Sims by F. Paul Wilson Page A

two of them had hit it off from the first brief Patrick had prepared for one of Kraft’s cases. He’d said it was the best he’d seen in years, and had taken Patrick under his wing.
    â€œGood. I want to talk to you about this sim union thing. I’m not sure it’s consistent with the image of the firm.”
    â€œIt’s pro bono,” Patrick said. “Aren’t we always being encouraged to take some pro bono cases? This is one of mine.”
    â€œThat’s all fine and good, but I don’t like seeing the firm’s name mentioned in connection with fire bombings.”
    Patrick stiffened. He was well aware that when Alton Kraft said “I” he was speaking for the senior partners.
    â€œAlton, believe me,” Patrick said, smiling in the hope of lightening things up, “I like it even less when it’s my own name mentioned in connection with a fire bombing.”
    Kraft grinned. “I can imagine. But Patrick . . .” The grin faded. “You’re an excellent attorney and you’ve got a big future with this firm. I admire your tenacity—when you’re handed a problem, you stick with it until it’s solved.”
    Tenacity, Patrick thought. Better than “stubborn as a mule,” which was how his mother used to characterize him.
    â€œBut that same tenacity can
cause
problems too. When a situation looks like trouble for you or the firm, you have to know when to back away and cut your losses.”
    â€œI hear you, Alton. Loud and clear. But I’m sort of stuck with the sims for now.”
    â€œNot for long, fortunately.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œOh, I guess you haven’t had time to sift through your messages yet. Judge Boughton has been assigned to decide on the declaratory judgment.”
    â€œHenry Boughton?”
    â€œThe one and only.”
    Patrick felt as if he’d been punched. Shit. What else could go wrong today?
    â€œI think I’d better go talk to my clients.”

9
    Tome answered Patrick’s knock at the barrack door. His large dark eyes widened at the sight of him. His grin was pure joy.
    â€œMist Sulliman! You all right? You not hurt?”
    Does
everybody
know? “I’m fine, Tome. I just—”
    â€œLook!” Tome cried, turning to the nearly empty room where half a dozen off-duty sims were either clearing the breakfast plates from the long mess tables or lounging in front of the TV. “He comes. He safe!”
    The other sims jumped up and began screeching. They rushed forward and crowded around, some reaching out to touch him, as if to reassure themselves that he was real. Patrick was touched in another way—they must have been genuinely worried about him.
    â€œWe see TV,” Tome said. “See burn. Say men who hate sim hate you.”
    â€œWell, we don’t know that for sure.”
    Tome cocked his head and his dark eyes stared at Patrick from beneath his prominent brow. “Why men hate sim?”
    â€œJust
some
men, Tome—a very small number. Dumb men. Let’s not worry about them. We’ve got a bigger worry.”
    â€œMore fire?”
    â€œNo. A judge, a very tough judge, has been assigned to our case.”
    â€œNo problem for Mist Sulliman. Him best lawyer world.”
    Patrick had to grin at that. “You keep thinking those good thoughts, Tome. But this is very bad news for our case.”
    â€œNo problem for Mist Sulliman.”
    â€œYes, problem. Big problem.”
    How to explain this to a nonhuman? Patrick wasn’t all that familiar with Judge Boughton’s positions, opinions, and decisions outside the labor relations arena. He did know he was a crotchety old fart who thought too much court time was being wasted on trivialities at the expense of more serious legal matters; woe to the attorney who showed up in Boughton’s court with a case the judge considered frivolous—which covered a lot