THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition by Bill Baldwin

point ninety-one gradient at zero four.” That would at least give him a chance with the wind.
    “Ninety-one gradient at zero four,” Ursis repeated.
    The low rumbling of Truculent's forward generator increased as it shouldered the weight of the ship. “Balanced,” Ursis reported.
    “Helm's at dead center, Lieutenant,” the Chairman announced. “We are ready to move.”
    “Stand by,” Brim warned. He checked the control settings once more, feeling a balm of resignation soothe his nerves. Truculent could never — in his wildest nightmares — be as difficult to control as a loaded ore carrier. And he'd mastered them. “Let go all mooring beams,” he ordered quietly, eyes glued to the cursor in the center of Ground Control's lenses. Instantly, the beams vanished. “Dead slow astern all,” he ordered, feeling sweat break out on his forehead.
    “Dead slow astern,” Ursis echoed tensely; the ship began to move.
    With one eye on Audacious, Brim struggled to keep the cursor centered, but in spite of every effort, it started across the glowing lens — sure indication Truculent was drifting upwind. Brim's heart leaped into his mouth. “Too much gradient, Nik!” he warned. “We're sliding into Audacious.”
    “I've got fix on it,” Ursis answered tensely. “Sorry.”
    “'S all right,” Brim croaked with relief as the drifting slowed and finally ceased, but he didn't breathe again until Truculent was backed all the way off the gravity pool. “Stop together,” he ordered. She was now directly beside Audacious , separated at the stem from Davenport's spotless decks by no more than a score of irals.
    “Stop together,” Ursis echoed.
    Now came the tricky part.
    Screwing up his courage again, he ordered, “Dead slow astern, port.”
    “Dead slow astern, port.” Truculent's bow began to swing sharply toward disaster waiting only irals away.
    “Brim! What in the Universe are you…?” Gallsworthy growled beside him.
    “It is Lieutenant Brim's helm, Lieutenant Gallsworthy,” Collingswood interrupted. “By your orders.”
    Brim put them both from his mind. The next clicks were critical. He tensed, waited... “Quarter astern starboard, dead slow astern port,” he uttered with a dry mouth.
    “Quarter astern starboard, dead slow astern port,” Ursis echoed. Truculent's bow stopped its swing only an iral or so from Audacious, then slowly began to draw away to safety. This time, the gravity gradient held and — as Brim planned — she continued in a wide turn to port. But an eternity passed before the starship's needle bow finally pointed out on to the rolling waters of the basin.
    Brim never so much as looked back. “Ahead one-quarter, both,” he ordered weakly.
    “Ahead one-quarter, both,” Ursis echoed, this time with an ear-to-ear grin. He knew.
    At that moment, a display winked into life with the image of Sophia Pym touching thumb to forefinger. “Too bad you can't see Amherst's face,” she whispered gleefully. Beside her, Theada's look of astonishment had grown to one of total disbelief.
    While Truculent moved into the relative freedom of the basin, the Controller called once more from the jetty: “Ground to DD T.83: you're cleared for taxi out to sea marker 98lG. See you all next time you're in port. Good hunting!”
    “DD T.83 to Ground,” Brim replied. “Proceeding to marker 98lG. And thanks.” He peered into the driving rain ahead. “I am taking the helm, Mr. Chairman,” he announced.
    “You have the helm, Lieutenant Brim,” the Chairman acknowledged. For the first time that morning, Brim's hands touched the directional controls. He was now in direct command of the ship itself. Inadvertently, he glanced at Gallsworthy — who was now staring back with unconcealed curiosity.
    “Yes, sir?” Brim asked.
    “Mind your own business, Carescrian,” Gallsworthy replied expressionlessly. But somehow the coldness had gone.
    Brim nodded and turned away silently. Now was not the time to work