RT-0 TERRA ARCHIVE | JANUARY 01, 2253 | 18:50
JANE TOWER | JANE ISLAND, CATAN (RT-0)
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The pneumatic hiss of the door cutting open doesn't trigger a flinch from Noah. He steps into the frame and squares his shoulders, his dark red hair catching the light where a few strands have drifted from their alignment. He studies Captain Knight, having already processed three versions of this encounter and found two of them wanting.
"You look like you've been promoted and underpaid at the same time," he says.
"Statistically speaking, that's almost impressive." He crosses his arms, framing himself against the glow of a terminal screen behind him where data scrolls in a blur Charlie can't possibly track. He catches her staring at the monitors before stepping fully into her path to break the connection.
"You've been tracking me. Not well, but you've been persistent. I can respect the effort."
Charlie exhales sharply, the sound echoing in the sterile entryway. "Five years, Noah. You don't get points for ignoring your mother."
"I get points for avoiding unnecessary conversations," Noah counters, already moving toward a sleek interface embedded in the wall. "That particular one has just been exceptionally tenacious." He watches her expression tighten and catalogs the reaction as he continues. "Why are you here? If this is about legacy guilt, I'd prefer to schedule that for a different fiscal quarter."
Charlie stands her ground, refusing to offer a smile. "I wouldn't waste my time trying to change your mind. You've always been too smart to argue with."
"And yet here you are." Noah's gaze flicks toward the dark vehicle idling outside the villa before returning to her. "You came alone, so this isn't for optics. You didn't call, which means it isn't procedural." His fingers tap a rhythmic, subtle pattern against his forearm as he draws the conclusion. "Something broke."
"Invite me inside," Charlie says, stepping forward into his personal space.
Noah doesn't hesitate, he processes. He exhales once and addresses the room at large. "Prepare the lab, ART. We're moving this conversation somewhere I can quantify it properly."
A soft chime acknowledges the command from the ceiling. Noah gestures for her to follow, walking toward the interior without looking back to see if she complies. "Try not to judge the architecture. I built this to think, not to impress."
Charlie walks past him, her eyes scanning the furniture placement. Every object feels intentional, positioned to anticipate the flow of a body moving through the room.
"Can you be trusted with matters of national security?"
Noah pauses at the lab threshold, looking mildly amused. "Trusted? Define that. I can guarantee precision. Trust is statistically variable." He doesn't wait for her response, leading her into a space of cold light and clean surfaces where systems are layered directly into the walls. He turns to watch her reaction as the door seals. "Go ahead. Be impressed. I optimized for it."
"The pictures don't do this justice," she admits, looking at the integrated interfaces.
"They never do. If they did, I'd be out of business."
Charlie moves to the central table and places a small object on its surface. A pulse of soft blue light ripples outward. Noah's posture locks instantly. His hands go still as his eyes track the frequency of the glow.
"You should have led with that," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "That isn't a casual placement. That's a change of jurisdiction."
"As you are aware," Charlie says, watching his hands, "Jasin Corvus has been elected president."
Noah's breath is slow and deliberate. "I'm aware. I'm also aware that the timing is suspiciously aligned with Calasian investment cycles. That makes him either compromised or convenient. Probably both."
"There's more." Charlie activates a hologram, and a voice floods the laboratory.
Noah freezes. The logic in his eyes fractures into something raw as his brows draw together and his breathing shallows. Recognition hits him before he can apply a filter.
"That's—"
"Your sister," Charlie says. "She contacted us, then disappeared."
Noah's voice is a ghost of its previous clinical strength. "When?"
"After Hat Island."
The name acts like a physical weight, shifting Noah's posture. "You're telling me my sister made contact with the Hand of Catan and vanished the exact moment a Calasian-backed president goes missing?" He looks at her, the mask of the doctor slipping. "Do you hear how that sounds?"
"Yes."
Noah exhales a sharp, controlled breath. "Good. Because that's not a coincidence." His fingers move rapidly in the air, mapping invisible routes. "What's the worst part?"
Charlie remains silent for a moment before playing the final file. The girl's voice returns, vibrating through the lab's speakers. "Mom… I might have also done something reckless…"
The audio cuts to silence. Noah stares at the empty light of the projection, stepping forward until he nearly touches the flickering image.
"She wouldn't say that unless she was already in deep," Noah says. He stands there for a second, then the focus returns with a sudden, sharp clarity. He turns back to Charlie, the emotional leakage tucked away behind a new set of variables. "Alright. What do you need?"
The two begin moving through the lab, Noah adjusting logistics and funding streams on the fly without interrupting her briefing. "I'll finance it privately," he says, his fingers dancing across a glass interface. "If this goes sideways, I don't want Division exposure tied to it."
Charlie stops and watches him. "That's not like you."
Noah offers a faint, tired smile. "Yeah, well. Turns out I do have a couple of priorities left." He pauses, looking at the spot where the hologram vanished. "Let's go find her."
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