War Of Honor

mutually contradictory, especially at a moment like this. There was too much Gryphon bedrock in the man. 'Of course, as Duchess Harrington and Earl White Haven discovered not so very long ago,' he continued, 'hearsay testimony can be quite devastating in the court of public opinion.'

No, definitely not a twinkle, Georgia thought. At best a gleam . . . and an ugly one, at that.

'But as the Duchess and the Earl also demonstrated,' she replied, 'false hearsay evidence used in an effort to discredit someone has a tendency to rebound against the accuser. And given the many connections my husband's family has, I feel sure we would be able to weather any such accusation. Why, you might be astonished by the people who would come forward to testify to the uprightness of my character!'

She smiled sweetly, but her confidence took another blow when neither Montaigne nor Zilwicki even flinched at her oblique reference to the power of the North Hollow Files.

'On the contrary, I wouldn't be surprised at all,' Zilwicki told her. 'No doubt it would be embarrassing for them when a DNA scan demonstrated that you were indeed Elaine Komandorski. You were quite efficient in obliterating Elaine's public record, but you missed at least one copy of your dossier with the Landing City Police.' He smiled at the flinch she couldn't quite conceal. 'I'll concede that there are no convictions in Elaine's LCPD file, but it's truly amazing how many times she was investigated. And the two times that charges were dropped because the key witness suddenly and mysteriously—and permanently—vanished would make fascinating reading. Under those circumstances, I suppose it would only be natural for your friends and allies to attempt to convince the public that such a sterling and upright individual as yourself could never have been guilty of all the terrible things the police thought you'd done. Unless, of course, the Prime Minister decided that, just as with certain individuals accused of trafficking in genetic slaves, it would be more politically expedient to throw you to the wolves.'

'I think,' she said, in a flatter, harder voice, 'that you may be underestimating my . . . influence with the Prime Minister.'

'Ah! So he is in the files,' Montaigne observed. 'I always suspected he was. Still, Elaine, you'd have to have a very strong hold on him to convince him to stand loyally by you. Especially now, with the diplomatic situation deteriorating the way it is.' She shook her head mournfully. 'I'm afraid my reading of Baron High Ridge's character suggests that, under the circumstances, he'd be inclined to do the right thing and, however regretfully, disassociate himself from anyone who might once have been involved in such improper acts, however peripherally. After all, whatever you might want to do with the information on him in the files, there'd be any number of powerful people who'd feel compelled to stop you. I mean, think of how many people's careers and political agendas depend on his remaining in power. Unless, of course, you have enough on all of them to convince the entire Government to commit seppuku to save your own neck. Because—just between us—I don't think I'd count on them to do it out of loyalty and the goodness of their hearts.'

'Perhaps not. But even if they didn't choose to speak out in my behalf, I'm scarcely without a power base of my own from which to defend myself against such libelous accusations.'

'Well, 'libelous' is a very value-laden term,' Zilwicki said. 'For example, if someone were to go to the LCPD and provide them with evidence that a certain Elaine Komandorski, shortly before she vanished and one Georgia Sakristos appeared on the scene, was involved in the murder of one of the PD's own criminal fraud investigators, I'm sure they wouldn't consider that libel. Not until they'd investigated very thoroughly, at any rate.'

'I see.' There was nothing at all pleasant about her voice now, but it was warmer than her eyes as she glared at him. 'On the other hand, when it turned out that it was impossible to prove those allegations—because, of course, they would be completely false—I'm sure the courts would be inclined to consider it libel, given that the allegations would have originated with a political opponent. The Crown looks with a certain disfavor on people who attempt to use the courts as a political weapon, Captain.'

'They certainly do,' he agreed. 'And while it pains me to admit it, it's entirely possible that there are enough judges in your famous files for you to survive even with the interesting odds and ends of evidence I've already managed to assemble. On the other hand, it doesn't really matter. I don't need to go anywhere near the police. Or the courts.'

'Meaning what?' she demanded tautly.

'Meaning that once I discovered Elaine's existence,' Zilwicki said, 'I found myself wondering where she'd come from? I mean, she just . . . appeared one day, didn't she? And with such a substantial store of initial operating capital.'

'What do you mean?' Georgia heard the quaver in her own voice, and cursed herself for it. But there was nothing she could do about it, any more than there was any way to prevent herself from paling.

'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.'

'Not to mention,' Zilwicki rumbled, 'the fact that a good third of the 'evidence' contained in those files was probably manufactured in the first place.'

'Not to mention that,' Montaigne agreed.

'So what do you want?' Georgia asked flatly.

'We want the files destroyed,' Zilwicki told her. 'And we want it done in a way which proves they've been destroyed.'

'How am I supposed to do that?' she demanded.

'You've already demonstrated that you're a very inventive and capable woman, Elaine,' Montaigne told her. 'And it's common knowledge that the files are stored in a high-security vault under the Youngs' townhouse here in Landing. I'm sure that you could arrange for that vault—and the house, for that matter—to suffer some spectacular mischief. Without, I hasten to add, any loss of life.'

'You expect me to arrange all of that and get off the planet within three standard days?' She shook her