Panenske Brezany
1st February RY154
Snow was falling as I stood out of the library windows in my main residence at Panenske Brezany, and as I glanced over at the mantelpiece, I could see the clock ticking round towards 4.00pm. Bartel, the major domo, would be bringing in coffee and cakes soon (he'd promised that his wife Sofie had been working on a special new gateau recipe for the occasion), but I was still in two minds whether there was any point actually calling my brother. The last time we'd met, on Manira, he'd been the very model of a disapproving, sanctimonious son of a bitch, even though I'd done him a favour.
Well, okay, I'd done myself a favour as well, but it was the principle of the thing.
Still, civilised had been my idea in the first place, so perhaps it fell to me to try to maintain it. I even decided to show my good faith by asking Rikart Schultz to stay outside the, albeit in shouting distance, rather than actually having him in the room with us.
Bartel brought the tray in a couple of minutes early, and once he had left, I decided it was time to grasp the nettle and see what happened. I brought Robert's mental Trump to mind and waited, and after a distinct pause, he opened the contact. He really didn't seem pleased to see me.
"Rupert," he said, his tone flat.
"You seem so thrilled, Mein Bruder," I answered, with a sigh, "are you going to join me, or stay up there on your high horse getting altitude sickness?"
I could almost feel him debating with himself, but in the end he shrugged and extended his hand towards me. I took it and brought him through to me.
"So how long are you planning to keep the up Cold War for," I asked as he arrived.
"The Cold War?"
"Come on, Robert. You're about as frosty as the weather outside."
He glanced at the window, then replied "Technically, if it's snowing there probably isn't a frost."
"Ah...Hair splitting," I said, with a sigh, "I can see this is going to be a long afternoon. Why don't we sit over by the fire, and hopefully that'll thaw you out a bit. And failing that, perhaps, at least, you can at least get around to the explosion you're itching for and then we can get on with life."
"For God's sake Rupert. How can you make a joke out of this?"
"One, leave God out of this, as always. Especially this time. And two, who said I was joking?"
I turned my back on him and headed towards the fireside. I poured two cups of coffee, took a slice of what I had to admit looked like a rather good chocolate and blackberry gateau, and then waited for him to join me.
"I'm surprised you let it snow so much," he commented, turning from the window.
"I enjoy it...and the Fatherland is well set up to deal with it," I answered, as he crossed the room towards me. As he came close, he noticed the small painting which I'd done recently of Frida, my younger children, and Berthold's daughter Kristina, who Frida and I had effectively adopted. I'd been sufficiently pleased with it that I'd placed on the mantelpiece, beside the clock.
As I've grown older, and I'd like to think wiser, I find I've become more sentimental about my family. In fact, I have to confess that I'm even beginning to regret the reputation I built for myself in earlier times in that regard, along the lines of being willing to kill my own children for the good of the Reich (which was, of course, impossible, given that I had no children at that point, and in all honesty never expected to have). But then, family and the importance thereof is one of the most important tenets of my organisation, and now I could appreciate that first hand, I was more willing to concede that perhaps my earlier view was at odds with that.
"That's new," he commented, taking a closer look at it, "the children are older than I remember."
"I've been in fast time for a while," I admitted, "I decided that in my position, having three dependents at the toddling stage or younger was probably asking for trouble. So we spent a few years away."
"The girls are presumably Isabelle and Kristina...looking at them now I almost pity you the problems you're going to have when they hit their teens...but I don't know the boy."
"My son, Josef."
"How the bloody Hell have you achieved that?" he said, his tone somewhere between surprised and condescending, "has Delwin been playing with test tubes again?"
I felt a flash of anger at his oh so superior attitude on the subject of children, but managed to resist the urge to hit him, as doing so wouldn't really help anything.
"That's none of your concern," I replied, trying to keep my tone level, "and given that you're being a prick of the first order over a number of things right now, even if it were any of your business, I wouldn't feel inclined to answer a question that insulting."
I could hear frost creeping into my own tone, dammit. And I'd even been trying to play nice. But Robert in sanctimonious mode is enough to try the patience of the saint he tries to act like. He looked at me, and then sighed.
"I'm sorry, Rupert. You're right. That was out of order."
"Yes, it was," I answered, levelly, and took a drink from my coffee cup.
"Is Frida pleased?"
"So so."
"I'm surprised. I'd have expected her to be more enthusiastic than that."
"Why? He's not her son."
I smiled inwardly as I saw his expression, which mixed surprise, puzzlement and perhaps a little shock, but I had no intention of explaining.
"I'd recommend the gateau," I commented, mildly, blatantly changing the subject.
Unsure what to say, and obviously somewhat uncomfortable, he helped himself to a slice of cake and then sat back in his chair. We ate in silence for nearly five minutes, and I let myself enjoy watching him cringe for a bit, until I eventually decided enough was enough. I drained my coffee cup and put it back down on the table and gestured. At my bidding, an illusion of a small pachyderm appeared on the table beside the coffee tray. It was about eighteen inches high, and the word Manira written on its grey and wrinkly side. Then I sat back in my chair and waited.
He looked up at me and our eyes met.
"Humour?" he asked, quietly.
"Desperation," I replied, "you're being an ass, Robert. Say what you want to say, so we can clear the air."
"If you insist," he answered, "did you enjoy butchering one of your best friends in a black magic ritual?"
"We'd both confirmed, it wasn't Tristan. It was a Machine copy. I used what tools were at my disposal and did what had to be done."
"Which doesn't answer my question. For goodness sake, Rupert, you were almost whistling while you worked."
"I was undertaking the rite in question in a positive state of mind...which by the way wasn't exactly easy, given what was at stake."
"Positive state of mind?"
"Of course..." I said, as I cancelled the illusion, "I couldn't have started something like that if I'd had the slightest doubt in my mind that I could finish it, given that I was working alone and didn't have any other members of my group with me to ameliorate any fuck-ups. To do so would have killed me. As it was it hurt like Hell and I had to put myself in a morphine coma when I got back. You should try being a magical power transformer some time."
"I'd rather not," he answered, and I shrugged.
"Why am I not surprised? Robert, don't forget that I was there because quite frankly, you didn't have the balls to do it yourself, especially in front of your subordinates, and we both know it. Hell, you said as much at the time."
"I don't recall putting it quite like that."
"I was paraphrasing," I retorted, pouring myself another coffee, "so sue me."
"Moreover, I'm not a black magician. I'm not even a blood magician. So whether or not I had the guts to do it is irrelevant. I didn't have the knowledge to perform the ritual."
"But you knew I could do it, so you asked."
"You realise that under Sable Law I could have you executed as a black magician."
"For that and many other things, I suspect," I answered, with a humourless smile, "However, I'd love to see you try. Especially as there are witnesses who would concur that you condoned my actions on Manira, so I'd take you down with me. Hypocrite would not begin to cover it. But this, of course, brings us to the crux of the problem."
"Which is."
"You condoned my actions," I replied, trying to keep my most reasonable tone, "in fact, more than that, they know you were the one who called me in, and asked me to do it."
My gaze met his, and when he didn't deny it, I continued.
"You've always known what I am...what I do...how I serve and protect the Reich. But I wasn't doing it in front of your nose, so you could ignore it. Last year, when Andrew finally came clean to you about what had happened when he was my guest, you first saw it for yourself. It affected you sufficiently that you were going to take action that afternoon on Mount Vanaheim. But then he took matters into his own hands, and after you saw me bleeding on the ground, I suspect you decided honour was satisfied and breathed a mental sigh of relief. So you pushed what you'd seen in Andrew's head to the back of your mind again, where it wouldn't trouble you.
And then Manira happened. And you knew what had to be done. And you knew that I could do it. So you leapt at the chance to keep your own conscience clear by using me as your tool. But the trouble was, when you saw me conducting the ritual which you knew was necessary - and which, by the way, I'm reasonably sure you could have replicated a version of, even if you don't - you realised your conscience wasn't clear. You realised that you were just as guilty as I was, even though it was my hands on the knife. And you hated yourself for it. So you transferred that hatred to me."
I paused, drinking more coffee, enjoying more of the gateau (was that hazelnut schnapps in the filling?) and watching his reactions, and I could see that I'd hit the nail on the head. He sipped his own coffee, trying his best not to look uncomfortable.
"Do you know what the thing that most surprised me was?"
"What?"
"That you were willing to call me in at all. And you know? I felt proud when you did."
"Proud?" he said, honestly puzzled, "that's an odd choice of phrase. Why proud?"
"I worry about you, Mein Bruder," I answered, and I could see his surprise.
"Why the Hell would you worry about me?" he asked, incredulous.
"Because you deny your Blood heritage in an effort to live up to your own ideal vision of humanity...because you're too busy trying to be the favourite uncle or the kindly grandfather to remember the fact that you, and I, and our Father, and our extended kin, come from a family of self-centred bastards engaged in a permanent game of one-upmanship with each other. That is who we really are...not some kind of race of benevolent demigods."
"What we are comes with responsibilities," he commented.
"I don't deny that. And for creators, doubly so, given that there are literally trillions of beings who owe their very existence to us, and whose lives are in our hands. But sometimes you need to remember your roots to truly understand why we do what we do."
"You make it sound like you consider humanity to a be a weakness."
"Not in itself, no. But letting it dominate your life...your thoughts...your very being...is. So when you showed signs of more typical family pragmatism, I was glad. And then you went and spoilt the whole thing by going all holier than thou on me."
I tried to hide it, but I could hear hurt in my voice. It was almost a new experience.
"You know as well as I do that leaving Manira in that state could have caused untold damage, both on that world itself and on those surrounding it."
"I know...I just wish there had been another way."
"Robert, you and I considered other possibilities, and neither of us could come up with a better plan."
"I know."
"So why are you still pissed at me?"
"Because you're right," he snapped. Then he continued a little more reasonably. "What you did brought a lot of things home to me, many of which I didn't like."
"Ah...the whole 'Graham and Andrew were right all along and Rupert's an evil bastard, but I'd ignored them and treated him as a human being...what a fool I was' line of reasoning?"
"Something like that."
"I am what I am, and you are what you are, but deep inside, we're two halves of the same person. Hell, it's not much more than a hundred and fifty years since that was literally the case. I wonder, could you have done what I did on Manira if we hadn't separated all those years ago?"
"I don't know...I'd like to think not."
"And yet, if you'd held back, the damage would have spread and you'd potentially be looking at a remedy which was even more extreme."
I sat back for a few moments, and drank more coffee, enjoying the contrast with the sweetness of the chocolate cake, watching as he considered what I'd said.
"What do you want, Rupert?" he said, finally, and as he did, he sounded tired.
"I want you to stop acting like a jerk and accept what happened for what it was. That even if you didn't like the method I used, by letting me undertake the ritual, you saved countless lives. After all, it's not like you're the one in any danger of eternal damnation from practicing..." I made a quotes mark gesture in the air "...black magic."
"Is that something that bothers you?" he asked, curious rather than hostile for the first time in a while, "eternal damnation?"
"I do what I do for the good of my country and of the Sable Universe," I replied, "it's a dirty job but someone's got to do it. Although I'm not even sure that considering the possibility of eternal damnation is relevant, given that neither of us can actually die. Our respective souls aren't exactly going anywhere from now until doomsday. You and I are stuck with each other for eternity. Live with it."
"But the Heydrich clone? Did you pause, even for a moment as you saw Tristan's face staring up at you?"
"Why would I?" I replied, unsure why he needed to keep asking the question. After all, it wasn't as if my answer would have changed. But it obviously bothered him a great deal. "I knew it was a facsimile, and that Tristan was alive and well here on Magica Superior. More relevant was my hatred of Andreas and the Machine."
I drained my coffee cup and wondered if it was time to throw him a bone. Not that I really felt it was up to me to do that, but it was about the only way I could think of of breaking the impasse.
"On which subject...I understand you talked to Wilhelm a few weeks ago about the possibility of a ceasefire between our two countries in face of a significant mutual threat."
"Yes.." he replied, obviously curious at the change of direction.
"In light of everything I've discovered in the past, and am continuing to discover about the Machine, I would not oppose such a ceasefire on the battlefield."
He seemed surprised at my statement. Of course, surprise quickly gave way to suspicion.
"Just on the battlefield?" he asked.
"Let's be realistic. Graham and his agents are never going to respect a ceasefire in the covert war between our people...neither will mine. But bringing a close to the large-scale, full-blown warfare, so that both our nations can reassign troops to fight the more dangerous threat. Fighting a war on two fronts never helped anyone...as my predecessors from our home world discovered...and right now the Machine is the more implacable enemy. I hope that even Andrew can accept that."
"I think he's torn between the logic of the argument, especially given that he, more than any of the rest of us, has first-hand experience of the Machine..."
"The existence of the bloody thing being his fault in the first place..." I snorted.
"...between the logic of the argument...and eighty years of hatred towards you in particular, and the country you represent in general. I'm hoping that logic will win out over emotion."
"If it doesn't, then he's a fool," I answered.
"I can understand his reticence, given what you did to him, but I hope he'll change his mind in time."
"I suppose we'll see," I conceded, "but let's hope it's sooner rather than later."
We lapsed into silence once more, addressing ourselves again to coffee and cake, but this time it was Robert who broke the silence.
"You're right. I probably do owe you an apology."
I was so surprised I almost choked on my coffee. I looked at him, curious to see if he would go on.
"I knew what I was asking when I invited you to Manira," he continued, "and you did what was needed. But seeing that side of you out in the open...I wasn't ready for it. And to be honest, it scared the Hell out of me."
"Trust me, I didn't exactly enjoy the experience, either," I replied, "the question is, are you willing to deal with it and move on?"
"I'm willing to try."
"I suppose that's better than nothing," I answered, realising it was as good as I was going to get for one day. I finished my coffee, waited for him to do the same, and then stood.
"I have something for you...or more accurately, several somethings."
"Why don't I think I'm going to like them?" he asked.
"Tut tut," I answered, "if anything I'd describe them as a peace offering...if I thought I owed you one, which I don't. They're in my lab."
"Which is...?"
"Downstairs. Coming?"
He didn't seem particularly keen, but he nodded, and we headed for the door. As we left the library to head downstairs, Schultz fell in beside us.
"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," he said politely to my brother.
"Standartenführer Schultz," Robert acknowledged. While he seemed a little nervous, he didn't make any vocal objections to Rikart's presence, so I decided all was well and headed for the stairs down to the lower levels, and such niceties as the store rooms, the cellar and my lab.
Outside the heavy oak door, I took the key out of my pocket and simultaneously opened the warding and unlocked the door, then stood back to let him enter first. He did so with some caution, obviously uncertain what he was going to find, but he needn't have worried. Pretty much everything I'm working on which I know he's going to object to on principle is actually at my rather more extensive lab complex on my version of Maui.
Schultz and I followed him in, with Rikart taking up position by the door, and I saw Robert looking around. There were reference books over on the shelf, and various pieces of equipments scattered around on work surfaces. However, the two things I wanted to show him were in the secure store room to one side.
"Head right and you'll see a door," I commented, and he did so. I joined him and unlocked this one as well, to reveal the vault which I kept for those special somethings. On a slab in the middle was a body, and off to one side were the artefacts I had obtained for him through a rather long and tortuous trip.
"Not sure if you've seen one of these before," I said, crossing to join him by the body.
"It's a child...he's what, eleven? Twelve?"
"Probably nothing like as much as that given that it was grown in a jar," I answered, "it's a Machine duplicate of a member of the family...the model series is called Lucien, but it's based from one of Jorge's children...one of the pair which pre-dates his marriage, I hasten to add, before you think it's cause for your granddaughter to divorce him."
"Lukas, presumably...I see the resemblance. I assume from the bullet hole between the eyes that it's been deactivated."
"It hasn't shown any signs of twitching."
"Where did you find it?"
"New Yorvik...my people at the Temple of Protection apprehended it, and from what I've ascertained, it seems to be a later version of the same style of drone as the Heydrich prototype which...passed away...on Manira. New Yorvik is having a lot of problems with the Machine, but then, Roland will never be able to work with Randol to exclude it the way we have up here. Score one for civilised, I feel."
"That I can't deny," he replied, "not that we're entirely Machine free. We keep finding more of them."
"Yes, but most of them seem to be individual units, with the exception of what happened on Cheyne, but I suspect that was set up before we did the exclusion ritual."
"You know about that?"
"I have access to a reasonably competent intelligence service of my own, Mein Bruder," I said, with a slight smile, and he had the decency not to get hot under the collar about it,. "anyway, I thought you might be interested in having the drone to study. I'm even happy for you to take it back to Sable, especially if it might help Andrew make up his mind what to do next."
"At least it can't hurt," he replied, "is that it?"
"No. There's a couple of other things."
"My my, you're feeling generous today," he commented, but I could feel he was a little uncomfortable. Maybe even a little embarrassed. Perhaps the idea of Ruperts bearing gifts disturbed him, especially if there didn't seem to be an obvious payback.
"One of us has to be," I answered, and crossed to the artefacts. There was also a crystal there I wanted him to have, which I got out of a draw to one side, "catch."
I tossed the crystal to him, and he caught it deftly in his left hand.
"I told you I'd give you everything I learned from the Heydrich clone. That's the information dump. It doesn't make happy reading, so to speak. Andreas was a busy bunny while he was here. The pass phrase for accessing the information is 'I'm sorry I was such a sanctimonious prick'."
"Subtle," he said as he put it into his pocket.
"Not really, but I wasn't exactly pleased with you when I made the crystal, and I don't seem to have got around to changing it."
"Anything else?"
"Those."
He came and joined me and looked at the collection of artefacts. They were finely wrought of a very light metal, decorated with carvings and precious and semi-precious stones. Behind them was the carrier which I'd provided for transporting them (pocket dimensions make things so much easier).
"They look old...maybe elven?"
"That's my understanding. They seem to be for healing in some manner or another, although I don't have the first clue how they work. I saved them from being taken by one of our kin."
"Anyone I know?"
"Ernst. The tomb raider. We bumped into each other in Haven and ended up as fellow travellers for a few days. It would seem that he is too stupid to realise that there's a difference between looting for personal gain, and actually securing something so that it can be used by the right person. He filled his metaphorical pockets with cash, weapons and other items he deemed saleable. I filled mine with items that could actually be used, and decided you were the right person to give these to. He thinks I'm a hypocritical looter. What I think of him isn't printable. So it goes."
"And you're just giving them to me?"
"I'm a physician, but we both know that I don't have the temperament to be a true healer. You do. Maybe you can find a use for them. Or not. It's up to you."
"What do you want in return?"
"Oh, I'm sure along the way something will occur to us."
"I've no doubt it will," came his answer, "I rather doubt you've changed enough to be capable of random acts of kindness."
I shrugged.
"Who knows," I answered, then added, "for the record, Ernst is also too stupid to realise that changing his clothing into an SS general's uniform in front of your Lord Protector is a really bad idea. I thought William was going to take his head off when he did it, but kudos to your son, he turned and walked away. Of course Ernst now thinks he's weak, and can't believe he was thinking of letting his daughter marry someone so pathetic. What the latter doesn't realise, I suspect, is how difficult I'd guess Will found it to turn his back rather than fight."
"Ernst wanted Will to marry his daughter? Did he know?"
"I heard him say they'd met, but I doubt it was more than that from him, because I had the feeling that deep down he's still grieving for Sarah. Personally, I think they both had a lucky escape: Will from matrimony and Ernst from being decapitated. As I said. Stupid."
"He's certainly not one of my favourite members of the family."
"Anyway. Gift giving is over, and at this point, I must play the uncharitable host and throw you out. I have things I need to do this evening, and I should prepare."
"Do I want to know?"
"Probably not, but what the Hell? I'm establishing a second circle of Knights at the Wewelsburg tonight. It being the first Festival of the year."
"You needed more? Surely the ones you have serve your purpose admirably?"
"Except that now they're all family, they're unlikely to die except by violence, which rather reduces the promotion aspirations of the rest of the organisation. It also reduces the possibilities for alternative forms of ritual, such as tantric, given how closely most of them are related. And you have twenty-four Garter knights, so I thought...why not?"
"So you're building a second coven?"
"Not the way I would have put it, but I'm sure you'll believe what you will, as you always do."
Wisely, he said nothing, instead starting to place the healing items gently into their carrier. Once he was done, he snapped it shut and then lifted it closer to the drone.
"I really can't decide what to make of you at times," he commented to me, and I shrugged.
"Neither of us are as black and white as the other would like to think," I answered, "we truly are two sides of the same coin. Sometimes we both need to remember that."
"Probably true," he said, quietly, and he looked a little pensive. Then he snapped out of it. "So, until next month?"
"Unless we end up with another crisis which needs us to work together, yes," I answered.
"I hope not...I could do without a crisis for a good few months. Last year was way too busy in that regard."
"Amen," I said, quietly, which elicited a raised eyebrow from him, "until next month, Mein Bruder."
"Aye," he answered, and he brought to mind a Trump, then touched both the body and the carrier and disappeared.
I headed back towards the doorway where Schultz was waiting.
"That seemed to go well," I commented to him as we headed out and I restored the protections on the lab and locked the door behind us.
"Yes, Herr Reichsführer," he answered, his tone suitably neutral. I almost wished that he'd said something witty, but I suppose it was never likely to happen.
"Are you ready for this evening?"
"I'm looking forward to it, sir."
"Glad to hear it," I answered, with a smile, "shall we?"
And we headed back upstairs to get ready, stopping by the kitchen to compliment Sofie on her new concoction, before I transferred us both to the Wewelsburg about half an hour later.