Chapter Eight
Almost as one, the group froze inside the doorway, assaulted even more dramatically by the lurid vista before them than by the constant din of humans and machines. The Commissary resembled a production facility from the X-Files rather than a dining room.
Naked or scantily dressed girls with huge milk-filled breasts, many wearing silver breast cups and other metal devices, were herded or led on leads by white coated attendants to an efficient cafeteria food line. At the beginning of the line, the barcodes at their wrists were read by an electronic reader. Trays and squat buckets moved down a mechanized line, measured portions of specific foods assembled onto or into each by streamlined robots like those used in state-of-the-art automobile factories. At the end of the line,
