"Ned, the Sweeneys may be happier than we know," Cynthia said, hours later. They were deep in subspace, a hundred light years from the little green world; and, in the warm security of the pilot-room, its menacing shadows seemed immeasurably remote.
"Happy?" Ned laughed harshly. "Kids who'll never grow up. Adults cut off from all further growth. The same today, tomorrow and forever."
"Their minds may change," Cynthia said. "Their minds may grow, Ned. Tommy said that bright pupils could go far."
"As catalysts, caught in a ghastly trap."
"How can you be so sure, Ned? A wild guess, you called it. How do you know the Druids and the Sweeneys don't learn from one another? Perhaps they grow wise together, in a wonderful bright sharing of knowledge and happiness that's like nothing we can imagine."
Ned looked at his wife. "Why say a thing like that? Why even think of it?"
"Pandora, I guess."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm a woman and the Pandora complex is pretty basic, darling. I'd be tempted to go back and throw open the box."