organization.

"Thanks." She smiled. "You seem to be doing all right, too. Commander
Gross tells me that you're responsible for this project, Operation
Head, as they call it. Whose head have you decided on?"

"That's the problem." Kramer lit a cigarette. "This ship is to be
equipped with a human brain instead of the Johnson system. We've
constructed special draining baths for the brain, electronic relays to
catch the impulses and magnify them, a continual feeding duct that
supplies the living cells with everything they need. But--"

"But we still haven't got the brain itself," Gross finished. They
began to walk back toward the car. "If we can get that we'll be ready
for the tests."

"Will the brain remain alive?" Dolores asked. "Is it actually going to
live as part of the ship?"

"It will be alive, but not conscious. Very little life is actually
conscious. Animals, trees, insects are quick in their responses, but
they aren't conscious. In this process of ours the individual
personality, the ego, will cease. We only need the response ability,
nothing more."

Dolores shuddered. "How terrible!"

"In time of war everything must be tried," Kramer said absently. "If
one life sacrificed will end the war it's worth it. This ship might
get through. A couple more like it and there wouldn't be any more
war."

* * * * *

They got into the car. As they drove down the road, Gross said, "Have
you thought of anyone yet?"

Kramer shook his head. "That's out of my line."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm an engineer. It's not in my department."

"But all this was your idea."

"My work ends there."

Gross was staring at him oddly. Kramer shifted uneasily.

"Then who is supposed to do it?" Gross said. "I can have my
organization prepare examinations of various kinds, to determine
fitness, that kind of thing--"

"Listen, Phil," Dolores said suddenly.

"What?"

She turned toward him. "I have an idea. Do you remember that professor
we had in college. Michael Thomas?"

Kramer nodded.

"I wonder if he's still alive." Dolores frowned. "If he is he must be
awfully old."

"Why, Dolores?" Gross asked.

"Perhaps an old person who didn't have much time left, but whose mind
was still clear and sharp--"

"Professor Thomas." Kramer rubbed his jaw. "He certainly was a wise
old duck. But could he still be alive? He must have been seventy,
then."

"We could find that out," Gross said. "I could ma