WESTCHESTER COUNTY, NY

Patrick felt no tension, no sense of suspense as Judge Boughton prepared to make his judgment. He'd been in a blue-black mood since he and Maggie Fischer, his secretary, had entered the federal courthouse in White Plains. As far as anyone was concerned, it was a done deal. Tony Hodges, the attorney for Beacon Ridge, had submitted well-researched motions that would have swayed a neutral judge; for a union hater like Boughton, they were like tossing gasoline on a bonfire. Add to that the amicus brief filed by SimGen on the club's behalf, and the opposition had a slam dunk. The company's legal howitzer, Abel Voss himself, looking like a cat about to be served a plateful of canaries, was seated two rows behind the defense table.

Maggie gave him a reassuring smile. A matronly forty-five, with curly brown hair and a hawklike nose, she sat straight-spined with her pen poised over her yellow pad. She was agreat legal secretary and he hoped her two boys stayed in college forever so she'd never be able to quit.

"It will all be over soon," she said, sounding like a dental assistant before an extraction.

That was what the firm wanted, and so that was what Maggie thought he wanted. And as much as Patrick loathed the idea of defeat, a traitorous part of him was looking forward to Judge Boughton's inevitable ruling. It didn't know why he'd got himself into this, and now it wanted out.

But losing didn't sit right. Never would.

The donation hotline already seemed to have called it quits. It had experienced a nice twenty-four-hour spike after his Ackenbury appearance, but then dropped to barely a trickle.

Then he'd had a call from his father after the Ackenbury show - a long message on his answering machine he hadn't returned yet - that could be summed up as:My son wants to unionize monkeys!?!?!?

And the cherry on the soured whipped cream of this unwieldy concoction was the precarious state of his relationship with Pamela. She hadn't found his stunt onAckenbury at Large the least bit amusing  - "You made an ass out of yourself, Patrick!" She wanted him out of the sim case too. She'd decided to sleep at her own place last night. He hoped to coax her back tonight. After all, the window was fixed, and the cops were keeping an eye on the house.

He tried to imagine how things could get much worse.

He looked up as he heard the judge clear his throat. Boughton's wrinkled hatchet face reminded Patrick of an aged Edward Everett Horton stripped of any trace of humor.

"I'll make this short and sweet, gentlemen, since we all have busy schedules."

Here it comes, Patrick thought.

"I have read the arguments, such as they are, that have been presented to the court, and although my personal beliefs lean the opposite way, I have not been sufficiently persuaded to grant Beacon Ridge a declaratory judgment."

Patrick was reaching for his briefcase, preparing to gather up his papers and slink away when the key word sunk in.

Not? Did Boughton say,not ?

He saw Maggie's stunned expression, glanced over at the defense table and saw Hodges on his feet, protesting to the judge, and Abel Voss seated behind him, pale with shock.

He did! Boughton denied the judgment!

Fighting the urge to pump his fist in the air and cheer, Patrick focused on Boughton's response to Hodges.

"No sense in getting your blood pressure up, Mr. Hodges," Boughton was saying. "I sympathize with your position, and concur on many of your points, but I believe larger issues are at stake here. At the very heart of this matter lies the question of the legal status of sims. We accord animals certain rights in this society - protection against cruelty and neglect, for instance - and if sims were mere chimpanzees, they would be covered by those laws. But sims are something more than chimps; sims did not exist when the laws protecting animals were framed; sims are not a product of normal evolution or natural selection. So how do we classify them?"

"I believe the United States Congress directly addressed that when it passed legislation - "

"I'm well aware of that legislation, Mr. Hodges. But I believe areas exist within current law that remain open to interpretation. And I believe there might even be questions as to whether congress overstepped its bounds when it passed that law. That sims are something more than animals is, I believe, beyond question; and yet because they are decidedly less than human, they cannot automatically be accorded those inalienable rights guaranteed by the Constitution. So where do they fit? What rightsdo they have?"

"If it please the court," said Abel Voss, standing now. "Sims are a commercial product, owned by SimGen Corporation. They are private property, your honor."

"As were slaves in the Old South," Boughton said, gazing askance at Voss over the top of his reading gasses. "But that changed, didn't it."

"Sims are not human, your honor, so how can they form a union?"

"If you did your homework, Mr. Voss, you'd know that the NLRB statutes - written long before the first sim was created - refer to 'persons.' The word 'human' is never mentioned. Of course sims are not human, but does that automatically mean they are not persons? An interesting question, don't you think? One that will have to be decided by the NLRB and, eventually I have no doubt, by the Supreme Court. Sit down, Mr. Voss."

Boughton looked at Hodges, then shifted his gaze to Patrick. He shook his head and smiled.

"Look at those confounded expressions. What a shame. If you'd read my rulings a little more carefully, you'd have seen this coming. You will find I am nothing if not consistent."

He rapped his gavel and began reeling off a list of dates that Patrick couldn't follow. Good thing Maggie was here. At the moment he was too stunned to hold a pen. He glanced over and saw Hodges and Voss with their heads together, undoubtedly planning an appeal.

This was going to be a protracted fight, but amazingly he'd won the first round.

Later, on the way out of the courthouse, Maggie said, "What are we going to do?"

Good question. A defeat would have solved so many problems, and yet...he felt exhilarated, downright jubilant.

"Do? As long as we're still alive, we're going to run with it, as hard and fast as we can."

"Really? But the partners - "

"I'll handle them."

He already had an angle worked out. He'd explain to Kraft that as much as he wanted out of the case, it would look bad for Pecht & Hayes if they dropped the sims on the heels of a favorable ruling.

But the truth was, this morning's victory had energized him. He wanted to see how far he could take this. Not just for the settlement - which had just moved a few steps closer to a real possibility - but for thedoing itself.

"I'm glad," Maggie said, touching his arm. "Those poor things have no one to speak for them. This is a good thing you're doing."

"Yeah," he said, warmed by the motherly approval in her eyes, "I guess it is." He looked around for a reporter - from a newspaper, radio, TV, anything - but found none. That would change. "When you get back to the office, send out a press release: The unionization of the Beacon Ridge sims is going forward...and don't forget to mention the donation hotline."

"You're not going back?"

"I'll be in after lunch. I'm going to stop off at the golf club and tell my clients the good news."

But when Patrick arrived at the barrack he found the sims already celebrating.

"You've heard about the ruling already?" he said when he found Tome.

"No," the old sim said, his eyes bright.

"Then why the party?"

"Gabba go D."

"Is she hurt? What happened?"

Tome laughed, a wheezy sound. "No, she fine. Go D: no can wash dish now. Hands too hurt. Move old sim home."

"Oh," Patrick said. "You mean she's being retired."

"Yes-yes. Retired. Retired. Go D."

D...Patrick had read somewhere that the expression to "go D" had come from the clause in the SimGen lease agreement that allowed lessees to return any sim that became defective, disabled, diseased, or decrepit for a fresh replacement.

Defective, disabled, diseased, decrepit...which one was Gabba? One look at her gnarled fingers and hunched back told the story. Arthritis was having a field day in her joints.

And then a thought struck Patrick like a blow - obviously the club hadn't thought of it yet, but what if they decided to declare all their sims "D" and turn them in? How would that impact the case?

Or what if SimGen issued a recall that just happened to include the Beacon Ridge sims, and removed them all?

As he approached Gabba where she sat on one of the sofas, Patrick made a mental note to prepare preemptive injunctions to head off any such maneuvers. Had to be on his toes. He was playing with the big boys now.

"So, Gabba," he said, dropping into the chair opposite her. "Looking forward to retirement?"

The old sim shook her head. Her brown eyes were moist. "No. Gabba want stay."

"But winter's coming," he told her. "Those old joints will be much more comfortable in Arizona."

Years ago SimGen had pulled a public relations coup by transforming a tract of Arizona desert into a retirement community for sims who were "D." The company did it to reassure the public that sims no longer useful in the workforce were not destroyed. Instead they lived out their years in warmth and comfort. Reporters from all the media were toured regularly through the community, returning with videos and photos of disabled sims lounging in sunny tranquillity.

"No friend there. Friend here."

"A nice old girl like you? You'll make friends in no time."

"No want new friend. Want here friend."

Good lord, was that a tear slipping down her cheek? Did sims cry?

Wanting to change the subject, he looked up at the other sims crowding around. Time for an announcement.

"One thing you will miss, Gabba," he said, letting his voice rise, "is all the excitement that will be going on here during the next few months because" - he shot his fist into the air - "the judge has decided to hear the case!"

The sims began capering about and yelling.

"Is true?" Tome said, grabbing his hand.

"Sure is. I just came from there."

He let out a screech. "Mist Sulliman best!"

And then the sims took up a chant: "Sulli-MAN! Sulli-MAN! Sulli-MAN!" Stamping their feet, clapping their hands, pounding on the tables until the barrack shook with the chant. "Sulli-MAN! Sulli- MAN! Sulli-MAN!"

They love me, Patrick thought. No bitching about bills or unreturned calls. They think I'm the greatest.

He realized that these were the best damn clients he'd ever had - and most likely ever would.

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