"Trevor, himself, gave me the idea," Sutton said. "He told me to go out and butt my head against a wall for a while. He told me that finally I would get tired of doing it. He said that after a while I would give up."
"Ten years," said Eva. "Ten years should do the job. But if ten won't, why, then, a hundred. Or a thousand if it takes that long. We have all the time there is."
"Finally," said Sutton, "they would give up. Literally throw up their hands and quit. It would be such a futile thing. Never winning. Always fighting hard and never winning."
They sat in the room with its one little oasis of light that stood guard against the darkness that pressed in upon them and there was no triumph in them, for this was not a thing of triumph. This was a matter of necessity and not one of conquest. This was Man fighting himself and winning and losing at the same time.
"You can arrange this scanning soon?" asked Sutton.
Eva nodded. "Tomorrow, Ash?"
She looked at him queerly. "What's your hurry?"
"I am leaving," Sutton said. "Running away to a refuge that I thought of. That is, if you'll lend me a ship."
"Any ship you want."
"It would be more convenient that way," he told her. "Otherwise, I'd have to steal one."