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 mind
began to unreel a picture of the confusion he had witnessed down in the
service quarters: Bellboys and room-service waiters fighting for service
elevators; chambermaids trundling their little carts on the d