Samantha's first order of business was to find some clothing; as she told Charon, "This base is dirty, drafty and cold. I'm not sneaking around here in just shorts and a tank top." Charon looked like he wanted to protest, but turned away with a sharp growl. Before too long, a distracted Enclave scientist happened along; her attention engrossed in some sheets of paper in her hands, she wasn't looking around her. Samantha hid in the shadows, then cracked the woman smartly at the base of the skull with her pistol and relieved her of her clothing. The white lab coat was not what she preferred; it would show up in the dark hallways, but there was nothing else. Sifting through the scientist's pockets, she discovered an access key card, which might come in useful sometime or other, and an AEP7 laser pistol—better than her 10-mm pistol, but not as good as her preferred plasma rifle. Still, she tucked it into her pocket.
"My gear is probably in the armory," she whispered to Charon as they crouched in the shadows at the base of a set of metal stairs. The ghoul was fuming with impatience. The room they were in was wide and open, with a metal platform running around the walls leading to stairs that reached up to a second and third platform above them. "Which I think is on the ground floor, probably through that door." She pointed. "I'm dressed like a scientist. You wait here and I can—"
"No," Charon said brittlely. "I'm going with you. And we're going now." He glowered out across the factory floor.
"Are you kidding? Look at it—it's so open! You'll never make it up the stairs without getting caught. If we had a Stealth Boy that would be different, but—"
He turned and glared at her so fiercely that she drew back, her hand actually straying to the stock of her pistol. "We're going now." And with that, Charon made his move.
Staying in the deepest shadows at the edge of the wall, the ghoul carefully slipped from pillar to pillar, crouching so that he could be shielded by the rail. Samantha watched, fascinated. The only thing he had going for him was that the room was thinly populated; there were only a few Enclave officers present and most of them were clustered around a bank of computer equipment, fiddling with it. Charon was taking such care with his movements that his steps didn't even ring on the metal treads. Samantha had never known he had such skill at stealth. Well, when did you ever ask him to be stealthy? A moment later and he had reached the door she had indicated and slipped through.
It took Samantha a moment to follow; she was rather taken aback by Charon's disobedience. He's never disobeyed me before… Before. Right. With a sigh, she braced herself, then stepped out from the shadows.
She did not attempt to emulate Charon's stealth. Dressed in the garb of an Enclave scientist, she looked like she was supposed to be there; not only was the white lab coat unsuited for sneaking around in, but if anything the sight of a sneaking scientist might even draw more attention. She kept her head up and eyes forward, and walked toward the door at a smooth, confident, regular pace. Look like you know what you're doing, she told herself. Look like you know what you're doing…. No one so much as glanced in her direction, and in a moment she too had pulled open the door and found herself in the hall. She half expected to find that Charon had not waited for her, but he had, though he looked as if someone had lit a fire under his feet. "Come on," she told him in an undertone. "Let's get going."
It was less difficult to find the armory than Samantha had feared; the Enclave, in their mania for order, had already posted guidance diagrams on the corridor walls. It took her only a moment to decipher them. The armory was apparently in an old maintenance room underneath the factory, accessible by a blind stairwell; carefully, she and Charon skulked their way through the corridors to the stairwell, then after a quick check for guards or turrets, opened the door, and started down the stairs.
Charon was deathly silent as they made their way through the base; yet he did not need to speak. His every movement crackled with suppressed tension. Samantha darted an uneasy glance at him. She had had him as her follower for months, had thought she had come to know him, at least a little. But this man was a complete stranger to her. Who is he? she wondered, and again thought of Ahzrukhal with a shiver.
"We'll find it," she told him. "I promise."
Charon glanced at her, and did not reply.
There were two guards on either side of the Armory door, hulking in Tesla armor. Samantha cursed and wished for her reservist's rifle, but a pair of head-shots with the laser pistol from the shadows took them out. The keycard found on the body of one of the guards unlocked the door, and within moments they were through. Together, she and Charon dragged the bodies of the guards into the armory, then closed the door behind them. Samantha stopped for a moment to run her eyes around the room. It was fairly large, lit by the harsh glare of unshielded bulbs, and filled with battered metal shelving units holding boxes of ammo, weapons and mines. Around the edges of the room ran lockers holding sets of armor, as Samantha determined on opening one. Tesla, Enclave, Recon Armor, Metal Armor, Combat Armor, she mused, throwing open one locker after another. Even if we can't find my stuff, I could easily re-equip myself here—
"My contract, Samantha," Charon insisted harshly.
"All right, all right, hold your horses," she said, turning back toward him. It was still vaguely unsettling to hear Charon refer to her as "Samantha;" she wondered with a shiver if she would ever grow used to it. "Here, why don't you check those lockers along the far wall while I look in the footlockers over there?"
The footlockers were piled against the back wall, and again a simple swipe with the stolen keycard was enough to open them. The first one contained nothing but unloaded weapons—not especially good ones, either, Samantha thought, tossing a laser pistol aside in disgust. The second was filled with scrap metal, as was the third, and she cursed under her breath. Maybe it's not here after all, she thought. The banging of Charon opening and shutting lockers drifted over to her.
"Charon, finding anything over there?"
"No," the ghoul responded shortly. "Samantha—"
"Hold on, all right? I've got one more box to check." She pushed the top box off and swiped her card through the lock for the final box. This better be it.
The lid popped open and Samantha exhaled in relief; she recognized the equipment in the final box immediately. Her beloved shishkebab was piled on top, and beneath it was her plasma rifle, her Xuanlong assault rifle, and her reservist's rifle. She could see the crackling coils of her Tesla armor beneath it, along with the familiar gashes and gouges her armor had picked up as she had traversed the Wasteland, and the twist of fabric where she kept her caps.
"Found it!" she exclaimed triumphantly .
"My contract?" Charon was at her side in what seemed an instant.
"My stuff," she said happily. "It's got to be in here somewhere, Charon, hang on, just let me get this—" She began lifting out pieces of her Tesla armor, grunting slightly at the weight. Pip-Boy—that goes directly onto my arm, she thought, sliding the tool over her hand. Weapons were piled in a heap by the side of the footlocker, along with chems—they took all the ammo, bastards. Oh well—not like there isn't plenty in here, although looking around it seemed as if most of the ammo here was for energy weapons. A few odds and ends she had picked up—a lawnmower blade, perfect for making another shishkebab, or repairing her own; a couple of pre-war books, saved for Scribe Yearling; her lucky 8-ball—she tossed it up and caught it with a grin—
"Find my contract," Charon ground out.
"It's got to be in here somewhere, just hang on." She reached into the box, plunging her hands into the jumble of odds and ends, searching for the single laminated sheet that was Charon's employment contract. Her hands came into contact with the smooth floor of the crate and nothing else. Samantha frowned, stirring the mess.
"It's got to be—" She stirred the mass of litter some more, turning up bottles of expensive whiskey and scotch intended for sale to Moriarty or Moira; a couple of pencils reading "RobCo" that she had been bringing back as souvenirs for Nova and Gob; and there was the box of Sugar Bombs meant for Murphy. Still no contract. Where is it?
Charon had the same thought. "Where is my contract?"
She stirred some more. Still nothing. By now she had sifted through just about everything in the crate. She pulled aside a pile of surgical tubing and a fabric-wrapped rad-scorpion poison gland she had picked up for making dart guns and sat back on her heels.
"It's not in here," she said quietly. A sick space had opened up inside her. Judging by the twisting of Charon's rotted features, he was feeling the same thing she was.
"What do you mean it's not in there!?" he demanded, sounding almost frantic.
"I don't understand. Everything else is in there…." She pressed her hand to her head. "Why would only that be missing?"
"Move over." Charon almost shoved her out of the way, diving into the box himself and pawing through the mess, tossing odds and ends aside.
"What are you—"
"It's got to be here. It's got to," he growled, his rotted features set, his faded eyes horribly intent as he tore through the box. At last he too sat back. His hands clenched and he slammed one fist brutally into the wall with a snarl of desperation. Samantha watched, both unnerved and wishing she could say something to help.
"Charon, I'm sorry—" she tried again.
"Shut up. Just shut up. This is your fault," he accused, turning on her furiously. She drew back, alarmed.
"I already said—"
"Why the hell didn't you lock my contract up in Megaton where at least it would be safe?! You didn't even take precautions, or arrange for a line of succession—What did you think was going to happen, Samantha?! Now you don' t know where my contract is, I don't know where it is, we'll never get it back—"
"I didn't know I needed to! You never told me—" Samantha tried to defend herself weakly.
"You didn't know?! You never thought to ask! You never thought to ask me anything!" he raged. Samantha actually scooted back from him. "The contract gives me obligations to you, but never once did you think of asking what your obligations were to me! What's going to happen to me now, Samantha?" he snarled, rising suddenly to his feet. Samantha scrambled up as if yanked along by a string. "Did it ever occur to you once to ask that question? What's going to happen to me?!"
Charon was trembling. Though Samantha could easily see that it was fear rather than anger that was driving him, she still stepped back, more than intimidated—almost frightened herself by the strength of his emotions. He loomed over her, his decayed features contorted into an even more demonic expression than usual. Samantha groped for words.
"Charon, you are absolutely right and I am sorry," she said rapidly. "I should have asked you. I didn't because you seemed like such a private person and I didn't want to pry—I figured if there was anything you wanted me to know, you'd tell me—but that's no excuse. I should have asked—"
"Should have? Should have?! What good does that do now?!"
"Well, what do you want me to say? You didn't exactly speak up either—"
Charon was about to respond when the whines of multiple laser weapons powering up cut them short. "Excuse me, sir and madam," an all-too-familiar voice drawled. "I most certainly didn't mean to interrupt."
The two of them had been so lost in their argument they hadn't even noticed the door to the armory swinging open. Now, they wheeled toward the entrance, moving together as one. Charon edged behind her into his customary support position without a word being said, as Samantha slid forward. Her hand began to stray toward her weapon—
"All right, little lady, hold it right there," the man in the entryway ordered genially. "Drop your weapons and put your hands over your heads—yes, you too, sir," he told Charon. "Now come forward slowly, and no funny business—as you can see for yourselves, we've got you at barrel's end."
They had. Samantha swallowed. For standing there, in the entrance to the armory, were two Enclave soldiers clad in Tesla armor and armed—as Samantha could see—with Gatling lasers, and as if that weren't enough, they were commanded by none other than Colonel Autumn himself.
Colonel Augustus Autumn. The head of the Enclave forces. Samantha had seen him twice before; there was no mistaking either that voice or that bearing. He was a man of average height and build, clad in a tan trenchcoat with smooth features and short-cut brown hair that was slightly running to gray, but with a carriage and deportment so rigidly correct—so purely military—that there was no way he could ever be mistaken for anything other than a true soldier. His voice was similar to President Eden's—warm and cultured with a faint trace of a Southern accent, though even he could not match the degree of Eden's artificial geniality. Aside from his trench coat, he wore no armor whatever, and though he carried both a standard 10-mm. pistol and an AEP7 laser pistol, he made no move to draw either of them. He doesn't need to, Samantha thought bitterly, taking in the heavily-armed soldiers to either side of him. Either one of those two have us outgunned—and they have the element of surprise.
"Samantha?" Charon rasped behind her.
"Do as he says." Her own weapons crashed to the floor in defeat. "They've got us at their mercy." Slowly she raised her hands. Charon hesitated for a moment—during which Samantha's blood ran cold at the thought he might actually try to contest Autumn's advantage—but he must have come up with similar odds to hers, for she heard his own weapons fall to the floor a moment later. Autumn nodded.
"Very wise of you, sir." Autumn paused, regarding them. "I do apologize," he said, in that same genial voice. "It appears that the two of you were having some sort of argument when my colleagues and I discovered you. As I said before, I surely didn't mean to interrupt; it just occurred to me that perhaps I could be of some use resolving your…little difference of opinion."
"What do you mean, Autumn?" Samantha demanded.
Autumn smiled, a broad, cheery, ingenuous smile that somehow never reached his eyes. "You're Samantha, are you not? The daughter of the esteemed founder of Project Purity…yes, James's death was something I deeply regretted, I must say."
"You killed him," she snarled back at him. Autumn shook his head sadly.
"He killed himself, young miss," the Enclave officer replied. "I would have done anything to prevent it. The loss of such a great mind was truly a tragedy for us all. But we were speaking of your little altercation." He paused and regarded them both, his eyes going behind Samantha to Charon. "You were arguing—and please do correct me if I'm wrong—about the disposition of a certain 'contract.'"
"What's it to you?" Charon growled harshly.
"It's our business, Autumn, and none of yours," Samantha spat back at him. "Stay out of it."
"Of course, of course," the Enclave officer agreed, smiling that friendly smile. "However, after you were apprehended, I took the liberty of rummaging through your possessions, young miss—and I do hope you will forgive me—and I happened to come upon this interesting piece of reading material. Well, I was so fascinated that I guess I must have simply walked off with it. I'm wondering whether this might be the 'contract' that you seek."
He reached into his trenchcoat and pulled out a very familiar piece of laminated parchment. Samantha's blood ran cold at the sight of it. She made a lunge for it, only to be brought up short as the Tesla-armored soldiers started to raise their Gatling lasers. "Give it back!" she cried.
"All in good time, young miss," Autumn chided her. "Now, from what I read here," he said, looking over Samantha's head, "this contract entitles the holder to the services of one 'Charon.' I do believe that's you, is that not correct, sir?"
Heedless of the peril, Samantha whipped around to stare at Charon. Charon had gone very still. The ghoul's total attention was focused on Colonel Autumn. "That is correct," the ghoul rasped, his voice stone on stone.
"My, my, my," Autumn mused quietly. "And I believe that the current holder would be…why, that would be me, would it not?"
Samantha held her breath. When she heard Charon's next words, her gut clenched.
"Yes, Master."
"Well now," Autumn murmured, even more quiet. "Isn't that interesting." And he smiled again, that genial , charming smile. He took a step back, and swept his gaze over the two of them.
"We need to have a little discussion, the three of us, but this is hardly the best place to conduct it. If you will do me the honor, young miss, of accompanying me up to my office?"
"Do I have a choice?" she asked.
Autumn's smile broadened. "Oh, we all have choices, young miss," he said. "Except maybe for your ghoulish friend there. In this case, however, I think you will find that agreeing to come with me of your own free will is much preferable to the alternative."
Samantha's lips flattened. "Fine."
"I thought you'd say that." He shifted his gaze to Charon. Charon had not moved, but was watching Autumn intently. She saw his jawline tighten. "Charon. Get your weapons and come along with us, please."
Charon nodded, and Samantha's heart sank even further at his reply.
"As you command, Master."
[*]
Autumn dismissed his guards as soon as they cleared the armory, saying genially, "Run along, boys—you won't be necessary." The two Tesla-armor-clad forms had exchanged a glance, but had done as they said. It was on the tip of Samantha's tongue to ask Autumn why in the world he was so trusting of her, but she refrained; an idea had occurred to her that made her so uneasy she didn't dare put it into words. Her eyes strayed to Charon, who had fallen in behind and to the left of Autumn.
Perhaps, she thought, he has all the guards he needs right with him. She swallowed.
Charon was totally silent as they followed Autumn up to his office. He did not speak to Samantha, nor did he spare her so much as a glance. It was as if he had completely dismissed her from his consciousness, as if she had ceased to exist for him. All his attention was focused on Autumn. His new master, Samantha thought, and shivered. The tension had gone from Charon's body; he strode along at Autumn's back with his usual economy of movement, as if he had done nothing else his whole life. The change in his demeanor was so profound that Samantha scarcely knew what to think about it…indeed, thinking about it at all unnerved her greatly.
He wouldn't… She didn't know how to finish that thought.
Autumn had taken over a room on the top floor of the building, in the office suite; it was the largest one in the building, with a bank of windows that looked out over the ruined Wasteland. The rest of the factory was still filled with the litter and trash of two hundred years, but Autumn's office had been thoroughly cleaned and furnished; a shining mahogany desk had been rescued from somewhere, only slightly gouged, along with several comfortable-looking padded chairs and a lush, if somewhat soiled Persian carpet. An old refrigerator hummed in one corner and a fire crackled in a steel drum, chasing back the early spring chill and lending a false note of cheeriness to the room. Autumn took a seat behind the desk.
"Charon. Be so kind as to close the door, will you?"
"As you command, Master," Charon replied, and went to do so. The click of the door sounded horribly final to Samantha in her overly-stressed state. Here I am, trapped in this room with a man who is in no way my friend, she thought. With two men who are not my friends tried to surface, but Samantha ruthlessly tamped it down. She fixed her eyes on Autumn instead.
Autumn regarded her for a moment, taking her in from the tip of her stolen Enclave boots to the top of her blonde, messily coiled hair. His stare was unblinking, lizardlike. Then he smiled, as charmingly as if he were meeting the daughter of an old friend. "Well, well, well," he said. "The great Samantha herself. I must say, I have been wantin to meet you for quite some time now. All the reports I hear of you make you out to be a most exceptional young lady. Why, what is it that man on GNR calls you? 'The Last Best Hope of Humanity?'"
"You've been listening to Three Dog?" Samantha blurted out. She couldn't repress a grimace. Great, even the Enclave knows that stupid title. Thanks a lot, Three Dog.
"Of course, of course," Autumn said, waving one hand airily. "Quite well-informed, he is—and entertaining as well! You know, I'm really lookin forward to the day we finally manage to track him down—he sounds like such an interesting young man. I'd love to have a nice long chat with him." He paused, eyeing her speculatively. "I don't suppose you'd happen to have any idea about where he's at?"
Samantha's heart beat faster. Her palms felt slippery. "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," she bluffed. Her mouth was as dry as a desert. All he has to do is ask Charon…. She fought to keep her eyes from straying toward the ghoul.
Autumn chuckled. "That's about what I thought you'd say. Well, don't worry. We'll find Three Dog all in good time. But I didn't get you up here to talk about him. No, I'm afraid the purpose of this friendly chat is something a bit different." He folded his hands before him on the shining surface of the desk and regarded her again, with that same unblinking stare. Samantha felt herself squirm.
"What do you want, Autumn?" she demanded, swallowing again.
"Straight to the point. I like that," Autumn said, chuckling again. "I always appreciate a bright youngster like yourself who knows how to speak her mind. You are aware, of course, of the Enclave's interest in your late father's work?"
"You mean Project Purity?" Her heart was pounding in her chest. Whether with fear or with rage, Samantha couldn't have told. "You mean the project that my father sacrificed his life to keep from falling into your hands? That project?"
"The very same." Autumn nodded. "Your father was a brilliant man, though sadly misguided. Well, even brilliant men can be mistaken. What we want is nothing less than what your father wanted: clean, pure water for everyone in the Capital Wasteland. The only difference is, unlike your father, we have the means and the resources to actually achieve this vision."
"Bullshit," Samantha spat. Her hands opened and closed into fists. "You want clean water for everyone in the Capital Wasteland—and extermination for those who don't meet your standards of purity. You want to purge the Wasteland of everyone whose genetic code has been damaged—which is just about every living being in the Wasteland. That's what you gave me the vial of the Forced Evolutionary Virus for—"
"Now that's where you're wrong, young lady," Autumn said calmly. "That was the late President John Henry Eden's vision, not mine. It was one of the many, many things that we did not see eye to eye about—or rather, eye to optic sensor," he added. "But as you well know, President Eden is no longer a factor—for which, I add, I must thank you, young miss. I'm in command of the Enclave forces now, and what I want is to bring your father's life work to fruition. Nothing more, nothing less. You have my word."
"I don't believe you."
"Why not?" he asked, shrugging. "It wasn't I who gave you the vial of modified FEV to add to the water supply—that was President Eden, now deceased. I believe even he told you of our disagreement, did he not?" As Samantha hesitated, he pressed on, "I understand that you may have some animosity toward me from the circumstances of your father's death. That's perfectly natural, of course. But what I would suggest you ask yourself, young lady, is whether that animosity is enough to warrant standing in the way of the completion of your father's vision."
"Cut the crap and just tell me what you want," Samantha snapped.
Autumn chuckled again. Samantha thought that that chuckle sounded about as real as a three-dollar pre-war bill. "What we want. Yes. Well, as you know, young lady, the Enclave currently has what is left of your father's project in its hands. We have the Jefferson Memorial with its water purifier, and we have the G.E.C.K.—the Garden of Eden Creation Kit, which you were so kind as to retrieve for us from Vault 87." Samantha clenched her fists, but said nothing. "What we don't have is the code necessary to work the machine. Furthermore, your father left quite a number of failsafes, ensuring that if we try to input the wrong code, or to input the right code in the wrong way, the machine will lock us out. Now, we have our computer scientists working on the problem—rest assured, we will unlock the code eventually—but it would be much quicker and easier to get it from you, young lady." He smiled again. Samantha ground her teeth.
"What makes you think I have it?" she challenged. "I'd never even heard of this Project Purity until I escaped from the Vault a few months ago, and I only caught up with my father a couple of days before you killed him."
"Again, he killed himself, young miss," Autumn corrected her gently. "And I would advise against you playing foolish. It isn't likely to lead to anything good for you in the long run."
"I'm serious, I don't have it!" Samantha insisted, wiping her hands against her legs. "Dad never told it to me."
Autumn sighed. "Now, that's not very friendly, missy. It's not very friendly at all. I must say, I'm disappointed. You're a bright young lady, surely you can see where your own self-interest lies. Surely it would be better—not just for you, but for the Capital Wasteland—if you were to give us the code—"
"I can't give you something I don't have!" Samantha protested. "If you want I could make something up, I guess, but I can't give you the real code. Dad never told it to me. He never had the chance. Ask—" Samantha cast about her. "Ask Charon if you want," she dared, her eyes coming to rest on the rotted ghoul standing by the door. "He was there for the whole thing. He'll tell you. Charon, did Dad ever tell me the code?"
Charon gave her a slow, impassive glance, then turned his full attention back to Colonel Autumn. He did not acknowledge her presence in any other way. Samantha cursed silently. Charon—
Colonel Autumn looked back and forth between the two of them, and then smiled again. "Ah. Yes. Charon." Purposefully changing the subject, he continued, "He is quite a find, I must admit. I must ask you, young lady: How did you come by him?"
"Why do you care?" Samantha snapped back.
"Well, I was just wondering if you fully appreciated what it was that you had here." Autumn rose from his desk and came forward to stand in front of Charon, sweeping his gaze over the ghoul. Charon did not react, but simply stood calmly under Autumn's scrutiny. "Do you even know what he is?"
Samantha felt herself flush. "He's my friend," she said sharply. "That's all that matters." Isn't he? She glanced over at him again, but Charon said nothing.
Autumn gave her a look. "Oh, but it isn't. He may—or may not—be your friend, young lady, but he is also a great deal more. In fact I've had my eye out for one of his kind for as long as I've been aware of their existence—and that's been quite a while. I never thought I'd find one."
"What do you mean?"
Autumn paused and rocked back on his heels, clasping his hands behind him. Charon was almost a head taller than he was; Autumn had to look up to examine him. The Enclave officer stepped back and turned toward Samantha. "Charon," he said, as if discussing the qualifications of a fine thoroughbred Brahmin steer, "is one of a—shall we say, very unusual group of people. They are not of the Enclave's making, but we know quite a bit about them and have even made use of them in the past. Suffice it to say that the…organization…that created Charon was dedicated to making the perfect soldier—one who would obey any order given to him. Or her; there were some women included in their experiments as well, though not many. Eventually, they succeeded—some might say, a bit too well. Certainly a bit too well for their own good." Here Autumn chuckled, as if at a particularly amusing memory.
Samantha's eyes darted from Autumn to Charon. Charon's flayed features could have been carved from stone; his eyes were locked on the Enclave officer. Even as Colonel Autumn continued to speak about him as if he were not present, Charon's face never changed. Perhaps the pulse in his throat beat a bit faster, but that was all.
"To my knowledge, there are very few of his kind left," Autumn went on, rather admiringly. "In fact, Charon may actually be the only one, which of course makes him all the more valuable. Natural attrition has taken its toll, of course, but so have the rigors of combat. Charon and those like him must obey any order given them by the one who holds their contract—no matter how reckless, stupid, or suicidal—and in the hands of those who did not know how to use what they had, this led to truly appalling casualty rates. You are to be commended, young miss, for taking such good care of him during the time you held his contract." Charon said nothing, listening impassively. "However, his contract is now in our hands, not yours, and believe me when I say we know how to value such an asset." He turned to regard Charon again, with a look of shrewd appraisal; the ghoul remained silent.
Samantha swallowed, a chill going down her spine. "Charon—" she began. "Charon, don't—don't listen to him. You don't have to do what he says—"
"Ah, but he does," Autumn corrected her. "His own nature will not permit him to do otherwise. It is truly an admirable thing. The most effective means of control are always internal, would you not agree? And in Charon and those like him, they run so deep that they can never be dislodged." He paused. "Permit me to provide a small demonstration, if you will. Charon," he turned to address the ghoul. "Do you know that young lady there?"
"Yes, master," the ghoul replied.
"Who is she?"
Charon turned to look at her. Samantha could read nothing on those rotted features. "She is my former mistress."
Autumn nodded. "Good. Charon, would you please hit her?"
Samantha gasped. He wouldn't do it….would he?
Charon regarded her impassively for a moment. "Where would you like me to hit her, Master?"
"In the face, if you please."
"And how hard?"
Autumn smiled. "Hard enough to make a point, but not so hard as to do any lasting damage. There's no need for that sort of thing—at least, not yet."
"As you command, Master," Charon replied, in the same inflectionless tone he had always used to speak those words to her. He turned and began to advance on her purposefully.
He's not going to do it, Samantha breathed to herself. He's not going to. He's not— Charon drew back his hand, and a stinging blow caught her high on the cheekbone; her head snapped to the side and her eyes watered. It took her a moment to come back to herself.
"You bastard," she snarled when her head cleared. She was not looking at Charon.
Autumn smiled again. "That's as may be. Take her below, Charon, to the holding cells on the ground floor. I believe our 'Last, Best Hope for Humanity' needs some time to think."
"As you command." Charon gripped her arm. There was no anger in his touch, no hostility—just a terrible strength, an intent of purpose that would not be denied. Samantha stared up at him, searching his decaying features, but he met her gaze calmly; she saw nothing in his deceptively mild eyes. She couldn't suppress a shiver as he escorted her out of the room.
[*]
Samantha was silent as Charon propelled her down the stairs and along the concrete-floored corridor. Fear stilled her tongue—not so much for herself, strangely enough, but for her friend. For as bad as her position was—and there's no doubt it's bad—she was smart enough to recognize that in some ways, Charon's position was much, much worse.
She could have kicked herself for not taking better care of his contract. Useless now to protest that she simply hadn't thought of it; she should have thought of it. It was her responsibility. I should have sat him down and grilled him about it right from the start—he was absolutely right, I took for granted what I was getting from him and never bothered to ask what he needed from me. She knew why she hadn't done that—in those first days, so long ago, she had been somewhat intimidated by her tall, silent ghoul follower; even more so because of what he had done to Ahzrukhal immediately after his contract had passed to her, and then as time had gone on and the two of them had developed their working relationship it had simply never seemed to come up. But that was no excuse. She had been negligent and now both of them were going to pay for it. A little bit of forethought and maybe we wouldn't be in this situation now.
The jail cells were underneath the factory, on the opposite end from the armory; a large room had been subdivided into compartments by the addition of steel bars and mesh. As Charon was locking her into one of them, she looked up at him. "Charon," she said quietly, "you don't have to do what he says. You really don't. You know that, don't you?"
Charon looked down at her through the bars. Something flickered in those filmy eyes. When he spoke, his voice was strangely…gentle? "You should not have lost my contract, Samantha."
Then he was gone, leaving her to slump down against the damp concrete wall. She ran her hands through her hair. What are we going to do?