"That--" said Donahue with great earnestness, "--is like sending a poor damned soul to Kismetic paradise as a eunuch. You psychologists are all complete sadists," he said lifting his drink. "I suppose you've put something in my drink?" "Absolutely nothing," Roy Pierce assured him, grinning. "Funny thing was, when I got back to Earth that time, _I_ kept feeling cross-eyed when I looked into a mirror. And my friends said I was not myself. If I was not myself, I knew I must still be Bryce Carter. Things had seemed different, and they had warned me that the technique sometimes backfired when I was learning. So I called my uncle Mordand on the televiewer--he's the head of the family, and he lives in an estate in the jungle--and he--" Donahue was fascinated again. There was a different approach for each case, Pierce had found. It was not ordinarily ethical to discuss any case history, but he knew with great surety that Donahue could be trusted not to repeat what he was being told. The only reason there wasn't something extra in his current drink was because there had been something in the last drink. This was case five. * * * * * End of Project Gutenberg's The Man Who Staked the Stars, by Charles Dye