ly in the nick of time.

The old man writhed on the floor a minute and then was silent. He had
been given only a mild shock, but it had been enough for his fluttery,
cranky heart.

His victim had been saved, though, and this was the important thing.
Save the victim and give the aggressor his just desserts.

* * * * *

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

The assistant control engineer gestured. In a corner of the repair room
lay the senior control engineer. He was just regaining consciousness.

"He tried to turn one of them off," the assistant engineer said. Both
his hands were knotted together. He was making a visible effort not to
shake.

"That's ridiculous. They haven't got any sense of self-preservation."

"Then turn them off yourself. Besides, I don't think any more are going
to come."

What could have happened? Gelsen began to piece it together. The
watchbirds still hadn't decided on the limits of a living organism. When
some of them were turned off in the Monroe plant, the rest must have
correlated the data.

So they had been forced to assume that they were living organisms, as
well.

No one had ever told them otherwise. Certainly they carried on most of
the functions of living organisms.

Then the old fears hit him. Gelsen trembled and hurried out of the
repair room. He wanted to find Macintyre in a hurry.

* * * * *

The nurse handed the surgeon the sponge.

"Scalpel."

She placed it in his hand. He started to make the first incision. And
then he was aware of a disturbance.

"Who let that thing in?"

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

"Get it out of here."

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

The surgeon proceeded with the incision--as long as he was able.

The watchbird drove him away and stood guard.

"Telephone the watchbird company!" the surgeon ordered. "Get them to
turn the thing off."

The watchbird was preventing violence to a living organism.

The surgeon stood by helplessly while his patient died.

* * * * *

Fluttering high above the network of highways, the watchbird watched and
waited. It had been constantly working for weeks now, without rest or
repair. Rest and repair were impossible, because the watchbird couldn't
allow itself--a living organism--to be murdered. And