“No, sir,” Tome said, waving his arms around at his fellow sims. “This family.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Sims grow up large group, no mommy, no daddy, just child sims. Get know others, make friend, then take away. Come here, make friend, then take away. No want take away. Want stay together. Want family.”
“I see,” Patrick said slowly. “Family…interesting concept.”
He looked around at the intent faces of the creatures encircling him. The faces were definitely simian, but far less so than any monkey in the wild. They’d been retooled from chimpanzees, a creature genetically damn near human. But pure chimps had mothers and fathers and a family structure. Sims were even closer to humans yet they were raised like cattle and leased out as soon as they were fit for work. And then they were traded in or swapped around like used cars.
Nowhere along the line did they have any semblance of a family.
Patrick felt a twinge of discomfort, almost like sympathy. He brushed it away. Never get emotionally involved. Stick to the facts.
But hey, if I feel something…
This was good. Oh, this was very good. He could use this. He could embellish this a little and tug like mad on all sorts of heartstrings.
He began scratching notes on his pad: Poor lost sims, raised without parents or siblings, cast out into the cold cruel world to work long hours for no pay. They weren’t asking for wages, not for anything material, they just wanted a little personal continuity in their lives…the right to keep certain close-knit groups of sims from being broken up…allowed to live together and work together…as a makeshift family of sorts…
Ilove it!
Maybe he could even start up a nationwide Sim Legal Aid Fund.
This was looking better and better.
“Okay. That kind of family just might fly. So that’s what we’ll shoot for. Let’s do it.”
Tome’s eyes lit. “Is yes? Mist Sulliman do?”
“That’s what I said.”
Tome pumped his long arms in the air and the rest of the sims began screeching and jumping about, capering in circles, leaping in the air. Only Gabba remained seated, but she was clapping and grinning.
Patrick had to smile. What a rambunctious crew. Something innocent and almost childlike about them, like early humans might have been before hundreds of generations of social conditioning turned them into the uptight species they were today.
Tome raised his fist and screeched, “La Causa!”
The rest of the sims took up the cry, turning it into a chant.
Patrick raised his hands to calm them.
“Where did you pick up ‘La Causa’?” he said when he could hear himself.
“From Jorge,” Tome said.
“Who’s Jorge?”
“He cook kitchen. Ask him union. He give smile and do fist and say, ‘La Causa.’”
Again exuberant jumping and running and chanting.
When finally they calmed down, Patrick said, “The best way to approach this may be to demand a union and then settle for all of you staying together as a group.”
“Settle?” Tome said, frowning. “That mean no union?”
Don’t start going Cesar Chavez on me, Tome.
“A union could be a long shot, I’m afraid,” Patrick said. Like to the moon and beyond. “I’m telling you this up front so you won’t be disappointed if we lose on that one.” Never raise a client’s expectations. Always low-ball the outcome. “But I think we could possibly walk away from this deal with a family and some cash.”
“Cash?”
“Money. It’s called a settlement. I figure we ought to be able to get the club to concede on the family issue plus squeeze them for a nice piece of change in return for our shutting up and leaving them alone. And then we’ll split the money fifty-fifty.”
“Mist Sulliman get half?” Tome said.
Aw, we’re not going to haggle are we?
“Sure. When you consider how much time I’ll be devoting to this, and strictly on a contingency basis, you—”
“No,” Tome said.
“No?”
“No half for Mist Sulliman. Take all.”
Patrick blinked, too shocked to speak. Never in his life had he expected to hear those words pass a client’s lips.
“All? But what about you guys?”
“Money not want.”
“Of course you do. You could use it to fix up this place, buy one of those big picture-frame TVs, better furniture…”
…start tipping the golfers…
Tome was shaking his head. “All money for you.”
“And all you want is this family thing?”
Tome nodded. “Family…any one thing other.”
Patrick poised his pen over the pad. “Shoot.”
Tome’s big brown eyes bored into him. “Respect, Mist Sulliman. Just little respect.”
Patrick felt his mouth go dry. Talk about a tall order. But he recovered and wrote it down.