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."