goodbyes, but he still didn’t know what he was going to say, how he was going to say it. And probably, he had to admit, that was because there was no right thing to say.

Yet he had to say something . So after a few moments of hemming and hawing, he tapped the control.

“Hey, guys,” he finally began. “I’m about to settle down for a long nap, so I figured I’d send you an update.” He looked again at the dwindling jewel of the planet, apparently spinning due to the Endurance ’s rotation.

“The Earth looks amazing from here. You can’t see any of the dust. I hope you guys are doing great. This should get to you okay. Professor Brand said he’d make sure of it.” He paused, aching to say more, something that could wipe away his farewell to Murph, and make everything okay.

But he couldn’t come up with anything.

“Guess I’ll say goodnight,” he finished instead.

Donald sat on the porch looking out over the cornfields. Dust and heat made the horizon shimmer—which wasn’t unusual—but between there and him, something else was coming. In time he saw it was a pair of vehicles.

One of them was Cooper’s truck. He hoped…

Then he sighed as the door burst open, and Murph came running out. Of course she had seen them coming. The way she stayed at that window…

“Is it him?” she asked softly.

“I don’t think so, Murph,” he replied. He could have answered unconditionally, but chose not to. Coop had left her in tears. That had been the hard part for him, leaving his daughter while she was so upset. Yet Donald had known when his son-in-law had left that if he didn’t turn around in the first five minutes, he was never coming back. But he hadn’t, and he wasn’t. That Murph still hoped showed that she didn’t understand her father as well as Donald did.

He stood up to meet the truck as it pulled up to the house. A man with a decade or so more years than Donald stepped out. He had a look about him, and Donald guessed it was probably the Professor Brand fellow Coop had mentioned.

“You must be Donald,” the man said. Then he looked at the girl. “Hello, Murph.”

“Why’re you in my dad’s truck?” she demanded.

“He wanted me to bring it for your brother,” the man explained.

Murph didn’t reply, and after an awkward silence, the man reached for a briefcase.

“He sent you a message—”

But Murph wasn’t having any of that, Donald knew. She spun on her heel and bolted back into the house.

The man hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a disk. He held it out toward Donald, who took it.

“Pretty upset with him for leaving,” Donald explained. It was an understatement, but there was no point in being particular, not with these people, this guy.

“If you record messages,” the man said, “I’ll transmit them to Cooper.”

Donald nodded, looking up at the house, thinking that Murph would never do it. He’d bet the farm on it.

“Murph’s a bright spark,” the man said, following his gaze. “Maybe I could fan the flame.”

Donald looked at him, gauged the man’s expression, and saw that he was serious. He had something in mind. Then he thought about Murph, still in school, becoming angrier and more belligerent—until she got expelled.

And then what?

“She’s already making fools out of her teachers,” Donald said. “She should come make a fool out of you.”

The man grinned. Donald liked that.

He looked up into the sky.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“Heading toward Mars,” the man replied. “The next time we hear from Cooper, they’ll be coming up on Saturn.”

Donald nodded.

Godspeed, Coop , he thought. Hope you find what you’re looking for. I hope it’s worth it. Worth what you left.

Murph might see Cooper again. Donald was pretty sure he never would.

He sighed. He’d already done the father thing, hadn’t he? Put in his time?

He was tired.

Count your blessings, old man , he thought to himself. Some men never even live to see their grandchildren. There was so little left that had any value to him. Only Murph and Tom, really. What did he have to complain about?

He would rest when he was dead.