Virgin Territory: A Space Opera

"We don't have time to be happy. We barely have time to live well."

-Mihail Sebastian, "The Star Without A Name"

***

"You know," said Lord Henry, "I think this Kamil fellow might be the only virgin on the entire planet."

Lord Henry and his wife lounged on the Jacuzzi patio with their guests, sipping champagne and watching the sun set over Peitho 9. Peitho was renowned throughout the galaxy for its particularly beautiful sunsets. Lord Henry had one of Peitho's most beautiful homes, and he, his wife, and their guests were some the planet's most beautiful people. It was, in short, an uncommonly beautiful moment.

But all of them were much too drunk to appreciate or even really notice it.

No one could even properly taste the champagne anymore, and Annabelle thought this was a waste of a perfectly good and exceedingly rare vintage, of which there were fewer than 500 bottles left anywhere. But the cork was already out of the damn thing, so what was to be done?

The party was small, only three people in addition to the lord and lady: Miranda Bonnycastle, Annabelle's closest and only real friend, and the twins, Zelda and Dorcas, who were not Henry's friends precisely—Henry had no friends, precisely—but at least the people to whom he seemed to extend the greatest degree of cold-blooded kinship and recognition.

"Kamil?" said Miranda, turning as if drawn by the name. "Is that the new bachelor who just immigrated from Old Earth? Did you say he's a...?"

"I heard it from his own lips: He's never so much as kissed a woman," said Annabelle, leaning over the patio railing. It was a ten story drop down to Peitho 9's famous Diamond Beach, the galaxy's most beautiful (and deadly) tourist attraction. She realized her glass was empty and, without thinking about it, let it drop from her limp fingers toward the diamond-studded sands below.

"How strange," said Zelda.

"How exciting," said Dorcas. "If it's true, that is. Do you think it's true?"

"I do," said Annabelle. "He has a look about him: like a fawn with no doe. And he's young. Head of one of those tech companies. Robotics, I think."

"And how did you find out about his...status?" said Dorcas, floating in the bubbling Jacuzzi waters.

"I paid him a visit, of course, to welcome him to the planet," said Annabelle. "This was, oh, three days ago, I think. He was very charming, you know, and very polite, but when I made my intentions clear he said that he just wasn't interested."

"That was a first, I imagine," said Miranda.

"It was," said Annabelle. (Henry raised an eyebrow.) "I have to say, I was so surprised I might have embarrassed myself a bit. And that's when he told me that he was, you know, untried, as it were. By way of explanation for his reluctance."

"Amazing..." said Miranda.

Could it possibly be true? Such a thing would be unheard of on Peitho 9. Some luxury planets were beach worlds, some were tropical jungle gardens, and some were planetary metropolises offering the highest of high culture. Peitho 9's principle planetary attraction was sex. It was a Legal Age Only world, and more than 99 percent of its surface was a Clothing Optional Zone. So much fornication happened here on a minute-to-minute basis that the League of Planets had twice considered expelling the whole world on grounds of general good taste.

"So what is he, queer?" said Zelda. (She had commandeered the champagne bottle and was drinking straight from it in lieu of a glass.)

"Not at all," said Henry. "I made inquiries of my own on that front."

"A religious nut?" suggested Dorcas.

"I don't think so," said Annabelle. "He never brought it up."

"A freak? Did he lose half his body in the war?" said Zelda.

"He's a perfectly charming and perfectly beautiful young man," Annabelle said. "As far as I can tell he's nothing more strange or exotic than he says: a virgin."

"The only one on the planet," Henry reminded them.

"We should invite him over," said Dorcas.

"RIGHT now," said Zelda.

Henry shook his head. "Let's not be hasty. This young man is a rare distraction, and we should savor it. I have something more interesting in mind than a simple mass deflowering: a wager."

Everyone sat up straighter. Gambling was the second national past time on Peitho 9. It was, after all, a planet of people with access to so much wealth that they had to discover new things to spend it on. Henry had inherited most of his fortune; Annabelle, under her maiden name, still kept a controlling share of Ohmart Industries, the system's largest shipping vendor. Between them they'd financed the construction of this castle, and married to secure a tax break on it before taking full legal ownership.

Miranda was heir to the Bonnycastle publishing fortune, and the galaxy's 74th most successful novelist in her own right. No one was quite sure where Dorcas and Zelda got their fortune, but their names were aliases, and their faces were surgically reconstructed every few months to evade various interplanetary warrants. It was best not to ask too many specific questions.

"I propose a kind of race," said Henry, shifting in the Jacuzzi waters. "The first person to seduce this mysteriously vestal bachelor and ferret out the secret behind his unspotted virtue can ask me for whatever payment she wants. Whatever is within my power to barter or purchase."

Henry turned to his wife. "That is, assuming he's STILL stainless? You didn't beat us all to the punch and are just playing coy with us now, are you dear?"

"Not at all," said Annabelle. She looked around for her champagne glass, and only then remembered what happened to it. A robotic butler brought her a new one. "In fact, I'll bet against my husband on this. I don't think any of us can get this one."

Everyone else looked at her quizzically, but she brushed off their attention.

"I just have a feeling," she said. "There's something remarkable about this man, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"We won't stop at fingers," the twins said, at the same time. "And we get the next dibs, since Annabelle already had her shot," Dorcas continued.

"Agreed." Henry raised his glass. "May the best—or worse—of us win."

They clinked glasses, and the rose-colored sun slipped into the sea.

***

Kamil Isaac was 26 years old, president and CEO of Nexus Inc, and until recently had lived on Old Earth for his entire life. His background check was a little thin beyond that, but he had a bought a villa overlooking Paradise Bay and apparently hadn't bothered to invest in so much as a security gate, as the twins were able to walk right up to his doorstep and ring the bell.

Kamil himself answered, dressed in a one-piece jumpsuit from one of Earth's trendiest designers, quite fashionable by most planet's standards but stuffy and prudish to a Peithoian. Zelda wore nothing except sandals and the smallest pair of bikini briefs that could hold themselves together. Dorcas wore what was technically a dress and covered her from neckline to knees, but which was so sheer that it could only be described as a net, and hid nothing at all.

Kamil blinked at the pair on his doorstep, scratched his head (his hair was mussed, as if he'd just gotten out of bed), and said, "Can I help you?"

"We heard you just moved in," said Dorcas. "We're the welcoming committee."

"That means you should welcome us," said Zelda.

They walked past him without being invited. The foyer to Kamil's estate was an artificial forest of the rarest Earth plants and trees. The carpet was live grass, engineered for maximum resiliency, so that after each step a person took it sprang upright again, as good as new. There were even imported fauna: tiny birds nesting in the tree's branches, and little running creatures scampering up and down the trunks. Zelda cooed, delighted, as a bright green snake uncoiled from around a branch and dipped toward her. She kissed it.

"I love what you've done with the place," she said. "It looks so expensive."

"Is that pond heated?" said Dorcas. "Can we get in?"

"Please do," said Kamil. The twins slipped into the water. They invited him to join them, but all Kamil did was dip his feet in. The pair floated like nymphs among the lily pads, splashing him a bit.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he said.

"We're just here to get to know you," said Dorcas.

"We know everyone sooner or later," said Zelda. "Sooner is better."

"Lady Annabelle told us all about you," Dorcas added.

"A very charming woman," said Kamil.

He looked interchangeable with any number of other young, fabulously successful, mildly goofy tech trillionaires, as if they all rolled off an assembly line somewhere: thin and gangly, with a wide but awkward smile and furtive quality around the eyes, suggesting that he was never quite looking right at you.

He looked nothing like the Peithoians, who all enjoyed easy access to cutting-edge cosmetic surgery and changed faces and figures as routinely as people on other planets changed wardrobes. But he was beautiful in his own way, with a dark complexion and great rings of dark hair.

Dorcas floated a little closer. "Is that all she is? Charming?"

"I understand she's also married."

"Henry? He barely counts," said Zelda. "He likes the pretty boys."

"Not all the time," Dorcas said. "But most of the time. Annabelle does whatever she wants."

"But she says you said no to her."

"I confess, it's true," said Kamil.

"That was a little rude," said Dorcas. She slithered up his leg while she said it.

"But also a little sweet," said Zelda. "Maybe you were waiting for us instead?"

"I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding," said Kamil. "I'm not—"

"Can you offer us something to drink?" said Zelda. "It took us hours to get here, and I'm this close to sobering up."

"It's nine o'clock in the morning?"

"Exactly," the twins said, together.

Kamil shrugged and summoned a mechanical butler with wine. The robot presented two glasses on a silver tray, but the Twins took only one, passing it back and forth. "We share everything," Dorcas said.

This was a lie: As children, Zelda would break any toy she was expected to share with her sister, a habit that continued to this day. Even so, it was a line men liked to hear. Dorcas punctuated it by kissing her sister, and licking a stray drop of wine from the corner of her mouth. "I think Kamil is just shy," she said.

"Or maybe he likes to watch," said Zelda. "Have you seen our Sense Videos?"

"You might not recognize us. Those are from the old days, when we looked different. Do you like my tits? Zelda doesn't. She thinks hers are nicer."

"I paid more for them," Zelda said, in tones that suggested this was an objective measure of quality that no one could gainsay. "They're much perkier. I don't understand why you went with such a small set. Small tits are for people who don't have money."

"Careful: We don't want Kamil thinking size is what's important," said Dorcas. "We like all sizes, all shapes, all sorts."

"As long as we like what they're attached to."

The indoor forest was climate-controlled at all times, but suddenly began to feel rather humid. Despite this, Kamil made no motion to get into the water. He seemed like he was waiting for something. (Possibly, the slightest clue what was going on).

Dorcas and Zelda kissed again, slipping their arms around each other and drifting back into the water in a long, hot embrace. They kept at it like this for a while, lips parted and tongues probing, before Zelda reclined against the pond's edge and let Dorcas kiss her way down the front of her body, detailing each (very expensive) breast with her tongue before lapping the fine sheen of water (which was treated to be not only entirely potable but also quite tasty) off her sister's belly.

Long, wet strands of hair clung to their naked figures. Now and then, Dorcas paused to give Kamil her best come-hither look. (Zelda, on the other hand, kept her eyes glued on the man at all times, with a look that was less "come-hither" and more "get the hell over here if you know what's good for you.")

"Dorcas is sweet, but she's too wimpy for me," Zelda said, pulling her sister's hair. "I need someone who knows how to get rough."

"I love my sister, but she's much too demanding," said Dorcas, letting her twin rake her back with long, filed nails. "I prefer a lover who knows how to be patient. Good things come for those who wait."

"We made a bet on the way over about which way you'd like it," Zelda said, nipping the tip of one of Dorcas' nipples. "But we're prepared to do whatever it takes, no matter which of us is right."

"So why don't you come in? You spent all this money on such a beautiful lagoon. It's not fair that we should enjoy it while you just sit up there on the shore."

Kamil stood. A robot vacuum air-dried his feet and ankles. "It's been lovely meeting both of you," he said. "You're free to enjoy the grounds and the beach outside as much as you like, and come by anytime. But I'm afraid I have business that's too important to wait. Being a terrible host is the price of success."

"We'll wait!" said Dorcas, breaking off from her sister and lunging through the water to get to Kamil before he left.

"All day, if we have to," said Zelda.

"I'll be busy the entire day and night," Kamil said. "Please don't hold my rudeness against me."

"We'll come back tomorrow," Dorcas offered.

"Or the day after."

"Do you have plans for the weekend?"

"The WHOLE weekend, if you want."

Kamil gave them a long-suffering look. Dorcas blushed. "Maybe we came on a little too strong," she said, climbing out of the pond with water cascading down her body, like a renaissance Venus portrait. She raised her arms and let the robot jets dry her off. "But, look, if you don't mind us asking..."

"Is it true?" said Zelda. "You've never...?" She made a gesture. The young man looked taken aback for the first time.

"That's a personal question," he said. "...but no, I haven't."

"Are you a faggot?" said Zelda.

Dorcas shushed her, but then added: "It's okay if you are. This isn't like those fundy planets. We have lots of boyfriends we can introduce you to."

"That won't be necessary either. Excuse me, I have a call."

Their host left. Zelda scowled and broke her wine glass. Dorcas tugged her lower lip in thought. They walked back to the rocket limo and locked themselves in. Zelda lay on the backseat while Dorcas gave her a massage.

"Where did we go wrong?" said Zelda. "He must be some kind of freak. That's the only explanation that makes sense."

"Maybe we're just not his type. We can't be every man's type, no matter how hard we try," Dorcas said. "Honestly, I think he's fascinating. There's something about him, just like Annabelle said. I honestly don't know how to describe it."

"Next time we'll approach him one at a time," Zelda said, muttering into the seat cushion. "Some guys don't like the twincest thing. And let's assign someone to watch him all the time. If he so much as flirts with a waitress or looks twice at a perfume ad I want to know. Can we find out who his doctor is? Maybe his charts will tell us something."

Zelda's pride was stung, but more important than that was winning Henry's bet. If either of them could manage to take the bloom off Kamil's peach, Henry had agreed to destroy certain incriminating records about their real identities. Dorcas made soothing noises and rubbed her sister's back.

"Patience," she said. "We'll figure this one out. Good things DO come to those who wait, you know."

"I know," said Zelda. "But the only thing I hate more than not getting what I want is having to wait for it."

***

"Of course it didn't work," Miranda said. "Any idiot could see it wasn't going to." She fixed her earrings at the mirror. Annabelle's face floated in a holosphere behind her. "You tried the direct approach when you met him the first time, right?" Miranda said.

"Well, yes," said Annabelle.

"And if that didn't work for you, then there was never any chance that the Direct Approach Times Two was going to work from the twins. We're just lucky Zelda didn't mark her territory by peeing on him or something. How do I look?"

"Very clothed."

Miranda was wearing a lavender gown and a diamond choker. She spent a few minutes selecting a perfume and then applied it lightly to her throat. "This calls for a touch of class; a little romance; an active interest in who he is from the waist up. And, if possible, a night he'll never forget." She added a pair of opera gloves to the outfit.

"Where are you taking him?" said Annabelle.

"I invited him to dinner at my place. ...I have to be at least a LITTLE direct."

Annabelle chuckled. "It won't work."

Miranda looked into the holosphere. "Why not?"

"Whatever Kamil Isaac wants, he can't find it on this planet. That much I'm sure about. But I wish you luck anyway, honestly."

Miranda went to work on her hair. "So much mystery about just one man. Tell me dear, what went on with the two of you? What aren't you telling us?"

"You're as bad as Henry with all this prying. You know what he wants from me if he wins, don't you? Shares in Ohmart."

"Oh yes, he's been trying to get his claws into your ledgers for years. He doesn't like you owning anything that isn't part his, does he? You must have a tremendous degree of confidence in this young man."

"I would call it faith."

Annabelle blew Miranda a kiss, and the holosphere turned off. Miranda checked herself again, front and back. Satisfied, she went down to check on the rest of the house.

By Peithoian standards, Miranda Bonnycastle was old fashioned. She wore clothes almost every day, and had elected for very little cosmetic surgery. She looked close to her real age (46), and unless Annabelle invited her, she very rarely appeared at any of the parties, balls, premieres, soirees, orgies, Bacchanals, or carnivals on the Peithoian social calendar.

Strangest of all, she worked a real job, rather than delegating her business affairs to others. She was in the middle of writing her 17th novel now. Although her house was as large and lavish as any belonging to her neighbors, she owned no mechanical servants, and employed no automated systems. Her home was staffed 100 percent by real, living, breathing humans.

She phoned a message to the cooks and then proceeded to the chamber that she called the ballroom (although no party had ever been thrown there). A single table was set, decorated with a cerulean rose from her own greenhouse, and on the far end of the room a 12-piece string orchestra was warming up. With a wave of her hand she opened the skylight, revealing the naked, dazzling Peithoian stars. She was just satisfied that everything was perfect when the tone sounded, letting her know her guest had arrived.

Kamil wore a retro double-breasted suit Miranda found immediately appealing. He kissed her hand, thanked her for the invitation, and escorted her to the table, where a light but incredibly savory meal of braised greens and fois gras waited for them.

After dinner they danced (the first time the ballroom's dance floor had ever been used for its prescribed purpose), and then Miranda sent the orchestra and all the help home early so that the two of them could cozy up to each other in privacy. She taught him how to find the constellations of the Peithoian zodiac. Her hand slipped into his as she pointed out the stars, and a schoolgirl thrill went through her.

"We've been talking all night I feel like I hardly know anything about you," she said after a while. "Don't be so opaque. Tell me, where did you grow up?"

"Earth," he said after a while. "I never really had parents, although there was a man I called father. He's not with us anymore. In fact, it was when he died that I decided it was time to travel and see other planets."