by DevilChild
Fandom: Poisontaster's A Kept Boy 'Verse
Rating: Mature (language and themes)
Characters: Josh Homme and Damian Lewis
Author's Note: Assumes you've read Poisontaster's A Kept Boy and
Thanks to Poisontaster and Kellifer for being so generous and letting me play in the sand box.
For the purposes of this story, Damian Lewis was born in the Empire.
This story was written to explore some ideas I had about what life might be like for the corps of slaves who work for Commerce as well as wondering what sort of secret police the Empire might have. The Bureau of Industry and Security is a division of the Commerce Department created after 9/11. Obviously there's a been a bit of "mission creep" since then and now.
Influences on this story include: James Ellroy's LA Quartet, The Shield, Gorky Park, the Imperial So'jin (from Jordan's Wheel of Time), and there is an out-and-out homage to Piers Anthony's Bio of a Space Tyrant.
Copyright and Disclaimer: The following is a bit of whatiffery, set in a fantasy universe and is not intended as an accurate reflection of any particular person's actions, world view, or morals.
Two six-plus footers with bright red hair. Together they would be about as subtle as a brick through a window.
"They tell me you're a cab," the man said, extending his hand.
Cab. Commerce slang for Chipped At Birth. It meant your mother had accepted the "invitation" to artificial insemination in exchange for a job upgrade or other privlidges.
"Commerce born and bred, just like you." Damian replied. It was a widely held belief amongst Commerce slaves that Commerce was running a low-key eugenics program. Given that "unscheduled" pregnancies were terminated, and most men and women were sterilized by the age of 25, Damian had no doubt that women "invited" to bear children for Commerce also had clean DNA.
In fact, looking at the man before him, he wondered if they shared the same sperm "donor." He also wondered if his new partner had likewise had a "donation request".
His new partner extended his hand. "Agent Joshua Homme. Call me Josh."
Damian shook it. "Agent Damian Lewis. Don't call me Dame."
***
Damian didn't trust Josh until the first time field work required them to share a hotel room due to the fact that the nearest Commerce dormitory was over two hours drive away.
Josh sauntered out of the bathroom, clad in only a low-slung towel, and that's when Damian saw it, a red star worked into a moon and stars design on his left pec.
The Red Star.
A tattoo motif unique to the BIS rank and file.
If a Lord or a Master, or a colleague from another branch of Commerce asked about it, you smiled politely and spouted some bullshit about liking the design or color. And if they asked about how you got a tattoo in the first place? Depending on the circumstances, you explained that tattoos were permitted for BIS agents because they made certain kinds of undercover work easier, or that it was a relic of your former life.
If a non-tattooed BIS agent asked? Depending on how well you knew and trusted him or her, you told the undercover story, or you handed them a copy of the forbidden book Gorky Park.
The Red Star.
It meant that you got the joke of your position, understood that the fix was in, and unlike Arkady Renko, accepted it. You did your job, "investigated", and justice would be served if one of the neo-nomenklatura decided to serve it. Depending on the various agendas in play? Damian had long ago given up trying to guess what the outcome of any investigation would be. In the end, he just made damn sure that citizens and slaves alike knew to respect and fear the BIS.
Damian took a shower of his own, came out clad in a towel, and that's when Josh got an eyeful of the trio of red, white, and blue stars on his left pec.
They got on just fine after that.
~oo(0)oo~
"What news?" Josh asked after Damian checked the message on his phone and swore loudly.
Damian simply handed him the phone and let him read it for himself.
They were driving up the California coast to investigate a possible baby mill in the Santa Ynez valley, a case they'd been working on for months, and now they had to stop and check on this shit?
"Isn't that what they have Auditors for?" Josh frowned.
"Fuck it, I'm calling Wahlberg on this."
***
"And?"
Damian sighed. "Wahlberg says it comes from the Under Secretary's lips to his ears."
"You've got to be shitting me."
The almost feral glint in Josh's eyes probably matched his own as Damian told Josh to pull over as soon as they got out of these fucking canyons and could get a good signal.
Because, the Under Secretary in charge of the BIS did not just call the So-Cal field office and tell the Head of Investigations to send Agents to just drop in on some Lord or Master and audit the slaves contracted to him. Not unless there was some sort of neo-nom bullshit game afoot.
Josh looked at him and said, "Don't scowl like that. We do it right, we can have fun."
Damian had to admit that his partner had a point. A part of him loved knocking on their doors and watching impotent fury war with the fear in their eyes.
***
The Commerce Code made it quite clear. BIS agents were required to kneel to two people: The Secretary of Commerce and the Under Secretary of Commerce for Industry and Security. Anything else was strictly voluntary or performed as part of carrying out undercover duties.
And boy oh boy did that ever fuck with the heads of those Born to the Purple.
***
Josh literally crowed with glee when he saw a list of the Morgan estate household slaves. "Damian," he said, pointing to one of the names, "that there is one of the finest pieces of ass you will ever lay eyes on. Follow my lead, and we might make a man out of you yet."
Damian gave him the evil eye. He had two years and two merit grades on Josh. Which meant that Josh chapped his hide every chance he got. "Oh yeah?" He caught sight of the contract price and gave a low whistle. "Since when do you and a slice like that run in the same circles?"
Josh flashed a nasty smile. "The individual formerly known as Lord Crowe held his contract. Bitch-boy's totally drunk the Kool-Ade. Fanatically loyal to whoever holds his contract. Fucked me twice in an effort to save Crowe's hide."
Damian had his doubts. "Isn't he a little male for you?"
"I closed my eyes and thought of England." They both laughed. Josh chewed his lip thoughtfully before he continued, "Funny thing is, I actually think it might have been his idea, not Crowe's. He had such a crestfallen look on his face the day we came and took Crowe away."
Damian laughed. "Jesus. I saw the transcripts. Nothing could've saved Crowe. Guy was pretty fucking flagrant in his abuses." He pointed to an entry further down the list "So, do you know anything about this Jared who's supposedly being used out of contract?"
Josh piffed air up through his bangs and said, "Other than what it says on screen? Never heard of him."
***
They rolled into town at 7pm, checked into a hotel, and decided to bang on Morgan's door at some time between two and three in the morning, hopefully rousing everybody out of a sound sleep and seeing what they let slip while sleepy, cranky, and disoriented.
~oo(0)oo~
They had planned to approach the baby mill under the guise of Agents for a Lord who was in shit up to his eyebrows with the BIS and would vouch for them — his vaunted abolitionist principles had lasted for about 10 seconds once the waterboarding started.
The suits Josh had picked out for the assignment were classic MIB right down to the skinny ties. Too bad the nighttime nature of their visit to Morgan meant they couldn't wear the sunglasses. It helped increase the fear when they couldn't read your eyes.
"Collar or no collar?" Josh asked as he slipped his holster harness on.
Damian frowned in thought. On the one hand, their real collars were convenient in that they could clip their mini-shields to them. On the other hand, it provided a constant visual reminder that BIS Agents, unlike, say, the FBI or the Mounties, were property. Sometimes that was a bad idea. But, it was also a lot of fun to rub that fact in one of their faces — the fact that they had to submit to a slave.
"Collars on," he decided.
Josh keyed in the code for the lock box and retrieved them.
***
They threw the house into such an uproar that it took all of Damian's skill at "command presence" to keep from laughing out loud at several points.
No sooner had they gotten the house slaves assembled in the foyer than Damian caught sight of the body slave that Josh had mentioned. Damn. He wished that Commerce had something like that down in the rank and file Tail. All the good stuff was reserved for Senior Inspectors and up. Damian completely understood why Josh had dipped his wick despite being more partial to women. He would have had a hard time turning down an offer, too.
Fuck, who was he kidding? If that delectable piece made an offer, hells yes, Damian was taking it.
He gave Josh a quick nod. Time to get the next act started.
"Kneel," Josh said.
Jensen dropped to the tiles, knees making an audible thud.
The rest of the slaves simply looked at each other.
"You heard the man!" Damian barked. "On your knees!"
Morgan's Agent, a man named Chris Kane, got a mule stubborn look in his eyes as he made his leisurely way down.
"Just what, exactly, is going on?" asked the somewhat rumpled man descending the stairs. "And who are you men again?"
"Master Morgan I presume?" The man nodded and Damian continued, "I'm Agent First Class Damian Lewis, Bureau of Industry and Security." He gave his most charming grin. "My partner is Agent Joshua Homme. We're here to investigate an allegation of out of contract service."
Morgan dragged a hand over his face and blinked at them before groaning, "You have got to be shitting me. Couldn't this have waited until morning?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Damian noticed that Jensen, that pretty piece of ass, looked at his Master with a mixture of abject terror and dread written across his face. He was, however, too well trained to open his mouth and attempt to warn him.
"Where's your warrant?" Chris asked, climbing to his feet.
"I didn't give you leave to stand," Damian told him. When he'd knelt again, Damian smiled once more and addressed Morgan, "If I may remind you? This is a matter of contract enforcement and as such, requires no warrant. Feel free to contact your legal counsel if you require further clarification."
"No, no," Morgan grumbled and scrubbed a hand through his already tousled locks. "Let's just get this bullshit over with."
"Good."
Josh handed Morgan a copy of the complaint. He read it, rubbed sleepily at his eyes and said, "Chris, do you know where Jared is?"
"Probably in the stables." The tone of the words was mild, but Damian saw the anger blaze in his eyes for just a split second before a studied calm slid into place. "One of the mares is close to foaling and Jared thinks it's going to be a hard birth."
Josh said nothing, just cocked an eyebrow at Damian. Damian shrugged back at him. The words of Morgan's Agent didn't mean anything. They still needed to take a look and ask a few questions.
"Find your feet and take us to him," Josh said.
Damian cleared his throat. "The rest of you are dismissed for now, but no one goes off the estate. We may have further questions."
~oo(0)oo~
From the first glance it was clear that Jared, though handsome, was no house slave sent to hide out in the stables for a week or two.
Also, it wasn't often that Josh had to deal with somebody he couldn't intimidate with his mere presence. Not only was Jared as tall as Josh, but he looked stronger, too.
Jared answered their questions forthrightly and with no hint of evasiveness as he attended to the needs of an obviously distressed horse.
No, Morgan had never commanded him to provide sexual favors for a guest.
No, Morgan had never commanded a sexual favor of him. He never commanded anything sexual from his slaves. Ever. Not even his body slaves. (Josh laughed at that and muttered something about how the randy little bitch didn't need to be asked twice.)
Yes, Jared had had sex with other slaves on the estate. No, none of them had ever forced him. No, he had never forced any of them.
Who? Jared rattled off a list of names, including Jensen the body slave. "But that was by accident," he added a moment later.
"Told you he was hot to trot," Josh said to Damian. He cocked his head to get a better view of whatever it was Jared was doing with his hand and the horse and said, "And were you punished for 'accidentally' screwing your master's body slave?" The question dripped with sarcasm.
"No sir," Jared replied, shaking his head. "It was — Jensen was new here. He didn't understand how Jeff does things. Jensen misunderstood what — hang on girl, I know it hurts, but you just have to let me — he misunderstood what Jeff had asked of him and," he frowned pensively, "I just thought that Jensen was being friendly because he liked me."
"Indeed," Josh said dryly. "Friendly."
"You still fucking him?" Damian asked.
"No." Jared sighed. "When Jeff found out about the misunderstanding, he ordered me not to any more and then about five minutes later, Jensen told me that he didn't want to the first time, that it was just because he thought he'd been told to, and that he wasn't going to do it any more."
"Ouch," Josh muttered under his breath.
"What?" Jared asked, puzzled. "I mean, yeah, he's gorgeous, but, I kind of regret the whole thing — if he doesn't want to, then I don't want to. It's ... not right."
Josh shook his head and clucked through his teeth.
***
The sky had started to turn silvery along the horizon as they left the barn.
"That was something else," Josh said as they made their way back to the main house. "I never saw a horse get born before."
Chris, who had radiated annoyance since the moment they stepped through the front door, said (just the barest kiss of told-you-so in his voice) "Jared's extremely gifted with animals. It's why Jeff's sending him to vet school."
Both Damian and Josh took extreme pleasure in Chris's barely concealed look of shock and disdain when they tracked the muck of the stables straight into the kitchen. The cook, a much better trained woman, kept her face perfectly blank as she reached for the sponge.
Morgan, still rumpled, met them in the foyer. "Are you finished here?" he asked blandly.
"Almost," Josh said. "Where's your body slave? I'd like to talk with him."
"I've got a few questions of my own," Damian added.
Morgan sighed deeply. "Chris, take them to my study. I'll fetch Jensen."
As they followed Chris down the hall to another wing of the house, Damian glanced at Josh and saw the same question in his eyes. The Master fetching a slave instead of staying with them in the study? Or sending Chris to do it after taking them to the study? Interesting.
"Wait outside," Damian said curtly. As soon as he shut the door behind them, he seized Josh by the lapels and hauled him over by the window. "We are not here for you to make a booty call! Crowe was clearly on his way down. We don't know enough about this guy yet. Watch yourself!" he hissed.
Josh's mouth quirked as if to say, "Hey, can't blame me for trying."
"Besides," Damian continued softly, "if it does turn out to be a baby mill, I'm sure that you'll find somebody there who's willing to thank you for saving her from an endless round of being fucked by strange men."
Josh snickered at that. "I love that you bring the irony. Best part about working with you."
A knock at the door cut off Damian's reply. Guided by Morgan's hand on his upper arm, Jensen entered, pale and shaky, looking as if he might vomit. He started to go to his knees, but Morgan hauled up on his arm and admonished him, "Not unless they tell you to, Jensen."
"Jensen, sit." Damian pointed at the couch. To Morgan he said, "You can go now —" he counted a two beat before adding, "sir."
When Morgan had left the room, Damian flashed Jensen a reassuring smile. "You have nothing to worry about. Just answer us truthfully and this won't take long."
Jensen swallowed hard, and nodded, eyes cast demurely down.
"No, no, no, that won't do," Josh said, stepping over and tilting Jensen's chin up with his finger. His voice took on an almost sing-song cadence. "We want to see those pretty green eyes of yours. So you're going to keep them on us when you answer. Clear?"
"Yes sir," Jensen replied, voice barely audible. He did not break eye contact.
Damian crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. Keeping his voice mild, soothing even, he asked, "Has your master ever asked Jared to work outside his contract?"
"N-no. He never asks anyone to. He never makes anyone do that."
"Really?" Josh asked. "Because Jared said that —"
"I was new to the house," Jensen interjected. "I misunderstood my master's instructions. Master Morgan never ordered me to sleep with anybody."
Josh feigned surprise. "Oh. I was just going to say that Jared also said that your master never makes sexual demands of his slaves." Josh paused, cocked his head, and loomed over Jensen. "So, is Jared also a big boy?"
"Agent Homme." Damian put a warning note into his voice. "Jensen, don't answer that question." After a moment passed, and Josh had backed off a few steps, Damian continued, "Do you know who issued the complaint?"
Jensen's brow wrinkled in thought before he answered, "No."
But, he had had to think about how to compose that answer. Probably lying with the truth. Damian approached it from another angle. "Do you have any information about what might have generated the complaint?" His eyes bored into Jensen's.
Jensen drew a long, shuddering breath and looked so much like he might be sick that Damian almost reached for the wastebasket. "A Lord, sir," Jensen finally said. "He wants to buy Jared and Master Morgan said no."
"A lover of horses?" Josh asked.
"No."
"A fellow lover of big, well hung stableboys?" Josh asked, not bothering to disguise his contempt.
Jensen flinched, then nodded yes.
A part of Damian wanted to scream and smash things. A probable baby mill (a case, that if it panned out, could see him made an Inspector and Josh finally get Agent Second Class) and they were pulled off of it to deal with a pissing match between two rich shitbirds. He buried his head in his hands, took a deep breath, and involuntarily chortled. When he looked up, Josh rolled his eyes at him over Jensen's head and nodded in understanding.
"One more thing," Josh said, circling around, once again invading Jensen's space. "Say Morgan had passed Jared around and we all knew it. Would you still offer to fuck me in the hopes of saving Morgan?"
Jensen looked back at Josh, his soft green eyes growing agate hard. "No," he replied, voice low and steady.
Josh smiled and patted him on the cheek. "Good boy." Crouching down, eye to eye with Jensen, he murmured, "Don't ever stick your ass out for one of them. It's not worth it."
"You can go now," Damian told him. "We're done with you."
~oo(0)oo~
The first pinky-orange rays of dawn bathed the driveway as they made their way out of the main house.
"How convivial of Master Morgan to send his Agent to escort us back to our car," Josh said in a bright, overly cheerful voice.
"Convivial indeed," Damian agreed. Convivial. Snort. He loved it when Josh pulled out the big words.
"So you're done here then?" Chris asked with cold formality. "Or is there someone else you need to ... interrogate?"
Right. That tore it. Damian had had enough of Chris and his uppity ways. In a single, fluid motion, he drew his pistol, spun, and clipped Chris hard across the face with it, dropping him instantly.
"You have a gun ...." Chris whispered up at him, dazed.
"I see you're a master of the obvious," Damian sneered back at him.
Blinking up at him, visibly collecting his wits, eyes still huge pools of shock and pain, Chris wiped at the blood streaming from nose and lip, studied his hand as if he couldn't believe the sight of it it, and said, in a voice that barely trembled, "My master will file a complaint about this."
"My master" not, "Jeff" — it was good to see Chris Kane hadn't completely forgotten what he was.
Damian shrugged. "Let him." Getting down on one knee next to him, Damian spoke in a hushed voice, "I'm going to file a report of my own as soon as I get back to headquarters. It might mention of a slave who was uncooperative and obstructed our investigation and make a strong recommendation for his re-contracting." He paused. "And believe me, I know of some shitty jobs."
"You can't do that," Chris said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You don't own me."
Damian pulled out a handkerchief and gently dabbed at Chris's face. To his credit, Chris clamped down on the urge to flinch almost instantly. "Let's make this clear," Damian continued in that same low, soft voice, "your present master is Jeffrey Morgan. Your owner is the Commerce Department. I am an Agent of Commerce." He dropped his voice an octave and snarled, "Mine is the Hand of God."
He stood up, pitched the keys to Josh and said, "Let's get back to work. You drive." He slid in to the passenger seat, pinching the bridge of his nose against an impending headache. "It's been over a day since Palicki reported in and I don't like that."
Damian liked Agent Palicki. She'd busted her ass to get out of Tail — where she'd been completely wasted, looks or no — and the first thing the BIS did was send her undercover as a body slave. It had to sting. But she'd done a solid job so far.
"It's probably nothing." Josh said, putting the car into drive and peeling out. "Maybe she's just too busy to grab a moment to contact us."
"I hope so," Damian said. "We've got a long day ahead of us. I hope we get something good to show for it."
Author's Notes, pt 2:
Pathoheterodoxy Syndrome is a fictional mental illness mentioned in Gorky Park. A KGB agent defined it thusly: "You have unreal expectations … You overestimate your personal powers. You feel isolated from society. You swing from excitement to sadness. You mistrust the people who most want to help you. You resent authority even when you represent it. You think you are the exception to every rule. You underestimate the collective intelligence. What is right is wrong and what is wrong is right."
Insemination at Commerce really is voluntary. It is rarely refused however because the perks include a better apartment, an increase in rank, etc.
Almost no cab knows his or her father — those records are sealed and accessible only by those at the higher levels of Commerce.
Cabs live with their mothers for the first 7 years of life, after which they are sent away to a Commerce training school and rarely see their mothers again.
All children raised by Commerce are indoctrinated heavily to be loyal to Commerce (think —"The Corps is Mother the Corps is Father") and since they know that they will never be sold, and that the institutionalized, bureaucratized nature of their lives affords them some favors and privileges that other slaves do not have, most see that it is in their interests to be loyal. They are also taught that they are superior to other slaves, an elite.
Commerce slaves have a lot of aptitude testing during their education and are encouraged to pursue interests and talents; there is a certain amount of cross training and opportunity to learn other skills. This is partly to wring the greatest possible use out of slaves, so that they can move into another job when the time is right, but also for morale related reasons.
Commerce slaves live in Commerce controlled apartment buildings in enclosed compounds. Life is regimented and rather communal. Mandatory exercise periods. Fixed mealtimes and portion control. Only a few Slaves have their own private apartments. Many do not even have their own room.
Commerce slaves unable to perform assigned duties due to advanced age, severe illness, permanent profound injury, or severe mental illness are euthanized. Babies born with cerebral palsy, spinal chord defects, or a missing limb are euthanized. Infants and toddlers who are mentally retarded, autistic, blind, or deaf are euthanized.
Tail — once a week, starting at the age of 16, every male Commerce Slave is taken to what amounts to a brothel and is ordered to have sex. The rank and file Tail is filled with sex workers who were slackers in Commerce school, not particularly bright, not particularly good looking. Senior level Tail is filled with a much higher class of sex worker.
Tail serves several purposes. In addition to keeping a certain level of morale, it also serves to remind any slaves who enter into committed relationships (m/f, m/m) with each other that they are property and their relationship does not matter when compared to the needs of Commerce.
Women, since they do not have the same level of sex drive as men, are not eligible for Tail services — it's not considered necessary.
Commerce Slaves are permitted to get tattoos, piercings, and cut and color their hair any way they desire — so long as it does not interfere with their job duties or fail to meet their expected grooming standards. (Ex: Nobody cares if a janitor has a nose ring. The Personal Assistant to the Under Secretary, however, must dress and groom appropriately.) In the case of BIS agents, tattoos also serve as an additional means of identifying the agent if s/he is not collared.
BIS agents are permitted to appear in public without collars.
BIS agents carry guns and are trained to fight. However, before they are allowed to enter any Government owned facility, they must check their weapons at the door. The BIS does not have any large central armories nor does it issue any weapons larger than a shotgun, or with more capacity than a machine pistol. If more firepower is needed to handle a given situation, the BIS will coordinate with other law enforcement agencies. (This is what prevents BIS agents from leading an armed uprising or getting hands on enough weaponry to stage a coup.)
Last Updated: 1/2/09