The Ultimate Question

Once upon a time there was a group of engineers who had been requested to solve a very hard problem. In order to solve the problem, the group had to work for days and for nights. The harder they worked, though, the further the problem escaped from their grasp. One day a member had an idea. He decided to write the question on a piece of paper and left it at a local Starbucks. The next day he went back and it was there, solved in more than one way; the paper was covered in blue and black and pencil markings. He took the answer to his team and they were ecstatic. They were going to publish and be famous! However, it was suggested the paper be signed solely by the name "Anonymous," in dedication to its several authors who remain unknown. For the unsung people who solved it and didn't ask for credit. And so it went.

The paper was never published. The journals rejected it because they didn't understand its consequences. It never made the news or papers.

After the rejection, the paper was left alone. The teammates slowly forgot of it. Everyone forgot. It wouldn't be until several years later that a small boy found the solution left in a box in a new house he had moved into. He didn't understand the words. Relativity? However, he did keep the paper and pledge his life to study it. He could feel its importance. He spent his college years learning physics and studying every aspect of the paper.

Even after all his efforts, he couldn't figure it out. The paper was impossible. Yet he checked it and it was correct. Then he had an epiphany one day in a familiar Starbucks cafe...

An old man walked into the cafe as the man was sitting, staring at the problem. He recognized the look. He recognized the problem. He spoke to the boy and he understood. He understood it all. It was the future of humanity. The theories were beautiful. The math was perfect. It all made sense. Time travel, quantum uncertainty, it was all solved.

The man died that day, walking home. He didn't notice the car as it swerved off the road and killed him. He didn't have a chance to survive. He never did. His funeral wasn't large.

The paper had no funeral. It was lost amongst the man's remains, covered in blood. It was lost and never recovered. The theory died as it arrived, through accident and spark. It wouldn't be for a very long time that the culmination of chances would produce the united universe. Until then, humanity was unable to achieve perfection in understanding.

Maybe it always will be. As they say, errare est humanis. To err is human.