Cavor's Last Message to Earth

On this unsatisfactory manner the penultimate message of Cavor dies out. One seems to see him away there in the blue obscurity amidst his apparatus intently signalling us to the last, all unaware of the curtain of confusion that drops between us; all unaware, too, of the final dangers that even then must have been creeping upon him. His disastrous want of vulgar common sense had utterly betrayed him. He had talked of war, he had talked of all the strength and irrational violence of men, of their insatiable aggressions, their tireless futility of conflict. He had filled the whole moon world with this impression of our race, and then I think it is plain that he made the most fatal admission that upon himself alone hung the possibility—at least for a long time—of any further men reaching the moon. The line the cold, inhuman reason of the moon would take seems plain enough to me, and a suspicion of it, and then perhaps some sudden sharp realisation of it, must have come to him. One imagines him about the moon with the remorse of this fatal indiscretion growing in his mind. During a certain time I am inclined to guess the Grand Lunar was deliberating the new situation, and for all that time Cavor may have gone as free as ever he had gone. But obstacles of some sort prevented his getting to his electromagnetic apparatus again after that message I have just given. For some days we received nothing. Perhaps he was having fresh audiences, and trying to evade his previous admissions. Who can hope to guess?

Cavor’s second-to-last message ends in this unsatisfactory way. One can almost see him there in the blue darkness, surrounded by his equipment, signalling intently to us until the last. He was unaware of the curtain of confusion falling between us. He was also unaware of the final dangers that must already have been creeping toward him. His disastrous lack of ordinary common sense had completely betrayed him. He had talked of war and of all the strength and irrational violence of men. He had spoken of their endless aggression and their tireless, futile conflicts. He had given the whole moon world this impression of our race. Then, I think, he plainly made a fatal admission. He alone made it possible for any more men to reach the moon, at least for a long time. It seems clear enough to me what the cold, inhuman reason of the moon would lead it to do. Cavor must have begun to suspect it, and perhaps suddenly realized it with painful clarity. One imagines him moving about the moon, increasingly remorseful over this fatal indiscretion. I am inclined to guess that the Grand Lunar spent some time considering the new situation. During that time, Cavor may have been as free as ever. But after the message I have just given, some kind of obstacle kept him from returning to his electromagnetic apparatus. For some days we received nothing. Perhaps he was having further audiences and trying to avoid what he had admitted before. Who can hope to guess?

And then suddenly, like a cry in the night, like a cry that is followed by a stillness, came the last message. It is the briefest fragment, the broken beginnings of two sentences.

Then, suddenly, the last message came. It was like a cry in the night, followed by silence. The message is only a brief fragment, the broken beginnings of two sentences.

The first was: “I was mad to let the Grand Lunar know—”

The first was: “I was crazy to let the Grand Lunar know...”

There was an interval of perhaps a minute. One imagines some interruption from without. A departure from the instrument—a dreadful hesitation among the looming masses of apparatus in that dim, blue-lit cavern—a sudden rush back to it, full of a resolve that came too late. Then, as if it were hastily transmitted came: “Cavorite made as follows: take—”

There was a pause of perhaps a minute. One imagines some interruption from outside. Someone leaves the instrument and hesitates dreadfully among the looming masses of equipment in the dim, blue-lit cavern. Then they rush back to it, filled with resolve that came too late. Then, as if sent in haste, came: “Cavorite is made as follows: take...”

There followed one word, a quite unmeaning word as it stands: “uless.”

One word followed, a word that means nothing as it stands: “uless.”

And that is all.

And that is all.

It may be he made a hasty attempt to spell “useless” when his fate was close upon him. Whatever it was that was happening about that apparatus we cannot tell. Whatever it was we shall never, I know, receive another message from the moon. For my own part a vivid dream has come to my help, and I see, almost as plainly as though I had seen it in actual fact, a blue-lit shadowy dishevelled Cavor struggling in the grip of these insect Selenites, struggling ever more desperately and hopelessly as they press upon him, shouting, expostulating, perhaps even at last fighting, and being forced backwards step by step out of all speech or sign of his fellows, for evermore into the Unknown—into the dark, into that silence that has no end....

Perhaps he made a hurried attempt to spell “useless” as his fate closed in on him. We cannot tell what was happening around the apparatus. Whatever was happening, I know we shall never receive another message from the moon. A vivid dream has helped me imagine it. I see Cavor almost as clearly as if I had actually seen him. He is disheveled, shadowy, and lit by blue light, struggling in the grip of these insect Selenites. As they press in on him, he struggles more and more desperately and hopelessly. He shouts and protests, perhaps even fighting at last. Step by step, he is forced back, away from any speech or sign of his fellows. He is forced forever into the Unknown, into the dark, into the silence that has no end....