Sable Royal Hospital
Early-October SY153
Having woken up to a beautiful autumn Saturday, I had decided to give myself the morning off, and was sitting in my favourite place by the lake, idly sketching, when I felt the beginnings of a Trump call. I scanned my mental deck, and was slightly surprised to see that my caller was my brother Michael.
We'd always been reasonably close, since he had almost literally been left on my doorstep in a basket back when I was still living at Millbank, and I had effectively brought him up. However, we certainly aren't constantly in each other's back pockets: if anything that's more applicable to him and William, as they effectively grew up together. A major amount of his time is spent at the Sable Royal Hospital, which he's pretty much built from scratch, with occasional help from Claire and I; or running courses and classes related to shape shifting, or occasionally Trump. And in his not-so-free time he paints, is a devoted husband to Sofia and dotes on their infant twin daughters. So we meet up for dinner once or maybe twice a month, and he comes to family parties, but I'm certainly not used to him calling me out of the blue.
Curious, therefore, I opened the contact, to see that he seemed a little...perturbed, or maybe embarrassed. Almost like a child who'd been caught with his hand in the biscuit jar (which I remembered doing on a number of occasions when he was a child...but that's another story).
"Hey, Robert."
"Morning, Michael. Is everything okay?"
"Actually, I'm in a bit of a bind, and I was wondering if you could help me out."
"That's what big brothers are for," I answered, "your place or mine?"
"My office, if you wouldn't mind...the people I need you to see are here en masse this morning."
No less puzzled, especially as it was a Saturday, so I would have expected him to be at home with his family, I extended my hand and stepped through.
On arrival, I glanced around to see four other people in the room. Two of them I knew, Julian Bond and Sage Praesler, from the team which had been involved in the destruction of Rensburg, the mess which had led to their being declared personae non gratae in the Reich, complete with in absentio death sentences from brother Rupert.
The other two were women. I recognised the younger one as Phinneus and Rebecca St John's daughter Odessa, who had been presented to me as part of the Season a couple of years before. Her name was sufficiently distinctive – for various reasons, many of them nothing to do with Sable - that I had remembered her. More notably, for the past eighteen months or so she had been taking lessons in drawing Trumps from my grandson Thomas, whilst at the same time somehow managing not to succumb to his usual seductive ways with women. My sources indicated that chocolate might be a key factor in her success.
The other I didn't know, but noticing this, Michael introduced her to me as Giselle Armand. I greeted them, then looked expectantly at my brother.
"I know you're busy, so I might as well cut straight to the chase," he began, "Miss St-John, Ms Armand and the others have come into possession of some information that I'd really rather they didn't pass on, and while I trust that none of them would do so intentionally, there are certain circumstances when they might not have a choice."
"Okay..." I answered, cautiously.
While I suspected that if those circumstances ever occurred to any of them, whatever snippet of information he was referring to would be the least of their worries, it was obviously important to him. Moreover, he genuinely seemed concerned for them, as well as for himself, so I waited for him to continue.
"We've talked through one or two other options, and given that removing those memories altogether would be both dangerous and illegal, we've come to the conclusion that it's probably best if they were locked away, so that they can't be read against their wills."
I glanced at him in surprise, then looked at his guests.
"Is this your understanding of any discussions you've had here this morning?"
"Yes," Bond answered, and I saw general nods of agreement from the others.
"Okay. So, I understand the logic, but I'm not sure why you need my help."
"My mind is pretty good, but I'm not the mentalist you are, Robert," he replied, "and even if I was confident that I could safely hide the memories without hurting any of these fine people, I'm not sure my work would stand up to certain of those who might like to break through it."
"Such as?"
"Rupert Delatz immediately springs to mind."
I tried to mask my surprise, although I'm sure a card player like Bond will have seen it. To my knowledge, my little brother Michael would never even have said boo to Rupert. I wasn't sure he was even on Rupert's radar, beyond the obvious of being an acknowledged member of the Sable Royal Family, and our brother on father's side.
"What the Hell have you gotten yourself into?" I asked, the question more rhetorical to all of them than specific to Michael.
"It's a long story," came the answer, "and I promise I'll explain later. But first I need to know if you'll help."
"It's an unusual request, but I'm willing to do it if it's genuinely the wish of all concerned," I agreed, "and believe me, I'm going to ask each one of you that question in turn. Because you need to remember that I will be actively inside your minds, with all that could potentially entail, and while you have my word that I will do no harm, it is for you to decide if you trust me to keep it."
I glanced at them, but the reaction again seemed to be general acceptance. Whatever it was, it was obviously enough to worry them sufficiently that they were willing to go along with what was a pretty extreme solution, which got me very curious indeed.
"Fair enough. Is anyone volunteering to be first?"
"I will, Your Majesty," Praesler said, stepping forward.
"Will you confirm that you're asking me to do this of your own free will?"
"Definitely," he answered, with surprising certainty.
"Okay. The way this is done is by my making a mental link with you. Once that's established, you need to think about what it is you want me to conceal, and I'll take it from there. Is that clear?"
"It is," he answered, smartly, and I smiled.
"Sorry, I know the questions sound inane, but they have to be asked...the SMOC is very strict on such things. Nothing like this should be undertaken without the risks being spelled out."
"I understand, sire," he replied, and I set to work.
Hiding memories is a tricky business, and if you get it wrong it can be as devastating to the subconscious as removing them altogether. I gently formed the mental link with him, and once I was in his mind, I immediately saw what it was that they wanted me to conceal. It was so far out of left field from what I had expected, if I'd even really known what to expect, that I nearly broke the contact. However, I recovered myself and then worked gently but quickly, while all the while making sure that the procedure wouldn't have ill effects at a later date. Soon I had the memories locked away such that he could only talk about what he had learned with the others, or with Michael or myself, and I gently broke the contact. At least he seemed none the worse for wear.
Once I had finished with Sage, I repeated the procedure with the others, and about an hour later I was pretty sure they would be safe. They thanked me, and then said their goodbyes and headed out of Michael's office, leaving me alone with my brother.
At which point, it seemed well worth putting up some anti-eavesdropping wards ...or maybe heading to some totally unoccupied Shadow in the middle of nowhere... before saying anything else. In the end I settled for the wards, albeit backing them with Pattern for added security, and then turned back to him.
"How long have you been running the Underground Railroad," I said, finally.
I had always been aware that such an organisation existed: the highly illegal, covert group which helped shape shifters escape the Reich, rather than be incarcerated or killed by the Forstapo. Hell, not a few of those who worked for the Kingdom of Sable in various official and less official capacities had either been born in the Reich or had close relatives who had. But I'd never really considered how it operated or who the contacts were, and that Michael was involved would never have even occurred to me if I had thought about it. It certainly had me looking at him in a whole new light.
"I set up the Sable end in the early twenties," he replied, quietly.
"Bloody Hell," I answered, regarding at him with new-found respect.
"Are you mad, Robert?" Michael asked, looking at me.
"Mad...no. Shaken rigid...definitely. How..."
"After I graduated from medical school and finished my training, I started to attend various medical conferences in the Commonwealth and beyond, and as I did so, I began to hear about the plight of shifters in the Reich territories. How they were treated as not much better than vermin, and often incarcerated or killed. And being one myself, and an empathic Sensitive to boot, I felt incredible sympathy for them. So I carefully sounded out a few people, and made a few contacts.
There was already a shape shifter underground by then – Gabriel Ekkehardt founded it as early as '12 - but there wasn't much it could do beyond train shifters how to conceal what they were, as there was nowhere for them to run to. The only positive was that it was before mandatory testing, so if they were clever, they could sometimes get away with it. But ten years later, the situation had deteriorated substantially, and they still had nowhere to run. So I started figuring out how to help."
"Who is Gabriel Ekkehardt? It isn't a name I know from the medical world."
"No reason why you should," he answered, "he ran one of the Reich industrial conglomerates, until Johan Hartwin caught and killed him shortly after Black Friday."
"How long did all this take to set up."
"Quite a while. There was a certain amount of hit and miss along the way, and more than one close shave. After all, it's not as if covert operations was a speciality of mine up until then. But I took some advice and Gabriel and I managed to get something up and running. It was small at first, but it has steadily grown over the years, and it now runs under a reasonably comprehensive cell organisation, with secondary groups based in each of the Reich trading blocks, and sub-groups on each Aussenhandel Shadow reporting to the secondary group for their block."
"How do you keep in touch? It's not like you can ring them up and see how they're doing."
"Trump."
"That's a Hell of a risk...?"
"Not so much," he answered with a simple confidence that made me wonder what it was that he knew which I didn't. I knew he was a Trump artist, of course, otherwise he couldn't teach the subject, but I hadn't thought he was as good as me. Looking at him then, though, I wondered if I had underestimated his skills in that area. After all, it seemed as if I'd thoroughly underestimated an awful lot else about him.
"The only people who know the identities of all the cell leaders are myself and my opposite number," he continued, "and we're both reasonably adept as Trump artists. Yes, before he came aboard, when it was still Gabriel and I, Trumps were a liability. But since we've been working together directly, we've developed a security system we can build into the cards we draw which is reasonably unbreakable."
"Nothing's totally unbreakable."
"No...which is why we still don't use them that often. For example, we don't risk Trumps for actually getting people out of Reich territory unless there's no other choice. We've set up alternative means of extraction than that. But I'm certainly better with them than I suspect you realised...at least as good as you are, and therefore Delatz is, unless he pips you on that one...?"
"Actually, I think I have the edge there. Go on..."
"My counterpart is also better than most, so we're reasonably confident."
"Although their very existence is a risk in it's own way, or I wouldn't have had to spend the morning hiding memories. Who has the cards? How wide is the circulation?"
"My opposite number and I both have a full set. The six secondary leaders, one per Aussenhandel block plus one in the Fatherland, have the two of us plus their own key subordinates on each Aussenhandel Shadow. The subordinates only have their direct superior. And if the Trumps are compromised by being used by someone they aren't keyed to, the whole network ceases to function and the cards blank out, as would have happened if Odessa, Giselle and the others had tried to use them, rather than just pocket them and bring them home for the experts to play with."
I regarded him in silence for a moment, unsure what to say. My little brother, the doctor and surgeon, with a reputation for calm, compassion and gentleness, running a complex and exceedingly dangerous organisation which would get him shot if he ever fell into the wrong hands. I genuinely hadn't realised he had it in him. But never again would I forget that he was Oberon's grandson as much as I was.
"I'm impressed," I said, finally.
"Thank you."
"Who advised you? Gray?"
"As I said, I've made a few contacts over the years...I have been doing this for well over a century...but no, John Graham isn't one of them. He's aware that I'm involved with the Railroad to some degree, I think, but I don't believe he knows I run the Sable end. Or at least didn't..."
"...but he probably does now," I commented, and he nodded, "still, there is one major thing bothering me about all this more than the rest. The memories I've just helped conceal. Prominent in all of them were a set of Trumps which presumably belong to a secondary group leader, if I understand your description well enough, and two of the pictures in it worry the hell out of me."
"Matthias and Berndt, presumably," he replied, his dark eyes guileless.
"Indeed. The Head of the Abwehr and a Forstapo geneticist who helped to kill a million people by co-developing the Nevers Contagion. Where in God's name do they fit in?"
"A few months before Gabriel died, he introduced me to another unregistered shifter. Ironically, the meeting took place on Nevers, before Sable lost that world to the Black Friday offensive and the Contagion was unleashed to murder every shape shifter on that world. The particular individual Gabriel introduced me to was one of those whom the Railroad had helped train, and who was therefore sympathetic to the cause. His name was Matthias Fischer."
"The aforementioned Head of the Abwehr," I commented, and he nodded.
"And, in case you aren't aware...which I suspect you aren't...the Kaiser's son."
"Another grandson," I said, with a sigh. For all Rupert's early protestations that I had cornered the market on family in Sable, new ones seemed to turn up under every other stone in the Reich. I'd have to have a good heart to heart with my twin about that one of these days.
"Wilhelm gets around about as much as you used to," Michael said with a chuckle, as he saw my expression, "at least when Elsa lets him out."
"Quite," I answered, keeping my tone intentionally neutral.
"Still, that aside...Matthias wasn't actually Head of the Abwehr then, but he was still in an influential position within it, which could potentially give the Railroad access to resources they could never have dreamed of. After Gabriel died, I contacted him and asked if he would be willing to take over running the Reich end of the organisation, while I carried on maintaining the Sable one, and he agreed."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that," he answered.
"I'm surprised he was willing to take the risk."
"Matthias is a very canny operator," he answered, and I could hear respect in his voice, "if he wasn't, then the Abwehr would have been swallowed by Delatz's RSHA years ago."
"And if Rupert ever found out, it would be the end of both the man and the organisation..."
"Hence the business with the memories. They needed to be protected for his sake, possibly more so than mine, and for the sake of the agents who stumbled into this."
"What about Geisen?"
"Matthias is beginning to mutter about stepping down...Berndt is a potential successor."
"He's a war criminal."
"If we're being blunt, Robert, Andrew is a war criminal, too," he answered, which made me bristle slightly. Not that I could honestly argue the point. "But Gray isn't sending agents out to capture him and bring him back to Sable for justice the way he did Berndt. Him being on our side and all.
The difference is that Berndt Geisen regrets what he did...the death of all those people...and he's trying to make amends, which I don't see Andrew doing any time soon. Moreover, Berndt's wife Marthe was a shape shifter, before she was taken by the Forstapo, and I believe at least one of his children is. He's been working with the Railroad for rising thirty years, and has run the Niedersachsen secondary group for the last ten. He's also a friend of mine – we bump into each other at conferences every so often, although we obviously have to be careful. However, a century of cloak and dagger means I've gotten reasonably handy at it nowadays."
"Who else knows about your involvement in all this?"
"In Sable? Will, because he was the one who Sage and the others approached when they picked up Berndt's Trump deck. I suspect they were more than a little worried that I was some kind of spy for the Reich, given where they found my card and whose it was in the company of, but thankfully they were sensible about who they contacted. Will asks questions first, and then only shoots if he has to.
And I imagine Gray will know part or all of this soon enough, as he's had to authorise returning Berndt to the Reich...which thankfully he's agreed to do. Berndt's absence would have taken out a major section of the Railroad, and put lives at risk, although Julian was regretting having to "throw one back" as he put it. So you may wish to talk to them both to see if they want these memories concealed as well...although God help Sable if either of them fell into Delatz's hands.
And of course you, now. Suffice to say, I really hope that you'll take suitable precautions so that my least favourite brother doesn't take these memories out of your head next time you have tea or do some kind of universe-saving working together...which you seem to be doing a lot of lately, if I may say so."
"Life's been like that recently," I answered, "but in answer to your question, you have my word that I will keep your secret from him."
"Thank you."
"What about outside Sable? How many others know?"
"I sincerely hope no-one outside the Railroad."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No," he answered, calmly but firmly, "you know more than you should already, Robert. There was a reason I'd never discussed any of this with you before. Plausible deniability is going to be stretched as it is."
"Plausible deniability is beginning to annoy the Hell out of me," I replied, with a sigh.
"But the more friendly you get with Rupert...and you are getting friendly with him, don't try to deny it...the more you need it," he said, quietly, "whether or not you like it."
I thought about arguing, but the trouble was, we both knew he was right.
"Anyway, that's probably a discussion for another day. I've taken up a lot of your time this morning, and I imagine you have kingly-stuff to be doing, so I'd probably better let you go. Is it our turn to host dinner next time, or yours?"
"Yours, I think," I answered, rising to my feet.
"I'll see what we can arrange."
"Okay," I answered, then paused before adding, "and Michael, please be careful. I'd miss you if you got yourself killed."
"I'm pretty sure that isn't going to happen any time soon," he answered, surprisingly confident, "but I appreciate the sentiment. We'll see you in a couple of weeks.?"
"You will indeed," I answered, "give my love to Sofia and the twins."
"Will do."
He paused a moment, then added.
"Thanks for your help, Robert. I feel easier knowing that all concerned are protected."
"Believe me, little brother," I replied as I paused, hand on the door handle, "so am I."