“May sim speak, Mist Sulliman?”

Patrick glanced at him in the mirror. An older sim, touches of gray at his temples and above his large ears. Patrick had been here often enough to recognize him. His brass name tag read “Tome.”

“You know my name?”

“Read you in paper, see play golf—”

“Wait-wait-wait. Read in paper? Sims can’t read.”

“This sim read.”

That jolted Patrick. The world was still trying to get used to talking animals, but reading—sims weren’t smart enough. Or at least they weren’t supposed to be.

“How’d you learn to read?”

“Taught self, sir,” Tome said, puffing his chest. “Not good, but can do.”

Patrick stared. “This is amazing! Why haven’t you told the world?”

Tome shook his head. “Other sim name Groh learn read. Tell evyone. Mans come take way. Nev more see Groh.”

“Really?” Who could that have been but SimGen? But why recall a reading sim? Unless it was to see how they could replicate the ability.

“Please not tell.”

“Okay. Mum’s the word.” But a reading sim…he shook his head in wonder. “So what’d you want to say?”

“Mist Sulliman lawyer, yes?”

“Yes.” Patrick grinned. “This isn’t going to be a lawyer joke, is it? Don’t tell me you do stand-up too.”

“No, sir. You lawyer for union, is true?”

“Some days, yes; some days I’m for management. Where’s this going, Tome?”

“Sims been talking and…” His voice trailed off.

Impatience nibbled at Patrick. Out there on the bar the ice in his drink was melting.

“And what?”

“And…” The words rushed out: “And sims want you start sim union.”

Patrick’s jaw dropped—he was looking in the mirror when it swung down and he saw it hang open like a trapdoor. Slowly he turned.