"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.
"I'll bet," he grinned back. "Well, it had better be, for I'm going to
take a chance on you. Sooner or later the law will have to admit the
existence of Psi. I know as well as you Stigma cases that this gene is
dominant--that there'll be more Psis every generation. We've got to
find some common ground between the two societies--some way to get
along. Give me your personal surety in this Mary Hall thing. As an
attorney, you're an officer of the Court, and I guess I have the
right to make her your responsibility. I certainly don't want it
getting out that I'm playing footsie with an organization of
Psis--this is an elective office, after all."
"After all," I agreed. "But I am glad to hear you sounding like a
politician again."
"We'll have to keep our dealings off the record," Passarelli insisted.
"But if I thought I could call on you when we get one of these sticky
Psi cases before the Courts...."
You'd recruit for the Lodge, I thought to myself. "You've got yourself
a deal, Your Honor!" I said fervently.
"Call it a _modus vivendi_," he smiled. "Now my big problem is to find
a way to eat my words, and let the 99th National Bank accept
restitution of what Mary Hall stole from them."
"No sweat," I grinned, beginning to feel better. "It's already been
done."
"Done? How could it be? I told the bank not to...."
"You told them," I conceded. "But they had no choice, Your Honor. Mary
Hall went to the 99th National Bank this morning and asked for change
of a five dollar bill."
"What!"
"And passed to the teller a hundred dollar bill. After all HC works
both ways. They've got their money back. By noon they had half a dozen
IBM technicians in there trying to figure why they were out of
balance!"