He sat down again and buried himself in paperwork, trying to avoid the
edge of an old fear.

* * * * *

They strapped the prisoner into the chair and fitted the electrode to
his leg.

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

They fitted the helmet over his shaved head and tightened the last
straps. He continued to moan softly.

And then the watchbird swept in. How he had come, no one knew. Prisons
are large and strong, with many locked doors, but the watchbird was
there--

To stop a murder.

"Get that thing out of here!" the warden shouted, and reached for the
switch. The watchbird knocked him down.

"Stop that!" a guard screamed, and grabbed for the switch himself. He
was knocked to the floor beside the warden.

"This isn't murder, you idiot!" another guard said. He drew his gun to
shoot down the glittering, wheeling metal bird.

Anticipating, the watchbird smashed him back against the wall.

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

The watchbird stood on guard, fluttering in mid-air--

Making sure no murder was done.

New data flashed along the watchbird network. Unmonitored, independent,
the thousands of watchbirds received and acted upon it.

_The breaking, mangling or otherwise stopping the functions of a living
organism by a living organism. New acts to stop._

"Damn you, git going!" Farmer Ollister shouted, and raised his whip
again. The horse balked, and the wagon rattled and shook as he edged
sideways.

"You lousy hunk of pigmeal, git going!" the farmer yelled and he raised
the whip again.

It never fell. An alert watchbird, sensing violence, had knocked him out
of his seat.

A living organism? What is a living organism? The watchbirds extended
their definitions as they became aware of more facts. And, of course,
this gave them more work.

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

He didn't have time to shoot.

* * * * *

With his free hand, Gelsen mopped perspiration from his face. "All
right," he said into the telephone. He listened to the stream of
vituperation from the other end, then placed the receiver gently in its
cradle.

"What was that one?" Macintyre asked. He was unshaven, tie loose, shirt
unbuttoned.

"Another fisherman," Gelsen said. "It seems t