The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

SUNDAY

"Do CPR! Wait - I'll do it, you don't know your own strength."

John pumps his mother's chest with the base of his palms. "C'mon! C'mon! You're a tough bitch! Live!"

She is a tough bitch. The EKG resumes beeping. Back from the dead. Not quite like Jesus but close enough.

"Okay, she's stable." John rolls up his sleeve. "Hook me up. No arguments."

"Very well."

"How'd you learn to do all this? Were you programmed?" John asks as his blood begins to transfer through tubes to his mother's circulatory system.

"I watch medical shows on TV." I confess.

"Now she tells me!"

Sarah Connor's vital signs improve and the transfusion ends. Not before time, in my opinion.

I violated my primary mission directive: protect John Connor.

I feel dirty.

-0-

Sarah Connor's vital signs stabilise. John sits up and allows me to remove the needle from his arm. "Can we move her upstairs? She'll be more comfortable in bed."

"I believe so."

"Good. You do that. I'd better check on Ginsberg. A hundred mile journey in the trunk of an automobile isn't what billionaire's are used to."

Once John has left I go to Mia's room and fetch Ricardo the Robot. I don't have much time to do what has to be done.

"Greetings, friend Cameron. Do you wish me to entertain friend Mia?"

"I have a mission for you, Ricardo. One you will not be returning from."

"Very well, friend Cameron. Or may I call you...mother?"

"You may."

-0-

Sarah Connor wakes as I place her on the bed.

"What happened?"

"Your heart stopped for forty-six seconds. John revived you and gave you his blood." Against my advice, I don't add. "I repaired the bullet wound in your leg."

"I feel like shit."

"You look like shit."

"You've got a lousy bedside manner. Anything else I should know?"

"There is a ten percent chance infection will set in and your leg will require amputation."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? A chance to chop off my leg."

"Actually, no. Losing a limb would hinder your mobility and increase the likelihood of capture. It's important you remain bipedal."

"Your bedside manner truly sucks."

"It is what it is."

"Where's my son?"

"In the basement checking on Ginsberg."

"We need that chip, one way or another. If he's too squeamish to do what has to be done..."

"...I will do it for him."

-0-

I find John mixing a flask of some cloudy liquid. Davie is lying on the floor.

"What's that?"

"Salt water smoothie. To make him barf. Open his mouth."

Davie vomits almost immediately. No chip.

"Again."

The third time is the charm. The chip skitters across the floor. John picks it up. "Is this the chip?"

I examine it. "Yes." It is unharmed by the passage through Davie's digestive system.

John stares down at the prostrate billionaire. When he speaks his voice is tense with barely suppressed anger. Gone is the deference and respect of the previous day. No 'sir' or 'Professor' prefaces his remarks. He has watched his mother almost perish. He is in no mood for politesse.

"How much money is enough? How many billions do you want?"

"It wasn't about money," Davie retorts with as much dignity as he can muster when covered in his own sick. "That chip was my legacy. I'd be revered above Babbage. Berners-Lee. That bastard Gates."

"Is that what this was about - a pissing contest between billionaires?"

"You don't understand. The future-"

"You think you know the future? You don't know shit." He turns to me. "Tell him. Tell him how it is twenty years from now."

"In 2031 approximately ninety-eight percent of the current human population is dead, annihilated by nuclear holocaust. The survivors shelter in the city sewers where they are systematically hunted down by sentient machines called terminators. They will never stop until the last vestiges of mankind are erased from the face of the earth."

"No. That's science fiction. It can't be true."

"Oh yeah?" John tosses me a knife. "Show him. He deserves to know the truth."

I roll up my sleeve and make an incision just below the elbow. I extend the cut down to my wrist and peel back the layers of pseudo-flesh. I flex my fingers so the coltan rods move freely in their sheaths. Meccano has nothing on me.

"My God! You're a...a robot..."

"I prefer the term cybernetic organism." Why does everyone keep getting that wrong? We need better PR.

"That's why she hasn't aged. Why you never saw her sleep. She's one of them - a terminator sent back from the future."

"And the chip?"

"Her OS. Brain, if you like. There are many timelines. The ones where futuretech is exploited here in the present tend to end badly. That's why I couldn't let you keep it." John rubs his eyes. "Go check on mom. I'll clean up here."

-0-

I find Sarah Connor propped up in bed watching TV.

"They think it's a kidnapping. They're waiting for the ransom demand. The media are all over it. It's on every news channel."

On the screen is the Ginsberg estate in all its glory. Police guard the hole I smashed in the wall, keeping the reporters back. In the TV studio a short biog of Davie is played. From hippy dropout to software billionaire; notable philanthropist who donotes money to charities; bon viveur; patron of the arts; friend and confidente of Presidents. I wonder what these people would say if they could see Davie as he is now, covered in vomit on our basement floor a victim of his own hubris.

"Did you recover the chip?"

"Yes."

"They know about the Mercedes. A nationwide APB's been issued. Did John have the sense to use a false name?"

"You taught him well."

"Hide it in the garage. We'll ditch it later. What's the time?"

"Three AM."

"Mia has to be picked up no later than eight. It's a school day. He has to be gone by then."

"John knows what to do."

"There's no room for sentiment."

No. There never is. Not in our world.

-0-

"This is the place."

The Suburban slows to a halt outside an abandoned drive-in movie theater, its outer facade crumbling away. It is zoned for demolition, a victim of progress. People prefer to watch movies at home curtesy of Netflix or Hulu. A sign of the times.

A chainlink fence protects the property from unauthorised access. I snap the padlock to allow John to drive round the back.

"Put him here. Gently."

I take Davie from the trunk and lay him on the cracked tarmac where people once parked their vehicles and watched movies in the open air.

"Where are we?"

"Not important. When we're clear I'll call the cops and tell them where you are. Then you have a choice."

"Choice?"

"Whether to tell the truth. Future war and killer cyborgs with silicon chips for brains."

"They'll think me quite mad! My reputation-"

"Yeah. Your reputation. I wouldn't think George Lucas'll be your buddy anymore if you start spouting that stuff. Or you could do yourself and us a solid and tell them you were blindfolded the entire time. Saw and heard nothing."

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'll do the right thing by you."

"Here. You can have this back." John drops the Amex card at Davie's feet. "Not cut out to be a millionaire. I'm more a tee shirt and jeans kinda guy."

"He does look good in a white tee," I add.

"How's Desmond?"

"Broken collarbone. And wounded pride. He still can't figure out how a slip of a girl bested him."

"He's not the first tough guy to puzzle that."

John returns to the Suburban. Davie stares up at me. "So this is it. Our final goodbye."

"Maybe not."

"How so."

"If we cannot change the present then the future will play out as before. I will be sent back to 1969."

"Woodstock. I will see you dance again."

"It's a date."

-0-

Three miles down the highway John pulls over to the side of the road and takes out one of the disposable cell phones. He dials 911 and tells the police where Davie is located. He ends the call before any questions are asked. He gives me the cell and I crush it in my hand, dropping the detritus out the window.

"Man, when did I last sleep?" He rubs his eyes, voice weary with fatigue. "When this is over I'm gonna sleep forever and a day."

"Will you require a wakeup call?"

A smile. "Funny."

-0-

Despite his tiredness John insists on driving across town to pick up Mia and Snowy. She is all smiles and jabbers about the sleepover. Only I see the effort John is making to just stay awake.

"So you had a good time?"

"Awesome! Megan has her own playroom with an XBox and a plasma and everything! Can I have one? Can I?"

"We'll see."

"Megan's sister is so cool! She said I look just like Selena Gomez!"

"Do you want to look just like Selena Gomez?"

"Yah huh!"

"Did Snowy play with the bald beaver?" I ask.

"That's not what it means!" Mia giggles. "Megan told me it means-"

"You can tell Cameron later," John interrupts hastily. "Let's get you upstairs and ready for school."

Sarah Connor appears in the doorway, supported by crutches. She has disobeyed John's instructions not to get out of bed. Mia's smile abruptly vanishes.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing. An accident."

"Someone shot you, didn't they?"

"It's fine."

"It's not fine!" Mia bursts into tears. "First Mama. Then Papa. Now you. Why do the people I care about keep getting shot?"

John escorts her upstairs and returns twenty minutes later.

"She's calmed down a bit. It was the surprise more than anything."

"She said she cared about me," Sarah Connor muses.

"I was surprised too," I admit. This earns me a dirty look.

"Of course she cares about you!" John snaps, fatique and the stresses of the day giving his voice a harsh edge. "Cameron and I are pushovers and she knows it. You give her boundaries, scold her when she misbehaves. Every child needs a mom to do that. She probably loves you more than any of us."

For once Sarah Connor lacks a riposte. A rare occurence indeed.

-0-

I'm sure you figured out what C did to Sarah's leg. I'll leave her in blissful ignorance for a couple of chapters.

How old is Mia someone asked? I see her as on the cusp of puberty. She was raised in the Mexican barrens so she's slightly naive and in thrall to her more worldly friend.