Tower of Babylon Pt. 03

One could wonder, and some did, why they desired to travel from the Buffer into the Theocratic Protected States. The visitors were a mixture of migrant workers, travelers, merchants, and others on business. Tourism, at least of the lesser classes, was clearly not welcome or desired.

Elites, snug in their black-mirrored land yachts, were whisked through a secondary (underground) vehicle entrance out of view of the desultory masses.

An announcer droned via speaker horns, "By entering this facility, you have agreed to be bound by the laws of the Protected States. Please review the list of contraband, prohibited items, and regulations. Infractions can result in summary expulsion, detention, or other sanctions. Make sure to always confirm your temporary protected class status and time-limited rights. If your rights expire before you exit, you may be subject to involuntary indenture."

A day trader clad in an extruded ensemble with a plastic tie on his neck couldn't help staring at the trio who stood out like gold in a stream of shit: The man was wearing a real woven fabric business class suit, not something spat out of a printer. The suit had two fine women with him, attached to his hand strap with a chain looping through their butt plugs. The naked blonde was tasty enough, but the Asian could have been an illegal body mold for all he knew. She was perfection in a skin-tight reverse bikini stocking that covered everything except her tits and ass. He drooled and bumped up, not inadvertently, against the cute blondie at the rear. Doing more could earn him a bag and tag from the watchful soldiers above, but this much seemed to be allowed.

Matt was lost in thought, pissed, and sorry that he'd agreed to this whole side trip. All he wanted to do was produce the Buffer show and go home, but bailing now would put him on Pastor's blacklist, tantamount to career suicide.

They had diplomatic visas but were denied private transport, probably a negotiation tactic to put the outsiders in their place. It wasn't surprising but still annoying. Rebecca Okano had agreed to come along as a guide, as she was an expatriate from the Protectorate. She had insisted on the proper way for displaying male headship and gave Bee tips on etiquette.

Both of the women had approved collars plus subcutaneous trackers with the embedded identification and registrations that would protect them from being rounded up or accosted. It didn't keep people in the line from staring with a mixture of envy or desire.

Bee missed the Enclave-it had already felt like home despite her relatively short time there. Plus the clear acrylic heels were pinching her feet. She kept reminding herself that she'd volunteered for this in order to get on the fast track. Days like this made her determination waver as the asshole in back kept feeling her up. It also sucked to be second fiddle to Okano. Something flared in her heart whenever the angular Asian leaned over to whisper in Matt's ear.

Noticing her look, Okano turned her head back and admonished the peeved blonde, "Keep your posture up and stay positive. Bad form will be recorded, and you don't want the attention of the Comportment Committee. You represent your man with pride, show it!"

"What about your outfit? From that rulebook you made me study, it's skirting the law," Bee shot back.

"It's best to give the customs agent something obvious to ding us on, so I will give them something bitch about. I give you a merit point for actually doing your homework."

The chain chafed Bee's thighs. She had a normal butt plug this time, as smuggling currency into the Protectorate was illegal and there was no need to take risks. The religious zealots weren't persuaded by cash, mostly. The dickhead in the plastic suit crowded her again. She remembered some more of the etiquette manual and sneered, "Grab me one more time and your hand will be cut off, I'm private property."

The man leapt back as if he was stung.

There were a lot of things to hate and fear about the Protectorate, but there was some utility in being considered a valuable asset. The Protectorate had rolled back the clock on certain things so far that the hour hand wound into some benighted future, or so some claimed.

Although they were still technically in the Buffer, where the rules weren't as strictly enforced, the day trader wasn't going to push his luck any further. He didn't want to end up like the next fellow in line, probably a former soldier or mercenary with prosthetic appendages replacing his natural born limbs. The Protectorate disapproved of full body cybernetics so he must have an exemption or was sliding just under the 50 percent rule.

The ex-soldier still had his mil-spec optical implants which whirred as it tracked the trader's furtive eye movements. There was nothing to back it up of course, since any combat mods would have been stripped or rendered inoperable. Still, the trader kept his frustrations to himself and kept his eyes down.

When they finally reached the first gate agent, a grim looking middle-aged man with a buzz cut and mouth carved into a permanent grimace stared at them with suspicious eyes from behind the thick armored glass as he remote scanned their collars and Matt's visa token embedded in his wrist unit.

He pressed something and a side door buzzed open, "Come inside the screening room. An agent will conduct an inspection."

Matt was about say something but Okano tugged on the chain sharply and narrowed her eyes, subtly shaking her head.

By chance, the inspector was a woman although this was not a set rule for this position. At least the interior of the screening area was comfortable, although a bit cool even for Matt. If the inspector was bothered by this, she gave no sign as she only wore a veil and a sarong that covered her from the waist down. She was a bit heavyset, with melon size tits supported by a mesh under-bra and her torso was caked with some heavy body makeup so this was a clue as to why she was mostly clothed.

She did a brief scan of Matt's credentials and said, "You can wait here or on the other side. These two will need a closer inspection and body scan. Please unhook your service chain and remove any body jewelry or inserted items unless you have a medical waiver. Place them in the tray."

"I'll wait here," Matt announced as the two indelicately ejected their plugs.

She shrugged and pointed for Bee to go through the scanner first, wrinkling her nose and pushing the tray onto a conveyor belt. Superficially the whole device was like an airport x-ray unit with the full body scan booth, but this one was designed for quite a different purpose.

The inspector clucked as she read the display, "Good, good. Step forward to this line. Nice stats. Open your mouth please." She shined a light and made a pathetic show of peering inside. "Okay, everything appears to be in order, welcome to the Protected States, under His Holy Gaze. You may wear approved head protection but any veils cannot cover more than half of your face, from the top or the bottom. It must be nice to be young, enjoy it while it lasts."

The inspectors own veil was nearly a full face mask, only letting the area around her eyes be seen. She had some kind of thick makeup even there, most likely to hide any wrinkles. Her eyes narrowed at Okano when she came up for her turn, "You'll have to take all that off too. I need to do a full visual body check."

Okano shrugged and peeled off the body stocking. Its seams had hidden contact clasps so she could detach each segment in sections. There was another plastic bin for personal items next to the scanner. This time the Inspector gave Okano a thorough once over from head to toe, her light shining in every nook and cranny as she spread her butt cheeks. Okano took this in good grace without any hint of resentment though she did remark, "Thanks for keeping your nails clipped."

The inspector snorted.

"Scan says you had some sculpting done. I'll need contact information for the flesh-slicer and his registration codes. If you have any other modifications, declare them now. If the Committee finds any proscribed chemistry enhancers or secretion sacs, you will be subject to severe and summary punishment. Do you understand?"

"Most assuredly," Okano nodded soberly. "His office is in the city actually. Yoon Cosmetics RMG. Mention my name and you'll get a nice discount, looks like you could use a tuck."

The inspector puffed out of the side of her mouth, not taking the bait, "Welcome back, skin-doll. You must have a wealthy sponsor, that's top tier work and there's no way I can afford that even if it was 90 percent off. I wouldn't be working out here if I could." She turned to Matt, "Just as well, there is a hefty tax if you want your girl to wear that outfit and even then you might get put up in front of a judge for a valuation assessment. Not worth the hassle, if you ask me, even if you plan on leasing her to a council member."

"That's fine. Just dispose of the clothes please," Matt shrugged. He was a bit surprised by the information: Okano was more mysterious than he had thought. He had guessed she had work done, but not on that scale.

The inspector hesitated, obviously miffed about having to do a chore that wasn't her job, but she couldn't openly naysay a man. She gave the sign of the Patriarch, and bowed her head. Okano did so in kind. Fortunately, they didn't seem to expect Bee to follow the ritual.

From what she had read and Okano's instructions, the place they were entering was the reason why the Free Independent States (the Gladstone Enclave being situated in one) were not some kind of oxymoron. In comparison, they were bastions of freedom: if you weren't a Citizen in the Protected States, you were essentially a slave. Only land owning men could register as citizens and by extension members of his family, plus those who could claim blood ties to one of the founding families.

As a foreign visitor, Matt was in a grey area as a person without official status in the hierarchy, therefore, visas like the one assigned to him had to be vouchsafed by a landed Citizen or agents of such a household. A representative of one would await them on the other side to collect them.

According to religious doctrine, only a man was the head of a household, and women were subject to the laws of Beautification and Comportment as precious assets to be put on pedestals, quite literally at times. The two women were registered as part of his personal effects. For Bee, this didn't change much in the way her life had been going, but she still shivered when she stepped across to the other side behind Okano and Matt. She truly was property here. Her heart thumped.

They had left the plugs behind but kept the chain, which was now hooked to their collars. The original hierarchy was kept: Matt at the lead, followed by Okano next, and Bee last in accordance to local custom. Well, if she made it big, she'd get the fancy body work done too. She couldn't argue that Rebecca's hip ratio was mathematically perfect.

Thankfully, there was a rolling walkway that took the visitors the rest of the way through a long tunnel underneath the weight of the massive wall. The nearly black, oppressive slabs seemed to press down all around them, lit by cold LED strips that ran in parallel into the distance.

On the other side, they spilled out into a concourse that led to a wide plaza as impressive as the one in the Enclave. There were other similarities that reminded her of the fateful bus trip many months earlier.

In contrast to the brutalist outward facing wall, the whitewashed architecture behind the wall was light and airy with long stretches of greenery, hedgerows, and blooming varietals of all sorts on display. Greeting the visitor was a vast living sculpture park, much like the one in the atrium of the main tower at Gladstone, but here, it was composed only of women. Bee's eyes widened with awe. There was a veritable forest of nudes arranged in neat rows, each woman entwined with some construct of metal, wood, or stone that mimicked trees.

"This is known as the field of dryads," Okano explained. "You'd be surprised to know it is comprised of volunteers. Meritorious conduct is one way to get ahead here. It is said that a mistress of one of the great houses was plucked from this field. Although there are no particular time restrictions, there is a regular rotation, and during special events or seasons the display changes in theme and style."

Bee tugged on the chain, forcing the group to come closer. Almost appearing merged with the twining stalks, the closest woman was posed like a frozen dancer in mid leap, metal vines supporting her limbs. As they approached, she smiled and rode the attached phallus for them.

"Can we..." Bee asked, just as Okano stepped forward and met the performer's mouth with her own, using a hand to tease the woman below as she exerted herself. Apparently, this was accepted social custom.

"Witness my glory," the woman keened as she rose to religious ecstasy.

Okano stepped back as Bee stroked the enthralled living sculpture, fascinated by the beatitude in her countenance. Even Matt had to express his own amazement although he had been attempting to be reserved. He despised religion of any form and the cultish aura of the Protectorate was not held high in his esteem. As if energized by the fresh visitors, a wave of ecstasy seemed to travel down the plaza around them.

He compared what he saw so far to the Enclave and he was generally not impressed otherwise. The city was flat and stretched to the horizon like a vast university campus of scattered low buildings interspersed with nearly empty avenues and uniform rows of (real) trees that gave the place an otherwise sterile appearance. The wall on this side somehow seemed much less imposing, painted such that is almost seemed to disappear into the sky.

It reminded him of images from a different time he'd only seen in advertisements. Where the Enclave was futuristic, showing off the technical mastery of its owners, the Protected city mimicked a classic suburban dreamscape.

Everything was almost too pale and bright. But it was just as well that Matt hadn't opted for optical implants instead of shades. Major body-mods, as the inspector had warned, were heavily regulated here.

Nearby, a group of day-laborers were met by their handler who ordered them into the back of a covered van. Obvious armored troopers were absent but it was clear that there were plainclothes police intermingling with the people doing their business. It was easy to spot the Committee members: both men and women wore the signature starch white shirts, black ties and matching suit jackets. This wardrobe was not suited for the climate but their expressions were frigid despite the oppressive heat.

Apparently, the female Committee members were exempted from the usual dress codes, or they were purposefully recruited from the ranks of the unattractive. Matt suspected the latter. He could feel the judgement of their gaze raise the hairs on his neck but they didn't approach them, to his relief.

Across the plaza there must have been some kind of administrative center, for there was a small but steady stream of people who bustled back and forth with at least the appearance of assiduous purpose. Matt couldn't fathom what they did for a living.

A tanned man wearing a white polo shirt and matching shorts approached them, "Mister Arnold, I presume." He held out a hand with a firm grip. "Grant Ford. Welcome."

Matt tried to pull off a matching smile but the man's brilliant teeth and coal black eyes were as hospitable as a great white shark. Something about him unsettled Matt immediately, as if one wrong move and he'd tear a limb off. The man glanced at Bee and Rebecca with a reptilian interest. Okano had already warned Bee to maintain the proper etiquette and she kept her eyes downcast.

"I apologize for the walk. This meeting is supposed to be discrete and any vehicle going outside has to be logged. The instructions were clear. We're just a small house, so we serve at the behest of our own masters." He pointed Matt down to the street where transportation was lined up. "I can take you the rest of the way." Ford was contracted as an intermediary for the actual power broker Gladstone was negotiating a bid package.

Amidst the work vans and commuter shuttles, there was a smattering of small personal cars. Ford led them to a machine that was barely more than a golf-cart, completing the look of their greeter. However, this cart had an ornament strapped to its unusually long hood: a woman facing backwards on her stomach with her legs tied so that her ass was spread to form a front grill. She was essentially trussed like an antelope after a hunt. Matt immediately noticed that the machine also only had two seats under the open canopy.

"The front is taken by Gretchen, so your girls will have to go in the back," he said, patting the hood ornaments rump as he passed. When Matt hesitated, Okano quickly unhooked her chain and pulled Bee with her to the back deck and pulled up a frame rig with straps. She seemed to be quite well versed on how it worked as she had Bee climb into it. The whole frame titled at an angle that could be adjusted with a locking support. Okano had Bee squat, knees spread out nearly at right angles and her arms tied behind her back onto the frame's manacle attachments.

Once all the webbing in the "luggage" rack was strapped across Bee, she was suspended from the frame with her exposed sex on display to anyone approaching the rear.

It wasn't clear how Okano could also fit until she climbed up and dexterously pivoted into a face down sixty-nine on top of Bee. She looked back expectantly, obviously needing help for the last part.

"Want a remote teaser?" Ford asked as he rummaged through a small compartment. "I have some spares."

Matt shook his head, "All good."

He saw that there were straps to help secure her limbs and additional bracers for her arms and legs. It was rather complex but he managed to decipher it without having to ask. After finishing, he coiled up and secured the loose chain, gave Okano a kiss on her lower lips and gave Bee a peck on her forehead. When he turned back toward Ford, the man raised an eyebrow and pointed his chin at the rig.

It took a moment for Matt to realize what he intended. He adjusted the angle of the rig, locking it to its most extreme position. Okano was now almost fully head down, her legs forked like goal-posts or a skewered chicken. Bee could see over her crotch at least and rest her chin on Rebecca's clam. She joked, "This isn't too bad! I hope my calves don't fall asleep though."

When Matt took his seat, Gretchen gave him a wink. He wondered if the sun was toasting her bare back but he didn't break protocol by speaking directly to her. Okano had warned him that unless he had a specific request to make, that he was not expected to converse with the decoration. Interacting with regular women in the course of business was accepted, although not encouraged. Matt thought that the place was basically the Enclave on steroids.

There was no windshield but the cart was not very fast and there were no swarms of insects. He assumed that like the Enclave, they had bioengineered their behavior although there were strict religious proscriptions on how much tampering could be done. It was a badly kept secret that they made the necessary exceptions despite being Luddites in many ways.

Ford turned out into the street at a leisurely pace. The cart was a fully manual electric, another peculiarity of the Protectorate as artificial intelligence was banned so the streets were absent of self-driving machines. Matt wondered how the people managed to not collide with each other although the relative speeds were quite low.