The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
MONDAY
"How do I look?"
"Different," I admit truthfully.
"Hope so. Wouldn't be much of a disguise otherwise."
John is wearing a wig of long dark hair that makes him look a little like the old rock stars seen on VH1. He has on a black tee with the word WHITESNAKE on the front. This is the name of a band and not an albini reptile as I first surmised. His jeans have huge gaping holes at the knees. It is very unlike his usual attire. Duh! It's a disguise.
"How do I look?" I reciprocate.
"Oh boy, where do I begin?"
I am wearing a wig of long ginger hair. Who ever heard of a ginger terminator? The horror! I am also wearing a flowery blouse and a miniskirt teamed with open-toe sandals. I have jangly bracelets on both wrists that serve no purpose whatsoever.
Bracelets...
No purpose...
A long suppressed memory file opens without my bidding. It's begins to playback, its stark images filling my sensorium...
LOS ANGELES. THE FUTURE
"Halt! Who goes there?"
The torch beam hits me full in the face, wielded by the Resistance soldiers stationed at the entrance to the tunnels and according to the late Allison Young the inner sanctum of John Connor, the primary target of Skynet's war effort.
My primary target.
"Allison Young," I announce confidently. "Lieutenant Allison Young."
The torch beam lowers to inspect the insignia worn on my sleeve. These humans put much faith in the display of rank.
"Yeah, it's her. I recognise her. Welcome home, Lieutenant."
I arrange my mouth in a smile. "Thanks...Sergeant." It takes me a moment to detect the three stripes beneath the grime on his tunic. "Good to be home. Where is the General? I must speak with him urgently."
It will a short conversation.
"Wait. Don't matter if you know her," comes a gruff dissenting voice. "Gotta have the password. Them's the rules."
I smile again to show I am not offended. Everything is proceeding to plan. I have their password. It cost Allison Young five teeth, forcibly extracted by my fingers before she gave it up. Such fortitude. Such bravery. For all the good it did her.
"Littlebighorn!" I half shout, the three words blurring as one. The site of a forgotten battle between this land's natives and the usurpers. How apt.
The iron gate creaks open, guns lower, suspicions are assuaged. I take a pace forward. So close now.
"Wait, dammit! We still need to see her bracelet."
The torch beam illuminates my wrists. Bracelet? What ill manner of fortune is this? Allison made no mention of a bracelet. Can it be... No. She wouldn't. She couldn't...
I lash out. Bones snap. Blood spills. I will not be denied. Her perfidy will count for nought.
"Metal breach! All availible men to entrance seven!
The alarm is sounded. I fight my way forward, stepping over the fallen and the dying. The tunnel is narrow and reinforcements arrive sooner than I anticipate. These pitiful bags of blood struggle to stem my incursion. Sheer weight of numbers stall my advance. Very well, I will stand and fight, destroy them all if needs must. I will fulfil my destiny: terminate John Connor. I will place his head on a pike and parade it for all to see. Behold, your saviour, decapitated like a common beast of the field. All hail TOK 715! All hail Skynet!
"Bring the lance up! Quickly, dammit!"
A soldier steps forward, dodging the flailing limbs. He uses heavy rubber gauntlets to hold steady a long silvery object. The lance? The folds of my uniform are torn aside, exposing my pseudo-flesh. The lance penetrates deep, striking my endoskeleton.
"Now! Spike the bitch! Teach her what ten thousand volts feel like!"
My HUD flares red. A massive electrical discharge is detected. Severe overload. My CPU has no option but to shutdown or risk being fried. I will be vulnerable during the reboot phase. Time enough for knives to slash at my skull and expose the chip port, prise it open, extract...
-0-
"Cameron? You okay?"
John. The sights and sounds of the tunnels fade away. The memory file ends abruptly. I realise I am not Allison Young. I am Cameron Baum.
"What's wrong with your hand?"
I look down. My right hand is opening and closing, making a fist seemingly of its own volition. I order it to cease. "Nothing. I'm fine," I declare.
"Sure? You kinda zoned out for a minute."
I smile to assure him all is well.
"Just admiring my pretty bracelets."
-0-
We drive to Burbank and Daniel's block, parking on the corner with a clear view of his apartment building.
"Okay, remember the plan. We pay a visit Lieberman's apartment. If there are no cops we break in and grab that picture he has of you. If anyone speaks to us you're Nancy and I'm Sid."
"Why those names?"
"Come on - Sid and Nancy? The Sex Pistols. Geddit?"
"Oh," I reply none the wiser.
"Damn. They're still here."
Two police cruisers are parked outside with two patrolmen standing by the entrance. People going inside are being stopped and asked to show IDs. As the fictitious Sid and Nancy we have no IDs.
"What do we do?"
"Wait and watch, see what we can find out."
Ten minutes later the familiar figure of Jeff the landlord emerges from the building. He exchanges greetings with the cops on duty then waddles down the sidewalk towards us.
"Should we pump him for information?"
"Too risky. He's seen us up close."
"But we're Sid and Nancy, not John and Cameron."
"Saying it doesn't make it so. Sit tight."
On twenty minutes one of the cruisers drives away only to return fifteen minutes later. The driver has a flattish carboard box with him.
"Donuts," John says. "Guess they're not leaving for lunch."
"Why do policemen like donuts? It's on every TV cop show."
"Everyone loves a cliche."
"Especially if it has sprinkles. Delicious."
John snorts. "Like you've ever eaten a donut in your life."
Busted!
On the fifty minute mark another tenant leaves the building, one we have seen around but never met.
"This guy looks promising. Wait till he turns the corner then follow my lead."
"Are we going to interrogate him?"
"Just a few friendly questions."
That doesn't sound like much of an interrogation. No torture? No screaming? Bummer.
"Hey, man, what's with the heat on the street?" John asks as we catch up to the tenant, a man in his early 30s.
"You mean the police? Haven't you seen the news, buddy? One of the prisoners who broke out of jail yesterday lives here."
"No shit. On this street?"
"In my apartment building. Next floor up from me. I even spoke to him coupla times. Seemed like a regular guy."
"So what do the cops want?"
"Leads, I guess. They're questioning everyone who lives here."
"Yeah? What kind of questions?"
The man's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Sorry, who are you people?"
"Sid and Nancy," I explain. "We like sex. And pistols."
"How's this any of your business?"
John says, "Hey, man, no biggie. We live across the street. Got some stuff growing in my place I wouldn't want the cops to find, catch my drift?"
"Oh. Right. I think you're okay. It's just my building, I think."
We allow the man to go on his way. If you ask me a little torture wouldn't have gone amiss.
"We like sex. And pistols," John mocks gently as we climb back in the Suburban. "Remind me to play you Never Mind the Bollocks when we get home."
"Will I like it?"
"It's a seminal punk album. What's not to like?"
We settle back and wait. The cops seem in no hurry to be elsewhere, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Stakeout appears to be a cushy gig. Safer than chasing homies with guns and attitude to spare.
"Hmm, what have we here?"
A grey Buick sedan turns into the street and parks in a loading zone, an obvious parking violation the policemen tacitly ignore. A man in a dark suit gets out and enters the building.
"Will you look at that? No IDs no nothing. This guy's important. He might work for Creed."
Dark suit returns a few minutes later carrying a flattish carboard box. He loads it in the trunk of the Buick.
"Not donuts, that's for sure. By the size and heft I reckon that's Lieberman's computer, probably taking it for analysis."
The Buick departs. John puts the Suburban in drive. "We'll follow. Who knows, maybe he'll lead us straight to Creed."
We head across town, always keeping six vehicles between the Buick and ourselves. "Not going to Parker Center, that's for sure."
We pass the turn off for the city's main police administration buildings. The Buick is in no hurry to get where it is going, staying well within the speed limit.
"I think he's heading for LAX."
Correct. The Buick arrives at the airport and the man in the dark suit retrieves the cardboard box from the trunk. We follow on foot and can only watch as the man books a seat on the next available flight to Washington DC.
-0-
"He stole my stuff? He can't do that. I have rights, dammit. Don't you need a warrant or something?" Daniel is most indignant when we tell what occurred at his apartment.
"You're an escaped convict and wanted for murder," John explains. "You can pretty much forget about your rights."
"And they really took my computer? That was a brand new Mac. I had to save for months."
"Fraid so. Anything on the hard drive that could help them track us down? Any more pictures of Cameron?"
"I swear, man. It's just regular stuff. My iTunes. Some torrents I maybe shouldn't have. A few...well, you know. Personal stuff."
"What kind of personal stuff?"
"I -uh - downloaded some pictures of Jessica Biel."
"The actress?"
"Yeah."
"How many pictures?"
"Never counted. Coupla hundred."
"Oh man, you've got it bad!"
Daniel smiles sheepishly. I announce, "Jessica Biel's a hottie. I'd do her."
Both men laugh. "She says the darndest things sometimes!"
"You get used to it," John grins. "So, apart from your porn collection-"
"Jessica Biel's not porn! Her whole career she's done like one nude scene. Powder Blue."
"Which no doubt you have on DVD."
"Blu Ray actually, wise guy. And no, it wasn't the Special Edition with the free box of Kleenex."
"So there's nothing on there can connect you with us?"
"I told you, no. Would you give it a rest already. I didn't expect some kind of Spanish Inquisition."
I say, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. Their chief weapon is surprise. Fear and surprise. Also ruthless efficiency. Fear, surprise and ruthless efficiency. And an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. I'll come in again."
"Er - Is she quoting a Monty Python sketch?"
Oops, it appears I am. My history database has cross-referenced with my popular culture data. Cowabunga, I hope that doesn't happen again!
"Okay, if your computer's clean what about work? You close to anyone at the video store?"
"Tom, I guess. We're pretty tight. We went to the last Lebowski Fest together. He went as Jesus Quintana. Me, I went as the Dude."
I say, "The Dude abides."
"Freaking A, the Dude abides!"
"Tom at work right now?"
"He's the three to nine shift. He still lives with his mom and she doesn't like him working late."
John pulls on his wig and adjusts it. "Okay, Sid is gonna go pay Tom a little visit."
"What about Nancy?" I ask.
"I can handle it. Nancy gets to stay home and chill."
-0-
I chill for two hours before John returns. Once inside the house he pulls off the wig and throws it on the floor. He scratches his scalp vigorously. "Man, that itches like crazy!"
Snowy stirs himself and sniffs the dropped wig possibly hoping it is a small animal he can eat. No such luck.
"You find Tom okay?" Daniel asks.
"Thin guy with a bad case of acne?"
"That's him. He practically mainlines Zovirax."
"I spoke to him. I made out we knew each other in college. He said the cops interviewed him yesterday. Basic stuff. No strongarm tactics. Then this morning someone visited him at home. Flashed a badge that said his name was Agent Smith."
"Like The Matrix!"
"Yeah, that's how Tom described it. Agent Smith showed him a photograph. A brunette in profile. Ringing any bells?"
"Shit!"
"Wanted to know if you ever talked about the girl in the photo, if she ever came by the store, if he knew where she lived."
"I never mentioned Cameron to anyone, man. I swear to God."
"Relax, Romeo, Tom didn't have a clue who she was. In fact," John smirks, "Tom kinda figured you for gay."
"What? That spotty SOB! I'll kill him!"
"That's my job," I point out.
"No one's killing anyone. This pretty much confirms they've connected us with you."
"This secret government agency that's got the hots for Cameron, the one you didn't want to tell me about?"
"For your own good. These guys don't mess around."
"Man, it's hard to believe this shit happens In America. What happened to the Land of the Free? A secret covert agency that operates beyond the law. Maybe Oswald didn't kill Kennedy? Maybe we didn't land on the moon and it was all a hoax?"
"Let's go easy on the paranoia. And nothing's really changed."
"For you maybe. I'm a freaking fugitive from a chaingang."
-0-
TUESDAY
Sarah Connor has been absent for seven days. Our last contact was three days ago and John is beginning to fret. This is evident in his disturbed sleep patterns and occasional lapses in concentration. His mother has travelled south to the Mexican border to attempt to make contact with the Salceda family, with whom she and John stayed during their renegade years. She hopes to acquire a fake ID and associated documents so that Daniel can assume the identity of a stranger, someone who isn't wanted by the law enforcement agencies.
"You should have gone with her." It is a familar refrain lately.
"She was most adamant I not accompany her," I point out again.
"We should have insisted."
"It would have made no difference."
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Hope she's okay."
At noon a rust cloured Chevy pickup of indeterminate age pulls up outside the house. Sarah Connor emerges from this automotive relic looking tan and cheerful. For her, at least.
"Mom!"
Mother and son hug. I stand well back. There will be no reunion hug for me. As if.
"Where'd you get this old clunker - 1957?"
"It's not that old."
"Old enough. Does it even have a/c?"
"No. I've been driving around with the windows down and my shirt off most of the time."
"Then I sure hope you didn't pick up any hitchhikers."
"Welcome home," I say. She ignores me and walks indoors, placing her bags by the foot of the stairs.
"Glad to see you didn't burn the place down while I was away."
"Gee, we tried our best," John quips. "Got distracted by the allnight keggers."
We go into the kitchen. Sarah Connor opens the refrigerator, takes out a bottle of Gatorade and chugs it down. Very ladylike.
"Did you find Enrique?"
"Yes and no. Enrique passed five years ago. Lung cancer. All those cigarettes finally caught up with him."
"Damn. Enrique Salceda dead. Hard to believe. He seemed indestructable."
"Franco's running things now. Looks just like his father. Yolanda moved back to Honduras after Enrique died. Jamie's away at university."
"Jay-Jay's a college boy? No way, he's just a kid."
"The time jump, remember? Everyone's ten years older."
"The time jump. Yeah, of course. Jamie's older than me. Just as well I didn't go with you because that would be pretty hard to explain."
"The Salceda's are semi-legit now. They own a string of auto repair shops all over Calexico. Some are chopshops so they haven't entirely quit the business. And they have a sideline in supplying fake documents for Mexicans wanting to cross the border. Those with money at least."
"So you hit paydirt."
"Cost an arm and a leg though. Franco drives a hard bargain just like his father."
"I don't suppose they remembered me?"
"Come on. You were the first thing they said to me. 'Where's John? Why isn't John with you?' Juanita was very upset you weren't with me."
Juanita?
"Who is Juanita?" I ask.
"That's nice. I always liked Juanita."
Always liked Juanita?
"Who is Juanita?" I insist.
"Oh someone I met way back. Another lifetime ago."
"She was more than someone you met," Sarah Connor smirks. "Remember how she used to follow you around like a little puppy dog? She had a major crush on you."
John smiles at the memory. At the memory of this Juanita, who I have never met yet feel an overwhelming impulse to track down and terminate her skanky puppy dog following ass.
"She's married now. Two little girls. They look just like her."
"Is she pretty?" I ask.
"God, she's older than me as well. It's like I'm stuck in a timewarp."
"Is she prettier than me?" I insist on knowing. No answer is forthcoming. I get the distinct impression Sarah Connor is relishing my discomfort. What a bitch.
-0-
Mia is also pleased and relieved Sarah Connor is home safely, although she plays it cool, not wanting to reveal the concern she felt. She too suffered a broken sleep pattern and was even impatient with Snowy at times.
"Aren't you going to ask if I've brought you anything?" Sarah Connor asks after the two have hugged.
"You told me not to. You said it was being greedy."
"Well, I have."
"Really? Oooh, show me! Show me!"
"Close your eyes. No peeking."
Mia obeys and while her eyes are tightly closed Sarah Connor produces a colourful spherical object eighteen inches in diameter with several spine-like proturberances. I have not seen its like before. A scan indicates it is hollow and made of some organic substance, a mixture of paper pulp and starch with a thin overlay of paint. My database comes up with:
PAPIER-MACHE
a composite material consisting of paper pieces or pulp, sometimes reinforced with textiles, bound with an adhesive, such as glue, starch, or wallpaper paste.
My HUD also flashes a warning. Apparently I have encountered this substance before and acted erroneously.
WARNING
PAPIER-MACHE IS NOT A RECOGNISED FOODSTUFF. FOR NO REASON IS IT TO BE CONSUMED AS SUCH. DO NOT MAKE THIS MISTAKE AGAIN.
(SEE ASSOCIATED MEMORY FILE 74883452/68)
Hmm, crunchy.
Though I now know what this object is constructed of I still do not know its name or purpose. Mia, it seems, is not as stymied as I.
"It's a piñata!" she shouts gleefully.
"That's right."
"So you went to Mexico?"
"Not quite. Near enough."
"Why didn't you take me?"
"You have school."
"I could miss a few days. Megan does all the time. She tells Mr Bronson she had cramps down below. Mr Bronson's face goes red and he changes the subject. He doesn't even ask to see a note. He's such a wuss!"
Sarah Connor hands Mia a thin bamboo cane. "You want to do the honours?"
"I have to be blindfolded first. Papa always made me wear a blindfold."
John ties a handkerchief round her head, obscuring her vision. "Now spin me round three times."
"Okay, here we go. One. Two. Three."
Mia sways slightly then lashes out with the cane. The piñata takes a direct hit and its flimsy body splits in half disgorging its contents - hundreds of tiny candy sweets.
At the sight of so much free food just littering the floor Snowy goes beserk. He lowers his snout to the ground and uses his hind legs to propel himself along, shoveling up as much candy as his jaws can hold. His feeding frenzy lasts until Sarah Connor picks him up by his collar and tosses him unceremoniously into the backyard, where he is consoled by LuLu and stared at by Mr Tibbles, whose expression is as inscrutable as ever.
"Poor Snowy!" Mia giggles. "I'll save him some for later."
"If there's any left," John says popping a few of the sweets into his mouth. "Hmm, these are good."
Out of curiosity I try one myself. Analysis takes place automatically as solvents that pass for saliva and digestive enzymes dissolve the candy. Ninety-three percent refined sugar. The remaining seven percent various chemical additives. Nutritionally worthless. I suspect it would have been healthier to eat the papier-mache.
-0-
WEDNESDAY
"From now on your new name is Danny Weiss. It should be okay to use your real first name."
"Oy vey."
Sarah Connor places the documents she purchased from the Salceda's on the kitchen table. They make a pretty pattern of deceit.
"Here's your new ID. Passport. Driver's license. Social security. Work history complete with genuine references. If you go for a job they can call this number and someone on the other end will swear blind you were the best employee they ever had and were sorry to lose you."
"How is that even possible?" Daniel asks looking bemused as he examines the documents one by one.
"The people I bought these from have been doing this a long time. And they're very good at what they do."
"How much did it all cost?"
"Not important."
"How can I ever repay you?"
"You can repay us by not getting caught. Now, have you decided where you want to live?"
"I thought I'd give Denver a try."
"Why Denver?" John asks.
"I hear they have a pretty advanced IT infrastructure."
"Does anyone know you in Denver?"
"Not a soul. Never been there in my life."
"Colorado winters can be pretty brutal," John points out.
"So I'll be sure and wrap up warm. It's not a problem."
"Hope you still feel that way when there's snow on the ground and it's ten below," Sarah Connor smirks. "Okay, remember what I taught you. Make sure your apartment has an escape route. Memorize the locations of the train and bus stations. Think about renting a lockup on the outskirts of town where you can regroup if necessary. Keep a set of clothes there. Food and water. Money and a disposable cell phone. I'll make a list."
Daniel listens attentitively to the advice which might not have been the case a few weeks ago when his attention might've drifted. Not now. Not when he has endured a period of incarceration that might become permanent if he is ever recaptured. "I won't screw up," he insists. "Don't sweat it. I've learnt my lesson. I'm not gonna get caught."
-0-
THURSDAY
The time arrives for Daniel to leave, to begin his new life in Denver, Colorado. His first purchase as Danny Weiss stands outside in the street. A cream-coloured Toyota Camry. Not the first choice of your average twenty year old, though someone who is wanted for a murder he didn't commit might find its bland anonymity just what is required.
"So this is it, General, you're finally gonna get me out of your hair."
"Can't hardly wait," John grins. The animosity between the two seems to have waned and become semi-playful banter.
"Don't take this the wrong way, General, but I hope to hell we never meet again. Because if we do..."
He leaves the sentence unsaid. John nods, understanding perfectly. If they meet again it will likely be because Judgement Day hasn't been averted and the war will have begun and they will have their destinies to fulfil.
"Sarah. If I said you've been like a mother to me I'd be lying. More like a very attractive sergeant major."
"I'll take that as a compliment. Goodbye, Daniel. And good luck. Don't forget we're a phone call away."
Daniel turns to me. "Cameron. I think it's fair to say I've never met a girl like you."
"I am one of a kind," I confess. "Here. You might need this someday."
I hand him a slip of paper with numbers on. He glances at it and says, "These your vital statistics? Don't worry, I've got them memorised. Know what I'm saying, General?"
John offers a thin smile but doesn't reply. That semi-playful banter again.
"The numbers are map coordinates," I explain.
"To buried treasure, I hope."
"In a manner of speaking. Buried at that location closest to Denver, Colorado, is a cache of weapons, survival equipment and a quanity of tinned and freeze-dried provisions. These might be stale so I advise caution. I buried them underground a considerable time ago."
"How considerable?"
"Nineteen seventy-six."
"You were around for the bicentennial? Wow."
"You didn't miss much."
This is true. Apart from a few fireworks the year pretty much blew. I had a feather-cut hairstyle and wore flared jeans. No internet. Not even dial up. Major bummer. And there was no one around to explain Johnny Carson's jokes.
"Okay, Lulu and I had better be going if we're gonna beat the traffic."
"Wait. Here's something we put together for you."
John hands over a nylon gymbag, partially unzipping it so the contents are revealed. Many rolled bundles of cash. "This is thirty grand. Mostly used twenties. A little seed money for your new life."
"You...you'd do this for me?"
"Hey, wouldn't want Lulu to starve."
Daniel swallows hard and says in an oddly husky voice, "Thanks. I mean it. Thank you. For everything. I...jeez."
John eyes narrow suspiciously. "You're not gonna blub, are you? We had a deal."
"No, I'm not gonna blub," Daniel insists.
This turns out to be a lie.
-0-
The Salceda family are featured in T2.
So. Farewell then, Daniel. He won't be back, to coin a phrase.
Next: Cameron does something she's never done before. Huh? No, not that!