Everything about his Theft, his initiation into manhood, was extraordinary. Thomas the Trap-Smasher telling the women about his special talents, so that he would be accorded a vision and a name which would fit with them. Visions were supposed to come from the ancestors, through the Ancestor-science of the record machine. Nobody was supposed to have the slightest idea in advance of what the vision would be. That was all up to the ancestors and their mysterious plans for their descendants. * * * * * Was it possible, was it conceivable, that all visions and names were pre-arranged, that the record machine was set in advance for every initiation? Where did that leave religion? If that were so, how could you continue to believe in logic, in cause and effect? And having someone--a Stranger, at that!--help you make your Theft. A Theft was supposed to be purely and simply a test of your male potential; by definition, it was something you did alone. But if you could accept the concept of pre-arranged visions, why not pre-arranged Thefts? Eric shook his head. He was getting into very dark corridors mentally: his world was turning into sheer confusion. But one thing he knew. Making an arrangement with a Stranger, as his uncle had done, was definitely an act contrary to all the laws and practices of Mankind. Thomas's uncertain speech had underlined that fact. It was--well, it was _wrong_. Yet his uncle was the greatest man in all Mankind, so far as Eric was concerned. Thomas the Trap-Smasher could do no wrong. But Thomas the Trap-Smasher was evidently leaning toward Alien-science. Alien-science was wrong. But again, on the other hand, his parents, according to the Trap-Smasher, his father and his mother had been Alien-sciencers. Too much. There was just too much to work out. There was too much he didn't know. He'd better concentrate on his Theft. The strange burrow had come to an end. The hairs rose on the back of his neck as he walked into the great dark area and sensed enormous black heights above him. He began to hurry, turning every once in a while to make certain that he was staying in a straight line with the light from the entrance. Here, his forehead glow lamp was almost no use at all. He didn't like this place. It felt almost like being out in the open. What, he wondered again feverishly, was this structure in the world of the Monsters? What function did it have? He was not sure he wanted to know. Eric was running by the time he came to the end of the open space. He hit the wall so hard that he was knocked over backwards. For a moment, he was badly frightened, then he realized what had happened. He hadn't taken his bearings for a while: he must have moved off at an angle.