"You believe right. That doesn't matter any more. You don't like Wolves. Well, I don't like you. But this thing is too big for me to care about that any more. Tropile has started something happening, and what the end of it is going to be, I can't tell. But I know this: We're not safe, either of us. Maybe you still think Translation is a fulfillment. I don't; it scares me. _But it's going to happen to me_--and to you. It's going to happen to everybody who ever had anything to do with Glenn Tropile, unless we can somehow stop it--and I don't know how. Will you help me?" Germyn, trying not to tremble when all his buried fears screamed _Wolf!_, said honestly: "I'll have to sleep on it." Haendl looked at him for a moment. Then he shrugged. Almost to himself, he said: "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe we can't do anything about it anyhow. All right. I'll come back in the morning, and if you've made up your mind to help, we'll start trying to make plans. And if you've made up your mind the other way--well, I guess I'll have to fight off a few Citizens. Not that I mind that." Germyn stood up and bowed. He began the ritual Four Urgings. "Spare me that," Haendl growled. "Meanwhile, Germyn, if I were you, I wouldn't make any long-range plans. You may not be here to carry them out." Germyn asked thoughtfully: "And if you were _you_?" "I'm not making any," Haendl said grimly. * * * * * Citizen Germyn, feeling utterly tainted with the scent of the Wolf in his home, tossed in his bed, sleepless. His eyes were wide open, staring at the dark ceiling. He could hear his wife's decorous breathing from the foot of the bed--soft and regular, it should have been lulling him to sleep. It was not. Sleep was very far away. Germyn was a brave enough man, as courage is measured among Citizens. That is to say, he had never been afraid, though it was true that there had been very little occasion. But he was afraid now. He didn't want to be Translated. The Wolf, Haendl, had put his finger on it: _Perhaps you still think Translation is a fulfillment._ Translation--the reward of Meditation, the gift bestowed on only a handful of gloriously transfigured persons. That was one thing. But the sort of Translation that was now involved was nothing like that--not if it happened to children; not if it happened to Gala Tropile; not if it happened to a machine. And Glenn Tropile was involved in it. Germyn turned restlessly. If people who knew Glenn Tropile were likely to be Translated, and people who Meditated on Connectivity were likely to be Translated, then people who knew Glenn Tropile and didn't want to be Translated had better not Meditate on Connectivity. It was very difficult to _not_ think of Connectivity.