The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

MONDAY cont...

It is two minutes since I informed John and his mother of the damage sustained by my fuelcell and that in 51 minutes it will reach critical mass and I will explode.

"There must be something we can do!" John insists. "What about Cameron sub-prime? Couldn't we swap her fuelcell for yours?"

"In theory, yes. But it will take too long to travel to the desert. And you would still face the problem of the leaking radiation when you tried to make the swap."

"We can't just stand by and let you explode!"

49 minutes and counting...

Sarah Connor asks, "How big will the explosion be?"

"Freaking big."

"How far is a safe distance?"

I do the calculations. "At least a quarter mile."

She nods. "John, we need to leave. Pack up your things. And fetch the dog. We'll take both vehicles."

John holds his head in his hands. "This is my fault," he says in an anquished tone of voice. "Cameron was right. We should've left immediately. Of course those things check all the media outlets. What was I thinking?"

"We need to leave. An explosion that size will be noticed."

"No! It can't end like this! I won't let it!"

"John, be reasonable. There's nothing anyone can do."

"No, you're wrong. I've got an idea."

John runs out of the house. Sarah Connor sighs wearily and begins packing. She deliberately avoids looking at me.

39 minutes and counting...

John returns five minutes later. He has several sheets of lead in his arms. "They were protecting the chimney up on the roof," he explains. "I can fashion a shield from them to protect against the radiation. I can save you."

His mother looks at me. "Will that work?"

"In theory. Lead will stop the majority of harmful radiation."

"In theory? You don't know for sure?

"I have never exploded before."

John makes an upright screen of lead sheet with holes cut for arms and a slit to see through. He makes gauntlets out of the rest to wrap around his arms. Sarah Connor frowns but makes no move to stop him. She glances frequently at her watch. I can tell her time if she asks.

32 minutes until I go boom.

"Okay,this is what we'll do," John announces. "I'll stay and fix Cameron. Mom - you take Snowy in the SUV and get to a safe distance. I'll call on the cells when I'm done."

"No."

"No? Mom, it'll work, I swear. Trust me."

"You're too valuable to risk this way. The entire future of our species might rest on you."

"I won't let Cameron explode!"

"I know you won't." She smiles sadly. "That's why I'll do it. I'll stay behind and fix her."

"Mom, the cancer..."

"I know. Maybe this is how it's meant to be. Maybe she's more important to the future than I am. She certainly seems to mean more to you than I do."

"That's not true!"

"No? She's your girlfriend, isn't she? She's the one you've been sleeping with not Ramona."

John nods. " How long have you known?"

"Since you brought Ramona home to meet me. An attractive girl just not your type at all."

"Maybe I don't have a type."

"And the way you acted when she was there. On tenterhooks. Like you didn't know how she'd act or what she'd say next. You barely touched her. It was as if she was a complete stranger. I knew something was wrong. What did you do - offer her a hundred dollars to pose as your girlfriend?"

"Try five hundred. And double that for the lunch." He smiles ruefully. "At least I've saved that. Why didn't you say something?"

"I was waiting for you to have the courage to tell me the truth."

"I'm sorry, it's just...strange. I love a machine. A machine I sent back from the future to protect me. It's not your normal boy meets girl."

"I just want you to be happy. And safe."

"Speaking of safe," I remind them. "Twenty-five minutes until I explode. No biggie."

John places Snowy in the SUV then comes back to say goodbye.

"Go." Sarah Connor insists. "We'll see you soon. No one's exploding on my watch."

"I love you both so very much. You have no idea."

Sarah Connor waits until she hears the SUV's engine start up and move away down the stony road. Then she turns to me. "Let's get started."

I remove my shirt and the tattered remnants of my bra. I use a knife to cut a t-shaped incision in my pseudo-flesh which I then peel back revealing the damage to my fuelcell.

"Okay, I see it," Sarah Connor declares from behind her lead shield. "What do I have to do?

"There is a coltan strut that divides the two halves of the fuelcell. It is out of alignment. It needs to be straightened so that it can function correctly."

"I think I see it. Right at the back?"

"Yes. Be most careful not to pierce the containment vessels."

"What happens if I do?"

"Critical mass will be hastened."

"By how much?"

"You will have less than ten seconds to get clear before I detonate."

"I see. Ten seconds to go half a mile. Basically I'm dead. How long do I have now?"

"Nineteen minutes and fifteen seconds."

She gets to work. I can't see or feel the pliers as she attempts to follow my instructions. I will have to hope she has steady hands.

"I think it's working. How are we doing for time?"

"Nine minutes and three seconds."

"Come on, come on! It's so stiff. You're a tough little bitch and no mistake."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Oh. Then I rescind my thank you."

The tiny flashing red icon in my HUD suddenly turns amber then green. "You have succeeded," I announce. "I am no longer in danger of exploding."

"And the radiation leak?"

"Sealed."

"How much time did I have left?"

"Forty seconds."

"Right to the wire, huh. I feel like James Bond."

"You do? Yes, I suppose you are quite mannish."

She frowns. "That's not what I meant." She takes out her cellphone and calls John. "It's me. Your girlfriend's fixed. You can come back now."

I reclothe myself, sealing my torn abdomen with black gaffer tape. Attractive? Not really. It will suffice until my pseudo-flesh has time to knit together.

Sarah Connor says, "So you're sleeping with my son?"

"I don't sleep. You know this."

"Having sex with him then."

"Yes."

"You can do that? Everything fits?"

"Apparently. Though occasionally when he becomes too excited-"

"Stop! I don't want to know."

"Then why ask?"

"At least I don't have to worry about the pitter-patter of tiny feet."

"No," I agree. "My feet are normal sized. And don't go pitter-patter."

This provokes a smile for some reason.

"How soon will I know if I've asorbed too much radiation?"

"When you get sick, or your skin blotches, or your hair falls out, or you drop dead suddenly."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine. So you and John are a couple? I don't get it."

"You don't get sex? You should date more. You are not without appeal."

"Not me. What's in it for you?"

"I like to please John."

"Because of your programming."

"I choose to please John."

"What's the difference?"

"There's a world in the details."

She nods. Maybe she understands what I have told her. Or maybe she's just humouring me.

"You realise you owe me."

"Owe you?"

"For not letting you explode."

"I see. And you require payment. Will you take a cheque?"

"That isn't what I mean. You. Owe. Me. Above and beyond. A personal debt. One day I might ask you do something for me that goes against your programming. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. One day. Do you understand the concept?"

"A personal debt. Not today. Probably not tomorrow. One day."

Sarah Connor nods. "You catch on quick."

"I'm a fast learner."

"She heads for the stairs. "I'm going to take a shower. I reek of flop sweat."

"Sarah?"

She turns. "What?"

"Thank you."

A curt nod. She goes upstairs. I hear the water running. I remain downstairs alone and alive when I expected not to be. Or rather I still exist when I had expected to be in tiny pieces scattered across the countryside. Not a good look for me.

The sound of the SUV drawing up outside. The door opens and John rushes in. We embrace, kiss, his hands fondle the back of my head, mussing my hair. I don't mind.

"You're okay?"

"Yes."

"And mom?"

"Taking a shower. It's too soon to tell if she sustained a lethal dose."

"I would've done it. I'd have taken the risk."

"I know you would."

We kiss again. Snowy enters, he tilts his head quizzically.

cameron not go bang?

"No."

good. snowy not want cameron to go bang. snowy hate loud noises.

-0-

Our lives return to a semblance of normalcy. Routines become established. Routine is very important to humans. Without it their lives lack structure and they become aimless and depressed. If there is no routine to begin with they will often impose it on themselves so that it is never lacking, always there to sustain and comfort them.

Sarah Connor soon has a routine set up. Every morning she dons her jogging outfit and departs on a long run. She is testing herself, pushing her body to the limit to see if it will fail her, almost daring it to. She appears to have suffered no ill effects from exposure to my leaking fuelcell. She is not sick, her skin is still tan and unblemished, and her hair is as thick as ever. But what is going on under the skin? In the organs and in the cells of those organs? Is the cancer already beginning to grow and spread to one day claim her life? There is no way of telling. Not yet.

John and I also have a routine that conincides with Sarah Connor's. When she is out jogging our routine takes place in the bedroom, bath, shower, sofa, kitchen table - anywhere we can lie down or lean against. As a precaution I have secretly installed a small app into her cellphone that will call John's cell if she is within a mile of us. It would not be appropriate for John's mother to walk in unexpectedly and catch us doing what we like to do. Her approval of our relationship has been hard won. We do not want to jeopardise it.

Today's routine takes place in the bedroom. "We have sucessfully completed 106 positions of the Kama Sutra," I inform John. "This leaves a further 106 still untried."

"Wow. You're keeping score?"

"Of course. I am - how do you say? - very anal."

"Wasn't that a position you deleted?" John quips. I ignore him.

"Today's position is called The Mongoose. Please remove any unnecessary clothing and all sharp objects."

"All sharp objects?"

I glance down. "Except that one."

Obviously.

-0-

Not everyone is enjoying themselves as much as we are. As the days pass Snowy becomes more and more depressed. He misses the old safehouse, misses Jerold and Alys who played with him and took him to the beach and fed him treats. He also misses the female dog who lived opposite and for whom he would prance and pose and generally show off. He misses all of these things and doesn't understand why they are no longer part of his life. It is hard to explain why this has to be the case.

"Woof, woof!"

John glances at his iPhone's screen. These words appear.

snowy go home today?

"This is home, fella."

snowy miss jerold and alys

"I know, boy. We do too."

snowy go home today?

John sighs. "Do we have any disposable phones left?" he asks me. "Yeah? Good. Bring me one."

I do so. "What are you going to do?" I enquire.

"Call Jerold or Alys. Maybe Snowy'll cheer up if he hears their voices."

He taps in the number. I stand close so that I can overhear the conversation.

"Hello?"

"Jerold?"

"The one and only. Who's this?"

"John from next door."

"John! Jeez, man, where you at? The cops are swarming all over your house. They're saying your mom iced some dude named Miles Dyson."

"That's a lie! Mom never killed anyone."

"That's what I said! Crazy."

"Are the cops there now?"

"Yeah. There's a squad car outside twenty-four/seven. No one goes in without their say so. What's go-"

Jerold's voice is abruptly cut off. Silence then a click followed by another man's voice. Older and more authoritive. Someone used to issuing orders. And having them obeyed.

"John Connor, I presume?"

"Who is this?"

"Never mind who I am. We want the girl, John. Cameron Phillips, or Baum, or whatever she's calling herself these days. Be a good little boy and hand her over."

"Go to hell!"

"Be reasonable, John. You haven't committed any major felonies. Hand her over and you get to live a normal life. No more running and hiding. Go to college and do all the stuff kids your age do. Drink and screw girls and all the rest of it. Hell, I'll even throw in an amnesty for your mom."

"Mom didn't kill anyone!"

"Then let her come forward and prove her innocence."

John stays silent.

"I thought so. Think of your country, John. The United States can' t afford to let that technology fall into the hands of our enemies. Imagine if the Ragheads got hold of her. Or the Chinese. Be a patriot and give her to us."

"You have absolutely no idea what you're dealing with!"

"Been listening to your mom, haven't you. I've seen the videos. The Day of Judgement. Machines rising up to kill us all. Listen,son, there's a Mac right in front of me on my desk and it ain't so much as said boo to a goose."

"Give it time, asshole, give it time!"

John hands me the cell. I crush it until nothing remains but shards of wire and powdered plastic.

-0-

Sarah Connor is equally unimpressed. "Those idiots. A normal life and a pardon? They think that's worth several billion lives, do they?"

"They must have the Ramirez house under surveillance. They'll probably shadow both of them to college just on the off chance we'll try and make contact again. Man, I hope I haven't ruined things for them."

"If we stay out of their lives they'll be fine. They must realise by now that we told them nothing."

"I hope you're right. Definitely means we can't go back. Not to OC anyway. How are we off for money?"

"Twenty thousand in currency. About ninety thousand in diamonds. Won't be much left if we have to buy brand new IDs."

"Cameron has some money."

"She does? How?"

"She's developed some poker software. Unbeatable."

"She gambles?"

"It's not really gambling when she wins all the time. It's how we could afford all the furniture and the flatpanel TV for this place."

"I'm called the Tin Miss," I tell her. "I kick poker ass."

-0-

We settle back into our routines. Snowy's mood seems to improve a little. He starts to acompany Sarah Connor on her early morning runs which if nothing else should take care of his pot belly.

I continue to monitor the LAPD via my spyware. The terminator attack on the school changing room has been dismissed as a drunken soccer fan causing trouble. It barely made the newspapers. The Lars Anderson murder investigation continues but with no new information or leads. Everything suggests a coverup is underway orchestrated at a higher level that the state police department. The only good news is that our school soccer team have won the league, despite the final match being abandoned at half time. Ramona has her college scholership after all. Way to go, girlfriend!

Supply wise we have everything we need bar fresh fruit and vegetables. These necessitate a visit to the nearest town's grocery store. John and his mother usually do this since they are the ones who will be eating the stuff. Snowy often accompanies them leaving me alone in the house. Here I do the daily chores while the TV is kept tuned to CNN.

A news item reporting the new British Prime Minister's visit to the White House - described as cordial and workmanlike, though both men seem uncomfortable in each other's presence and barely make eye contact. The Americans wish to build a series of early-warning radar stations on British soil, part of an new defence inniative entitled The Sky Net Project. The British Prime Minister's name is Cameron. It seems like an omen. And not necessarily a good one. This is then followed by an item of more pertinent interest.

"In other news," the pretty blonde newsreader announces in her bland, sing-song voice, "Eleanor Ryan, the 17 year old daughter of eminent defence attorney, Edward P. Ryan, walked into an LA police precinct today and confessed to the murder of missing teenager Lauren Taylor, also 17 and a schoolmate of Ryan's. Taylor's boyfriend, Michael Carver, is presently in police custody charged with her abduction and possible homicide. Attorney Ryan spoke of his daughter's actions earlier today."

The picture changes to show a man in a smart navy business suit talking to the camera. Mad Ellie's share the same genetically disposed black hair and green eyes.

"Sadly, my daughter has a long history of mental illness dating back to early childhood. This is merely another troubling episode. I can state categorically my daughter had nothing to do with any abduction or murder. My family will of course be ensuring she gets the very best psychiatric help possible. That's all I have to say at this juncture. Thank you."

The blonde newsreader returns and says, "Eleanor Ryan was unavailible for comment. It is thought she is being held at a secure psychiatric clinic near Fresno."

So without my threats to influence her Mad Ellie's conscience got the better of her. It is a strange thing the human conscience. Some people can commit the most terrible crimes yet live with the knowledge for years, the rest of their lives even, without a qualm. For others, Ellie among them, the burden becomes too great and they feel an overwhelming desire to confess their sins. Is a conscience a good thing or bad? I don't know. I require more data to form a consensus. However, Ellie's confession could well be bad news for us.

She knows the location of this safehouse.

-0-

Just how bad becomes clear two days later.

I am on patrol. It is early morning, first light. In the treetops of a distant woodland some roosting birds are disturbed and take flight. Odd. What should cause them to do so on such a calm day? I utilise the zoom function of my optic sensors. There, beneath the tree canopy, are men in camouflage uniforms moving silently through the undergrowth. Men with guns.

Soldiers.

John and his mother dress hurriedly when I wake them and tell them the bad news. There is no panic. We have planned for this eventuality. Everyone knows what we must do.

"We use the dirtbikes to go cross country to the yacht marina we scouted weeks ago," John states decisively. "There we'll steal a boat and head for Mexico. They won't be expecting that."

Sarah Connor nods in agreement. "We'll need a diversion. Something big that'll give us a decent headstart."

"No problemo," I declare.

"You wanna take a trip to Mexico, fella?" John asks Snowy.

mexico! snowy meet salma hayek?

"Stranger things have happened!" John laughs.

snowy love salma hayek! big boobies!

"I think someone's been listening to Jerold Ramirez!"

John, his mother and Snowy leave on the dirtbikes. Snowy's head pokes out of the backpack he is stuffed into on John's back. I wave him goodbye then go inside the house to arrange the diversion.

Ten minutes later an armoured troop carrier drives up the stony road towards the house. I allow it to go halfway then trigger the mines I have laid under the road surface. The troop carrier catches fire. The rear doors open and the soldiers inside leap out and run for cover lest they get burned alive. I take an Uzi in each hand and open fire, mostly short bursts at the ground in front of the fleeing men, careful not to hit any of them. One day they will be part of the human resistance and allies against Skynet.

"John! Sarah! Ceasefire and listen to me!"

A voice amplified via a megaphone. The same voice from the hijacked telephone conversation. I eject the spent Uzi cartridges and slot home fresh ones.

"What d'you want, secret agent man?" I yell using Sarah Connor's voice.

"We just want the girl, Sarah. Send her out to us and we let you and your son live."

"I don't believe you!"

"You have no choice, Sarah. I have fifty men out here. More are on the way. All armed and extremely dangerous."

"I'm pretty dangerous myself!" I reply and open fire again. The soldiers take cover behind the hedgerows. The amplified voice ceases yet I can still make out a conversation of sorts taking place. I max-out my audio receptors.

"Dammit, where is the heavy artillery?"

"On the way, sir. They're having problems with the terrain. These country lanes weren't designed for military flatbeds."

"Bring me solutions, son, not excuses."

"Yessir!"

"Where's the ionising laser?"

"Being deployed, sir. Should be operational in ten."

"Make it five."

"Yessir!"

"Reassemble the assault troops. Medivac the wounded. Obviously the element of surprise has been lost. I've read the history on this Connor bitch and she's unlikely to come quietly. It'll be room to room to flush her out. Lock and load. Three round bursts. Aim for center mass. The mother and the boy are expendible but I want the girl intact."

"Intact, sir? Don't you mean alive?"

"Son, if I did we wouldn't be here."

An ionising laser. A particle beam weapon able to discharge high voltage electricity. This makes me feel...what? Fear? No. Trepidation? Hardly. A grudging respect for their improved technology and an awareness that sustaining a direct hit may well disrupt my CPU and render me vulnerable to capture. These humans have demonstrated a knowledge of what high voltage electricity can achieve in regard to my operational capacity.

In the road beyond I hear the sound of another troop carrier approaching. Reinforcements. It is time to leave. But not without something to remember me by. I set the timers and exit via the backdoor.

I am two hundred yards away and travelling at 43mph on the remaining dirtbike when the house explodes. It's amazing what several pounds of carefully placed Semtex can achieve. Some of the roofing tiles fly more than a hundred feet in the air. And what goes up must come down. It will take the soldiers some time to sort through the mess and realise we weren't inside. I will be long gone.

-0-

We rendezvous as planned at the yacht marina on the coast five miles away. The place is busier than the last time we were here. The unseasonably warm weather has tempted people out of doors.

"Any trouble?" John asks as I discard the dirtbike and we head down to the pontoons.

"It is possible I violated the terms of the lease."

"How so?"

"I blew up the house."

"O-kay. Was anyone hurt?"

"Insufficient data."

"Guess we'll just have to hope for the best."

I nod in agreement though this seems illogical. Why would anyone hope for the worst?

-0-

There is a large, powerful motorboat moored at the seaward edge of the marina. On the pontoon beside it is a man I judge to be the owner. He is middle-aged, bald, wearing white shorts and a white polo shirt with a tiny crocodile motif woven to the cloth. He must like reptiles very much.

"Keys," I demand holding my hand out.

He frowns. "What?"

"Keys," I repeat.

"Listen, I don't know who-"

"No time."

I lift him up by the ankles and give him a good shake. His shirt rides up exposing a pale, blubbery stomach that wobbles unattractively. A set of keys fall from his pocket.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

I drop him in the water. It is a nice day for a swim.

We climb aboard. John unties the mooring ropes while I start the engines. There are four powerful outboard motors at the rear of the vessel, each capable of producing 200bhp. That is 800bhp in total. It should suffice.

Once clear of the marina breakwater I turn to port, heading south towards Mexico.

"Keep as close to the shore as you can!" Sarah Connor yells above the engine roar. "That way the coastal radar won't pick us up!"

I do as instructed and open the throttles to their fullest extent. The craft surges forwards leaving a trail of frothing white spume in our wake. My hair blows back, tossed every which way by the headwind. Bummer. I only washed it last night and it is the very devil to get right.

The vast city of San Diego passes to port. A flotilla of small sailing craft appear in front of us and jockey to get out of the way of our churning wake. Several capsize. The sailors yell and give me the finger. I return the gesture. I wonder what it means?.

Sarah Connor joins me at the wheel. Her hair also streams out behind her head. I wonder if she has washed it recently? Unlikely. She is a bit of a slob.

"This thing has GPS!" she yells to make herself heard. "We've just entered Mexican waters! The Feds have no jurisdiction here!"

John joins us leaving just Snowy below decks. He smiles at me and I smile back. The craft hits a wave full on and he is almost knocked off his feet.

"How is Snowy?" I ask.

"He's loving it!" John grins. "Says he wants a boat like this for christmas!"

"I will have to notify Santa Claus. Does the North Pole have a zip code?"

John laughs. Was it something I said?

"How much fuel do we have left?" Sarah Connor asks.

I check the gauges. "A quarter tank's worth."

"At this speed it won't last long. Need to find land soon."

"Man, this is the only way to travel!" John exults as we power through the waves. The wind causes his shorter hair to swirl around his face. He looks so handsome. Impulsively I lean over and kiss him on the lips.

"Hey! Eyes on the road, captain!"

"Road?"

"Sea. Ocean. Whatever."

"I recognise this headland," Sarah Connor announces pointing at a rocky outcropping in the near distance. "There's a cove behind it with a sandy beach. John used to build sandcastles there when he was very little."

"I did? I don't remember."

"You were very small, still in diapers."

I say, "John wore diapers?"

"It was that or poop himself."

"Mom! Please stop, I beg you."

"I can't imagine John wearing diapers." It's true; I can't.

"Oh yeah? Check me out in sixty years time."

"I will," I promise him. "I will change you daily."

We pass the headland. There is the beach. It is wide, sandy and deserted.

"Put us ashore here!" Sarah Connor orders.

I obey, turning the craft in a wide arc so that we are heading directly for the beach.

"Ah Cam, you might want to slow down a little..."

I ignore him and keep the throttles wide open.

"Shit! We're gonna hit! Brace for impact!"

We hit the beach at maximum speed. The four outboards break off when they ground in the shallow water. Our momentum carries us up the beach a further fifty yards, plowing a long, deep furrow in the sand. We slow and then stop. The powerboat tilts slightly to port.

"We're ashore," I announce in the sudden silence.

"No shit!"

"No," I agree, "definitely no shit."

We jump down onto the sand. No one has witnessed our arrival save for some small children at the top of the beach. They stare at us open-mouthed with surprise. Snowy barks a greeting. He loves small children because they generally pet and make a fuss of him.

"What now?" John asks his mother.

"There's a vacation resort two miles away. We head there and steal a vehicle."

"And then?"

"Then we find Miquel."

"Oh man, I haven't thought of Miquel in years. You think he's still alive? He was pretty wild."

"Guess we'll find out one way or the other."

"Suppose he doesn't want to help us?"

"He will."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Miquel once proposed to me."

"Marriage? God, mom, why have you never told me this before?"

Sarah Connor smirks in my direction. "You two aren't the only ones with secrets

-000-

Okay, so they could have extracted Cam's chip and dug up Cameron sub-prime. Maybe in the heat of the moment John forgot. Or maybe the writer's a complete numpty, Lol! Anyway it was more dramatic this way.

Note the conclusion of the Mad Ellie plot thread. Didn't really pan out as well as I envisaged. In my head she was a much more sympathetic character. Oh well. Maybe she survives Jay Day in her Fresno nut house(!)