If anyone but Johnny Mayhem had asked that question, Kovandaswamy would not have known what he was talking about, or would have thought him insane, or both. But Johnny Mayhem was, of course, the legendary Man Without a Body. How many corporeal shells had he inhabited in the past half dozen years? He shrugged, not remembering. He couldn't remain in one body more than a month: it would mean the final death of his _elan_, his bodiless sentience. So far he had avoided that death. The Galactic League would help him if it could. Every world which had a human population and a Galactic League post, however small, must have a body in cold storage, waiting for Johnny Mayhem if his services were required. But no one knew exactly under what circumstances the Galactic League Council, operating from the hub of the Galaxy, might summon Mayhem. And only a very few people, including those at the Hub and the Galactic League Firstmen on civilized worlds and Observers on primitive worlds, knew the precise mechanism of Mayhem's coming. To others it was a weird mystery. Johnny Mayhem, bodiless sentience. Mayhem--Johnny Marlow then--who had been chased from Earth, a pariah and a criminal, almost seven years ago, who had been mortally wounded on a wild planet deep within the Saggitarian Swarm, whose life had been saved--after a fashion--by the white magic of the planet. Mayhem, doomed now to possible immortality as a bodiless sentience, an _elan_, which could occupy and activate a fresh corpse or one which had been frozen properly ... an _elan_ doomed to wander eternally because it could not remain in one body for more than a month without body and _elan_ perishing. Mayhem, who had dedicated his strange, lonely life to the service of the Galactic League because a normal life and normal social relations were not possible for him.... "Then you'll do it?" Kovandaswamy asked on Ophiuchus IX. "Even though you realize we can give you no official help not only because the Galactic League approves of your work unofficially but can't sanction it officially, but because an outworlder can't set his foot outside this building for long or off the spacefield without risking death...." "By suicide?" "Yes. I'm practically a prisoner in Galactic League Headquarters, as is my staff. You see--" "What about the body?" Kovandaswamy looked at him nervously. "A native, Mayhem. A native won't be molested, you see." "That figures. What kind of native?" "In top shape, sir. Healthy, young, in the prime of life you might say." "Then what's bothering you?" "Nothing. Nothing, sir." "Your technicians are ready?" "Yes, sir. And vowed to secrecy." Mayhem found a tiny capsule in the pocket of his Sirian jumper, and popped it in his mouth. "What--what's that?" Kovandaswamy asked. Mayhem swallowed. "Curare," he said. "Curare! A poison!" "Paralysis," said Mayhem quickly. "Muscular paralysis. You die because you stop breathing. Painless ... and...." "But--"