The Chartreuse Factory
Micro-Oz, Neo-York
07:42

Saito hummed a melody from his native country while the line supervisor paged the factory floor for the employee named Trip.

"Should just be a minute," the supervisor promised.

"Mmm," was the serene reply.

Saito waited with practiced calm, surveying the production floor from the large elevated window in the supervisor's office. He paid no mind to the workers who stared shamelessly up at him as they walked by.

A young man entered the office. He was tall, lanky, and seemed almost brittle in the way he hunched his shoulders and wrung his hands. Blackish soot stained the cuffs of his uniform coveralls and his nailbeds. With a look of awe mixed with apprehension, he glanced at the supervisor, then at Saito, then back again.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," the supervisor said. He grabbed his hard hat and a metal clipboard and made for the door. "Take as long as you like. No one will interrupt you. I'll see to that."

The door clicked shut behind him.

"Very accomdating," Saito remarked.

"Yeah, well, he ain't no fan of Big Sister," the lanky man said. "He wants her gone, same as the rest of us. Even if he won't say so out loud."

"Ah. Sou desu ka. You must be Trip-san," Saito said. He appraised his interviewee's considerable height and tidy cropped black hair. "My client, Ms. Herdeem, said you would be expecting me."

"Yeah. Yeah, I was," Trip said. He seemed to be just as enthralled by the samurai as were the other workers Saito had observed. "She said you'd want to ask me about Big Sis 'n Co."

Saito almost smiled. "Yes, I do."

Trip nodded slowly. His eyes roamed Saito's traditional hakama and kimono and came to rest on his pair of swords. "Galactic. Yep. 'Course... But, uh, can I ask you somethin' first?"

"By all means."

"How are you still alive?"

Saito laughed. He received this question often.

"I'm serious, though!" Trip insisted. "You were fighting in a war during the First Forgotten Era. There are scraps of history books — actual books — that tell your story. Body mods didn't even exist back then, but here you are, lookin' twenty-five, if that! How? How are you still alive?"

"Well, technically, I'm not."

Trip blanched. "Say what now? You ain't no ghost."

"No, I have a physical body," Saito confirmed. "But the devil's in the details. I am not, as you said, 'still' alive. It would be more accurate to say I am alive again. You see, about ten years after the war you mentioned, I was mortally wounded in a battle with a ronin. A rogue samurai. A Buddhist monk said the universe was not finished with me, and he transferred my spirit into a Dogū."

"A dough-gooo?"

"Close enough. It is a humanoid clay figurine, created for the purpose of housing a mortal spirit. For a time. When the monk found a suitable replacement body, he transcended my spirit from the Dogū, and I, Saito Haijime, was born again."

"So...you're a reincarnation?"

"An oversimplification, but yes."

"Fried gigs," Trip murmured. "That's cray, man. Hashtag cray."

The disembodied voice of Alniscient sang out all around them. "Cray. Not trending."

"I didn't mean to say that!" Trip snapped at the OS. "Damn, Al! Relax."

Saito smiled in amusement at the odd exchange. "If I have sufficiently answered your question, could you tell me what you know about Big Sister?"

"Yeah, man! Sorry," Trip said. A slight twinge of pink blossomed on his tanned cheeks. "She is cray. Double-plus cray. Oppressive dictator, cruel, unyeilding, maybe even evil."

Saito considered this. "That is precisely what Ms. Herdeem said. Do you know anything else about her? Or those in her inner party?"

"I know you're gonna be hard pressed to get anywhere near her," Trip said. "Apart from her bugs, and covert cameras, and andriods, and those damn Winged Monkeys, Big Sister's got three-point security. Perfect trifecta of protection and surveillance, man. Her mortal troops, her Junior Spies, and her bodyguard. She never goes anywhere without him."

"Bodyguard, hmm?" Saito mused, rubbing his chin. "Him? Singular?"

"Yeah," Trip confirmed. "Bizarre, right? But there's just one. Real pretty boy, too. No joke, this dude is more beautiful than most women. He ain't scrawny, but he sure as terabyte don't look like he could hold his own in a fight. It's weird, that's all I got to say. Why pick a bodyguard who can't guard your body, y'know? Maybe she just likes lookin' at him."

"And his name?"

"Dorian Gray."

Saito made a mental note. "Most intriguing. And where would I be likely to see Big Sister with her odd choice of bodyguard?"

Trip paused. "Well, she does a sweep through the city everyday, mid-afternoon. To check the productivity stats displayed on the side of the factory. And, you know, to remind everyone that she's watching. Like we could forget. During the sweep, she always has Dorian, the leader of her Junior Spies, and the commander of her mortal troops with her. Always."

"I see," Saito mused. "What can you tell me about the leader of her Spies?"

¤ ¤ ¤

"The Junior Spies, yes..." Mina murmured. "My comrade and I had the pleasure of witnessing a group of them in action during our jaunt here."

"Hateful little things, aren't they?" asked Genesis. The assistant manager of Chartreuse Marketing was perched on the corner of her desk while Mina occupied her chair. They spoke at low volume, the door to Genesis' small office closed and locked. "They're never seen without their recording devices in hand. Soon, I'm sure, Big Sister will just begin mass body mods so that the cameras and microphones are embedded in the palms of their hands."

Mina glanced around, her preternatual senses on high alert. "Is it safe for you to say such things?" she asked of her interviewee. "I do not wish to cause you any trouble."

"It's safe in here," Genesis said. Her waist-length hair was plated into a long fishtail braid embellished with neon turquoise streaks, and she pushed the braid over her shoulder with a defiant huff. "Nova set up a scrambler for me. The range is only as big as this shoebox of an office, but if there are any bugs in here or Winged Monkeys outside, we're covered."

"Very good," Mina said. "Nova is a friend of yours, then?"

"She is," Genesis replied. "When she told me she'd sent you a digi-vite, I promised her I'd do whatever I could to help. If that's sharing information, then I'll lay it down. No problem."

Mina nodded in admiration of the young woman's bravery. She had not forgotten the threat of vaporization to any and all who spoke out against Big Sister. Genesis was taking a significant risk, and Mina would make certain it wasn't in vain.

"Regarding those parasites the Junior Spies," Mina said, bringing them back to the original topic. "You mentioned their 'leader'? He is an adult, I'm assuming?"

"You assume wrong," Genesis said with a smirk. "He's ten, by appearance. Though with the right body mods, he could be in growth stasis. And Big Sister loves to alter her allies to her liking."

Mina's face hardened. "I know very well what it is like to be frozen at one age for years beyond what is natural," she stated, her voice low and dangerous. "That is no fate for a child. If she has modified him to remain adolescent indefinitely, I will prolong her death much in the same fashion."

Genesis shivered. The temperature of the small room seemed to have dropped by ten degrees. "I agree with your conviction, Mrs. Harker, but from what I've seen, the Spies' leader is willing and eager to stay in Big Sister's good graces."

"I'm sure I'll see for myself soon enough," Mina said. "What does this boy look like?"

"Small, pale, malnurished..." Genesis listed as she thought. "Like a starving little orphan. If you saw him and didn't know what he was, you'd pity him. Shaggy blonde hair, usually covered in a flat cloth hat with a short brim."

"A newsboy cap?" Mina clarified.

"Yes, exactly," Genesis said. "His name is Oliver Twist."

"Oliver Twist," Mina repeated, her tone pensive. "How very classic. And loyal?"

"To a fault," Genesis accused. "If Big Sister instructed him to have his Spies vaporize every adult in the city, he'd snap his little fingers and it'd be done."

"Charming," Mina remarked, her dainty nose wrinkled in distaste. "So, we have the bodyguard, Dorian Gray. The leader of the Junior Spies, Oliver Twist. And the commander of the mortal army..?"

"Thomas Jones," Genesis supplied. "He's an astro military hero, professionally known as Major Tom."

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