Interstellar: The Official Movie Novelization (8 page)

A lot of really smart people had to have bought into the idea.

Of course, even smart people can be wrong.

Still, it was all better than what he had feared at first. They hadn’t turned back to weapons, thank God, and war. He hadn’t stumbled onto a plan to take what little was left and hoard it away. They weren’t trying to squeeze the last remaining drops of life from the dirt.

No, instead of looking down, they were looking up.

They had turned back to the stars.

* * *

Later, Professor Brand showed him the equations. Cooper had had plenty of math back in the day, but it had been more applied than theoretical, so this was all way beyond him. The equations covered more than a dozen blackboards in the professor’s office, complete with diagrams, and while he could pick out parts of it, the rest might as well have been written in cuneiform, as far as he was concerned.

“Where have you got to?” Cooper asked.

“Almost there,” Professor Brand assured him.

“Almost? You’re asking me to hang everything on ‘almost?’”

The professor stepped a little closer.

“I’m asking you to trust me,” he said. Professor Brand’s eyes were burning with what seemed like a limitless passion, and Cooper realized that the old man had thrown all of himself into this. He believed—
really
believed—that it could be done. Cooper had seen glimpses of this fervor before, back in the day, but he had never understood what lay behind it.

Now he did. The survival of the human race.

“All those years of training,” he said. “You never told me.”

“We can’t always be open about
everything
, Coop, even if we want to be.” The professor paused, and then he said, “What can you tell your children about this mission?”

That was a tender point, one he had already been considering. What
would
he tell Tom and Murph? That the world was ending? That he was going off into space to try and save it? And if he had known all those years ago he was training for such a mission, how would he have reacted?

There was no way to know. So much time had passed, so much had occurred, he barely knew the young man he had once been.

“Find us a new home,” the professor said. “When you return, I’ll have solved the problem of gravity. You have my word.”

TWELVE

The truck had barely rolled to a stop before Murph swung the door open and dashed for the house. On the porch, Donald watched her whiz past, then shot his son-in-law a questioning look.

Cooper simply shook his head and followed Murph inside and up the stairs. He heard a dragging sound coming from her room.

When he tried to open her door, it only cracked a little—from what he could tell, she had stacked a desk and a chair against it.

“Murph?” he attempted.

“Go!” she shouted. “If you’re leaving, just go!”

* * *

Donald listened in his usual way, without many interruptions or much expression, just taking it in as it came. It was a little cool on the porch, but Cooper preferred to be out beneath the night sky, rather than in the house.

After a time, he’d given Donald the full story of what had happened to him and Murph. He sat back to see how the old man would react.

“This world was never enough for you, was it, Coop?” Donald said.

Cooper didn’t answer right away. He knew it was an indictment, that there was an accusation there. Donald took things as they came. He might grouse a little here and there, but he was adaptable. And he was good at finding the virtue in whatever situation presented itself. He was a man who counted his blessings more often than he railed against injustice.

Nothing wrong with that, Cooper mused. The world needed people like Donald, and always had. But it needed more than one kind of person. It needed the men who sailed dangerous seas, to discover unknown lands. Those men had not been—for the most part—of the “count-your-blessings” sort.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Donald,” Cooper said. “Heading out there is what I feel born to do, and it excites me. That doesn’t make it wrong.”

Donald thought about that for a moment.

“It might,” the old man countered. “Don’t trust the right thing, done for the wrong reason. The ‘why’ of a thing—that’s the foundation.”

“Well, the foundation’s solid,” Cooper said, a bit sadly. He swept his hand out toward the fields, the distant mountains—the world.

“We farmers sit here every year when the rains fail and say ‘next year.’” He paused, and looked at his father-in-law. “Next year ain’t gonna save us. Nor the one after. This world’s a treasure, Donald. But she’s been telling us to leave for a while now. Mankind was born on Earth. It was never meant to die here.”

He stopped, feeling somehow a little hollow, even though he believed everything he said. He was right, and Donald would get to that.

So would the kids.

Donald brushed some dust off of the porch rail. He pursed his lips, and now he did seem emotional—uncharacteristically so.

“Tom’ll be okay,” he said, as if reading Cooper’s mind. “But you have to make it right with Murph…”

“I will,” Cooper said, even though he knew it was easier said than done.

“
Without
making any promises you don’t know you can keep,” Donald finished, looking him directly in the eye.

Cooper looked away, nodding.

Feeling the burden.

* * *

Cooper figured he’d let Murph cool down overnight, that she’d be easier to approach after some sleep. But the next morning, the door was still barricaded. He pressed it open gingerly, until he could reach the chair and pull it down from where it was stacked on the desk. Then he pushed it wider and stepped in.

Murph was in her bed, back turned to him.

“You have to talk to me,” he said.

She didn’t respond, and he wondered if she might still be asleep.

“I have to fix this before I go,” he said.

He leaned over her to see her face, and he felt a sort of shock go through him. Her cheeks were still blazing and tear-stained, and he wondered if she’d slept at all.

“Then I’ll keep it broken,” she said stubbornly. “So you have to stay.”

So that’s how it’s gonna be.

Cooper sat on the bed. He had taken Donald’s advice to heart, and had been practicing what to say, staying up half the night. He hadn’t expected Murph to still be this upset, however. In his mind’s-eye rehearsal, he’d been having this conversation with a calmer, quieter daughter.

He still had to give it a go, though, and he thought he knew how to begin.

“After you kids came along,” he told her, “your mother said something I didn’t really understand. She said, ‘I look at the babies and see myself as they’ll remember me.’”

He studied Murph to see if it was sinking in.

At least she appeared to be listening. So he continued.

“She said, ‘It’s as if we don’t exist anymore, like we’re ghosts, like we’re just there to be memories for our kids.’”

He paused again before going on. The expression on Murph’s face was a little puzzled—and he didn’t blame her. It had taken him a while to get it himself.

“Now I realize,” he said, “once we’re parents, we’re just the ghosts of our children’s futures.”

“You said ghosts don’t exist,” Murph replied defiantly.

“That’s right,” Cooper said. “I can’t be your ghost right now—I need to exist. Because they chose me. They chose me, Murph. You saw it.”

Murph sat up and pointed at the shelves, at the gaps between the books.

“I figured out the message,” she said. She opened her notebook. “It
was
Morse code.”

“Murph…” Cooper said, gently.

She ignored him.

“One word,” she continued. “You know what it is?”

He shook his head. She held out her notebook so he could see it.

STAY

“It says ‘stay,’ Dad.” She peered at him, waiting for his response.

“Oh, Murph,” he said, his voice sad.

“You don’t believe me?” she said, her eyes flashing defiantly. “Look at the books. Look at—”

He reached out and took her in his arms, stopping her from saying anymore. She felt so little, and she was trembling.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “It’s okay.”

She pressed her face into his shoulder, sobbing.

“Murph,” he said, “a father looks in his child’s eyes and thinks, ‘Maybe it’s them. Maybe my child will save the world.’ And everyone, once a child, wants to look into their own dad’s eyes and know he saw they saved some little corner of the world. But usually, by then, the father is gone.”

“Like you will be,” she said, and she sniffed. Cooper gazed at his daughter, at the fear and pain written on her face.

“No,” he said. “I’m coming back.” Even as he said it, he understood he’d done just what Donald had told him not to. But he had to say something. To get her through it. To get both of them through it.

To give her hope.

Yet he dreaded her next question.

“When?” she asked.

Murph took little for granted. He knew that, so he was prepared. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two wristwatches.

“One for you,” he said, and then pointed to the watch on his wrist. “One for me.”

She took the watch, turning it in her hand, examining it curiously.

“When I’m in hypersleep,” he explained, “or travel near the speed of light, or near a black hole, time will change for me. It’ll run more slowly.”

Murph frowned slightly.

“When I get back we can compare,” he said, then he waited.

He could almost see her brain working through it.

“Time will run differently for us?” she said. There was a hint of wonderment in her tone, and he felt a little flush of relief. If she could see this as an adventure,
her
adventure as well as his, and understand his promise…

“Yup,” he told her. “By the time I get back we might be the same age. You and me. Imagine that.”

He watched as her face changed, and he knew he’d made a mistake, said perhaps
exactly
the wrong thing.

“Wait, Murph—”

“You have no idea when you’re coming back,” she said angrily.

He gave her a pleading look. He needed something to say, but this was off his script.

“No idea at
all
!” she shouted, and she slung the watch across the room before turning her back on him again.

So quickly, what little momentum he’d had—or maybe just imagined he had—was gone. His plan, such as it was, was suddenly was in tatters, and there wasn’t any time to start over, even if he knew how.

“Don’t make me leave like this,” Cooper pleaded.

But her back stayed to him.

“Please,” he said. “I have to go now.” He reached to put his hand on her shoulder, but she angrily shook it off.

“I love you, Murph,” he said, finally. “Forever. And I’m coming back.”

Slowly he stood up. Everything about him felt heavy. He knew if he stayed another minute, another hour, another day, it would be the same. Either he was going, or he wasn’t. Murph would be okay, and in time she would understand.

As he reached the threshold, he heard a
thunk
behind him. He turned, but Murph was still facing away from him. A newly fallen book lay on the floor. He looked at it for a moment, wondering.

Then, reluctantly, he stepped out of Murph’s room.

* * *

Donald and Tom met him at the car.

“How’d it go?” Donald asked.

“Fine,” Cooper lied. “It was fine.”

He turned to Tom and wrapped him up in a tight hug.

“I love you, Tom,” he said.

“Travel safe, Dad,” his son replied.

“Look after the place, you hear?” he said, feeling a hitch in his voice.

“Can I use your truck while you’re gone?” Tom asked.

Cooper managed a smile. That was Tom. Practical. Pragmatic. And eager to get his hands on the wheel.

“I’ll make sure they bring it back for you,” he promised. Then, not wanting to linger, he got in the truck and started the engine.

“Mind my kids for me, Donald,” he said.

The old man nodded as he pulled out.

* * *

Back in the house, Murph heard the car start. Her anger broke in an instant, dissolving into anguish.

She’d thought he would come back, that he was bluffing. She jumped off the bed, grabbed the watch and ran for the stairs. She had to tell him, had to really say goodbye, to hug him one last time.

* * *

Cooper watched the house dwindle in the rearview mirror. Even now, so much of him wanted to turn back, to be with his children. If only Murph…

A thought occurred to him, and he reached back into the wheel well and pulled up the blanket from where she had hidden last time, but now it was empty. He’d known it would be, yet part of him had needed to
know
.

So he fixed his mind on the Rangers, perched atop their boosters, waiting for him.

And then on the countdown.

Ten, nine
…

* * *

Murph nearly tripped on the stairs, but then she flew across the kitchen and burst through the door, out onto the porch.

“Dad?
Dad!
” she yelled desperately.

Eight, seven…

All she could see was a dust trail, leading away toward the mountains, as it had before.
But this time she wasn’t hiding under the blanket. She wasn’t in the truck.

Six, five…

Great sobs started tearing from her chest as Grandpa took her in his arms, and the trail of dust grew more distant. She gripped the watch in her hand as she cried, willing him to keep his promise, to come back.

* * *

Cooper looked once more in the rearview mirror, but all he could see was dust. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks.

Four, three, two…

One.

PART TWO

THIRTEEN

“Ignition!”
the flight controller said.

For an instant, Cooper thought that nothing was going to happen, that from the start it had all been some sort of weird hoax or delusion. But then he felt the vibration, the shudder that ran through the whole metal skin of the ship—awful and slow at first, like a titan stirring, but then gathering speed at a dreadful pace.