Vickers had been examined many times. "The peculiarity of your vision," one eminent psycho-biologist had told him, "lies in your ability to see matter as it actually is. Tenuous unmaterial energy. There's more space between the nucleus of an atom and its electrons in proportion than between the sun and its planets. It's like looking at the stars"—and he had waved his hand at the sky—"you can see them but they don't obstruct your vision."
It was a strange world that Vickers could see with the nictitating lids raised—a fairy-like insubstantial world, beautiful and shocking. A glass world without secrets.
But his eyes never lied to him. And the door didn't exist in fact. There was only a blank theatre wall where he had seen it.
Then the blond man stepped forward and went through the motions of opening the door.
"Inside," he said and walked through and vanished!
Vickers knew he had vanished, because he could still see the misty outlines of the wall where the door should have been and the interior of the theatre. He felt his stomach go hollow. "In you go," the other man said and nudged him with the pistol.
Vickers allowed his nictitating lids to close.
At once he could see the door again, standing open, and a reception room beyond. The blond man was just inside motioning for him to enter.
Vickers drew a deep breath and stepped across the threshold.