"Cameron. Submit to chip extraction."
Cameron didn't falter in her movements. She finished loading the assault rifle, putting it in the bag with the rest of the guns before she even turned to look at me.
I kept my arms crossed, but I longed to reach behind for the handgun shoved into my belt at the small of my back. The weight wouldn't be comforting until it was in my hand. And even then, I might still die. No, not "might." Would. The pathetic bullets would only ruin her cute white jacket. She would tell me so as she twisted my head off my shoulders. I kept my arms crossed.
I don't know what's wrong with her. She's not following orders. She's distracted, slow to respond. And her hand, that old injury from fifteen years ago is glitching again. It's shaking even now, flexing open and closing into a fist that would knock my head in so my nose meets my cerebellum. Twitch. Twitch.
I'm probably being stupid for not having the gun in my hand, but I want her to know that I kind of trust her, and she can kind of trust me. I'm not going to kill her. I just need to see what's wrong, and if I can fix it.
And if I can't….
Cameron walked toward me, slowly. Her usual feline grace was offset by the hand. That hand more than anything else reminded me that she was a machine. Maybe that's why it bothered me so much. You can't pretend your girlfriend is human when her hand needs repairs. Suddenly, the fact that John Connor, the leader of the human resistance against the machines, is fucking a machine seems wrong. The balance between being thankful for physical contact and wanting to throw up precious rations was tipped.
I don't know if anyone knows. Maybe they suspect. Cameron's been my bodyguard for longer than I've known any of the soldiers, even Derek. I know they think of me as a lonely chessmaster caught up in my head, half-crazed from grief and worry and turning into a machine myself. But it doesn't matter if anyone knows, because when I watch her hand twitch and convulse while we're in bed, hoping it won't crunch my thigh and break my femur in half, I'm more angry at myself than my troops could ever be.
Her boots clicked softly on the hard floor of the bunker as she stopped, inches away from me. I looked down at her. I'm not much taller than her. I'd probably be even more terrified of her if she were taller. Maybe I wouldn't have seen her as a human woman if she were taller.
"What's wrong, John?"
Her voice was quiet. It didn't echo in the small chamber, it just seemed to stop dead as it reached my ears.
"I need to make sure you're okay," I said.
She cocked her head to the side. Her eyes caught more of the dim light that way. "I'm fine. We should concentrate on the mission."
I grasped the wrist of her glitching hand, bringing it up to eye level. I heard the clicks of metal on metal and the whir of motors as it twitched between us. At the same time, I felt the sickening simulation of a pulse underneath my thumb. "You're not fine." I let her hand drop. "It's not a hardware problem. I feel like I've replaced every part in there five times."
She continued to look at me, expression unreadable. "Cameron," I said, more urgently. "Now, please."
Nothing. Except…were her eyes watering? Or was it the light again? Please back off and go to your usual table, I silently begged.
Instead, she stepped closer. I didn't move back, I couldn't. I was the commander. She was an officer. I should call the guards outside my room immediately and have her held down by two triple-eights as I carved the semicircle in her head and ripped out that chip by force. And then I should burn her chip in thermite, leaving her body for spare parts.
But I just stood there and looked down at her, barely an inch away. I smelled her strawberry lip gloss. She hid a stash right before Judgment Day. I don't know why. "Submit to chip extraction," I repeated. I hoped my voice sounded much stronger than my knees were.
"No," she said, and she tried to kiss me. This time I did back away, drawing my gun at the same time.
"Now," I said.
The girlish tilt of her head went away with a sharp jerk. She looked at me straight on, ignoring the gun. My heart pounded in my ears. Everything about this was wrong. I knew that face, the narrowed eyes and the drawn cheeks, framed by hair that somehow hung more limply than it had seconds ago. That face meant she was going to kill someone.
"Cameron, don't," I said.
She lunged. I didn't have time to shoot. One hand knocked the gun to the floor, clattering against the wall, useless, while the other took a handful of shirt and lifted me into the air.
"What are you doing?" I hissed. I should be screaming for help. I should be screaming in terror. I should be kicking her, clawing at her hand to release me, and screaming. I didn't.
She looked up at me, her head tilting to the side again. This time, it almost looked like she was deciding if she wanted to tell me something. "You can't fix me," she said. Even as I hung in midair, completely at her mercy, I wanted to do exactly that. She sounded broken.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I know what's wrong. You can't fix me."
"Okay," I said. "Can you put me down? And then we can discuss if I can fix you or not?"
She did, gently. Like I was a doll. I didn't bother with the tough act this time, I kept my distance and went to the door. I didn't bother retrieving the gun or getting a new one. "You said you know what's wrong. Tell me."
Cameron hesitated. "You know what you have to do when I tell you."
I laughed, a harsh bark. I hoped she didn't mean…"How can I know what I have to do if you haven't told me what the problem is yet?"
"You know."
She did mean it. I swallowed, reaching under my roughed-up collar for the gold chain. The stopwatch containing her death. It was so old now that I wondered if it would even work. But then, I've always wondered if it would work. She had a tendency to lie to me.
She nodded. "Yes."
"Cameron, I don't want to do that," I said slowly, taking my hand away. "Just tell me and we'll go from there."
"I love you."
I drew in a deep breath, turning away. My mom would have run her over with a truck if she could hear that now. "That's not possible," I said, speaking to the metal door. "You're a machine. You don't have a soul and you never will."
She didn't say anything. I turned around again to face her, shaking my head. "Why would you say something like that? What the hell are you doing?"
She stared at me, mouth slightly open, eyes gleaming. "I'm not lying."
I snorted. "You lie to me all the time!"
"I'm not lying now."
She walked toward me again. I was backed against the door. I wasn't helpless. I had several people right outside, less than a foot away, both men and machines whom I could ask for help, right now. I didn't.
I said nothing as she pressed her lips to mine, moist and tasting like the berry I haven't tasted in over ten years. I said nothing as she took my shoulders in her hands and pushed me against the cold bunker door, her hair tickling my neck and her tongue questing in my mouth. I said nothing as she stepped back and looked at me with those huge brown eyes, eyes I liked to pretend didn't have blue LEDs right behind the humanoid irises.
She peeled off her white jacket, letting it drop to the floor. I stopped her as she reached for the bottom of her undershirt.
"Sex isn't love, Cameron," I said.
"I know," she said, taking it off anyway. Only her pink bra that fastened in the front remained. "But I know I can't give you anything else."
"I don't love you," I said flatly.
"I know."
I looked at her hand. It twitched.
"Please, submit to chip extraction," I said. Almost begging.
"You can't fix me," she repeated.
I swallowed. I smelled strawberries. I took her head between my hands and kissed her, a million guilts running through my brain. I didn't shave today, she was perfect. My breath was terrible, she smelled like fruit. I hadn't showered in days, she barely ever needed one. And four of my soldiers were less than a meter away from me as I betrayed us all yet again to artificial flesh.
I can't fix her.