February 15, 2019. The Nomad. Cargo Bay. Ship Time: 09:15.
Commander Higgins stood at the bottom of the ramp, his hand still resting on the cold metal of the ISS Unity module. Behind him huddled five other astronauts—Russians, Americans, a Canadian. They weren't staring at Surgrim. They were staring at the ceiling of the hangar, which was as large as a cathedral, and at the massive ribs of the hull structure. The air smelled of ozone and the coffee Mereel was currently handing out with shaking hands.
"Okay," Higgins said, turning slowly to face Surgrim. He was a military pilot, trained to stay cool in hell, but his voice was brittle. "Let me summarize. A debris field that would have vaporized us was intercepted by... this ship."
"We tried to block it," Surgrim corrected. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, no uniform. This visibly confused the astronauts. "A ricochet got through. We had to improvise."
"Improvise," Sokolov, the Russian cosmonaut, repeated dryly. He pointed to the station's torn solar panels hanging sadly in the artificial light. "You ate us with a tractor beam."
"We 'saved' you," Mereel interjected. "Technically."
"Who are you?" Higgins took a step forward. "NASA Black Ops? Space Force? Chinese?"
Surgrim took a deep breath. This was the moment. "We are... civilians. I'm Surgrim. This is Mereel. We are a company from Brandenburg. And the reason that debris was out there... was us."
Higgins blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Do you remember the news two weeks ago? The explosion of a fertilizer factory in Germany?"
"Yes," the Canadian astronaut said. "It was everywhere. Massive shockwave."
"That wasn't fertilizer," Surgrim said quietly. "That was the launch of this ship. We had to flee. The government—General Vance and his task force—were trying to seize this vessel. We breached the atmosphere at Mach 4. The shockwave shredded the satellites that almost killed you today."
Silence filled the hangar. Only the low hum of the reactor was audible. Higgins stared at Surgrim. Then he looked at Judy, who was standing in the background, nervously playing with her silver pendant. "You're fugitives," Higgins realized. "You saved our lives, even though you knew it would reveal your position."
"We broke it, we fix it," Surgrim said. "But now we have a problem. If we just drop you off, Colonel Vance shoots us down. He thinks we're aliens or terrorists."
"So what is the plan?" Sokolov asked, crossing his arms. "Keep us as hostages?"
"No," Surgrim said. He looked Higgins firmly in the eye. "We are taking you home. But not secretly. We are taking you back in a way that ensures no one can lie about who we are anymore. We want our lives back. We don't want to be outlaws. We want... recognition."
Surgrim turned to his friends. "What do we call ourselves? 'Recycling GmbH' doesn't exactly sound like space rescue."
Judy shrugged. "We have no home. We live on this ship. We are constantly moving."
"Nomad," Mereel said. "Just Nomad. Like the ship. It fits."
Surgrim nodded. "Nomad. Short, to the point. Archi? Prep the line. We're calling Washington."
Pentagon, Washington D.C. Situation Room.
General Vance stared at the main screen. The telemetry was dead. The ISS was gone. Simply swallowed by the black block on the radar. The mood in the room was bordering on panic. The President was on video link, Generals were shouting into phones. "They have them," Vance whispered. "Those bastards ate our astronauts."
Suddenly, the lights flickered. A high-pitched digital screech cut through the room. Every screen in the Situation Room went black. The tactical maps, the satellite feeds, the video links. Everything gone. Then, on the main five-meter screen, a single, crystal-clear image appeared.
A living room. Plants. A fireplace. And on a sofa sat Commander Higgins, holding a cup of coffee.
The room fell instantly silent. "Higgins?" screamed Vance, rushing toward the screen. "Commander! Status report!"
"We are safe, General," Higgins said calmly. "The station is damaged, but stable. We are aboard the unknown vessel."
The camera panned. A young man in a hoodie stepped into the frame. He looked tired, but his gaze was steady.
"General Vance," the man said. "My name is Surgrim. We need to talk."
Vance turned red. He grabbed the microphone on the conference table. "Listen to me closely. You are holding American heroes captive. If you harm even one hair on their heads, I will launch every nuclear warhead we have into orbit."
"Calm down, General," Surgrim said evenly. "Your 'heroes' are fine. We saved them."
"Who are you?" the President asked sharply. "A foreign power?"
"No," Surgrim said. "We are civilians. We come from Brandenburg. We have no flag. We just have this ship."
"What do you want?"
"We are not invaders," Surgrim continued. "We are Nomad."
"You stole a space station," Vance said coldly.
"We saved it," Surgrim corrected. "And we want to give it back. But not in a covert operation. We want amnesty. We want you to stop hunting us. We want to be treated as a civil entity, not a target."
"This is blackmail," Vance said.
"This is an offer," Surgrim said. "We return the astronauts. We repair the damage. In exchange, you leave us alone."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then you lose the greatest opportunity in human history because you are afraid of three civilians in a spaceship. But you won't refuse. Because we are bringing the astronauts to you now. Personally."
"Where?" the President asked.
"The South Lawn. In four hours. Make sure the press is there. We want the world to see who we are. We come unarmed. We come openly. If you shoot, you are shooting at Commander Higgins."
The screen went black. The connection was dead.
The Nomad. Crew Lounge.
The red light of the camera turned off. Surgrim stood motionless for a moment, staring at the black wall. He held his breath. Then he exhaled long and deep, a heavy sigh coming from the bottom of his lungs. He let himself fall backward onto the sofa, rubbed his face with both hands, and closed his eyes.
"God," he mumbled into his palms. "That was... intense."
He opened one eye and looked at Mereel and Judy. "Was that okay? Did I overdo it?"
Judy smiled weakly, but proudly. "You told the US Military to mow the lawn. I think that was exactly the right tone."
Commander Higgins stepped closer slowly. He didn't see the strong man who had just stood up to the Pentagon. He saw a young man who was simply exhausted by the weight of responsibility.
"Surgrim," Higgins said gently.
Surgrim sat up, rubbing his neck. "Commander. I'm sorry. I don't know if that will work. But it was the only way to ensure they don't just make us disappear."
Higgins nodded approvingly. "You just put the most powerful men in the military in their place to protect my crew."
Higgins extended his hand. "That takes guts. When we land... I'm going out first. I'll handle it."
Surgrim looked at the hand. He hesitated for a second, then gripped it firmly. "Thanks," he said quietly. "We'll get you down safely. I promise."
He stood up, stretching and cracking his back. "Archi?"
"Yes, Surgrim?"
"You know what to do."
"Entry in 30 minutes. I have switched on all navigation lights. We are glowing like a Christmas tree. The world is watching."
"Good," Surgrim nodded, looking a bit more composed. "Then let's introduce Nomad."