Watchbird by Robert Sheckley
living organism. Three, mostmurderers are detectable by certain chemical and electrical changes."
Macintyre paused to light another cigarette. "Those conditions take careof the routine functions. Then, for the learning circuits, there are twomore conditions. Four, there are some living organisms who commit murderwithout the signs mentioned in three. Five, these can be detected bydata 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 wrongwith the watchbirds.
"Send in the reports," he said into the intercom.
* * * * *
High above the lighted buildings of the city, the watchbird soared. Itwas dark, but in the distance the watchbird could see another, andanother beyond that. For this was a large city.
To prevent murder ...
There was more to watch for now. New information had crossed theinvisible network that connected all watchbirds. New data, new ways ofdetecting 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. Hecontinued down while the other resumed monitoring.
_Condition four, there are some living organisms who commit murderwithout the signs mentioned in condition three._
Through his new information, the watchbird knew by extrapolation thatthis organism was bent on murder, even though the characteristicchemical and electrical smells were absent.
The watchbird, all senses acute, closed in on the organism. He foundwhat he wanted, and dived.
Roger Greco leaned against a building, his hands in his pockets. In hisleft hand was the cool butt of a .45. Greco waited patiently.
He wasn't thinking of anything in particular, just relaxing against abuilding, waiting for a man. Greco didn't know why the man was to bekilled. 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'texcite him or sicken him. It was a job, just like anything else. Youkilled a man. So?
As Greco's victim stepped out of a building, Greco lifted the .45 out ofhis pocket. He released the safety and braced the gun with his righthand. 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 thoughtof stopping, for Greco was a craftsman.
With the next blow, everything went black. Permanently, because thewatchbird's duty was to protect the object of violence--_at whatevercost 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 operatingperfectly. Crimes of violence had been cut in half, and cut again. Darkalleys were no longer mouths of horror. Parks and playgrounds were notplaces to shun after dusk.
Of course, there were still robberies. Petty thievery flourished, andembezzlement, larceny, forgery and a hundred other crimes.
But that wasn't so important. You could regain lost money--never a lostlife.
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'sdesk, 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 himout."
Gelsen thought about it for a moment. Yes, the watchbirds would do that.With their new learning circuits, they had probably defined the killingof animals as murder.
"Tell the packers to mechanize their slaughtering," Gelsen said. "Inever liked that business myself."
"All right," Macintyre said. He pursed his lips, then shrugged hisshoulders and left.
Gelsen stood beside his desk, thinking. Couldn't the watchbirdsdifferentiate between a murderer and a man engaged in a legitimateprofession? No, evidently not. To them, murder was murder. Noexceptions. He frowned. That might take a little ironing out in thecircuits.
But not too much, he decided hastily. Just make them a little morediscriminating.
He sat down again and buried himself in paperwork, trying to avoid theedge of an old fear.
* * * * *
They strapped the prisoner into the chair and fitted the electrode tohis 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 laststraps. He continued to moan softly.
And then the watchbird swept in. How he had come, no one knew. Prisonsare large and strong, with many locked doors, but the watchbird wasthere--
To stop a murder.
"Get that thing out of here!" the warden shouted, and reached for theswitch. The watchbird knocked him down.
"Stop that!" a guard screamed, and grabbed for the switch himself. Hewas knocked to the floor beside the warden.
"This isn't murder, you idiot!" another guard said. He drew his gun toshoot 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 helmetstarted 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 livingorganism by a living organism. New acts to stop._
"Damn you, git going!" Farmer Ollister shouted, and raised his whipagain. The horse balked, and the wagon rattled and shook as he edgedsideways.
"You lousy hunk of pigmeal, git going!" the farmer yelled and he raisedthe whip again.
It never fell. An alert watchbird, sensing violence, had knocked him outof his seat.
A living organism? What is a living organism? The watchbirds extendedtheir 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 raisedhis rifle, and took careful aim.
He didn't have time to shoot.
* * * * *
With his free hand, Gelsen mopped perspiration from his face. "Allright," he said into the telephone. He listened to the stream ofvituperation from the other end, then placed the receiver gently in itscradle.
"What was that one?" Macintyre asked. He was unshaven, tie loose, shirtunbuttoned.
"Another fisherman," Gelsen said. "It seems the watchbirds won't lethim fish even though his family is starving. What are we going to doabout 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 itwas too late.
"Let's hear it."
"Everybody took it for granted that we wanted all murder stopped. Wefigured the watchbirds would think as we do. We ought to have qualifiedthe conditions."
"I've got an idea," Gelsen said, "that we'd have to know just why andwhat murder is, before we could qualify the conditions properly. And ifwe knew that, we wouldn't need the watc
hbirds."
"Oh, I don't know about that. They just have to be told that some thingswhich 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 justdon't think that killing them is murder."
The telephone rang. Gelsen glared at it and punched the intercom. "Itold 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
Macintyre paused to light another cigarette. "Those conditions take careof the routine functions. Then, for the learning circuits, there are twomore conditions. Four, there are some living organisms who commit murderwithout the signs mentioned in three. Five, these can be detected bydata 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 wrongwith the watchbirds.
"Send in the reports," he said into the intercom.
* * * * *
High above the lighted buildings of the city, the watchbird soared. Itwas dark, but in the distance the watchbird could see another, andanother beyond that. For this was a large city.
To prevent murder ...
There was more to watch for now. New information had crossed theinvisible network that connected all watchbirds. New data, new ways ofdetecting 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. Hecontinued down while the other resumed monitoring.
_Condition four, there are some living organisms who commit murderwithout the signs mentioned in condition three._
Through his new information, the watchbird knew by extrapolation thatthis organism was bent on murder, even though the characteristicchemical and electrical smells were absent.
The watchbird, all senses acute, closed in on the organism. He foundwhat he wanted, and dived.
Roger Greco leaned against a building, his hands in his pockets. In hisleft hand was the cool butt of a .45. Greco waited patiently.
He wasn't thinking of anything in particular, just relaxing against abuilding, waiting for a man. Greco didn't know why the man was to bekilled. 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'texcite him or sicken him. It was a job, just like anything else. Youkilled a man. So?
As Greco's victim stepped out of a building, Greco lifted the .45 out ofhis pocket. He released the safety and braced the gun with his righthand. 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 thoughtof stopping, for Greco was a craftsman.
With the next blow, everything went black. Permanently, because thewatchbird's duty was to protect the object of violence--_at whatevercost 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 operatingperfectly. Crimes of violence had been cut in half, and cut again. Darkalleys were no longer mouths of horror. Parks and playgrounds were notplaces to shun after dusk.
Of course, there were still robberies. Petty thievery flourished, andembezzlement, larceny, forgery and a hundred other crimes.
But that wasn't so important. You could regain lost money--never a lostlife.
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'sdesk, 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 himout."
Gelsen thought about it for a moment. Yes, the watchbirds would do that.With their new learning circuits, they had probably defined the killingof animals as murder.
"Tell the packers to mechanize their slaughtering," Gelsen said. "Inever liked that business myself."
"All right," Macintyre said. He pursed his lips, then shrugged hisshoulders and left.
Gelsen stood beside his desk, thinking. Couldn't the watchbirdsdifferentiate between a murderer and a man engaged in a legitimateprofession? No, evidently not. To them, murder was murder. Noexceptions. He frowned. That might take a little ironing out in thecircuits.
But not too much, he decided hastily. Just make them a little morediscriminating.
He sat down again and buried himself in paperwork, trying to avoid theedge of an old fear.
* * * * *
They strapped the prisoner into the chair and fitted the electrode tohis 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 laststraps. He continued to moan softly.
And then the watchbird swept in. How he had come, no one knew. Prisonsare large and strong, with many locked doors, but the watchbird wasthere--
To stop a murder.
"Get that thing out of here!" the warden shouted, and reached for theswitch. The watchbird knocked him down.
"Stop that!" a guard screamed, and grabbed for the switch himself. Hewas knocked to the floor beside the warden.
"This isn't murder, you idiot!" another guard said. He drew his gun toshoot 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 helmetstarted 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 livingorganism by a living organism. New acts to stop._
"Damn you, git going!" Farmer Ollister shouted, and raised his whipagain. The horse balked, and the wagon rattled and shook as he edgedsideways.
"You lousy hunk of pigmeal, git going!" the farmer yelled and he raisedthe whip again.
It never fell. An alert watchbird, sensing violence, had knocked him outof his seat.
A living organism? What is a living organism? The watchbirds extendedtheir 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 raisedhis rifle, and took careful aim.
He didn't have time to shoot.
* * * * *
With his free hand, Gelsen mopped perspiration from his face. "Allright," he said into the telephone. He listened to the stream ofvituperation from the other end, then placed the receiver gently in itscradle.
"What was that one?" Macintyre asked. He was unshaven, tie loose, shirtunbuttoned.
"Another fisherman," Gelsen said. "It seems the watchbirds won't lethim fish even though his family is starving. What are we going to doabout 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 itwas too late.
"Let's hear it."
"Everybody took it for granted that we wanted all murder stopped. Wefigured the watchbirds would think as we do. We ought to have qualifiedthe conditions."
"I've got an idea," Gelsen said, "that we'd have to know just why andwhat murder is, before we could qualify the conditions properly. And ifwe knew that, we wouldn't need the watc
"Oh, I don't know about that. They just have to be told that some thingswhich 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 justdon't think that killing them is murder."
The telephone rang. Gelsen glared at it and punched the intercom. "Itold 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