"Yeah. So—you were too late, is that it? You got away, but all the rest were destroyed."
"The timing was perfect," said the Beachcomber. "All the calculations were perfect. There's a natural limit to the distance in time any mass can travel, and we managed to meet it exactly. Three million years. I wish we hadn't. If we hadn't, I could go back again—" He stopped, and his jaw hardened.
"There isn't much more to tell," he said. "I happened to be chosen to execute the plan. It was a great honor, but not an easy one to accept. Remember, I was-about to be married. If anything went wrong it meant that we'd be separated forever ... We couldn't even die together. But I accepted. I had one day with her—one day; and then I set up the fields and waited for the attack. Just one micro-second before it would have reached us, I released the energy that was channeled through me—and the next instant, I was falling into the ocean out there."
He turned a tormented face to Maxwell. "It was the worst possible luck!" he said. "You can see for yourself, there was less chance of my landing anywhere near a planet than of—finding one given pebble on all the beaches of this planet."
Maxwell felt as if he had missed the point of a joke. "I still don't understand," he said. "You say you landed—but what about the universe? Where did it—?"
The Beachcomber made an impatient gesture. "You don't think we could bring it back into a space it already occupied, do you? It was in stasis, all but a fraction out of this time-line. Just a miniature left, so that it could be controlled. A model of the universe, so big." He spread his thumb and forefinger an inch apart—"Just a pebble."
Maxwell's jaw dropped open. He stared at the giant. "You don't mean—you—"
"Oh, yes," said the Beachcomber, "I landed about twenty miles out from shore—five years ago." He stared out across the sea, while his fingers groped nervously among the pebbles at his feet.
"And when I hit the water," he said, "I dropped it."
First Published in Imagination, December 1952