February 15, 2019. Low Earth Orbit. Altitude: 408 km.
"Warning," Archi's voice was devoid of panic, but the data spoke volumes. "ISS hull integrity at 60%. Oxygen levels critical. They have three minutes before hypoxia sets in."
I looked at the wireframe of the station on my screen. It was a sprawling mess of modules, trusses, and solar arrays. It was 109 meters wide. Our cargo bay opening was 95 meters wide at the narrowest point.
"It won't fit," Mereel shouted, running the collision simulation. "The solar arrays on the port truss stick out too far. If we pull them in, we shear off the entire science wing."
"Then we shear it off," I yelled back. "We're not saving the solar panels, Mereel. We're saving the meat inside. Archi, activate the tractor beams. Guide fields to maximum. Drag them in."
"The structural stress will likely snap the truss assembly," Archi warned.
"I don't care about the truss! Get them inside the containment field so they can breathe!"
ISS. Cupola Module.
Commander Higgins was strapped into his seat, watching the oxygen gauge drop. 11%. His vision was getting tunneling. The air tasted thin and metallic. "Houston," he slurred into the mic. "We are... fading."
Suddenly, the universe tilted. The massive black wall outside—the alien ship—didn't just block the sun anymore. It opened its mouth. A giant, glowing blue rectangle appeared in the darkness. The maw of the beast. And then, the station groaned. CRACK. A sound like a gunshot rang through the hull.
Higgins looked out the port window. The massive solar array wing—worth millions of dollars—twisted violently as invisible forces grabbed the station. Metal screamed. Then, with a silent shudder, the array snapped off. It drifted away into space, sparkling with escaping gas.
"We are... moving," Higgins realized. The station wasn't orbiting anymore. It was being pulled. Straight into the belly of the monster.
The Nomad. Cargo Bay.
"Contact in 10 seconds!" Mereel counted down. "Velocity relative to hull: 2 meters per second."
The Nomad shuddered. Through the open cargo ramp, the International Space Station loomed. It looked like a wounded insect. Solar panels were bent, thermal blankets were torn, and the Russian module was venting a white plume of atmosphere.
SCREEECH. The sound of metal on metal vibrated through the deck plates as the ISS truss scraped against the Nomad's intake frame. Another solar panel caught on the edge. It didn't bend; it shattered. Glass and silicon sprayed into the void.
"Push it through!" I ordered.
"Tractor beam output: 100%."
With a final, violent lurch, the station slid past the atmospheric containment field. One second, it was in the vacuum of space, venting air. The next second, it was inside the Nomad.
The transition was instant. The containment field shimmered blue as it sealed the bay behind the station. WHOOSH. The roar of air rushing into the vacuum around the ISS was deafening. Archi was pumping the bay with atmosphere from our reserves at hurricane speeds.
The station hung suspended in the center of the cargo bay, held in place by magnetic clamps. It looked tiny inside the cavernous space, dwarfed by the Nomad's internal ribs. It was steaming as the cold hull hit the warm air.
"Atmosphere stabilized," Archi announced. "Pressure: 101 kilopascals. Oxygen: 21%. Temperature: 15 degrees Celsius. The leak in the Zvezda module has stopped venting because pressure is equalized."
"They're safe," Judy whispered, lowering her hands from her mouth.
"Not yet," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "They don't know that. They probably think they've been eaten. Mereel, grab the med-kits. Let's go say hello."
Inside the ISS.
Higgins gasped. His ears popped violently. The hissing sound of the leak had stopped. He looked at the oxygen sensor. It wasn't dropping anymore. It was climbing. External Pressure: 1.0 ATM.
"We... we have pressure?" he rasped. "Houston? Did you fix the leak?"
Static. Then, a thud on the outer hatch of the Unity node. Someone was knocking. On the outside of the spaceship.
Higgins unbuckled and floated—no, fell—to the floor. Gravity. There was gravity. Not much, maybe 0.5 G, but enough to make him heavy. He stumbled to the hatch. His Russian colleague, breathless and pale, was already there, holding a large wrench as a weapon.
"Open it," Higgins ordered. "If they wanted us dead, they wouldn't have pressurized the room."
The Russian nodded. He spun the wheel. The hatch hissed and swung open.
The Nomad. Cargo Bay Floor.
I stood at the bottom of the ISS airlock ramp (which Archi had hurriedly fabricated). I wasn't wearing a spacesuit. Just my jeans, a hoodie, and the shield belt. Mereel stood next to me, holding a first aid box like a shield.
The hatch above us opened. Two heads peered out. One American, one Russian. They looked terrified, exhausted, and confused. They looked at me. Then they looked at the massive, echoing hangar around them. They looked at the huge reactor assembly in the distance. And finally, they looked back at me.
I raised a hand. "Hi," I shouted, my voice echoing in the vast bay. "Sorry about the solar panels. It was a tight squeeze."
Commander Higgins stared at me. He blinked. "Who... who are you?"
"I'm Surgrim," I said. "And this is Mereel. We're... well, we're the neighbors. Need a lift?"
Higgins looked at the Russian cosmonaut. The Russian lowered his wrench. "Americans?" the Russian asked.
"No," I smiled. "Private sector. German engineering. Come on down. We have tea and a med-bay. And I think your station needs a bit of duct tape."
Echo-1 Command Post (Earth).
General Vance stared at the radar screen. The two blips had merged. The massive signal of the Nomad had swallowed the smaller signal of the ISS. And then, the combined signal began to accelerate. Away from Earth.
"They took it," Vance whispered, his face pale. "They didn't destroy it. They stole the International Space Station."
"Sir," a tech called out. "We're getting a transmission! It's Commander Higgins! On an open frequency!"
Vance grabbed the headset. "Houston... this is Station. We are... secure. Repeat, we are secure. We have been... assisted by a vessel designated 'Nomad'. Crew is safe. We are currently... inside."
Vance dropped the headset onto the desk. "Inside?" he muttered. "They parked a space station inside a ship?"
He looked at the screen, where the Nomad was burning hard for the outer solar system. "Who the hell are these people?"