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Title: Watchbird
Author: Robert Sheckley
Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller
Release date: August 2, 2009 [eBook #29579]
Most recently updated: September 12, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WATCHBIRD ***
WATCHBIRD
By ROBERT SHECKLEY
Illustrated by EMSH
Strange how often the Millennium has been at
hand. The idea is peace on Earth, see, and
the way to do it is by figuring out angles.
When Gelsen entered, he
saw that the rest of
the watchbird manufacturers
were already present.
There were six of them, not
counting himself, and the room
was blue with expensive cigar
smoke.
"Hi, Charlie," one of them
called as he came in.
The rest broke off conversation
long enough to wave a casual
greeting at him. As a
watchbird manufacturer, he was
a member manufacturer of salvation,
he reminded himself wryly.
Very exclusive. You must have a
certified government contract if
you want to save the human
race.
"The government representative
isn't here yet," one of the
men told him. "He's due any
minute."
"We're getting the green
light," another said.
"Fine." Gelsen found a chair
near the door and looked around
the room. It was like a convention,
or a Boy Scout rally. The
six men made up for their lack
of numbers by sheer volume. The
president of Southern Consolidated
was talking at the top of his
lungs about watchbird's enormous
durability. The two presidents
he was talking at were
grinning, nodding, one trying to
interrupt with the results of a
test he had run on watchbird's
resourcefulness, the other talking
about the new recharging apparatus.
The other three men were in
their own little group, delivering
what sounded like a panegyric
to watchbird.
Gelsen noticed that all of them
stood straight and tall, like the
saviors they felt they were. He
didn't find it funny. Up to a few
days ago he had felt that way
himself. He had considered himself
a pot-bellied, slightly balding
saint.
He sighed and lighted a cigarette.
At the beginning of the
project, he had been as enthusiastic
as the others. He remembered
saying to Macintyre, his
chief engineer, "Mac, a new day
is coming. Watchbird is the Answer."
And Macintyre had nodded
very profoundly—another
watchbird convert.
How wonderful it had seemed
then! A simple, reliable answer
to one of mankind's greatest
problems, all wrapped and packaged
in a pound of incorruptible
metal, crystal and plastics.
Perhaps that was the very reason
he was doubting it now. Gelsen
suspected that you don't
solve human problems so easily.
There had to be a catch somewhere.
After all, murder was an old
problem, and watchbird too new
a solution.
"Gentlemen—" They had been
talking so heatedly that they
hadn't noticed the government
representative entering. Now the
room became quiet at once.
"Gentlemen," the plump government
man said, "the President,
with the consent of
Congress, has acted to form a
watchbird division for every city
and town in the country."
The men burst into a spontaneous
shout of triumph. They
were going to have their chance
to save the world after all, Gelsen
thought, and worriedly asked
himself what was wrong with
that.
He listened carefully as the
government man outlined the
distribution scheme. The country
was to be divided into seven
areas, each to be supplied and
serviced by one manufacturer.
This meant monopoly, of course,
but a necessary one. Like the
telephone service, it was in
the public's best interests. You
couldn't have competition in
watchbird service. Watchbird
was for everyone.
"The President hopes," the
representative continued, "that
full watchbird service will be installed
in the shortest possible
time. You will have top priorities
on strategic metals, manpower,
and so forth."
"Speaking for myself," the
president of Southern Consolidated
said, "I expect to have the
first batch of watchbirds distributed
within the week. Production
is all set up."
The rest of the men were
equally ready. The factories
had been prepared to roll out
the watchbirds for months now.
The final standardized equipment
had been agreed upon, and
only the Presidential go-ahead
had been lacking.
"Fine," the representative said.
"If that is all, I think we can—is
there a question?"
"Yes, sir," Gelsen said. "I
want to know if the present model
is the one we are going to manufacture."
"Of course," the representative
said. "It's the most advanced."
"I have an objection." Gelsen
stood up. His colleagues were
glaring coldly at him. Obviously
he was delaying the advent of
the golden age.
"What is your objection?" the
representative asked.
"First, let me say that I am
one hundred per cent in favor of
a machine to stop murder. It's
been needed for a long time. I
object only to the watchbird's
learning circuits. They serve, in
effect, to animate the machine
and give it a pseudo-consciousness.
I can't approve of that."
"But, Mr. Gelsen, you yourself
testified that the watchbird would
not be completely efficient unless
such circuits were introduced.
Without them, the watchbirds
could stop only an estimated
seventy per cent of murders."
"I know that," Gelsen said,
feeling extremely uncomfortable.
"I believe there might be a moral
danger in allowing a machine to
make decisions that are rightfully
Man's," he declared doggedly.
"Oh, come now, Gelsen," one
of the corporation presidents said.
"It's nothing of the sort. The
watchbird will only reinforce the
decisions made by honest men
from the beginning of time."
"I think that is true," the representative
agreed. "But I can
understand how Mr. Gelsen feels.
It is sad that we must put a human
problem into the hands of a
machine, sadder still that we
must have a machine enforce our
laws. But I ask you to remember,
Mr. Gelsen, that there is no
other possible way of stopping a
murderer before he strikes. It
would be unfair to the many innocent
people killed every year
if we were to restrict watchbird
on philosophical grounds. Don't
you agree that I'm right?"
"Yes, I suppose I do," Gelsen
said unhappily. He had told himself
all that a thousand times,
but something still bothered him.
Perhaps he would talk it over
with Macintyre.
As the conference broke up, a
thought struck him. He grinned.
A lot of policemen were going
to be out of work!
"Now what do you think
of that?" Officer Celtrics
demanded. "Fifteen years in Homicide
and a machine is replacing
me." He wiped a large red
hand across his forehead and
leaned against the captain's desk.
"Ain't science marvelous?"
Two other policemen, late of
Homicide, nodded glumly.
"Don't worry about it," the
captain said. "We'll find a home
for you in Larceny, Celtrics.
You'll like it here."
"I just can't get over it," Celtrics
complained. "A lousy little
piece of tin and glass is going
to solve all the crimes."
"Not quite," the captain said.
"The watchbirds are supposed
to prevent the crimes before they
happen."
"Then how'll they be crimes?"
one of the policeman asked. "I
mean they can't hang you for
murder until you commit one,
can they?"
"That's not the idea," the captain
said. "The watchbirds are
supposed to stop a man before
he commits a murder."
"Then no one arrests him?"
Celtrics asked.
"I don't know how they're going
to work that out," the captain
admitted.
The men were silent for a
while. The captain yawned and
examined his watch.
"The thing I don't understand,"
Celtrics said, still leaning
on the captain's desk, "is just
how do they do it? How did it
start, Captain?"
The captain studied Celtrics'
face for possible irony; after
all, watchbird had been in the
papers for months. But then he
remembered that Celtrics, like
his sidekicks, rarely bothered to
turn past the sports pages.
"Well," the captain said, trying
to remember what he had
read in the Sunday supplements,
"these scientists were working on
criminology. They were studying
murderers, to find out what made
them tick. So they found that
murderers throw out a different
sort of brain wave from ordinary
people. And their glands act
funny, too. All this happens
when they're about to commit a
murder. So these scientists worked
out a special machine to flash
red or something when these
brain waves turned on."
"Scientists," Celtrics said bitterly.
"Well, after the scientists had
this machine, they didn't know
what to do with it. It was too
big to move around, and murderers
didn't drop in often enough
to make it flash. So they built it
into a smaller unit and tried it
out in a few police stations. I
think they tried one upstate. But
it didn't work so good. You
couldn't get to the crime in time.
That's why they built the watchbirds."
"I don't think they'll stop no
criminals," one of the policemen
insisted.
"They sure will. I read the
test results. They can smell him
out before he commits a crime.
And when they reach him, they
give him a powerful shock or
something. It'll stop him."
"You closing up Homicide,
Captain?" Celtrics asked.
"Nope," the captain said. "I'm
leaving a skeleton crew in until
we see how these birds do."
"Hah," Celtrics said. "Skeleton
crew. That's funny."
"Sure," the captain said. "Anyhow,
I'm going to leave some men
on. It seems the birds don't stop
all murders."
"Why not?"
"Some murderers don't have
these brain waves," the captain
answered, trying to remember
what the newspaper article had
said. "Or their glands don't work
or something."
"Which ones don't they stop?"
Celtrics asked, with professional
curiosity.
"I don't know. But I hear they
got the damned things fixed so
they're going to stop all of them
soon."
"How they working that?"
"They learn. The watchbirds,
I mean. Just like people."
"You kidding me?"
"Nope."
"Well," Celtrics said, "I think
I'll just keep old Betsy oiled,
just in case. You can't trust these
scientists."
"Right."
"Birds!" Celtrics scoffed.
Over the town, the watchbird
soared in a long, lazy curve.
Its aluminum hide glistened in
the morning sun, and dots of
light danced on its stiff wings.
Silently it flew.
Silently, but with all senses
functioning. Built-in kinesthetics
told the watchbird where it was,
and held it in a long search curve.
Its eyes and ears operated as one
unit, searching, seeking.
And then something happened!
The watchbird's electronically
fast reflexes picked up the edge
of a sensation. A correlation center
tested it, matching it with
electrical and chemical data in
its memory files. A relay tripped.
Down the watchbird spiraled,
coming in on the increasingly
strong sensation. It smelled the
outpouring of certain glands,
tasted a deviant brain wave.
Fully alerted and armed, it
spun and banked in the bright
morning sunlight.
Dinelli was so intent he didn't
see the watchbird coming. He
had his gun poised, and his eyes
pleaded with the big grocer.
"Don't come no closer."
"You lousy little punk," the
grocer said, and took another
step forward. "Rob me? I'll break
every bone in your puny body."
The grocer, too stupid or too
courageous to understand the
threat of the gun, advanced on
the little thief.
"All right," Dinelli said, in a
thorough state of panic. "All
right, sucker, take—"
A bolt of electricity knocked
him on his back. The gun went
off, smashing a breakfast food
display.
"What in hell?" the grocer
asked, staring at the stunned
thief. And then he saw a flash
of silver wings. "Well, I'm really
damned. Those watchbirds work!"
He stared until the wings disappeared
in the sky. Then he
telephoned the police.
The watchbird returned to his
search curve. His thinking center
correlated the new facts he had
learned about murder. Several of
these he hadn't known before.
This new information was simultaneously
flashed to all the
other watchbirds and their information
was flashed back to
him.
New information, methods, definitions
were constantly passing
between them.
Now that the watchbirds were
rolling off the assembly line
in a steady stream, Gelsen allowed
himself to relax. A loud
contented hum filled his plant.
Orders were being filled on time,
with top priorities given to the
biggest cities in his area, and
working down to the smallest
towns.
"All smooth, Chief," Macintyre
said, coming in the door. He had
just completed a routine inspection.
"Fine. Have a seat."
The big engineer sat down and
lighted a cigarette.
"We've been working on this
for some time," Gelsen said, when
he couldn't think of anything
else.
"We sure have," Macintyre
agreed. He leaned back and inhaled
deeply. He had been one
of the consulting engineers on
the original watchbird. That was
six years back. He had been
working for Gelsen ever since,
and the men had become good
friends.
"The thing I wanted to ask
you was this—" Gelsen paused.
He couldn't think how to phrase
what he wanted. Instead he asked,
"What do you think of the
watchbirds, Mac?"
"Who, me?" The engineer
grinned nervously. He had been
eating, drinking and sleeping
watchbird ever since its inception.
He had never found it necessary
to have an attitude. "Why,
I think it's great."
"I don't mean that," Gelsen
said. He realized that what he
wanted was to have someone understand
his point of view. "I
mean do you figure there might
be some danger in machine
thinking?"
"I don't think so, Chief. Why
do you ask?"
"Look, I'm no scientist or engineer.
I've just handled cost and
production and let you boys
worry about how. But as a layman,
watchbird is starting to
frighten me."
"No reason for that."
"I don't like the idea of the
learning circuits."
"But why not?" Then Macintyre
grinned again. "I know.
You're like a lot of people, Chief—afraid
your machines are going
to wake up and say, 'What are
we doing here? Let's go out and
rule the world.' Is that it?"
"Maybe something like that,"
Gelsen admitted.
"No chance of it," Macintyre
said. "The watchbirds are complex,
I'll admit, but an M.I.T.
calculator is a whole lot more
complex. And it hasn't got consciousness."
"No. But the watchbirds can
learn."
"Sure. So can all the new calculators.
Do you think they'll
team up with the watchbirds?"
Gelsen felt annoyed at Macintyre,
and even more annoyed
at himself for being ridiculous.
"It's a fact that the
watchbirds can put their learning
into action. No one is monitoring
them."
"So that's the trouble," Macintyre
said.
"I've been thinking of getting
out of watchbird." Gelsen hadn't
realized it until that moment.
"Look, Chief," Macintyre said.
"Will you take an engineer's word
on this?"
"Let's hear it."
"The watchbirds are no more
dangerous than an automobile,
an IBM calculator or a thermometer.
They have no more consciousness
or volition than those
things. The watchbirds are built
to respond to certain stimuli, and
to carry out certain operations
when they receive that stimuli."
"And the learning circuits?"
"You have to have those,"
Macintyre said patiently, as
though explaining the whole
thing to a ten-year-old. "The
purpose of the watchbird is to
frustrate all murder-attempts,
right? Well, only certain murderers
give out these stimuli. In
order to stop all of them, the
watchbird has to search out new
definitions of murder and correlate
them with what it already
knows."
"I think it's inhuman," Gelsen
said.
"That's the best thing about
it. The watchbirds are unemotional.
Their reasoning is non-anthropomorphic.
You can't
bribe them or drug them. You
shouldn't fear them, either."
The intercom on Gelsen's desk
buzzed. He ignored it.
"I know all this," Gelsen said.
"But, still, sometimes I feel like
the man who invented dynamite.
He thought it would only be
used for blowing up tree stumps."
"You didn't invent watchbird."
"I still feel morally responsible
because I manufacture them."
The intercom buzzed again,
and Gelsen irritably punched a
button.
"The reports are in on the first
week of watchbird operation,"
his secretary told him.
"How do they look?"
"Wonderful, sir."
"Send them in in fifteen minutes."
Gelsen switched the intercom
off and turned back to
Macintyre, who was cleaning his
fingernails with a wooden match.
"Don't you think that this represents
a trend in human thinking?
The mechanical god? The electronic
father?"
"Chief," Macintyre said, "I
think you should study watchbird
more closely. Do you know
what's built into the circuits?"
"Only generally."
"First, there is a purpose.
Which is to stop living organisms
from committing murder. Two,
murder may be defined as an
act of violence, consisting of
breaking, mangling, maltreating
or otherwise stopping the functions
of a living organism by a
living organism. Three, most
murderers are detectable by certain
chemical and electrical
changes."
Macintyre paused to light another
cigarette. "Those conditions
take care of the routine functions.
Then, for the learning
circuits, there are two more
conditions. Four, there are some
living organisms who commit
murder without the signs mentioned
in three. Five, these can be
detected by data applicable to
condition two."
"I see," Gelsen said.
"You realize how foolproof it
is?"
"I suppose so." Gelsen hesitated
a moment. "I guess that's
all."
"Right," the engineer said, and
left.
Gelsen thought for a few moments.
There couldn't be anything
wrong with the watchbirds.
"Send in the reports," he said
into the intercom.
High above the lighted buildings
of the city, the watchbird
soared. It was dark, but in
the distance the watchbird could
see another, and another beyond
that. For this was a large city.
To prevent murder ...
There was more to watch for
now. New information had
crossed the invisible network that
connected all watchbirds. New
data, new ways of detecting the
violence of murder.
There! The edge of a sensation!
Two watchbirds dipped simultaneously.
One had received
the scent a fraction of a second
before the other. He continued
down while the other resumed
monitoring.
Condition four, there are some
living organisms who commit
murder without the signs mentioned
in condition three.
Through his new information,
the watchbird knew by extrapolation
that this organism was
bent on murder, even though the
characteristic chemical and electrical
smells were absent.
The watchbird, all senses
acute, closed in on the organism.
He found what he wanted, and
dived.
Roger Greco leaned against a
building, his hands in his pockets.
In his left hand was the cool butt
of a .45. Greco waited patiently.
He wasn't thinking of anything
in particular, just relaxing against
a building, waiting for a man.
Greco didn't know why the man
was to be killed. He didn't care.
Greco's lack of curiosity was part
of his value. The other part was
his skill.
One bullet, neatly placed in
the head of a man he didn't
know. It didn't excite him or
sicken him. It was a job, just like
anything else. You killed a man.
So?
As Greco's victim stepped out
of a building, Greco lifted the
.45 out of his pocket. He released
the safety and braced the gun
with his right hand. He still
wasn't thinking of anything as
he took aim ...
And was knocked off his feet.
Greco thought he had been
shot. He struggled up again,
looked around, and sighted foggily
on his victim.
Again he was knocked down.
This time he lay on the ground,
trying to draw a bead. He never
thought of stopping, for Greco
was a craftsman.
With the next blow, everything
went black. Permanently, because
the watchbird's duty was
to protect the object of violence—at
whatever cost to the murderer.
The victim walked to his car.
He hadn't noticed anything unusual.
Everything had happened
in silence.
Gelsen was feeling pretty
good. The watchbirds had
been operating perfectly. Crimes
of violence had been cut in half,
and cut again. Dark alleys were
no longer mouths of horror.
Parks and playgrounds were not
places to shun after dusk.
Of course, there were still robberies.
Petty thievery flourished,
and embezzlement, larceny, forgery
and a hundred other crimes.

But that wasn't so important.
You could regain lost money—never
a lost life.
Gelsen was ready to admit that
he had been wrong about the
watchbirds. They were doing a
job that humans had been unable
to accomplish.
The first hint of something
wrong came that morning.
Macintyre came into his office.
He stood silently in front of
Gelsen's desk, looking annoyed
and a little embarrassed.

"What's the matter, Mac?"
Gelsen asked.
"One of the watchbirds went
to work on a slaughterhouse man.
Knocked him out."
Gelsen thought about it for a
moment. Yes, the watchbirds
would do that. With their new
learning circuits, they had probably
defined the killing of animals
as murder.
"Tell the packers to mechanize
their slaughtering," Gelsen
said. "I never liked that business
myself."
"All right," Macintyre said.
He pursed his lips, then shrugged
his shoulders and left.
Gelsen stood beside his desk,
thinking. Couldn't the watchbirds
differentiate between a
murderer and a man engaged in
a legitimate profession? No, evidently
not. To them, murder was
murder. No exceptions. He
frowned. That might take a little
ironing out in the circuits.
But not too much, he decided
hastily. Just make them a little
more discriminating.
He sat down again and buried
himself in paperwork, trying to
avoid the edge of an old fear.
They strapped the prisoner
into the chair and fitted the
electrode to his leg.
"Oh, oh," he moaned, only
half-conscious now of what they
were doing.
They fitted the helmet over his
shaved head and tightened the
last straps. He continued to moan
softly.
And then the watchbird swept
in. How he had come, no one
knew. Prisons are large and
strong, with many locked doors,
but the watchbird was there—
To stop a murder.
"Get that thing out of here!"
the warden shouted, and reached
for the switch. The watchbird
knocked him down.
"Stop that!" a guard screamed,
and grabbed for the switch himself.
He was knocked to the floor
beside the warden.
"This isn't murder, you idiot!"
another guard said. He drew his
gun to shoot down the glittering,
wheeling metal bird.
Anticipating, the watchbird
smashed him back against the
wall.
There was silence in the room.
After a while, the man in the
helmet started to giggle. Then
he stopped.
The watchbird stood on guard,
fluttering in mid-air—
Making sure no murder was
done.
New data flashed along the
watchbird network. Unmonitored,
independent, the thousands
of watchbirds received and acted
upon it.
The breaking, mangling or
otherwise stopping the functions
of a living organism by a living
organism. New acts to stop.
"Damn you, git going!" Farmer
Ollister shouted, and raised his
whip again. The horse balked,
and the wagon rattled and shook
as he edged sideways.
"You lousy hunk of pigmeal,
git going!" the farmer yelled and
he raised the whip again.
It never fell. An alert watchbird,
sensing violence, had knocked
him out of his seat.
A living organism? What is a
living organism? The watchbirds
extended their definitions as they
became aware of more facts. And,
of course, this gave them more
work.
The deer was just visible at the
edge of the woods. The hunter
raised his rifle, and took careful
aim.
He didn't have time to shoot.
With his free hand, Gelsen
mopped perspiration from
his face. "All right," he said into
the telephone. He listened to the
stream of vituperation from the
other end, then placed the receiver
gently in its cradle.
"What was that one?" Macintyre
asked. He was unshaven, tie
loose, shirt unbuttoned.
"Another fisherman," Gelsen
said. "It seems the watchbirds
won't let him fish even though
his family is starving. What are
we going to do about it, he wants
to know."
"How many hundred is that?"
"I don't know. I haven't opened
the mail."
"Well, I figured out where the
trouble is," Macintyre said
gloomily, with the air of a man
who knows just how he blew up
the Earth—after it was too late.
"Let's hear it."
"Everybody took it for granted
that we wanted all murder
stopped. We figured the watchbirds
would think as we do. We
ought to have qualified the conditions."
"I've got an idea," Gelsen
said, "that we'd have to know
just why and what murder is,
before we could qualify the conditions
properly. And if we knew
that, we wouldn't need the watchbirds."
"Oh, I don't know about that.
They just have to be told that
some things which look like murder
are not murder."
"But why should they stop
fisherman?" Gelsen asked.
"Why shouldn't they? Fish and
animals are living organisms. We
just don't think that killing them
is murder."
The telephone rang. Gelsen
glared at it and punched the intercom.
"I told you no more
calls, no matter what."
"This is from Washington,"
his secretary said. "I thought
you'd—"
"Sorry." Gelsen picked up the
telephone. "Yes. Certainly is a
mess ... Have they? All right, I
certainly will." He put down the
telephone.
"Short and sweet," he told
Macintyre. "We're to shut down
temporarily."
"That won't be so easy," Macintyre
said. "The watchbirds
operate independent of any central
control, you know. They
come back once a week for a
repair checkup. We'll have to
turn them off then, one by one."
"Well, let's get to it. Monroe
over on the Coast has shut down
about a quarter of his birds."
"I think I can dope out a restricting
circuit," Macintyre said.
"Fine," Gelsen replied bitterly.
"You make me very happy."
The watchbirds were learning
rapidly, expanding and adding
to their knowledge. Loosely defined
abstractions were extended,
acted upon and re-extended.
To stop murder ...
Metal and electrons reason
well, but not in a human fashion.
A living organism? Any living
organism!
The watchbirds set themselves
the task of protecting all living
things.
The fly buzzed around the
room, lighting on a table top,
pausing a moment, then darting
to a window sill.
The old man stalked it, a rolled
newspaper in his hand.
Murderer!
The watchbirds swept down
and saved the fly in the nick of
time.
The old man writhed on the
floor a minute and then was silent.
He had been given only a
mild shock, but it had been
enough for his fluttery, cranky
heart.
His victim had been saved,
though, and this was the important
thing. Save the victim and
give the aggressor his just desserts.
Gelsen demanded angrily,
"Why aren't they being
turned off?"
The assistant control engineer
gestured. In a corner of the repair
room lay the senior control
engineer. He was just regaining
consciousness.
"He tried to turn one of them
off," the assistant engineer said.
Both his hands were knotted together.
He was making a visible
effort not to shake.
"That's ridiculous. They
haven't got any sense of self-preservation."
"Then turn them off yourself.
Besides, I don't think any more
are going to come."
What could have happened?
Gelsen began to piece it together.
The watchbirds still hadn't decided
on the limits of a living
organism. When some of them
were turned off in the Monroe
plant, the rest must have correlated
the data.
So they had been forced to
assume that they were living
organisms, as well.
No one had ever told them
otherwise. Certainly they carried
on most of the functions of living
organisms.
Then the old fears hit him.
Gelsen trembled and hurried out
of the repair room. He wanted
to find Macintyre in a hurry.
The nurse handed the surgeon
the sponge.
"Scalpel."
She placed it in his hand. He
started to make the first incision.
And then he was aware of a disturbance.
"Who let that thing in?"
"I don't know," the nurse said,
her voice muffled by the mask.
"Get it out of here."
The nurse waved her arms at
the bright winged thing, but it
fluttered over her head.
The surgeon proceeded with
the incision—as long as he was
able.
The watchbird drove him away
and stood guard.
"Telephone the watchbird
company!" the surgeon ordered.
"Get them to turn the thing off."
The watchbird was preventing
violence to a living organism.
The surgeon stood by helplessly
while his patient died.
Fluttering high above the
network of highways, the
watchbird watched and waited.
It had been constantly working
for weeks now, without rest or
repair. Rest and repair were impossible,
because the watchbird
couldn't allow itself—a living organism—to
be murdered. And
that was what happened when
watchbirds returned to the factory.
There was a built-in order to
return, after the lapse of a certain
time period. But the watchbird
had a stronger order to obey—preservation
of life, including
its own.
The definitions of murder
were almost infinitely extended
now, impossible to cope with.
But the watchbird didn't consider
that. It responded to its stimuli,
whenever they came and whatever
their source.
There was a new definition of
living organism in its memory
files. It had come as a result of
the watchbird discovery that
watchbirds were living organisms.
And it had enormous ramifications.
The stimuli came! For the
hundredth time that day, the bird
wheeled and banked, dropping
swiftly down to stop murder.
Jackson yawned and pulled his
car to a shoulder of the road.
He didn't notice the glittering
dot in the sky. There was no reason
for him to. Jackson wasn't
contemplating murder, by any
human definition.
This was a good spot for a
nap, he decided. He had been
driving for seven straight hours
and his eyes were starting to fog.
He reached out to turn off the
ignition key—
And was knocked back against
the side of the car.
"What in hell's wrong with
you?" he asked indignantly. "All
I want to do is—" He reached
for the key again, and again he
was smacked back.
Jackson knew better than to
try a third time. He had been
listening to the radio and he knew
what the watchbirds did to stubborn
violators.
"You mechanical jerk," he
said to the waiting metal bird.
"A car's not alive. I'm not trying
to kill it."
But the watchbird only knew
that a certain operation resulted
in stopping an organism. The car
was certainly a functioning organism.
Wasn't it of metal, as
were the watchbirds? Didn't it
run?
Macintyre said, "Without
repairs they'll run down."
He shoved a pile of specification
sheets out of his way.
"How soon?" Gelsen asked.
"Six months to a year. Say a
year, barring accidents."
"A year," Gelsen said. "In the
meantime, everything is stopping
dead. Do you know the latest?"
"What?"
"The watchbirds have decided
that the Earth is a living organism.
They won't allow farmers
to break ground for plowing.
And, of course, everything else is
a living organism—rabbits, beetles,
flies, wolves, mosquitoes,
lions, crocodiles, crows, and smaller
forms of life such as bacteria."
"I know," Macintyre said.
"And you tell me they'll wear
out in six months or a year. What
happens now? What are we going
to eat in six months?"
The engineer rubbed his chin.
"We'll have to do something
quick and fast. Ecological balance
is gone to hell."
"Fast isn't the word. Instantaneously
would be better." Gelsen
lighted his thirty-fifth
cigarette for the day. "At least I
have the bitter satisfaction of
saying, 'I told you so.' Although
I'm just as responsible as the
rest of the machine-worshipping
fools."
Macintyre wasn't listening. He
was thinking about watchbirds.
"Like the rabbit plague in Australia."
"The death rate is mounting,"
Gelsen said. "Famine. Floods.
Can't cut down trees. Doctors
can't—what was that you
said about Australia?"
"The rabbits," Macintyre repeated.
"Hardly any left in Australia
now."
"Why? How was it done?"
"Oh, found some kind of germ
that attacked only rabbits. I
think it was propagated by mosquitos—"
"Work on that," Gelsen said.
"You might have something. I
want you to get on the telephone,
ask for an emergency hookup
with the engineers of the other
companies. Hurry it up. Together
you may be able to dope out
something."
"Right," Macintyre said. He
grabbed a handful of blank paper
and hurried to the telephone.
"What did I tell you?" Officer
Celtrics said. He
grinned at the captain. "Didn't I
tell you scientists were nuts?"
"I didn't say you were wrong,
did I?" the captain asked.
"No, but you weren't sure."
"Well, I'm sure now. You'd
better get going. There's plenty
of work for you."
"I know." Celtrics drew his
revolver from its holster, checked
it and put it back. "Are all the
boys back, Captain?"
"All?" the captain laughed humorlessly.
"Homicide has increased
by fifty per cent. There's
more murder now than there's
ever been."
"Sure," Celtrics said. "The
watchbirds are too busy guarding
cars and slugging spiders."
He started toward the door, then
turned for a parting shot.
"Take my word, Captain. Machines
are stupid."
The captain nodded.
Thousands of watchbirds,
trying to stop countless millions
of murders—a hopeless
task. But the watchbirds didn't
hope. Without consciousness, they
experienced no sense of accomplishment,
no fear of failure. Patiently
they went about their
jobs, obeying each stimulus as it
came.
They couldn't be everywhere
at the same time, but it wasn't
necessary to be. People learned
quickly what the watchbirds
didn't like and refrained from doing
it. It just wasn't safe. With
their high speed and superfast
senses, the watchbirds got around
quickly.
And now they meant business.
In their original directives there
had been a provision made for
killing a murderer, if all other
means failed.
Why spare a murderer?
It backfired. The watchbirds
extracted the fact that murder
and crimes of violence had increased
geometrically since they
had begun operation. This was
true, because their new definitions
increased the possibilities of murder.
But to the watchbirds, the
rise showed that the first methods
had failed.
Simple logic. If A doesn't work,
try B. The watchbirds shocked
to kill.
Slaughterhouses in Chicago
stopped and cattle starved to
death in their pens, because
farmers in the Midwest couldn't
cut hay or harvest grain.
No one had told the watchbirds
that all life depends on carefully
balanced murders.
Starvation didn't concern the
watchbirds, since it was an act
of omission.
Their interest lay only in acts
of commission.
Hunters sat home, glaring at
the silver dots in the sky, longing
to shoot them down. But for
the most part, they didn't try.
The watchbirds were quick to
sense the murder intent and to
punish it.
Fishing boats swung idle at
their moorings in San Pedro and
Gloucester. Fish were living organisms.
Farmers cursed and spat and
died, trying to harvest the crop.
Grain was alive and thus worthy
of protection. Potatoes were as
important to the watchbird as
any other living organism. The
death of a blade of grass was
equal to the assassination of a
President—
To the watchbirds.
And, of course, certain machines
were living. This followed,
since the watchbirds were machines
and living.
God help you if you maltreated
your radio. Turning it off meant
killing it. Obviously—its voice
was silenced, the red glow of its
tubes faded, it grew cold.
The watchbirds tried to guard
their other charges. Wolves were
slaughtered, trying to kill rabbits.
Rabbits were electrocuted,
trying to eat vegetables. Creepers
were burned out in the act of
strangling trees.
A butterfly was executed,
caught in the act of outraging a
rose.
This control was spasmodic,
because of the fewness of the
watchbirds. A billion watchbirds
couldn't have carried out the ambitious
project set by the thousands.
The effect was of a murderous
force, ten thousand bolts of irrational
lightning raging around the
country, striking a thousand
times a day.
Lightning which anticipated
your moves and punished your
intentions.
"Gentlemen, please," the
government representative
begged. "We must hurry."
The seven manufacturers stopped
talking.
"Before we begin this meeting
formally," the president of Monroe
said, "I want to say something.
We do not feel ourselves
responsible for this unhappy
state of affairs. It was a government
project; the government
must accept the responsibility,
both moral and financial."
Gelsen shrugged his shoulders.
It was hard to believe that these
men, just a few weeks ago, had
been willing to accept the glory
of saving the world. Now they
wanted to shrug off the responsibility
when the salvation went
amiss.
"I'm positive that that need
not concern us now," the representative
assured him. "We must
hurry. You engineers have done
an excellent job. I am proud of
the cooperation you have shown
in this emergency. You are hereby
empowered to put the outlined
plan into action."
"Wait a minute," Gelsen said.
"There is no time."
"The plan's no good."
"Don't you think it will work?"
"Of course it will work. But
I'm afraid the cure will be worse
than the disease."
The manufacturers looked as
though they would have enjoyed
throttling Gelsen. He didn't hesitate.
"Haven't we learned yet?" he
asked. "Don't you see that you
can't cure human problems by
mechanization?"
"Mr. Gelsen," the president of
Monroe said, "I would enjoy
hearing you philosophize, but, unfortunately,
people are being
killed. Crops are being ruined.
There is famine in some sections
of the country already. The
watchbirds must be stopped at
once!"
"Murder must be stopped, too.
I remember all of us agreeing
upon that. But this is not the
way!"
"What would you suggest?"
the representative asked.
Gelsen took a deep breath.
What he was about to say
took all the courage he had.
"Let the watchbirds run down
by themselves," Gelsen suggested.
There was a near-riot. The
government representative broke
it up.
"Let's take our lesson," Gelsen
urged, "admit that we were
wrong trying to cure human
problems by mechanical means.
Start again. Use machines, yes,
but not as judges and teachers
and fathers."
"Ridiculous," the representative
said coldly. "Mr. Gelsen,
you are overwrought. I suggest
you control yourself." He cleared
his throat. "All of you are ordered
by the President to carry
out the plan you have submitted."
He looked sharply at Gelsen.
"Not to do so will be treason."
"I'll cooperate to the best of
my ability," Gelsen said.
"Good. Those assembly lines
must be rolling within the week."
Gelsen walked out of the room
alone. Now he was confused
again. Had he been right or was
he just another visionary? Certainly,
he hadn't explained himself
with much clarity.
Did he know what he meant?
Gelsen cursed under his breath.
He wondered why he couldn't
ever be sure of anything. Weren't
there any values he could hold
on to?
He hurried to the airport and
to his plant.
The watchbird was operating
erratically now. Many of its
delicate parts were out of line,
worn by almost continuous operation.
But gallantly it responded
when the stimuli came.
A spider was attacking a fly.
The watchbird swooped down
to the rescue.
Simultaneously, it became
aware of something overhead.
The watchbird wheeled to meet
it.
There was a sharp crackle and
a power bolt whizzed by the
watchbird's wing. Angrily, it
spat a shock wave.

The attacker was heavily insulated.
Again it spat at the watchbird.
This time, a bolt smashed
through a wing, the watchbird
darted away, but the attacker
went after it in a burst of speed,
throwing out more crackling
power.
The watchbird fell, but managed
to send out its message.
Urgent! A new menace to living
organisms and this was the deadliest
yet!
Other watchbirds around the
country integrated the message.
Their thinking centers searched
for an answer.
"Well, Chief, they bagged
fifty today," Macintyre
said, coming into Gelsen's office.
"Fine," Gelsen said, not looking
at the engineer.
"Not so fine." Macintyre sat
down. "Lord, I'm tired! It was
seventy-two yesterday."
"I know." On Gelsen's desk
were several dozen lawsuits,
which he was sending to the government
with a prayer.
"They'll pick up again,
though," Macintyre said confidently.
"The Hawks are especially
built to hunt down watchbirds.
They're stronger, faster, and
they've got better armor. We really
rolled them out in a hurry,
huh?"
"We sure did."
"The watchbirds are pretty
good, too," Macintyre had to
admit. "They're learning to take
cover. They're trying a lot of
stunts. You know, each one that
goes down tells the others something."
Gelsen didn't answer.
"But anything the watchbirds
can do, the Hawks can do better,"
Macintyre said cheerfully.
"The Hawks have special learning
circuits for hunting. They're
more flexible than the watchbirds.
They learn faster."

Gelsen gloomily stood up,
stretched, and walked to the window.
The sky was blank. Looking
out, he realized that his
uncertainties were over. Right or
wrong, he had made up his mind.
"Tell me," he said, still watching
the sky, "what will the
Hawks hunt after they get all the
watchbirds?"
"Huh?" Macintyre said.
"Why—"
"Just to be on the safe side,
you'd better design something to
hunt down the Hawks. Just in
case, I mean."
"You think—"
"All I know is that the Hawks
are self-controlled. So were the
watchbirds. Remote control
would have been too slow, the
argument went on. The idea was
to get the watchbirds and get
them fast. That meant no restricting
circuits."
"We can dope something out,"
Macintyre said uncertainly.
"You've got an aggressive machine
up in the air now. A murder
machine. Before that it was
an anti-murder machine. Your
next gadget will have to be even
more self-sufficient, won't it?"
Macintyre didn't answer.
"I don't hold you responsible,"
Gelsen said. "It's me. It's everyone."
In the air outside was a swift-moving
dot.
"That's what comes," said Gelsen,
"of giving a machine the
job that was our own responsibility."
Overhead, a Hawk was
zeroing in on a watchbird.
The armored murder machine
had learned a lot in a few days.
Its sole function was to kill. At
present it was impelled toward a
certain type of living organism,
metallic like itself.
But the Hawk had just discovered
that there were other
types of living organisms, too—
Which had to be murdered.
—ROBERT SHECKLEY

Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
typographical errors have been corrected without note.