He knew this ship.
From the thrum of the generators to the pulse of the Sturginium core he knew the heart of this vessel intimately. He could read the plethora of brass gauges as well as any written report. He could tell the approximate speed in knots just from the symphony of noises emanating from the engines. At this moment the symphony was loud, cacophonous even. The ship was on a mission, a race against time. They were hunting something.
The only information they had heard was that their target was a new prototype ship called The Prometheus. There was no indication of why they were hunting it though, such things were unlikely to have been revealed to any but the highest ranks. Of course, this was nothing more than scuttlebutt, filtered down from above decks, a place he rarely ventured, at least whilst they were at sea.
It had not always been that way. Sixteen years ago he had been a fresh-faced Junior Rating, green as the hills and with the eagerness of the uninitiated. Able Seaman Ichabod Jaskarr, newly assigned to the Ulysses Class Heavy Cruiser Divine Elegance, of the Fleet of the Covenant of the Enlightened.
He had been enamoured at first sight with her stately, sleek lines, the palpable perception of power and potency that permeated from the ironclad afore him. There had been girls, of course, there had, but at that moment he had been utterly enraptured in a way he had never experienced before and his love for her had never diminished.
There had been many voyages, many battles and triumphs. He had despaired when she was wounded and rejoiced when she was made whole once more, restored to her natural splendour. As with any object of affection, it was her heart that he yearned after and thankfully Ichabod had shown a natural aptitude for mechanics and engineering. He was patient, taking opportunities when offered and availing himself, proving himself whenever possible. It took years but he eventually achieved his heart's desire. It had literally been a labour of love.
Now he was the master of Her heart. Ichabod Jaskarr Engineer Prime of the Divine Elegance. He called her 'Elle'. In private of course and rarely uttered aloud at all, but to him, nonetheless, the vessel was 'Elle', and he would stay with her, no matter how many battles she was in.
An engagement was an entirely different affair below decks. Up above, the battle was a tangible thing. Water erupted and sprayed as shells fell short or went long, these lucky misses had little to do with any evasive manoeuvres performed by the target ship, rather precise targeting was difficult with rangefinding shots used to establish distance to the actual target. Above you would see the progress of the battle, smoke on the horizon or perhaps streaming from the enemy vessel would mark successful hits, the fizz-hiss of the big particle beamers and crackle of the Aetheric broadsides deadened into a constant background noise as they fired again and again. Such battles were a war of attrition, rarely would a ship escape totally unscathed, it was usually just a case of which side would score the fateful hit that caused critical damage first.
Below decks was another matter. Down in the engine room, they would have little idea of how the battle was progressing. In fact, other than ensuring the vessel kept its speed as required by the bridge, there was little that engineering could do to affect the battle raging above. The sounds of the fight would be muffled, with dull percussion marking near misses. Of course, there would be a general din anyway, those kinds of confines were rarely quiet. Nonetheless, each crew member would have half an ear listening for impacts. A hit from enemy fire was instantly distinguishable from a near miss, even on a large vessel you could hear the explosion and rending of twisted metal. By volume and vibration alone you would be able to discern how far away the hit was, assuming that you did not suffer the effects of the impact first hand. Even if your department was not struck, you would be dreading the sound of rushing water that would mean that the hull had been breached. Drowning below decks in the dark was every sailor's greatest fear.
It was one that Ichabod had almost experienced first hand. Elle had been ambushed by a pair of Imperial cruisers. She had fought valiantly, sinking one of the enemies and driving off the other with heavy damage but had been critically wounded herself. Ichabod, at that time a lower-ranked engineer, had been the only survivor in his department. The power below decks had been disrupted, even the comforting glow of the Sturginum Core absent. Feeling about in the dark, crawling across corpses and mangled machinery, Ichabod had suddenly been hit by a torrent of water. Pushed back by the surge, he had struck his head on a gauge, ripping his scalp open and pouring blood into the water, the red stain invisible in the dark. Disorientated, he struggled to find the hatch as the water roared all around him. The compartment flooded quickly and Ichabod flailed helplessly in the dark, trying to remember his survival training. By intuition or by chance he had managed to swim to the open hatch and haul himself through the water to a non-flooded section. Later he had been instrumental in repairing the pumps and saving the ship. That action had set him well on the way to becoming Engineer Prime.
The call came from above as he had known it would, interrupting his reverie. The Captain wanted more speed, of course, she did. Ichabod had naturally anticipated this, and after delivering the perfunctory response, warning of the strain upon the Divine Elegance's engines, he dutifully increased the power output. In truth he always kept a reserve, to be called upon if needed. Even now as the symphony adopted a faint plaintive whine he made sure not to truly take the engines to the limit. After all, you never knew when the captain would require a miracle.
Having finalised the adjustments required to stabilise the power levels he cast his eyes over the myriad instruments and dials. He scrutinised every inch of the engines, looking for anything that might indicate a problem with the running of the vessel. Having finished his inspection, he issued some commands to his engineering crew, assigning menial duties that he was happy for another to handle. His team were competent, he would accept no less, but the vast majority of the duties he liked to perform himself, however unorthodox a practice that might be.
Satisfied, at least for now, he sat back with a contented sigh. Regaling in the ambience of the lively engine room, he once again counted his fortune. Yes, he had worked hard to achieve his position but he knew that he more than any other was the right person to act as custodian of Elle's engines. The captain might command the ship but he and he alone was the master of her heart.
They would catch the Prometheus, of that he had no doubt.
After all, he knew this ship.