"Nothing," she said bitterly. "Absolutely nothing."
"All right, then."
She turned away in unbearable frustration, and her eyes rested on the dinner table, where the animal haunch waited. "Eat your supper."
He got up, washed at the sink, went over to the table and broke open the joint on the roast. He gave her half, and they began to eat.
"Do you know about the slaughtering detail?" he asked her.
"What about it?"
"Do you know that two days ago, one of the animals deliberately came into the trap in the dome? That it had help?"
"How?"
"Another animal purposely stayed in the doorway, to jam it. I think they thought that if they did that, the killing block couldn't fall. I think they watched outside—perhaps for months—and thought it out. And it might have worked, but the killing block was built to fall regardless, and it killed them both. The slaughtering detail dragged the other one in through the doorway before any more could reach them. But suppose there'd been a third one, waiting directly outside? They'd have killed four men. And suppose, next time, they try to wedge the block? And then chip through the sides of the trap, which are only a few feet thick? Or suppose they invent tools with handles, for leverage, and begin cutting through in earnest?"
"The children will be out there before that happens."