The Beachcomber

Maxwell frowned. 'Don't be a cretin. These particular beaches have nothing to do with it; he just happens to be on one at the moment. He's a beachcomber because he lives like a bum—doesn't do any work, doesn't see people, just loafs and waits to be old enough to die.'

'That's awful,' said Alice. 'It's—such a waste.'

'In more ways than one,' Maxwell added drily. 'But what do you want? There's only one place he could be happy—three million years from now—and he can't go back. He says there isn't any place to go back to. I don't know what he means; he refuses to clarify that point.'

* * *

The Beachcomber was standing motionless by the edge of the forest as their scooters floated down to rest on the pebbly beach. He was wearing a pair of stained, weathered duroplast shorts, but nothing else; no hat to protect his great domed head, no sandals on his feet, no equipment, not even a knife at his belt. Yet Maxwell knew that there were flesh-eaters in the jungle that would gobble a man outside the force-field of his scooter in about half a second. Knowing the Beachcomber, none of this surprised him. Whether it occurred to Alice to be surprised at any of it, he couldn't tell. She was eating the Beachcomber with her eyes as he walked toward them.

Maxwell, swearing silently to himself, turned off his scooter's field and stepped down. Alice did the same. I only hope she can keep from trying to flirt with him, Maxwell thought. Aloud, he said, 'How's it, Dai?'

'All right,' said the Beachcomber. Up close he ceased to be merely impressive and became a little frightening. He stood over seven feet tall, and there was an incredible strength in every line of him.

His clear skin looked resilient but hard; Maxwell privately doubted that you could cut it with a knife. But it was the eyes that were really impressive: they had the same disquieting, alien quality as an eagle's. Dai never pulled his rank on anybody; he 'went native' perfectly when he had to, for social purposes; but he couldn't help making a normal human adult feel like a backward child.

'Dai, I'd like you to meet Alice Zwerling.'

The Beachcomber acknowledged the introduction with effortless courtesy; Alice nearly beat herself to death with her eyelashes.

She managed to stumble very plausibly as they walked down to the water's edge, and put a hand on the giant's arm for support. He righted her casually with the flat of his hand on her back—at the same time giving a slight push that put her a step or two in advance—and went on talking to Maxwell.

They sat down by the water's edge, and Dai pumped Maxwell for the latest news on Earth. He seemed genuinely interested; Maxwell didn't know whether it was an act or not, but he talked willingly and well. The Beachcomber threw an occasional question Alice's way, just enough to keep her in the conversation. Maxwell saw her gathering her forces, and grinned to himself.

There was a pause and Alice cleared her throat. Both men looked at her politely. Alice said, 'Dai, are there really man-eating animals in this jungle? Vernon says so, but we haven't seen a one, all the time we've been here. And—' Her gaze ran down the Beachcomber's smooth, naked torso, and she blushed very prettily. 'I mean—' she added, and stopped again.

The Beachcomber said, 'Sure, there are lots of them. They don't bother me, though.'

She said earnestly, 'You mean—you walk around, like that, in the jungle, and nothing can hurt you?'

'That's it.'

Alice drove the point home. 'Could you protect another person who was with you, too?'

'I guess I could.'

Alice smiled radiantly. 'Why, that's too good to be true! I was just telling Vernon, before we saw you down here, that I wished I could go into the jungle without the scooter, to see all the wild animals and things. Will you take me in for a little walk, Dai? Vernon can mind the scooters—you wouldn't mind, would you, Vernie?'

* * *

Maxwell started to reply, but the Beachcomber forestalled him. 'I assure you, Miss Zwerling,' he said slowly, 'that it would be a waste, of your time and mine.'

Alice blushed again, this time not so prettily. 'Just what do you mean?' she demanded.

Dai looked at her gravely. 'I'm not quite such a wild man as I seem,' he said. 'I always wear trousers in mixed company.' He repeated, with emphasis, 'Always.'

Alice's lips grew hard and thin, and the skin whitened around them. Her eyes glittered. She started to say something to the Beachcomber, but the words stuck in her throat. She turned to Maxwell. 'I think we’d better go.'

'We just got here,' Maxwell said mildly. 'Stick around.'

She stood up. 'Are you coming?' 'Nope,' said Maxwell.

Without another word she turned, walked stiffly to her scooter, got in and soared away. They watched the tiny shining speck dwindle and disappear over the horizon.

Maxwell grinned and looked at the Beachcomber. 'She had that coming,' he said. 'Not that she's out anything—she's got her return ticket.' He put a hand behind him to hoist himself to his feet. 'I'll be going now, Dai. Nice to have—'

'No, stay a while, Vern,' said the giant. 'I don't often see people.' He looked moodily off across the water. 'I didn't spoil anything special for you, I hope?'

'Nothing special,' Maxwell said. 'Only my current light o' love.' The giant turned and stared at him, half- frowning.

'What the hell!' said Maxwell disgustedly. 'There are plenty of other pebbles on the beach.'

'Don't say that!' The Beachcomber's face contorted in a blaze of fury. He made a chopping motion with his forearm. Violent as it was, the motion came nowhere near Maxwell. Something else, something that felt like the pure essence of wrath, struck him and bowled him over, knocking the breath from him.

He sat up, a yard away from the giant, eyes popping foolishly. 'Whuhh—' he said.

There was pain and contrition in the Beachcomber's eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he said. He helped Maxwell up. 'I don't often forget myself that way. Will you forgive me?'

Maxwell's chest was still numb; it was hard to breathe. 'Don't know,' he said with difficulty. 'What did you do it for?'

Sunlight gleamed dazzlingly on the Beachcomber's bare head. His eyes were in deep shadow, and shadows sketched the bold outline of his nose, marked the firm, bitter lines of his mouth. He said, 'I've offended you.' He paused. 'I'll explain, Vernon, but there's one condition you must never tell anybody else, ever.'

He put his big hand on Maxwell's wrist, and Maxwell felt the power that flowed from him. Almost hypnotically he knew he never would be able to. He was aware his mind was being schooled in what to remember.

'All right,' said Maxwell. A curious complexity of emotions boiled inside him—anger and petulance, curiosity and something else, deeper down: a vague, objectless fear. 'Go ahead.'

The Beachcomber talked. After a few minutes he seemed almost to forget Maxwell; he stared out across the silver sea, and Maxwell, half hypnotized by the deep, resonant voice, watched his hawklike profile in silence.

Dimly, he saw the universe the Beachcomber spoke of: a universe of Men set free. Over that inconceivable gap of time that stretched between Maxwell’s time and theirs, they had purged themselves of all their frailties. Maxwell saw them striding among the stars, as much at home in the pitiless void as on the verdant planets they loved. He saw them tall and faultless and strong, handsome men and beautiful women, all with the power that glowed in the Beachcomber, but without a hint of his sadness.

* * *

He tried to imagine what the daily life of those people must be like, and couldn't; it was three million years beyond his comprehension. But when he looked at the Beachcomber's face, he knew that the last men were human beings like himself, capable of love, hate, and despair.

'We had mating customs that would seem peculiar to you,' said the Beachcomber after a while. 'Like elephants—because we were so long-lived, you know. We—married—late, and it was for life. My marriage was about to take place when we found the enemy.'

'The enemy?' said Maxwell. 'But—didn't you say you were the only dominant life-form in the whole universe?'

'That's right.' The Beachcomber outlined an egg-shaped figure with a motion of his cupped hands, caressingly. 'The universe; all of it. Everything that existed in this space. It was all ours. But the enemy didn't come