When Ivar’s turn finally comes, he puts his palm to the printscanner at the entrance, then steps briskly ahead. Door Number Six gushes open half a step before him and gushes shut at his back. That puts him in a mantrap—door ahead, door behind, both closed. Blank walls to left and right. Mirrored ceiling above probably concealing a bank of security scanners, not to mention the things those scanners ignite if the wrong sort of personal goods are detected.