"What will we do, Lin?" she asked, turning to him. "We can't hope to fight him. He must have supernatural powers, or he couldn't have caused us to recover so miraculously." "I don't know," Lin said. "We'll have to sneak out the back way or something. We have to leave tomorrow, you know. Or--Look, he's after the paper and you don't have it. It's me he wants. I'll leave first, with that paper. Then you'll be free and can forget about it." "I still can't believe it," Dorothy said. "If it weren't for the fact that my ribs were definitely broken, and I saw that nasty cut on my cheek...." "You know there's no other explanation," Lin said. "But how could writing on a piece of paper _form_ reality?" she objected. "It just can't!" "But it does," Lin said. "What is reality? Scientists have been trying to find out since time began. There could be different kinds of reality. Ours could be subject to the minds of beings on another plane of it. This robot could sit there and write out things that happen, and make them happen here. It has to be that." "I know," Dorothy said. "It has to be that, even if it doesn't seem possible." She left the window and went to a chair and sat down. "Lin," she said. "If he gets that paper we both die. I'm going with you. I couldn't stand going out alone and not knowing when he gets it." "Nonsense," Lin said. "He won't get it. You can forget about it." "What if he never gets it?" Dorothy asked. "Then we'd live forever." Lin grinned. "Maybe that's why he has to get it back." "Suppose," Dorothy said. "Suppose--don't think I'm silly, but suppose we destroyed it on this plane. Then it could never go into that flame." "I don't know," Lin frowned. "Maybe any flame would make it happen. It would be an awful risk to take." "We wouldn't have to burn it," she said. "We could tear it into little bits and let the wind carry them away, one at a time." "I'll have the nurse get it," Lin said. When the nurse brought it Dorothy examined it eagerly, trying to read what was typed on it. A light of excitement danced in her bright blue eyes. Finally she held it in a position to tear it. "Shall I?" she said. * * * * * Lin nodded. She hesitated a moment, dramatically, then abruptly pulled her hands in a shearing movement that should have torn it easily. It didn't. "Here, let me do it," Lin said. He took it and tried to tear it, without success. He grunted, and exerted every ounce of strength. It remained intact. "That's funny," he said. "It tore easily when I grabbed it from Fate." "Let's burn a little corner of it and see what happens," Dorothy suggested. Lin went to the bedside stand and got his lighter. He held the flame to one corner of the sheet of paper. A minute went by, two minutes. The paper refused to burn or even char. "Huh!" Lin said, snapping his lighter shut. "Well, it's a cinch that scissors will cut it. I'll ask the nurse to bring us a pair."