Very well, then. If such a brain had been built, and if it was necessary to take it off Earth, and if the data in it was so precious that the brain could not be shut off or dismantled, then the thing to do would be to build a ship around it.
Oh yeah?
Mike the Angel stared at the microcryotron stack and asked:
“Now, tell me, pal, just why would anyone want a brain that big? And what is so blasted important about it?”
The stack said not a word.
The phone chimed. Mike the Angel thumbed the switch, and his secretary’s face appeared on the screen. “Minister Wallingford is on the line, Mr. Gabriel.”
“Put him on,” said Mike the Angel.
Basil Wallingford’s ruddy face came on. “I see you’re still alive,” he said. “What in the bloody blazes happened last night?”
Mike sighed and told him. “In other words,” he ended up, “just the usual sort of JD stuff we have to put up with these days. Nothing new, and nothing to worry about.”
“You almost got killed,” Wallingford pointed out.