Captain John Grimes stood impassively in the port wing of his bridge as his ship, the round-the-world tramp Sonya Winneck, slid gently in toward her berth.  But although his stocky body was immobile his brain was active.  He was gauging speed, distances, the effect of the tide.  His engines were stopped, but the vessel still seemed to be carrying too much way.  He was stemming the ebb, but, according to the Port Directions there was sometimes - not always - an eddy, a counter current along this line of wharfage.  In any case, it would be a tight fit.  Ahead of him was Iron Baron, one of the steel trade ships: a huge, beamy brute with gigantic deck cranes almost capable of lifting her by her own bootstraps.  In the berth astern was the Lone Star Line's Orionic, with even more beam to her than the Baron.

"Port!" ordered Grimes.  "Hard over!"

"Hard a port, sir!" replied the quartermaster.

Sonya Winneck was accosting the wharf at a fairly steep angle now, her stem aimed at a bollard just abaft Iron Baron's stern.  Grimes lifted his mouth whistle to his lips, blew one short, sharp blast.  From the fo'c'sle head came the rattle of chain cable as the starboard anchor was let go, then one stroke of the bell to signal that the first shackle was in the pipe.

Grimes looked aft.  Sonya Winneck's quarter was now clear of Orionic's bows.  "Midships!  Slow astern!"

He heard the replies of the man at the wheel and the Third Officer.  He felt the vibration as the reversed screw bit into the water.  But would slow astern be enough?  He was about to order half astern, then realized that this was what he was getting, if not more.  The transverse thrust of the screw threw Sonya Winneck's stern to port even as her headway was killed.  Already a heaving line was ashore forward, and snaking after it the first of the mooring lines.  Aft, the Second Mate was ready to get his first line ashore.

"Stop her," ordered Grimes.  "That will do the wheel, thank you."

On fo'c'sle head and poop the self-tensioning winches were whining.  Grimes, looking down from the bridge wing to the marker flag on the wharf, saw that he was exactly in position.  He made the traditional "arms crossed above the head" gesture - Make her fast as she is - to the Chief Officer forward, the Second Officer aft.  Then he walked slowly into the wheelhouse.  The Third Officer was still standing by the engine control pedestal.

"Finished with engines, Mr. Denham," said Grimes coldly.

"Finished with engines, sir."  The young man put the lever to that position.  There was a jangling of bells drifting up from below.

"Mr. Denham..."

"Sir?"  The officer's voice was an almost inaudible squeak.  He looked frightened, and, thought Grimes, well he might be.

"Mr. Denham, I am well aware that in your opinion I'm an outsider who should never have been appointed to command of this vessel.  I am well aware, too, that in your opinion, at least, your local knowledge far surpasses mine.  Even so, I shall be obliged if you will carry out my orders, although you will still have the right, the obligation, in fact, to query them - but not when I'm in the middle of berthing the bloody ship!"  Grimes simmered down.  "For your information, Mr. Denham, even I realized that slow astern would not be sufficient.  I was about to order more stern power, then saw that you had taken matters into your own possibly capable but definitely unqualified hands."

"But, sir..."

Grimes's prominent ears had reddened.

"There are no 'buts.'"

"But, sir, I tried to put her to slow astern.  The lever jerked out of my hand to full."

"Thank you, Mr. Denham," said Grimes at last.  He knew that the young man was not lying.  "You'd better see the Engineer, or the Electrician, and get those controls fixed.  The next time they might do the wrong thing, instead the right one."

He went through the chartroom and then down to his quarters.  Sonya, who had watched the berthing from the lower bridge, was there waiting for him.  She got up from her chair as he entered the day cabin and stood there, tall and slim and graceful.  Her right hand snapped up to the widow's peak of her shining auburn hair.