Real Illegal Aliens
A small peak

The Far Quest fell out of hyperspace just outside what Earth called “The Ort Cloud” and immediately switched to their “Sub Space Drives,” which were marginally better than their main drives, meaning they weren’t at the point of imminent failure, only unreliable. The sub-space drives sputtered, and life support flickered like a dying motel sign. It took them two weeks to reach Earth, and they decided to forgo an orbit and land while their luck held.

Their Hail Mary plan was simple on paper: bribe humanity with advanced technology for citizenship and a quiet place to live. In practice, it was about to become the most bewildering immigration nightmare in United States history.

The battered ship settled onto the South Lawn of the White House like a wallowing whale. The engines didn’t roar—they sputtered. Fortunately, they were far enough from the flags that nothing caught fire.

A stealthy arrival it was not.

Secret Service agents guarding the White House were not only stunned that an alien ship had just landed on the White House lawn, but appalled that it appeared to be a piece of junk. The hull appeared to be held together by duct tape. It wasn’t just a wreck. It was a dangerous wreck, appearing as if it would explode at any second.
Secret Service agents, recovering from their shock, made a call for backup, snapped into position, rifles raised.

“Unidentified craft on the lawn—repeat, unidentified craft on the lawn!”

Nothing happened for an hour while the area around the ship cooled down, the lawn sprinklers helping to create a cloud of nauseating odors.

After an hour, enough time for backup and the entire media to arrive and surround the ship, a ramp descended from the pile of junk on the lawn, and an alien stepped out. The alien was a tall, silver-haired creature with very light green skin, remarkably human-like in appearance, and appeared composed and in control.

Eleven crew members followed in simple jumpsuits, looking more like a diplomatic envoy than invaders.
The alien raised both hands, palms out. “I am Captain Vael Torren,” he said in remarkably good English, though with a slightly weird accent. “Take me to your leader.”

The agents froze. A helicopter thumped overhead. A K-9 barked wildly, then turned tail and fled, dragging its handler behind it.

Vael’s lips twitched as if trying to smile. “Just kidding,” he said clearly. “I have studied your media broadcasts. I thought the phrase might be amusing. I respectfully request a meeting with your president.”

For three heartbeats, silence. Then chaos erupted. Agents rushed forward, shouting. The news media swarmed like locusts. The National Guard only added to the scene.

Someone screamed, “Illegal aliens!”