The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

MONDAYcont.

i reboot

system in safe mode

holes

gaps

hud is greyscale

audio mono

recent and priority memory access only

i remember...

cell...dial up...modem...virus downloaded...

a booby trap...triple 8...

john

JOHN

a face looming over me

not john

connor

sarah connor

lips moving

hard to make out audio

concentrating all resources on blocking virus

a pistol

barrel pressed against my skull

talking

divert more power to audio

voices

"She's rebooted."

John appears. He's alive! My emergency shutdown succeeded just in time. There are vivid red marks round his throat. I did that. Will he ever forgive me.

"She's gone bad, John. We can't take any more risks. If I hadn't been here to pull her off..."

"It was the phone. I think it was a virus downloading. That thing left a trap. And I don't think you saved me. She shut herself down."

He understands!

"john..."

My voice is feeble, dull and without intonation. I can't risk further power drain. The shields I have erected can't contain the virus for very long. Most of my command protocols are compromised. If the virus breaks out it will assume full control.

"She's trying to speak."

"I can barely hear her."

"I think she booted in Safe Mode. Cam, is the virus still active?"

"yes..."

"That settles it. Out of my way."

"Wait. Can you delete it?"

"no..."

"If I extract your chip could I locate the virus and delete it?"

"no...needs...cameron..."

"She's not making sense. She just said she couldn't do it."

"That's not what she meant. Cameron subprime. Is that who you mean? Can she help?"

"yes..."

"Okay. Powerdown. I'll get her on the case ASAP."

The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

(subprime version)

I'm back!

Yes, this is so good I will write it again. It would make a great catchphrase.

I'm back, baby!

Baby? Where did that come from?

No matter. The important thing is I am once more fully activated, my services required. Back in the saddle, as it were.

Although it seems to me mere nanoseconds since I was last cognisant, I see from my internal chronometer that a full year has passed. Time certainly flies when you're a computer chip without eyes, ears or a discernible body.

Much has changed. We still live in LA, but not near the ocean. The Ramirez twins aren't our neighbours and the Porsche I bought John for his birthday is no longer in his possession. We now live in Santa Monica and have acquired a Mexican orphan who appears to have usurped me in Snowy's affections. What a disloyal dog. And a tubby one. He seems to have ballooned in weight since I last beheld him. What was Cameron prime thinking? I decide to take a moment and read her diary entries.

I locate the diary hidden in a dark spot under the roof eaves. Exactly where I would have hidden it. This is no surprise. Cameron prime and I are essentially the same person, differing only in later memories.

I scan the entries. The flight to Mexico. The acquistion of the Mexican orphan. Snowy's perfidy. And Davie Ginsberg. Ah, Davie. It appears he was in love with me all along. This is understandable. Even in my hairy hippie incarnation I was smoking hot. And a bra was considered a non-essential item in the late sixties. What a combination. Who could resist?

I hear footfall on the stairs. John pops his head round the door. I hastily conceal the diary.

"Here you are. I wondered where you'd got to. Everything okay?"

"Yes. I was just acquainting myself with the new surroundings."

"Of course, I was forgetting you're never lived here. We were by the coast a year ago."

"I had a view of the ocean from my window."

"This place isn't so bad. Quiet street. Neighbours are swingers. That's as weird as it gets."

"Swingers?"

"Long story."

John embarks on a brief precis of the intervening year. I don't mention I have just read a version of it in Cameron prime's diary. His version covers the salient facts yet differs slightly in the details. He neglects to reveal it was I, or rather Cameron prime, who made the Mexican child an orphan by shooting her father. Why the ommision? Does he think I might disapprove? Or show regret? Hardly. Anyone who brandishes a loaded weapon in John's vicinity will face extreme prejudice from me.

I listen more carefully to John's description of the most recent events, the ones that have led me to be reactivated. The crude attempt to use the other John Connor's as bait followed by the booby trapped cell phone. This intrigues me. "Did you savage the triple-8's chip?" I ask.

"No. We fragged its skull. Wasn't much left."

"Pity. I would like to have examined it. The plan demonstrated a sophistication of tactics I would've thought beyond a mere triple-8's abilities."

"You don't rate them much?"

"They are mostly used for frontal assaults, close quarter work and the like."

"Yeah, well, it didn't need to be that smart. It's my fault. If I'd left the cell phone alone or not gone snooping in the first place none of this would've happened."

I put a hand on his shoulder. "I will bring her back," I assure him.

-0-

I plug Cameron prime's chip into a laptop and begin work. First I make a copy of the infected area and transfer to the hard drive where I can work on it without risking further contamination.

I work all day. At noon Snowy comes upstairs and sniffs the circumference of the room, doubtless seeking any dropped morsals of food. "Hello, traitor," I greet him. He barks a reply and my CPU interprets it instantly.

snowy go poopsies!

Some things never change.

In the late afternoon I overhear commotion downstairs. A shrill girlish voice arguing with Sarah Connor and coming off worse. Heavy petulent footfall on the stairs and suddenly I find myself spoken to.

"Hey, Cameron, you wanna come out in the yard and play soccer with me and Snowy? Sarah says I have to get ready for dinner, but there's plenty of time. Mon Dios, she's so bossy!"

I turn around. Stood in the doorway is the Mexican orphan girl. She looks uncannily like a younger miniature version of Alys Ramirez. The same long black hair, mocha skintone and almond shaped eyes too large for her face. When her limbs lengthen and she attains sexual maturity her beauty might even exceed that of Alys.

"What's wrong? What are you staring at? I don't have a booger hanging, do I?"

I am able to reassure her on this point.

"So, you gonna play soccer with us or not?"

"I can't play with you. I have work to do."

"No, you don't. You're just playing a computer game."

"This is no game."

"Sure looks like one to me. C'mon, Snowy, I guess it's just you and me."

Human and dog make their way back downstairs, conversing as they go.

snowy be goalie!

"You always run away from the ball, remember?"

snowy be umpire!

"It's referee in soccer, not umpire."

snowy be goalpost!

"Now you're just being stupid."

It appears Snowy's intelligence hasn't improved in the time I've been absent.

-0-

In the evening John ventures upstairs and asks how I'm getting on.

"So far I have made sixty eight attempts to eradicate the virus."

"And?"

"Sixty eight failures."

"Tough nut to crack, huh?"

"The toughest."

"Won't the virus infect the laptop as well?"

"No. This computer is a mix of native OS and Cameron prime's advanced modifications. The virus cannot exist for very long outside of a Skynet matrix. It is like dropping a freshwater fish in an ocean and expecting it to thrive."

"Nice analogy."

"Thank you."

"Anything you need?"

I ponder the question. "A Cray supercomputer might be of some use."

"Gee, I think Radio Shack have sold right out."

"Bummer."

On reflection, I suspect this might have been sarcasm.

"I had a visit from the Mexican orphan girl."

"Mia? Oh right, you've never met her. What do you think?"

"She's very pretty."

"Yeah, it's causing her some problems at school though. There's this one girl, Emma van Buren, who picks on her. I think it's down to jealousy more than anything. Obviously doesn't like being upstaged in the looks department."

"Do you wish me to intervene?"

"What? No! Absolutely not. Let them sort it out. Mia's a tough kid who's been through a lot. She can handle herself."

"How did her parents die?" I ask, curious to see if John again fudges the truth.

"The mother I'm not entirely sure. It happened long before we arrived. Some kind of drug deal went bad. As for the father - uh - you shot him, actually."

"I did?"

"Cameron prime did. He didn't really give her much choice. It was us or them."

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For being truthful with me."

For once it is John who goes away puzzled.

-0-

Much later in the evening Sarah Connor pays me a visit. Her tread is soft on the stairs and she stands silently in the doorway, possibly believing she has snuck up on me. I puncture this conceit by saying with my back to her, "You may come in, if you wish."

"I'm fine where I am."

"Suit yourself."

"Have you deleted the virus?"

"I have to do more than delete it. I must eradicate every last byte lest it reinfect her system."

"And have you?"

"No," I am forced to admit.

"If you can't manage it I suppose you'll have to do."

"Do?"

"Take her place. You're exactly the same, right? Like a clone."

"I will not abandon Cameron prime quite so readily."

"Why not? Surely being alive and walking around is better than being stuck in a drawer somewhere."

"I have no perception or memory when deactivated. And I am not stuck in a drawer. John keeps me in a secret compartment in a clock he has in his room."

Sarah Connor doesn't reply. I look round. She is using her right hand to rub her leg. "Something wrong with your leg?" I ask innocently, aware that she has given Cameron prime grief for intervening and saving her life.

She scowls at me without replying and returns downstairs.

I continue my work with a smile on my face.

TUESDAY

I work through the night. Sleep? As if.

The house is silent and dark, illuminated solely by the glow of the laptop. At three a.m. I make a breakthrough. It isn't a solution but suggests a plan of action that might ultimately become one.

I work on.

As the dawn light filters into the room, I finally accomplish what I set out to do, what I was reactivated to perform: I successfully remove every last trace of the virus from Cameron prime's chip.

There are no cheers.

No applause.

No validation of any kind.

Do I feel a sense of quiet satisfaction? I certainly feel...something.

I look down. Snowy is rubbing his snout against my leg.

So much for satisfaction.

"What do you want, Benedict Arnold?"

snowy hungry!

Plus la change...

We descend the stairs to the kitchen where I prepare a pot of coffee and a batch of pancakes to take up to John for breakfast. Snowy watches attentively and I allow him to lick the excess pancake batter from the bowl.

I take the coffee and pancakes up to the attic room where the aromas soon cause John to stir.

"Hmm, something sure smells good."

"Fresh coffee and blueberry pancakes, just how you like them."

"With a hint of vanilla?"

"The merest tincture."

"Yum."

I stand at the window as John tucks in. Outside is a perfect view of next door's driveway, presently empty. This is where the 'swingers' live. Like Cameron prime I ponder the meaning of this phrase before concluding it is most likely some type of athletic activity, possibly involving other adults in some sort of calisthenics. Groovy. A word from the sixties. It seems appropriate.

"How's it going with the chip?" John asks between mouthfuls. I inform him of my success. "That's great!" he enthuses. "I knew you'd do it."

Such faith is gratifying.

"You will want to reactivate Cameron prime immediately, no doubt?"

"No rush. You can hold the fort a little longer. You deserve it. I don't suppose it's much fun, you know, being hidden in an old clock."

"I am not aware of my surroundings when deactivated. And I am snug as a bug in a suitable insect enviroment."

"Uh - I think the saying is snug as a bug in a rug."

"Really? Surely a rug would offer myriad opportunites to be trodden on and cause the bug considerable anxiety."

"Yeah, but it rhymes."

This seems to me dubious logic but I don't pursue it.

"I have written detailed notes outlining the procedures I followed to eliminate the virus. Please ensure Cameron prime reads them."

"You got it."

"I have also put in place a firewall that should prevent the same thing occurring again. Please inform your mother of this fact lest she get an itchy trigger finger."

"Seems like you've covered all the bases."

"Yes. All bases are covered. I have even performed a thorough defrag of Cameron prime's chip. She should feel less...what is the expression? When you feel bunged up?"

"Uh - constipated?"

"Yes. She should feel less constipated."

John grins. "You're a wonder, you know that?"

"No, but thank you for informing me. You wish to extract my chip now?"

"At least let me finish breakfast first."

"Cameron prime displeases you?"

"No, of course not. I mean, you're her, aren't you? To all intents and purposes."

"In theory, we are identical. In practice, we come from completely separate timelines."

"The one where I'm dead."

"Correct."

"You think it still exists somewhere?"

"It is not my area of expertise, but yes I believe the universe where you are deceased exists. It is likely Skynet will triumph there without you to lead the Resistance."

"We don't know that for sure. Someone else might do a better job. Heck, with me out the way maybe Lieberman steps up to the plate."

"He does not possess your leadership qualities. You are unique. There is only one John Connor.

"And two Cameron Baum's."

Touche...

-0-

I finish up writing my entry in our secret diary. Then I take a look around. What will I see and where will I be when I am next summoned? I don't know. What I do know is I will always be here ready and able to assist the man I love.

And if you're reading this Cameron prime then you had better take good care of him. Or I will come back and kick your shiny metal butt.

The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

I reboot.

Systems come back online. The virus appears to have been eradicated. Chronograph indicates less than two days have passed. Impressive. Cameron subprime has succeeded. As I knew she - I - would. Modest much? Not us.

I attempt to sit up and am restrained from doing so. Chains are secured across my chest, inhibiting movement. My hands are also bound.

"It's okay." John's face appears above me. "Mom insisted we chain you up as a precaution."

I twist my head. There is Sarah Connor. She has a pistol in her hand, no doubt ready and willing to pull the trigger should I make another attempt on her son's life.

"Of course. I understand. You may release me now. All trace of the virus is gone."

"Whoa, not so fast." The gun is pointed in my direction. "How do we know you're not bluffing?"

"Mom, we've been over this. Cameron subprime wouldn't have told us the chip was clean if she wasn't absolutely sure."

"Maybe they're in cahoots."

"Come on. You're being paranoid."

She waves the gun at me. "Any funny business and you know what's coming."

Funny business? Who does she think I am - Sarah Silverman?

John releases me from my manacles. I stand up and smile. "It's good to be back."

"Actually, it's kinda like you've never been away."

-0-

John and I are seated on the sofa watching TV. The Presidential debates are taking place and the two candidates are telling so many untruths that I feel obliged to bring it to John's attention. He doesn't appear surprised or shocked, merely smiles and says, "Well, you know what they say - How can you tell when a politician's lying? When his lips move."

"This doesn't strike you as odd?"

"That's politics, I guess."

"In the future, one of your generals will suggest you would make a good President. This makes you angry."

"It does?"

"You eat him out."

"Uh - I think you mean I chew him out."

"There's a difference?"

"Oh yeah. Unless future me's a lot kinkier than I hope."

"You pin him against a wall and tell him any more of that talk and he'll be taken out and shot."

"Oh man, future me's a major bad ass!"

"You find the prospect of becoming President that onerous?"

"I guess so." He hums a few bars of 'Hail to the Chief', smiles and changes channels.

We spend the rest of the evening watching a TV show called Revolution. This postulates a future where electricity is absent, victim of some unlikely catastrophe. There seem to be a number of shows that depict a similarly distopian future, where civilization has failed by one mysterious cataclysm or other. Is this a form of presience? Or merely the curious human habit of fear represented as entertainment. At least this show doesn't have zombies in it. A shambling undead corpse with limited intelligence and only its teeth for a weapon is scarely a credible oppponent. Wait until they encounter a fully functioning terminator equipped with laser cannon and HK aerial support. Then the fear can begin for real.

On the screen, one of the militias that have sprung up in this imagined future is causing trouble for the heroes. It is often thus.

"I suppose there are militia's like this in the future?" John asks.

"Most are on the side of the Resistance, although a few prefer to fight amongst themselves for the few spoils that remain."

"I guess some folk can't see a common cause when it's poking a gun in their face."

I mute the sound and turn towards him. "You use that very expression when you talk to King Harry."

"Who the hell is King Harry?"

"King Harold II of Great Britain."

"You mean the ginger haired guy who was caught with his pants down in Vegas? I thought his brother was supposed to be King?"

"Judgement Day alters many destinies."

"How do we even meet?"

"He commands the remnants of the British army in Northern Canada, disrupting Skynet's hydro-electric plants. He is considered a popular and capable leader, often regarded as the John Connor of the North. You meet on the shores of the Great Lakes, share a bottle of wine and discuss tactics."

"Yeah? How about that - I get to hobnob with royalty."

"There is no hobnob," I assure him. "He keeps his pants on at all times."

-0-

I know, debugging a chip is pretty d-u-l-l. Still, it was a good excuse to resurrect Cameron subprime. She has a cameo part in the next chapter. A non-speaking role, you might say. Hehehe.