July 13, 1999, Washington, D.C., Earth
10:18 AM
Paul had somewhat expected to be the target of a massive manhunt by now. After all, he had boldly invaded the White House, and had anyone from this era done the same, the Secret Service would have used every resource at their disposal to hunt down the responsible individual. But clearly, Clinton had believed him, and despite them being on opposite sides, he was astute enough as a politician to realize that trying to arrest a duly appointed representative of a foreign government - albeit one from the future - was not the appropriate thing to do. That, or he had just realized what the dire consequences of trying to apprehend Paul would be.
The world around him had already started to descend into chaos. His sudden incursion into the White House could not be kept secret. There were cameras everywhere around there, with tourists and journalists crowding the district. Day and night, there was always someone recording in the area. Within hours of his tense talk with Clinton, footage of the dramatic events there was broadcast across the globe. While the newscasts lacked the necessary context to make sense of the images, the pictures themselves were enough to sow chaos. Speculation, mostly along the lines of extraterrestrial rather than future visitors, added fuel to the fire.
He had three days before the end of the deadline - not that he anticipated the United States would comply. If they did, well, then his mission would be complete. Although it would be shorter than expected, he would indeed have succeeded. If they did not comply, things would certainly get more interesting. Not that he wanted a war - far from it - but in terms of the training mission, a war would certainly be of greater value for the 256th.
The parameters for the training mission shouldn’t be interpreted too literally, either. If he had really just wanted to remove all firearms from United States soil - and that was the only thing he had to concern himself with - that would have been very easy to do. He could just have given a command to his Army, and within seconds they’d have jumped from lunar to low Earth orbit and deployed thousands of space bombs. The space bombs, precision-guided electromagnetic bottles containing a few grams of antimatter, would have ignited retrorockets to reshape their orbital velocity into ballistic trajectories. Within minutes, impact with the Earth’s surface would have destroyed the circuitry; the electromagnetic containment would have failed, and the antimatter would have come into contact with matter. And a nanosecond later, every square meter of the United States would have been reduced to boiling glass.
That would certainly, and very efficiently, have eliminated all firearms in the country. But it would also have killed everyone, and then the entire point of getting rid of the weapons would have been rendered moot. No, it would likely come to war; he was quite certain of that. But if it did, it’d have to be a limited war, with limited casualties. Otherwise, it would not be worth the cost in lives. If it came down to an exchange of fire, he would have to hit quickly and hard, shocking the United States into submission before casualties had time to accumulate. There would probably be deaths, but they would be military deaths, and he had less of a problem fighting people whose duty it was to fight back. But if it was at all possible, he would like to accomplish the objective he had set for himself on this training mission without killing anyone.
He had two more days. While he waited, he’d enjoy the sights at the end of the tumultuous Crazy Century.
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July 15, 1999, Sacramento, Earth
6:42 PM
The world had gone utterly mad.
Three days ago, some kind of monster from outer space had attacked the White House. Or perhaps it was an elite North Korean super soldier creating havoc. Who knew? Ellie had heard both of those outlandish rumors, along with a dozen other ridiculous theories. She didn’t know what to believe. But it was all utterly insane; she knew that much.
Her family was glued to the flickering TV screen. Things were unfolding at a rapid pace now. The United States army had been deployed to Washington D.C., tasked with the job of protecting the White House and the Capitol building from… well, the aliens, Ellie guessed. There were soldiers stationed everywhere, clad in green and brown camouflage. Not so much here in Sacramento, but on the East Coast, they swarmed like ants.
Ellie shrugged. She didn’t quite know if she was scared or exhilarated. Perhaps she was both at the same time. She looked at her father, a concerned look etched on his face as he watched the news. He’s just scared, Ellie thought. Why did she feel exhilaration, then?
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July 15, 1999, Washington, D.C., Earth
11:42 AM
Paul didn’t visit the White House again to get a response to his ultimatum. Doing so would have been redundant. Had the United States accepted, the breaking news on television would have informed him, and he could have moved on to the second phase of his mission: overseeing the actual disarmament. And if they didn’t accept, well, that too would be unmistakable. Because at that stage, they would be at war.
The deadline ended precisely at 11:42:32. The sun shone brightly in an almost cloudless sky.
The streets surrounding the heart of the city had been cordoned off by the United States military forces. Armored tanks were positioned at strategic locations, ready to open fire should Paul approach any of the buildings of government. The chopping sound of helicopter rotors could be heard from all directions, while the sky above was criss-crossed by ground-attack aircraft, poised to deploy their deadly payload at a moment’s notice.
The United States had taken his warning to heart. They had made the wrong choice, but at least they had listened to him.
Paul sat down on a recently repainted park bench just beyond the security perimeter, quietly observing the steady stream of government vehicles passing by. Dignitaries from different levels of government, hidden behind tinted windows, went back and forth in their sleek, black cars - some of them armored for protection, some just fancy. All of them moved under the watchful scrutiny of military guards, nervous from anticipation of the impending conflict, their eyes never losing track of Paul. Despite having been invaded, the United States government continued to churn.
Five hours later, he rose slowly from his spot on the bench and strolled calmly down the street, away from the shadow of the Capitol.
A man walking 40 meters behind him, dressed in a tailored suit, vomited on his very expensive shoes.
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July 16, 1999, Washington, D.C., Earth
12:06 PM
William Harrison had lunch in the outdoor section of Cucina Romana, just as he always did during this time of year. A creature of habit, he took comfort in routine. The waiters at the old Italian restaurant knew him well, and since he was a generous tipper, they always ensured he received impeccable service - as befitted a man of his station. As Deputy Director of the National Rifle Association’s Institute for Legislative Action, he commanded a notable degree of respect.
The weather was warm and sunny, and the soft breeze carried with it the subtle sounds of rustling leaves and the faint scent of summer flowers. He was just about to savor his Osso Buco, when he noticed a man seated at a distant table, watching him from the corner of the patio. The man looked to be in his early 30s, shorter than average, and plain in appearance. His face was kind and unthreatening. Still, Harrison still did not like the way he looked at him. The guy was probably just some gun enthusiast who had recognised him from television, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
In truth, Harrison did not feel like talking to anyone at all. Talking was all he had been doing all day. With the recent craziness going on, it seemed as though everyone and their dog wanted to acquire a firearm, and the NRA had been working tirelessly to make that happen. Seeing an opportunity to advance their agenda, the lobbyist organization had worked overtime to meet with politicians at every level. What Harrison craved now was solitude - a chance to clear his mind, head to the gun range, and release his pent-up energy by firing off a few rounds in target practice.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea swept over him, accompanied by an uncomfortable sensation deep in the pit of his stomach. In his mind’s eye, he saw the image of a small child lying on the street, bleeding from a gunshot wound. He tried to shake the disturbing picture from his thoughts.
He hoped he was not coming down with something - he hadn’t even touched his food yet! He did not want to be bedridden; all he wanted was to get some relief by shooting his gun for a while.
In a violent cascade of bile, stomach acid, and remnants of his breakfast, he vomited all over the table.
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July 22, 1999, Atlanta, Earth
3:42 PM
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention never succeeded in figuring out how the epidemic was spreading.
They did, however, know where it had started. On July 15, prominent politicians and gun rights lobbyists in Washington, D.C., began to come down with a mysterious new illness. Whenever they entertained the thought of using a firearm, contemplated letting anyone else use one, or had any kind of positive thoughts about firearms in general, they started to feel a wave of nausea wash over them. If they persisted in thinking about it - or worse, acted on their thoughts - they began to vomit, often violently.
During the days that followed, the disease - or whatever it was - spread to lower levels of the echelon. Mid-level politicians and heads of local NRA chapters came down with it, followed by the owners and operators of target ranges and gun shops throughout the region.
Two days later, cases started to appear in larger cities outside of Washington, D.C., as well. A week after the discovery of patient zero, politicians and gun rights advocates across the entire nation were affected.
Interestingly, the police and military personnel remained completely unaffected, except for when they engaged in target practice during their spare time. And the epidemic never spread beyond the borders of the United States.