"Perhaps you're a journalist," the oldster went on smoothly, "or at least we can pretend you are. Dr. Garnett always calls in the press when the Humberford Foundation makes a discovery, though I'm sorry to say the press stopped coming about twenty years ago. They'd quit thinking of para-psychology as newsworthy. But perhaps there's been time to breed a new race of journalists with a revived interest in esping and all the teles. In any case Garnett and the whole staff will be overjoyed at the presence of a pressman." "You mean the Humberford Foundation investigates extrasensory perception and things like that?" Phil asked. "You should know, since you've been sent here to get a story," the old man said reprovingly. "Still, reporters often haven't the foggiest idea what they've been sent out to report, so you're excused." Phil found himself grinning again. He hadn't any notion of how the old man knew about Lucky or where he stood in the general picture, except that he felt strangely certain that the old man didn't have anything to do with the organizations out to get Lucky. And the oldster's mischievous pretense that Phil was a reporter might at least get him past the imposing door and let him spy around. "So the Humberford Foundation has made a new discovery in para-psychology?" he said conversationally. The other nodded. "Dr. Garnett was most excited. So much so that he didn't have time to tell me what it was all about, except that they'd started to get some amazing results--and just this morning. So I hurried over. Good esp is apt to go poof, so it's best to get it when it's hot. I have a standing order with Garnett to call me over the moment anything starts to flash. For that matter, I have the same orders with practically every scientific laboratory in the area--though the others don't always call me. But--thank Thoth!--Garnett isn't in a field that's under the benign aegis of security and he isn't at all security minded himself. In fact, I'm not certain he's ever heard of the FBL. So you may get a real scoop, Mr...?" "Gish. Phil Gish." The oldster's thin hand pressed his with a feathery touch. "Morton Opperly." Phil stared at him for several seconds, then gasped, "The--?" The other assented with an apologetic shrug. Phil let it sink in. This was Morton Opperly who had worked on the Manhattan Project, whose name had appeared beside Einstein's on the Physicists' Covenant, who had tried unsuccessfully to get himself jailed for refusal to do research during World War III, who had become a legend. Phil had always vaguely assumed he'd died years ago. He gazed at the renowned physicist in happy awe. The question that rose effortlessly to his lips was a testimony to Opperly's ability to create an atmosphere of unlimited free discussion unknown since 1940. "Mr. Opperly, what are orthos?"