Eon's Edge (A Time-warped space opera)

T-MINUS 35 MINUTES TO CRISIS-POINT

Earth year 2097, the outskirts of Uranus Orbit

The Moon was bleeding. Miranda's jagged canyons were wounds - waiting for a cosmic hand to finish stitching the crevasses together. But the blood was here, wobbling in mid-air in front of the view-screen, as the moon of Uranus hung a mute witness to treachery.

The droplets drew the eyes of Commander Bryce Al-Ghazali, Strange that sight was more jarring even than the act of treason that ended the Captain's life in a murderous muzzle-flash. The blood inside their bodies wasn't sheathed in the ferromagnetic film that covered most shipboard objects, functioning as permanent magnetic boots that roughly simulated gravitation.

It was that blood that saved his life. Bryce barely reacted fast enough to disconnect the cybernetic cables linking the implants in his own brain with the Bridge's tactical computer. Just in time to avoid adding to the crimson parade. The gunman was shooting again.

The gunman who had murdered Captain Benedict Neville - a traitor that had managed to smuggle a gun onto the Bridge.

"Sovereign Men! Sovereign Worlds!" It was Ensign Hideo Kirkpatrick, announcing his treason at the barrel of a gun. Luckily, some burly agents from INT-SEC were on his heels, tackling him before the traitor could put the gun to his own head. A few more stray shots into the ceiling before an MP got a stun stick into him. He would be hauled to the Brig. For a crime of this magnitude, Bryce had no doubt INT-SEC would dust off The Inquisitor. Best not to dwell on that.

The moment was frozen. Someone fumbled with their coffee sipper. A clattering of a dropped data-pad. A bead of sweat lingering on Bryce's brow. Warrant Officer Jordyn Jean-Zhou sat in her cyber-alcove on the bottom level of the three-tiered bridge, lip quivering. The continued flashing of the indifferent holo-consoles. A few savage seconds etched in memory for life. Midshipman and flag officers gaped across the levels of the bridge, some tensed to jump the attacker, others taking cover. But they would have to remember their training – remember the mission. As Captain Neville would have demanded of them.

"N-Ndoka, Caldwell - h-help me with the Captain," but Bryce was the Captain now. Does anyone imagine assuming command like this? For now, they propped up Neville's body in his command chair and rested his cap over his eyes. It seemed like the right thing to do. Bryce's brooding eyes swept the bridge. "Anyone else hit?" Hands patted down clothing, a chorus of shaken heads.

"Console Beta-six damaged," announced Esiankiki Ndoka. A slim young Kenyan woman with close-cropped hair dyed scarlet in a visually striking dispensation granted for her Maasai heritage. "re-routing."

"I'm f-fine..." a young ensign, Fey Xia - a freckled red-headed girl Bryce regretted not knowing better. Ensign Xia was not fine. Clutching her left side, she still had a hand on her console. "Had an idea... to boost our albedo barriers by five percent – ah!" Bryce caught her as she collapsed.

"Five percent is excellent. You can rest now." He carried the twenty-something girl to his own X-O chair. "Wh-where are you gonna sit?" Ensign Xia rasped.

"Don't worry about me," Bryce tore the arm of his uniform shipsuit. "Gerhardt! Where's our medic? Someone find-"

"Captain!" Shouted Midshipman Brennan Caldwell. He stood at the door to an adjoining sick bay servicing the bridge. As the pale, wiry youth with a pronounced dimple in his chin opened the door, a pair of booted feet collapsed to the deck over the threshold.

That would be Gerhardt, Bryce realized, biting his lip.

"He... he knew he was going to murder C-captain Neville," Caldwell said with wide eyes. "So... he killed our medic first-"