[Author's Note] Wow, folks! Sorry that it's been a while. It was a combination of me being in Austin for RTX and hating this chapter. But, as Gandalf would say, the board is set and the pieces are moving.

Chapter Ten: Atrophy

Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 7 Brume 17 A.E.

The door to her cell started to slide open.

Sam hugged herself tighter. No, not again. She couldn't. Not again today. If she could just have a day to recover, a day without… She shivered. Maybe it was just food. There was no way to keep track of the passage of time, and there was always a dull ache in her stomach from the meagre portions she received. But if it wasn't food, then that meant—

She never would have imagined wishing for a beating or the hose or the splinters under her nails, but anything—anything—was better than… than Yeva. If Ward walked through that door, that's what it meant for her: a trip to the Berserker's chamber. The scene played out with horrific clarity in her mind's eye.

And Samson… after Yeva had been reeled back into the dark, Samson had leaned down and whispered in Sam's ear: "If you ever try to mention lambency among the children to any of my colleagues, I will personally cut out your tongue or sew your lips shut. Whichever one horrifies you more."

She'd been so wrong about him, thinking that he was safe and civilized. He was just as bad as the rest—worse, even. He decided what to do and watched it all, placid and tranquil.

Not the Berserker again. Anything but that. Please. Damon.

Tears blurred her vision. Thinking of him was both comforting and unbearable. She wanted away from this hell, to be with him in Anvegad, safe in his arms. If she closed her eyes, she could see his arrogant smile—and the fondness behind it that he tried so hard to hide.

Damon.

The door was open now. She had to look, to see what it would be.

"You were right." The voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"Gosse?" She wouldn't relax, not yet. He hadn't been to see her in days—Morrow had been bringing her meals—and she wasn't sure if his sudden reappearance was good.

"You were right," he said again. "And I… I want to help you."

"What?" Sam couldn't let herself believe that she'd heard him right. She'd been here too long and had wanted so badly to hear those words; it wouldn't surprise her if she were hallucinating.

Gosse's expression was an odd mixture of fear and determination. "You were right. I want to help you. I just… don't know how."

This was happening. This was really happening. Okay, pull it together. You aren't going to waste this opportunity. Think before he changes his mind. "You want to help me," she repeated slowly. "Why?"

Gosse looked down. "I overheard my parents talking. You weren't lying about the Lambent. They knew."

Too bloody right. She sat up a little straighter. "Can you contact Azura?"

He shook his head. "No. Everything is monitored; someone would find out."

Well, if sending a secret message over the radio was out of the question, they'd just have to do the next best thing. "Then you have to go."

"What?"

"You have to get on the island—and bring them back with you."

"How the heck am I supposed to do that?"

Baird would have a plan thought up in seconds; Sam, on the other hand, was struggling to maintain her composure now that Gosse was dangling this chance in front of her. "I—I don't know. You were on Azura before, can't you just go back for the same reason?" It was stupid, stupid, stupid; she heard it the second it was out of her mouth. But she couldn't think straight, couldn't come up with a good idea.

Gosse was shaking his head. "No, no, no, I was there to get the notes, there's no way they'd send me back for anything less than—" His eyes went wide.

"What?"

"The keyword," he said quietly. "If I could get it—or at least make my dad think I could get it… Maybe…"

Maybe. It wasn't anything close to a promise but Sam's heartbeat picked up all the same. Maybe maybe maybe… Such a beautiful word. "You think you can convince your father to let you go?"

"Maybe." There it was again. "But even if I did make it to Azura, there's no way anyone would believe anything I said. I attacked that sergeant, remember?"

Yes, I remember. And I remember him kissing me later that night, and smiling when I said I was worried about him. She willed herself to focus. "I could send something with you so they'd know to trust you. A note. Can you get me some paper?"

Gosse made a face, as if she'd asked for something as outrageous as a diamond. "You're joking. Besides the lab equipment, paper is the most important thing we have here. It's a finite resource."

Sam recalled Anya talking about her days in CIC, when the only paper she and the other operators had to write on was grey from repeated erasure and re-use—and then Sam was rewarded with another pang deep inside her chest. She'd slipped up, thought of someone else she missed so much it hurt. And Cole… Cole always found something on which to write his letters to his dead mother…

"It doesn't have to be white and pristine," Sam heard herself saying. "Just a scrap. Just enough to write a couple words."

Gosse still didn't look convinced. "All the paper is kept in the lab. My father is always there during the day, and for the past few weeks Dr. Rourke has been posted there overnight. I can't get to it without them seeing me."

She shuddered. A week ago, making a choice between Samson and Rourke would have been a no-brainer. Now, Sam wasn't so sure. But she took a deep breath and forced herself to decide. "Then tell your father that I want to speak with him."

Ira Samson didn't keep her waiting long.

It was hard to tell if she was more frightened of the door opening this time, now that she knew who was on the other side. But she was the one in control: she had asked to see him. He wasn't coming to drag her off to the torture room—as long as she kept him distracted, anyway.

Samson paused for a few seconds in the open doorway, silhouetted against the eerie glow of the underground flora. Just as Sam's eyes were beginning to adjust to the sudden burst of light, Ira stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

Now it's just him and me.

Her skin began to crawl. As if sensing her discomfort, Samson's lips curled up neatly into a smile. The way he was bearing his teeth, Sam had a sudden urge to cover her throat.

"So you enjoyed your visit with Yeva?" he asked, pleasant and conversational as ever. Like there wasn't a psychopath lurking just underneath his cultured surface.

Sam clenched her jaw and refused to re-live that moment again. "I was just curious as to how the bloody hell you still had a live Berserker."

"Hmm, yes. That must have been quite a shock, considering that Adam Fenix's imulsion countermeasure weapon resulted in the genocide of the children. It was quite the involved process to save Yeva, believe me. The targeted radiation destroyed all imulsion cells in any living being. The children were destroyed because they had too many Lambent cells in their bodies—a result of the civil war they waged underground for years before Emergence Day. When it became apparent what Fenix was planning, we knew we had to act quickly and remove all the Lambent cells from Yeva."

Sam couldn't even imagine how much anaesthetic it would take to knock out a Berserker long enough to perform that kind of intricate surgery. She tried to picture Yeva lying limp and motionless on a massive hospital bed—it was a mistake. The Berserker came charging towards Sam in her mind's eye, the terrible roar echoing in her ears…

Stop! Sam squeezed her eyes shut briefly, but she was unable to keep herself from flinching. Ira looked at her curiously, his head cocked to one side. If I don't keep him interested, he'll leave and catch Gosse. Come on, Byrne, focus.

"But…" Sam started, her voice trembling slightly. "But if they know that the Locust had lambent cells, how can they not know that they started going Lambent?"

"Imulsion gave birth to the children, so of course they would have traces of it in their cells. But no one besides Lana and myself knew the full extent of imulsion's effects on the children. They can't know, or they will begin to doubt. My father faced the same crisis after moving his lab from New Hope."

"Your father?"

"Yes, Niles Samson. I'm sure you've heard the name."

Yes, she had. Baird had gone over Rex Jerome's history of New Hope and lambency, related the details to the higher-ups, and the story had circulated down the ranks. And not long after, Baird had found Austen's diary. Sam could still picture him perfectly, bent over his desk and glaring down at the open journal, as if the intensity of his gaze would force the text to give up its secrets.

She pushed the memory away. "How could he be your father? That was almost eighty years ago."

"I understand your confusion. He didn't want to have children, you see. But when it became apparent that he would need someone to carry on his legacy, he convinced one of the younger female scientists to help him produce a successor." Something dark passed over Samson's face. "I wish he'd stopped at one heir."

Sam frowned. "One? You have a brother?"

"A brother?" He chuckled. "I can see how you might think that. Of course Lana cannot be related to me, as we've created Gosse. But no, my sibling is dead. And it was her failure that lead the children on their path to destruction."

"Her failure? You can't mean…" A chill swept over Sam, and it had nothing to do with the frosty air. "Myrrah?"

Samson's eyes had gone hard and cold again. He nodded. "Yes. Myrrah was my sister. My half-sister, to be precise."

"Bloody hell…" she breathed. "So, what, revenge is just an added bonus then?"

Chuckling, Samson shook his head. "Not at all. I'm well aware that your Marcus Fenix finally put a stop to Myrrah's arrogance, and for that I bear him no ill will. As I said, my dear sister was just as responsible for the children's annihilation as her precious Professor Fenix."

Sam really didn't give a shit, but she needed to buy Gosse time. And Ira seemed content enough to keep talking with minimal prompting. "How do you figure that? She was their queen; didn't she build them up?"

"She had far too much direct contact with them. She exposed them to elevated levels of imulsion. True, it was Adam Fenix who built the machine that obliterated the children, but it was Myrrah's involvement with them that left them open to such a fate."

Just keep stalling. "So Myrrah didn't do things the way you wanted. I guess it shouldn't really surprise me that you're glad she's dead, then."

"She violated the philosophy of science!" he shouted, much louder than he needed to be. "She wholly disregarded the scientific method: communalism, universalism, disinterestedness, scepticism. Merton's institutional imperatives, what the scientific ethos is based on, and my sister showed complete and utter disdain for them all. She wanted to play queen when she should have been playing God."

Sam made herself snort derisively. "I don't see much difference between a queen and a god, to be honest."

Ira gave her a long stare, like she'd said something particularly stupid. "Perhaps some monarchs and gods are similar, I'll grant you that. But Myrrah was directly involved with them, especially her pet generals—Karn, RAAM, Skorge, and their ilk. And so she tainted their evolution with her humanity. A true god, one who watches his creation grow from afar…"

He paused and closed his eyes. When Samson began to speak again, his voice had changed, like he was trying to quote something he'd once read word for word. "Just as watches are set in motion by watchmakers, after which they operate according to their pre-established mechanisms, so also was the world begun by the God as creator, after which it and all its parts have operated according to their pre-established natural laws. With these laws perfectly in place, events have unfolded according to the prescribed plan."

Sam felt as if she'd heard that before, long ago in a classroom. "I didn't think science and philosophy mixed," she said.

"A common misconception. But, as even you must no doubt understand, Myrrah did not rule as a god should. She interfered with the children's natural state, and so they were corrupted. If we can begin again and leave them to grow and learn and evolve as nature dictates, then surely the children will become what they were always meant to be—our planet's stewards."

"So you think the Lambent Pandemic was Myrrah's fault," Sam said.

"Yes. Lambency did not begin to rear its ugly head until after Myrrah decided she wanted to play house."

It was all starting to make sense to Sam now, in a completely fucked up kind of way. "And you think that Austen's research will somehow help you bring the grubs back."

Samson wrinkled his nose, but was apparently content to keep going with his lecture. "Yes. Brett Austen was looking into whether or not humanity's evolution into the children was inevitable, regardless of imulsion's involvement. Given the fact that she encrypted her notes and refused to discuss her findings with anyone—even her precious Richard Prescott—I suspect that she discovered humanity's predestined future."

Like hell. So that was the end-game. Decode the notes and discover the secret to resurrecting the Locust species. Again, like hell. Even if Sam thought that there was even the remotest possibility that the grubs could come back—and she didn't—there was no bloody way that she would let these assholes even have a peek at that decrypted paper. Not after everything they've done to me.

"I'm surprised you were so honest with me," she said.

"Why would that be surprising?"

"Well, now that you've told me what you hope to find in Austen's research, it's even more incentive for me to not give you the keyword."

Samson sighed, and smiled almost sadly. "My dear, don't you think it's time we put an end to this farce? We both know that you don't have that information."

His sentence was like a punch to the gut. Sam felt her mouth go dry. "Excuse me?" she asked, not daring to confirm what he'd said.

"You, Samantha Byrne, have no more idea what Austen's keyword is than I do." Samson clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "And I'm rather disappointed that my videos seem to be doing very little to motivate your Sergeant Baird."

He… knows? He's always known? And yet they've still been… This whole time she thought she'd been in control. It had made it better, somehow, thinking that she was in some way ordaining her abuse. But the whole thing had been an illusion. She never had any control in this situation; the scientists knew she didn't have the keyword, and yet they'd tortured her all the same. Just to motivate Baird.

"The sergeant must not care about you very much," Samson was saying, "to leave you in such a predicament for so long. Or perhaps he's just decided that you're too damaged and he doesn't want you back."

It knocks the air out of her lungs. Lies. You know it's bullshit. There was no way—She'd seen Baird struggling with the encrypted notes, how desperately he wanted to solve the puzzle and how frustrated he was by his lack of progress. Her stomach clenched as a terrifying thought came to her: what if Baird couldn't crack the code—ever? He'd said it himself, he wasn't a genius, he hadn't been able to hack Prescott's data disc—

Stop it. Don't give in to the fear; it's exactly what they want. Damon's trying his hardest. He will come. Even if he can't decrypt the research. He'll come for me.

"I think that's enough small talk for one day," Ira said, jolting Sam back to reality. "I'll see you tomorrow. Perhaps we'll visit Yeva again."

Sam hated herself for it, but she couldn't keep from whimpering.

Getting his father to leave the lab had been surprisingly easy. All Gosse had to do was say that Samantha wanted to speak to him—and that she'd been trying to talk to Gosse—and Ira had been off like a shot. Gosse just hoped that Samantha wouldn't get in too much trouble…

He'd found some paper after a few minutes of searching. There was an old failed experiment that he knew no one had looked at for months. The reports were organized half-heartedly beside it. Checking to make sure no one was coming, Gosse riffled through the papers, looking for something unimportant—something nobody would miss if they did decide to go over this again.

An old page torn from a textbook, covered in handwritten observation notes. Yeah, this is good. There was even a spot at the bottom with room for some new writing. Jackpot. Now time to bounce before I get caught.

He ducked out of the lab and made a beeline for his room. That was, of course, where he was supposed to be if he wasn't monitoring communications or delivering food like a maid. He was almost sixteen, not twelve; shouldn't he be allowed a little more freedom? Not the time, he mentally chided himself. Worrying about ridiculous rules when I'm about to go and break them all. Nice one.

Stuffing the piece of paper deep in to his back pocket, Gosse sat down on his bed and picked up the book he'd read about nine times now. It wasn't a great book or anything, but pleasure reading was kind of limited given where he lived. As he stared at the words on the page, he wondered if he'd be allowed to stay in Azura when all was said and done. Yes, his first visit to the island wasn't exactly going to endear him to anyone, but surely this would tip the scales in his favour.

What the heck am I going to do after this? I'm betraying my family—for what? A week of deciding whether or not to help Samantha and he'd never once thought of this. He'd lived in this underground network of caves his entire life. True, he wasn't particularly fond of it by any means, but it was the only home he'd ever known. And now he was planning on leaving and never coming back.

But what will I miss, really? Dad? I don't think I even like him, let alone love him. Mom, maybe, but… What they were doing—his parents, the other doctors—it was wrong. It was wrong, and when Gosse thought about it, his stomach churned so bad he thought he was going to be sick. I can't stay here. I can't end up like them—people who think this is okay. It's not. I know it's not.

A firm knock on his door jolted Gosse out of his introspection. Before he could say anything, his father had opened his door and stepped into the room.

Gosse snapped his mouth shut to stop himself from gaping. What's going on? He never comes to see me. He felt the colour drain from his face. Does he know?

Ira's face was as unreadable as ever as he stood in front of Gosse. "Have you been speaking with the prisoner?"

Crap. Okay, don't freak out. Gosse couldn't outright deny it; after all, he'd told his father that Samantha wanted to talk. If Gosse said no, Ira would have caught him in a lie. "She's, uh, tried talking to me. I just give her one word answers."

His father sighed deeply. "You were specifically instructed not to speak with her."

Gosse flared his nostrils; maybe he could play indignant convincingly enough. "It's not like I was having a conversation with her. Jeez, I'm not that stupid."

Ira didn't say anything, but Gosse could hear Sometimes I wonder just fine. It was time to turn this around before his father became too suspicious and started accusing Gosse of something else.

"Dad, I was thinking… wouldn't it be easier for Sergeant Baird to decrypt the notes if he, you know, actually had them to work on?"

"Gosse, use your brain for once. If we handed over Dr. Austen's research, we'd never get it back."

That hurt, even though he hated to admit it. "But it's been weeks. I thought this guy was supposed to be a genius. Don't you think he'd have figured it out by now?" Crap, remember—you don't know about Samantha. "And you don't seem to be getting anywhere with the prisoner."

Ira pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for summarizing the situation. Were you going somewhere with this?"

Yes, hopefully. Very far away. "Well, I was thinking that I could go back to Azura with the research, get them to decode it, and then bring it straight back here."

"While I have no doubt that Sergeant Baird will keep his end of the bargain, I don't trust their Major McLintock. If Dr. Austen's notes return to Azura, I don't believe they will ever leave again."

"Okay, just the first five pages then. That at least gives him something to go on."

"Why the sudden burst of interest in our plans, Gosse? You've never seemed particularly invested in this endeavour before."

Gosse didn't want it to, but the comment strung—as did the way his father looked down his nose at him. "When the Gears eventually come, how do we know if they'll actually keep their word?" he asked, deflecting. "What if it's a trap?"

"I'm fully expecting them to implement some sort of ill-conceived scheme, son." Son. Ira only called Gosse that when he thought his offspring was showing his ignorance. "Precautions will be taken."

Okay, different tactic. "But wouldn't it be safer to know for sure what they will be planning?"

His father narrowed his eyes slightly. "If you want to suggest something, speak plainly."

Gosse only just stopped himself from gulping. Here goes. "I could go back to Azura with some of the notes and pretend to help them. And then when they come here with the keyword, I'll know what they're trying to do and I can stop them."

"That's uncharacteristically bold of you, Gosse."

"I've been there before," he retorted sullenly. "I could do it again."

"Yes, you've been to Azura before—and you attacked Sergeant Baird, remember? Why in heaven's name should they trust you after that?"

"Because…" Gosse adopted his best hesitant, fearful expression. "Because I can't believe what those… monsters are doing to your friend. I want to help. Please let me help you save her." Then he grinned for effect.

His father was silent for a long while, presumably weighing the potential benefits against the costs. Or—had he seen through Gosse's lies? Ira Samson had an uncanny ability to detect fibs. That was why Gosse stuck as close to the truth as possible when feeding stories to his father. Had he been convincing enough?

Finally, his father nodded. "You make a valid case. Your mother won't be pleased, of course, but I think you're right: we must take every advantage we can when dealing with these people. When can you be ready to go?"

It was all Gosse could do to hold back a sigh of relief. "Whenever you want me to be."

"Excellent. I'll speak to your mother later."

It was too risky to go tonight; he'd have to wait until he was told to bring Samantha her breakfast tomorrow morning.

Mount Kadar Research Facility, Tyrus. 8 Brume 17 A.E.

Sam was sleeping as best she could on the cold, hard floor when, on the edges of her consciousness, she heard a scraping sound. The door. She was awake in a second, pushing herself into a sitting position. Her vision was blurry and something wet was slipping down her cheek.

Tears? Oh, pull yourself together!

It was easy to think she could be brave. But she was faced with the possibility that it was Ira Samson on the other side, coming to make good on his threat to take her back to Yeva, and she couldn't just fake it. It was getting so exhausting to keep her fear buried deep down inside.

"Samantha?"

Oh thank god. It was Gosse; he was the only one who called her that.

"Did you get it?" she asked, wincing at the desperation in her voice.

"Yeah." Gosse ducked inside but left the door open. "Quick, I'm supposed to go and see Ira."

Sam made a mental note that Gosse had changed the way he referred to his father; that was promising. "All right, give it here."

Gosse passed her a crumpled up piece of paper and a pen. There wasn't much room, but she wasn't looking to write an essay. All she needed was this:

D—

Trust him

—S

"Here." She pressed the paper back into Gosse's hands, lingering for a moment like it was something precious. It was, really; her life depended on that small, fragile object making its way to Baird.

"I'm leaving tonight, so… I guess this is goodbye."

There was a sharp stab of panic in Sam's chest. Suddenly she didn't want him to go—Gosse, her only friend, the only one she could trust not to hurt her. But he needed to go, to bring Baird back with him. She swallowed down her irrational hysteria and took a deep breath.

"It's not goodbye; it's see you later."

"Yeah." Gosse gave her a nervous grin. "Okay."

And then he was gone—off to Azura, off to see Baird. Sam felt something warm and light surge up under her ribs. A small smile crept on to her face as she realised it was hope.