The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

THURSDAY

I am outside in the yard. It is raining. The rain is heavy and persistent and falls directly down from the dark clouds above. Torrential rain of this intensity and duration is comparatively rare in southern California, though not as rare as in Arizona or New Mexico. Therefore it is imperative to take advantage of this opportunity while it lasts.

I stand naked in the rain, arms outstretched, face tilted upwards and my eyes closed. The sensation this produces in my artificial sensorium is hard to describe on paper. A kaleidoscope of sensations far greater than merely sticking my bare feet out the window of a moving vehicle and registering the airflow across my bipedal sensors.

It is night. Good. The human nudity taboo would prevent me standing naked in the rain during the daytime. But at night all is dark and quiet. Everyone is indoors and asleep. No one around to see----

"Cam?"

Evidently I am mistaken. Not everyone is indoors and asleep it seems.

"Cam, is that you?"

A female voice coming from the yard next to ours. Alys Ramirez.

"Hello, Alys."

"It is you! I thought I saw someone out here."

I open my eyes. Alys is sheltering under a bright yellow rain slicker held protectively over her head to shield her from the deluge.

"What are you doing outside in this weather? Hey - you haven't got any clothes on!"

I try and explain about standing thus in the rain, the pleasure it gives me, the sensations.

"Are you high?" she asks cryptically.

"Five feet five inches."

"I meant have you been smoking weed?"

"No."

"Just checking. And you're not cold?"

"I don't feel the cold."

"Awesome wax, by the way. How'd you get so smooth?"

"Orbital sander."

Alys laughs. "Ask a stupid question! Want company?"

"No."

"Pity. You gorgeous straight chicks drive me crazy, especially when you nude up."

The rain makes a pitter-patter sound on her yellow slicker.

"Euch! Some water went down my neck! I'm gonna leave you to it. Night, Cam."

"Night, Alys."

She returns to her house where I hear two voices urgently engaged in conversation: one Alys the other her brother, Jerold.

"What's going on? Is it a burglar? Should I call the cops?"

"It's Cameron from next door."

"Cameron's out there? In the pouring rain? Let me see."

"You're not going anywhere, mister."

"Why won't you let me see her? Is she okay?"

"She's stood naked in the rain. Some kinda New Age hippy thing, I guess."

"Oh. Well, that's al---wait. What did you say?"

"Some kinda New Age hippy thing."

"No, before that. Cameron's naked?"

"Yup, not a stitch on. Just letting the rain pelt her. Weird."

"Alys, if this is some sort of sick joke..."

"I'm serious, she's naked as a jaybird. A pale, slim, sexy jaybird."

"Oh. My. God. She's...with her...you can see...OMIGOD! Get out of the way, Alys."

"Na huh. Lech much? Give the girl some privacy."

"Alys, I'm begging you get out of the way."

"Nope."

"I'll give you a thousand dollars to let me pass."

"You haven't got a thousand dollars!"

"All right, I'll do your chores for a month."

"No way, creep."

"Alys, I have got to get out there. Cameron might - er - be lost."

"In her own backyard? Yeah, right! I thought it was the mother you liked?"

"Sarah and I have an open relationship."

"She blew you off, didn't she. Gee, what a shocker."

"We're free to see other people, that was my interpretation. Now please get out of the way."

"Nope. It's a girl thing. Solidarity against pervs."

"Fine. Be a bitch. My room overlooks the yard. And I've got really powerful torch."

"Torch? Ha! Is that what you call it these days?"

A light goes on in an upstairs room.

"Cam!" Alys yells. "My stupid brother's on the prowl. You might want to cover up."

I lower my arms and walk back to the safe house. As I do so a torch beam arrows out from next door, its bright cone of light seeking someone who is no longer there. I hope Jerold isn't too disappointed.

As I walk in Sarah Connor is seated at the kitchen table chewing on a stick of celery. Sometimes when she finds it difficult to sleep she will come down and eat celery. Apparently some property in the celery can cause drowsiness. I have offered to tap her on the head and render her unconscious, but she always refuses to permit this. Go figure.

"You look like a drowned rat," she informs me.

Do I? I have never seen a drowned rodent so cannot tell if this description is accurate. I will have to take her word for it.

"Any particular reason you're not wearing clothes?"

I explain about the rain and how it triggers my sensors in strange and unexpected ways. I expect her to laugh or mock only for her to surprise me by nodding and saying, "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"When I was a teenager I'd hike to the beach and sleep out under the stars. When I looked up at the night sky, saw how space seemed to go on forever, my skin used to tingle. 'Course, I was pretty stoned too."

I recall Alys' remark. "You smoked weed?"

"I did a lot of stupid things back then."

She takes off her dressing robe and offers it to me.

"Put this on. You're dripping all over the floor."

I put the robe on. Outside the torch beam continues to strobe about at random.

"Is that lightning? I didn't hear any thunder."

I tell her about Jerold and his peculiar urgency to join me. She laughs. "That boy so needs a girlfriend! Preferably one his own age."

Sarah Connor continues to nibble on the celery stick. She doesn't appear drowsy. Perhaps the celery is defective. She should ask for a refund.

"I've decided John should return to school in the Fall. He's a smart boy. He deserves a chance to graduate."

"I agree."

"You'll protect him of course, but you won't be posing as his sister this time."

"Why not?"

"If people are after us they might think to check brother/sister combos. I still want you to protect him. You can pose as his girlfriend with a completely seperate identity.

John's girlfriend...

"As for college...we'll see. If we can't stop Jay Day how much warning will we get?"

"Several months. The Skynet Defence Shield is discussed on many technical web forums. Not everyone approves."

"Good. If the worse comes to the worse we'll need time to bury supplies and arms caches in the mountains, the deserts, anywhere they'll survive the bombs and be available to the Resistance."

"I'll make a list of suitable sites."

"Good."

I move towards the stairs, intending to dry off and put clothes on.

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"What's he like? John. In the future."

"Handsome. He often forgets to shave but this only makes him appear more rugged."

Sarah Connor stares down at the tabletop. "And he's the leader of the Resistance?"

"From sea to shining sea."

She nods. "I find it hard to imagine. I know it's true. But still..."

"He has a picture of you. In his bunker. He carries it with him wherever we go."

"Does he have anyone?"

"He has me."

"I mean, does he have a wife, a family?"

"No. There are many demands on him. He says it would not be fair, not while the war continues."

"There was a girl he liked - Kate. After Riley. I never met her. What was she like?"

A skank...

"She wasn't his type."

"He was upset to leave her behind. What choice did I have?"

"You did the right thing. Katherine Brewster was trouble."

"He's known nothing but trouble his whole life it seems. He deserves a Kate."

Or a Cameron...

MONDAY

It is over a week since John and I broke into the NSA house in Culver City. John regularly checks the tracker he placed on their car and they have not come within ten miles of us, which is the range of the device.

John has not called Kate Brewster. Each night while he sleeps I check his cell phone call log and monitor outgoing calls on the landline. She lives in the San Fernando valley, too far away for him to get there and back without my noticing. So far he appears to be keeping his word not to contact her.

So far.

Jerold Ramirez no longer bothers Sarah Connor. No more flowers or chocolates, most of which ended up in the trash. He has finally got the message she is not interested in him. Instead he shows an interest in the weather, specifically rain. He is looking forward to the next time it rains, he tells me, winking. I do not know why. Perhaps he wants to be a weatherman when he is older.

Sarah Connor has spent the past couple of days constructing an armoury for our weapons below the floorboards. It is cleverly concealed, invisible to the casual glance yet easily accessible should the need arise. John congratulates his mother on being a good carpenter.

"Like Jesus," I point out.

"Not that kind of good," he replies.

They both laugh. Again, I don't know why.

Alys Ramirez has made several attempts to lure me to the beach to watch her surf. I have declined all. This makes her grumpy and short-tempered with me. I ask John why this should be so.

"This is the girl who told you she's in love with you?"

"A little bit in love with me."

"With love it's often all or nothing. She probably feels rejected, like you're blowing her off. What did you do to the poor girl anyway?"

"Nothing."

"Come on."

I review my memories. There is nothing untoward in my behavior.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes you can be a bit of a tease."

"I can?"

"Unintentionally."

"I'll keep it in mind."

AFTERNOON

I spend the afternoon in my room programming upgrades into a primitive laptop computer and beefing up the processor speed. This is necessary because compared to my advanced CPU Windows 7 sucks ass.

There is a knock on the door and John enters.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"It felt kinda weird earlier, that stuff about you being a tease, so I wanted to check you're okay."

"I'm okay, thank you for asking."

"So we're cool?"

"We're better than cool, we're golden."

John looks puzzled. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know."

"Then why say it?"

"It seemed appropriate."

"Cam, you've got to stop saying stuff you don't know the meaning of just because you hear someone say it."

I nod. John is right. He is so wise. And handsome.

"What's this you're doing?" he asks glancing at my laptop. "Is that poker?"

"Texas Holdem."

"You play online poker? You call yourself-" He peers at the screen. "--The Tin Miss?"

"Everyone else does."

"Is this an actual game?"

"Yes. $50-$100 No Limit."

"But...I can see the all other player's cards."

"I made some adjustments to the software. It improves my chances of winning."

"How often do you win?"

"All the time."

John laughs so hard tears run down his face. "Okay, I'll bite," he gasps. "How much have you won?"

"Today? $15,385."

"And overall?"

"$56,723."

John laughs again. This time I laugh along with him. It is a nice moment we share together. Later, when he leaves, I access it. A moment captured in time. A moment like no other. Pristine and unique.

Recorded. Cached. Indexed.

I play it back at my leisure. Over and over.

It gives me a happy.

NIGHT PATROL

Most nights I patrol the neighborhood around the safe house, alert to any danger be it human or machine to John's safety.

Within a one mile radius live 85 dogs, mostly kept as tame pets. They whimper and whine and run away when they sense my presence. There are 143 cats. Most stand their ground, bare their teeth and hiss at me as I pass by. My kind is not popular with animals.

On a street corner at midnight I encounter a man selling drugs to anyone and everyone who has the money to buy. He tells me his name is Loose Fit and that he is the Candyman King of the Universe who will make all my dreams come true.

I do not believe this is his real name or title.

I tell Loose Fit to leave the area and not come back or I will kick his sorry ass. He grows angry, then truculent, calls me a whitebread bitch, and threatens to scare me so bad I will soil my pretty pink panties.

I sincerely doubt this.

Loose Fit draws his gun, a blinged up revolver studded with tiny semi-precious stones that sparkle and glitter in the streetlight. It is very pretty but ineffectual. I disarm him and kick his sorry ass as promised. He has only himself to blame.

I take Loose Fit's body to the beach, careful not to get sand in my crannies, and deposit it in the ocean. Offshore currents will carry him down the coast where he will likely be washed ashore, bloated, cold and very dead. I have no objection to humans apart from John ingesting narcotics, but Loose Fit's presence would ultimately have attracted police attention.

This I cannot permit.

At 6.00AM the sky in the east is beginning to lighten with the first rays of dawn. I head home.

As I enter my street a silver Porsche passes me and comes to a stop outside the Ramirez house. Alys climbs out of the Porsche. She is wearing a short dress of some thin, shimmery material that displays the flawless length of her long legs. She often spends the whole night away from home, usually in the company of girls every bit as beautiful as she is. Like attracts like.

This time it is different. The girl in the Porsche stays there. Alys leans down and they talk. I can only discern Alys' side of the conversation, but judging by the petulant tone of her voice the two girls are arguing. I blend into the shadows and listen.

"...I saw you with her so don't lie to me, Rosalie. You know I hate it when you lie...well, that's not how it looked to me...now you're just plain lying again...do you like hurting me like this?...well, perhaps we should...good...I don't care...no, I do mean it this time...go, just leave...have a nice life, Rosalie."

The Porsche moves off with a squeal of rubber tires. Alys watches it leave then sits down on the kerb. She puts her head in her hands and begins to cry.

Though she projects a hard, confident exterior inside she is soft, like a marshmallow. Becca Shaughnessy was the exact opposite: soft and vulnerable on the outside but possessed of a steely inner core. Sarah Connor is hard both inside and out. I wonder which type they prefer, and if they have a choice in the matter.

I wait until her sobbing has subsided then step out of the shadows and approach her.

"Oh! Cam, it's you. You startled me."

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"You're up late. Or early. What time is it anyway?"

"Six thirty."

"But you didn't look at your watch."

I pretend to examine my watch.

"Six thirty."

Alys nods, rubs her eyes dry and smudges her mascara in the process. "God, I must look a fright. What must you think of me."

"I think you are beautiful."

It is true. Alys' face has a symmetry and delicacy of feature the majority of human females would envy. A heartsquasher indeed.

"You're sweet but I feel anything but beautiful right now. Did you ever care for someone, really really care, then discover they like someone else more than you?"

Me. John. Kate Brewster.

"Yes," I admit.

"Hurts real bad, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

She shivers. I remove my jacket and drape it round her shoulders for warmth.

"Thanks. It's a chilly night. Morning. Whatever. I'm all mixed up."

"You'll be fine."

"Would you like to go dancing with me some time?"

"Ballet?"

"More down and dirty than ballet."

"I don't do down and dirty."

"Shame."

She stands up, leans close and kisses me, pressing her soft, full lips against mine. Her hand explores between my legs, fingers delicately probing. I make no response, standing immobile until she backs away. She smiles sadly, her beautiful face unnaturally pale in the dawn half-light.

"I wish you liked me the way I like you."

Alys moves toward her house and goes inside.

She tastes of alcohol and breath mints.

TUESDAY

Kitchen. 8.00AM. I am busy fixing John his breakfast pancakes. My secret ingredient? A drop of vanilla essence in the batter mix.

Sarah Connor comes down the stairs, a dressing robe worn over her normal bed attire of boxers and plain white tee. Her legs are long and lightly muscled and seldom pock-marked by bullet holes. Unlike mine. Envy much? Yes.

"John up?"

"Not yet."

"That boy's getting lazy."

"He needs his rest."

"I knew you'd stick up for him."

She prepares her own breakfast: cereal and skimmed milk. She doesn't care for my pancakes. Good. All the more for John.

John rises at 8.14. He has bed hair and is also wearing boxers and plain white tee like his mother. They suit him better.

"Do I smell pancakes?"

"Your favourite."

"Maple syrup?"

"Plenty."

"OJ?"

"Chilled and freshly sqeezed with the pulp removed. How you like it."

"Thanks, Cam."

"You're welcome."

Sarah Connor mutters something under her breath that sounds like 'get a room'. But we are already in a room. The kitchen. I must have misheard.

John reaches for the newspaper I have left beside his plate. I have already read it from cover to cover. It took 9.3 seconds.

"Anything new?" he inquires.

"Try page eight."

He turns the pages then exclaims: "Hey, it's Becca!"

There is an article about Becca Shaughnessy and how she has sold the movie rights to her story of how she survived the school massacre. Hollywood is going to make a movie. She has kept her promise and not divulged what actually occurred on the night the Whitford terminator attempted to kill John. Instead she has concocted an elaborate lie that makes her seem more heroic than she really was. This is good. Humans are as disposed to believe a big lie as they are a small one. In the process Becca has become a minor celebrity, something she always dreamed of being. She is even rumoured to be dating a member of a boy band, whatever that is.

"It says here Lindsay Lohan's going to play Becca!"

"She'll be pleased. Big fan of the Lohan."

"Wonder who'll play me?"

"Someone handsome."

"And you?"

"Someone with bigger boobs."

"How come?" John laughs.

"Hollywood exaggerates everything."

John and his mother finish their breakfast meals. I load the plates into the dishwasher.

"We're low on groceries," Sarah Connor announces. "Who's up for a supermarket run?"

"I am," I tell her.

She frowns. "I don't think so. Last time you bought ten gallons of pancake mix."

"John likes pancakes."

"Not ten gallons worth. No, I'll go. We need---"

The sound of someone hammering on the door comes from the front of the house. We all react the same way: calmly selecting guns from the floor armoury. John tosses me a fresh clip for my Glock. I ram it home and make certain there is a live round in the chamber.

"I'll answer it," Sarah Connor whispers. "John, stay here. You come with me and stay out of sight."

We approach the front door. The hammering has ceased but we can see the shadow of someone standing outside. I press my back against the wall so as not to be seen. Sarah Connor cinches her robe tight and opens the door, pistol held behind her back.

"Can I help you?" I hear her say to the person outside.

"Oh God, it's you, isn't it? I am so in awe of you. We all are."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're Sarah Connor. You're an inspiration to us all in the Resistance."

"You've made a mistake. That's not my name."

"It's okay. Really. I'm on your side. Our side, I mean."

"Who are you?"

"My name's Kate. Kate Connor. I'm from the future. I'm John's wife."

-000-

Hmm, Future Kate. An alternate timeline, natch.

Cameron enjoying the rain. An extension of that odd scene in the show where she hangs her feet out the jeep window and suggests she's experiencing sensuality. A wild concept, one explored in Japanese anime, yet we don't hear another peep about it.