"Weeks passed, and she didn't appear to be able to get adjusted," Moore said. "That's when I suggested she go to you."
Dr. Rawlings dropped the pencil completely. "The woman from Mars," he exclaimed. "You sent her here?"
Moore nodded soberly. "Yes, and I'd like to get her back. I'm in love with her."
"I haven't got her." He began to wish he did.
"I know. She was picked up in a rocket ship. Everyone else around here thinks it was a meteorite, but she told me before she left that they'd traced her by brainwaves or something, and would pick her up."
"And just what do you expect me to do?" the psychiatrist wanted to know. He picked up the pencil and made black lines over the 'h' in 'hallucinations.'
"I want you to help me discover what frame of mind must be cultivated to recreate Mars. I've got a hunch it's a subconscious problem. I've been accidentally creating all sorts of alien worlds behind doors when I least expect them. That's why I hesitated outside your office, to make certain when I opened the door the office would really be here.
"Why, only last week I opened a door to the men's rest room at the University and found myself staring down into the Great Nebula in Andromeda. If I'd stepped through...." He shuddered. "I don't know if going through would change me, but if I ever see Mars again—"
"Well, I think we can help you there," the psychiatrist told him. "Suppose you come around Wednesday, at two o'clock. That satisfactory?"