"Now, Bobby–where did your daddy get this toy?"
"He bought it."
"You saw him buy it?"
"Uh‑huh."
"Good, thank you." To the rest of the court, Judge Cavanaugh said, "We have other witnesses who can confirm this, of course, so let's just move ahead. Let's stipulate that Max Dingillian did indeed go through the motions of purchasing this toy. He paid cash value and received custody of the toy. His account was debited, and he was given a receipt. Therefore, paper was in place to demonstrate he was the legal owner of record. Is there anyone who wants to contest that? Is there anyone who wants to argue that these events did not happen? No? Thank you. All right, the court will now stipulate that Max Dingillian did indeed go through the motions, did appear to, and to all intents and purposes, believedthat he had legally obtained custody of this toy for the express purpose of presenting it to his son Robert Dingillian. Gracious–at this rate, we could be out of here in time for the return of Halley's Comet. That'll be when, Gloria? Another fifty‑six years?"
He looked out over the courtroom. "Now,who wants to argue that Max Dingillian's purchase of the toy was in any way irregular? Who wants to argue that he had no right to the toy or that he came by it dishonestly or that the sale was invalid due to other circumstances?"
About six people stood up then, several of them shouting. I thought I recognized a couple of voices, but I didn't feel like trying to turn around to see. It would have been wasted effort.
"All right." Judge Cavanaugh pointed. "Everybody's going to get a turn. Just line up in the back there. In order of height, alphabetically, I don't care. You first. Come up front. State your name for the record. Remember, you're in court. Anything you say can and will be used against you."
A heavyset man came forward. He looked like a hockey player. "My name is David Cheifetz. Until three weeks ago, I was an attorney with Canadian‑Interplanetary–"
I leaned over and whispered to Douglas. "That's not what J'mee said. She said her daddy sold electricity for the Line."
" And you believed her?"
" Oh,"I said, realizing again. Everybody had a secret agenda. Everybody lied.
Cheifetz was still talking. "–My family and I are emigrating out to the colonies. Seven weeks ago, we made arrangements to have Max Dingillian ferry some sensitive material for us."
"You mean smuggle."
"No, Your Honor. Smuggling is a crime. What we were doing was perfectly legal. My wife and my daughter and I are very visible people. We've already discovered this to our dismay when our daughter J'mee was accused of being Charles Dingillian in disguise." The judge made a hurry‑up gesture. "The point is that we are clearly targets of opportunity. This is one of the reasons for emigrating. The safest way for us to transfer our wealth was to have it travel by an alternate route. Someone not as visible as we are. Max Dingillian was our courier." He glanced at me and Douglas and Bobby, looked annoyed. "While we don't contest the ownership of the toy, we do contest the ownership of the memory bars inside of it. They belong to us. We can prove it by direct examination of the serial numbers on the memory bars."
I nudged Douglas. "Dad paid for those memory bars–"
But Douglas was already standing up. "Your Honor, I think we have the purchase receipt. In fact, I know we do. Those memory bars were sold to us, and–"
Judge Cavanaugh held up his hand for silence. "Just relax, Douglas. This isn't the first time I've heard a case." He turned back to Cheifetz. "Young mister Dingillian challenges your claim. You acknowledge that the toy belongs to Robert Dingillian, but not the memory inside of it. So how did the memory get into the toy?"
Cheifetz looked like he'd swallowed a lemon without peeling it first. "I'd prefer not to discuss the details of that transfer, Your Honor–"
"You will if you want your claim considered."
"We signed over custody of the bars to an agency that provides transport services. They sold the bars to Max Dingillian."
"So the bars were legallysold to Max Dingillian?"
"Um. No. Not quite. Custody was legally transferred to Max Dingillian. His contract was to transport the bars and transfer custody back to an appointed representative of the agency here on Luna."
"But the bars were legally his."
"Technically … yes. That's how transport agencies work. That way there's no direct connection to the real owners–"
"Counselor"–Judge Cavanaugh held up a hand to stop him–"I know from smuggling. This is Luna. You're standing on a smuggled floor. That's genuine Brazilian hardwood. And no, I did not order it, my predecessor twice removed did–after he confiscated it from the person who tried to smuggle it. Never mind. The point is that while the memory bars were Max Dingillian's property, unless you had a written contract of agreement that he would sell them or transfer them back to you, they were his to dispose of as he saw fit, weren't they?"
"He had an agreement!"
"Do you have a signature?"
"Of course not! The whole point was notto leave a paper trail."
"So you have no evidence of such an agreement."
"Max Dingillian will confirm it."
"Belay that, Counselor. It's still yourturn in the bucket. What was Max Dingillian going to get in return for being your mule? Other than a free trip to Luna?"
"We were going to guarantee a colony contract for Mr. Dingillian and his family. So yes, there was a significant recompense promised. It was a contract."
"I see. So you transferred custody of your property to Max Dingillian with the understandingand even the obligationthat he would sell the property back to you at a more convenient time and place. Is that correct?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"I got it. So your disagreement is with Max Dingillian, who disposed of property that was legally his, because he didn't dispose of it in the way that you wanted him to. Now, correct me if I'm wrong here–and I don't think I am–in order for you to have a claim on the memory bars, you should be suing Max Dingillian for breach of contract, shouldn't you? It seems like an open‑and‑shut case to me. You have an agreement that you can't prove he made, but you can certainly prove that he violated it. I'll be happy to rule on that right now."
"Your Honor, I can prove that the memory is mine."
"No. You can prove that the memory wasyours to sell to Max Dingillian. At least, I'm assuming that's what that sheaf of papers in your hand is all about."
"Your Honor, I want my property back."
"Mr. Cheifetz, you were smuggling. It was legal smuggling, to be sure, but it was still smuggling. You were taking advantage of the loopholes in the Emigration Act that allow tax exemptions for property purchased immediately before departure. Had you been carrying the memory all the way from Earth, you would have been taxed accordingly. By transferring custody, neither you nor Max Dingillian pays taxes on it and the memory gets a free ride. The flaw in that operation is that when the memory is Max Dingillian's property, it is his to dispose of as he sees fit, unless you can prove implied or assumed contract. And even if Max Dingillian himself comes forward to say that you and he had such a verbal agreement in place, this court is still not willing to overturn provable property rights in favor of unprovable ones. The kids have receipts. You have nothing but your assertions and your good looks. That's not a winning case, and I'm not prepared to open up that particular can of worms anyway– not even to stir the sauce."