“Meaning that I found your first biosculpt technician,” Zilwicki told her very, very softly. “The one who rekeyed the genetic sequence on your tongue.”

Georgia Young sat absolutely still, stunned into a realm far beyond mere disbelief. How? How could even someone with Anton Zilwicki’s reputation have dug that deep? She’d buried that. Buried it where it would never see the light of day again. Buried it behind Elaine, willing even for someone to find her original criminal record because they would stop there, without going still deeper into who she’d been before Elaine.

“Of course,” Zilwicki went on, “there’s no law against having the number removed, is there? Most freed slaves don’t have the resources to pay for it, but having it removed certainly isn’t a crime. But he kept the record of the original number, Elaine. The number of a slave the Ballroom has been looking for for years. The slave who sold out an entire freighter full of escaped slaves in return for her own freedom and a half-million Solarian credits. Do you know what they intend to do with that slave when they find her?”

Georgia stared at him, her vocal cords frozen, and he smiled thinly.

“I’ve never been a slave. I don’t pretend to understand what someone who has been one would be willing to do to gain her own freedom. And, by the same token, I don’t pretend to stand in judgment on those who want to… discuss her actions with her. But I think, Elaine, that if I were her, I’d be far more concerned about the Ballroom than about anything the Star Kingdom’s courts might want to discuss with her.”

“What… what are you offering?” she asked hoarsely.

“Seventy-two standard-hours’ headstart,” he said bluntly. “I won’t promise not to hand the evidence I’ve assembled over to the Ballroom. Cathy’s ‘butler’ would never forgive us if I did. But Isaac will give me those three days, as well. He and Jeremy are reasonable men. They’ll be unhappy with me, but they recognize the realities of horse-trading, and they know what sort of political stakes we’re playing for here in the Star Kingdom. They’ll settle for knowing where to start looking for you again.”

“So you want me to just vanish?” She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “No. You want something more than that. I’m not important enough for you to risk the possibility that the Ballroom might not be as ‘reasonable’ as you hope it will. Besides, you’d do much more damage to High Ridge and his government if you just told Jeremy where to find me.” She shook her head again. “You want the files for yourself, don’t you?”

“No.” It wasn’t Zilwicki. It was Montaigne, and her level voice was like liquid helium. Georgia looked at her in disbelief, and the ex-countess shrugged. “I won’t pretend that a part of me isn’t tempted. But those files have done enough damage already. Oh, I could probably convince myself that the real criminals, the bastards who’ve broken the law and gotten away with it, deserve to be turned in and brought down in public, as spectacularly as possible. But the other temptation… the temptation not to turn them in.” She shook her head. “It would be too easy to turn into another New Kiev and convince myself that the nobility of my purpose justified whatever tool I chose to use.”