The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

SUNDAY cont.

"Can I help you?"

Sarah Connor's finger loosens on the trigger. The voice belongs to one of the hikers I passed in the parking lot who has suddenly appeared on the dune trail. The pistol is slipped beneath the belt of her jeans and covered by the folds of her shirt before she turns to reply.

"We're fine."

"Sure? I'm pre-Med. If there's a injury I could-"

"I said, we're fine. Now get lost, Dougie Howser."

The hiker shakes his head and walks away, muttering under his breath something about dykes. Possibly he is of Dutch origin although I don't detect an accent.

I sit up carefully, ready to disarm Sarah Connor if necessary. "There are other hikers preparing to use this trail. If you destroy me you will have to dispose of my body. I am heavier than I look. You won't be able to manage on your own. If someone sees you the police will be summoned."

"Begging for your life. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I am not begging merely stating the facts. John would not want me destroyed."

"Don't tell me what he wants. I'm his mother."

"And you are acting irrationally. If I am destroyed he still has Cameron subprime. Nothing will have changed greatly."

"You mean that other you? I thought she was buried in the desert."

"She is. John knows the coordinates. And she is me, albeit with a year less memories."

"So she wouldn't recognise Mia?"

"No."

Sarah Connor is silent, pondering. Would Cameron subprime behave differently with Mia than I do? And would Mia notice and raise awkward questions? I believe she would. And so evidently does Sarah Connor. She motions for me to stand up. As I do so my cell phone rings.

"Is it John?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me."

I hand over the cell phone. "You press the green button," I add helpfully.

"I know how a cell phone works!" She puts it to her ear. "No, it's me...Your little bloodhound's fine...What? Why would I call Frank?...That's ridiculous, he knows where Mia goes to school...I'm okay...Not just yet...When I'm good and ready...Well, you'll just have to trust me...You want to talk to her?" She hands me the cell. "I'm going to take a walk. Don't follow me again. You got lucky this time."

"You okay?" John's voice. Familiar and concerned.

"I have sand in my pants," I admit.

"Come home."

"And your mother?"

"Let her be. We'll just have to trust her."

-0-

I return to the parking lot. Before I attempt the drive home there is something I must urgently attend to first. A task I label:

SAND, THE REMOVAL OF

I take off my boots, jeans and undergarments and give them a rigorous shake. Then I brush any errant grains from my lower body. The last of the surfers stares at me open mouthed. Odd. Surely he must have seen sand before?

"Nice wax," he says.

For a moment I am unsure what he is referring to. Of course, surfers use wax to increase traction on their boards.

"Nice wax," I agree convivially. "It gets slippery when wet." He stares at me open mouthed again. "You might fall in and drown," I add. No response. Obviously I am dealing with a retarded person. I reclothe myself and start the Cayenne. Honestly, you'd think such people would be supervised.

The return journey takes longer. It is early evening and the people who spent the day at the beach are now heading home. Or trying to. Tomorrow is a work day. A school day. All lanes are clogged. Even terminators are powerless in a traffic jam. I should've stolen a helicopter.

I arrive back at the safe house a 7.49 and park the Cayenne in precisely the same spot as I found it. Even the alignment is the same. Apart from the broken lock and the depleted gas everything is as it was before.

I find John in the living room. Mia is asleep on the sofa with Snowy curled at her feet, a white furry ball. I give a detailed report on the events of the day. John frowns when I tell about the ambush.

"You really think mom would've pulled the trigger?"

"Yes. The appearance of the hiker saved me. I believe his name is Dougie Howser. I should send him a thank you gift."

"I don't think that's necessary," John smirks. "Man, we should have told her. I should have told her. I had no idea she'd take it so bad." He indicates his laptop on the coffee table. "I've been doing some research. Turns out there's a medical procedure where the muscle can be replaced. All you need is a donor."

I nod. "I will go out tomorrow and find one."

"What? No! You can't just drag someone off the street. They use cadavers. People who have donated their organs in the event of their death."

Sarah Connor doesn't return that evening. John calls her cell repeatedly without success. Mia is fretful and leaves half her supper uneaten. Snowy is permitted to finish it. His tail wags gratefully. At least someone is happy.

MONDAY

John retires to bed at 2.00am. His mother is still not home. I stand at the attic window and keep vigil. I am under strict orders not to venture out and find an organ donor. Bummer. Terminating someone always takes the edge off.

The Suburban enters the street at 4.13am. I watch Sarah Connor enter the house, listen to her footfall on the stairs and the sound of flowing water in the pipes as she takes a shower. I hear her bedroom door close and then...silence.

At 5.05 Mr Tibbles lopes across the front yard. He pauses and looks up at my window, seeming to sense my presence. He has a small dead rodent in his mouth. I offer a small salute, one predator to another. Mr Tibbles crosses to his own yard. I know from previous observation he will not eat his victim. It is a trophy kill. He will play with it to fill an idle moment before secretly burying it. Not for the first time it occurs to me that this cat would make a fine terminator. Although the name would have to go. Who ever heard of a terminator named Mr Tibbles?

At 6.15am the paperboy weaves across the street on his bike, tossing rolled newspapers at the front doors. I hear a furled copy of the LA Times hit our own door followed by the scrabble of Snowy's paws as he hastens to retrieve it. Snowy has learnt not to chase after the paperboy who carries a water pistol for just such an occurrence. Once was sufficient to deter him. He's a quick learner.

At 6. Frank, our next door neighbor who's Porsche Cayenne I stole to follow John's mother, emerges from his house looking business-like in a suit with briefcase in hand. He spots the broken door immediately, opening and closing it several times as if not quite believing the evidence of his own eyes. He goes back inside the house and returns with his wife in tow. She is still in her nightdress and appears drowsy and not too pleased to be roused from bed. Frank demonstrates the broken door. Both seem puzzled by it as well they might. The broken lock suggests a robbery yet nothing of value has been has been stolen least of all the Cayenne itself. Neither think to glance next door or up at the girl regarding them from on high. The girl with the long brown hair. The girl with the butt that just won't stop.

John wakes at 7.05. He notices me at the window and asks, "Is Mom home?"

"Yes."

He sits up and rubs his eyes. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You need your sleep."

"I'm nineteen not nine years old." He begins to pull on clothes without bothering to shower. "Did you talk to her?"

"Not since yesterday."

"Probably for the best. Stay here. I'll go and see what mood she's in."

He's gone for twenty minutes. Nothing of interest happens in the street below, unless you count Snowy doing his business against a telephone pole.

John re-enters the room. "How is your mother?" I ask.

"Calmer. And you're never gonna be her favourite person, but we knew that already."

"She hates me."

"Since when has that bothered you?"

"Since never."

"I told her about the operation and going through the proper channels."

"And?"

"Well, she didn't tell me to shove it so that's something. I think we need to let her get there in her own time."

"Did I do the right thing?"

"You saved mom's life. That always gets my vote."

-0-

Mia is delighted Sarah Connor is back though she tries her best to act unconcerned. The giveaway is her not needing to be prompted to gather her books together for school or sneaking tidbits to Snowy under the breakfast table. She also saves her questions for the drive to school for which I draw the short straw.

"What happened to Sarah yesterday?" she asks before we have even left the street.

"She has personal issues."

"Where'd she go?"

"Zuma Beach."

"What's at Zuma beach?"

"Her Past."

"Huh? What's that mean?"

"It's a people thing."

"And what's that mean?"

When no answer is forthcoming she tries a different tack.

"How'd she kick the ball so far?"

For this I have a prepared answer suggested by John. "The soccerball was overinflated and if you catch it just right ti can travel long distances. And it was a windy day, remember?"

"Mia furrows her brow. "Was it?"

"Yes. It caught the breeze and flew a long way."

"How come Sarah blamed you?"

"She doesn't like me."

"becasue you're John's girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Mia nods accepting my lies at face value. Although it is hardly a lie since Sarah Connor does indeed dislike me intensely.

"Megan's sister is dating a biker. Her mom doesn't loike him either."

"Because he's a biker?"

"Uh huh."

Mia falls silent, staring out at the passing houses, the neatly clipped lawns of the Los Angeles suburbanites who live here. The sun shines out of a clear blue sky. It's going to be another hot one.

"How come you never eat anything?"

The question catches me by surprise but I recover well. "I eat an early breakfast and a late supper when you're asleep. It's my special diet."

"No, you don't. I asked Snowy to check up on you and he says you never eat anything."

I turn round and regard Snowy seated in back. He squirms and looks suitably abashed at being caught spying.

"I told Megan about you and she says it sounds like you're fasting. It's a religious thing. Are you religious?"

"No."

"Then why do you fast?"

"D'you think I would look this smoking hot if I ate like a pig?"

"I guess not!" Mia giggles. She seems molified by this reply. Thank you The Bold and the Beautiful. Where would I be without daytime TV?

Mia gazes down at her chest, plucking the loose material of her blouse with her fingers. "I wish my boobies would hurry up and grow. Megan already has her first bra. She says you can't get a boyfriend without boobies."

"Do not despair. I have seen a photograph of your mother. You have hottie genes," I reassure her. "You will not want for male suitors. Or female, if that is your bent."

"Other girls? Oh gross!"

"There are worse fates than to be desired."

We arrive at the school and I join a line of other vehicles driven by parents dropping off their children. The school run is a daily occurence.

"There's Emma van Buren. Look at her with her snooty nose in the air!"

The person Mia is referring to is a slim blonde girl with a pile of school books under one arm. Far from having her nose in the air it is tilted downwards as she studies the screen of a cell phone. Some impulse makes me give a short burst on the horn. The sudden loud noise startles the Van Buren girl into dropping her books.

"That was so funny!" Mia laughs. "Too bad it's not raining. Her books would be all wet."

Alas even a terminator cannot control the weather.

The Van Buren girl collects up her books and looks around for the source of the noise. "You little bitch! You made her do that on purpose!"

"Oh yeah? Try and prove it, Enema."

"It's Emma. And if my books are ruined I'm telling the Principal on you."

"seguir sus libros por el culo!"

"Speak American, you dirty refugee!"

"y una piña!"

A pineapple? Oh my, that would be a challenge.

I wait until all the other vehicles have departed and the children gone inside for their lessons before reaching behind and grabbing Snowy by the collar. I hoist him in the air until he is suspended just inches from my face. "Spying on me is unacceptable. Do not forget who I am. Or what I can do."

I drop him on the passenger seat. He curls up with his back to me. Have I just lost a friend? No matter. It had to be said. In the future betrayal is punishable by death. He is getting off lightly.

THURSDAY

Daniel Lieberman is blowing me off.

Twice now I have called him to arrange another weapons lesson in the desert and twice he has blown me off.

"I can't today. I gotta pull a day shift at the video store."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying!"

"Another lie."

A sigh. "You can tell, can't you? Some kinda fruity terminator juju."

I agree it's some kind of fruity terminator juju, adding, "Today I will teach you how to use an AK-47."

"Yeah?. It's just...it's hard for me to be with you when I can't, you know, be with you."

"But you will be with me. In the desert. Shooting AK-47s."

Another sigh. "I suppose it's better than nothing. You want me to pick you up?"

"Not necessary. I have the Suburban. Mia is staying late at school to try out for the soccer team. She wants to be a goalie like me."

"You were a goalkeeper?"

"The best. I won a medal."

"Just when I thought you had no more surprises!" Daniel laughs.

"You doubt me?"

"Not the least. In fact, I'm picturing you wearing soccer shorts right now. I might have to take a cold shower."

"Don't take too long. I will be there in twenty minutes."

-0-

Daniel is waiting outside his apartment block. He opens the Suburban's passenger door only to recoil in alarm. "Jeez, it's like a furnace in here! Did the the a/c break?"

"It's not switched on."

"You can't feel the heat, can you?"

"I can detect the heat. It is presently 106 degrees. Fahrenheit," I add helpfully.

Daniel gets in and turns the a/c on. My sensors register the swift drop in temperature.

"That's more like it!" he sighs with pleasure. "I prefer not to have my blood boil in my veins."

"Blood will not boil at 106 degrees," I point out. "Skynet conducts experiments and the boiling point of human blood is-"

"Stop! I don't wanna hear that!"

Odd. I find such information invaluable, especially when I have a flame-thrower to hand - which isn't as often as I'd like!

"How was your shower?" I enquire.

"My what?"

"You stated your intention to take a cold shower before meeting."

"Oh. That was, you know, a joke. I wasn't...I mean, I didn't have to..."

His face reddens and doesn't continue. I decide not to pursue the subject.

"So, how have you been?" he asks.

"Five by five. You?"

"Not so bad. We lost another guy at work last week."

"He went missing?"

He got fired. Let go. Downsizing, is the polite term. Business is lousy. No one wants to get off their lazy asses and visit a video store, not when they can stream whatever they want online."

"Bummer."

"Yeah. So what do you guys do for money?"

"I play poker."

"In Vegas?"

"Online." I explain about the software program I developed that allows me to see my opponents cards.

"Isn't that cheating?"

"There is nothing in the rules that prevents me optimizing my chances of winning."

"Only because no one imagined that could be done. How much do you win?"

"John restricts me to three thousand dollars a week. He says any more might attract unwanted attention."

"Three grand a week. I've gotta bust my chump for a fraction of that."

"I could give you a copy of the software if you wish?"

"Yeah? That'd be great."

"Of course, I will have to clear it with John first."

Daniel's face falls. "Goodbye easy money. No way that dude's gonna let it happen."

"You might be surprised."

"And pigs might fly."

I concede porcine aeroplanes are unlikely.

We drive on. The city recedes behind us, the suburbs thin and the land begins to appear in its raw form, largely unaffected by man's presence. Daniel shifts sideways in his seat staring at me, a slight smile on his face. "Are those new boots?" he enquires.

"No."

"New jeans?"

"No."

"New top?"

"No."

"You're even more difficult to talk to than a real girl!" he laughs. "Is your hair real?"

"Of course."

"Does it grow?"

"Yes."

"How about the rest of it? If you know what I mean."

I do. "Hair removal is a constant chore," I confess ruefully.

"Why program it in the first place?"

"It is important to appear as realistic as possible. For infiltration purposes."

"Yeah, I guess so. Are you based on a real person?"

"Yes. A Resistance soldier named Alison Young."

"What happened to her?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

"I thought you might be making tiny talk for the sake of it."

"Small talk, you mean."

"It's a fundamental need humans have to fill silences."

"A little, maybe. But I'm interested in this stuff. I'm interested in you."

"Very well. Allison Young was captured, tortured, interrogated, and killed. In that order."

"Ouch."

"She said more than ouch. There was a great deal of screaming."

"You were there?"

"I was doing the torturing. And the killing."

Daniel swallows hard and looks away, suddenly preferring the passing landscape to me. I can't say I blame him. His clumsy attempt at small talk has yielded more than he envisaged. Too much information, as the expression goes.

We drive several miles in silence. Then Daniel says, "A guy I work with at the video store suggested we ask the boss for Dental and maybe start a pension scheme. It was all I could do not to say forget it, man, in a few years this place will be rubble."

"Dental's good. You should not let the opportunity slip."

"Even if we're all blown to Hell in a few years?"

"We may yet find a way to prevent Judgement Day."

"I don't wanna speak out of turn or anything, but it seems to me nothing much is happening in that direction. There you all are, living in a nice house with a pool. The little girl's trying out for soccer league. The dog gets his daily walk. Sarah has her jogging. John gets to snuggle up with you. All very nice and cosy, and yet...how's all that gonna stop Judgement Day?"

"There are things happening you are unaware of."

"What things?"

"Things." John has instructed me not to mention our search for Rubin Creed or the reasons for it. It would merely complicate matters.

"You know, with this knowledge I have it's sometimes all I can do not to run out in the street and start yelling 'We're all gonna die!' at the top of my voice."

"I strongly advise against it. It would probably violate a zoning ordnance."

-0-

We arrive in the desert. I pull off the highway and park well away from prying eyes. Daniel opens the trunk and is surprised to find it empty. "I thought you said you'd bring AK-47s?"

"I did." I show him the hidden compartment where the weapons reside.

"Oh man, real secret agent stuff! You're James Bond."

"I prefer Pussy Galore."

"Don't we all!" Daniel laughs.

"You are a fan of Pussy?"

No reply. He is laughing too hard. Odd. The Bond movies aren't comedies. I will have to ask John if he finds Pussy amusing.

I prepare to unload the weapons when something attracts my attention. Above us the sky is a delicate shade of blue with not a cloud in sight. This perfect bowl is marred only by a faint contrail high in the stratosphere. A vapour trail running north to east. A passenger jet bound for LAX? A military aircraft on manouvers? I utilise my zoom facility.

A red alert lights up my HUD.

"Get in the car," I order Daniel.

"Huh?"

"Get in the car. We're leaving."

"But we only just got here!"

"And now we're leaving."

"Cameron, what is it? I saw you staring up at the sky. What did you see?"

I turn to face him before replying.

"HunterKiller."

-0-

Daniel not popular? Quelle surprise! You'll be pleased to hear he comes to grief in the next chapter.

Anyone watching a TV show called Continuum? Very TSCC.