The Smithsonian Institute in Washington DC was perhaps one of the most well guarded group of buildings in the world. Of course, others could perhaps lay claim to that title as well, but the police who guarded the hallowed halls of the many buildings took pride in the high tech security devices, the many technological fail safes, the discreetly installed closed circuit cameras, and the watchfulness of its highly trained force in protecting the valued treasures in its depths. And justifiably so. No one waltzed into the museums that composed the Smithsonian Institute and just tried to make off with something.

In theory, that was how it was supposed to work.

"Hey, Dave, how are things tonight."

"Slow and steady, just how I like it." Dave grinned up at his fellow security system operator, Brian, glancing at the fast-food bag in the other's hand. "Whatcha got for me tonight?"

"Couple of double cheeseburgers. McDonald's." Brian grunted to the other, settling himself into a chair on the opposite side of the console. Dave snorted in mild disgust but accepted the bag with no further comment, rooting inside of the two, wax paper covered sandwiches. In truth, he rarely ever complained. Both men had the look of fellows who perhaps enjoyed fast food a little too much, neither one more than six foot, both thick framed and heavy gutted, which complimented the pocketed khakis and uniform polo shirts that screamed what they were, a couple of computer techies who worked the night shift for Smithsonian security. As unglamorous as they came.

"Tomorrow, you're buying," Brian mumbled, yawning so widely his thick glasses nearly fell off his face. "Nothing going on anywhere?" He began prodding at computer screens, pulling up monitors with read out and closed circuit television images.

"Nah, never is," Dave shrugged, wiping ketchup out of his dark goatee, leaning back in his desk chair until it creaked unceremoniously. "I mean, the occasional homeless guy, crack addict, kid on skateboard, but it might as well be dead." He nodded towards the wide open spaces of the National Air and Space Museum on his monitor. "Besides, who'd want to break in there?"

"Dude!" Brian admonished, pale blue eyes wide behind his Coke bottle lenses, shaking his long, stringy blonde hair. "You know what's in there?"

"Yeah, a lot of planes and space shit."

"And Star Trek!" Brian murmured the words reverently, like a saint's name.

Dave smirked, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, dude, Star Trek?"

"What the hell do you know," Brian muttered irritably at his co-workers amusement. "Star Trek was the best."

"Right, you keep telling yourself that, and one day you will acknowledge the superiority of Star Wars in this debate."

"Please, you just have the hots for Princess Leia in a metal bikini," Brian shot back, ignoring completely the readouts on the screen in front of him. This was an age old argument between the pair; which was the better space drama, the blockbuster Star Wars or the cult favorite Star Trek? In reality, no one seemed to particularly care for the argument other than the two of them, which is perhaps why they were working the night shift at one of the most heavily secured places in the world. No one else would have to hear it.

"You act as if Star Trek was Shakespeare," Dave mumbled around processed beef and cheese, using the other half of his sandwich to point at his compatriot, dropping a mustard covered pickle on the screen that showed clearly the hallway to the now debated Star Trek exhibit. "Seriously, the special effects in there look like they are straight out of mid-70's BBC."

"Well it's better than overwrought space opera," Brian retorted. "Don't tell me those swords were just for show either."

"Okay, one word for you, buddy! Whales! That's all I got to say." Dave punctuated his stinger with a giant bite of two-dollar cheeseburger, crowing in delight as his co-worker's eyes narrowed.

"That's a low blow, man. Should I bring up Ewoks now or later?"

Neither man heard the beep of one of the computers as a warning scrawled across one of the many monitors.

"Hey, I won't deny Ewoks are annoying, but they are far more plausible than going back in time to snag some whales from San Francisco while making a booty call."

"I won't say Star Trek IV was a low point for the franchise, but at least they were trying to save the Earth. They had a message of conservation there. What's your Star Wars got? Some pseudo Buddhist, touchy feely crap?"

"Hey, the Force is a way of life, dude. Try it out, it might give you some real insight into the universe."

"Seriously, you think anyone is going to take you seriously saying you follow the Force as a religion."

"They take me more seriously than you saying that you have Klingon as a second language."

Somewhere in the distance the sound of grinding and wheezing sounded. It was ignored. The pair were too far into their debate to care. But a monitor noticed. And furious readouts began to scroll down the now ignored displays.

"Honestly, you want to bring up that card when you were the one learning curse words in Huttese?"

"That was a joke! I didn't think it would impress the ladies."

"It was Comic Con! I thought she'd find it funny!"

In the midst of escalating voices, an alarm sounded. Both man stopped, silencing their petty argument as they scrambled to consoles and keyboards. Brian reached his first, pushing back hair out of his glasses while Dave cursed and wiped pickle off of his screen.

"Breach in the specialty gallery."

Dave stopped in his mopping to stare at his compatriot. "You're kidding, right?"

The other man shook his head, looking vaguely ill. "Nope, it's the Star Trek exhibit."

"Fucking hell," Dave swore, reaching for the phone. He pressed the first button on the bottom and waited for the operator answer. "Yeah, get me some men over here, we got an intruder in the Star Trek exhibit."

He was silent, smirking at something on the other end of the line. "Yeah, beats me why anyone would be there either."

Brian wadded a piece of paper and threw it at him.

"They're sending cops over right now. Take a look and see if you can get a visual."

"On it," Brian's fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking furiously. On the monitor, various cameras shifted and flickered images across the screen, black and white pictures of the halls below. It didn't take long to find the intruders.

"It's just some...guy." Brian frowned at the screen, pushing his thick frames back up his nose.

"That's descriptive," Dave, still on the phone, glared at him. "Can you give me something else?"

"Yeah, tall, skinny, in a suit, looks like some jerk off the street," Brian's fingers clicked as the image shifted. "But he's got a girl with him."

"A little girl?"

"No, a hot chick!" Brian's lascivious grin lit up his face as Dave scrambled out of his chair and around the desk to check it out. Indeed, there stood a tall man, hands shoved in suit pockets, strolling slowly without a care in the world. Beside him a petite blonde trailed along, looking as if she feared they'd be arrested any moment. Which, was pretty much what was going to happen.

"She is hot," Dave agreed, ignoring the squawk of protest on the other end. "Hey, I am just calling it as it is. They look like they are just tourists. Don't even expect to be caught."

"Hey, they're moving," Brian pointed out, pointing to a case just ahead of them in the hall. "Looks like they are there for more than just a midnight stroll."

Indeed, the man was digging in his pockets, pulling out some tool, a flashlight it looked like, checking out the case. Before he could lay a finger on the thick glass, however, sirens sounded in the distance. The girl turned first, eyes wide, as the man stood, a look of severe disappointment on his face.

"They are going to run for it," Brian warned, as he took the girl's hand, tugging her back down the way they had come.

"Keep following them," Dave insisted, nervous fingers rubbing over his thick goatee as Brian typed the commands, focusing all the available cameras on the fleeing couple. They tore down the shiny marble, slipping and sliding as they whipped around corners. Not far away, Smithsonian police were in hot pursuit.

"They are headed towards one of the back hallways, near a service area." Brian was glancing at readouts on the screen beside the different camera shots. "Dead end, really, just a broom closet and a storage area."

"They are heading for the broom closet," Dave interjected, shoving a thick finger towards the monitor. Indeed, the man had swung the normally locked door wide open, as the girl rushed inside first, followed by him. "What in the hell would they do that for?"

"They are busted for sure," Brian snickered, as in the image they could see four armed figures rushing to the gray door in the image.

"Why would they go into a broom…"

That's when the grinding sounded.

Even where they sat in their command center they could hear it faintly, but they could see the effects on the monitor in front of them. Light flashed from the cracks around the door, and an impossible breeze from somewhere ruffled the clothing of the officers on the scene. Neither man could hear what they said, but they could lip read, and they was fairly sure they had the same reaction they did.

Brian's chest heaved. "What the…"

"Man, I don't even…" Dave shook his dark head, realizing the operator on the other end of the line was now yelling at him. "Yeah, I don't know, there was this noise, and lights, and…"

He stopped as the police finally were able to force the door open. They swung it wide, one officer standing on point, another curling around the frame, weapon at the ready.

But there was nothing there.