Part 8 (1/2)

”And yet you, the only attorney with the Stigma, gets tapped to be Public Defender for a Stigma case--Keys Crescas. Doesn't this strike you as more than coincidence can account for?”

”Now it does,” I admitted. ”Are you trying to tell me....”

”I'm telling you I've been suspicious of you for a long time, Pete,”

Pa.s.sarelli said. ”Perhaps you didn't know it, but I was one of the young attorneys on the Committee from the Bar a.s.sociation that checked your heredity. No, you were born in San Francisco. No, your parents didn't live in the Logan Ring--their home was in Sausalito. But--the day that neutron bomb was accidentally fired and started the rash of Psi mutations in the ring outside the fatal area centering on Logan, your parents were in a jet airliner. I found that out--and kept my mouth shut. I never told the rest of the Committee that on the 19th of April in '75 that jet was over Iowa, en route to San Francisco, and possibly close enough to Logan for its pa.s.sengers to have been affected by the neutron spray. Even then I knew the law was painting itself into a corner with its att.i.tude toward Psi. I hoped. I hoped you _did_ have the Stigma, and I've waited my time to force you into the open.”

”Stinking Normal!”

”Stop acting like a child. I said I _hoped_!”

”Hoped?”

”Yes. I meant what I said about wis.h.i.+ng there were a responsible organization of Psis we could turn to. Are you serious about this organization, this Lodge?”

”I guess I am,” I said, shaken.

”How many members does it have?”

”It's a secret organization,” I protested.

”How many members?”

”Four, including me.”

He shrugged. ”You start somewhere. Mostly with a man you can trust, and I trust you, Maragon. You can keep this girl in line?”