 No pets allowed by MA Cummings. This is the LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. No pets allowed by MA Cummings. I can't tell anyone about it. In the first place they never believed me and, if they did, I'd probably be punished for having her. Because we aren't allowed to have pets of any kind. It wouldn't have happened if they hadn't sent me way out there to work. You see, there are so many things I can't do. I remember the day the chief of vocation took me before the council. I've tried him on a dozen things, he reported. People always talk about me as if I can't understand what they mean. But I'm really not that dumb. It doesn't seem to be a thing you can do, the chief went on. Actually, his intelligence seems to be no greater than that which we believe our ancestors had. Back in the 20th century. It's bad as that. That's one of the council members. You do have problems. But we must find something for him to do. Said another. We can't have an idle person in state, it's unthinkable. He's also been capable of running any of the machines. I tried to teach him. The only things he can do are already being done much better by robots. There was a long silence. Broken at last by one little old council member. It's nothing, we're making guard of the treasure. There's no need of a guard, no one will touch the treasure without permission. We haven't had a dishonest person in the state for more than 3,000 years. That's it exactly, there aren't any dishonest people so there won't be anything for him to do. But we will have solved the problem of his idleness. It might be a solution. Said the chief. At least a temporary one. I suppose we will have to find something else later on. But this will give us time to look for something. No, I became guard of the treasure with a badge. And nothing to do, unless you count watching the key. The gates were kept locked, just as they were in the old days. But a large key hung beside them. Of course, no one wanted to bother carrying it around. It was too heavy. The only ones who ever used it anyway were members of the council. As the man said, we haven't had a dishonest person in the state for thousands of years. Even I know that much. Of course, this left me with lots of time on my hands. That's how I happened to get her in the first place. Always wanted one, but pets were forbidden. Busy people didn't have time for them. So I knew I was breaking the law. But I figured that no one would ever find out. First I fixed a place for her and made a brush screen so that she couldn't be seen by anyone coming to the gates. Then, one night, I sneaked into the forest and got her. It wasn't so lonely after that. Now I had something to talk to. She was small when I got her. It would be too dangerous to go near a full-grown one, but she grew rapidly. That was because I caught small animals and brought them to her. Not having to depend on what she could catch, she grew almost twice as fast as usual. It was so sleek and pretty. Really, she was a pet to be proud of. I don't know how I could have stood the four months there alone if I hadn't had her to talk to. I don't think she really understood me, but I pretend she did and that helped. Every three or four weeks, three of the council members came to take a part of the treasure or to add to it. Always three of them. That's why I was so surprised one day to see one man coming by himself. It was Graham, the little old member, who recommended that I be given this job. I was happy to see him and we talked for a while mostly about my work and how I liked it. I told him about my pets, but I didn't because he might be angry at me for breaking the law. Finally he asked me to give him the key. I've been sent to get something from the treasure. He explained, I was unhappy to displease him, but I said, I can't let you have it. There must be three members. You know that. Of course, I know that. Something came up suddenly and he sent me alone. Now let me have it. I shook my head. That was the one order they had given me, never to give the key to anyone person who came alone. Graham became quite angry. You idiot! He shouted. Why do you think I had you put out here? It was so I could get in there and shot myself to the chest. But that would be dishonest. And there were no dishonest people in the state. For three thousand years, I know, his usually kind face, had an ugly look, I had never seen before. But I'm going to get part of that treasure and it won't do you any good to report it because no one is going to take the word of a fool like you as a respected council member. I think you are the dishonest one. Now give me that key. It's a terrible thing to disobey a council member, but if I obeyed him I would be disobeying all the others. Now that would be worse. No! I shouted. He threw himself upon me. For his size and age he was very strong, and I thought as hard as I could, but I knew I wouldn't be able to keep him away from the key for very long. And if he took the treasure I would be blamed. Council would have to think a new punishment for dishonesty. Whatever it was, it would be terrible indeed. He drew back and rushed at me. Just as he hit me, my foot caught upon a root and I fell. His rush carried him past me and he crushed through the brush green beside the path. I heard him scream twice. Then there was silence. I was bruised all over, but I managed to pull myself up and take away what was left of the screen. There was no sign of Graham, but my beautiful pet was waving her pale green feedlers as she always did, and thanks for a good meal. That's why I can't tell anyone what happened. No one would believe that Graham would be dishonest, and I can't prove it because she ate my proof. Even if I did tell them, no one is going to believe that the flycatcher plant, even a big one like mine, would actually be able to eat a man, so they think that Graham disappeared. And I'm still out here with her. She's grown so much larger now and more beautiful than ever. Well, I hope she hasn't developed a taste for human flesh. Lately, when she stretches out her feeders, things that she's trying to reach for me. End of No Pets Are Out by M.A. Cummings. The Power and the Glory by Charles W. Diffen. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Nick Number. The Power and the Glory by Charles W. Diffen. There were papers on the desk, a litter of papers scrawled over in the careless writing of indifferent students with the symbols of chemistry and long mathematical computations. The man at the desk pushed them aside to rest his lean, lined face on one thin hand. The other arm ending at the wrist was on the desk before him. Students of a great university had long since ceased to speculate about the missing hand. The result of an experiment, they knew, a hand that was a mass of lifeless cells amputated quickly that the living arm might be saved. But that was some several years ago, ancient history to those who came and went through Professor Edinger's classroom. And now Professor Edinger was weary. Weary and old, he told himself as he closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the interminable papers and the stubby wrist that had ended forever minutes of the delicate manipulations which only he could do. He reached slowly for a buzzing phone but his eyes brightened at the voice that came to him. I've got it! I've got it! The words were almost incoherent. This is Avery, Professor. Avery! You must come at once. You will share in it. I owe it all to you. You will be the first to see. I'm sending a taxi for you. Professor Edinger's tired eyes crinkled to a smile. Enthusiasm like this was rare among his youngsters. But Avery, with the face of a poet, a dreamer's eyes and the mind of a scientist, good boy Avery, a long time since he had seen him, had him in his own laboratory for two years. What's this all about? he asked. No, no, said a voice. I can't tell you. It is too big. Greater than the induction motor. Greater than the electric light. It is the greatest thing in the world. The taxi should be there now. You must come. A knock at the office door where a voice said, Professor Edinger confirmed the excited words. I'll come, said the professor, right away. He pondered as the car whirled him across the city on what this greatest thing in the world might be, and he hoped with gentle skepticism that the enthusiasm was warranted. A young man opened the car door as they stopped. His face was flushed, Edinger noted. Hair pushed back in disarray. His shirt torn open at the throat. Wait here, he told the driver and took the professor by the arm into a dilapidated building. Not much of a laboratory, he said, but we'll have better, you and I. We'll have better. The room seemed bare with its meager equipment, but it was neat, as became the best student of Professor Edinger. Rows of reagent bottles stood on the shelves, but the tables were a litter of misplaced instruments in broken glassware where trembling hands had fumbled in heedless excitement. Glad to see you again, Avery. The gentle voice of Professor Edinger had lost its tired tone. It's been two years you've been working, I judge. Now, what is this great discovery, boy? What have you found? The younger man in whose face the color came and went and whose eyes were shining from dark hollows that marked long days and sleepless nights still clung to the other's arm. It's real, he said. It's great. It means fortune and fame, and you're in on that, Professor. The old master, he said, and clapped a hand affectionately upon a thin shoulder. I owe it all to you. And now I have... I've learned... You shall see for yourself. Wait! He crossed quickly to a table. On it was an apparatus. The eyes of the older man widened as he saw it. It was intricate, a maze of tubing. There was a glass bulb above, the generator of a cathode ray, obviously, and electromagnets below and on each side. Beneath was a crude sphere of heavy lead, a retort, it might be, and from this there passed two massive insulated cables. The understanding eyes of the professor followed them, one to a terminal on a great insulating block upon the floor, the other to a similarly protected terminal of carbon some feet above it in the air. The trembling fingers of the young man made some few adjustments, then he left the instrument to take his place by an electric switch. Stand back, he warned, and closed the switch. There was a gentle hissing from within glass tubes, the faint glow of a blue-green light. And that was all, until, with a crash like the ripping crackle of lightning, a white flame arced between the terminals of the heavy cables. It hissed ceaselessly through the air, where now the tang of ozone was apparent. The carbon blocks glowed with a brilliant incandescence when the flame ceased with the motion of a hand where Avery pulled a switch. The man's voice was quiet now. You do not know yet what you have seen, but there was a tremendous potential there, an amperage I can't measure with my limited facilities. He waved a deprecating hand about the ill-furnished laboratory. But you have seen his voice trembled and failed at the forming of the words. The disintegration of the atom, said Professor Eddinger quietly, and the release of power unlimited. Did you use thorium, he inquired? The other looked at him in amazement. Then, I should have known you would understand, he said humbly. And you know what it means, again his voice rose. Power without end to do the work of the world, great vessels driven a lifetime on a mere ounce of matter, a revolution in transportation, in living, he paused. The liberation of mankind, he added, and his voice was reverent. This will do the work of the world. It will make a new heaven and a new earth. Oh, I have dreamed dreams, he exclaimed. I have seen visions, and it has been given to me, me to liberate man from the curse of atom, the sweat of his brow. I can't realize it even yet. I am not worthy. He raised his eyes slowly in the silence to gaze in wondering astonishment at the older man. There was no answering light, no exaltation on the lined face, only sadness in the tired eyes that looked at him and threw him as if focused upon something in a dim future or past. Don't you see? asked the wondering man. The freedom of men, the liberation of a race, no more poverty, no endless grinding labor. His young eyes too were looking into the future, a future of blinding light. Culture, he said, instead of heartbreaking toil, a chance to grow mentally, spiritually. It is another world, a new life. And again he asked, surely you see? I see, said the other. I see plainly. The new world, said Avery. It dazzles me. It rings like music in my ears. I see no new world, was the slow response. The young face was plainly perplexed. Don't you believe, he stammered. After you have seen, I thought you would have the vision, would help me emancipate the world, save it. His voice failed. Men have a way of crucifying their saviors, said the tired voice. The inventor was suddenly indignant. You're blind, he said harshly. It is too big for you, and I would have had you stand beside me in the great work. I shall announce it alone. There will be laboratories, enormous, and factories. My invention will be perfected, simplified, compressed. A generator will be made, thousands of horsepower to do the work of a city, free thousands of men, made so small you can hold it in one hand. The sensitive face was proudly a light, proud and a trifle arrogant. The exaltation of his coming power was strong upon him. Yes, said Professor Edinger, in one hand. And he raised his right arm that he might see where the end of a sleeve was empty. I'm sorry, said the inventor abruptly. I didn't mean—but you will excuse me now. There was so much to be done. But the thin figure of Professor Edinger had crossed to the far table to examine the apparatus there. Crude, he said beneath his breath. Crude, but efficient. In the silence a rat had appeared in the distant corner. The Professor nodded as he saw it. The animal stopped as the man's eyes came upon it, then sat squirrel-like on one of the shelves as it ate a crumb of food. Also from a hurried lunch of avaries, the Professor reflected, poor avary. Yes, there was much to be done. He spoke as much to himself as to the man who was now beside him. It enters here, he said, and peered downward toward the lead bulb. He placed a finger on the side of the metal. About here, I should think. Have you a drill and a bit of quartz? The inventor's eyes were puzzled, but the assurance of his old instructor claimed obedience. He produced a small drill and a fragment of a broken glass, and he started visibly as the one hand worked awkwardly to make a small hole in the side of the lead. But he withdrew his own restraining hand and he watched in mystified silence while the quartz was fitted to make a tiny window and the thin figure stooped to sight as if aiming the opening toward a far corner where a brown rat sat upright in earnest munching of a dry crust. The Professor drew avary with him as he retreated noiselessly from the instrument. Will you close the switch? he whispered. He waited, bewildered at this unexpected demonstration and the Professor himself reached with his one hand for the black lever. Again the ark crashed into life to hold for a brief instant until Professor Edinger opened the switch. Well, demanded avary, what's all the show? Do you think you are teaching me anything about my own instrument? There was hurt pride and jealous resentment in his voice. See, said Professor Edinger quietly, and his one thin hand pointed to a far shelf where in the shadow was a huddle of brown fur and a bit of crust. It fell as they watched, and the plop of the soft body upon the floor sounded loud in the silent room. The law of compensation, said Professor Edinger, two sides to the metal, darkness and light, good and evil, life and death. The young man was stammering. What do you mean? A death ray evolved? And what of it? he demanded. What of it? What's got to do with it? A death ray, the other agreed. You have dreamed avary, one must in order to create, but it is only a dream. You dreamed of life, a fuller life for the world, but you would have given them as you have just seen, death. The face of avary was white as wax, his eyes glared savagely from dark hollows. A rat, he protested. You have killed a rat, and you say, you say... He raised one trembling hand to his lips forming the unspeakable words. A rat, said the Professor, or a man, or a million men. We will control it. All men will have it, the best and the worst, and there is no defense. It will free the world. It will destroy it. No! And the white-faced man was shouting now. You don't understand. You can't see. The lean figure of the scientist straightened to its full height. His eyes met those of the younger man, silent now before him, but Avery knew the eyes never saw him. They were looking far off, following the wings of thought. In the stillness the man's words came harsh and commanding. Do you see the cities, he said, crumbling to ruins under the cold stars? The fields? They are rank with wild growth, torn and gullied by the waters, a desolate land where animals prowl, and the people, the people. Wandering bands, lower as the years drag on than the beasts themselves, children dying, forgotten in the forgotten lands, a people to whom the progress of our civilization is one with the ages past, for whom there is again the slow toiling road toward the light, and somewhere perhaps a conquering race, the most brutal and callous of mankind, rioting in their sense of power and dragging themselves down to oblivion. His gaze came slowly back to the room and the figure of the man still fighting for his dream. They would not, said Avery hoarsely. Use it for good. Would they, asked Professor Edinger, he spoke simply as one stating simple facts. I love my fellow men, he said, and I killed them in thousands in the last war, I and my science and my poison gas. The figure of Avery slumped suddenly upon a chair, his face was buried in his hands. And I would have been, he groaned, the greatest man in the world. You shall be greater, said the professor, though only we shall know it, you and I, you will save the world from itself. The figure, bowed and sunken in the chair, made no move, the man was heedless of the kindly hand upon his shoulder, his voice when he spoke was that of one afar off speaking out of a great loneliness. You don't understand, he said, Dully, you can't. But Professor Edinger, a cog in the wheels of a great educational machine, glanced at the watch on his wrist, again his thin shoulders were wrapped, his voice tired. My classes, he said, I must be going. In the gathering dusk Professor Edinger locked carefully the door of his office. He crossed beyond his desk and fumbled with his one hand for his keys. There was a cabinet to be opened and he stared long in the dim light at the object he withdrew. He looked approvingly at the exquisite workmanship of an instrument where a generator of the cathode ray and an intricate maze of tubing surmounted the globe. There were terminals for attaching heavy cables, it was a beautiful thing. His useless arm moved to bring an imaginary hand before the window of quartz in the lead sphere. Power, he whispered and repeated Avery's words. Power to build a city or destroy civilization and I hold it in one hand. He replaced the apparatus in the safety of its case. The saviours of mankind, he said, and his tone was harsh and bitter. But a smile, whimsical, kindly crinkled his tired eyes as he turned to his desk in its usual litter of examination papers. It is something, Avery, he whispered to that distant man, to belong in so distinguished a group. End of The Power and the Glory by Charles W. Diffen Recording by Nick Number Watchbird by Robert Sheckley This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Greg Marguerite Watchbird by Robert Sheckley Strange how often the millennium has been at hand. The idea is peace on earth sea and the way to do it is by figuring out angles. When Gelson 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 Riley. 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 too any minute. We're getting the green light, another said. Fine. Gelson 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 what 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 pangaric to Watchbird. He 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 McIntyre, his chief engineer, Mc, a new day is coming. Is the answer. And McIntyre 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. Gelson 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 knew 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 Gelson thought and waredly 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 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 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's all I think we can... Is there a question? Yes, sir, Gelson 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. Gelson 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 100% 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. Gelson, you yourself testified that the Watchbird would not be completely efficient unless such circuits were introduced. Without them, the Watchbirds could only stop an estimated 70% of murders. I know that, Gelson said, feeling extremely uncomfortable. I believe there might be a moral danger of a machine to make decisions that are rightfully man's, he declared doggedly. Oh, come now, Gelson, 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. Gelson feels. It is sad that we must put a human problem into the hands of a machine. It is sadder still that we must have a machine enforce our laws. But I ask you to remember, Mr. Gelson, 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, Gelson said unhappily. He had told himself all that a thousand years ago, something still bothered him. Perhaps he would talk it over with McIntyre. 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 Celtricks 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. That's 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, Celtricks. You'll like it there. I just can't get over it. Celtricks 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 will they be crimes? one of the policemen 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? Celtricks 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, Celtricks said, still leaning on the captain's desk, is just how do they do it? How did it start, captain? The captain studied Celtricks' face for possible irony. After all, Watchbird had been in the papers for months. But then he remembered that Celtricks, like his sidekicks, rarely bothered to turn past the sports pages. Well, the captain said trying to remember what he had on 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 brainwave 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 brainwaves turned on. Scientists. Celtricks 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 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? Celtricks asked. Nope. The captain said, I'm leaving his skeleton crew in until we see how these birds do. Ha! Celtricks 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 murderers. 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? Celtricks 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 work in that? They learn. The watch birds, I mean, just like people. You kidding me? Nope. Well, Celtricks said, I think I'll just keep old Betsy oil just in case. You can't trust these scientists. Right. Birds. Celtricks scoffed. Over the town, the watch bird soared in a 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 watch bird 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 watch bird's electronically fast reflexes picked up the edge of a sensation. A correlation center tested it, matched it with electrical and chemical data in its memory files. A relay tripped. Down the watch bird 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. Denelli was so intent he didn't see the watch bird 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, Denelli said in a thorough state of panic. All right, 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 watch birds work. He stared until the wings disappeared in the sky. Then he telephoned the police. The watch bird 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 watch birds and their information was flashed back to him. New information, methods, definitions were constantly passing between them. Now that the watch birds were rolling off the assembly line in a steady stream Gelson 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, McIntyre 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, Gelson said, when he couldn't think of anything else. We sure have, McIntyre agreed. He leaned back and inhaled deeply. He had been one of the consulting engineers on the original watch bird. That was six years back. He had been working for Gelson ever since and the men had become good friends. The thing I want to ask you was this. Gelson paused. He couldn't think of how to phrase what he wanted. Instead he asked, What do you think of the watch birds, McIntyre? Who, me? The engineer grinned nervously. He had been eating, drinking and sleeping watch bird 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, Gelson 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 pal. But as a layman, watch bird is starting to frighten me. No reason for that. I don't like the idea of learning circuits. But why not? Then McIntyre 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, Gelson admitted. No chance of it, McIntyre said. The watch birds are complex, I'll admit, but an MIT calculator is a whole lot more complex. And it hasn't got consciousness. No, but the watch birds can learn. Sure, so can all the new calculators. Do you think they'll team up with the watch birds? Gelson felt annoyed at McIntyre and even more annoyed at himself for being ridiculous. It's a fact that the watch birds can put their learning into action. No one is monitoring them. So that's the trouble, McIntyre said. I've been thinking of getting out of watch bird. Gelson hadn't realized it until that moment. Look, chief, McIntyre said. Will you take an engineer's word on this? Let's hear it. The watch birds are no more dangerous than an automobile, an IBM calculator or a thermometer. They have no more consciousness or volition than those things. The watch birds are built to respond to certain stimuli and carry out certain operations when they receive that stimuli. And the learning circuits? You have to have those, McIntyre said patiently as though explaining the whole thing to a ten-year-old. The purpose of the watch bird is to frustrate all murder attempts, right? Well, only certain murderers give out these stimuli. In order to stop all of them, the watch bird has to search out new definitions of murder and correlate them with what it already knows. I think it's inhuman, Gelson said. That's the best thing about it. The watch birds are unemotional. Their reasoning is non-anthropomorphic. You can't bribe them or drug them. You shouldn't fear them either. The intercom on Gelson's desk buzzed. He ignored it. I know all this, Gelson 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 watch bird. I still feel morally responsible because I manufacture them. The intercom buzzed again and Gelson irritably punched a button. The reports are in on the first week of watch bird operation, his secretary told him. How do they look? Wonderful, sir. Send them in in 15 minutes. Gelson switched the intercom off and turned back to McIntyre 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 McIntyre said, I think you should study watch bird 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. McIntyre 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, Gelson said. You realize how foolproof it is. I suppose so. Gelson hesitated a moment. I guess that's all. Right, the engineer said and left. Gelson thought for a few moments there couldn't be anything wrong with the watch birds. Sent in the reports, he said to Gelson, high above the lighted buildings of the city the watch birds soared. It was dark, but in the distance the watch bird 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 watch birds. New data, new ways of detecting the violence of murder. There, the edge of sensation. Two watch birds 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 watch bird knew by extrapolation that this organism was bent on murder, even though the characteristic chemical and electrical smells were absent. The watch bird, 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 cared. 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 and 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. Gelson 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. Gelson 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. McIntyre came into his office. He stood silently in front of Gelson's desk, looking annoyed and a little embarrassed. What's the matter, Mac? Gelson asked. One of the watchbirds went to work on a slaughterhouse man, knocked him out. Gelson 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, Gelson said. I never did business myself. All right, McIntyre said. He pursed his lips, then shrugged his shoulders and left. Gelson 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. Uh, uh, 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, the 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 work. 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 knew acts to stop. Damn you, get going! Farmer Alister shouted and raised his whip again. The horse balked and the wagon rattled and shook as he edged sideways. You lousy hunk of pigmeal, get 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. The deer went to shoot. With his free hand, Gelson mopped perspiration from his face. All right, he said into the telephone. He listened to the stream of vituporation from the other end, then placed the receiver gently in its cradle. What was that one? McIntyre asked. He was unshaven, tie-loose, shirt unbuttoned. Another fisherman, Gelson said, it seems the watchbirds won't let him fish because his family is starving. What are we going to do about it? He wants to know. How many hundreds is that? I don't know. I haven't opened the mail. Well, I figured out where the trouble is. McIntyre 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 for granted that we wanted all murder stopped. We would think as we do. We ought to have qualified the conditions. I've got an idea, Gelson 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 fishermen, Gelson asked? Why shouldn't they? Fish and animals are living organisms. We just don't think that killing them is murder. The telephone rang. Gelson 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, Gelson picked up the telephone. Yes. Certainly, it is a mess. Have they? I certainly will. He put down the telephone. Short and sweet, he told McIntyre. We're to shut down temporarily. That won't be so easy, McIntyre 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, McIntyre said. Fine, Gelson 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? Living organism. The watchbirds set themselves the task of protecting all living things. The fly buzzed around the room, lighting on the tabletop, 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 was 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. Gelson 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? Gelson 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 told them otherwise. Certainly they carried on most of the functions of living organisms. Then the old fears hit him. Gelson trembled and hurried out of the repair room. He wanted to find McIntyre 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. He was 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 a metal, as were the watchbirds? Didn't it run? McIntyre said, without repairs they'll run down. He shoved a pile of specification sheets out of his way. How soon? Gelson asked. Six months to a year. Say a year, barring accidents. A year, Gelson said. In the meantime everything is stopped 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. What else is a living organism? Rabbits, beetles, flies, wolves, mosquitoes, lions, crocodiles, crows, and smaller forms of life such as bacteria. I know, McIntyre 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 going to hell. Fast isn't the word. Instantaneously would be better. Gelson lighted his 35th 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. McIntyre wasn't listening. He was thinking about watchbirds. Like the rabbit plague in Australia. The death rate is mounting, Gelson said. Famine, floods, can't cut down trees, doctors can't... What was that you said about Australia? The rabbits, McIntyre repeated. Hardly any left in Australia now. Why? How was it done? No, found some kind of germ that attacked only rabbits. I think it was propagated by mosquitoes. Work on that, Gelson 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. Together you may be able to dope out something. Right, McIntyre said. He grabbed a handful of blank paper and hurried to the telephone. What did I tell you? Officer Celtrick 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 better get going. There's plenty of work for you. I know. Celtrick's drew his revolver from its holster, checked it, and put it back. Are all the boys back, Captain? All? The captain left humorlessly. Homicide has increased by fifty percent. There's more murder now than there's ever been. Sure, Celtrick 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 super-fast 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 active omission. Their interests lay only in acts of co-mission. 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. They burst and spat and died trying to harvest the crop. Grain was alive and thus worthy of protection. Potatoes were as important to the watchbirds 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 them. 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. Gelson 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 his ability when the salvation went amiss. I am 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, Gelson said. There is no time. The plan is no good. Do you think it will work? Of course it will work, but I am afraid the cure will be worse than the disease. The manufacturers looked as though they would have enjoyed throttling Gelson. 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. Gelson, the president of Monroe said, I would enjoy hearing you philosophize, but unfortunately people are being killed. They 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. Gelson took a deep breath. What he was about to say took all the courage he had. Let the watchbirds run down by themselves. Gelson suggested. There was a near riot. The government representative broke it up. Let's take our lesson, Gelson 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. Gelson, 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 Gelson. Not to do so will be treason. I'll cooperate to the best of my ability, Gelson said. Good. Those assembly lines must be rolling within the week. Gelson 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 yet. Did he know what he meant? Gelson 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. The 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 shockwave. The attacker was heavily insulated. Again it spat at the watchbird. This time a bolt smashed through its wing. The watchbird darted away, but the attacker went after it with 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, McIntyre said, coming into Gelson's office. Fine, Gelson said, not looking good. Not so fine, McIntyre sat down. Lord, I'm tired. It was seventy-two yesterday. I know. On Gelson's desk were several dozen lawsuits which he was sending to the government with a prayer. They'll pick up again though, McIntyre 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, McIntyre 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. Gelson didn't answer. But anything the watchbirds can do, the hawks can do better, McIntyre said cheerfully. The hawks have special learning circuits for hunting. They're more flexible than the watchbirds. They learn faster. Gelson 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? McIntyre said. Why? Just to be on the safe side, you better design something to hunt down the hawks. Just in case, I mean. You think? But 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, McIntyre 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? McIntyre didn't answer. I don't hold you responsible, Gelson said. It's me. It's everyone. In the air outside was a swift moving dot. That's what comes, said Gelson, 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. End of Watchbird by Robert Checkley. Do your wife call you Popkinhead? Well, maybe it's not an insult. It might be a pet name. Ah, but who's pet name? As his coach sped through the dusk-darkened Jersey Meadows, Ronald Lovegear, 14 years with Allied electronics, embraced his burden with both arms, silently cursing the engineer who was deliberately rocking the train. In his thin chest he nursed the conviction that someday there would be an intelligent robot at the throttle of the 510 to Philadelphia. He carefully moved one hand and took a notebook from his pocket. That would be a good thing to mention at the office next Monday. Again, he congratulated himself for having induced his superiors to let him take home the company's most highly developed mechanism to date. He had already forgiven himself for the little white lie that morning. Pascal, he had told them, is a little weak on square roots. That had done it. Old Hardwick would never permit an Allied computer to hit the market that was not the absolute master of square roots. If Lovegear wanted to work on Pascal on his own time, it was fine with the boss. Pascal Lovegear consulted his watch. He wondered if his wife would be on time. He had told Karen twice over the phone to bring the station wagon to meet him. But she had been so forgetful lately. It was probably the new house. Six rooms to keep up without a maid was quite a chore. His pale eyes blinked. He had a few ideas along that line too. He smiled and gave the crate Karen was at the station and she had brought the station wagon. Lovegear managed to get the crate to the stairs of the coach where he consented to the assistance of a porter. It's not really heavy, he told Karen as he and the porter waddled through the crowd actually only 57 pounds four ounces aluminum casing, you know. No, I didn't, began Karen. But it's delicate, he continued. If I should drop this, he shuttered. After the crate had been placed lengthwise in the rear of the station wagon Karen watched Ronald tuck a blanket around it. It's not very cold, Ronald. I don't want it to get bounced around, he said. Now please, Karen, do drive carefully. Not until she had driven half a block did he kiss her on the cheek. Then he glanced anxiously over his shoulder at the rear seat. Once he thought Karen hit a rut that could have been avoided. Long after Karen had retired that night she heard Ronald pounding with a brass hammer down in his den. At first she had insisted he take the crate out to his workshop. He looked at her with scientific aloofness and asked if she had the slightest conception this is worth. She hadn't and she went to bed. It was only another one of his justers which was responsible for these weird dreams. That night she dreamed Ronald brought home a giant octopus which insisted on doing the dishes for her. In the morning she woke up feeling unwanted. Downstairs Ronald had already put on the coffee. He was wearing his robe with a pinched grayness of his face told Karen he had been up half the night. He poured coffee for her smiling wanly. If I have any commitments today Karen will you please see that they are taken care of. But you were supposed to get the wallpaper for the guest room. I know I know dear but time is so short they might want Pascal back any day for the next week or two but most of my time Pascal yes the machine the computer he smiled at her ignorance. We usually name the expensive jobs you see a computer of this nature is really the heart and soul of the mechanical man we will construct. Karen didn't see but in a few minutes she strolled toward the den balancing her coffee in both hands with one elbow and the other hand and the door open there it was an innocent polished cabinet reaching up to her shoulders Ronald had removed one of the plates from its side and she peeped into the section where the heart and soul might be located she saw only an anatomical array of vacuum tubes and electrical relays she felt Ronald at her back it looks like the inside was beamed the same relay systems used in the simple jukebox are incorporated in a computer he placed one hand lovingly on the top of the cabinet but Ronald it doesn't even resemble a mechanical man that's because it doesn't have any appendages as yet you know arms and legs that's a relatively simple adjustment he winked at Karen with a great air of complicity and I have some excellent ideas along that line now run along because I'll be busy most of the day Karen ran along she spent most of the day shopping for weekend necessities on an irrational last minute impulse perhaps an unconscious surrender to the machine age she dug in the grocery deep freeze and brought out a couple of purple steaks that evening she had to call Ronald three times for dinner and when he came out of the den she noticed that he closed the door the way one does upon a small child he chatted about inconsequential matters all through dinner Karen knew that his work was going smoothly a few minutes later she was to know how smoothly it started when she began to put on her apron to do the dishes let that go for now dear Ronald said taking the apron from her he went into the den returning with a small black box covered with push buttons now observe carefully he said his voice pitched high he pushed one of the buttons waited a second with his ear cocked toward the den then pushed another Karen heard the turning of metal against metal and she slowly turned her head oh she suppressed a shriek clutching her arm so tightly he almost dropped the control box Pascal was walking under his own effort considerably taller now with the round aluminum legs Ronald had given him two metal arms also hung at the sides of the cabinet one of these rose stiffly as though for balance Karen's mouth opened as she watched the creature jerk awkwardly across the living room oh Ronald the fish bowl Ronald stabbed knowingly at several buttons Pascal pivoted toward them but not before his right arm swung out and almost contemptuously brushed the fishbowl to the floor Karen closed her eyes at the crash then she scooped up several little golden bodies and rushed for the kitchen when she returned Ronald was picking a piece of glass and dabbing at the pool of water with one bathroom towels Pascal magnificently aloof was standing in the center of the mess I'm sorry Ronald looked up it was my fault I got confused on the buttons but Karen's glances toward the rigid Pascal held no indictment she was only mystified there was something wrong here but Ronald he's so ugly without a head I thought that all robots were so cool he explained we would put heads on them for display purposes only admittedly that captures the imagination of the public that little adapter shaft at the top could be the neck of course he waved Karen aside and continued his experiments with the homemade robot Pascal moved in controlled spasms around the living room once he walked just a little too close but Ronald apparently had mastered the little black box with complete confidence Karen went into the kitchen to do the dishes not until she was elbow deep in suds did she recall her dreams about the octopus she looked over her shoulder and the curious unwanted feeling came again the following afternoon after Ronald had canceled their Sunday drive into the country Pascal the expectations by Ronald at the black box succeeded in vacuum cleaning the entire living room Ronald was ecstatic now do you understand he asked Karen a mechanical servant think of it of course mass production may be years away but everyone will have Thursday nights off said Karen but Ronald was already jabbing at buttons in the closet later Karen persuaded Ronald to take her to a movie but not until the last moment was she certain that Pascal wasn't going to drag along every afternoon of the following week Ronald Love Gear called from the laboratory in New York to ask how Pascal was getting along just fine Karen told him on Thursday afternoon but he certainly ruined some of the tomato plants in the garden he just doesn't seem to hoe in a straight line are you certain it's the green button I push it's probably one of the pressure regulators interrupted Ronald I'll check it when I get home Karen suspected by his lowered voice that Mr. Hardwick had walked into the lab that night Pascal successfully washed and dried the dishes Karen spent the rest of the evening sitting in the far corner of the living room thumbing the pages of a magazine on the following afternoon prompted perhaps by that perverse female trade that demands completion of all projects once started Karen lingered for several minutes in the vegetable department at the grocery she finally picked out a fresh round and blushing pumpkin later in her kitchen using a little tune under her breath Karen definitely maneuvered a paring knife to transform the pumpkin into a very reasonable facsimile of a man's head she placed the pumpkin over the tiny shaft between Pascal's box shaped shoulders and stepped back she smiled at the moon faced idiot grinning back at her he was complete and not bad looking but just before she touched the pumpkin for a few months and the blue button twice which sent Pascal stumbling out to the backyard to finish weeding the circle of pansies before dinner she wondered about the gash that was his mouth she distinctly remembered carving it so that the ends curved upward into a frozen and quite harmless smile but one end of the toothless grin seemed to sag a little but it was estimated Karen would not have had to worry about her husband's reaction to the new vegetable topped Pascal Ronald accepted the transformation good-naturedly thinking that a little levity once in a while was a good thing and after all said Karen later that evening I'm the one who has to spend all day in the house with she lowered her voice listening he retired to his den to finish the plans for the mass production of competent mechanical men one for every home in America he fell asleep with the thought Karen and Pascal spent the next two weeks going through pretty much the same routine he methodically jolting through the household chores she walking aimlessly from room to room smoking too many cigarettes to think of Pascal as a border strange at first he had been responsible for that unwanted feeling but now his helpfulness around the house had lightened her burden and he was so cheerful all the time after living with Ronald's preoccupied frown for seven years after luncheon one day when Pascal neglected to shut off the garden hose she caught herself scolding him as if he were was that a shadow from the curtain waving in the breeze or did she see a hurt look flit across the mouth of the pumpkin Karen put out her hand and patted Pascal's cylindrical wrist it was warm flesh warm she hurried upstairs and stood breathing heavily with her back to the door a little later she thought she heard someone someone with a heavy step moving around downstairs and I left the control box down there she thought of course it's absurd at four o'clock she went slowly down the stairs to start Ronald's dinner Pascal was standing by the refrigerator exactly where she had left him not until she had started to peel the potatoes did she notice the little bouquet of pansies in the center of the table Karen felt she needed a strong cup of tea she put the water on and placed a cup on the table not until she was going to sit down did she decide that perhaps Pascal should be in the other room she pressed the red button the one which should turn him around and the blue button which should make him walk into the living room she heard the little buzz of mechanical life as Pascal began to move but he did not go into the other room he was holding a chair for her and she sat down rather heavily a sudden rush of pleasure reddened her cheeks not since sorority days before Pascal's arms moved away she touched his wrist again softly only this time her hand lingered and his wrist was warm when did they want Pascal back at the lab she asked Ronald at dinner that evening trying to keep her voice casual Ronald smiled I think I might have him indefinitely dear I've got hardwick convinced I'm working on something revolutionary he stopped oh Corinne, you've spilled coffee all over yourself the following night Ronald was late in getting home from work it was raining outside the Newark station and the cabs deliberately evaded him he finally caught a bus which deposited him one block from his house he cut through the back alley hurrying through the rain just before he started up the stairs he glanced through the lighted kitchen window he stopped gripping the railing for support in the living room were Pascal and Corinne Pascal was reclining leisurely in the fireside chair Corinne was standing in front of him it was the expression on her face which stopped Ronald's love gear the look was a compound of restraint and compulsion the reflection of some deep struggle in Corinne's soul then she suddenly leaned forward and pressed her lips to Pascal's full, fleshy pumpkin mouth slowly, one of Pascal's aluminum arms moved up and encircled her waist Mr. Love Gear stepped back into the rain he stood there for several minutes the rain curled around the brim of his hat dropped to his face he rolled down his cheeks with the slow agitation of tears when finally he walked around to the front and stamped heavily up the stairs Corinne greeted him with a flush in her cheeks Ronald told her that he didn't feel quite up to dinner just coffee, please when it was ready he sipped slowly watching Corinne's figure as she moved around the room she avoided looking at the aluminum figure in the chair Ronald put his coffee down walked over to Pascal and gripping him behind the shoulders dragged him into the den Corinne stood looking at the closed door and listened to the furious pounding ten minutes later Ronald came out and went straight to the phone yes, immediately he told the man at the freight office while he sat there waiting Corinne walked upstairs Ronald did not offer to help the freightman he dragged the box outside when they had gone he went into the den and came back with the pumpkin he opened the back door and hurled it out into the rain it cleared the back fence and rolled down the alley stopping in a small puddle in the cinders after a while the water level reached the mouth and there was a soft choking sound the boy who found it the next morning looked at the mouth and wondered why anyone would carve such a sad Jack O'Lantern End of Week on Square Roots by Russell Burton Year of the Big Thaw by Marion Zimmer Bradley this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Eric Jacobs Year of the Big Thaw by Marion Zimmer Bradley Year of the Big Thaw by Marion Zimmer Bradley Year of the Big Thaw by Marion Zimmer Bradley Year of the Big Thaw by Marion Zimmer Bradley Year of the Big Thaw by Marion brainstorming Now look at Mr. оl wealth I can see a more roundabout I couldn't see no good in his being cabin boy on some Tarnation Navy ship, and I told him so. If he'd wanted to sail out on a whaling ship, I'd allow his app to let him go. But Marthy, that's a boy's ma, took on so that Matt stayed home. Yes, he's a good boy and a good son. Will miss him a powerful lot if he gets his scholarship thing, but I'll allow it'll be good for the boy to get some learning besides what he gets in the school here. It's right kind of you, Reverend, to look over this application thing for me. Well, if he's your own son, Mr. Emmett, why did you write Birthplace Unknown on the line here? Reverend Done, I'm glad you asked me that question. I've been turning it over in my mind and I've just about come to the conclusion it wouldn't be no-how fair to hold it back. I didn't lie when I said Matt was my son because he'd been a good son to me and Marthy. But I'm not his pa, and Marthy ain't his ma. So could be I stretched the truth just to might. Reverend Done, it's a torrental, funny yarn, but I'll walk into the meat and house and swear to it on the stack of bibles as thick as cord would. You know I've been farming the old corning place the past seven years? It's good, flat, Connecticut, bottom land, but it ain't like our land up in Hampshire where I was born and raised. Mike Powell called it the Hampshire Grants and all that was Kingsland. When his pa came in there and started farming at the foot of Scuddock Mountain. That's engine for fires, folks say, because the engines used to build fires up there in the spring for some of their heathen-do-dads. Anyway, up there in the mountains we see a torrental power of quarry things. He called to mind the year we had the big thaw about twelve years before the war. You mind the blizzard of that year? I heard tellas spread down to most of York, and at Fort Orange, the place they call Albany now, huts and pros ride over, so they say, but those York folks do a side of exaggerating, I'm told. Anyhow, when the whites went out there was an almighty good thaw all over, and when the snow run off Scuddock Mountain there was a good-sized hunk of farmland in our valley wind under water. The creek on my farm flowed over the bank, and there was a foot of water in the cowshed, and down in the swimming hole in the back pasture wasn't nothing but a big gully fifty-foot and more across, rushing through pasture deep as a lake, and brown as an old cow. You know, fresh at floods, full up of sticks and stones and old dead trees, and somebody's old shed floating down in the middle, and I swear to goodness, part of some of that stream was run along so fast I saw four-inch cobblestones floating and bumping along. I tied the cow in a calf, and Kate, she was our white mare. She mined she went lame last year, and I had to shoot her, but she was just a young mare then, and skittish as all get out, but she was good little mare. Anyhow, I tied the whole kit and caboodle of them in the woodshed up behind the house, where they'd be dry, and I started to get to milk-pale. Right then I heard the gosh-offelous screech I ever heard in my life. Sounded like thunder, and I pressured it in a forest fire all at once. I dropped the milk-pale as I heard Martha screaming inside the house, and I ran outside. She was there already there in the yard. She points up at the sky and yelled, Look up, yonder. We started looking up in the sky over Shattuck Mountain, where there was a great big shoot. Now, I don't know if I'd call its name, but it was like a trail of fire in the sky, and it was making the dangest racket you ever heard, Reverend. It looked kind of like one of them 4th of July rockets, but it was as big as a house. Martha was screaming, and she grabbed me and hollered, His. His. What? And sunk it, is it? I thought that, Reverend. She don't know what she's saying. She's so scared. I was plum-scared myself, and I heard Liza, that's our youngin', Liza Grace, that got married to the Taylor Boy. I heard her crying on the stoop, and she came flying out with her penny-all-black and hollered to Martha that the pea soup was burnin'. Martha led out another screech and ran for the house. That's a woman for ya. So I quieted Liza down some, and then went and told Martha it weren't no more than one of them shooting stars, and I went out and did the milken. But you know, while we were sittin' down the supper, and there came the most awful grindin' screech and poundin' crash I ever heard. Sounded as if we were in the back pasture, but the house shook as if somethin' had hit it. Martha jumped a mile, and I never saw such a look on her face. His. What was that? She asked. Shootin' now, nothin' but the fresh it, I told her. But she kept on about it. You reckon that shootin' star-fellin' our back pasture has? Well, now, I don't allow it to did nothin' like that, I told her. But she was jittery as an old hen, and it weren't like her know-how. She said it sounded like trouble, and I finally quieted her down by sayin' I had saddled Kate up and go have a look. I kinda thought, though I didn't tell Martha that somebody's house had floated away in the fresh it and run aground in our back pasture. So I saddled up Kate and told Martha to get some hot room ready in case there was some poor soul run aground back there. And I rode Kate back to the back pasture. It was mostly uphill because the top of the pasture is on high ground, and it sloped down to the creek on the other side of the rise. While I reached the top of the hill and looked down, the creek was a regular river now, crushing along like Niagara. On the other side of it was a stand of timber, then the slope of the Shattuck Mountain. And I saw right away the long streak where all the timber had been cut, in a big scoop with roots standing up in the air in a big slide of rocks down to the water. It was still raining, and the ground was sloshy and squanchy underfoot. Kate scrunched her hooves and got real bulky, not lacking it a bit. We got to the top of the pasture. She started to whine and wicker and stamp, and no matter how loud I wove, she kept stamping, and I was plumb scared she pitched me off in the mud. And I started to smell a funny smell, like something I'm burning. Don't ask me how anything could burn in all that water, because I don't know. When we came up on the rise, I saw the contraption. Reverend, it was the most turnal, crazy contraption I ever saw in my life. It was bigger than my couch head, and it was long and thin and shiny as Marty's old pewter picture, or a mile broad from England. It had a pair of red rods sticking out behind, and a crazy globe fitted up where the top ought to be. It was stuck in the mud, turned halfway over on the little slide of roots and rocks. And I could see what happened, all right. The thing must have been. Now, Reverend, you can say what you like, but that thing must have flew a cross addict and landed on the slope in the trees, then turned over and slid down the hill. That must have been the crash we heard. The rods weren't just red. They were red hot. I could hear them sizzles the rain hit them. In the middle of the infernal contraption, there was a door, and it hung all to other as if every hinge on it had been wrenched halfway off. As I pushed old Cade alongside, I heard somebody hollering alongside the contraption. I didn't know how to get the words, but it must have been for help, because I looked down and there was a man plopping along in the water. He was a big fella, and he wasn't swimming, just thrashing and hollering, so I pulled off my coat and boots and hold in after him. The scream was running fast, but he was near the edge, and I managed to catch on an old tree root and hang on, keeping his head out of the water till I got my feet aground. Then I hauled him on the bank. Above me Cade was wining and raising dead, and I shouted at her as I bent over the man. Well, already he sure did give me a surprise, weren't no proper man as I'd ever seen before. He was wearing some kind of red clothes, real shiny and sort of stretchy and not wet from the water like you'd expect, but dry, and it felt like that silk and India rubber stuff mixed together. And it was such a bright red that at first I didn't see the blood on it. Well, when I did, I knew he were a goner. His chest were all stove in, smashed to pieces. One of the old tree roots must have jabbed him as the current flung him down. I thought he were dead already, but then he opened his eyes. Fun and color they were, greeny yellow, and I swear wherever when he opened them eyes I felt he was reading my mind. I thought maybe he might be one of them circus fellers in their flying contraptions that hung at the bottom of a balloon. He spoke to me in English kind of choky and stiff, not like Joe the Portuguese sailor or like those tarnal dumb Frenchies up Canada way, but well, funny. He said, my baby in chip, get baby. He tried to say more, but his eyes went shut and he moaned hard. I helped God Almighty. Excuse me, Reverend, but it was, I was so blame upset. It's just what I did say. God Almighty, man. You mean there's a baby up there in that ding foil contraption? He just moaned. So after spreading my coat around the man a little bit, I just plunged in that there river again. Reverend I heard tell once about some tomfool idiot going up over Niagara in a barrel and I tell you it was like that when I tried crossing that pressure to reach the contraption. I went under and down and was whacked by floating sticks and whirled long in the pressure, but somehow I don't know how, except by the pure grace of God, I got across that raging torrent and clumped up to where the crazy ding foil machine was sitting. Ship eat called it, but that weren't no ship, Reverend. It was some flying dragon kind of thing and it was real scary looking thing, but I clumped up to the door and hauled myself inside it and sure enough, there was other people in the cabin, only they was all dead. There was a lady and a man and some kind of animal looking like a bobcat, only smaller than the funny shaped rooster chrome thing on his head. They all, even the cat thing, was wearing those shiny, stretchy clothes, and it was all so battered and smashed at any and bothered to hunt for their heartbeats. I could see by a look they was dead as a door nail. Then I heard a funny little whimper like a kitten and in a funny rubber cushiony thing, there's this little boy, baby boy, looked about six months old. He was howling lusting up, and when I lifted him up out of the cradle thing, I saw why. That boy baby, he was wet and his little arm was twisted under him. That their flying contraption must have smashed down awful hard, but that rubber hammock was so soft and cushiony all it did to him was jolting good. I looked around, I couldn't find anything to wrap him in, as the baby didn't have a stitch on him except a sort of spongy paper diver wet his sin, so I finally lifted up the lady who had a long cape thing around her, and I took the cape off for real gentle. I knew she was dead, and she wouldn't be needing it, and that baby boy would catch his death if I took him out bare naked like that. She was probably the boy's mom, the right pretty woman. She was smashed up something shameful. So anyhow, to make a long story short, I got that baby boy back across that Niagara Falls somehow, and laid him down by his paw. The man opened his eyes kind, and said in a jokey voice, Take care, baby. I told him I would, and said I'd try to get him up to the house where Martha could doctor him. The man told me not to bother. I'm dying, he says. We come from planet, star up there, crash here. His voice trailed off in the language I couldn't understand, and he looked like he was praying. I bent over him and held his head on my knees real easy, and I said, Don't worry, mister. I'll take care of your little fella until your folk come after him. Before God, I will. So the man closed his eyes, and I said, Our father, who art in heaven. And when I got through, he was dead. I got him up on cape, but he was cruel, heavy, for all he was such a tall, skinny fella. Then I wrapped their baby up in the cape thing and took him home and gave him to Martha. And the next day, I buried the fellow in the south met her. And the next meeting day, we had the baby baptized Matthew, Daniel, Emmett, and brung him up just like our own kids. That's all. All, mister Emmett, didn't you ever find out where that ship really came from? Why, Reverend, he said it came from a star. Dying men don't lie, you know that. I asked the teacher about them planets he mentioned, and she said that on one of the planets, can't really remember the name, Mark or Mark or something like that. She said some big scientists fell over the telescope saw canals on the planet, and they'd have to be pretty near, big as this here area canal to see him so far off. And if they could build canals on that planet, I don't know why they couldn't build a flying machine. I went back the next day when the water was down a little to see if I couldn't get the rest of them folks and bury them. But the flying machine had broke up and washed down the creek. Marty still got the cape thing. She's a powerful saving woman. We never did tell Matt, though. Might make him feel funny to think he didn't really belong to us. But, but, mister Emmett, didn't anybody ask questions about the baby? Where you got it? Well, now I'll allow as they was curious because Marty hadn't been in the family way and they knew it. But up here folks mind their own business pretty well, and I just let them wonder. I told Liza Grace, I'd found her a new little brother in the back pasture and of course it was the truth. When Liza Grace grew up, she thought it was just one of them old yarns, old folks tell the little shavers. And has Matthew ever shown any difference from the other children that he could see? Well, Reverend, not so you can notice it. He's powerful, smart, but his real power and mom must have been right smart, too, to build a flying contraption that could come so far. Of course, when he got to be about 12 years old, he started reading folks' minds, which didn't seem exactly right. He'd tell Marty what I was thinking and things like that. He was just at the pesky age. Liza Grace and Minnie were both a courting man and he'd drive their boyfriends crazy telling them what Liza Grace and Minnie were thinking and tease the gals by telling them what the boys were thinking about. There weren't no harm in the boy, though, so it was all teasing, but it just weren't decent somehow. So I took him out behind the woodshed and he gave his britches a good dustin just to remind him that that kind of thing weren't polite and know-how. And, Reverend Don, he ain't never done it since. End of Year of the Big Thaw by Marion Zimmer Bradley, recording by Eric Jacobs.