How much can anyone get away with? How big are your arms, how far is your grasp? How long will it be until somebody yells,
"Stop That Man!?"
There are feathers in the lungs of the saints today. The miracles have run out. The biopsies start here.
The dream-machinery is at work, full-tilt, but a gasket seems to be bursting somewhere in the mechanics- reality leaks out- a teaspoonful becomes a tsunami.
Let the big guys collect the data- what will they do with it, once they have it? Store it, keep it dry for a thousand years, then lose it, throw it away or watch it go up in flames.