Between emergencies, the engine granted the expedition one merciful afternoon, plus Ferra spent it on the question nobody had thought to ask until the clone needed a tool.
"If these bodies are going to work the fronts, they will need to hold things."
Ferra stood in the silo yard beside a spear rack, wearing the expression of a woman about to conduct law.
"Real things, forged things, heavy things. So today we find out what handing one over actually means."
The spear was her own forge's ordinary work, one ash shaft, one plain iron head, no enchantment, no history.
It had no value beyond honest competence, plus a very good balance point for tired hands.
She had forged it as a training blank three years ago, plus it had spent those years as the least important object in her whole inventory.
Right up until this afternoon, when it became case law.
