By ROBERT SHECKLEY
Strange how often the Millennium has been at
hand. The idea is peace on Earth, see, and
the way to do it is by figuring out angles.
When Gelsen 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 wryly. 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 due any minute."
"We're getting the green light," another said.
"Fine." Gelsen 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 with 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 panegyric to watchbird.
Gelsen 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
Macintyre, his chief engineer, "Mac, a new day is coming. Watchbird is
the Answer." And Macintyre 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. Gelsen
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 new 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, Gelsen thought, and
worriedly 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 interests. 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."
