The ethos effect, p.7
The Ethos Effect, page 7
For some, it does matter, as it did for the ancient author who claimed that without a deity, every action is permitted. In practice, with or without a deity, every action is permitted unless human social structures preclude it. Yet, on what principles are those social structures based? Ethics and morality?
Such questioning can quickly run in circles, especially since most individuals wish to think well of themselves, and it is difficult to think well of oneself if one defines one’s own activities as immoral or unethical. For example, genocide can be rationalized as an ethical means to racial purity, or as a means for societal survival, and both purity and survival can easily be rationalized, and have been throughout history, as ethical.
Are values and behaviors that perpetuate a given society ethical per se? Are values handed down by prophets and religious figures as the word of a deity necessarily more ethical than those developed by ethicists and scholars?
Theocracies and other societies using religious motives, or pretexts, have undertaken genocide, torture, and war. Ideologues without the backing of formal religious doctrine or established theocratic organizations have done the same.
The obvious conclusion is that “moral” values must be ethical in and of themselves, and not through religious or secular authority or rationalized logic. This leads to the critical questions. How can one define what is ethical without resorting to authority, religious doctrine, or societal expediency? And whom will any society trust to make such a judgment, particularly one not based on authority, doctrine, or expediency?
Values, Ethics, and Society Exton Land New Oisin, Tara 1117 S.E.
Chapter 12
By twoday of his second week in Valborg, Van had learned as much as he could, without more context, from the records left by Commander Cruachan and from Doctors Hannigan and Gregory. The RSF Security report on Cruachan’s death was both detailed and dry, and concluded that the commander had drowned after being struck from behind by the boom of his catamaran and that there had been no breach of embassy security. Emily Clifton had confirmed that media patterns of other embassies and local media had not varied after the commander’s death.
Outside of a few inquiries from Hannigan and the ambassador and one briefing paper that the ambassador had requested on Keltyr military forces, Van had been left largely to his own devices. He had found the small exercise facility, and resumed his fitness program, something he hated almost as much as being reminded of the Regneri.
Dr. Gregory’s reaction to the Regneri tragedy still bothered Van, almost as much as his own nightmares. Cordelia Gregory was an intelligent woman, and yet her entire focus had been on her sister. There had been little real understanding or compassion for the hundreds of others killed by the renegades—or for the additional deaths that would have followed if the Vetachi had escaped. Her reaction had also convinced Van that there would be little he could ever say in that regard, and that further discussions on the subject would only be fruitless.
On the strictly professional front, Van hadn’t wanted to take on the Keltyr or the Revenant military attachés immediately, and he especially hadn’t wanted to meet the Argenti attaché until he knew more about the local Scandyan situation. He was also surprised to find that the Eco-Tech Coalition did not have a full embassy, but only a liaison and consulate office.
As he’d worked through the files, Van had studied Cruachan’s reports in greater detail. He could sense he was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what. So he kept searching and discovered that the commander had often met with a Commodore Petrov of the Scandyan System Defense Force. There were no notes on the substance of the meetings. Van had decided to meet with Petrov.
Getting an appointment had been easy enough, and nine hundred on fourday found him in an embassy groundcar, headed northward toward the headquarters complex of the Scandyan SDF. Clouds loomed over the hills to the west, hinting at a late afternoon rain, and the air smelled faintly of dust and a scent somewhere between a sweet weedgrass and swamp roses.
Van’s driver was a slender Scandyan named Stefan.
“Do you recall how often Commander Cruachan came out here?” Van asked.
“He used to come out here almost every eightday.”
“I’ve gotten the impression that he was a very straightforward man.”
Stefan cocked his head, as if thinking. “Honest... that he was. And honorable. He talked, once, about how much simpler life was as a ship commander.”
“I’ve already discovered that. Did he say why?”
“I can’t say that he did, ser. He didn’t talk much, except about sailing and the weather, and sometimes about not understanding women.”
Had Cruachan also had a run-in with Cordelia Gregory? “He liked sailing, didn’t he?”
“He did, ser. He liked to sail by himself. He said it was a way to clear his thoughts.”
“We can all use that at times.”
“Yes, ser.”
The Scandyan SDF headquarters was housed in a six-sided, two-level building constructed of the same bluish marble as the shuttle terminal. Stefan guided the groundcar up to the receiving gatehouse set forward of the eastern wing, where Van stepped out of the car and up to the booth before the single gate. The Scandyan tech in summer whites seated behind the nanite screen looked at him. “Yes, ser?”
“Commander Van Albert, Taran embassy. I have an appointment at nine-thirty with Commodore Petrov.” Van slid across his military datacard, and waited.
The sentry ran the datacard under the scanner, then handed it back, along with a thin white wand. “You’re cleared to Commodore Petrov’s office. It’s on the first level in section three. The wand will guide you. If you go past the office, it turns red. If you go too far, it whistles. Then you’ll find security all around you. Just keep the end of the wand green, and you’ll get there.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s what we’re here for, ser.” The young man smiled.
The gate opened as Van walked toward it. The building wings were larger inside than they had seemed from outside. His boots echoed in the stone corridors, and he passed but a handful of rankers and officers—no civilians—as he let the wand guide him. All in all, it was a good ten minutes before he reached the outer office of the commodore, with a small sign proclaiming, external affairs: commodore rafel petrov. The wand had remained green, and Van had not seen any sign of security, but his implant had registered more than four scans from various units.
As he entered, Van could sense another scan, triggered by the senior ranker stationed behind a console and screen just inside the doorway.
“Commander Albert, Commodore Petrov is expecting you. The center archway, if you please, ser.”
Van nodded and headed for the center archway, another scanning station. As he passed through, the door at the other end opened, and he stepped into a spacious office. The wide southern windows looked out upon a paved courtyard. Standing beside a conference table was Commodore Petrov—who could have passed for either Scandyan or Revenant—blue-eyed, blond, tall, and impressive in immaculate summer white uniform.
“Greetings, Commander Albert.” The older officer gestured toward the empty seats at the table, even as he reseated himself.
“I’m glad that we could get together,” Van replied.
“So am I. When did you arrive in Valborg?”
“A little more than an eightday ago.” Van offered what he hoped was a rueful smile. “My transfer was unexpected, and it’s taken a little while to get caught up on what was waiting.”
“I imagine. I’d heard that Ambassador Rogh had finally gotten a replacement for Commander Cruachan. Fine officer. One of the most honest officers I’ve met.”
“I didn’t know him, but everyone reported that he was most accomplished. And honest.” Van laughed. “It’s always a challenge replacing someone like that.”
“What is life without challenges?” countered Petrov. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“Café ... strong, if you have it.”
“Your predecessor liked it that way as well.” Petrov’s face blanked for just a fraction of a second as he accessed his net Through his own implant Van could feel the quick pulse, but could not decipher either the protocol or the message. “Could be a deepspace habit.”
“It might well be.” An amused smile followed Petrov’s words. “I had hoped that you would follow the example of your predecessor. He was most diligent in informing me of the concerns of your RSF, and in turn, I was equally diligent in conveying our interests and concerns.”
Van had to concentrate to follow Petrov’s accented Old Anglo, although he hadn’t had quite so much difficulty with the embassy service staff recruited from Scandya. “That could be mutually beneficial in these times.”
“Information is useful in all times,” Petrov replied. “You are correct that it is even more so in these times. We do share certain common interests...”
“I would think so.”
Petrov did not speak for a moment and Van wondered if he had said something wrong. Then a side door slid open, and a ranker stepped though with a tray on which were two cups filled with steaming liquid. The ranker set the tray on the conference table midway between the two officers, then departed as silently as he had come.
“The café is closest to you,” said Petrov. “The pitcher is heavy cream, a specialty here if you care to try it”
“And you?”
“Tea. I inherited the taste from my grandfather. It’s an old Russe custom, and I found I liked tea far better than café or other beverages.”
Van sipped the café. It was strong, but good, not oily or with the faintly burned taste that came from overroasted beans. “Good café.”
“Commander Cruachan thought so.” Petrov took a sip of his tea before continuing. “The interest most common to us both is the desire not to be perceived as a threat to the three major powers that surround Scandya. The next common interest is to maintain a stable government.”
“I know that is a problem” Van said, “but not why.”
“Simply put, Commander, for hundreds of years, Scandya has had an internal cultural conflict. The first settlers fled well ahead of the Old Earth diaspora, and they wanted nothing to do with anyone else. We were the first system settled in this region of the Arm. Then, about four hundred years ago, the Argentis arrived, with their fleets. We had none. As conquerors, their rein was comparatively light, and they upgraded and modernized our industry and technology. They were sensitive to our feelings about... our culture ... and most of those they resettled here came from similar cultural and racial heritages.”
“Such as your family?” Van guessed.
“Exactly. Except those of us from that heritage knew that we could not remain free, even after the rebellion, unless we developed and maintained an armed force. The recidivists, who persist in calling themselves Liberals, have opposed that. In the few times when they have controlled the assembly, they have tried to reduce or eliminate the SDR.”
Van nodded.
“So now we find ourselves between conflicting powers, and we have little interest in being allied to any of those. Your government is one of the least objectionable, but even your RSF wishes to enhance its position here and throughout the Arm so that the Taran Republic is considered close to an equal of the Coalition or the Revenant theocracy.”
“Theocracy?”
Petrov shrugged. “That is what they are. It has been less than a year since they annexed Samarra, and already there are tales of what has happened....”
“Tales?” Van said, wondering how Petrov might respond.
“What one would expect from a theocracy. Those who protest excessively either have no jobs or exceedingly low-paid jobs for long hours. Professionals who do not convert find themselves slowly isolated. But... as I was saying, too often those in our line of work are forced to use political terms of little meaning. In private, I prefer to be more accurate.”
Van laughed. “How would you describe the Taran Republic... accurately?”
“Do you wish to know?”
Van wasn’t sure he wanted to. “It would be best if I did.”
“Ah... an honest man. You do not particularly wish to know, but know you must. Very well... the Taran Republic is a system moving from controlled democratic anarchy to bureaucratic democracy, on its way to greater power and Byzantine complexity and ethical degeneration. There will be more unrest, and a possible military coup if the government does not seem to respond to the events perceived to threaten the Republic.”
A coup? “Don’t all governments risk ethical degeneration as the territory they control increases?”
“They do indeed. That is one reason why Scandya never sought more systems. The other was that by the time we regained an adequate technological basis to expand, all the systems around us were already controlled by others with larger fleets. We like to claim ethical reasons for our comparative weakness.” Petrov laughed.
Van smiled. Petrov’s directness was both refreshing and disarming, as it was certainly intended to be. “Don’t we all like to claim we’re acting ethically?”
Petrov did not answer that question, remaining silent for a moment before speaking again. “I understand you were commanding the Fergus, and that you ran into some... difficulty ... after you came out of jump. Our EDI records suggest it might even have been some sort of conflict. With a much larger vessel. You have more skill than your RSF will admit.”
Van shrugged. “We noted some strange EMP activity. I’m sure you understand. You seem to have very competent personnel, and I imagine that they’re usually quite accurate in their analyses of these sorts of things.”
Petrov nodded. “They are indeed, and, I’m most glad to know that you feel that way as well. The EDI patterns could not have matched an Argenti or a Revenant ship, and it would have been highly unlikely that it could have been a Coalition vessel.”
Van smiled. “You mean, if there had been a conflict, any Eco-Tech vessel of that size would have prevailed because it would have been worth twice its size in combat?”
“Sometimes three times. Coalition corvettes have destroyed battle cruisers.” Petrov sipped his tea. “How are you finding Valborg?”
“I’ve seen very little, so far.”
“You should see the Cliff Spire—the real home of Scandyan independence, you know, although you won’t find it listed as such in the histories. And the purple surf at Eschen, and in the winter, the ice caves of Maloa.”
“I’ll see what I can do after I dig my way clear of all the reports.” Van took another sip of the café. “Do you have any other suggestions?”
Petrov rested his forefinger against his temple for a moment “I will have to think about that I like to suggest things that appeal to each individual, and I fear I do not know you well enough to make further suggestions.” He leaned back and lifted a datacube, which he extended to Van. “This contains all the public releases the SDF has made since the death of your predecessor. There is a great amount of information there, and I thought that you would find it helpful in this form. That way, when we meet again, we may be able to discuss any of those items about which you may have questions.”
Van took the cube, slipping it into his jacket pocket “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“Not at all. You need to know what we are doing, and I need to know how your government feels. That I cannot know unless you are well informed.” Petrov pushed back his chair and stood. “Next time, we will have more to discuss, but it has been a pleasure.”
“For me as well.”
As Van rose, Petrov added. “You know that Commander Cruachan was not only a fine sailor, but he had once been an underwater operative? A most accomplished and amazing man, and I do miss him. It is a pleasure to see that you share some of his traits, and I do hope that we will have many more meetings where we can exchange information.”
“So do I, Commodore. So do I.”
Petrov remained standing and smiling as Van left the office.
As Van let the wand guide him back toward the front of the headquarters building, he considered Petrov’s parting words. Cruachan had once been an underwater operative? That meant subconscious-level nanite breathing capacity. The man couldn’t have drowned—not accidentally. How would Petrov have known? What did Petrov have to gain, either by revealing the truth, if that were what he did, or lying?
As he hurried toward the waiting groundcar, Van had the feeling that Petrov had told the truth. That in itself was chilling. And why had he offered Van a datacube rather than shooting a straight transmission to Van at the embassy? Until he studied the contents of the cube, Van couldn’t even guess at that.
After reaching the embassy, on the way back to his office, he stopped at Emily Clifton’s door, paused, then knocked. “Come in, Commander.”
“Thank you.” Van closed the old-fashioned wooden door behind him, but did not sit down.
Clifton had stood as he entered. “How can I help you?”
“It’s an odd question, but... Have you ever been to Cliff Spire?”
Her expression turned quizzical. “No. Should I have been?”
“I don’t know. Several people have recommended that I go see it.”
“That’s the historical site—the house of the last Argenti planetary governor, isn’t it? I always wondered why the Scandyans made it a memorial.”
“Perhaps we should go out there on one of the enddays and see why?”
“If that is an invitation, Commander, I will accept.” Again, the smile smoothed out the severity of the third secretary’s face.
“If you’re accepting, it’s an invitation.” They both laughed. “How are things going?” she asked. “More slowly and in a more complex fashion than I’d hoped, but about as I had expected.”
“You’re a realist. I imagine you’ve had to be.”
“Yes. One learns.” She nodded.
Van cleared his throat. “That’s all I had, but... thank you, and we’ll work out the time for sevenday—if that’s all right with you?”
