Transience 

By:  Arthur C. Clarke 

    The forest, which came almost to the edge of the beach, climbed away into 
    the distance up the flanks of the low, misty hills. Underfoot, the sand was 
    course and mixed with myriads of broken shells. Here and there the 
    retreating tide had left long streamers of weed trailed across the beach. 
    The rain, which seldom ceased, had for the moment passed inland, but ever 
    and again large, angry drops would beat tiny craters into the sand.
    It was hot and sultry, for the war between sun and rain was never-ending. 
    Sometimes the mists would lift for a while and the hills would stand out 
    clearly above the land they guarded. The hills arced in a semicircle along 
    the bay, following the line of the beach, and beyond them could sometimes be 
    seen, at an immense distance, a wall of mountains lying beneath perpetual 
    clouds. The trees grew everywhere, softening the contours of the land so 
    that the hills blended smoothly into each other. Only in one place could the 
    bare, uncovered rock be seen, where long ago some fault had weakened the 
    foundations of the hills, so that for a mile or more the sky line fell 
    sharply away, drooping down to the sea like a broken wing.
    Moving with the cautious alertness of a wild animal, the child came through 
    the stunted trees at the forest's edge. For a moment he hesitated; then, 
    since there seemed to be no danger, walked slowly out onto the beach.
    He was naked, heavily built, and had course black hair tangled over his 
    shoulders. His face, brutish though it was, might almost have passed in 
    human society, but the eyes would have betrayed him. They were not the eyes 
    of an animal, for there was something in their depths that no animal had 
    ever known. But it was no more than a promise. For this child, as for all 
    his race, the light of reason had yet to dawn. Only a hairsbreadth still 
    separated him from the beasts among whom he dwelt. The tribe had not long 
    since come into this tribe, and he was the first ever to set foot upon the 
    lonely beach. What had lured him from the known dangers of the forest into 
    the unknown and therefore more terrible dangers of this new element. he 
    could not have told even had he possessed the power of speech. Slowly he 
    walked out to the water's edge, always with backward glances at the forest 
    behind him; as he did so, for the first time in all history, the level sand 
    bore upon its face the footprints it would one day know so well.
    He had met water before, but it had always been bounded and confined by 
    land. Now it stretched endlessly before him, and the sound of its labouring 
    beat ceaselessly upon his ears.
    With the timeless patience of the savage, he stood on the moist sand that 
    the water had just relinquished, and as the tide line moved out he followed 
    it slowly, pace by pace. When the waves reached towards his feet with a 
    sudden access of energy, he would retreat a little way toward the land. But 
    something held him here at the water's edge, while his shadow lengthened 
    along the sands and the cold evening wind began to rise around him.
    Perhaps into his mind had come something of the wonder of the sea, and a 
    hint of all that it would one day mean to man. Though the first gods of his 
    people stay lay far into the future, he felt a dim sense of worship stir 
    within him. He knew that he was now in the presence of something greater 
    than all the powers and forces he had ever met.
    The tide was turning. Far away in the forest, a wolf howled once and was 
    suddenly silent. The noises of the night were rising around him, and it was 
    time to go.
    Under the low moon, the two lines of footprints interlaced across the sand. 
    Swiftly the oncoming tide was smoothing them away. But they would return in 
    their thousands and millions, in the centuries yet to be. 
    The child playing among the rock pools knew nothing of the forest that had 
    once ruled all of the land around him. It had left no trace of its 
    existence. As ephemeral as the mists that had so often rolled down from the 
    hills, it too, had veiled them for a little while and now was gone. In its 
    place had come a checkerboard of fields, the legacy of a thousand years of 
    patient toil. And so the illusion of permanence remained, though everything 
    had altered save the line of the hills against the sky. On the beach, the 
    sand was finer now, and the land had lifted so that the old tide line was 
    far beyond the reach of the questing waves.
    Beyond the sea wall and the promenade, the little town was sleeping through 
    the golden summer day. Here and there along the beach, people lay at rest, 
    drowsy with heat and lulled by the murmur of the waves.
    Out across the bay, white and gold against the water, a great ship was 
    moving slowly to sea. The boy could hear, faint and far away, the beat of 
    its screws and could still see the tiny figures moving upon its decks and 
    superstructure. To the child - and not to him alone - it was a thing of 
    wonder and beauty. He knew its name and the land to which it was steaming; 
    but he did not know that the splendid ship was both the last and greatest of 
    its kind. He scarcely noticed, almost lost against the glare of the sun, the 
    thin white vapour trails that spelled the doom of the proud and lonely 
    giant.
    Soon the great liner was no more than a dark smudge on the horizon, and the 
    boy turned again to his interrupted play, to the tireless building of his 
    battlements of sand. In the west the sun was beginning its long decline, but 
    the evening was still far away.
    Yet it came at last, when the tide was returning to the land. At his 
    mother's words, the child gathered up his playthings and, wearily contented, 
    began to follow his parents back to the shore. He glanced once only at the 
    sea again. Without regret he left them to the advancing waves, for tomorrow 
    he would return and the future stretched endlessly before him.
    That tomorrow would not always come, either for himself or for the world, he 
    was still too young to know. 
    And now even the hills had changed, worn away by the weight of years. Not 
    all the change was the work of nature, for one night in the long forgotten 
    past something had come sliding down from the stars, and the little town had 
    vanished in a spinning tower of flame. But that was so long ago that it was 
    beyond sorrow or regret. Like the fall of fabled Troy or the overwhelming of 
    Pompeii, it was part of the irremediable past, and could rouse no pity now.
    On the broken sky line lay a long metal building supporting a maze of 
    mirrors that turned and glittered in the sun. No-one from an earlier age 
    could have guessed its purpose. It was as meaningless as an observatory or a 
    radio station would have been to ancient man. But it was neither of these 
    things.
    Since noon, Bran had been laying among the shallow pools left by the 
    retreating tide. He was quite alone, though the machine that guarded him was 
    watching unobtrusively from the shore. Only a few days ago, there had been 
    other children playing beside the blue waters of this lovely bay. Bran 
    sometimes wondered where they had vanished, but he was a solitary child and 
    did not greatly care. Lost in his own dreams, he was content to be left 
    alone.
    In the last few hours he had linked the tiny pools with an intricate network 
    of waterways. His thoughts were very far from Earth, both in space and time. 
    Around him now were the dull, red sands of another world. He was Cardenis, 
    prince of engineers, fighting to save his people from the encroaching 
    deserts. For Bran had looked upon the ravaged face of Mars; he knew the 
    story of its long tragedy and the help from Earth that had come too late.
    Out to the horizon the sea was empty, untroubled by ships, as it had been 
    for ages. For a little while, near the beginning of time, man had fought his 
    brief war against the oceans of the world. Now it seemed that only a moment 
    lay between the coming of the first canoes and the passing of the last great 
    Megatheria of the seas.
    Bran did not even glance up at the sky when the monstrous shadow swept along 
    the beach. For days past, those silver giants had been rising over the hills 
    in an unending stream, and now he gave them little thought. All his life he 
    had watched the great ships climbing through the skies of Earth on their way 
    to distant worlds. Often he had seen them return from those long journeys, 
    dropping down through the clouds with cargoes beyond imagination.
    He wondered sometimes why they came no more, those returning voyagers. All 
    the ships he saw now were outward bound; never one drove down from the skies 
    to berth at the great port beyond the hills. Why this should be, no one 
    would tell him. He had learned not to speak of it now, having seen the 
    sadness that his questions brought.
    Across the sands the robot was calling to him softly. "Bran," came the 
    words, echoing the tones of his mother's voice,"Bran - its time to go".
    The child looked up, his face full of indignant denial. He could not believe 
    it. The sun was still high and the tide was far away. Yet along the shore 
    his mother and father were already coming toward him.
    They walked swiftly, as though the time was short. Now and again his father 
    would glance for an instant at the sky, then turn his head quickly away as 
    if he knew well that there was nothing he could hope to see. But a moment 
    later he would look up again.
    Stubborn and angry, Bran stood among his canals and lakes. His mother was 
    strangely silent, but presently his father took him by the hand and said 
    quietly, you must come with us Bran. Its time we went. The child pointed 
    sullenly at the beach. "But its too early. I haven't finished".
    His father's reply had no trace of anger, only a great sadness. There are 
    many things Bran, that will not be finished now. Still uncomprehending, the 
    boy turned to his mother. "Then can I come again tomorrow"?
    With a sense of desolating wonder, Bran saw his mother's eyes fill with 
    sudden tears. And he knew at last that never again would he play upon the 
    sands by the azure waters; never again would he feel the tug of the tiny 
    waves about his feet. He had found the sea too late, and now must leave it 
    forever. Out of the future, chilling his soul, came the first intimation of 
    the long ages of exile that lay ahead.
    He never looked back as they walked silently together across the clinging 
    sand. This moment would be with him all his life, but he was too stunned to 
    do more than walk blindly into a future he could not understand.
    The three figures dwindled into the distance and were gone. A while later, a 
    silver cloud seemed to lift above the hills and move slowly out to sea. In a 
    shallow arc, as though reluctant to leave its world, the last of the great 
    ships climbed towards the horizon and shrank to nothingness over the edge of 
    the Earth.
    The tide was returning with the dying day. As though its makers still walked 
    within its walls, the low metal building upon the hills had begun to blaze 
    with light. Near the zenith, one star had not waited for the sun to set, but 
    already burned with a fierce white glare against the darkening sky. Soon its 
    companions, no longer in the scant thousands that mankind had once known, 
    began to fill the heavens. The Earth was now near the centre of the 
    universe, and whole areas of the sky were an unbroken blaze of light.
    But rising beyond the sea in two long curving arms, something black and 
    monstrous eclipsed the stars and seemed to cast its shadow over all the 
    world. The tentacles of the Dark Nebula were already brushing against the 
    frontiers of the solar system....
    In the east, a great yellow moon was climbing through the waves. Though 
    mankind had torn down its mountains and brought it air and water, its face 
    was the one that had looked upon Earth since its history began, and it was 
    still the ruler of the tides. Across the sand the line of foam moved 
    steadily onwards, overwhelming the little canals and planing down the 
    mangled footprints.
    On the sky line, the lights in the strange metal building suddenly died, and 
    the spinning mirrors ceased their moonlight glittering. From far inland came 
    the blinding flash of a great explosion, then another, and another fainter 
    yet.
    Presently the ground trembled a little, but no sound disturbed the solitude 
    of the deserted shore. Under the level light of the sagging moon, beneath 
    the myriad stars, the beach lay waiting for the end. It was alone now, as it 
    had been at the beginning. Only the waves would move, and but for a little 
    while, upon its golden sands. 
    For mankind had come and gone. 

THE END