The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

FRIDAY cont.

"You're certain? You're absolutely certain?"

"I know what I saw."

"Damn."

We are home from the desert and I make my report directly to John. It is just like old times. Or future times.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

Daniel. He rufused my offer to drop him off downtown and insisted on accompanying me home. He is worried he has just witnessed Armageddon.

"Cameron saw a HunterKiller."

"I gathered that much. We drive all the way to the desert, stay five minutes, then race back here. No explanation. Nothing. I was bricking it, man, I thought it was the end of the world and the bombs were gonna drop."

John smiles grimly. "Not quite. This was probably a prototype. You weren't far from Edwards Airforce base and we know those things are in development before Jay Day."

"Or maybe Skynet sent it back through the time portal."

"No, that's impossible."

"Yeah? What's to stop them sending a whole squadron here?"

"We've been over this. Whatever comes back has to be encased in living tissue."

"So what do we do now? Call the CAA and ask how many HunterKillers they've got in service?"

"This is hardly something the Civil Aviation Authority would be involved in. It's a military project." John crosses to his laptop computer and begins typing. "I'm sending an email to Erik. If anyone has a headsup on this it'll be him."

"Who's Erik?"

"The King of Nerdz," I reply.

"The King of...Is she serious?"

"Erik's part of an online group that's into conspiracy theories and the Military Industrial Complex. That sort of stuff."

"How old is he?"

"Erik's fifteen."

"Jeez, you're looking for information from a kid?"

John looks up after sending the email. "You ever read the papers, Lieberman? A teenager got caught hacking the Pentagon mainframe. He only got caught because he boasted about it to his girlfriend. These kids as you call them know their stuff."

Daniel says, "My mouth's dry as hell. Can I cadge a drink?"

"Sure. Soda okay?"

"It'd hit the spot."

John takes two sodas out of the refrigerator and tosses one to Daniel who says, "Thanks, man. Hey, aren't you gonna ask if Cameron wants one?"

"Cameron doesn't drink sodas."

"Well, fancy that. Hey - where's Sarah?"

"Mom's out jogging. When the weather's fine she likes to put in the miles."

"This is southern California. The weather's almost always fine."

"Like I said, she likes to put in the miles."

The laptop pings, the sound an incoming email makes. John studies the screen and reports, "Erik. He has a contact called the Wizard who may know something. He'll get back to me."

"The Wizard. The King of Nerdz. Gee, why don't you enlist Gandalf and Frodo while you're at it."

"Do you think they'd help?" I ask hopefully.

"Look, I know how this must sound. Erik's cool. He helped us out before. Or tried to."

"Yeah? Doing what?"

"Just...helped us out."

"So you said. How so?"

John is silent, reluctant to divulge any information about Creed.

Daniel sighs in exasperation. "See, there you go again."

"What are you talking about?"

"Keeping stuff from me. Secrets. If I'm part of this then I'm part of all of it. I die for the cause, man. I die for the freaking cause! I think I deserve some honesty."

"Knowledge is a dangerous thing. If the authorities ever questioned you-"

"They'd think I was crazy. Cyborgs. Future war. Out of my gourd."

"Not everyone. There are some people, high ups in the government, who know about this. Some of it anyway."

"So the fake IDs aren't just to keep the monsters at bay."

"It depends on your definition of monsters."

Daniel finishes his soda and drops it in a waste bin. "Shouldn't we call Sarah and tell her what's happened?"

"She'll be back soon enough. Relax. Today isn't the day the bombs fall."

"Says you."

"Says me."

"How much warning will we get?"

A shrug. "We think there'll be a fair amount of media coverage. A computer system designed to protect the country from sneak attacks is pretty newsworthy."

"Yeah. The End of the World. Catch it tonight on CBS."

I say, "At least there'll be no reruns."

"So how many people know about this, apart from us?"

John gives it some thought. "Five people know at least part of it."

Becca. Ramona. Wanda. Mad Ellie. Davie Ginsberg.

"And no one's gunning for them?"

"Far as I know. Two teenagers lost their lives in a fire at a school we attended. Sometimes people get hurt no matter careful we are."

"A school fire? Here in LA?"

"Yeah. Couple of years ago."

"I think I read about that. They blamed it on some crazy embittered teacher. One of the survivor's wrote a book."

"Yeah. We knew her. Cameron's friend. She's one of the five."

"And they made a movie based on it. We've got it in the store. Starred Lindsay Lohan. And that limber chick from Firefly. Bombed and went straight to video. Have you seen it?"

"We lived it. That's enough."

The laptop pings again. John says, " Erik. That's quick. He says the Wizard spent last weekend in Nevada looking for UFOs."

"Ha!"

John ignores Daniel's snort of derision. "Found this instead. There's a video attachment."

John turns the laptop so we can all see the screen. A video plays back, grainy and blurred at times. A long tracking shot of an aircraft ascending without a pilot. A HunterKiller.

"Is this what you saw?"

"Yes. A very basic HunterKiller. In time the engines will be more powerful, the weapons nacelles larger and the antennas missing altogether."

"The antennas are probably so it can be controlled from the ground. One day they'll fit an AI and then we'll really have something to worry about."

The video ends. Another ping. John reads the email. "Erik says once the Wizard got home he posted this on his YouTube page. Inside an hour it was removed. Then his account was deleted and someone tried to run a backtrace on his connection."

"Hope he had the sense to use a proxy server."

"Like I said, these kids know their stuff. Even so Erik says they got within two nodes of tracing him. Too close for comfort."

"Who's they exactly?"

"USAF. CIA. Defence Department. Homeland Security. Take your pick."

John taps out a reply and closes the laptop. "If he hears anything more he'll get in touch. Nice kid. Needs to get out more though."

"While he still can."

"Yeah."

"So, mind telling me where Alison Young fits into all this?"

John is absolutely still. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you let that girl go to her death because the human version isn't compliant enough for your taste?

Two paces. A right hook. Daniel staggers backwards, attempts a feeble punch of his own. John blocks it easily and unloads another right hook to the stomach. Daniel collapses but there is still some fight in him. "What's the matter, General? Consience hurting?"

The fury is controlled but present in the tremble of his voice. "Get out. And stay out. You're not welcome in this house anymore."

Once Daniel is out of the house I examine John's hand. "Your knuckles are bruised. I will fetch ice."

"Don't baby me, dammit. I can take care of myself."

He almost runs up the stairs. I calculate whether I should follow and administer some TLC. I decide against it. He is angry. With Daniel. And possibly me since I divulged Allison Young's existence.

Oh Allison, even in death you continue to torment me.

Outside, Daniel is standing by the kerb, talking urgently on his cell phone. The afternoon sun casts his shadow slantwise across the sidewalk. A few minutes later a cab arrives and he climbs aboard. The cab drives away. I wonder if I shall ever see him again. And whether I should care.

-0-

TUESDAY

In the front yard is the garage. On the gable end of the garage just above the doors is an iron hoop. Behind the hoop is a plywood panel painted white. This is called a backboard. Attached to the iron hoop is a flexible chute of woven nylon thread, like a short diaphanous skirt. In a corner of the garage, left behind by previous tenant, is a rubber spherical object called a basketball.

Hoop + ball

I do the math.

Game on.

I have watched enough TV to understand the basic concept. Put the ball through the hoop and you win points. And games. And titles. And if you are a tall black man accrue wealth, prestige and an obligation to have items of clothing named after you. The cocaine habit is optional apparently.

I bounce the ball once, twice, the data streaming across my HUD. Size, mass, distance. The only variable is wind velocity, though today this is so negligible as to be irrelevant.

I toss the ball.

The ball enters the hoop and is slowed momentarily by the woven chute before hitting the ground.

Score.

The only cheering is inside my head.

I walk down the driveway to the sidewalk. My CPU notes the increased distance and the slight drop in level caused by the slope and adjusts accordingly.

Toss.

The soft swoosh of the chute expanding like a snake swallowing its prey.

Score.

I feel a moment of satisfaction at this demonstration of trigonometry and applied physics. Yet I crave a greater challenge.

I pick up the ball and walk to the end of the street, crossing to the opposite sidewalk.

Distance: 119 yards

Topography: 16 inches below datum

Obstacles: Parked Suburu. Hedges. Palm tree. Eucalyptus branches.

Still too straightforward.

I turn my back on the target and shut my eyes. My HUD shows a 3D rendering of the street delineated in green. The distant hoop glows red.

I toss the ball.

Wait 4.687 seconds.

The soft swoosh...

Score.

There is only one conclusion to be drawn from this activity.

I am one kickass baller.

WEDNESDAY

It is five days since we last saw or heard from Daniel Lieberman. No one in the house appears to note his absence unduly, too absorbed by their own preoccupations. Sarah Connor still broods on what I did to her leg. She spends a great deal of time poring over medical journals seeking a 'cure'. Ungrateful much? John continues to search the internet for more evidence of the prototype HK and is frustrated by the lack of information. Mia is full of a sudden enthusiasm for soccer. She isn't a very good goalie but has the makings of a decent outfield player. Posters of boybands that previously adorned her bedroom walls are replaced by soccer stars. Brandy Chastain. Lionel Messi. Cristiano Ronaldo. And an ugly troll-like figure named Rooney. Only Snowy feels Daniel's absence keenly as it means no Lulu. His whines and whimpers are mostly ignored or misinterpreted as pleas for more food.

Evening. John and I are seated on the sofa watching American Idol. Sarah Connor is in another room. Snowy and Mia are in the basement den watching soccer on ESPN. Occasionally we can hear Snowy's barks. He is having trouble understanding the offside rule.

"D'you suppose he's right?" John asks softly.

"Simon Cowell?"

"Lieberman. Do I send Allison Young to her doom so I can have you?"

"Allison Young is captured during a Skynet assault on the lighthouse, A Resistance stronghold. You do not send her to her doom. Doom goes to her."

"I know what happens. I could send her some place safe."

"The world is a war zone. There is no place safe."

The phone rings. In the other room we hear Sarah Connor answer it. A telemarketeer possibly.

"He's such a douche."

"Simon Cowell?"

"Well, yeah. Mostly Lieberman. I handled it badly. Let him rub me the wrong way. How the hell do I command an army if I let one jerk get to me like that?"

"You are not yet the man you wll become."

"You can say that again."

I oblige. John smiles. He seeks my hand with his. We kiss.

"You taste fruity. You haven't been using the dishwasher detergent as mouthwash again, have you?"

One time I did this. One time. And I never hear the end of it. And my mouth was zesty fresh, just as advertised on the box.

"Mia insisted I eat a bite of her Poptart," I explain. "I believe she intends to fattens me up."

"Take more than one bite of Poptart."

"Or several thousand."

"She's a good kid. She means well."

"So I surmised. The latino culture has many fuller-figured matriarchal figures."

"Mia said that?"

"Hardly. Her precise words were - you need more junk in the trunk." I pause. Then I ask: "Would you prefer me fuller-figured?"

"Huh?"

"Would you find me more attractive if my boobs were heavy and pendulous, my ass a wobbly gelatinous-"

"Stop, you're making me nauseous!"

"Many men enjoy such physical traits," I insist.

"Okay, fine. You pile on the pounds and I'll tell you if I prefer it that way."

I remain silent. He has called my bluff and we both know it. I can no more pile on the pounds than Kim Kardashian can hold down a regular job.

"Mom? What is it?"

Sarah Connor standing in the doorway. The look on her face tells me all I need to know.

Trouble.

"That was Daniel on the phone. He called from jail."

"Jail? What's that idiot done now?"

"He went to a bar last night and had too much to drink. Started yelling it was the end of the world and the machines were going to kill us all. When the police arrived he told them he was destined to invent a bomb that would save the world. That gave them due cause to search his apartment. They found the gun we gave him."

"Shit!"

"It gets worse. The gun was from the cache we took from Paradise and Leroy - remember those jokers? The police have found it was used in a homicide in Van Nuys two years ago. They're charging Daniel with murder one."

"He won't give us up. He's not that dumb."

"He's facing life imprisonment. We can't take the risk. I don't think we have any choice. We have to break Daniel out of jail."

-0-