"_Our_ machines always do their best," he argued, "because we punch buttons and they respond in predetermined patterns. But the electronic brain in this ship isn't automatic. It makes decisions and I'll bet it even has to decide how much energy and time to put into each process!" "So what?" He shrugged muscular shoulders. "So this ship is operated by a thinking, conscientious machine. It's the first time I've encountered such a machine, but I think I know what will happen. I spent hours last night figuring--" "What are you talking about?" I interrupted. "Are you so drunk that you don't know--" "I'll show you, Ed." He walked around the table and stood behind my chair. I felt his thick fingers around my throat and smelled the alcohol on his breath. "Can you see me, machine?" he asked the empty air. "Yes," the electronic brain replied. "Watch!" Kane tightened his fingers around my throat. Verana and Marie screamed shrilly. My head seemed to swell like a balloon; my throat gurgled painfully. "Please stop," the machine pleaded. "What will your masters think of you if I kill all of us? You'll return to them with a cargo of dead people!" * * * * * The machine didn't answer. I waited for the electronic brain to interfere and, with a cold knot in my stomach, realized the machine had said it had no way to control our actions! "Your purpose won't be fulfilled, will it?" Kane demanded. "Not if you return with dead specimens!" "No," the machine admitted. "If you don't take us back to the Moon," Kane threatened, "I'll kill _all of us_!" The alien electronic brain was silent. By this time, I couldn't see and Kane's voice was a hollow, faraway thing that rang in my ears. I tugged at my bindings, but they only tightened as I struggled. "If you take us back to the Moon, your masters will never know you failed in your mission. They won't know you failed because you won't bring them proof of your failure." My fading consciousness tried to envision the alien mechanical brain as it struggled with the problem. "Look at it this way," Kane persisted. "If you carry our corpses to your masters, all your efforts will have been useless. If you return us to the Moon alive, you'll still have a chance to carry out your mission later." A long silence followed. Verana and Marie screamed at Kane to let go. A soft darkness seemed to fill the room, blurring everything, drowning even their shrieks in strangling blackness. "You win," the machine conceded. "I'll return the ship to the Moon." Kane released his grip on my throat. "See?" he asked. "Didn't I tell you every problem has a solution?" I didn't answer. I was too busy enjoying breathing again. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Snare, by Richard R. Smith