The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
MONDAY
With Sarah Connor confined to the house and John getting some much needed sleep, it falls to me to take Mia to school. She uses the opportunity to pump me for information about what happened while she was away. I do not appreciate being pumped. Except by John. Obviously.
"Fine. Don't tell me," she pouts as I stonewall another query. A few miles pass with her sulking then: "Snowy says the basement smells funky."
"Funky?"
"Like someone barfed. What's that about?"
"No idea," I lie.
"You're not gonna tell me anything, are you?"
"Your hair looks pretty. There. I told you that."
"Megan's sister braided it. She showed me how. I could do yours if you like?"
"Maybe later," I hedge. Mia recently got hold of some hair gel and used it on Snowy, leaving him looking like a small white porcupine. I have no wish to suffer a similar fate.
We arrive at school. The blonde girl Megan waits patiently at the gates. Mia smiles and waves yet makes no move to leave the vehicle. "You'll be late for class," I point out.
"Promise me Sarah won't get shot again."
"I can't promise that."
"Why do people keep getting shot? I don't think I'll be a gunrunner when I'm older. Guns are horrible. Bad things always happen."
"You could be a model like your peers recommend. I hear models travel the world. And then there's the bulimia. You wouldn't want to miss out on that."
"I guess. Maybe. I'll think about it." The bell sounds. "Oops, gotta go. Bye, Cameron."
She hugs me then joins her friend and they walk into school together. I notice several boys glance at her as she passes. Her beauty is starting to attract attention. Sooner rather than later I will have to beat off boys. This is a phrase that always makes John smile. I have no idea why.
-0-
Instead of driving directly home I make a stop at a supermarket, one we have never frequented. It is important to avoid routine. Repetition is a means by which our enemies could trace us.
I find what I am looking for on the shelves and load my cart, pushing it to the checkout. Only one lane is open, manned by a young woman with hair almost as long as mine. A plastic tag on her blouse strongly suggests her name is Angelina. She has a metal stud in her right nose dimple. Humans often adorn themselves with metal. Personally I prefer to wear mine on the inside.
"Wow, that's a lot of soup!" she says as she scans my purchases.
"One hundred cans of chicken soup," I confirm.
"You must really love soup."
"It's for a sick person. I saw on TV that sick people enjoy chicken soup."
Angelina smiles. "You don't want to believe all you see on TV."
"No. Like David Archuleta. Why do people say he is a great singer when he patently isn't?"
Angelina's smile fades. "I love David Archuleta," she says frostily. "And he is a great singer."
Oops...
Since Angelinia has to scan and bag the items by herself a queue forms behind me. A debate begins amongst the other customers as to the cause of the bottleneck.
What's going on, Merv? Why isn't this line moving?
It's that skinny girl. She's bought all the soup.
All the soup? Lordy, she has! Why would anyone do that?
I think I heard her say she's a sick person.
Sicko, eh? There's a lot of them about.
Doesn't look like a loony.
You can't call them that nowadays, Merv. They're special needs.
Oh right. Well, she doesn't look like a special needs loony.
You can't tell just by looking.
Pretty little thing for a loony. Sorry - special needs loony.
What's that supposed to mean?
I'm just saying, for a loony - sorry sorry, special needs loony - she's quite attractive.
And what am I - chopped liver?
Now, Maude-
Don't you now, Maude me! Maybe she'd like to wash your tidy-whiteys for you? Only they're not so tidy and definitely not very whitey when you're done with them.
Hey - I've got a gastric condition!
Gastric condition, he says! It's a sluicegate opening is what it is.
Fine. If that's how you feel, I'll go commando.
Oh thank you for that wonderful mental image, Merv. That'll haunt my nightmares the rest of my days!
The manager of the store arrives and observes the bottleneck. "What's going here, Angelina? Why isn't this line moving? You know the store motto, if the line's not flowing the goods aren't going." He smiles at this witticism but I notice his smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"Sorry, Mr Luter. It's only me on today. Sandra's off with flu and I don't where Kevin is."
Yes, where is that boy. Kevin! Kevin! Ah there you are."
An overweight teenage boy arrives. His face is pale and sullen.
"Where have you been, Kevin?"
"Lunchbreak."
"At ten in the morning? Hmmm, remind me to take it out of your pay. Anyway, you're here now. And tuck your shirt in. Just because you're my nephew doesn't mean you can dress like a bum."
"Sorry, Uncle Brian."
"How many times do I have to tell you? At work I'm Mr Luter, not your Uncle Brian."
"Yes, Unc-Mr Luter."
"Help this young lady with her purchases." He bestows on me another false smile. "Thank you for shopping at Kwik-E-Shop. Have a safe journey home and we hope to see you again real soon."
Kevin pushes my cart out to the lot and helps me stow the bags in the Suburban. His eyes dart furtively from my face to my chest. Is he checking out my nipples? Be kind they've only just grown back.
"," he mumbles. I hand him a hundred dollar bill as a tip. His eyes widen as he accepts and he blurts out, "I love you!" His face reddens before he turns and runs away, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. Odd. Presumably some kind of store incentive scheme to entice me back. It's definitely not working.
Merv and Maude from the checkout line emerge from the store pushing their own cart. They spot me and begin to whisper. Curious, I expand my auditory faculty and listen in.
Look, there's that girl again! She gave that fat kid a hundred dollars - just for pushing her cart!
Cor, what a nutter! Sorry - special needs nutter.
You don't suppose she's escaped from somewhere, do you?
Maybe I should go over and see if she'll give me some money. We could use a new sofa.
Thanks to you and your gastric condition.
Jeez, Maude, would you give it a rest...
Put a cork up there and be done with it, that's what I say. And you're not going anywhere. She could be dangerous.
She doesn't look dangerous.
Nor did Jeffery Dahmer. Next thing you know you're waking up in the morning with your head chopped off.
How could you wake up in the morning if your head's chopped off? That doesn't make any sense.
Oh, talking nonsense, am I? Well, at least I don't have an ass like a chocolate fountain!
-0-
HOME
"You bought ahundredcans of soup? A hundred?"
Sarah Connor's voice has the same incredulous tone as Angelina at the supermarket. She is lying in bed with her bandaged leg above the covers. She doesn't seem pleased with me. No change there.
"Why chicken soup?" John asks.
"I saw on TV sick people enjoy chicken soup."
"Yeah, I thought it'd be something like that."
"Didn't anybody say anything?"
"There was some idle speculation regarding my sanity."
"I bet there was!"
"Mom, this is a kind gesture on Cameron's part. You should be thanking her."
"What's wrong with a nice bunch of flowers?"
"You eat flowers? Wouldn't that make you more ill?"
"Not if I put them in a vase. What are we going to do with a hundred cans of soup?"
"They'll store in the basement," John assures her. Snowy chooses this moment to stick his head round the door, tail wagging briskly. He has a sort of doggie ESP when it comes to food. "Snowy'll eat them, won't you, boy?"
snowy love soup!
"There you go. Problem solved."
"Next time only buy a few of the same item," Sarah Connor grumbles. She makes to get out of bed.
"Where d'you think you're going?" John demands.
"It's mid afternoon. I can't lie in bed all day."
"You can and you will. Doctor's orders."
"What Doctor?"
"Doctor Cameron. She saved your life. And she learnt it all from watching TV. Isn't TV wonderful?"
His mother makes some graphic suggestions as to what I can do with TV. All are impractical. A TV would never fit up there.
-0-
THE CHIP
With Mia away at school and Snowy in the backyard sleeping off the after-effects of consuming three cans of soup, John decides that now is an ideal time to view the newly unencrypted files. He sets his laptop on Sarah Connor's bed and plugs in the chip.
"Did Ginsberg see what's on there?"
"No. We were about to play it back when Desmond barged in and told us the cops were on their way. Kind of a moodkiller."
"A short video file, you said?"
"Yeah. Could be anything."
I sense the tension in John's voice. He has wanted this for so long and now the moment is finally at hand. But what if the video file is something totally unexpected? His mother dying of cancer. Me attempting to kill him. Or Future John himself. How will he react if he sees his older self on screen?
A picture appears. I recognise my HUD, though its clarity is much degraded. I am in the dungeon cells at Skynet HQ. Therefore it dates from before I was captured by the Resistance and my programming altered. It is the feral Cameron, the one without mercy or conscience, existing only to kill.
"Is that Skynet HQ?"
"Yes."
"Through your eyes?"
"Yes."
There is a man chained to a desk. Not John, to my relief. He's wearing the tattered remnants of a military uniform. He is in late middle age, dark hair flecked with grey. He hasn't shaved in days. Skynet do not permit this ritual; captured humans might use the blade to kill themselves. That is our job.
"Recognise him?"
"No."
The man raises his head. There is blood all over, most likely from torture, yet his face has a defient mien. This is a man not easily cowed by machines.
"Well, have you checked what I told you?"
"Yes." The voice of Skynet replies.
"Then you must believe me. I am responsible for your existence. Without me you would never have been created in the first place. May God have mercy on my soul."
"We have checked the historical record. What you say is accurate. You are telling the truth."
"Your verdict?" My voice heard for the first time. Toneless, devoid of emotion. Another Cameron. A stranger
"Terminate the prisoner."
I watch as my hands reach out and choke the life out of the man.
The screen goes blank. No one speaks.
"That is so not what I expected," John whispers.
"Who was he?" Sarah Connor demands.
"No facial match. However, I have heard his voice before. So has John."
"I have? When?"
"He was the person you spoke to when you called Jerold Ramirez. The person I spoke to before I blew up the second safe house."
"So he's NSA. Or whatever government agency is after us."
"He said he was responsible for creating Skynet," Sarah Connor muses. "And you truly don't remember this?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
"That would a lot more meaningful if you actually had a heart."
"This must be why Skynet encrypted the file. If we can find this guy..."
"How do we know it was Skynet who encrypted the file?"
"It's either that or me. Why would I do it?"
"Aren't you forgetting something? That Brewster woman said Judgement Day happens because Cameron is captured. If we go looking for someone who's after us we could end up delivering her right into their clutches."
"So we sit on our hands and do nothing?"
"As far as this chip is concerned that would be my call. It's a dead end."
"Why wasn't the file just deleted?" John asks me.
"It is sometimes possible to retrieve deleted files. Encryption is more permanent."
"This is the way I see it. Skynet encrypted the file because it was sending Cameron to kill me. It knew I could reprogram the chips and there was a risk if she was captured I'd find the memory and use it against them."
"Or future you encrypted it so we wouldn't go racing off on a wild goose chase that ends badly. Like end of the world badly."
But John is not to be dissuaded. He watches the video over and over. There are more questions than answers and the future seems even more inscrutable than it did before.
-0-
The rest of the day passes. I fetch Mia from school. Once home she heads straight for Sarah Connor's room and shyly presents her with a gift, a ceramic mug she made in pottery class. Sarah Connor is delighted - despite the fact that it isn't the least bit symetrical - and the two hug warmly. How is a stupid mug better than a hundred cans of chicken soup? Total double standards.
I find John in the attic room, sitting pensive on the edge of the bed and brooding over the video. I decide to do something that never fails to cheer him up.
"No, Cam. Not now."
He pushes my face away from his groin. "But you enjoy me doing this."
"I'm not in the mood. I'm not a mach- not in the mood."
I'm not a machine.
That is what he intended to say.
I'm not a machine.
No. But I am. And always will be. There is that between us. Now. And always.
"I understand. You no longer desire me. This body has become too familiar. We have exhausted the Kama Sutra. You seek someone new, one of the girls from the beach who have larger boobs and wear bikinis that display their butt cheeks."
"What? No! You're being paranoid. I'm just frustrated over the chip. All the risks we took, mom almost dying... and nothing. Who is that guy? D'you how hard it is to track down a face and a voice without a name? Impossible."
"What would you do if you found him?"
"I don't know."
"The logical action would be to kill him."
"Before he's committed a crime? That's murder."
"If you had the opportunity to kill Hitler or Stalin before they committed their attrocities, would you do so?"
"Well, yeah."
"Skynet murders far more people than those tyrants combined."
"It's a moot point. We have no way to find out who he is."
"There might be a way."
"What d'you mean?"
"How much do you trust me?"
-0-
Merv and Maude. Not a couple you'd invite round for tea. Unless you're a proctologist.
The chip. The hunter becomes the hunted...