"_Does_ every problem have a solution? I don't believe it. Some problems are too great. Take the problem of a murderer in our civilization: John Doe has killed someone and his problem is to escape. Primarily, a murderer's problem is the same principle as ours. A murderer has to outwit an entire civilization. We have to outwit an entire civilization that was hundreds of times more advanced than ours is now when we were clubbing animals and eating the meat raw. Damned few criminals get away these days, even though they've got such crowds to lose themselves in. All we have is a ship that we can't control. I don't think we have a chance." My resignation annoyed him. Each of us had reacted differently: Kane's wife was frightened, Verana was calm because of an inner serenity that few people have, I was resigned and Kane was angry. * * * * * For several minutes, we sampled the different foods. Every one had a distinctive flavor, comparable to that of a fruit or vegetable on Earth. Kane lifted a brown bottle to his lips, took a huge gulp and almost choked. "Whiskey!" "My masters realized your race would develop intoxicants and tried to create a comparable one," the machine explained. I selected a brown bottle and sampled the liquid. "A little stronger than our own," I informed the machine. We drank until Kane was staggering about the room, shouting insults at the alien race and the mechanical voice that seemed to be everywhere. He beat his fist against a wall until blood trickled from bruised knuckles. "Please don't hurt yourself," the machine pleaded. "_Why?_" Kane screamed at the ceiling. "Why should you care?" "My masters will be displeased with me if you arrive in a damaged condition." Kane banged his head against a bulkhead; an ugly bruise formed rapidly. "Shtop me, then!" "I can't. My masters created no way for me to restrain or contact you other than use of your language." It took fully fifteen minutes to drag Kane to his sleeping compartment. After I left Kane in his wife's care, I went to the adjoining room and stretched out on the soft floor beside Verana. I tried to think of some solution. We were locked in an alien ship at the start of a six months' journey to a strange planet. We had no tools or weapons. Solution? I doubted if two dozen geniuses working steadily for years could think of one! I wondered what the alien race was like. Intelligent, surely: They had foreseen our conquest of space flight when we hadn't even invented the wheel. That thought awed me--somehow they had analyzed our brains thousands of years ago and calculated what our future accomplishments would be. They had been able to predict our scientific development, but they hadn't been able to tell how our civilization would develop. They were curious, so they had left an enormously elaborate piece of bait on the Moon.