"Oh, sit down, for Heaven's sake," he said testily. "Now don't get emotional and lose all your perspective. Doesn't it occur to you that there's been just too much coincidence in this whole thing?" I think the word for it is "collapsed." I fell back into my chair. "You'll have to spell it out," I said. * * * * * Passarelli leaned forward, his face concentrated, almost angry. "You have the Stigma, you admit it?" "Of course I admit it." "You think any other attorney is a Psi?" "No. I certainly do not. It's only a miracle that I ever got through the screening and made it." "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," Passarelli said. "Perhaps you didn't know it, but I was one of the young attorneys on the Committee from the Bar Association 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 passengers to have been affected by the neutron spray. Even then I knew the law was painting itself into a corner with its attitude 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 wishing 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?" "Our discipline is formidable," I reminded him, trying a grin. It was pretty sick.