Forsyte's Retreat Page 3
Sextus grasped at a straw. "How many did you have to drink this evening,Mr. Turner?"
The attorney squirmed uncomfortably. "Well, quite a few, maybe, but notenough to--"
Sextus shrugged one shoulder and turned to leave. "Understand, we don'tblame you a bit, sir. You know how these middle-aged women can carry onwhen they get out on the town. You must have dozed off before sheslipped in."
"But my door was locked! I think," he added uncertainly.
"We won't breathe a word of it, Mr. Turner. Rest well!"
* * * * *
Sextus padded silently back to his room in his stocking feet and took along pull at the whiskey. Funny thing, this. People often got into thewrong hotel beds, but rarely with such impalpable excuses. He sighed andpicked up the letter from his predecessor again. It read:
Welcome to the Phony-Plaza. (That name again.) You will be the fifth manager in 30 days. If you need the job as much as I thought I did you will probably ignore my advice, but here goes, anyway: RESIGN! BAIL OUT! SKIDOO! (The man was emphatic.) I can't tell you where they've got the 2600 rooms in this haunted ant-hill, but believe me, they are there, and you'll be sorry if you hang around long enough to prove it.
_My_ predecessor left a garbled note about some _hyperspace_ system that the owner, Dr. Bradford, has figured out. Actually, there are only 260 rooms, as you've probably surmised. But this Bradford, who is a nuclear physicist, by the way, has installed some sort of field generator in each elevator shaft that gives entry to these rooms at _ten different locations in time_. Room 500, for instance, in Vector A is 10 years from Vector B. So when you run to capacity with, say, two people to the room, you have 5200 guests in 260 rooms! They all live by the same calendar, but in their rooms they are actually centuries apart. How do you like those apples?
It's all quite neat and economical, what with the cost per front foot of this beach area zoned for business, and you'll find a dandy profit on the books, but start worrying, fellow! Things are beginning to happen. The maintenance engineer, who, incidentally, is quitting, too, says that the equipment in the shafts is wearing out, and the fields are pulsating or decaying or some damned thing. And we can't contact Dr. Bradford, who took the service manual with him.
Maybe you are more experienced in this hotel business than I am, but I couldn't stand the gaff. One more mess like I barely managed to clean up this week and someone's going to the pokey. It won't be me.
Good luck, if you insist on staying, but I warned you.
(signed) Thornton K. Patterson
P.S. The fire-marshall is on our necks because the windows are all sealed, but for God's sake, DON'T UNSEAL THEM!
* * * * *
Sextus tossed the fantastic communication aside in disgust, but his mindbegan to unreel a picture of the confusion he had witnessed down in theservice quarters: Bellboys and room-service waiters fighting for serviceelevators; chambermaids trundling their little carts on the dead run;the overworked laundry staff, laboring in a veritable sweatshop ofsteamy chaos, swamped in a billowing backlog of sheets and towels. Itall pointed to a large hotel operation.
If so, where were the rooms? Refusing to argue further with himself, hegot undressed. Hyperspace or not, the people apparently were there, andit was his job to serve them. He got a bucket of ice from room-service,mixed an ice and whiskey highball and retreated into his private littleworld between crisp sheets and the pages of a twenty-five-cent mysterynovel.
Arising early, he was girded for the summons from Miss Genevieve Hafnerin room H-408. He went to her room. Fully dressed and in the daylightshe was still a hollow-eyed mess. The only visible improvement was inthe bleached bird's-nest, now a prim, rolled circle on her unlovelypate.
"What amends," she demanded, "do you intend to make for my terribleexperience last night? Is that horrid creature in jail?"
"Experience? Jail?" Sextus asked innocent-eyed. He asked that she tellhim about it. Exasperated, she went over the details. When she finishedhe patted her hand and pointed to the sleeping pills. "You should seeyour doctor."
"But my doctor _prescribed_ those pills," she whimpered, looking downshyly at the hand which Sextus held gingerly. "They never made medream--before."
He bent and kissed the revolting hand. "You are much too lovely a ladyto have escaped from such a predicament as you describe withoutsuffering--shall we say, a more romantic--fate?"
Miss Hafner blushed at the thought and wavered between outrage andecstasy for a dangerous moment. With time-tested genius, Sextus withdrewquietly and left her to her thoughts.
He _must_ get in touch with Dr. Bradford, atom business or not. Thisplace could blow sky-high any minute.
He slipped the key into his own door and entered his suite. He took twobrisk strides into his bedroom, tripped over a lady's overnight case andsprawled into his unmade bed. Even as he landed he realized it had anoccupant, a gorgeous, strangely familiar blonde creature, touselled andasleep hugging her pillow with a creamy arm. A crash from the bathroombrought his head bouncing off the silken coverlet even as the girlawakened with a scream and tangled them both with the bed clothes.
Gary Gable charged from the bathroom, face dripping and a tuft of latherunder each ear. "What in the Goddam hell--" He leaped for Sextus withhis internationally famous shoulders knotted into bunches of muscularmenace.
"I'm the hotel manager," Sextus blurted loudly. For once hisself-assurance wavered under fire. Even to himself his words explainednothing.
Meanwhile, Gable tripped over one of Sextus' heavy suitcases and joinedthe pair in bed. Another male voice issued from the bathroom, and asthey all thrashed about, Sextus became aware that a second female hadsomehow appeared between Gable and his brand new bride. They came uptogether, face to face, the beautiful, sleepy blonde and the verywide-awake, queenly brunette. Now a pot-bellied little man in shorts andundershirt emerged from the bathroom, his mouth a gaping hole in a fullylathered face.
Sextus wriggled free, made for the door and off down the hall. To hishorror, the automatic signal light on the vector "H" elevator wasflickering and fading. The whole H-vector must be collapsing. He dashedfor the stairwell and then reconsidered. He moved to the end of the hallwhich overlooked the low roof of the adjacent building. He tried thewindow and remembered that it was sealed. Back in the alcove he seizedone of the sand jars and headed back for the window. A growing tide ofcommotion swelled from behind almost every door now. Grunts, screams andwrestling sounds came over the transoms.
He dashed the sand jar through the window, chipped off the jagged edgeswith his heel and climbed out. It was a twenty-foot drop to security,and he made it without hesitation. What could a man hope to do with amess like--
Spang! His feet struck, not with a crunch on gravelled tar, but into aspringy fabric that sagged under his 180 pounds, tossed him six feet inthe air, caught him on the rebound and then juggled him down withdiminishing bounces.
* * * * *
They were waiting for him, as he regained his feet on the quiveringsurface of a spring-loaded, canvas trampoline. The bright, mid-morningsun blinded him for an instant, but their voices assailed his ears in amighty roar of approval as he squinted under his hand and peered aroundhim.
"Attaboy, Sexy," a shrill female voice piped. The roof-top was jammedwith a pressing throng of--nearly naked people. In the clearedsemi-circle about him a cordon of male bodies-beautiful restrained themob behind a rope from which a long streamer hung with letters reading:
"WELCOME, SEXTUS, TO 2153 A. D."
&nbs
p; Reaching over the edge of the canvas platform with outstretched hand wasa single, willowy, sun-baked oldster in a purple loin-cloth. His hairand beard were a dazzling white, and his face was wreathed in a sillysmile, the kind officials always wear when presenting the keys to thecity.
He shuffled his white kid sandals and spoke with an accent: "Welcome to2153, Sextus Rollo Forsyte! California salutes you!"
Somewhere down on the street a raucous brass band broke into the _Starsand Stripes Forever_ that quickly medlied into _California, Here WeCome_!
Sextus shrank back against the wall and felt ancient bricks crumble intodust against his hands. The magnitude of his disaster crushed in uponshrinking soul, and as his nimble imagination grasped the stunningsignificance every molecule of his being vibrated with horror. _He hadbeen warned not to open a window._
"You