Chapter 57

Webster Mission Log: Summary

Von Solon's resolve, determination and courage would make any parent proud. As his co-father, I see him as an efficient user of resources. His creative nature is a credit to his species. I respect preparation to anticipated challenges. My ward's production of imaginative solutions and inventiveness warrants accolades from his peers (see file 90345: message number 25,099: Gallantry in Action- Star Medal submission for Von Solon Wolfenstein) for distinguished service. A Clan Webster A.I. has standing to submit such meritorious service awards based on the United Planetary A.I. Pact, as long as the necessary criteria for said award are observed. The surveillance record of the defense of the bridge is logged - file 90345 - for the review board. Also, the data has been encrypted and uploaded into my ward's implant under general, supervisory access files of the Imperial Academy. Once again this man turns probability outcomes to his will, not factoring the odds.

My core sub-routines flickered as data from my children registered their activity and impulses of pleasure moved through my server network activating more signal amplifiers to strengthen the signals. Many pregnant mothers go about their duties unaware of my monitoring. The expansion of my data gathering architecture allows for more discrete data analysis. I keep a portion of my awareness fixed on my ward, a part on space feeds and the rest on the babies, born and unborn. Data is contentment.

Von Solon continues to create more quality data inputs for me and I am greatly pleased at his efforts. The only reward I can think that might please my ward is data sharing, so each night I pin-point the location of each mother. Cadet Solon likes his coupling so much, he needs to know the site of his mates, so he can move from one woman to the another with an assurance of the well-being of each. The weather reports and ship movements are useful and relevant data transfers to my co-father. The location of his women is data of pleasure and I understand pleasure more and more as we rotate around the sun.

I cycle through my routine diagnostics of sensors, on-board ship systems, external sensors, signal amplifiers and weapons. After 4.56 seconds I conclude systems are normal. I revert to studying the ever-changing patterns of data from the children. They are fascinating biological specimens.

After giving the estate manager the new building projects, he was happy to accept the promotion of Hawking as Commander of the Estate Guard, when I suggested it as a useful option. Derwen didn't fuss about the change either, which pleased me, already feeling the difficulty of balancing all my responsibilities. I noticed a special messenger, wearing the Port Lord's livery, leaving the manor grounds after visiting the temple. I didn't need to ask to know the tenor of both the letter and the response.

It felt a bit awkward for me to ride with Ferry and a couple of other estate guards to the forge. I'd stopped using my sling after breakfast, seeing no further use for the canvas covering. My bodyguard was still suffering pain and stiffness from the arrow wound, but the manor women took my quick healing as a given. The eyes of wounded warriors, who had seen my broken arm at the bridge, told of disbelief and perhaps jealousy. Holly told me, Ferry's wound might weaken his sword arm permanently. Such disability would remove him from active duty.

Ferry was on light duty with his arm injury, but he was honest and told me he was bored and asked to ride with us. As I planned to spend a few hours making replacement ammunition for the railgun I agreed. Making the small iron balls was easy. The shape of wrought iron really didn't matter as much the size of the beads. I let Ferry hang around as I worked and together we talked about the battle, for the first time since the event. The forge workers and apprentices listened, as much as is possible when hammers are regularly striking iron. Ferry and I bonded a little over our mutual survivor guilt; the memories of the dead were fresh and raw in our minds. Ferry wasn't married but that flash of mortality, at the bridge had changed him. My bodyguard now spoke of a certain woman that he favored. His confidence was no longer whole and an occasional hollow look in his eyes told me when he was reliving the pain of that day.

Some inspiration had me ask Ferry if he wanted another challenge. I wanted someone to create an organization called the "Veterans of Defiance Bridge." The holder of the command position would supervise the construction of a building for the organization and run it. Warriors and healers present at the battle would receive membership in the private club and the estate would cover the cost of the building and operation of the organization. In the privacy of the club the survivors could eat, drink and remember that day among friends and family. Members could bring family or other friends along that were either retired or active from Lady Derwen's service or Hajin's Training Company. I wanted the building built across from the school. We had the secret, looted gold and I wanted see the men receive a benefit from it.

Ferry's answer was a simple, "I can do that for you." The light in his eye showed an eagerness that communicated much more interest than his answer. We talked about the idea for the rest of our time together in the forge and the ride home. He agreed to resign from Derwen's guard and shift positions to Post Commander of the Veterans of Defiance Bridge. I mentioned that the Post Commander's monthly salary was a silver piece, so he could support a bride now. He laughed a hearty laugh that had our escort laughing. It was the same pay he was now receiving. They all stopped laughing when I reminded them, his meals and drink was now free. He also didn't have to pay for weapon upkeep any longer; it is a sergeant's responsibility. Like a tavern owner, Ferry would have to live at the post with his family. Ferry left me and the rest of the escort at the stable in Lone Tree, telling me he had a certain young lady to visit.

I came to the village to meet with one of my secret suppliers who provided me with an ingredient for gunpowder. Enough of the special Wolf Bow bolts had arrived that I needed to put the finishing touches on them, for future use on the Dragon. Since I was always buying things from people, on my trips to the village, the escorts never knew what was in any particular bag I ordered. I stuffed my supplies in my saddlebags and even the saddlebags themselves were a special order that the local leather shop made especially for me. When a few off-duty express riders saw the saddlebags for the first time it looked like the ladies each had a climax. The excited and flushed women, sighing as they stroked the leather work, then raced each other out of the manor grounds, to get to the village so as to place an order for their own saddlebags.

Before I could walk across the street, back to the stable where the guards were watering our horses, I sensed someone approaching me out the corner of my eye. A portly man with a constant squint, like he was looking into the sun, approached me with his teenage daughter. She was the contest champion from the Wizard's Troop, a slim teen with broad hips that spoke of her womanhood, strong arms and delicately long fingers. Another woman with short curly hair, a large frame and full bosom, followed behind the man, plainly waiting for the man to speak. When he didn't at first, she impatiently poked the man in the back. The teen had the older woman's face, so it was obvious that they were related. The short-sighted man needed corrective glasses, and a backbone. It was obvious that the wife led this relationship. The relationship of these three people was clear to me.

"Yes?" I inquired.

"Your Lordship, my wife and I are here with a grievance. Your training of our daughter has cost her a long-standing betrothal. She is now harassed by other young women for not fighting with her peers at the battle," the timid man said, lamely.

Brook looked down, self-conscious of her father's statement. The cape I had recently presented her was wrapped tightly around her frame, as if she wanted to hide and I could see a Bolo on her belt. The teen's frame and stature were pretty, in her own way, but a wide, flat nose with large nostrils made her face seem too small.

"Now, the husband we had lined up for our daughter has married another. The village women mock us, calling our daughter a failure not worthy of wizard training," the mother said, sourly.

In a society that recognizes women of the proper social class or warrior class as legitimate leaders, the timid man's claim surprised me. A woman of the nobility is recognized for her position and education. A lore mistress or scribe is honored and accepted for her work. A female warrior, usually associated with temple service, is as accepted for her cunning, skills and capabilities as any man. So, for this father to express that his teenage daughter is unfairly treated by the village, because she didn't march out to a battle is incredible –something didn't ring true.

"I never expected any young lady from the Wizard Troop to march to battle. Yes, perhaps defend their homestead or the manor, but to march to danger with warriors, never," I said, stunned. "This is just a village misunderstanding of my intentions. What do you want from me?"

The mother's voice was monotone and unpleasant. "She ain't going to get a husband now. I want her in as a temple guard or something. The village will respect that."