WATCHBIRD

WATCHBIRD

When Gelsen walked in, he noticed that the other watchbird manufacturers were already there. There were six of them, not including himself, and the room was filled with the blue haze of expensive cigar smoke.

"Hey, Charlie," one of them called as he walked in.

The others paused their conversation long enough to give him a casual wave. As a maker of watchbirds, he reminded himself with a smirk that he was a manufacturer of salvation. Very exclusive. You need a certified government contract if you want to save humanity.

"The government rep isn't here yet," one of the guys said to him. "He should be here any minute."

"We're getting the go-ahead," another said.

"Fine." Gelsen found a chair near the door and scanned the room. It felt like a convention or a Boy Scout rally. The six men compensated for their small numbers with their loud voices. The president of Southern Consolidated was shouting enthusiastically about the watchbird's impressive durability. The two presidents he was addressing were smiling and nodding, one attempting to chime in with the results of a test he had conducted on the watchbird's resourcefulness, while the other discussed the new recharging device.

The other three men were in their own little group, giving what sounded like a tribute to watchbird.

Gelsen noticed that they all stood straight and tall, like the heroes they thought they were. He didn’t find it amusing. Just a few days ago, he had felt the same way. He had seen himself as a bit overweight and slightly balding saint.

He sighed and lit a cigarette. At the start of the project, he had been just as excited as everyone else. He remembered telling Macintyre, his lead engineer, "Mac, a new day is coming. Watchbird is the solution." And Macintyre had nodded seriously—another watchbird believer.

How amazing it seemed back then! A straightforward, dependable solution to one of humanity's biggest issues, all neatly wrapped up in a pound of unbreakable metal, glass, and plastic.

Perhaps that was the exact reason he was doubting it now. Gelsen suspected that you can't solve human problems so easily. There had to be a catch somewhere.

After all, murder was an old problem, and a watchbird was too new of a solution.

"Gentlemen—" They had been arguing so passionately that they hadn't noticed the government representative coming in. Now the room fell silent immediately.

"Gentlemen," the chubby government official said, "the President, with Congress's approval, has decided to create a watchdog division for every city and town in the nation."

The men erupted in a spontaneous shout of victory. They were finally getting their chance to save the world, Gelsen thought, and he anxiously wondered what was off about that.

He listened closely as the government official explained the distribution plan. The country was going to be divided into seven regions, with each one being supplied and serviced by a single manufacturer. This meant it would be a monopoly, but a necessary one. Just like the telephone service, it was in the public's best interest. You couldn't have competition in watchbird service. Watchbird was for everyone.

"The President hopes," the representative continued, "that full watchbird service will be set up as soon as possible. You'll have top priorities for strategic metals, manpower, and so on."

"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 just as prepared. The factories had been set to produce the watchbirds for months. The final standardized equipment had been confirmed, and all that was missing was the Presidential approval.

"Sure," the representative said. "If that's everything, I think we can—wait, is there a question?"

"Yes, sir," Gelsen said. "I want to know if this current model is the one we're going to produce."

"Sure," the representative said. "It's the most advanced."

"I have an objection." Gelsen stood up. His colleagues were glaring coldly at him. Clearly, he was holding up the arrival of the golden age.

"What’s your objection?" the representative asked.

"First, let me say that I completely support a machine to prevent murder. It's been necessary for a long time. I only oppose the watchbird's learning circuits. They essentially make the machine come alive and give it a fake sense of consciousness. I can't agree with that."

"But, Mr. Gelsen, you yourself testified that the watchbird wouldn't be fully effective unless those circuits were added. Without them, the watchbirds could only prevent about seventy percent of murders."

"I know that," Gelsen said, feeling really uncomfortable. "I think there could be a moral danger in letting a machine make decisions that should rightly belong to humans," he said firmly.

"Oh, come on, Gelsen," one of the corporation presidents said. "It's nothing like that. The watchbird will just support the decisions made by honest people since the dawn of time."

"I think that's true," the representative agreed. "But I understand how Mr. Gelsen feels. It's unfortunate that we have to hand a human problem over to a machine, and even sadder that we need a machine to enforce our laws. But I urge you to remember, Mr. Gelsen, that there’s no other way to stop a murderer before he strikes. It would be unjust to the many innocent people who are killed every year if we were to limit watchbird based on philosophical reasons. Don't you agree that I'm right?"

"Yeah, I guess I do," Gelsen said with a frown. He had gone over all of that a thousand times, but something still nagged at him. Maybe he would discuss it with Macintyre.

As the conference wrapped up, an idea occurred to him. He smiled.

A lot of police officers were going to be unemployed!

So what do you think about that?" Officer Celtrics said. "Fifteen years in Homicide and a machine is taking my place." He wiped a large red hand across his forehead and leaned against the captain's desk. "Isn't science amazing?"

Two other police officers, formerly of Homicide, nodded sadly.

"Don't worry about it," the captain said. "We'll find a place for you in Larceny, Celtrics. You'll enjoy it here."

"I just can't believe it," Celtrics complained. "A stupid little piece of metal and glass is going to fix all the crimes."

"Not really," the captain said. "The watchbirds are meant to stop the crimes before they occur."

"Then how are they going to be crimes?" one of the policemen asked. "I mean, they can't hang you for murder until you actually commit one, right?"

"That's not the point," the captain said. "The watchbirds are meant to stop someone before they commit murder."

"Then no one arrests him?" Celtrics asked.

"I don't know how they're going to figure that out," the captain admitted.

The men were quiet for a bit. The captain yawned and checked his watch.

"The thing I don't get," Celtrics said, still leaning on the captain's desk, "is how do they manage it? How did it begin, Captain?"

The captain looked at Celtrics' face for any hint of irony; after all, the watchbird had been in the news for months. But then he remembered that Celtrics, like his buddies, seldom bothered to read anything beyond the sports section.

"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 figure out what motivated them. They discovered that murderers emit a different kind of brain wave than regular people. Their glands also behave oddly. This all happens right before they commit a murder. So these scientists developed a special machine that lights up red or something when these brain waves activate."

"Scientists," Celtrics said resentfully.

"Well, after the scientists got this machine, they weren't sure what to do with it. It was too big to move around, and murderers didn't show up often enough to make it go off. So they made it into a smaller unit and tested it in a few police stations. I think they tried one upstate. But it didn't work very well. You couldn't get to the crime in time. That's why they created the watchbirds."

"I don't think they're going to stop any criminals," one of the police officers insisted.

"They definitely will. I checked the test results. They can track him down before he does anything wrong. And when they find him, they give him a strong shock or something. It'll stop him."

"You shutting down Homicide, Captain?" Celtrics asked.

"Nope," the captain said. "I'm keeping a small crew on board until we see how these guys perform."

"Hah," Celtrics said. "Skeleton crew. That’s hilarious."

"Sure," the captain said. "Anyway, I'm going to leave some men on. It looks like the birds don't prevent all murders."

"Why not?"

"Some murderers don’t have these brain waves," the captain replied, trying to recall what the newspaper article mentioned. "Or their glands don’t function or something."

"Which ones do they not stop?" Celtrics asked, with professional curiosity.

"I don't know. But I hear they fixed those things, so they're going to stop all of them soon."

"How are they working that?"

"They learn. The watchbirds, I mean. Just like people."

"You're kidding me?"

"No."

"Well," Celtrics said, "I think I'll just keep old Betsy oiled, just in case. You can't trust these scientists."

"Okay."

"Birds!" Celtrics sneered.

Over the town, the watchbird soared in a long, lazy curve. Its metal body glimmered in the morning sun, and flecks of light flickered on its rigid wings. It flew silently.

Silently, but with all senses engaged. Its built-in kinesthetic senses informed the watchbird of its location and guided it in a long search pattern. Its eyes and ears worked together as one unit, searching and seeking.

And then something happened! The watchbird's quick electronic reflexes detected a hint of a sensation. A correlation center tested it, comparing it with electrical and chemical data stored in its memory files. A relay activated.

Down the watchbird spiraled, coming in on the increasingly strong sensation. It smelled the outpouring of certain glands, tasted a deviant brain wave.

Fully alert and armed, it spun and turned in the bright morning sunlight.

Dinelli was so focused that he didn't notice the watchbird approaching. He had his gun ready, and his eyes begged the big grocer.

"Don't come any closer."

"You pathetic little punk," the grocer said, taking another step forward. "Steal from me? I'll break every bone in your tiny body."

The grocer, either too foolish or too brave to grasp the danger posed by the gun, moved toward the small thief.

"Okay," Dinelli said, completely panicked. "Okay, sucker, take—"

A shock of electricity threw him onto his back. The gun fired, shattering a display of breakfast foods.

"What the hell?" the grocer asked, staring at the shocked thief. Then he saw a flash of silver wings. "Wow, I'm really impressed. Those watchbirds actually work!"

He watched until the wings vanished in the sky. Then he called the police.

The watchbird went back to his search pattern. His thinking center linked the new information he had gathered about murder. Some of this he hadn’t known before.

This new information was instantly sent to all the other watchbirds, and they replied with their information.

New information, methods, and definitions were constantly being shared between them.

Now that the watchbirds were coming off the assembly line in a steady stream, Gelsen let himself relax. A loud, satisfied hum filled his plant. Orders were being completed on time, with the biggest cities in his area getting top priority, and then working down to the smallest towns.

"Everything's good, Chief," Macintyre said as he walked in the door. He had just finished a routine inspection.

"Alright. Take a seat."

The big engineer sat down and lit a cigarette.

"We've been working on this for a while now," Gelsen said, when he couldn't think of anything else.

"We definitely have," Macintyre agreed. He leaned back and took a deep breath. He had been one of the consulting engineers on the original watchbird. That was six years ago. He had been working for Gelsen ever since, and the guys had become good friends.

"The thing I wanted to ask you was this—" Gelsen paused. He couldn't figure out how to word 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 it started. He had never felt the need to have an attitude. "I think it's great."

"I don't mean that," Gelsen said. He realized that what he really wanted was for someone to understand his perspective. "I mean, do you think there might be some danger in machine thinking?"

"I don’t think so, boss. Why do you ask?"

"Look, I’m not a scientist or an engineer. I’ve just dealt with costs and production while you guys figured out the details. But as someone outside that world, watchbird is starting to scare me."

"No need 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—worried that 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 said.

"No way," Macintyre said. "The watchbirds are complicated, I’ll admit, but an M.I.T. calculator is way more complex. And it doesn’t have consciousness."

"No. But the watchbirds can learn."

"Sure. So can all the new calculators. Do you think they'll team up with the watchbirds?"

Gelsenkirchen was frustrated with Macintyre, and even more frustrated with himself for being absurd. "It's true that the watchbirds can apply what they’ve learned. No one is keeping an eye on them."

"So that's the problem," Macintyre said.

"I've been thinking about leaving watchbird." Gelsen hadn't realized it until that moment.

"Listen, Chief," Macintyre said. "Will you trust an engineer's word on this?"

"Let's hear you out."

"The watchbirds are no more dangerous than a car, an IBM calculator, or a thermometer. They have no more awareness or free will than those things. The watchbirds are designed to react to specific stimuli and to perform certain actions when they receive that stimuli."

"And the learning systems?"

"You need to have those," Macintyre said calmly, like he was explaining everything to a ten-year-old. "The watchbird's job is to prevent all murder attempts, right? Well, only certain murderers give off these signals. To catch all of them, the watchbird has to find new definitions of murder and connect them with what it already knows."

"I think it's inhumane," Gelsen said.

"That's the best part about it. The watchbirds are emotionless. Their reasoning isn't humanlike. You can't bribe them or drug them. You shouldn't be afraid of them, either."

The intercom on Gelsen's desk buzzed. He just ignored it.

"I know all this," Gelsen said. "But, still, sometimes I feel like the guy 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 make them."

The intercom buzzed again, and Gelsen annoyedly pressed a button.

"The reports are in on the first week of watchbird operation," his secretary told him.

"How do they look?"

"Awesome, sir."

"Send them in in fifteen minutes." Gelsen switched off the intercom and turned back to Macintyre, who was cleaning his fingernails with a wooden match. "Don't you think this shows a trend in human thinking? The mechanical god? The electronic father?"

"Chief," Macintyre said, "I think you should take a closer look at the watchbird. Do you know what's wired into the circuits?"

"Generally speaking."

"First, there is a purpose. That purpose is to prevent living organisms from committing murder. Second, murder can be defined as an act of violence that involves breaking, damaging, mistreating, or otherwise interrupting the functions of a living organism by another living organism. Third, most murderers can be identified by specific chemical and electrical changes."

Macintyre paused to light another cigarette. "Those conditions cover the routine functions. Then, for the learning circuits, there are two more conditions. Four, there are some living organisms that commit murder without the signs mentioned in three. Five, these can be detected by data relevant to condition two."

"I see," Gelsen said.

"You see how foolproof it is?"

"I guess so." Gelsen paused for a moment. "I think that's it."

"Alright," the engineer said, and walked out.

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 lit 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 big city.

To stop murder ...

There was more to look out for now. New information had traveled through the invisible network linking all watchbirds. New data, new methods for detecting the violence of murder.

There! The peak of a feeling! Two watchbirds dove at the same time. One had caught the scent just a split second before the other. He kept going down while the other went back to watching.

Condition four, there are some living organisms that commit murder without the signs mentioned in condition three.

Through his new information, the watchbird knew by deduction that this organism was intent on murder, even though the typical chemical and electrical scents were missing.

The watchbird, with all its senses sharp, focused in on the organism. It found what it was looking for and swooped down.

Roger Greco leaned against a building, his hands in his pockets. In his left hand was the cool grip of a .45. Greco waited patiently.

He wasn't thinking about anything specific, just leaning against a building, waiting for a guy. Greco didn't know why the guy was supposed to be killed. He didn't care. Greco's indifference was part of what made him useful. The other part was his skill.

One bullet, cleanly shot into the head of a guy he didn’t know. It didn’t thrill him or make him feel sick. It was just work, like anything else. You killed someone. So what?

As Greco's target stepped out of a building, Greco pulled the .45 out of his pocket. He disengaged the safety and steadied the gun with his right hand. He still wasn't thinking about anything as he took aim ...

And got knocked off his feet.

Greco thought he had been shot. He got back up, looked around, and vaguely focused on his target.

He got knocked down again.

This time he lay on the ground, trying to focus. He never thought about stopping, because Greco was a skilled artisan.

With the next hit, everything went dark. Permanently, because the watchbird's job was to protect the victim—no matter what it cost the killer.

The victim walked over to his car. He hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. Everything had happened quietly.

Gels was feeling pretty good. The surveillance drones had been working perfectly. Violent crimes had been cut in half and then reduced even further. Dark alleys were no longer places of fear. Parks and playgrounds were now safe to visit after dark.

Of course, there were still thefts. Petty theft thrived, and embezzlement, burglary, counterfeiting and countless other crimes.

But that wasn't really important. You could get back 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 sign that something was off came that morning.

Macintyre entered his office. He stood quietly in front of Gelsen's desk, looking frustrated and slightly embarrassed.

"What's wrong, Mac?" Gelsen asked.

"One of the watchbirds went to confront a guy from the slaughterhouse. Knocked him out."

Gelsen thought about it for a moment. Yeah, the watchbirds would do that. With their new learning circuits, they had probably classified the killing of animals as murder.

"Tell the packers to automate their slaughtering," Gelsen said. "I've never liked that business myself."

"Okay," Macintyre said. He pressed his lips together, then shrugged and walked out.

Gelsen stood next to his desk, lost in thought. Couldn’t the watchbirds tell the difference between a murderer and someone doing a legitimate job? Apparently not. To them, murder was just murder. No exceptions. He frowned. That might need a little tweaking in the circuits.

But not too much, he quickly decided. Just make them a bit more selective.

He sat down again and immersed himself in paperwork, trying to sidestep the lingering grip of an old fear.

They secured the prisoner in the chair and attached the electrode to his leg.

"Oh, oh," he moaned, only half-aware now of what they were doing.

They placed the helmet over his shaved head and tightened the final straps. He kept moaning softly.

And then the watchbird swooped in. No one knew how he had arrived. Prisons are big and secure, with many locked doors, but the watchbird was there—

To prevent a murder.

"Get that thing out of here!" the warden yelled, reaching for the switch. The watchbird knocked him down.

"Cut that out!" a guard yelled, and reached for the switch himself. He was knocked to the ground next to the warden.

"This isn't murder, you idiot!" another guard shouted. He pulled out his gun to shoot down the shining, spinning metal bird.

Anticipating, the watchbird slammed him back against the wall.

There was silence in the room. After a bit, the man in the helmet started to giggle. Then he stopped.

The watchbird hovered in mid-air, keeping a lookout—

Making sure no murder took place.

New data was sent through the watchbird network. Unmonitored and independent, the thousands of watchbirds picked it up and responded.

Breaking, damaging, or otherwise disrupting the functions of a living organism by another living organism. New actions to stop.

"Damn you, get going!" Farmer Ollister shouted, raising his whip again. The horse hesitated, and the wagon rattled and shook as it shifted sideways.

"You worthless piece of garbage, get moving!" the farmer shouted as he raised the whip again.

It never fell. A watchbird, sensing danger, had knocked him out of his seat.

A living organism? What is a living organism? The watchbirds expanded their definitions as they learned more facts. And, naturally, this meant they had more work to do.

The deer was barely visible at the edge of the woods. The hunter raised his rifle and took careful aim.

He didn't have time to take the shot.

With his free hand, Gelsen wiped the sweat from his face. "Okay," he said into the phone. He listened to the ongoing insults from the other end, then set the receiver down carefully in its cradle.

"What was that one?" Macintyre asked. He hadn't shaved, his tie was loose, and his shirt was unbuttoned.

"Another fisherman," Gelsen said. "It looks like the watchbirds won't let him fish even though his family is starving. He's asking what we're going to do about it."

"How many hundreds is that?"

"I don't know. I haven't checked the mail."

"Well, I figured out where the trouble is," Macintyre said sadly, like someone who knows exactly how he destroyed the Earth—after it was too late.

"Let's hear it out."

"Everyone assumed that we all wanted murder to be eliminated. We thought the watchbirds would agree with us. We should have specified the terms."

"I've got an idea," Gelsen said, "that we'd need to understand what murder really is before we can accurately define the conditions. And if we knew that, we wouldn't need the watchbirds."

"Oh, I’m not so sure about that. They just need to be told that some things that look like murder aren't actually murder."

"But why should they stop the fishermen?" Gelsen asked.

"Why shouldn’t they? Fish and animals are living beings. We just don’t see killing them as murder."

The phone rang. Gelsen stared at it and hit the intercom button. "I said no more calls, no matter what."

"This is from Washington," his secretary said. "I thought you'd—"

"Sorry." Gelsen picked up the phone. "Yes. It really is a mess ... Have they? Okay, I definitely will." He hung up the phone.

"Short and sweet," he told Macintyre. "We're shutting down for a bit."

"That won't be easy," Macintyre said. "The watchbirds operate independently of any central control, you know. They come back once a week for a repair check. We'll have to turn them off then, one by one."

"Well, let’s get to it. Monroe over on the Coast has closed down about a quarter of his birds."

"I think I can figure out a limiting circuit," Macintyre said.

"Fine," Gelsen said bitterly. "You make me really happy."

The watchbirds were quickly picking things up, growing and building on their understanding. Vague concepts were broadened, applied, and then broadened again.

To prevent murder ...

Metal and electrons think logically, but not like humans do.

A living organism? Any living organism!

The watchbirds took it upon themselves to protect all living beings.

The fly buzzed around the room, landing on a tabletop, stopping for a moment, then darting to the windowsill.

The old man followed it, holding a rolled-up newspaper in his hand.

Murderer!

The watchbirds swooped down and saved the fly just in time.

The old man twisted on the floor for a minute and then went quiet. He had received only a mild shock, but it had been enough for his weak, irritated heart.

His victim had been saved, though, and that was the important thing. Save the victim and give the aggressor what he deserves.

Gelsen demanded angrily, "Why aren't they being turned off?"

The assistant control engineer motioned. In a corner of the repair room was the senior control engineer. He was just starting to come around.

"He tried to turn one of them off," the assistant engineer said. Both his hands were clenched together. He was visibly trying not to shake.

"That's absurd. They don't have any self-preservation instincts."

"Then turn them off yourself. Plus, I don't think any more are going to show up."

What could have happened? Gelsen started to figure it out. The watchbirds still hadn't settled on the boundaries of a living organism. When some of them were switched off in the Monroe plant, the others must have connected the data.

So they had to assume that they were living beings, too.

No one had ever told them differently. They definitely performed most of the functions of living organisms.

Then the old fears overwhelmed him. Gelsen shook and rushed out of the repair room. He needed to find Macintyre quickly.

The nurse passed the surgeon the sponge.

"Scalpel."

She put it in his hand. He began to make the first cut. And then he noticed a disturbance.

"Who allowed that thing in?"

"I don't know," the nurse said, her voice muffled by the mask.

"Take it away."

The nurse waved her arms at the bright, winged creature, but it fluttered over her head.

The surgeon made the incision for as long as he could.

The watchbird chased him off and kept watch.

"Call the watchbird company!" the surgeon commanded. "Have them shut it off."

The watchbird was stopping harm to a living being.

The surgeon stood by, powerless as his patient passed away.

Flapping high above the network of highways, the watchbird watched and waited. It had been working nonstop for weeks now, without rest or maintenance. Rest and maintenance were not an option because the watchbird couldn't allow itself—a living being—to be destroyed. And that's exactly what happened when watchbirds returned to the factory.

There was a built-in command to return after a certain amount of time. But the watchbird had a stronger command to follow—preservation of life, including its own.

The definitions of murder were nearly limitless now, impossible to manage. But the watchbird didn't think about that. It reacted to its triggers, whenever they appeared and from whatever source.

There was a new definition of a living organism in its memory files. It came about because of the discovery that watchbirds were living organisms. And it had huge implications.

The signals arrived! For the hundredth time that day, the bird turned and swooped, quickly descending to prevent a killing.

Jackson yawned and steered his car to the side of the road. He didn't see the shining dot in the sky. There was no reason for him to. Jackson wasn't thinking about murder, by any human standard.

This was a great place for a nap, he thought. He had been driving for seven hours straight and his eyes were starting to glaze over. He reached out to turn off the ignition key—

And was pushed back against the side of the car.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked angrily. "All I want to do is—" He reached for the key again, and once more he was pushed 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 metal jerk," he said to the waiting machine. "A car isn't alive. I'm not trying to destroy it."

But the watchbird only knew that a certain operation stopped an organism. The car was definitely a working organism. Wasn't it made of metal, like the watchbirds? Didn't it move?

MacIntyre said, "If we don't fix them, they'll fall apart." He pushed a stack of specification sheets aside.

"How soon?" Gelsen asked.

"Six months to a year. Let's say a year, unless something unexpected happens."

"A year," Gelsen said. "In the meantime, everything is grinding to a halt. Do you know the latest?"

"Excuse me?"

"The watchbirds have concluded that the Earth is a living being. They won’t let farmers start plowing the land. And, naturally, everything else is a living being too—rabbits, beetles, flies, wolves, mosquitoes, lions, crocodiles, crows, and smaller forms of life like 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 stroked his chin. "We need to act quickly. The ecological balance is in ruins."

"Fast isn't the right word. Instant would be better." Gelsen lit his thirty-fifth cigarette of 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 idiots."

Macintyre wasn't paying attention. He was thinking about watchbirds. "Like the rabbit problem in Australia."

"The death rate is rising," Gelsen said. "Famine. Floods. Can't cut down trees. Doctors can’t—what was that you mentioned about Australia?"

"The rabbits," Macintyre repeated. "There's hardly any left in Australia now."

"Why? How was it done?"

"Oh, I found some kind of germ that only attacks rabbits. I think it was spread by mosquitoes—"

"Work on that," Gelsen said. "You might be onto something. I want you to get on the phone and request an emergency connection with the engineers from the other companies. Hurry up. Together, you might be able to figure something out."

"Right," Macintyre said. He grabbed a handful of blank paper and rushed to the phone.

What did I tell you?" Officer Celtrics said. He smiled at the captain. "Didn't I tell you scientists are crazy?"

"I didn't say you were wrong, did I?" the captain asked.

"No, but you weren't certain."

"Well, I'm definitely sure now. You should get going. There's a lot of work waiting for you."

"I know." Celtrics pulled his revolver from its holster, checked it, and put it back. "Are all the guys back, Captain?"

"All?" the captain laughed without amusement. "Homicide has increased by fifty percent. There are more murders now than there have ever been."

"Sure," Celtrics said. "The watchbirds are too busy guarding cars and squashing spiders." He started toward the door, then turned for a final comment.

"Trust me, Captain. Machines are dumb."

The captain agreed.

Thousands of watchbirds, trying to stop countless millions of murders—a pointless task. But the watchbirds didn't hope. Without awareness, they felt no sense of achievement, no fear of failing. Patiently they carried on with their work, responding to each trigger as it arose.

They couldn't be everywhere at once, but they didn't need to be. People quickly figured out what the watchbirds didn't like and avoided doing it. It just wasn't safe. With their speed and sharp senses, the watchbirds moved around fast.

And now they were serious. In their original guidelines, there was a rule that allowed for killing a murderer if all other options were exhausted.

Why let a murderer go?

It backfired. The watchbirds realized that murder and violent crimes had increased dramatically since they started their operations. This was true, because their new definitions expanded the chances of murder. But to the watchbirds, the increase indicated that the initial methods had failed.

Simple logic. If A doesn't work, try B. The watchbirds are 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 informed the watchbirds that all life relies on carefully balanced killings.

Starvation didn't worry the watchbirds, since it was a result of inaction.

Their interest was only in actions taken.

Hunters sat at home, staring at the silver dots in the sky, wishing they could shoot them down. But mostly, they didn’t bother. The watchbirds were fast to pick up on the murderous intent and to retaliate.

Fishing boats swayed at their docks in San Pedro and Gloucester. Fish were living creatures.

Farmers swore and cursed and died, trying to bring in the harvest. Grain was alive and therefore worth protecting. Potatoes mattered to the watchbird just as much as any other living thing. The death of a blade of grass was on par with the assassination of a President—

To the watchdogs.

And, of course, some machines were alive. This made sense because the watchbirds were machines and alive.

God help you if you mistreated your radio. Turning it off was like killing it. Obviously—its voice was silenced, the red glow of its tubes disappeared, and it became cold.

The watchbirds tried to protect their other charges. Wolves were killed while trying to catch rabbits. Rabbits were electrocuted while trying to eat vegetables. Creepers were burned while trying to strangle trees.

A butterfly was killed, caught in the act of disturbing a rose.

This control was inconsistent because there were so few watchbirds. A billion watchbirds couldn't have accomplished the ambitious project set by the thousands.

The effect was like a deadly force, ten thousand bolts of wild lightning surging across the country, hitting a thousand times a day.

Lightning that predicted your moves and punished your intentions.

"Guys", please," the government representative urged. "We need to hurry."

The seven manufacturers went silent.

"Before we officially start this meeting," the president of Monroe said, "I want to say something. We don’t believe we are responsible for this unfortunate situation. This was a government project; the government needs to take on the responsibility, both morally and financially."

Gelsen shrugged his shoulders. It was hard to believe that these guys, just a few weeks ago, had been ready to embrace the glory of saving the world. Now they wanted to dodge the responsibility when things went wrong.

"I'm sure that doesn't need to worry us right now," the representative assured him. "We need to hurry. You engineers have done an excellent job. I'm proud of the teamwork you've shown in this emergency. You are authorized to put the outlined plan into action."

"Hold on a sec," Gelsen said.

"There's no time."

"The plan isn’t good."

"Don’t you think it’ll work?"

"Of course it will work. But I'm worried the treatment will be worse than the problem."

The manufacturers looked like they would have enjoyed strangling Gelsen. He didn't hold back.

"Haven't we figured this out yet?" he asked. "Don't you see that you can't solve human problems with machines?"

"Mr. Gelsen," said the president of Monroe, "I'd love to hear you share your thoughts, but unfortunately, people are being killed. Crops are being destroyed. There’s famine in some parts of the country already. We need to stop the watchbirds immediately!"

"Murder has to end, too. I remember all of us agreeing on that. But this isn't the way!"

"What do you think we should do?" the representative asked.

Gelsenkirchen 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 almost a riot. The government official stepped in to break it up.

"Let’s learn from this," Gelsen urged, "and accept that we were wrong to try to fix human issues with machines. Let’s start over. Use machines, sure, but not as judges, teachers, or parental figures."

"Ridiculous," the representative said coolly. "Mr. Gelsen, you're getting overly emotional. I recommend that you calm down." He cleared his throat. "All of you are instructed by the President to implement the plan you've proposed." He shot a sharp look at Gelsen. "Failure to do so will be considered treason."

"I'll work together to the best of my ability," Gelsen said.

"Great. Those assembly lines should be up and running by the end of the week."

Gelsen walked out of the room alone. Now he was confused again. Had he been right, or was he just another dreamer? Certainly, he hadn't explained himself very clearly.

Did he know what he was talking about?

Gelsen muttered a curse quietly. He wished he could ever feel certain about anything. Were there no values he could rely on?

He rushed to the airport and then to his factory.

The watchbird was functioning unpredictably now. Many of its fragile components were misaligned, worn down from nearly constant use. But it heroically reacted whenever the signals came.

A spider was going after a fly. The watchbird swooped down to save it.

At the same time, it noticed something above. The watchbird turned to face it.

There was a loud crackle and a bolt of electricity zipped past the watchbird’s wing. Annoyed, it released a shock wave.

The attacker was heavily shielded. Again, it spat at the watchbird. This time, a bolt smashed through a wing, the watchbird darted away, but the attacker chased after it in a burst of speed, unleashing more crackling energy.

The watchbird fell but was still able to send out its message. Urgent! A new threat to living beings, and this one was the deadliest so far!

Other watchbirds around the country understood the message. Their minds looked for an answer.

"Alright", Chief, they caught fifty today," Macintyre said, walking into Gelsen's office.

"Fine," Gelsen said, not looking at the engineer.

"Not so great." Macintyre sat down. "Wow, I'm tired! It was seventy-two degrees yesterday."

"I know." On Gelsen's desk were several dozen lawsuits that he was sending to the government with a prayer.

"They'll start up again, though," Macintyre said confidently. "The Hawks are specifically designed to track down watchbirds. They're stronger, faster, and they have better armor. We really got them ready in a rush, didn't we?"

"We definitely 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 respond.

"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 adaptable than the watchbirds. They pick things up faster."

Gelsen sadly got up, stretched, and walked to the window. The sky was empty. Looking outside, he understood that his doubts were gone. Right or wrong, he had made his decision.

"Tell me," he said, still looking at the sky, "what will the Hawks go after once they catch all the watchbirds?"

"Huh?" Macintyre said. "Why—"

"Just to be on the safe side, you should probably create something to track down the Hawks. Just in case, you know."

"You think—"

"All I know is that the Hawks are in control. So were the watchbirds. Remote control would have been too slow, the argument went on. The plan was to get the watchbirds and get them quickly. That meant no limiting circuits."

"We can figure something out," Macintyre said uncertainly.

"You’ve got a powerful machine up in the air now. A lethal machine. Before that, it was a life-saving machine. Your next device will have to be even more self-sufficient, right?"

Macintyre didn't respond.

"I don't blame you," Gelsen said. "It's on me. It's on all of us."

In the air outside was a fast-moving dot.

"That's what happens," said Gelsen, "when you let a machine take over a job that was our responsibility."

Above, a hawk was focusing on a lookout bird.

The armored killing machine had picked up a lot in just a few days. Its only job was to kill. Right now, it was drawn to a specific type of living organism, metallic like itself.

But the Hawk had just found out that there were other kinds of living organisms as well—

Which had to be killed.

—ROBERT SHECKLEY