No World of Their Own by Poul Anderson

service robot. “Give me a sedative,” he said. “I want to remain conscious but calm.” The voice was strange in his ears.
    When he had gulped the liquid down, he felt a darkness rising. His hands tingled as warmth returned. The heart slowed, the lungs expanded, the sweating skin shivered and eased. There was a balance within him, as if his grief had aged many years.
    He studied the girl, and she gave him a timid smile. No—not Peggy. The face and figure, yes, but no American woman had ever smiled in just that way—that particular curve of lips. She was a little taller, he saw, and did not walk like one born free. And the voice—
    â€œWhere did you come from?” he asked, vaguely amazed at the levelness in his tone. “Tell me about yourself.”
    â€œI am a Class Eight slave, sir,” she answered, meekly but with no self-consciousness about it. “We are bred for intelligent, pleasant companionship. My age is twenty, and I am a virgin. The Lord Brannoch purchased me a few days ago, had surgical alterations and psychological conditioning performed, and sent me here as a gift to you. I am yours to command, sir.”
    â€œAnything goes, eh?”
    â€œYes, sir.” There was a small flicker of fear in her eyes. Stories about perverted and sadistic owners must have run through the breeding and training centers. But he liked the game way she faced up to him.
    â€œNever mind,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything at all. You’re to go back to the Lord Brannoch and tell him that he’s a ring-tailed bastard who’s just wrecked any chance he ever had of getting my cooperation. You may quote me on that.”
    She flushed, and her eyes filmed with tears. At least she had pride—well, of course Brannoch would have known Langley wasn’t interested in a spiritless doll. It must have been an effort to control her reply: “Then you don’t want me, sir?”
    â€œOnly to deliver that message. Get out.”
    She bowed and turned to go. Langley leaned against the wall, his fists knotted together. O. Peggy, Peggy, my darling!
    â€œJust a minute!” It was as if someone else had spoken. She stopped.
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œTell me … what’ll happen to you now?”
    â€œI don’t know, sir. The Lord Brannoch may punish—” She shook her head with a queer, stubborn honesty that did not fit a slave. But Peggy had been that way too. “No, sir. He will realize I am not to blame. He may keep me for a while, or sell me to someone else. I don’t know.”
    Langley felt a thickness in his throat. Fat Minister Yulien, panting by this girl who looked like Peggy!
    â€œNo.” He smiled; it hurt his mouth. “I’m sorry. You … startled me. Don’t go away. Sit down.”
    He found a chair for himself, and she curled slim legs beneath her to sit at his feet. He touched her head with great gentleness. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
    â€œYes, sir. Lord Brannoch said you were a spaceman from very long ago who got lost and—I look like your wife, now. I suppose he used pictures to make the copy. He said he thought you’d like to have someone who looked like her.”
    â€œAnd what else? What were you supposed to do? Talk me into helping him? He wants my help in an important matter.”
    â€œNo, sir.” She met his eyes steadily. “I was only to obey your wishes. It—” A tiny frown creased her brow, so much like Peggy’s that Langley felt his heart crack within him. “It may be he was relying on your gratitude.”
    â€œFat chancel” Langley tried to think. It wasn’t like Brannoch, who must be a cynical realist, to assume that this would make the spaceman come slobbering to him. Or was it? Some traits of human nature had changed with the change in all society. Maybe a present-day Earthman would react like that.
    â€œDo you expect