[Author's Note] Wow, this chapter was hard to write for no reason at all. But it's done now. Yay!

Chapter Nine: Gears Keep Turning

Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 30 Frost 17 A.E.

"Get up. Now."

Sam jolted awake from her position on the floor. She blinked a couple times but before she could really grasp what was happening hands were on her shoulders and she was dragged up to her feet.

"Let's go."

That was Ward. Sam turned to look at the second person holding her and was slightly relieved to see that it was Morrow. Rourke's time-out still seemed to be in effect, thank god.

"Move!" Ward slammed his body against hers, sending her stumbling forward. She briefly entertained making a run for it, but then Morrow had hold of her arm.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Sam grumbled, projecting irritation to mask her fear. She wondered what it would be this time. A beating, a hosing down, the car battery? There was no pattern to the torture. If there were consistency, then at least she would be able to somewhat mentally prepare for it. And that was probably the point.

She was led down the same hallway that had become alarmingly familiar. When Morrow opened the door, she peered inside to get a glimpse of what was in the room. No tables full of horrific instruments, no hose, no cables. Just the single, solitary chair. But Rourke and Ira Samson stood at the back of the room.

A beating it was, then. She could handle that.

Ward forced her to sit down on the chair and secured her hands. As if she could run anywhere if she tried to escape. Even if she somehow managed to make it out of the Hollow, she had no idea where on Sera she was being held. It was highly unlikely she would be able to figure her way back to Azura before the scientists caught up to her.

Morrow and Ward backed off as Rourke came towards her. She tensed up her body, readying herself for the assault.

"Once again, Miss Byrne, I'll ask if you want to reconsider your decision to withhold the keyword?" Even from the back of the room, Samson's voice was clear.

Sam smiled sweetly. "Once again, I'll remind you that it's Corporal Byrne, and I'm still good, thanks."

Samson shrugged, as if it didn't matter at all. "As you wish. It really would be much easier for you if you just told us, you know. We will get those notes deciphered one way or another."

As Rourke raised his hand, a sinister gleam in his eyes, a thought struck Sam. She decided to take a shot and looked at Samson as she blurted out, "What's even in the notes anyway? What's so bloody important?"

Samson gazed at her for a long while, as if measuring something. Then he waved Rourke off, and Sam let herself relax slightly. "The survival of a species," Samson said. "I know you ignorant Gears have been taught to hate the children and view them as evil, but even your precious Adam Fenix wanted to save them. He didn't want his cure for lambency to destroy the children."

"The children?" Sam remembered what Baird had told her about New Hope Research Facility and Niles Samson. Suddenly everything clicked in to place. "You mean the Locust? You want to bring the grubs back?"

Samson's faced darkened at the word grubs. "We want to bring the children back, yes."

"But why? What could you possibly gain from that?"

Shaking his head, Samson began to pace. "Humanity's time is over. The Pendulum Wars made the perfect case for our extinction. The children are the next evolutionary step, our successors. Imulsion—a naturally occurring substance—mutates humans, and those humans in turn give birth to the children."

It was bollocks, complete and utter bollocks, but while Samson was ranting, Sam was safe from harm. She just had to keep him talking.

"That's rubbish," she said. "I spent eighteen months fighting grubs who had gone lamb—"

Samson's hand slammed in to her face, and Sam couldn't stop herself from crying out in surprise. It wasn't the hardest she'd been hit; she just didn't expect it to come from him. Always so mild-mannered, polite and calm—but something she'd said had made him snap. She forced herself to look up at him. Had his temper finally snapped because she refused to call the Locust his precious children?

No—as she stared into his brown eyes, she saw that it wasn't anger on Samson's face. It was fear.

Of course. Because I almost said that some grubs went lambent. The others don't know. He's hiding it from them. The Formers and Lambent both exploded; they couldn't reproduce. How could the "children" be the next stage in Sera's evolution if they too were susceptible to the same plague that mutated humans?

Samson clasped his hands behind his back. "Kenton, I think it's time we introduced our guest to Yeva."

Yeva—another name Sam didn't know. But what was more interesting to her was the fact that Ward didn't immediately step towards her. She had never seen anyone hesitate to obey Samson.

"Are you… certain?" Ward asked. "Gosse doesn't even know about—"

"How I raise my son has no bearing on this decision, Dr. Ward." Samson had a smile on his face, but his eyes had gone cold. "You and Henry will take her. Now."

Morrow stepped in, nodding emphatically. "Yes, of course, Dr. Samson, right away." He glanced at Ward. "Come on, Kent."

Ward swallowed hard before bobbing his head once. He walked over to Sam and unshackled her from the chair. Behind Ward, Rourke was grinning wildly. Sam's stomach dropped. Evidently there was a very good reason that Ward didn't want to take her to see this Yeva—and if Rourke was smiling like that, it couldn't be good.

She got to her feet before Ward could manhandle her again. Some semblance of control was nice once in a while. Rourke was still sneering at her from a distance, but it was easy enough to ignore him; she straightened her posture and stared directly ahead. But she could still feel his eyes on her body, damn him.

"Let's go," Morrow said, grabbing her arm.

Sam glanced down at his hand. She could swear he was trembling slightly.

Morrow and Ward led her further down the hallway than she'd ever gone before. Ira Samson trailed behind them the whole way, his presence like a dark shadow nipping at their heels. At the very end of the corridor was a large grey door—thicker than the ones on her cell or the torture room.

Sam took a deep breath as Ward punched in the security code. Whatever this was, she could handle it. She wouldn't flinch; she wouldn't let them see her fear.

Ward opened the door and Morrow nudged her inside first, almost like he was using her as a human shield. A great big ball of dread began to accumulate in the bottom of her stomach. Somehow she knew—this would be different from anything else they'd done to her. This would be worse.

No one was waiting for them inside the room. Sam had expected another woman—this Yeva—but all she saw was a single, solitary chair in the middle of the room, which seemed to be bolted to the ground. A red lever and a yellow button were mounted on the wall to her left.

The back wall wasn't a part of the rock face—it was a massive slab of metal. There was a soft buzzing in the air, the hum of electricity.

What the bloody hell do they use this for?

Morrow indicated that she should sit down. Sam glared at him as she did so, seeing as there was no point in resisting. Two metal cuffs were open, waiting for her wrists. Ward removed her handcuffs before forcing her into the restraints, snapping them shut.

"I think we should tape this," Samson said from behind her, and Ward practically jumped out of his skin. "You can extract the audio file later?"

"Yes," Ward said, gulping. "I can."

"Excellent. Take this, then."

Ward disappeared for a moment before returning, holding the portable camera. Sam took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out. She hadn't been planning on letting her guard down before, but now she definitely would not show any reaction. She could go to that cold, dark place where nothing could touch her.

"Get the door, Henry," Ward said.

Morrow shot him an alarmed look. "Me?"

"I've got the camera. You've done it before."

"Yeah, but I…"

"But what, Dr. Morrow?" Samson's voice had a hard edge to it.

Morrow dropped his head slightly. "Nothing, sir." He walked slowly—haltingly—towards the wall with the button and lever.

I'll be fine. They're not going to kill me. Not yet. Not while they still think I know the keyword.

"The door is electrified, otherwise she will break her way out." Morrow pulled down the red lever; the lights got slightly brighter. "But Dr. Samson wants you to meet her, so we'll have to hope the chains hold."

Then he pressed the yellow button.

The door began to rise, disappearing into a slit in the roof of the cave. Sam clenched her hands into fists. Her heart was beginning to hammer away beneath her ribs. Under the scrape of metal on rock, she could hear something—a deep, guttural snuffing, resonant inhales.

Oh my god.

She knew that sound. She had only heard it once in real life—it haunted her darkest nightmares—and she was lucky that she was still alive to remember it. She began scraping her heels against the floor, trying to back away, but the chair was welded down. She wasn't going anywhere. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She felt all of the colour drain from her face. Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest.

No. No, please, no.

And then there it was: the high-pitched screech as the monster caught her sent. Sam twisted her wrists under the metal restraints. She didn't care that she was cutting into her skin, that she could feel her own blood slick against the metal—she just had to get away.

Oh god, Damon!

Chains rattled from in the dark and then there were thundering footsteps as the Berserker charged out from underneath the door.

A piercing scream filled the air. It took Sam a few a seconds to realise that it was her own.

Samantha didn't look up when he came in with her food.

Gosse frowned. Had he done something wrong? She always smiled at him when she saw him. He couldn't think of anything he'd done that would have upset her. But now, as he looked at her more closely, huddled at the back of the room, he saw that she was shaking. Violently.

Oh. Of course.

Despite his best efforts not to think about it, he knew what his father and the others did with Samantha in the room he wasn't supposed to enter. He wasn't really supposed to know about it—his jobs were to monitor communications and prepare meals—but this was a small lab. They couldn't keep everything a secret.

The smile slipped off his face. She won't want to talk to me. I'm a part of it. He decided that it would be best to leave her meal tray on the floor and leave—pretend like he hadn't seen her.

He stumbled; the tray clattered against the floor. Wincing, he froze. Her head snapped up to look at him. An apology was on its way out of his mouth when he saw her eyes.

Oh god. Dad, what did you do to her?

"Gosse, have you ever heard of the Lambent?" Her voice quivered.

She had asked him a question. It would be rude to ignore her. "No…?"

"The Lambent were gr—were children who were mutated by imulsion."

His stomach twisted into a knot. "You're lying. That's impossible."

"It's your father who's lying," she spat. "To all of you. We knew about Lambent grubs before we knew it could infect humans. Please believe me, Gosse. Why would I lie about this? How would I know to lie about this?"

It couldn't be true. He didn't believe her—he wouldn't believe her. She was just trying to turn him against his father, to convince him to help her escape. But it wouldn't work. He'd been warned.

"No." He backed away quickly. "You're a liar."

"Gosse, I'm not—"

"You're a liar!" he screamed as he ran into the hall and slammed the door behind him.

His father had been right; he shouldn't have spoken to the prisoner. But he still felt queasy.

Maybe he could talk to his mother about it. His father would completely lose it if he found out that Gosse had disobeyed him, but his mom was much more understanding. She'd probably be mad at him—or worse, disappointed—but maybe she could tell him the truth.

Yeah. Yeah, I'll go see Mom. She won't lie to me.

Gosse left his room and headed for his parents' quarters. His father was rarely there unless he was getting ready for bed, so Gosse felt relatively safe heading over when it was just after lunchtime.

When he rounded the corner, he saw a thin steam of light at the end of the hall. The door to his parents' room was open—they were inside.

I should leave. I'm never supposed to interrupt him.

But, for whatever reason, Gosse didn't immediately turn around. He felt compelled to creep forward, to hear them talking when they didn't know he was listening. His parents were always so guarded around him. He could eavesdrop… maybe find out what his father had done to S—the prisoner.

He inched forward until he could hear their voices clearly.

"… how important it is that they never find out, and she almost told them." His father. He sounded angry and—scared? "Ward, Morrow and Rourke. It was too close."

"But you stopped her." His mother. "They didn't hear anything."

"I know, but…" A deep sigh. "My life's work—almost lost. It was my sister's poisonous influence that left the children susceptible to lambency in the first place, and now Miss Byrne threatens the solidarity of my colleagues.

"Then…" Halting, hesitant. "Is it worth keeping her around? Is the risk she poses greater than the potential benefits?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Even though she doesn't know the keyword, she is the perfect bargaining chip. And, if Austen's notes should yield nothing and I must accept that this problem will not be solved in my lifetime, Gosse will need someone to ensure my legacy."

Gosse's heart dropped into his stomach. What? But I thought we were keeping Samanth—the prisoner because she knew the keyword!

"Very well. You know best."

"You must understand, Lana… We need Miss Byrne for the moment. If we have her and continue to provide proof of life, Sergeant Baird will become so frantic and reckless that when he eventually does crack the cipher, he will walk straight in to our waiting arms."

"Hmm," his mother hummed in agreement. "I think today's tape should do the trick. Of course, you won't be sending a video."

"No, of course not. Can you imagine what the COG would do if they knew we had a—No, it will be audio only. The sergeant must be getting desperate now. This should push him over the edge."

Gosse began to back away. He couldn't understand what he was hearing. Everything he'd been told, everything his parents had said to him had been a… a lie? The prisoner—Samantha—she was right. She hadn't made the Lambent up. It was real. His purpose was built on nothing. He felt sick.

I don't—I can't—What is—

The door suddenly swung open. Gosse froze—as did his mother and father when they saw him standing there. Fortunately, Gosse recovered first.

"Mom! Good, you're here. I wanted to talk to you."

His mother smiled at him. "Of course, sweetheart. What did you need?"

Before Gosse answered, his father cut in. "Does this conversation involve me, son?"

"Uh, not really." Gosse wilted under his father's stare. "No, it doesn't, sir."

Ira nodded. "Very well. I'll see you both later." He leaned forward to kiss Lana on the cheek and then walked stiffly away. Gosse watched him go, an odd feeling bubbling up under his ribs. Gosse was startled when he realised it was rage.

"Honey?" His mother stepped in to his field of view. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Oh, uh, right." Gosse cleared his throat. "I was hoping you could talk to Dad for me. I, uh, don't want to take S—the prisoner her food anymore. Not forever. Just for a little while."

"Of course, darling. I'll have a word with him later. Now, shall we go and get some lunch?"

Gosse forced himself to grin. "Yeah. Yeah, I don't feel great all of a sudden. Maybe food will help."

Azura, Serano Ocean. 30 Frost 17 A.E.

"Baird, it's time."

The three words that could actually make him stop working instantly. Baird put down his pencil and slammed Austen's journal shut. The hesitation in Marcus's voice had not gone unnoticed; Baird knew that Marcus would love to keep him in the dark, keep him out of the room when Ira Samson's calls came in—because Marcus was like that, hated to see people in pain. He'd rather take it all on himself and tell Baird about it later. But Marcus was also smart enough to realise that Baird would never forgive him if he wasn't there to see Sam—to see what his continual failure was doing to her.

Baird pressed a finger to his earpiece. "On my way."

It took him anywhere between three and five minutes—depending on the elevator—to get from Austen's lab to the comms room. Today Baird made it there in four minutes and nine seconds. Marcus, Cole and McLintock were already inside, waiting.

As soon as Baird closed the door behind him, Marcus leaned forward to hit a button on the keyboard. The communications monitor blinked once and then there he was—Ira Samson, with his expectant, agreeable half-smile. Baird bit back the low growl that threatened to rip out of his throat.

"Good to see you again, Sergeant. Do you have my keyword yet?"

Baird just had to answer directly. His excuses never elicited any sympathy from the monster on the screen. "I do not."

"Disappointing. It will be business as usual, then. For security purposes, this will only be an audio recording."

"Security purposes?" Baird repeated, brows furrowing.

"Yes. As we have actually managed to keep our location classified, you'll have to forgive me if I don't feel like letting you peek into every corner of our lab." Samson chuckled once and Baird wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard's throat and leisurely squeeze the life out of him.

At first there was nothing but the white noise of background static. Baird wondered if this was some sick kind of joke, just sending over a blank tape and letting his mind fret over what that meant.

And then Sam started to scream.

It was like his heart was being drawn out of his chest, slow and agonizing. His world was coming apart at the seams and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. Begging wouldn't help; this was in Sam's past, and these people refused to believe that he didn't know the keyword. As if he would keep it a secret if he knew. Even if he had cracked the code and McLintock had ordered him to keep silent, he would have gladly faced a court-martial if it meant getting her back.

What had they done to her to make her scream like that? He'd seen all the other recordings. She was brave—strong and silent when Baird was sure he'd have been writhing in his bonds and sobbing. But now Sam sounded ragged and desperate and terrified, and at that moment Baird would have given anything to trade places with her.

And he also knew that if—no, when—he saw Ira Samson in person, he wouldn't just kill the bastard. That had been his plan before, to make it quick and easy so he could get Sam out as fast as possible. But now, after this… It wouldn't be quick. He would make sure that it was drawn out and excruciating. He would pay Ira Samson back ten times over for everything he'd done to Sam.

She stopped screaming just as abruptly as she'd started. The sound still hung in the air as Ira Samson gazed out at them, the same patient expression on his face.

Baird let out a slow breath. "I will kill you for this."

"Perhaps if you ever deliver the keyword, you might get your chance." Samson smirked. "Until next time, gentlemen."

And the screen went black.

"Baby…"

Cole placed his hand on Baird's shoulder, and Baird shrugged him off violently.

"Don't." He couldn't hear platitudes right now. He couldn't bear Cole's sympathy. He didn't want to see Marcus staring at him with pain in his piercing blue eyes, or to see McLintock at the back of the room, indifferent as ever.

He couldn't be around anyone right now. He had to get back to the lab and work—Goddamn it, why hadn't he figured it out yet? This should have been solved days ago. Sam should have been back home already, sleeping next to him and mocking his breath in the morning.

As the doors to the elevator closed, Baird finally allowed himself a moment of weakness. There was no way to speed the elevator up; he was stuck in here with his thoughts and nothing else. Nothing to work on for a whole minute. He slumped back against the wall and balled his hands into fists.

Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.

There was a soft ding as the elevator reached his floor. He wiped his eyes furiously with the back of his hands. The second the doors opened, he was power walking towards the lab. No more time to feel helpless and ineffectual. He had to be strong, resolute, determined. He had to get this done or—

No, no or. Failure was not an option. He would solve this.

Today.

"My name is Corporal Samantha Byrne and it's the thirty-first of Frost."

"Corporal Byrne. Brume first."

"Sam. It's… it's Brume third."

"Samantha Byrne, the four—fifth of Brume."

"My name… is Sam Byrne. It's the… sixth of Brume."