Poul Anderson - The Long Way Home

“Where did you come from?” he asked, vaguely amazed at the levelness in his tone. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I 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. 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.”

“Anything goes, eh?”

“Yes, 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.

“Never mind,” he said. “You’ve nothing to worry about. You’re to go back to the Lord Brannoch and tell him that he’s just wrecked any chance he ever had of getting my co-operation.”

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?”

“Only to deliver that message. Get out.”

She bowed and turned to go. Langley leaned against the wall, his fists knotted together. O Peggy, Peggy!

“Just a minute!” It was as if someone else had spoken. She stopped.

“Yes, sir?”

Tell me... what’ll happen to you now?”

“I 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.

“No.” 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.

“Yes, 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.”

“And what else? What were you supposed to do? Talk me into helping him? He wants my help in an important matter.”

“No, 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.”

“Fat chance!” 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.

“Do you expect me to feel obligated to him?” he asked slowly.

“No, sir. Why should you? I’m not a very expensive gift.”

Langley wished for his old pipe. He’d have to have some tobacco cut for it special one of these days, he thought vaguely; nobody smoked pipes any more. He stroked her bronze hair with a hand which the drug had again made steady.

“Tell me something about yourself, Marin,” he said. “What sort of life did you lead?”

She described it, competently, without resentment and not without humor. The center didn’t meet any of Langley’s preconceived notions; far from being a hole of lust, it sounded like a rather easy-going institution. There had been woods and fields to stroll in between the walls, there had been an excellent education, there had been no attempt -except for conditioning to acceptance of being property—to prevent each personality from growing its own way. But of course, those girls were meant for high-class concubines.

With the detachment lent him by the sedative, Langley perceived that Marin could be very useful to him. He asked her a few questions about history and current events, and she gave him intelligent answers. Maybe her knowledge could help him decide what to do.

“Marin,” he asked dreamily, “have you ever ridden a horse?”

“No, sir. I can pilot a car or flier, but I was never on an animal. It would be fun to try.” She smiled, completely at ease now.

“Look,” he said, “drop that superior pronoun and stop calling me ‘sir’. My name’s Edward—plain Ed.”

“Yes, sir... Edwy.” She frowned with a childlike seriousness. “I’ll try to remember. Excuse me if I forget. And in public, it would be better to stay by the usual rules.”

“O. K. Now—” Langley couldn’t face the clear eyes, he stared out at the rain instead. “Would you like to be free?”

“Sir?”

“Ed! I suppose I can manumit you. Wouldn’t you like to be a free agent?”

“It’s... very kind of you,” she replied slowly. “But—”

“Well?”

“But what could I do? I’d have to go to low-level, become a Commoner’s wife or a servant or a prostitute. There isn’t any other choice.”

“Nice system. Up here, you’re at least protected, and among your intellectual equals. O. K., it was just a thought. Consider yourself part of the furniture.”

She chuckled. “You’re... nice,” she said. “I was very lucky.”

“Like hell you were. Look, I’m going to keep you around because I haven’t the heart to turn you out. But there may well be danger. I’m right in the middle of an interstellar poker game and—I’ll try to get you out from under if things go sour, but I may not be able to. Tell me honestly, can you face the prospect of getting killed or... or anything?”

“Yes, Edwy. That is of the essence of my training. We cannot know our future—so we must learn the courage to accept it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way,” he said gloomily. “But I suppose you can’t help it. People may still be the same underneath, but they think different on top. Well—”

“What is your danger, Edwy? Can I help?” She laid a hand on his knee it was a slim hand but with strong blunt like fingers-“I want to, I really do.”

“Uh-huh.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you more than I must, because if people realize you know anything you’ll become a poker chip, too.” He had to use the English phrase, only chess had survived of the games he knew, but she got the idea. “And don’t try to deduce things either. I tell you, it’s dangerous.”

There was no calculation in the way she got up and leaned over him and brushed his cheek with one hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It must be dreadful for you.”

“I’ll survive. Let’s continue the roundup. I mean you well, but right now I’m under a sedative. It was a shock seeing you, and it’s going to go on being a shock for a while. Keep in the background, Marin; duck for cover if I start throwing things. Don’t try to be sympathetic, just let me alone. Savvy?”

She nodded mutely.

In spite of the drug, his voice roughened. There was still a knife in him. “You can sleep in that room there.”

“All right,” she said quietly. “I understand. If you change your mind, I’ll understand that, too.” After a moment: “You could have my appearance altered again, you know.”

He didn’t reply, but sat wondering. It was the logical answer- No. He would always remember. He didn’t believe in hiding from a fact.

The door chimed and said: “Minister Chanthavar Tang vo Lurin wishes to see you, sir.” The scanner screen flashed an image of the agent’s face; it was taut and cold with a choked anger.

“All right. Send him in.” Marin went into another room. Langley did not rise as Chanthavar entered, and sat waiting for the other to speak first.