Tick... tick... tick... tick...
All around him, the sounds of men and machinery chipped away at his focus ever so slightly. Just a simple wrong sounding noise could make him turn his head away from focusing on his pocket watch as he counted the seconds.
It could... if that were two decades ago.
The year was no longer 1891, and Joseph Bell was no longer the fresh faces newly promoted Chief Mechanical Engineer within the ranks of the White Star Line. Two whole decades of time allowed him to temper himself, to hone is experience and expand his expertise. No longer was his the Chief Engineer of some small cargo ship, no. He was the man in charge of keeping the world's largest moving object in motion... a duty which he would ensure he would commit towards with the utmost attention.
Around him, he was surrounded by the best of the best which the Line could provide. Of course, some new men had signed up, but they all had potential within them. And it was that potential which allowed for the fires of devotion and duty to be stoked.
Rallied around their Chief they had done, all to ensure that everything was running well. And though they all had some thoughts about their previous night, once again, it was that devotion towards duty that saw them rally around their Chief once again, towards the point they were currently at now.
So when Second Senior Engineer Edward Farquharson called out that the ship had built up enough steam, Bell made note of the time, and sent the word to the bridge. Within only a few seconds, the telegraph ordered Full Ahead, and soon Titanic's engines roared to life once again, ready to begin the journey once more.
*** *** ***
The ship shuddered as it's engines began to churn the wake that it was beginning to leave behind. Clear blue skies met the White Star Liner with open arms as it began to effortlessly plow through the waves of the ocean. Soon, fresh sea air began to make its way through the upper deck ventilation ports, and the once stifling and crowded 3rd Class Areas began to be cooled once more.
Further up above, as breakfast began to be served, only the most stifled of conversations were being held, even by the most charismatic of any of the passengers. Some simply sat in silence, others wore a mask of shock and grief. Many chose not to even attend breakfast, and rather opted for the Promenade Decks above. And some, simply sat in their cabins, either alone or with close company to keep them and their thoughts occupied.
In the largest of such cabins, sat Joseph Bruce Ismay, his normally towering 6'4 figure sitting slumped in one of the luxurious chairs that were set up around the cabin's sitting room. He had sent both his Valet, Richard Fry, and Personal Secretary, William Harrison, away when they inquired about his own well being. The thoughts of the previous night stung very deeply within his mind.
The men had very much clearly intended to try and help their employer out, and Ismay understood it, for it had been near close to a decade for which he had worked with them mutually. His inner thoughts however tormented him to the point in which he could not look either of the men within the eye.
His conversation with Captain Smith on the bridge had not left him in a better mood either, for even though no words of beratement were said (though they dared not to speak of it, Smith commended Ismay's actions for what possibly happened in the night), the realization of what might have happened, sank in heavily. And with it, the guilt for his own decisions came to haunt his mind.
What would be said of it all when they arrived in port. Was it a case of mass hysteria? Or was this god's way of tormenting him... his soul already languishing in hell for his greatest sin... getting into that lifeboat.
All throughout that night, he was labored within his nightclothes with a simple overcoat on, helping to set up and lower any boat he was near. He tried to put anyone and everyone near into a boat along with the rest of the crew, dragging one passenger by the arm to the boat deck at one point too. But still, more remained... hundreds more.
He knew that, and he still got in. He should've stayed on the ship, and let someone else get in on his spot. There were most certainly more qualified persons to do so... but then again, hardly any deckhands who could row were left.
The thoughts and reasons he tried to give himself gave way to more torment. So much so in fact, that when a steward had entered to attempt to notify Ismay that breakfast was nearly over, the Steward was greeted with the sight of a man, sitting deathly still, with tears running down his almost lifeless looking eyes
Met with nothing but silence, the Steward silently departed, leaving Joseph Bruce Ismay alone once again, with nothing but shame in his being.
*** *** ***
Charles Joughin had baked him another loaf of bread. The man was always kind and thoughtful, even though Andrews had merely helped fix a small issue within the kitchen.
That was only a few hours ago. Now, the freshly baked soda bread say neatly on its plate, untouched by a man absorbed within his work. The gears within his mind were turning at an endless speed, his stateroom more of a mess than it usually was.
Just a few minutes earlier, the Guarantee Group had met within the small stateroom. Their eyes met each others, and though no one dared to speak a word of it all, their minds were equally clouded.
Suggestions were thrown at a breakneck pace. Notes were jotted down at random and thrown about in disorganized stacks and piles.
A stain was imprinted on the very blueprints they cherished. A stain so deep that it affected their very souls.
And while Thomas Andrews worked his heart away, the stain of dishonored clinged to his every fiber and being. We must do better... he repeated to himself. All the while, his bread was going stale, and his hunger only got worse.
*** *** ***
Afternoon came, and with it, a reprieve from duty. Stepping out of the bridge and onto the Officer's Promenade, William Murdoch was a man deep in contemplation. For a man who was touted as being one of the most levelheaded officers in the line, he currently found himself in a mental frenzy.
His mind could not shift away from the previous night's events. Real or not, he was shaken to his core, and he could tell others were too.
Speaking of one of them, his old friend Charles Lightoller had silently walked up beside Will, his face missing it's normally mischievous facade. When a man like Lightoller kept his mouth shut, then he took was traumatized from it all.
And so they walked... Making their rounds about an open deck devoid of passengers. Not a word was spoken between them, for they both knew there was so much to speak about.
For 30 minutes, they did this before having a late lunch in silence. It had been said, that sometimes in the wake of tragedy, only the truest of friends would be someone's only solace. But even then, as they both ate in silence, Murdoch wished that for once in his life, Lightoller would open his mouth and let everything flow out, for he himself wanted to do so too.
Canterlot
"I can see it."
Celestia looked up from her lunch. "Hm?"
"I can see it, the ship. I can see it sailing right now." Luna said, her eyes still staring down at her food.
"How does she look?" Celestia asked.
Luna still started at her food, silence taking reign over the conversation. Only after a minute, did she speak.
"Astounding... Absolutely astounding. But there is so much darkness around it. I've never seen it before." Luna's eyes looked up.
"Why?"
"It's like a mass nightmare, but instead of one, there are thousands..."
*** *** ***
Whoever pony was hailing for "Cape Race" had an extremely powerful transmitter. Many Moose Code transmissions that had been sent out throughout the day were drowned out by one of the most powerful sparks anypony had ever heard.
All across the sea, it was as if the entire wireless network had been taken over by a single spark. It had become such a problem that the Gryphon's had lodged a complaint, and now even the navy had swarmed the main Equestrian telegram office in Manehattan.
The whole situation was awesome as it was somewhat frightening. Never had the Equestrian Navy had to mobilize a taskforce before under any circumstances. Typically such issues were handled through diplomacy, but the fact that Canterlot had sent the direct order out to mobilize a fleet taskforce was shocking.
And so while the Manehattan watched in awe as the fleet assembled, the ponies in the telegraph hall listened with worry, as "MGY" kept on blasting away over the air.