"I know," Macintyre 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 gone to hell."
"Fast isn't the word. Instantaneously would be better." Gelsen lighted his thirty-fifth 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."
Macintyre wasn't listening. He was thinking about watchbirds. "Like the rabbit plague in Australia."
"The death rate is mounting," Gelsen said. "Famine. Floods. Can't cut down trees. Doctors can't—what was that you said about Australia?"
"The rabbits," Macintyre repeated. "Hardly any left in Australia now."
"Why? How was it done?"
"Oh, found some kind of germ that attacked only rabbits. I think it was propagated by mosquitos—"
"Work on that," Gelsen 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. Hurry it up. Together you may be able to dope out something."