"Yes, everything about this is a fiction. I realize that now. Of course The Daedalus Corporation does not exist." He paused. "Like you say, it's just a myth."
Vance was examining the sheet, an ice blue reflecting the early light. Almost luminous. Something about it was very strange. Then he massaged it with his fingertips.
It wasn't paper. Instead it was some sort of synthetic composition, smooth like silicon.
Saying nothing, he turned away and extracted a booklet of hotel matches. He struck one, cupped it against the light wind, and with a quick motion touched the flame to the lower corner of the sheet.
The fire made no mark. So his hunch was right. The "paper" was heat resistant.
When he held it up, to examine it against the early sun, he noticed there was a "watermark," ever so faint, an opaque symbol that covered the entire page. It was so large he hadn't seen it at first; it could have been reflections in the paper. He stared a second before he recognized—
"Talk to me." He whirled around. "The truth, for a change. Do you know where I'm headed this afternoon?"
"I confess my people did obtain your itinerary, Michael. But only in order to—"
"When?"
"Only yesterday."