"This room is just too big."

At first, his voice sounded slightly irreverent, accustomed to entertaining the crowd. It was only someone like Larry Sanderson who was close enough to the President to know the voice for what it was: an attempt to mask fear.

"Am I right, Larry? Is this place unreal or what?" The President's arms gestured vaguely towards the room they had just entered. "I mean, I'm squintin', Larry, and I just can't seem to find the back wall. Is it there?"

A small man with precarious spectacles spoke up nervously. "Yes, sir, it is. You see that big crate in the distance? That's resting against the far wall."

"Thank you, my man. And you are...?"

The small man chittered. "I am in charge of this room, sir. My name is Quentin. I've been working here fourteen years, sir, never missed a day."

"Indeed... Larry, you remember that movie with Harrison Ford, that first Indiana Jones movie?"

"Yes, sir. 'Raiders of the Lost Ark', I believe."

"Right. Remember the last scene in that movie? The one where a guy looking much like Quentin here pushes the crate carryin' the Ark into a huge crate-filled room? And there seems to be no end to the anonymous crates and cartons?"

"Yes, sir. I do remember."

"This room is just like that."

The Secret Service men stood by the entrance as the trio moved further into the warehouse room. Larry Sanderson looked at his watch and then at the endless crates. "Sir? Are you sure you want to do this?"

The President grinned at him. "Why, you bet, Larry! I told you I wanted to be in the loop, didn't I? I wanted full exposure, full disclosure, full responsibility. I want to see what those goddamn aliens from Mars are wantin' from us."

"They're from Coutreya, sir. Least that's what they call it."

"Mars, Vulcan, Coutreya, what's the goddamn difference? All I know is that these guys show up in my bathroom while I'm takin' a shower with my massage therapist, walkin' around like they own the place, and ask for their thing back! Like I would have it on me or something. I mean, where were the first contact boys, Larry? Why didn't anybody see them coming? How many thumbs did NASA have up their ass last night?"

He closed his eyes in frustration.

"Where is this thing?"

Quentin lifted a suddenly heavy finger that pointed deeper into the mess. "Down there a bit, sir."

They walked on, passing untold crates, cartons, filing cabinets, and steel boxes. The President stopped and took a small carton from a pile.

"What's in here?" he asked, opening one end. A misty blue light pulsated in his hands, and Larry had to be quick before the President dropped it.

"What the hell is that?"

Quentin took it from Larry's hands carefully and looked inside the opening. "It was found in the Siberian tundra in 1974. We got to it before the Soviets and our agents smuggled it back here." Quentin reached in and brought out a blue crystal, pulsating light and heat.

"Did it fall from the sky?"

"No, sir. It was buried in the tundra. The boys at Bakersfield think it's been there for about ten thousand years." Quentin snickered.

They all stared at the crystal for a few minutes, until the President tore his eyes away.

"Put it back, my man."

"Yes, sir."

They walked on.

"Right here, sir. This carton."

Larry blew on the carton, and dust billowed fitfully from the plywood. There was a label on the side.

       Recovered: 1846
       Place: The Adirondack Mountain
       Range in New York State
       Origin: Unknown
       Materials: Unknown

Larry took a screwdriver that Quentin handed him and worked at one of the ends of the carton.

"How long have we had this here, Quentin?"

"Well, sir, I think we labelled it in the thirties, although I can't be certain."

Larry grunted. "I don't think it's been opened since then, that's for damn sure." The end he was working on popped off with a loud PONG! that echoed eerily. He peered in and snorted in surprise. He pulled out a rust- coloured object that was shaped like a banana.

"Well, Larry, doesn't that kick the shit outta the mule?"

They looked curiously at the rusty banana.

"This is what those aliens interrupted my shower for? A banana?"

"I don't know, sir; but it's damn heavy."

He handed it to the President, who held it with some difficulty. "What do you suppose it's for?"

They all blinked at once, and the floor quavered.

"Whoa! What the hell..."

Their surroundings began to ripple and warp. Larry called out frantically to the Secret Service men, but they didn't move. Maybe they can't hear me, but surely they can see this place is coming down! A wind picked up, but from where they couldn't tell...

"Hey, Larry! I think we got problems!"

A hole, multi-coloured and hungry, opened a few metres from where they stood. The wind dove straight in, and the President could feel the rusty banana-shaped object pull strongly toward it.

"Larry, I can't hold on!"

His assistant joined grips with him and they struggled against the invisible current. The President could feel his sneaker treads wanting to slip. The colours looked so warm; the room felt so cold.

"Put it back in here!" yelled Quentin, who held the carton up to their hands. They released their grip, and the object fell heavily into the box.

The hole disappeared.

The three men stood there for a few minutes, regaining their breath and sanity.

"You know what, boys? They can have whatever this banana-thing is. I just hope they didn't leave anything else lying around. Come on, Larry, this place is spookin' the shit right outta me!"

They chuckled nervously, but they could not resist looking around them with a chill and wonder what else was waiting to be picked up by some visiting alien.

"Tell me, Larry; the Pentagon isn't going to turn into an intergalactic Lost and Found booth, is it?"

So much stuff, and none of it theirs...

"I sure hope not, Larry, 'cause I've got a country to run and a world to save. Know what I mean?"

They walked back quickly, before any more crates, cartons, or boxes demanded to be returned. Two hungry aliens from Coutreya were waiting in the President's bathroom for their return.