The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
AUGUST
August arrives and school is out for the summer, meaning Mia is home round the clock. This requires someone to always be here since she is too young to look after herself and Snowy is deemed too irresponsible. He is far too easily distracted by food. Or other dogs. Or anything that moves or makes a noise. He has the attention span of a fruit fly.
John keeps his promise and takes Mia to the beach. However when it comes to visiting the new Mall in Reseda she requests I accompany her. This is because I permit her to buy whatever she likes. This is called being a pushover. It's only money after all. We return with heaps of clothes, toys, and fifty tubs of Ben & Jerry ice cream. Sarah Connor isn't impressed, even less so when Snowy consumes an entire tub and is promptly sick on the floor. I am ordered to clean it up. Since when do my terminator duties include cleaning up dog sick?
The media furore over the Ginsberg kidnapping gradually abates. Davie refuses all requests for a public interview and retreats behind the high walls of his Palm Springs mansion, leaving the media to speculate whether a ransom was paid and if so - how much? Five million. Ten million. Fifty million dollars are figures bandied about. The police investigation doesn't mention us by name. Nor is any security camera footage released. More signs that the government agency after us is using its influence to keep things under wraps.
Mia talks to her friend Megan every day on the phone and the two swap video messages. Yet she never loses the gnawing fear that Megan will cease to be her friend, usurped by the Van Buren girl who is also vacationing in Cape Cod. Human friendships are fragile and made more tenuous by absence and distance. Mia has suffered many losses in her short life and is fretful of another. On these occasions she turns to John for comfort since his peripatetic childhood means he can empathise. Sarah Connor's brusque advice to make some new friends only makes her more tearful.
WEDNESDAY
The time arrives for Sarah Connor to have the sutures in her leg removed. Predictably she is less than a model patient.
"Just watch what you're doing."
"That is my intention."
"Shouldn't you wear latex gloves?"
"My pseudo-flesh is perfectly sterile."
"Must you use that expression?"
"Sterile?"
"Pseudo-flesh. How hard is it to say skin?"
"Skin."
"There. Not hard at all."
"Will you require painkillers?"
"What d'you think?"
"Fine. Be a firm ass."
A smirk. "The expression is hardass."
"You don't like me very much, do you?"
"Let's see, you were created to murder my son and almost succeeded. Twice. You do the math."
I do the math. She doesn't like me.
The wound has healed well, helped no doubt by the cybernetic enhancements that optimize tissue regeneration. Not that I intend to tell her this.
Once the sutures are removed Sarah Connor tentatively flexes her leg. "Thank goodness they're out; the itching was driving me crazy. There were times I thought something was inside trying to get out."
Ricardo. "Just your imagination."
"Like you'd know anything about imagination."
She puts her pants back on but makes no move to leave. Odd. She normally can't wait to get away from me.
"John's still searching for that man, the government agent," she states quietly."
"Yes."
"There'll be trouble if he tracks him down. He'll try and persuade him over to our side, make an ally. Creed isn't like Miles Dyson. Dyson was a scientist; he believed in cold hard logic and the evidence of his own eyes. Creed is a company stooge, probably ex-military. He'll think we're trying to trick him."
"If the video is correct he's responsible for the formation of Skynet."
"All the more reason to keep our distance until we know for sure how it happens."
"Or a perfectly valid reason to end his life."
"Who encrypted the video file and why, that's what I'd like to know before we start handing out death sentences."
"There's no way of knowing."
"Says you."
"You doubt my veracity?"
"Where you're concerned, always."
She stands up and gingerly places her full weight on the right leg. "Feels good. No soreness at all. Maybe I'll go for a light jog."
"You should take it easy at first. Baby steps."
"Baby steps? Coming from you that sounds positively obscene."
What a charmer.
-0-
SATURDAY
Mia's head breaks the surface of the swimming pool and she gulps down great lungfuls of air. "How long was I under?" she demands.
I make a pretence of consulting the stopwatch in my hand although the time is right there in my HUD. "One minute twenty seconds."
"New record! I bet you couldn't beat that!"
This is a bet she would lose by a considerable margin. Try a hundred years. And then some.
The summer has been hot even by southern California standards and the pool is in daily use. Mia spends so much time in the water John suggests she is in danger of becoming a mermaid. A mermaid is half fish and half girl. I consider the likelihood remote but will continue to monitor the situation. A mermaid would bring many logistical problems. And she would likely be teased at school.
She swims over to the side of the pool where I am dangling my legs, experiencing the cool water flowing against my sensors. I feel her fingers inscribing random patterns on the soles of my feet. "What are you doing?" I ask.
"Seeing if you're ticklish."
"Am I?"
"You should know, silly."
"I feel no different."
"Then you're not ticklish. Not everyone is. I am. I laugh so hard I almost pee myself!"
I tell her a similar outcome is improbable."
She rolls onto her back and swims out to the middle of the pool, red swimsuit vivid in the translucent water. "D'you remember Mexico, where we first met?"
"Of course."
"The quarry lake with the raft?"
"Yes."
"D'you think the raft is still afloat?"
"It's possible. It was sturdily constructed."
"I bet it's lonely there all on its own."
"The raft is an inanimate object. It cannot feel loneliness."
"No?"
"Trust me."
"I still miss Papa. Will that ever go away?"
"I don't know."
"Is your father still alive?"
I hesitate. Technically my father or progenitor - Skynet - is yet to be born. I hedge my bets. "Possibly."
"D'you miss him?"
"We have issues." Like Skynet wants me to murder the man I love.
"I wonder what Megan's doing in Cape Cod? What time's it there?"
"Three fifteen."
"How come it's only one fifteen here?"
I explain about the different times zones and why they're necessary.
"You're really smart!"
"Yes, I am."
"I bet you were the smartest girl in school."
"Yes, I was." Modest much? Not me.
"Everyone says I'm the prettiest girl in school - except Emma Van Buren. Bitch. D'you think I'm pretty?"
"Your facial features have a pleasing symmetry."
"So I'm a hottie?"
"A proto-hottie. You won't be a hottie until you grow boobies."
"You said boobies!"
"So did you."
"I don't think I want to be a model. Megan says models don't eat and just walk up and down in a straight line all day long."
"You prefer something less strenuous?"
"Megan says I should try porno. You lie on your back all day and people give you shots of money."
"Shots of money?"
"Dollar bills, I guess."
I agree porno sounds a restful and lucrative profession.
"Look - Snowy's having another contest with Mr Tibbles!"
Snowy often has trials of will with Mr Tibbles, the cat that lives next door. Today they seeing who can stand on three legs the longest. So far Snowy demonstrates strong resolve, balancing with his front right paw held stiffly in the air. Then disaster strikes. A dog barks in the street outside and he instinctively turns in that direction to bark a reply, dropping his paw to the ground as he does so.
"Oh Snowy - you've lost!"
Realising what he's done Snowy bows his head sheepishly. Mr Tibbles walks away with his long thin tail swishing in a disdainful manner, the victor once more.
"There's my two favourite gals."
John emerges from the house carrying two cans of cherry cola. He opens one and tosses the other to Mia who catches it deftly in one hand. She no longer enquires why he never brings me anything to eat or drink. The cover story is I am watching the calories like a typical teenage girl. As if.
"I held my breath underwater for one minute twenty seconds!"
"New record?"
"Yeah!"
"Just be careful, okay? Don't try it unless someone's here to keep an eye on you."
"No problemo."
John smiles. It's an expression that seems to mean a lot to him.
The backgate opens and Sarah Connor enters the yard. She's completed her morning run. She wears her usual running outfit of trainers, shorts and singlet. "I think there's something wrong with my watch," she complains. "It's telling me I beat my personal best by over three minutes. That's impossible. An Olympic runner couldn't run that fast."
"Maybe you took a short cut by mistake?" John suggests.
"No, took my usual route. I haven't been sleeping that well lately - just two or three hours. Yet I've got all this energy. I feel like I could run another ten miles."
She goes inside to shower. John and I swap glances.
A thirty percent improvement in performance.
I may have to revise that figure upwards.
-0-
SUNDAY
Breakfast is over. Mia and Snowy are in the basement den playing a game of table fussbol. I hope Snowy doesn't swallow the ball again. It's getting old. And messy when it reappears.
I am loading the dishwasher when John quietly announces, "I've got a lead."
Neither Sarah Connor or I have to ask what he means. He has been obsessed with finding Rubin Creed for weeks now.
"I've been researching the conspiracy forums online. I've found someone who has information on Creed."
"Who?"
"He calls himself the King of Nerdz."
"Oh well, with a name like that he can't possibly be a nutjob."
"Not everyone on the conspiracy forums is crazy, mom."
"What's Elvis doing these days - shacking up with Bigfoot?"
"Bigfoot's gay?" I exclaim. Who knew?
"He's agreed to sell me what he knows."
"For how much?"
"A thousand dollars. Look, I know it's a long shot. He lives in Pasadena so what are we out - a tank of gas."
"And a thousand bucks."
"In the future humans burn money to stay warm," I declare.
Silence. This is called bumming people out. I'm very good at it.
-0-
PASADENA
"Here we are. Casa Grande Street, Pasadena."
John and I are in another rental car - a precaution Sarah Connor insisted upon. She isn't with us. She said to give Elvis and Bigfoot her best. I think she was joking.
"Look for number ten."
Number ten Casa Grande Street is a standard two-storey tract house, just like its neighbours. A short driveway and a front yard with a palm tree, its fronds moving lazily in the light breeze. We are less than two blocks from the freeway.
I am wearing my favourite boots, freshly laundered jeans and a new croptop. I want to look my best. I have never met royalty before. I wonder if I should curtsey?
"This doesn't look like the place a King would live."
"Guess the economy's hurting everyone," John grins.
A woman in early middle age opens the door. The Queen of Nerdz possibly.
"Can I help you?"
"We're looking for the - uh - King of Nerdz?"
"Oh you mean Erik. How d'you know him?"
"We met online. Is Erik your husband?"
"Lordy no! Erik's my son. He's in the basement. He doesn't get many visitors and I can't seem to persuade him to go outside. Maybe you'll have better luck. It can't be healthy being stuck down there all day."
We descend a short flight of steps. A boy with a pale face, long hair and a Megadeath tee shirt looks round from his computer monitor. He isn't wearing a crown. Bummer.
"You're the King of Nerdz?"
"Who wants to know?"
"I'm John. From online."
"Who's the girl?"
"This is Cameron."
"Greetings, your majesty." I decide not to curtsey. Erik frowns. Big mistake, I've offended royalty!
"How old are you anyway?"
"Sixteen next month. You bring the money?"
The envelope containing the thousand dollars is handed over. While Erik counts it I take a look around. An unmade cot bed. Discarded clothes. A tatty barcalounger. Shelves full of books. Comic books scattered around plus some adult themed magazines. The caption on one reads:
INSIDE! GIRLS WITH HUGE NATURALS!
Lucky them. Mine are neither.
"Hey - what's she doing?"
What I am doing is examining a weapon the like of which I have never seen before.
"Where did you get this?"
"Ebay. It's the phaser Sulu used in Wrath of Khan."
A phaser. I aim it at the wall and press the trigger. Nothing happens.
"Why isn't it working?"
"It's a prop, Cam. A fake gun used in movies. They add the special effects later." John explains
I replace the phaser on the shelf next to another adult themed magazine that is captioned:
INSIDE! WE'VE GOT MILKERS!
Honestly. Rub it in why don't you.
Erik says, "Okay, I'll start at the beginning. In 1969 Apollo 11 investigated a crashed UFO on the moon."
John holds up a hand. "Hang on, that's the plot to the new Transformers movie."
"Yeah, the government is using Hollywood to convince us to believe it's not real."
"Mom was right. This is bullshit."
"Wouldja let me finish? Armstrong screwed up and landing miles from the target. Apollo 12 was right on the money."
"Come on, seriously?"
"You ever see any video footage from Apollo 12?"
"Didn't the camera break or something?"
"Dude, get real. A billion dollar moonshot and they only take one camera?"
"Give me the damn money. We're outta here."
"These are the two aliens they brought back."
On the computer screen are photographs of Cromartie and a T-800.
"Uncle Bob!" John exclaims.
"What?"
"Uh - nothing. Reminded me of someone."
"These are aliens in humanoid form. Immensely strong. The one on the left was active 20 years ago. The other one as recently as three. They escaped from Area 51 in Nevada. There's a rumour a third's on the loose. A female."
"Is she pretty?" I ask.
"Don't have a photo of her."
"I expect she's pretty," I insist.
"What d'you know about Project Bluebook?"
"Uh - flying saucers?" John can't take his eyes from the screen.
"Right. In 1952 the USAF started investigating UFO reports. It was officially disbanded by Nixon in 1969."
"What's this got to do with Rubin Creed?"
"After 9/11, Creed was put in charge of investigating any threat to National security posed by so-called anomalous pheonomena."
"No, Creed is NSA not USAF."
"Dude, he isn't anything. He's unattached. He can call on any agencies for help and they have to provide it but he isn't officially part of them. No Congress is ever gonna question this guy. He answers only to the President."
"How d'you know all this? You're just a kid."
"The King of Nerdz knows all, my friend. Creed heads up a department called The Praesidium Project. Praesidium is Latin and means-"
"Protection," I interject. I am programmed to be fluent in all modern day languages and most old so-called 'dead' dialects. You should hear my Mesopitamian throat chants.
"Yeah, she's right. And this is the kicker - he's authorized to use whatever he finds to protect and serve this country. That's why he's got such a hard-on for these aliens. He wants them to head up an army. Like the freaking Avengers!. And there's a kid in Ohio can start fires."
"Anyone can start a fire. All you need is matches, gasoline and a bad attitude."
"Dude, this guy can start fires with his mind! Imagine someone like that behind enemy lines."
"I thought this was about protecting the country?"
"The best defence is a good offense. Football 101."
"Where can I find Creed?"
"Dude, haven't you been listening? This guy is serious bad news. He finds out you're looking for him you're likely to end up in the state pen. Or worse."
"You don't know how to find him, do you?"
Erik squirms in his seat. "He's kinda hard to pin down. He's totally off the grid."
John snatches back the envelope of cash. "No address no deal."
"Look - I might have a lead. Word is Creed has a daughter. Pre-teen. She goes to school right here in LA."
"Name?"
"Inga or Irma, something like that."
"Surname?"
"Don't know. Definitely not Creed."
"School?"
"Don't know."
"And you want a thousand dollars for a big heap of don't know?"
"Please, man? Since Pop left mom's been having trouble making the rent. I really wanna help her out."
"And this daughter's right here in LA?"
"Swear to God, man."
John hands back the money. He looks around. "Your mom says you never leave this basement."
"Why should I? Got everything I need right here."
"Yeah? What about sports?"
"Got my XBox. My man John Madden. I'm gee2gee."
"Gee2gee?" I ask.
"Good to go."
Gee2gee = good to go. I add this to my database.
"What about girls?" John asks.
Erik glances at me and at the adult magazines then, oddly, at an opened box of Kleenex. Possibly he has a cold. "I'm fine. Don't worry about the King of Nerdz. He rules all."
"Look, I know all this stuff seems real to you. I get it. I do. But there's a whole other world out there. And you might not have much longer to enjoy it. Plus you're looking kinda pale, dude. It's great weather. Go out and get some rays."
As John and I are leaving we almost bump into Erik's mother. She's carrying a tray laden with three glasses of lemonade and a plate of cakes.
"Not leaving so soon? I brought refreshments."
"Yeah, we live across town. Gotta beat the traffic. It's a nightmare this time of day."
"You'll come back surely?"
"Uh..."
"Oh please come back. Erik's a good boy, really. He just went off the rails a little when his father ran off with that slut from the bar. Then there was the bullying at school. Please come back and see him? He has so few real friends."
Erik's mother looks so forlorn that John smiles and nods. "We'll be happy to come back."
"Would you care for some cakes?"
"We're gee2gee." I announce.
"I'm sorry?"
"It means good to go," I explain. Duh.
As we drive home I say, "Why did you lie to his mother? We have all the information he can provide. We will never return."
"I know. Sometimes a little white lie is the kinder option."
So lies come in different colours and sizes. Interesting. I wonder what a large orange lie is like?
-0-
Mesopitamian throat chants. Love that line! No idea what it means.
