''None that would really matter,'' Kris said, and left the Resolute before the captain could raise further debate.
At the Patton's pier, Kris had Penny go aboard and order all hands to form divisions on the pier. Then Kris took position at parade rest, facing the quarterdeck. Slowly at first, then in a flood, the green and blue shipsuits poured out of the cruiser. The kids in green seemed to come at a gallop; the blue suiters came slowly, some hobbling with canes. They formed in divisions across from Kris. Maybe they were a bit ragged at first, but the old hands hadn't forgotten and the new kids were quick learners.
It would have been easier on Kris if it wasn't so. Finally, two lone women, their gray hair in buns marched across the brow as smartly as their wooden canes allowed. They marched through the space between Division 2 and 3 to stand at attention before Kris. The one on the right saluted.
''Ship's crew is formed, Commander. We await your orders.''
''Place the crew at ease,'' Kris ordered, and it was so.
Kris reviewed the speeches she'd made. She'd talked unprepared troops into a firefight… once or twice. She'd talked ships into mutiny and battle. Talking willing hands into standing down was something she'd never figured to be a part of.
''You have done a fantastic job of turning a hazard to navigation into a functioning ship. And you did it in an amazingly short time.'' The ranks rumbled with pride at that.
''You have formed yourself into one of the finest crews that a commander could ask for.'' That got a roar of approval.
''Four cruisers, however, are heading in, only a day out.''
''We can beat'em,'' someone shouted from the rear ranks. That also got a cheer.
''You are not going to make this easy for me, are you?'' Kris said. That brought silence.
''The heart of a warship is steel and gear, lasers and crew. It also is training. And training for a fight is one thing that time has not allowed you. Will not allow you.''
The old woman who'd ordered the crew to stand easy frowned into the silence that brought. ''A lot of us that fought the Iteeche didn't get much training before we faced those monsters.''
''And a terrible lot of you died because of that,'' Kris shot back. ''It makes for heroic vids, but I've seen the look in my great-grandfather's eyes as he remembers the orders he gave. Sees again the faces of those who died on his words.''
Kris let her gaze wander over the puzzled faces before her. ''I do not want to be seeing your faces for the rest of my life. You will not take this relic into battle.''
''But we want to, Your Highness,'' the older woman said. ''You see this ship as just a hulk your great-grampa once sailed in. We know it's better than that. It's good to go, ma'am. We may be gray or green but we're ready to take her out. We can do it.''
Kris took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a second. That was a mistake. She saw the faces of a family that had crewed its system runabout. It had been converted into a missile boat, a decoy for Kris's mosquito boats.
Every system runabout died defending Wardhaven.
''You are correct that you are gray,'' Kris said, saying her words carefully; slowly. ''To stay alive in a fight, the Patton must dodge at two or three g's. It must jink at those g's. Do you honestly think that your bones could take that punishment?''
''Yes,'' the gray head replied.
''I respectfully disagree,'' Kris snapped back. ''All it would take is one person crumbling at a key moment to cost all of you your lives. Just one green sailor's misstep and again, you are dead. Battle is not forgiving. I know. I've been there.''
''So have we,'' the woman said. She turned to look around. ''I dare say none of us ever wanted to go there again.'' Gray or bald heads nodded agreement. ''But here we are. Chance needs us. I figured I'd done the bleeding and sweating for my family. I sure as hell didn't want my great-granddaughter to ever go through what I did when I was her age, but she's here, and I know she's training and she says she wants to fight for Chance. Who am I to say she can't? And who are you, Kris Longknife?''
Kris had tried all the logic she had. She hated to be reduced to what was left. ''I am Commander, Naval District 41. That ship behind you is in my jurisdiction. The station you stand on is under my command. You are trespassing on Wardhaven Property. I order you off this property.''
That caused consternation in the ranks.
''We could refuse your orders,'' the woman said. ''I understand that you've had some experience in that.''
''I have,'' Kris admitted. ''If you refuse to go, I will give you no orders. You will be a rogue ship in the middle of a battle. You'll be a danger to yourself and those around you.''
''You are a hard, obstinate young woman.''
''I'm a Longknife. I do what I have to do. Now, please face your crew left and march them down to the shuttle bay. There will be transportation in fifteen minutes to take you dirtside.''
''You already had your mind made up.''
''Yes,'' Kris said. ''I've buried all the optimistic amateurs I can bear for one year.''
''Maybe you have, but you're making a mistake here.'' Then the woman did an about face, steadied herself on her cane, and in a voice that belied her years, announced, ''Ship's crew. Left. Face. Ship's crew, by divisions. Forward. March.'' And a moment later. ''Incline to the right. Green suits take the stairs. Blue suits, as necessary, fall out and take the escalators. We're heading for the shuttle bay.''
''Jack, I saw a couple of kids duck out of ranks and sneak back aboard. You and Penny police up the ship for strays.''
''As you wish, Lieutenant,'' Jack said, his voice brittle.
''What's the matter, you agree with the old lady?''
''I just never figured you to discourage service.''
''I'll get better with practice,'' Kris grumbled.
''I hope you're right to send them away,'' Penny said. ''We are in quite a mess.''
Kris had no answer. She turned on her heels and hurried to catch up with the Patton's erstwhile crew. They'd broken ranks to get up from the pier area. At the top of the stairs, Kris found divisions marking time to give the escalator contingent time to rejoin, then they marched off at a slow pace. The scene would give any Gunny Sergeant DI at OCS apoplexy, but—in its own way—it was smart enough.
Kris slow marched with them. Every once in a while, she'd catch a head turned her way. The eyes were puzzled, angry, and stubborn. But they marched. The drop to the shuttle bay meant another stair/escalator exercise. There, the woman tried twice to order the crew into the waiting shuttles, but broke down both times. ''I can't do it. You'll have to,'' she whispered to Kris.
''By divisions into the shuttles,'' Kris ordered. ''Column of files from the right to the left.'' She paused as file leaders shouted, ''Follow me'' or ''Stand fast.'' Damn but someone had trained them well. If only she could trust them with lasers.
''Forward March,'' Kris ordered.
''Belay that order,'' boomed from Deck 1 above Kris.
As the divisions fell into the confusion of ''Order. Counter order. Disorder,'' Kris whirled to find Lieutenant Steve Kovar standing at the top of the stairs. Before she could get out a demand, he answered her question.
''You can't load a shuttle until it's unloaded, Your Highness, and those shuttles are loaded.''
Kris whirled again… this is making me dizzy… to see old chiefs and petty officers in uniform, younger folks in blue shipsuits, and more in green file out of the shuttles. Kris quick marched for the stairs as Steve came down them. She waited until they met in the middle to ask, ''What's going on here?''
''The retired staff of Naval District 41, the associated volunteers, their kid brothers, big sisses, dogs, and cats are coming back to roost. We've got a station and three ships to crew and that's going to take quite an effort.'' He coughed into a hand. ''It's not for me to tell you how to crew your district assets, ma'am, but you might want to reconsider sending all these folks home. Some of them, the grayest, the greenest, do need to go dirtside, but all of them?''