Virgin Territory: A Space Opera

"What brought you to Peitho 9?" They sat cross-legged on the hard ballroom floor, facing each other. Miranda traced spirals in Kamil's palms with her fingertip.

"It just seemed the place to go," he said. "I was told people on this planet are very...friendly. And they are. But until you sent me this dinner invitation, I have to admit I was very uncomfortable with the way everyone approached me. I guess it always takes some time to get used to the culture on a new world."

"Is that why you came to dinner? Because I make you comfortable?"

"That, and I'm an enormous fan of your books."

Miranda couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"I've read them all. I even have my favorite passage memorized. Would you like to hear it?"

She nodded. He cleared his throat:

"'There are feelings for which we have no words, and it's for them that we invented the term 'love.' It's a word that lets feelings run free, without the burden of satisfactory definition, while the real thing that is love moves onward and upward through—'"

"Where did you read that?" Miranda was so shocked the dropped Kamil's hands and stood up straight as a fencepost. "No one knows I wrote that, not even my publisher."

Kamil, startled, stuck his hands in the pockets of his suit, like he didn't know what to do with them. "It's 'The Couch of Eros,' your very first book."

"I know that. But how do YOU know that? I wrote 'The Couch of Eros' under a pen name. No edition appears with my real name on it."

An icy, quivering feeling had set up residence near her heart, and she realized it was fear. Kamil, with his guileless smile and almost stupidly earnest appreciation for the quotation, had somehow terrified her. He looked helpless now, like a man hearing a complaint in a language he's never learned. All he could do was shrug and say that he had no idea, that his father had given him the book years ago and told him it was one of hers, and he'd never even realized it was a secret.

"How he came to find out I don't think anyone can say, but I'm very sorry if I offended you," Kamil said. "I just thought it was a beautiful sentiment. Maybe I should go."

"No!" Miranda said. And then, softer, "Please don't. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just been a long time since I thought about that book. Some of the memories in it are painful. I wasn't expecting it."

She took his hands again. They were gloriously warm. There was no light in the room except the stars, but Kamil's eyes gleamed like two shiny diamonds in the dark. She leaned up to kiss him, and as her lips came to within a whisper of his...

"I really should go," he said, backing away.

Miranda almost fell flat on her face, but steadied herself on his arm. "You should?"

"It's very late."

"If you think I'm upset about the book, I'm really not. In fact, let's go to the library. I'll autograph a copy for you, as an apology."

"That won't be necessary."

"Stay anyway," she said. "Stay for me. Please?"

He looked at her fully. "I had a wonderful time tonight, Ms. Bonnycastle. One of the best nights of my life. I hope to see you again. But I know the sorts of things people on this planet are saying about me, and I know the circles you travel in. I suspect that you may have some ulterior motive for inviting me here tonight."

Miranda bit her lip. "That's true. But I didn't expect that we would...that is to say, I didn't expect—"

"Neither did I. That's why it will be less painful for both of us if I go now. I promise this will not be the last we see of each other. But for now, good night."

He left, and she got nothing except another kiss on the hand and a stupid, miserable feeling that she'd created a brand new kind of regret, one that would hang over her head her for years.

It looked like she would have to do without those prized first editions Henry promised her. And she had the impression of losing something even more precious, though she dare not put a name to it.

She sat under the skylight for too long and then, knowing there was no sense putting it off, she made the call. Henry's face appeared in the holosphere with annoying promptness.

"Well?" he said.

"Annabelle was right. I thought I had it, but then..."

"It all slipped away. That seems to be this young man's MO. I wonder what kind of game he's playing with us?"

"I don't think he's the sort who plays games" said Miranda. "I actually think we're doing a terrible thing to him, and he knows it."

"If he knows it and he still shows up he must be at least a little game himself. In any event, it's my turn now."

"He wouldn't be interested in you, Henry. I may not have closed the deal, but I know the look in that boy's eyes. He definitely heard the call, even if he didn't answer it."

"It's not me I'll be offering." Henry turned his chin up in that way that made him look like an unruly schoolboy hiding something behind his back. "I'll offer him the one thing no man can refuse. Which, no offense to your lovely self, is something rather above your pay grade."

"And what's that?" Miranda said, her voice flat and sad. Henry's eyes twinkled.

"The world," he said."

***

Annabelle had 6 feet, 2 inches of prime gigolo tied to her headboard, but her heart wasn't really in it.

This didn't mean she stopped, of course. She pushed a gag into his mouth, shoved his head as far back into the mattress as it would go, and squeezed his body between her thighs until he squealed. They had 50 more reps like that to go.

That's what she was doing, but it's not what she was thinking about. In part she was thinking about Henry's party, which started an hour ago and which she should already be at. Everyone would be there—everyone rich enough, anyway.

Henry was stopping at absolutely nothing: Every floor of the castle was open to guests, from the private island on the rooftop (situated, of course, in the middle of the rooftop sea) to the boudoirs in the lowest subbasements. Big parties were a weekly occasion with Henry, but this was different. The fascination with Kamil Isaac had spread far beyond the scope of just their circle; the entire planet was in on it now. Annabelle felt almost territorial. After all, she'd seen him first.

Tonight's plaything looked a little bit like him. She squeezed until her knees hurt almost as much as the boy toy's ribs, and didn't stop until he thrashed like a landed fish. Even after she eased off, she teased him by running the tips of her nails down his naked chest and watching him tremble with barely contained combination of anxiety and anticipation. He really was good value. It was a shame she was mostly wasting him. Now, if Kamil himself were here...

But no. Even if he became receptive to her (which she knew he never would) this kind of exercise wouldn't be in their future. She felt too protective of him. She'd realized that her unreasonable jealousy about him was honed less by desire and more by a kind of mothering instinct, riled up by his blind earnestness. There was a Freudian element to that (hence the boy toy), but not much.

She slithered down the front of the boy's naked body and bit him on the chest, then sucked one dark nipple while he wriggled. She imagined biting into a ripe apple and letting the juice dribble down her chin.

The worst part of all this was that she'd finally figured out what Kamil's big secret was, but she didn't think anyone else had. Everyone was bound to be disappointed. And Henry was going to be furious...

"You are almost unfashionably late," said a voice in her ear. Henry had come in without her hearing him. She gave him a chaste kiss on the lips and raked the boy's chest once more for good measure.

"Lost track of time," she said, climbing down.

"Thinking about our guest of honor, no doubt."

"Everyone is."

She went to the mirror. Should she bother to dress, or just go au natural? The flush around her breasts after a good workout was rather flattering. She opted only to mist herself, giving her naked body a sheen, and then she followed Henry to the elevator (barely remembering to untie the boy before she went).

Annabelle's husband gave her a look halfway between bemusement and envy as they rode to the roof. "Why can't I shake the feeling that you're setting some kind of trap in that cunning mind of yours?"

"Because you never can," she said. "It's the secret of our years of marital bliss."

"I'm going to win the wager tonight."

"Winning isn't everything."

"But when you have everything, you can't help but win."

The castle sat on top of what was once the planet's highest mountain; when building at the altitude of the summit proved too dangerous, Henry had paid to have the top 12 percent of the peak removed. He told people that the castle was an ancestral home, brought brick by brick from Old Earth and reconstructed here, but that was nonsense. The bricks had been baked from moon dust 20 years ago, and he'd paid the architect who designed the place a 700 percent bonus on his commission to have the memories of the job blocked out.

It was a six minute ride up to the roof and the beach, where Annabelle found that nobody was swimming. Everyone gathered on the sand with drinks in hand to talk about Kamil.

"He's a eunuch," Zelda said as Annabelle approached. "That's what I've decided."

"Impossible," said Dorcas. "Godgrey spotted him in a crowded elevator last week and copped a feel. There's definitely a payday down there."

"Maybe he's just one of those asexuals," Miranda ventured, though she didn't sound convinced.

"Then why did he move to Peitho 9?" said Dorcas. "If you just want beautiful beaches you move to one of those other planets. People come here because we have a reputation."

"God knows we pay enough for it," said Zelda.

"Did you know the Baroness Tourvel wagered five percent of her entire estate on whether he would or wouldn't do it with someone tonight?" Dorcas said.

"Some people have put up stakes of entire planets," said Miranda. "Whole economies are going to rise and fall on that young man's affections."

"Sweet Jesus, that just makes me want to win more," said Zelda. "Can you imagine watching the stock indexes drop and know that you made it happen just by sucking—"

The lights flickered. It was a signal. Downstairs, Kamil arrived exactly on time, dressed in an antique tuxedo. Henry met him at the castle gates, and Kamil bowed to the host and shook his hand.

"Lord Wotton," Kamil said. "How pleasing to finally meet you."

"Call me Henry." He slapped Kamil on the shoulder. "Thank you for putting in an appearance. Why don't you walk with me and I'll show you the grounds—not all of them, of course, that takes all day even by tram, but let's at least give you the highlights. Do you like the garden?"

Henry's garden spanned acres, and a hundred mechanical gardeners worked it around the clock. The topiary creations were so elaborate that they actually moved, animated by mechanized skeletons. A dragon writhed in its own coils nearby, while, on the other side of the path, a family of giraffes grazed drolly on each other.

More eye-catching even than the garden itself were the "nymphs," Henry's personal garden wait staff, handpicked from a pool of thousands of applicants to frolic for 10 hour shifts every day. In exchange, they were given limited planetary memberships; Henry's way of giving back to the working class.

Eight of them greeted Kamil, touched his arms and shoulders, and asked if there was anything at all that he wanted. He politely kissed the hand of each nude, nubile woman and moved on.

"The lift is this way," Henry said. "You'll notice it's entirely transparent. I wasn't satisfied with other glass elevator models, so I commissioned this one. It's best not to look at the floor your first time, particularly if we descend."

Henry pulled a lever and the glass elevator rocketed up the side of the castle, gliding to a feather-soft stop at a particular floor after roughly a minute. The room they came to was carpeted entirely in red, and here were hundreds of partiers, almost all of them women, and almost all of them in various stages of undress.

"The VIP lounge," said Henry, escorting Kamil to a crushed red velvet couch on wheels that slowly drifted around the room on its own power. A mechanical maid who resembled a real woman in every way sat on the arm to feed grapes to whomever looked interested.

"You know why you're here tonight, of course," Henry said. Kamil sat with his hands folded in his lap and gave the robot maid a polite smile. "You're a smart fellow, so I'm just going to give you my pitch and you tell me what you're interested in," he continued. "No, no, don't say anything yet: Wait until I'm finished.

"Do you recognize any of these women? There's Roxanna Rio, the Sense model. There's Felicia Turner, star of 12 Nights, 6 days. Have you seen it? I believe she's arranged to receive several prestigious awards for her performance. Angelina Six has even taken a break from her 50 planet concert tour to be here. They're all very interested in meeting you."

Kamil waved to everyone. The crowd looked at him like he was the last horse d'ouvres on a plate.

"My wife and her friends, poor things, could only ever offer you themselves," Henry said. "I'm offering you any woman. Any woman in the galaxy. If she's not here, just name her and I'll arrange it. Your wish is my command, Mr. Isaac. Who will it be?"

A virtual sea of the most desirable, exotic, and glamorous human specimens ever assembled under one roof waited for Kamil's reply. He looked around, and his eyes widened, but only by a few degrees. Unsure what to say, in the end all he did was shrug.

Henry wasn't upset. He took them back to the elevator and pulled another lever, and after a few moments the doors opened to a dimly lit room so redolent with the scent of perfume that Kamil's eyes watered.

Everywhere he looked there were beautiful objects of gold, silk, satin, and lace. On nearly every available surface was a nude body, some reclining, some entwined, some contorting into shapes and positions for which no words had ever been assigned.

"Now I see," Henry said, guiding Kamil to a different couch. "You're a man of rarified tastes. It's not a question of which woman, but of how many, and what they're willing to do, right? We call this the harem level. This wing is mostly for guests; I too am a man of rarified tastes.

"You've met my wife, of course. A spectacular partner in all things, but she and I have certain understandings. In this room, anything goes. A true libertine so rarely find a venue worthy of his most extreme indulgences. Don't you agree. Mr. Isaac?"

Everything here was red and shadowy, and the scent and warmth of so much naked flesh seemed stifling. The place left absolutely nothing to the imagination, for there was no act Kamil could conceive of, no touching, licking, sucking, thrusting, or groping, no degradation, titillation, indulgence, or thrill that wasn't on display. Every size, shape, and color of body was present, and every degree of willing and eager compliance was being directed at him.

"Where would you care to start? Or should I call a few of the more talented tenants in to, well, start for you, as it were?"

Kamil cleared his throat. "I don't think...that is to say..."

Henry nodded and waved a hand. "Say no more. I see I've misjudged you again. My own fault, surely."

Back to the elevator they went, and now it descended, careening through the castle's depths and into one of the subterranean floors. This was the darkest place yet, full of the potent scent of leather, rubber, and steel, the shadows punctuated by the hard packing sound of objects on bare flesh and squeals muffled by masks, gags, and nooses.

Contraptions both medieval and super-modern were primed, oiled, and ready to twist the human figure in ways that would make the most jaded connoisseur of the anatomy blush. The click of boot heels on a cold, hard floor engendered the silent but somehow distinctly perceptible symphony of every hair standing on end.

Kamil hugged the elevator wall. Henry nodded. "Well, it isn't for everyone."

He pulled the lever and the door shut on the dungeon, but the elevator didn't move yet. Henry put a hand on Kamil's shoulder. "I'll just come right out and ask," he said. "Do you want to visit the stables? Or maybe the kennel? I won't judge. I'll give you the keys and you can pop in and out whenever you want. Even I'll never know."

"That's not it either."

"Then what is it?"

"I appreciate you going through all of this trouble to be hospitable to me. But..."

Henry leaned in. "Yes?"

"The truth is, I'm just not interested."

For a second Henry looked as if he'd been punched in the gut. Then a darkness came over his features. "I see," he said. And then, deeper: "I see."

He jerked a lever so hard the entire conveyance almost tipped over. They rocketed to the rooftop, stopping with a sharp DING! on the roof island. Henry all but dragged Kamil out into the middle of the luau.

The crowd on the beach parted, astonished, and all noise and merriment ceased as every eye turned toward them. Henry's face was flushed deep red, and his nostrils flared like an angry bull. Kamil brushed sand off of his tuxedo.

"I see how it is," Henry said. "You think you're too good for us."

"No!"

"Here's a first: I'm ashamed," said Henry. "This kind of ingratitude shames me."

"You don't understand," said Kamil. "I'm very grateful that everyone has been so...hospitable. The simple truth is, I just haven't met anyone I'm interested in yet."

"Then tell us what DOES interest you?" Henry shouted, putting his hands to the side of his head and pulling great handfuls of hair in frustration. "For God's sake, man, you have an entire planet in the palm of your hand! Don't you realize that?"

Every eye was on Kamil. He floundered, unable to speak. After several agonizing seconds, Annabelle separated from the crowd and touched him on the arm. She looked into his eyes. "Dear, you should tell them," she said.

He blinked. "Are you sure?"

Annabelle nodded. "I know you hoped nobody would find out. But how much longer do you want all of this to go on?"

Kamil sighed. "All right," he said. "If you think it's wise." He turned to the partygoers. "Do you all really want to know what's going on?" he said to the crowd.

"Jesus, yes!" said the twins, together.

"All right then," said Kamil. "I'll show you."

With that, the Virgin of Peitho 9 undressed. And once he was completely nude in front of the entire world...he CONTINUED undressing.

At first there were gasps when Kamil seized the flesh of his left arm and seemed to roll it down like a sleeve. Then someone recognized the significance of the gleaming, metallic appliance revealed underneath. "A machine!" said a voice in the crowd. "He's a robot!"

Kamil opened the panel on his chest and revealed the throbbing battery core that powered his countless mechanical processes. The inside of him glowed like a star. Everyone was rendered speechless. Someone on the 14th floor of the castle dropped a glass, and everyone heard it.

Then, Henry started to laugh. "Well, this explains everything," he said. "He's not even a man!"

"Technically, that's not true," said Kamil. "Sixty-three percent of my brain is organic. I was ruled a Fully Mechanical Human Citizen upon activation 26 years ago. And as you can see, I have the same state-of-the-art external genitalia-simulation unit that my company installs in our Casanova Gold robots."

"...oh, we have one of those," said Zelda, after a minute. "We used to have two, but I wore out one of the motors."

Dorcas turned on Annabelle. "You told us he only made robots."

"Nexus is the first robot-owned robotics company in the history of the galaxy," said Kamil. "Although we've kept it quiet. There's so much anti-robot sentiment on Earth, it would have been bad for our share price if everyone knew."