Tapper. And for another round I'll say you before you will take their tills." "No, no," I said with dignity. "I am a repent. myself. An investigative reporter, in fact." "What's that?" several wanted to know. "It investigates cover-ups," I said. "I'm writing a book." "We're all writing books," my tough-looking friend said. "I got a trunk full of books. So has everybody else at this table. You got to do better than that. Waiter, bring us another round!" "I am on the trail of a cover-up so staggering," I said, "that it will boggle everybody." "What's a cover-up?" somebody wanted to know. "You don't cover thftn up. You take the covers OFF. Only then can you see what the girl looks like! You've got to be careful what you're getting into!" "It isn't a girl I'm uncovering," I said. "It's one of the highest figures in the state. And oh, will my name be all across the sky." "My friend," said the tough-looking one, "I think, in kindness, you have had enough to drink. But that doesn't stop the rest of us. Waiter, another round, but omit my friend here. He's drunk as a Lord!" Five rounds later, my tough-looking friend was pretty mellow and I got him to listen. "I've got to get access to newssheet files stretching back maybe ninety-five years. I'm searching for a specific disaster." "My friend," he said, "what you need is a reporter. No editor is going to let you near his files. Now, as you've been buying so handsomely, any of us here would be glad to help, except for one fatal thing: nobody lasts ninety-five years in this business." "Old Shif did," said somebody, pointing. My tough-looking friend turned. A gray-haired old wreck was sitting at the end of a bar across the room, all by himself, staring at an empty canister. "Hey, he might know. Buy us one more round, Natty the Nifty Teller Tapper, and I'll introduce you for free." Five minutes later, my tough-looking friend, with me beside him, was telling Shif, "Here's somebody that's insisting on buying you a drink. Bye-bye, Natty, drop around when you've tapped another till." And he left. "Drinks," said old Shif, "always cost something. What is it this time?" "I am trying to discover any strange occurrence in the Western Ocean, sometime between a century ago and now, probably maybe ninety-five years ago, maybe not." And I signalled the barman to bring a canister of tup. The barman hesitated until I flashed a bill to show him I was paying. Old Shif watched the canister arrive. "Maybe you better be more specific." I decided to confide, he looked so old and wise. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I'm trying to find out what happened to Relax Island." His head whipped around toward me. Something flashed in his eyes. Was it fear? Then he did the incredible. He pushed the canister of tup right back at the barman! Without looking at me, Shif said, "I'm sorry. I can't help you." Oh, was I certain now! Yes, indeed, there was a cover-up! I grabbed the canister and put it back in front of him. He did not touch it. . This was an emergency. I signalled to the barman for a keg. The barman saw my money, picked one up and put it on the bar in front of Shif. "That won't help," said the aged reporter. "Young man, as a friendly gesture, all I can tell you is to forget it. You are in Censor territory." My certainty surged! I know how these clubs operate. The attitude of that barman clearly showed that old Shif was in debt to the place. I grabbed the young boy usher and gave him a whispered message. Two minutes later, the manager was standing there, holding an account sheet in his hand. "I don't know what you want with this," he said to Shif. "It was about to be written off fts a bad debt." Shif pointed at me. "He called for it, I didn't," said Shif. I grabbed the bill. It was a year overdue. It was for more than I had on me. I grabbed out my identoplate and stamped it. "No, no!" said Shif. "You're tempting me beyond endurance!" "Good," I said. "Bad," said Shif. "This is DANGEROUS!" I was absolutely positive then that not only the Censor but Heller himself must be behind this Relax Island cover-up! "Give me an account sheet with his name on it," I told the manager. "Mark it for the next year and leave the amount blank." The manager stared. Old Shif sat there kind of crumpled. The blank sheet came. I stamped it. But I held onto it. Seconds ticked by. Then slowly, slowly, old Shif reached out for the sheet. He gripped the corner of it and used it to pull me close to him. He whispered in my ear. "Don't ever tell anyone it came from me. Go and see Pratia Tayl, Minx Estates, Pausch Hills." Vll Because it was late in the Voltar year, Minx Estates was not in bloom. But from the air, as we landed, one could tell it was very prosperous. It had garden walks amongst the shrubs, and statues of naked nymphs peeped forth. The vast house was a mansion of three stories and higher pbles. A small hospital nestled in the trees at the back. A pool, in the shape of a heart, steamed in the late afternoon sun. We landed on the target and I got out. What seemed to be a bundle of furs in a reclining chair at the pool side suddenly stirred and said, "Oooooooo! What a beautiful young man!" I advanced cautiously. An old face of at least 150 peered out of the furs. Excessive makeup did not hide her years. "Sit down, sit down!" she cried, indicating a lawn chair beside her. "Tell me all about yourself!" "I am Monte Pennwell," I said. "Do I have the honor of addressing Pratia Tayl?" "Oh, my goodness. Not only handsome but also polite. Yes, indeed, I am Pratia Tayl, or at least that name will do. Now you just make yourself at home," .Things apparently happened very fast at Minx Estates for all its surface serenity. Pratia began to chatter at three hundred miles an hour, asking all about my family, of which she had heard, and all about my friends and interests. And while she was doing so a young man with bright green eyes and straw-colored hair came up with a tray of canisters and a jug of pink sparklewater and Pratia said, "Thank you, son," without even taking her eyes off me, and then a woman came out of the house with some sweetbuns. She had bright green eyes and straw-colored hair and Pratia said, "Thank you, daughter," and went right on chattering at me. An elderly dowager, escorted by an elderly man with bright green eyes and straw-colored hair, entered the front gate and parsed us en route to the small hospital at the back, and Pratia, barely halting her chatter at me, said, "Good afternoon, Lady Tig. Good afternoon, son." When they opened the hospital door, I saw the sign on it, Cellobgy Beauty Clinic. I had no more than read that when a very sporty air-speedster landed and two men got out. They both had bright green eyes and straw-colored hair. When they came over to give her a peck on the cheek, she interrupted her barrage at me long enough to say, "Boys, meet Monte Pennwell, the writer. You know of his family. Monte, my grandsons Jettero and Bis." They shook hands and went off to the house and I cut into Pratia's chatter. "Good Heavens," I said, "are all these children YOURS?" "Oh, these are just some of them," said Pratia with a proud simper. "Most of them have married and are in practice. You should see my grandchildren!" "Do they all have bright green eyes and straw-colored hair?" "Oh, yes," said Pratia. "Aren't they beautiful? I even have three great-grandchildren already and they have them, too! Adorable. But I was wondering, don't you have an Aunt Bit? I think I went to school…" A really ancient hag came out of the house and stalked over to us. She cut right across Pratia's chatter. She said, "Will this guest be staying for supper?" Pratia said, "Oh, I'm sure he will, Meeley. Be certain that you serve something stimulating. And he will be staying the night…" "No, no," I said quickly. "I have to be home for a family dinner. But… but," I said to the old hag, "she called you Meeley. Are you… well… are you the former landlady of…" "That (bleep)?" said Meeley. "Hah!" And she stalked off. "I'm sorry you can't stay the night," said Pratia. "My bed is awfully soft." It just shows you the menaces which surround the profession of an investigative reporter! You should be impressed with the dangers I ran getting this material for you, dear reader. Swiftly, I said, "I only came to find out about Relax Island." Her bright blue eyes went round. She was suddenly silent. She stared at me. Hastily, I explained, "I heard a rumor you could tell me. You see, it's no longer there." She nibbled at a sweetbun. Then she said, "Prahd wouldn't like it if I told you." "Prahd?" I said. "Prahd Bittlestiffender?" "Are there any other Prahds? He is still the King's Own Physician, but he runs this little beauty clinic here when he isn't busy at Palace City." Suddenly she looked brighter. She raised her voice and called, "Ske!" A man in a butler's uniform came out of the house shortly. "One of the girls said you called, Mistress. I didn't quite hear. I'm getting pretty deaf." "Ske?" I said. "By any chance, you aren't the onetime driver of… of…?" "That (bleep)?" said Ske. "I'll have you know I've been butler here ever since old Bawtch died. I'm respectable." "Bawtch?" I said. "The chief clerk of…" Pratia cut me off. She said, "Ske, Prahd won't be here tonight, will he?" Ske shook'his head and went off to do whatever butlers do. "Oh, goodie!" said Pratia. "He won't be here at the clinic so he wouldn't know you'd been here listening. I can tell you after all!" I sat forward on the edge of my seat. "So that's settled," said Pratia. She didn't say anything else. "Well?" I said. "Well?" "Oh, Monte," she said, "you amaze me. Don't you know that a girl can't possibly impart secrets unless it's in bed?" I gawped. "Don't look so prim," she said. "It's a long story. I couldn't possibly tell you unless you spent the night." Then I smiled. I nodded. I knew I had nothing to fear from a woman who was 150 or 160 years old. After all, I DID have to get the story. I sent Shafter and the air-speedster home. Little did I know what I was letting myself in for! Oh, Gods, what I have been through and how I have suffered, dear reader, getting you this vital tale! I did not have the least inkling of the shocking experience that awaited me! I should have read it from the smile on the face of Pratia Tayl when I helped her to rise and go in to dinner, a smile which stayed there all through the meal.
THE DOOMED PLANE"