Cicero gestured to the more slender Almaviva. “It was that dad’s idea.”
“You always say that when you two agree,” Van pointed out. “What were you two up to?”
Dad Cicero looked at his eldest son. “There was a lot more to what happened on Scandya, wasn’t there?”
“Yes.” There wasn’t much point in evading Dad Cicero, as all too many opposing advocates had discovered over the years. “There were hints everywhere, but I never could find out anything, except by circumstantial evidence and by what wasn’t there.” Van looked at his advocate father. “How did you know?”
“Something I heard from Al Lingoneer.”
“Is he still the director general of Sulyn TransMedia?”
“For another few years.” Cicero offered his cool and logical smile. “He’d received a message sometime back, and then a follow-up last week. From the RSF media office. They usually like to offer all sorts of publicity about RSF accomplishments. You know, the hometown girl or boy makes good. This was different. He was told that you’d been through a great deal, and that the RSF really thought that your privacy ought to be respected. Al wasn’t told not to run stories or get interviews—just a request to respect your privacy. He asked me. We agreed that it would be up to you, and then the two of us here decided for you. We thought you needed the biggest story you could get when you got here. Dad Almaviva figured out how to put it together. He even made sure there were some pros there.”
“You two.” Van shook his head.
“We did what we could for our boy,” Almaviva said. “Whether the RSF wanted it or not. Things haven’t been…well, let’s just say that New Oisin has once again begun to regard Sulyn as a trouble spot.”
“Do you think we were wrong?” asked Cicero almost simultaneously.
“Probably not. I’ve had the sense I’ve been followed ever since I left Scandya. I haven’t been able to see who it was.”
“You want to tell us what you can?” Cicero pressed.
Van nodded. “It all started when the Fergus was suddenly ordered to Scandya…” Once more, he went through the entire story, trying to not forget or skip anything. Neither father said a word, just letting him talk.
When he had finished, Dad Almaviva looked at Cicero. “You were right.”
“So were you.”
They nodded almost in unison.
“Why did you say that bit about New Oisin?” Van asked. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing yet,” Almaviva answered, “but the university just got ‘guidance’ from the Ministry of Education on the need for more accurate information on students and faculty. They want even more demographic information—in the guise of being better able to tailor programs. That usually isn’t the reason for that sort of thing.” He shrugged. “Just a feeling.”
Van nodded.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Cicero, his eyes catching Van’s.
“Work more on getting back in condition and trying to find a job as a pilot. I miss it.”
“Do you think you can?” asked Dad Almaviva.
Van shrugged. “I won’t know if I don’t try. Do either of you have any ideas?”
“Sulyn Trans-Arm…but they don’t care much for me. Not after I won that judgment against them for the fabricators.”
“What you did was right. Even the Justiciary wrote an opinion that supported you all the way.” Then Van laughed, ruefully. “What’s right doesn’t matter. It’s only what’s expedient.”
“And profitable,” added Dad Cicero. “That’s the problem today. It’s the modern ethos effect.”
“The ethos effect?” asked Van.
“I’ve heard this before,” commented Dad Almaviva, “but you haven’t, Van. It’s the subject of his latest article for the Legal Review.”
Van waited.
“It’s an outgrowth of the commodification of law. I won’t cite the legal opinions and the more recent laws passed by the Republic’s parliament, and our assembly, but, simply put, it’s what happens to ethics and morality in a civil society when economics reigns unchecked.”
“I thought you believed in the market economy.” Van held back a grin. “You were always telling me that any other system was doomed to painful failure.”
Cicero did grin, showing even white teeth against his flawless latte complexion. “I’m talking now about when economics reigns unchecked, and that means when the negative externalities of not following an ethical course are not included in the marketplace. That was the problem in the case against STA.” He shook his head. “I’m digressing, and I’ll never finish. Old time laissez-faire economic systems simply assumed that everything had a price, and that, if left alone, supply and demand would balance at an optimum price. As a general rule, it works fairly well. Or it does so long as there’s an independent moral system underlying it.”
Van was tired, and he knew he looked dazed.
“Let’s try it another way,” Cicero said. “Assume everything has a price.”
“Everything does—eventually,” Van pointed out.
“Does that mean that ethical behavior also has a price? And that, if it is scarce, it becomes harder and harder for the average citizen to purchase?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Look at history. How many societies were there where ethical behavior in trade and government were not the norm, but where bribery was necessary merely to ensure that both merchants and functionaries did their jobs? Then, in the worst cases, whether or not the job was done depended not on ethics, but on market power, on who could pay the highest price. In some societies that was obvious. In others, like the Noram Commonocracy, that aspect of the market economy was far from obvious. They had an elected government, and everyone could vote. And they had a seemingly open legal system. But that system was based on the assumption that an adversarial system would provide the truth and justice. At times, it did, but only when both advocates were of close to equal ability and when the issues were relatively simple. Most times, the court ended up deciding for the party with the most resources, unless the case
