Washington DC, Earth
James Randall nervously followed his former superior down the extensive hall, clinging tightly to the sheaf of papers in his hands. They quickly made their way through the corridors and passed many people, drawing stares as they rushed by. Finally, they came to the end of the hall, and paused before an oaken door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Randall flashed the other an anxious glance, but the man merely rolled his eyes at him in impatience. "Come on, man. You were given higher clearance than me, so you can go through even though I can't… or do you need me to hold your hand?" Randall shook his head with embarrassment. "No, sorry. It's just… I never thought that it would come to this." His associate nodded. "Yeah. Well, good luck in there James." Breathing deeply, Randall pulled out a card key, sliding it into the reader beside the door. A tiny light in the pad turned green, and he heard the locking mechanism in the door click as the bolt slid out of its place. He pushed tentatively on the panel, and it swung open. Randall stepped in, glancing about himself in curiosity. He was in the threshold of a large conference room, only several feet away from a great table where the greatest dignitaries of the United States of America were seated. He approached them slowly, feeling awkward. "Ah, so this is the great James Randall," a gruff voice said from his left. Randall looked up to see a large, muscular man wearing a suit. "Uh, hello. Are you the President?" The man looked oddly at Randall, then broke into peals of thunderous laughter. "Me? No, I'm just his advisor. The President actually happens to be in the restroom at the moment." Randall felt his face burning, and looked shamefully at the ground when he noticed the others in the room staring at him. "Sorry, I…" The man beamed, his lively eyes twinkling in amusement. "Don't worry about it; I won't tell anyone. Just be glad that Mrs. Tibbs didn't catch you saying that." "Who?" The President's advisor glanced back at the table, catching the glances of those seated, then explained lowly. "Mrs. Tibbs is the vice president, and a very huffy lady in my opinion… well, in anyone's opinion, I suppose. The President himself is the only one who truly appreciates having her around; I guess that explains why he of all people allowed her into office, but…" Just then, the door opened, and two dignitaries walked in; a stout, sulky man and a stern-looking woman who appeared more fit to serve as a nanny than a political figure.
Upon seeing these two, the advisor stiffened. He leaned over to Randall, who had turned to observe the newcomers' entrance. "That's the President," he said, gesturing to the man. He pointed to the woman next. "And that is the vice president; under no circumstances do you want to cross her… her bite is worse than her bark." The President and vice president drew close to Randall and the advisor, the woman looking sharply at the consultant. "Louis, it is impolite to point." Randall looked up at the advisor, whose face had flushed in embarrassment. "And you," Mrs. Tibbs said, turning to Randall, "your back is slouched; you need to work on your posture." Randall felt his ears redden in awkwardness, but he recovered his dignity in a matter of seconds. Clearing his throat, he turned to address the public figures that were now all seated at the table. "My name is James Randall. I work for NASA, and–" "I hope you have a good reason for dragging us all up here," the President said grumpily. "My advisor was about to give me lessons on sword eating, and word eating too." "Uh…" "Yes, why are we here, young man?" the vice president asked harshly. Are you going to ask for more funding? Doesn't the government already pay NASA millions a year?" "Be quiet and allow the man to speak!" the President's advisor said in a patient tone, clearly used to the hypercritical attitudes of these two. They gave him a scathing glance, but were silenced. Randall gave the advisor a nod, thankful that he had at least one ally in this group. "Thank you. Now, the reason I have called for you is because I believe that the world as we know it may be in a great deal of danger." A man at the far end of the table gave a derisive snort. "What else is new?" "The Secretary of Defense," the advisor muttered into Randall's ear. "Things have been blowing up for years… we just tend to help them along." Randall stood up. "Well, this is a different kind of emergency, one that I am unsure that our nation can even cope with." The listeners watched him, now transfixed. Holding their gazes, he passed them papers from the stack he had brought, handing one to each of them with a flourish. "What is this?" One man asked, his falsetto mustache hanging crookedly above his lip. "These are satellite photographs that were taken in the middle of the night; what you are looking at now is a fleet of small spacecraft that have penetrated earth's atmosphere." For a moment, the room was silent, as if they were all absorbing this information slowly. "What?" the distinctive voice of the President asked in confusion. Randall turned to him. "Don't you see? In the photograph; it is a class of aircraft not documented anywhere. Not in the FBI, NASA, CIA, NSA, private investigation agencies… I checked all those places, and plenty more. What you are looking at is a vehicle not of this world!" The faces of his audience turned pale. "So, are you saying that we may soon be invaded by aliens? Like in War of the Worlds?" the man with the false mustache asked. "Maybe."
"Oh, no!" another replied. What can we possibly do?"
"We can blow them up!" the Secretary of Defense shouted excitedly.
"Or, we can declare a national state of emergency, in case the aliens are not friendly, and fire if fired upon." The vice president said, fixing a cold stare on the Secretary of Defense. The man shivered.
"Yes sir… I mean, ma'am. That is a wonderful idea. In fact, I'll go put that order in right away!" The man rushed out of the room, apparently eager to get away from the imposing presence of Mrs. Tibbs. Those remaining returned their gaze to Randall, who was still standing.
"Anything else?" the advisor asked.
Randall shook his head. "That's all, sir. I was just supposed to tell you and see if you could do anything about this alien problem. Our organization alone simply does not have any defensive capabilities."
The other nodded. "Thank you. You will tell us if you find anything else, won't you, Mr. Randall?"
James nodded slowly. "Of course." He then backed out of the room, breathing a sigh of nervous relief when he found himself back in the empty hall. There's nothing I can do now, except watch.