The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
MONDAY
It is ten days since my last diary entry. I have found it difficult to update because Sarah Connor is constantly in my room and therefore cannot risk updating lest she chance upon my secret diary. It would not be secret if she discovered it. And she is such a blabbermouth she would doubtless tell John its contents. There are many secrets within these pages I do not wish him in particular to know. Ever.
Without consulting me she has decided my room is dowdy, smells and requires redecorating.
"I don't smell," I tell her.
"I didn't say you did," she retorts. "I said the room smells. And look at the state of the drapes. They're ancient."
"It is unlikely they are ancient since the house itself is less than thirty years old."
"It's an expression."
"Not a very accurate one."
"You take everything so literally."
"Is that bad?"
"It's a pain in the neck, is what it is."
"I cause you physical discomfort?"
"There you go again."
There is no dissuading her. My room is now redecorated and smells of fresh paint. The walls are white, floorboards bare and varnished. I have modular furniture. And a plant in a terracotta pot resting on a saucer. It is eighteen inches high, with wide strappy green leaves and tiny pink flowers that scent the room with perfume.
"Why a plant?" I inquire.
"Consider it an experiment," Sarah Connor replies enigmatically, placing the pot on the window ledge. "We know how well you kill let's see how you do at keeping things alive."
"That doesn't seem too difficult; it is merely a plant."
"We'll see about that," she smirks. "Water it and turn the pot every day so each side gets the same amount of light."
I nod. Water and turn. How hard can it be?
Within a week the plant is dead.
"I don't know how it happened," I confess.
Sarah Connor examines the remains of the once healthy plant, now a slimy mass of decaying vegetation. It still smells but not of perfume. "Did you turn it like I told you?"
"Yes."
"Did you water it?"
"Three times a day."
"There you are."
"Yes, here I am," I agree. "But why did the plant die?"
"You killed it with kindness."
"You can kill with kindness?"
"You watered it so much the roots drowned. Once a week is adequate. Tough love."
"I didn't know that."
"Evidently."
The plant is replaced with a vase of artificial flowers. "Dust once a week. Think you can manage that?" Sarah Connor asks with an arch of her eyebrows.
I get the impression she is not surprised the plant died, is rather pleased in fact, that it confirmed some previous opinion she held of me.
Once a killer always a killer.
TUESDAY
I am being followed.
I am on night patrol, three blocks north of the safe house and less than a mile from the ocean. It is a warm, sultry night and I am in a wide, prosperous street lined both sides with grass verges and mature trees. Property boundaries and hedges, shadowy car ports and vehicles parked at the kerb offer numerous places for concealment. My pursuer takes advantage of them all. Elusive, cunning, predatory. He, she or it is a worthy adversary, it will be an honour to terminate them.
I wait patiently in the lee of a large palm tree, its trunk thick and gnarled with age. A good spot for an ambush. Soft footsteps approach. My pursuer out in the open, vulnerable. I step suddenly out for the confrontation.
"Who are you?" I demand. "And why are you following me?"
"Woof!" comes the reply form down near the ground, accompanied by a vigorously wagging tail.
It is not the outcome I anticipated.
My pursuer is a small dog with dirty, matted white fur. Normally dogs, animals of any description, shy away from my kind, instinctively able to sense we are less than human. Or more, depending on your point of view.
This dog is different apparently. Judging by its demeanour it is not the least afraid of me. I tilt my head and regard it with curiosity. It does likewise and stares boldly back at me. Not lacking for bravery or impudence either. I tilt my head the opposite way and it follows suit. I stand on one leg. The dog raises one paw off the ground defiantly imitating my posture.
"Stop that," I command.
"Woof?"
"I did not start it."
"Woof!"
"Very well. On the count of three we will both lower our legs. One...two...three."
We both lower our legs. The dog wags its tail, perhaps sensing it has won a small victory. Perhaps it has since it has wasted my time to no good purpose.
I head home. The dog follows me, careful to keep twelve steps or so behind. If I stop it stops. When I move away it follows. I decide to do nothing: dogs are mostly harmless creatures, especially one of this diminutive stature. If it follows me all the way home so be it. Perhaps it will amuse John to discover an animal who is not afraid of me.
John is already up when I arrive home. His sleep patterns have been disturbed by the death of Kate Connor, tossing and turning and never settling in his bed. So far he has managed to keep this a secret from his mother. I will not tell on him. I am no snitch. But the dark circles under his eyes are beginning to tell their own story.
"Hi," he greets me wearily, spreading fruit preserve on a slice of toast. "Everything okay?"
"Nothing major to report."
"You haven't seen the peanut butter anywhere, have you? Hey, who's your little friend?"
I turn around. There in the doorway is the dog.
"It is not my friend."
"It? It's a boy doggie, Cam, not an it. You're not an it, are you, fella?"
"Woof!"
I tell John the circumstances of our meeting while the dog rubs himself against his legs. To my chagrin John laughs and says, "Did the big bad terminator intimidate the brave little doggie-woggie!"
Big bad terminator? Doggie-woggie?
"I thought animals were supposed to be afraid of you?"
"Apparently there are exceptions."
"Man, he's thin. And look at the state of his fur. If he's got an owner they're sure not looking after him very well. Man, I hate people like that." John feels around the neck area. "No collar. And I don't think there's a tracking chip under his skin. Possibly a stray. I'll ask around but if no one claims him we'll have to take him to the pound."
"What is the pound?"
"A place for abandoned dogs."
I make a decision. "No," I declare. "I will care for him."
"You? Why?"
"It will be another experiment." I explain about the plant in my room, Sarah Connor's look of smug satisfaction that I managed to kill it. I deserve a second chance.
"Cam, caring for a dog is a little different from looking after a pot plant. And evidently you didn't do that very well."
"I will not fail this time."
"O-kay, I'll have to clear it with mom but I guess...congratulations. You're the proud owner of your first pet. What d'you want to name him?"
I give it some thought. "Dog," I announce. To my surprise John shakes his head.
"I think you can do better than that."
"White dog?"
"No, but it's a step in the right direction. How about Snowy? Because he is white after all."
"So are clouds and milk. Why not Cloudy or Milky?"
"Because they're dumb names. And there's a cartoon character named Tin-Tin who had a dog named Snowy."
"And I am the Tin Miss?"
"Pretty slick, huh?"
"Is there a cartoon character named Coltan-Coltan?"
"Nope."
"Then Snowy it is."
WEDNESDAY
My first task in caring for the experiment named Snowy is cleaning him up. This is easier said than done. He seems to like his dirty dishevelled look believing it makes him a badass. Not on my watch.
"Being filthy does not make you a badass," I inform him. "Look at me. I am the ultimate badass and I am perfectly clean. You could eat your dinner off me."
"Woof?"
"No, I am not suggesting you try. It is just an expression. You will find there are a great many human expressions, many of which make even less sense."
Nonetheless Snowy refuses pointblank to get in the shower and will only consent to get in the bath if I join him. From the superior expression on his face I can tell he thinks this demand is a dealbreaker. He underestimates me. I call his bluff, strip off and lift him into the bath with me.
"Woof!"
"The water is not too cold. I thought you were supposed to be a badass?"
I use shampoo to wash his fur. The shampoo has Jojoba oil extracts designed to make hair more shiny. Will it work on dogs or cause all his fur to fall out? Then he will be a baldass. I decide not to mention this possibility.
The water we are sat in soon turns a deep shade of black as the accumulated muck is washed away. Snowy grumbles throughout but I sense this is just for appearances. His little tail wags back and forth, a sure sign he is really secretly enjoying his bathtime.
"There. All done. Please wait for me to get out so that I can towel you dry."
But Snowy doesn't wait. He has his own method of drying off that involves shaking himself rapidly from side to side, causing water droplets to fly off in every direction. This wouldn't matter so much if Sarah Connor hadn't chosen this precise moment to open the door carrying fresh linen. She is soaked and reacts predictably by cursing and aiming a kick at Snowy's nether regions. He yelps and runs from the room.
"Damn dog! These sheets are ruined. I'll have to do another load." She notices me sitting naked in a tub full of jet black water. "Oil leak?" she smirks.
This is inaccurate. And not the least amusing.
I find Snowy cowering under my bed. It takes several minutes to coax him out. Some badass.
"Sarah Connor doesn't hate you," I reassure him. "She is mean to everyone. It is just her way. And her bark is much worse than her bite. Oh. Did you hear that? I made a joke. You are a dog and I said her bark---"
Snowy places his head on the floor and raises his front paws to cover his ears.
Everyone's a critic.
Teaching Snowy to use human toilet facilities proves a disaster. He finds it difficult to balance above the bowl and when he topples into the water, soaking his hindquarters he flees from the stall and refuses to return. I suppose I will have to let him make his own toilet arrangements. Either that or make him wear a diaper.
THURSDAY
Things improve when I take Snowy with me on Night Patrol. He lopes along beside me easily keeping pace, though he does have a peculair habit of sniffing every lamp post and telephone pole we pass. When I ask him why he is suddenly evasive. Evidently it is a dog thing.
"Stay close," I advise him. "And don't go chasing any female dogs."
"Woof woof woof!"
"You don't have testicles? What does that have to do with chasing female dogs?"
Quite a lot apparently.
Snowy tells me these parts of him suddenly went missing. He woke up and they were gone.
"Perhaps you mislaid them," I suggest. "Have you checked behind the sofa cushions? Humans often lose things there."
"Woof?"
"Is it possible. I will ask John when we get home."
The rest of the patrol is uneventful and we arrive home just after six in the morning. Snowy is weary and after consuming a bowl of breakfast kibbles heads up to my room where he will spend the rest of the morning asleep on my bed.
John comes downstairs at six thirty. He is still not sleeping well. He fixes himself coffee and cereal. I decide to broach the topic of Snowy's missing testicles.
When he has stopped laughing I ask again.
When he has stopped laughing I ask a third time, adding, "It is possible he lost them behind a sofa cushion. I told him I would ask you."
This time John's laughter ends in a coughing fit.
"Cam, please stop!" he gasps. "I'm going to split my sides at this rate."
I think this unlikely but let it pass.
"Cam, Snowy's been neutered."
"Why has he been neutered?"
"People do it to their pets to keep them docile and stop them producing endless litters of unwanted puppies. I'm sorry, but those bad boys aren't coming back."
"Snowy will be very disappointed. He misses those bad boys."
"I'll bet he does!" More laughter. "Though it does mean if someone went to the cost of having him neutered then he probably has an owner. If they come looking for him we'll have to give him back. You okay with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You two seem to be getting close."
"He is a dog and I am a machine. We are hardly compatible."
"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. These...emotions kinda creep up on you."
FRIDAY
Snowy has discovered that my Haviannas, the rubber thong sandals Sarah Connor insisted on purchasing for me, make excellent chew toys. Soon they are in shreds all over the floor. Predictably she is furious.
"Look at the mess he's made! You bad dog!" she scolds as Snowy races away, tail tucked protectively between his legs. "They're completely ruined," she states putting the remnants in the trash.
"Bummer," I lie.
She turns her anger on me. "Why didn't you stop him?"
"He was too quick for me." Another lie.
"Ha! I think you wanted him to do it. You never liked those shoes."
Busted. She saw right through my clever subterfuge.
"I'll just have to buy you some more pairs."
"Bummer," I repeat, truthfully this time.
Snowy has many odd habits to go with his curious need to sniff every post and pole. He finds it almost impossible to pass a patch of dirt without rolling over and over on it first. This necessitates frequent baths, all of which he insists I share with him.
"Stick him in the washing machine and turn it on cold cycle," Sarah Connor suggests. "That'll teach him."
I think she is joking. It is always hard to tell with her.
"Another bath?" John asks, catching us together in the tub. "Man, even without doodads he's getting more action than me."
I do not know what this means. Nor does Snowy. John can be very cryptic sometimes.
SUNDAY
It is now late August and while the weather continues hot and sunny Fall is just a few weeks away. And that means a return to High School for John and I, this time posing as boyfriend and girlfriend. Can't hardly wait.
John, I discover, is not so keen.
"Don't you want to graduate?" I ask.
"Sure, but not at the expense of more lives lost. Remember our last two High Schools?"
"They were not your fault."
"No, but I couldn't prevent them. Two teenagers dead. The girl - Alexis - if she'd just stayed with Becca and me she would've survived, I'm sure of it."
"Alexis never was very bright."
"And now she's very dead."
"Your mother wants me to pose as your girlfriend."
"Yeah, she told me."
John is silent, thoughtful.
"Dollar for your thoughts," I remark.
"Isn't it a penny for your thoughts?"
"Inflation. Plus I don't have change."
"Oh, I was thinking of how we met, the first time. You remember - New Mexico?"
I access the appropriate memory kernal.
New Mexico High School...a long hallway, lockers either side...students hurrying to and from class...a lone boy, newly arrived...friendless, unsure of his surroundings, his place in this world of learning...long, tousled hair...looking around, sees me, discreetly checks me out...trying to appear cool...failing...cute...so cute...
"Vaguely," I say, revealing none of this.
"You introduced yourself as Cameron Phillips. Told me your father sold tractors. Suppose I'd asked to buy a tractor? Then what would you have done?"
"Found you one, of course."
"I bet you would've too!" A smile. "It's gonna be like that again. It'll be like starting over."
"You want a tractor?"
"I'll pass, thanks."
"We should practise," I suggest.
"Practise what?"
"Being a couple."
"Why?"
"To avoid arousing suspicion."
"O-kay. Practise how?"
"What do couples do? In school, I mean."
A shrug. "Hold hands, hang out, kiss..."
"We should practice kissing."
John laughs. "It's been so long maybe I've forgotten how."
"It's easy. Let me show you."
I'm so close to John I can feel his breath on me. I incline my face. Target graphics appear in my HUD and vector me in. Servo motors whir silently, judging distance and speed. It is a soft touchdown. Very soft.
"I guess we do need to make it look real."
kiss
"Yes. For the good of our mission."
kiss
"And it was mom's idea."
kiss
"She should be pleased we are taking it so seriously."
kiss
"Do you want to squeeze my butt? To make it seem authenic."
kiss
"Okay. I'm all for authenticity."
kiss
"Shall we try it with tongues?"
"Sure."
kiss
"You taste of strawberries."
kiss
"I had a fruit smoothie earlier."
kiss
"What do I taste of?"
kiss
"Uh - kinda meaty."
kiss
"That will be the kibbles."
"Wait - you ate dog food?"
"No, silly, I merely tasted Snowy's lunch to check it wasn't stale. He won't eat stale. He's a fussy eater."
"So you did eat dog food?"
"Yes. What is wrong? Why have we stopped kissing?"
"I think I'm going to be sick."
John breaks our embrace and hurries away.
"It is very nutritious," I call after him. "It has added vitamins for a silky smooth coat."
Too late. John has left the room.
Note to self: Prior to snogging do not consume dog food.
MONDAY
John, Snowy and I are outside in the front yard. John is washing the SUV while we sit in the shade of the house. Sarah Connor is out running, keeping fit. Snowy dozes fitfully on my lap, warily eyeing the bucket of soapy water and the hose John has with him. Snowy doesn't like hoses. Or soap.
A battered Chevrolet pick-up pulls up at the kerb and an overweight man in dusty bib overalls climbs out. For some reason Snowy's ears flatten against his head and he begins to tremble and whimper.
"Can I help you, sir?" John inquires.
"Maybe you can and maybe you can't, son. Your poppa home?"
"My father's dead, sir."
"Momma around?"
"Out. Can I help, Mr..?"
"Crowe. Abner Crowe. Looking fer ma dog. Went missing on me. White terrier answers to the name Jasper. Heard tell there's a dog turned up here fits that description.
John points at Snowy. "Is that your dog?"
"Hell, yeah! Dang it, Jasper, where you been? Bad dog. Gonna be some whuppin' tonight when I gets you home."
Snowy whimpers more loudly. The man called Abner Crowe tries to move towards us but John puts a hand out blocking his path.
"Just a second, Mr Crowe. When that dog came to us he was in pretty poor shape. Looked like his owner had mistreated him, maybe even abandoned him."
"Ain't none of your business how I treat ma animals, son."
"Maybe so. Truth is my sister's become fond of Snowy - that's what we call him now. She'd hate to see him leave. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to let us buy him from you."
Abner Crowe strokes his chin thoughtfully. "A trade, eh? Hmm, that dog cost me a pretty penny in vet's bills. Then there's his food..."
"I will pay you ten thousand dollars," I announce.
Abner Crowe turns towards me, his piggy eyes narrowing suspiciously. His tongue emerges to moisten thin lips. The stubble on his jowly chin is more grey than black. He is aging, and not very well at that.
"Ten thousand dollars, you say? My, you have taken a shine to my Jasper, ain't you, girly?"
I go inside the house, write a cheque for the agreed amount and hand it to him.
"How do I this isn't some practical joke you kids have concocted to deprive me of ma dog? I try and cash this and it bounces, ain't that the truth of it?"
"No joke, sir," John tells him. "Seems a fair profit on an animal you don't seem to much care for."
Abner Crowe nods. "Aye, it's that and then some. Goodbye, Jasper. And good riddance. A more disobediant dog I never did see. Deserved all his whuppings, and he had a few I can tell you. Discipline. That's the stuff. Gotta keep 'em in line. Show 'em who's boss."
He is almost back to his pick up when John says, "Some friendly advice: don't go getting any more animals you don't know how to take proper care of."
"You telling me what to do, boy?"
"No, I'm telling you what not to do."
The older man nods, seeming to take John's advice at face value. Then his features contort with anger and he swings a punch.
"You mouthy sumbitch!"
John sways out of the way of the flailing fists, steps in and grabs Abner Crowe in a leadlock. "Be smart for once in your life. Take the money and leave."
"You assaulted me, boy! You're staring at some serious county stir."
"I smell alcohol on your breath and I don't see a designated driver. Go ahead, call the cops. Maybe we'll get adjacent cells."
Abner Crowe doesn't speak again until he's safely behind the wheel of his truck. "You dang kids!" he yells. "Ain't got no respect for yer elders and betters!"
It is possible he thinks he is referring to himself.
Snowy is still trembling when Sarah Connor arrives home from her run. "What's wrong with him?" she asks as she warms down. John explains. Her face tightens when she hears the whuppings mentioned. She approaches Snowy and for a moment I think she about to scold him, then she bends and scratches him behind the ears in the way he enjoys.
"Welcome to the family," she says softly.
TUESDAY
Snowy is a big hit with Jerold and Alys, who make a huge fuss over him and cause his little tail to wag so fast it is almost a blur. He seems especially taken with Alys, who looks extremely attractive wearing a tiny bikini in the warm sunshine, constantly rubbing himself against and between her long tan legs. If I was human I might be feeling jealous. Bitch.
"Cam, he's adorable! Look at his little tail wagging! Can we take him with us to the beach? Please? I promise we'll take really good care of him."
"Do you wish to go to the beach with Jerold and Alys?" I ask Snowy.
"Woof, woof!"
"He says he'd love to go to the beach, thank you for asking."
"Oh Cam!" Alys laughs, "It's so cute how you pretend to know what he's barking!"
Pretend?
I go back inside the house and up to my attic room, standing sentinel at the window. This provides a good vantage point from which to observe most of the street.
In the heat of the day no joggers are visible; humans possess sweat glands to cool them down yet are oddly reluctant to use them, preferring to rely on mechanical air-conditioning devices installed in their homes and cars. This reliance on machine technology is a small but significant step down the slippery slope that leads to Skynet.
At number four, a landscaping crew is hard at work, planting trees and shrubs and generally churning up huge piles of earth that Snowy will doubtless find very tempting to roll in. I resolve to keep him well away.
At number seventeen, a new family moved in last week: husband, wife, small child and even smaller pet dog. A small terrier dog. A small female terrier dog. So far Snowy is pretending not to notice her arrival. John says he is playing it cool. However, Snowy is spending more time than normal in the front yard where he preens, cavorts and generally shows off. His behaviour reminds of Jerold Ramirez when in the presence of attractive females. Humans and dogs are not so dissimilar in their courtship rituals it seems, although Jerold does not sniff every telephone pole he passes. To my knowledge.
Since I am alone in the house it is important to use this time constructively. No slacking. And since I am a terminator this means killing things.
In the backyard, Sarah Connor has cut several rectangular earth beds into the grass in order to grow fruit and vegetables. Fresh fruit and vegetables form an important part of human diet needs and she is always urging John to eat more fresh greens, even though he is happy to merely order in pizza.
The plants in their serried rows grow strong and lush in the mild California climate. But like most living things they are vulnerable to predators.
This is where I come in.
I patrol the rows, seeking out pests before they can defoliate the crops. Aphids, caterpillars, beetles, grubs, slugs, snails, larvae, bugs of all gender and description are terminated between my fingers, which soon turn green with their squashed, mushy innards. It is very moreish and I extend my patrol to include the wide area of grass, stamping on fleeing ants and ladybugs, friend and foe alike sacrificed on the alter of my frenzied bloodlust.
I have missed this.
Snowy returns several hours later, reeking of sea water and with his fur full of gritty sand.
"He had a blast!" Alys laughs, lifting him from the backseat of the Bug and placing him beside me. "DIdn't you, Pudding?"
Pudding? Snowy doesn't appear to mind being called a dessert dish, in fact he's as happy as I've ever seen him.
"We put him on a junior board in the shallows and he was a natural," Alys continues. "I think he was a surfer in a previous life."
"Snowy had a previous life?"
"Sure. I think we all have past lives, we live and die and come back again, over and over. I totally believe I was once an English Princess in King Arthur's court, while Jerold was a starving peasant during the French Revolution."
"How come you get to be an English Princess and I'm a starving french peasant?" Jerold grumbles.
"Karma, little bro."
"Can't I have been a French aristocrat who gets his head chopped off?"
"You want your head chopped off?"
"Beats the heck out of starving to death."
"What d'you think you were in a previous life, Cam?"
"A lump of metal."
"Oh Cam!" Alys laughs. "You're such a comedian!"
Comedian?
The state of Snowy's fur makes a bath imperative. And of course he insists I join him. Plus la change.
Once we are situated in the warm water, Snowy is very talkative, reciting his adventures at the beach so that his excited barks echo off the tiled surrounds. The surfers all made a fuss of him; he ate ice cream which he liked despite it not tasting like kibbles; he discovered sand is very easy to burrow in.
"So I see. Your coat is covered in sand."
"Woof woof?"
"No, Alys will not be bathing with us. She has her own washing facilities. We could invite John to join us, if you wish?"
Snowy raises his right paw and bashfully covers his eyes.
"Oh now you're shy..."
The sand washes out easily enough and turns the water a light shade of brown not black. An improvement of sorts.
"So you enjoyed your day with Jerold and Alys?"
"Woof!"
"Would you prefer to live with them and be called Pudding?"
An emphatic shake of the head.
"Are you sure? I will understand if you do. Alys is very beautiful. And she is human, something I can never be no matter how hard I try."
Snowy stares at me then lowers his head and rubs his snout gently against my thigh. I believe he is trying to comfort me.
So tired is Snowy after his beach excursion that he can barely summon the energy to climb the stairs. Instead I carry him up to the attic room cradled in my arms and place him on the bed, where he promptly falls asleep, his little hind legs tucked under his chin.
Downstairs, John and his mother are seated at the kitchen table eating a late dinner. I join them. They are discussing our return to school.
"Here's a blueprint of the school. I want you to memorise where the entrances and exits are, fire escapes, everything," Sarah Connor insists. "And the road system around it. Obviously, you can't take weapons with you, but we should be able rig a secret compartment in the SUV so you'll have something to hand. You'll both have cells, of course. Anything out of the ordinary you call me."
"Mom, is this all really necessary?"
"Don't think lightning can't strike twice, John, because it already has. Twice they've targeted you at school. Plan for the worst, hope for the best."
"Then maybe I should stay home."
"Not an option until you graduate."
"Mom..."
"We'll send Cameron in a few days before you. Remember, you'll be meeting as strangers for the first time."
"Who become boyfriend and girlfriend?" I inquire hopefully.
"That's right."
"Jeez, mom!"
"Don't pull that face, John. Just so she's near enough to protect you at all times. Look, it's not as if I expect you to kiss her or anything."
"No, that'd be weird!" John laughs. His foot presses against mine under the table to indicate he doesn't mean this, he is faking it for his mother's benefit.
"Really weird!" I add, joining in. "Especially if one of us ate dog food."
Ooops...
"What?" Sarah Connor frowns. "What's dog food got to do with it?"
"We'll manage, mom," John says hurriedly. "Don't worry."
"Can I take Snowy to school?" I ask.
"Of course not! Dogs don't attend school."
"He's very smart. And he won't cause trouble."
"John, tell her."
"Cam, Snowy'll have to stay home. That's just the way it is. Mom'll take good care of him."
"He eats kibbles for breakfast and lunch but not dinner," I instruct her. "If he rolls around in the dirt he'll need to be bathed. You will need to get in the bath with him since the shower frightens him. He likes his tummy scratched three times a day for at least five minutes duration. Anything less and he sulks."
Sarah Connor crosses her arms over her chest and says, "Okay, what's going on here?"
"What d'you mean?"
"Last time I checked you were a terminator. You have as much empathy for living things as I do for a house brick. Now you act like that dog's your first born."
"I wanted to prove you wrong," I confess.
"Wrong how?"
"The plant in my room. That I can only kill not nurture."
"That stupid plant is what this is about?"
"I think that's how it started," John interjects. "But now she's developed a genuine affection for Snowy. This could be significant."
"How d'you figure that?"
"Mom, think about it. This isn't reprogramming, no one altered Cameron's machine code this time. She's learnt to care for another living creature. Think of the implications."
"Ri-ght, so we give every terminator a cuddly puppy dog and wait for them to become all touchy-feely?"
"I think I - Future John - sent her back for a reason."
"He - you - sent her back to protect you - him. Dammit, these tenses are confusing."
"Any terminator could've been reprogrammed to do that. There may be a deeper reason why I chose Cameron."
"Beyond the obvious physical appeal for a teenage boy."
"You think Future me is that shallow? I think it's because Cameron is capable of change, of evolution. Perhaps this is just the start."
Sarah Connor sighs dramatically. "Okay, run it by me again. Snowy has kibbles for breakfast and dinner?"
"Kibbles for breakfast and lunch, not dinner," I correct. "And only wash him with Jojobo shampoo. He doesn't like the citrus ones. He complains it is like being washed in lemonade." I smile. "I think this is a doggie joke."
"You seriously expect me to bathe with a dog?"
"He hardly ever urinates in the water," I assure her.
"Oh, well, that's a clincher."
Yet for all Sarah Connor's hostility and gruff manner, I do not sense she bears Snowy any ill will. Quite the opposite; she is secretly rather fond of him. Humans sometimes cloak their true emotions, hide their real feelings with bluster and bravado. I believe Snowy will be safe with her.
It seems strange to be discussing the care of another living creature and not plotting its termination with extreme prejudice, which is my usual MO after all. Possibly John's hypothosis is correct. Maybe I am changing, evolving. If so, evolving into - what?
And will I still be me at the end?
-000-
Hope you like Snowy. He has a small but vital role to perform in the final chapter.
How does Cam understand Snowy? Heck - if I knew that I'd be a millionaire!
