Sims by F. Paul Wilson Page B

of territory in Boughton’s field of vision. He was the terror of unions, notorious for his loathing of the picket line.
    And not only is this a union case, Patrick thought, but one he’ll consider inherently frivolous.
    The Beacon Ridge lawyers were seeking a judgment to terminate the suit and Boughton would do just that—with relish and extreme prejudice. Probably have bailiffs waiting at the courthouse door to give him the old heave-ho as soon as he set foot inside.
    Patrick had been counting on extended hearings as an avenue to the public’s ear and pocketbook, an opportunity to generate ongoing press coverage and daily sound bites on the evening news, all of which would—he hoped—lead to contributions to the defense fund.
    At present, the sim war chest was pretty bare. He’d set up a website and a toll-free number—1-800-SIMUNION—with an answering service to accept contributions, but the phone hadn’t exactly been ringing off the hook. A little money had come in during the initial flurry of publicity when he’d filed his suit, but nothing compared to what he’d hoped for. Now it looked as if the case would be over before it began.
    Which would delight Pamela and please Alton Kraft. Ben Armstrong would be happy too. He’d called as Patrick was leaving the office, ostensibly to express his concern over the incident at the house, but soon got around to the real reason: Could this sim union matter be distracting Patrick, preventing him from devoting sufficient attention to the negotiations with the Jarman clerks’ union, set to open next week? Patrick had assured Ben it was not.
    Looked like everyone would be happy when Boughton pulled the plug. Patrick glanced at the surrounding sims. Well, not everyone.
    â€œLet’s just say that Judge Boughton will not be our friend.”
    Tome cocked his head. “Him hate sim, like men who burn?”
    â€œNo. He’s not like them. I’m sure of that. He’s just—”
    Tome turned and pointed to the television playing in a corner. “Like TV man?”
    â€œWho?”
    Tome moved away, motioning Patrick to follow. He led him on a winding course through the seats clustered before the TV set.
    â€œThis man,” Tome said, pointing to the sweaty, multi-chinned face that filled the screen.
    â€œ. . . and I say to you, good people, that those cute creatures they call ‘sims’ are our tour guides along the road to hell. The Bible tells us, ‘Thou shalt not suffer an abomination!’ And that’s exactly what we do when we allow the evildoers at SinGen to go on populating the world with these godless creatures. That’s Satan’splan, you know. Yes, it is. I’ve had a vision and I’ve seen the world overrun by these soulless caricatures of humankind. And where will that leave man, the pinnacle of Creation, fashioned by the Lord himself to have dominion over the creatures of the earth? Gone! Supplanted by these unholy hybrids. And then Satan will have won. The earth will be his, populated by
his
creations instead of the Lord’s!”
    He then launched in a plea for pledges to finance the fight against the evil spewing forth from “SinGen.”
    â€œSim nev hurt man,” Tome said, pointing at the screen. “Why man not like sim?”
    â€œOh, I’ll bet he likes you just fine,” Patrick said.
    In fact, he thought, I’ll bet the Rev
loves
sims. He should. Sims are his meal ticket.
    â€œThen why say sim bad?”
    â€œJust a way to make money.”
    And I’ll bet he’s making lots of it. Cleaning up.
    Then Reverend Eckert said that he was scheduled to be on
Ackenbury at Large
tonight. He urged all his regular viewers to tune in and watch him “spread the truth about SinGen to the unenlightened.”
    And that gave Patrick a wonderful idea.

10
    SUSSEX COUNTY, NJ
    Ellis Sinclair sat in his office in the basic research