The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
WEDNESDAY
John spots the danger first.
"There's a Chevrolet Impala parked across the street. Old guy and a young woman. They've both been sat in there for two hours. And check out the plates. Michigan issue."
"Do they pose a threat?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's perfectly innocent. Maybe they're here to visit relatives. It just seems a little off to me, sat out there all this time. Let's see what we can dig up about them. Read me the plate."
I do so, utilising my optical zoom function. John inputs the data into a laptop, accessing the vehicle registration database, supposedly for official law enforcement use only but an easy enough hack if you know what you're doing. And we know what we're doing.
"Impala's registered to a Professor Zachary Tillman. Age 61. Address in Ann Arbor, Michigan. That's where the university is. Let's see if he part of the faculty.
The University of Michigan website is consulted. Sure enough Professor Zachary Tillman is listed as teaching Advanced Physics.
"According to his bio he has two ex-wives and three kids, all boys. Got two grandchildren, both girls. Aged six and eight, so unless they grow up fast in the mid-west that's not his grand daughter with him."
"How about a student?"
"Quick thinking."
The University of Michigan has over forty thousand enrolled students. Each has a thumbnail picture attached to a short biography. John scrolls through them quickly saying, "Holler if you spot the girl."
"Wait. Go back."
"Her?"
"Yes. Eighty-eighty percent match."
"Angela Navarro. Age 20. Studying for an Advanced Physics degree. Recipient of the Andrew Carnegie Award for Outstanding Achievement in Modern Physics. So, what are little Miss Brainiac and her college Professor doing parked across the street from us?"
"Sight seeing?"
"If this was Beverly Hills or Hollywood, maybe. This is the suburbs; no one famous lives here."
"You live here. One day you will be the most famous man in history."
"In the here and now I'm a nobody."
"Not to me. " I kiss him briefly on the lips.
"I need to tell mom."
"That I kissed you?"
"About these two."
-0-
"How long have they been out there?" Sarah Connor asks staring out the window at the still stationary Impala.
"Two and a half hours and counting."
"Long time to sit around doing nothing."
"That's what I thought."
"Might be nothing to do with us."
"Or it could be everything to do with us."
"They seem pretty unlikely candidates for stakeout duty."
"Maybe that's what they want us to think."
"Hide in plain view? They must think we're stupid."
"Only one way to find out."
"How do you want to handle it?"
"How about one of us drives to the grocery store and see how they react."
"I'll go. We're almost out of soy milk. And kibbles. I think that dog has hollow legs."
Snowy has hollow legs? This would certainly explain his appetite.
We watch from the window as Sarah Connor gets into the Suburban and drives away down the street. After a moment the Impala follows.
"They're following," John says into a cellphone.
"I see them. You were right."
"Are you armed?"
"Of course."
"Don't start a firefight in the supermarket. Too many cameras."
"Roger that."
Five minutes later.
"I'm inside the store. They're in the lot outside. No one's followed me in."
"See if they have any of those bacon-flavored Doritos. We're all out."
"John, is this really the time?"
"There's always time for Doritos."
Ten minutes later the Suburban rolls into the driveway. Sarah Connor enters the house carrying a shopping bag and deliberately doesn't look behind her.
The Impala takes up station on the opposite side of the street.
"They kept a hundred yards back. Hard to miss. They're amateurs whoever they are. I'd have to be blind not to spot them."
"Curiouser and curiouser."
"What now?"
"Let's not do anything to scare the neighbors. It'd be a pity to have to move just because we hassled some very persistent Jehovah's Witnesses."
"You don't believe that."
"Nope. Here's what we'll do..."
We all agree it's a sound plan. I give John another kiss on the lips for being so smart.
The underfloor armoury is opened and we choose weapons. John and I both select the same model: Smith & Wesson 9mm. We're so simpatico!
"I'll call when we're in position."
We head out the back door and across the yard. The tall fence dividing our yard from the house opposite has a hidden hinge we installed so it opens smoothly and discreetly. When you have has many enemies as we do it is prudent to ensure a quick escape route.
We cross the lawn and bypass the house, which belongs to a couple named Murphy. Both work during the day leaving Muttsy, their pet labrador, as the sole occupant. Muttsy is old and usually spends the day asleep. As a guard dog he's even worse than Snowy, which is saying something.
We loop the block and fetch up thirty feet behind the Impala, crouching behind the bulk of a Mercedes station wagon.
"We're in position. Anything changed?"
"They're still there. Seems like they've come a long way to do nothing."
"We'll soon find out. You ready your end?"
"All set."
"Then let's do this."
Sarah Connor emerges from the safehouse carrying a bucket of soapy water and proceeds to swab down the Suburban. This distracts the couple in the Impala long enough for John and I to slip in the back and press our guns against the base of their skulls.
"Easy does it. No sudden moves. No one gets hurt."
The old man grunts in surprise. The girl sighs and says, "I told you they made us. That trip to the store was to flush us out."
"I'm sorry, my dear, I'm a little old to be playing James Bond."
"Tell me about it."
John says, "So what's a Michigan physics professor doing parked across the street from us in southern California?"
"You know who I am?"
The girl sighs again. "They hacked the vehicle registration database. I told you we should've used a rental."
"Yes, well, you don't have two ex-wives bleeding you dry. You're lucky I can afford gasoline."
"I bet they know who I am too."
"You're Angela Navarro, this guy's pet student."
"I'm no one's pet. And it's Angie, not Angela."
"Okay, Angie, you seem like a smart girl, what with the Andrew Carnegie award and all. You tell me what's going on."
"Don't patronise me. And we're not done with the introductions yet. I know who you all are. You're John Connor. The girl is Cameron Baum. And the woman pretending to wash the car is Sarah Connor. You're all wanted by like a zillion law enforcement agencies."
"So we all know who everyone is. Neither of you are cops, so what is it you want here?"
"It's really very simple," Angie replies twisting round to face us. "I want you to teach me how to time travel."
-0-
Professor Tillman and his student Angie Navarro sit either end of the sofa in the safehouse lounge. Both they and the Impala they arrived in have been searched for weapons. None were found. For now they are being treated like guests, albeit unwelcome ones.
"Either of you want anything to drink?" Sarah Connor asks.
"Any kind of tea would be wonderful, my dear, thank you."
"You?"
"Diet Coke. In a tall glass. Three ice cubes."
"You forgot the magic word."
"Abracadabra."
"Last chance."
"Ugh! Fine. Please may I have a glass of Diet Coke."
"Wasn't so hard, was it?"
Angie makes a face. She seems determined to be unpleasant.
The old man is dressed in tan chinos teamed with a blue Oxford shirt and no tie. He has on a brown cord jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He has a white beard and what little remains of his hair is also white. He looks every inch what he is: a college professor approaching retirement age.
The girl named Angie wears black leggings under a plaid knee length skirt. She has on a shapeless plaid shirt buttoned to the neck. The grunge look twenty years too late. Her hair is long and unstyled. She might be considered pretty but for a tendency to pout sulkily like a spoilt child.
"What a lovely home you have," Tillman opines looking around.
Angie has a contrary opinion. "It's a dump."
"Now, Angela, I thought we agreed you'd be civil."
"It's Angie, dammit. And it's still a dump. I thought you'd live in a palace considering."
"Considering what?" John asks.
"That you can time travel and make yourselves rich. You must know what the stock market's gonna do."
Sarah Connor returns with the drinks.
"Thank you, Ms Connor. Most kind."
"Call me Sarah."
"Right. Sarah it is."
"What's this - four ice cubes? I distinctly asked for three. Can't you count?"
"You want to drink it or wear it?"
She chooses the former. Good call.
Sarah Connor perches on the arm of the sofa John and I are sat on. She has a pistol conspicuously pushed into the belt of her jeans. "Is that really necessary, Sarah? the Professor asks eyeing it with apprehension.
"You tell me."
Angie says, "You look a lot older than your video. And you were really ripped back then. What happened to your muscles?"
"I still have muscles, sweetie. Try me."
"What video?" John wants to know.
"The interviews in the nuthouse."
"Now, Angie, that's a trifle prejudicial."
"Okay. The prison for crazy psycho nutjobs who believe robots are gonna take over the world. Doctor Zimmerman. Ringing any bells?"
"Zimmerman. I haven't heard that old fraud's name in years. I wonder where he is now?"
"Enjoying retired life just down the coast from here," Tillman explains. "We visited him yesterday. He's in robust health, although when we mentioned your name he became... uh -somewhat agitated."
"The old coot went crazy apeshit. Thought he was gonna blow a valve or something. Threatened to call the cops if we didn't get off his land. What did you do to him?"
A smirk. "Let's just say he saw things he didn't want to see."
"Like cyborgs?"
"What are they?"
"Puh-lease. I know all about it. Future war. Machines rise up. Your son saves the world. Yada yada."
"You seem remarkably well informed."
"It was easy enough to figure out, if you know where to look. Where's the time machine? The basement? Is it bigger inside like the Tardis? Please tell me it's not a Delorean."
"What's makes you think we have a time machine?"
"Her. For one thing," she says pointing at me. "I know exactly what she is."
"And what's that?" John asks trying and failing to disguise the tension in his voice.
"One of your soldiers in the future. Probably your wife. Your future self sends her here so you can boff her brains out."
"Angela, really! There is no need for such language."
"It's Angie. How many more times?"
"Almost but no cigar," John replies mildly. "I send her back to help try and prevent the war from happening."
"And to boff his brains out," I add patting his thigh.
"We're going round in circles," Sarah Connor states irritably. "Let's start with how you came to be here in the first place."
Tillman clears his throat. "Yes, that would be best. I suppose it began two years ago. I decided to liven things up for my elite physics students. If we accept the possiblity of time travel as genuine, and Hawking believes this to be the case, then surely they would have left some trace? Possibly some pointers to guide others who might follow in their wake?"
John says, "You mean like a Time Out guide?"
"Indeed. We did a thorough search of the social network sites. Usenet. The various forums. Found absolutely nothing. Then Angie here discovered some declassified documents."
"Your nuthouse files. I began to look into what you were saying. And it was all there. Sure, the police had misinterpreted most of it and there were lots of gaps, but the truth Is out there."
"To coin a phrase," John quips.
Sarah Connor says, "That still doesn't explain how you managed to track us down when a well-funded government agency can't."
"Ah. That was entirely Angie's doing. I had very little to do with it."
"I began with the premise you'd be in LA, since this where all the macho bullshit goes down. I figured you wouldn't live in Beverly Hills because you're an ex-waitress and you'd stick out like a sore thumb."
"You truly are a most objectionable girl."
"Malibu was out. Too much of a cliche. Compton and South Central are warzones. I figured you were most likely in Santa Barbara, Santa Monica or West Hollywood. You'd be fugitives but you'd still need to buy groceries and clothes and for that you'd use the biggest Malls because there's safety in numbers, right?"
"Spot on so far."
"So I hacked the security feeds for the major Malls and ran the footage through a facial recognition program that I designed myself. I also constructed a 3D model of your head from the extant video footage and mapped it into the software. My Masters thesis is 3D imaging so no biggie. Three weeks ago I got a hit. You walked into a Gap store with an hispanic girl."
"I remember. Mia needed new clothes. She's growing so fast."
"I simply hacked the parking lot feed, saw you drive away in a Suburban, ran the plates through the vehicle registration database and here we are. We'd have come last week only my little sister had a spelling bee. She klutzed out in the semi finals. Spelt prestidgitation with five vowels. The doofus."
"Now, Angie, your sister is only ten and very smart for her age. She has the grades of a high school student."
"A high school student who can't spell."
"Prestidgitation", I muse aloud. "P.R.E.S.T.I.D.G.I.T.A.T.I.O.N."
"Try using it in a sentence."
I stare at her, tlting my head slightly in the way John finds adorable. "I can spell prestidgitation."
"Oh that's cute. Real cute."
"Angie is one of my brightest students," Tillman declares proudly.
"One? I'm the smartest kid in school. Always have been."
"And yet so modest."
"Modesty's for losers. So where's the time machine? The basement, right? Does it hurt when you use it? Does it make you sick? I hate to barf."
"There is no time machine."
"Bullshit. You admitted your girlfriend's from the future. How'd she get here - public transport?"
"There are time machines in the future, but it's a one shot deal. You come back and that's it. Stranded. The technology doesn't exist here."
For the first time Angie seems to lose some of her formidable self-assurance.
"No no. You're lying. There has to be a time machine."
"Sorry."
"Quit stalling and show me the freaking time machine!"
"Why do you want to time travel so bad anyway?" John asks. "You want to rubberneck the Pilgrim Fathers stepping ashore? See JFK take one for the team? Scream your little head off when the Beatles play Shea Stadium?"
"Nothing like that."
"Then what?"
"Look, I'll even say please. Please let me travel back in time."
"Why, Angie? What's so all fired important that you want to wave bye-bye to the present?"
"I want to save my brother, okay? I want to stop him from dying when he's just four freaking years old. Happy now?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Ten years ago I was nine and my little brother Timothy - Timmy - was four. We walked to the store to buy candy. It was just round the block. Mom said to hold Timmy's hand the whole way. And I did. Until it came time to pay for the candy. I let go just for a few seconds and Timmy he...he...walked out into the street...there was traffic...he..."
Angie bows her head. Her long hair obscures her face but we see her tears fall onto the pleats of her skirt.
"Hit and run," Sarah Connor says softly.
"It was all my fault! If I'd just held his hand like mom said!"
"It wasn't your fault."
"That's why I have to go back. It's why I put so much effort into finding you. I have to go back and save my brother's life!"
"I'm sorry, Angie. Really I am. There's still no time machine."
"Liar!"
"And even if there was if wouldn't work out."
"Why not?"
"Causality," Professor Tillman replies softly. "If you went back and saved your brother's life then you would never have the motivation to seek out the very thing that saved his life."
"No. No, you're wrong!"
"I'm sorry, my dear. The very fact that we're here proves this is the case. Your brother will always be dead."
"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU ALL!"
She runs out of the house and across the street and gets into the Impala.
"Should we stop her?"
"No need. I have the keys," Tillman replies.
"Did you know about this?"
"Her brother dying? No, I'd never heard his name before today. It explains her extraordinary determination to track you down. All of the other students lost interest months ago."
"Why are you doing this, Professor? If the university knew you'd travelled half way across the country with one of your students you'd lose your job, reputation, everything."
"Every physics professor in the world dreams that one day an Einstein will walk through their door. A Faraday. A Newton. A Hawking. She is my Einstein. Her intellect is off the chart."
"Really? Because all I see is a snotty little brat."
"Genius has it's darker side. Apparently Sir Isaac Newton was an extremely unpleasant person, yet he is the very cornerstone of modern science."
Suddenly Tillman begins to cough, turning red in the face. He fumbles in his jacket for a glass phial of pills, palms two and dry swallows them. The coughing eases.
"You okay, Professor?"
"Alas, not. Heart disease. The aortic valve. The doctors say two or three years at most."
"I'm sorry."
"I had hoped, allowed myself to believe, that a time machine may truly exist and I might avail myself of it."
"Why? Where would you go?"
"Oh to meet Albert Einstein. To chat and share a fine Riesling in a Berlin cafe during the 1920s. That would have been...most satisfying."
"I'm sorry."
"Quite alright. I'm sure he'd have had better things to do than dine with the likes of me."
"Does Angie know?"
"No. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't inform her."
"Why not? She might be more respectful."
"Out of pity? No. Her bluntness doesn't bother me. Mostly." He stands up. "I should be going. We need to find a motel for the night. Separate rooms, I assure you."
"Stay here," Sarah Connor says. "We have two spare bedrooms."
"We couldn't possibly impose."
"I insist."
"Very well. Thank you. I'll go and see if I can coax Angie back inside."
When he's gone, John says, "What are we going to do? They know nearly everything about us."
"What can we do? We can't murder them in cold blood."
"I could," I point out.
"They've broken a few laws themselves. Hacking private networks is a federal offence."
"Come on. You know Creed would grant them a full amnesty in a second if they delivered us to him."
"Let's play it by ear," John suggests. "And try not to antagonise the girl."
"She's rude, disrespectful, ungrateful-"
"That's what I mean by not antagonise. And she only wanted to save her brother's life. I can relate to that."
Tillman and Angie return. They sit back down on the sofa. "Can I get you anything?" Sarah Connor asks. "Another Diet Coke? Something to eat?"
"You don't know what it's like," Angie says, her voice a dull monotone. "Every month I visit my brother's grave. I read the headstone. 'Here lies Timothy Hammond. Aged 6. Beloved son and brother.'"
"Wait - Timothy Hammond? I thought your name was Navarro?"
"My parents divorced and my mom remarried. My stepfather's name is Navarro. My real name is Angie Hammond."
A file begins to blink in my HUD. I open it and recite the information displayed.
"Colonel Angela Hammond. Leader of the technical team. Third in the Resistance heirachy. Nominated for termination. Kill on sight."
John says, "You know her - in the future?"
"Correct."
"I'm in the army? No freaking way!"
"Yes freaking way. In the future, General Connor assembles a team of scientists. The brightest of the bright. They are excused combat duties until the final assault on the Skynet citadel when they are tasked with securing the time travel apparatus and preparing it for use by the Resistance."
"You mean I get my hands on a time machine? That's it! That's when I'll go back and save my brother!"
Her youthful face is lit by the brightest of smiles. Then she bursts into tears.
Humans and their emotions. I will never understand them. Happy. Sad. In the blink of an eye. How much better to be a cyborg. Cold. Without emotion. Creatures of pure logic.
And yet...
THURSDAY
Morning. Mia is seated at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Snowy is sat beside her. She has been briefed that we have guests just not the reason why.
Angie enters the kitchen, dressed in the clothes she wore the previous day. She sits down at the table. The only sign of yesterday's trauma is her red rimmed eyes.
"Hi! I'm Mia. This is my pet dog Snowy."
"Angie. Listen - was that your school coursework on the table?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"I didn't sleep much and I was bored. I did it for you."
"All of it? Even the math? Suppose you did it wrong? I'll get in trouble."
"Puh-lease. I'm a Ph.D."
"But some of those sums were really hard!"
"Relax, kid. I nailed it."
"Oh yeah? What's eighty-seven times forty-three?"
"Three thousand seven hundred forty one," Angie and I say at the exact same time. She gives me a curious look.
"What's that you're eating?"
"My own special breakfast recipe. Granola on top to fool Sarah I'm eating healthy. Underneath it's Cheerios, peanut brittle and broken chocolate chip cookies. Plus extra sugar."
"How much extra sugar?"
"Six spoonfuls."
"Oh man, you must be totally wired."
"I do feel a little jittery afterwards. Snowy won't eat it. He says it makes his head hurt."
"He does, huh?"
"Yeah. He's a smart dog. Watch this. Snowy, raise your right paws."
Snowy obliges.
"Now raise your left paws."
Snowy complies.
"Now raise all your paws."
Snowy falls off the chair.
Angie laughs. "That's one dumb dog!"
"He's not dumb! He understands it's a joke."
"Yeah, right."
"It's true! You're dumb!"
"You're Mexican. Why aren't you in Mexico lazing around being unemployed?"
"You're mean!"
"You're stupid!"
"You've got a big nose!"
"No, I don't."
"You will after I punch you in the face!"
Angie smiles. "I like you, squirt. Truce?"
"Not till you take back what you said about Snowy."
"Okay. Maybe he's not so dumb."
"He's not. Watch this. Snowy, do the moonwalk."
Snowy needs no second invite to launch into his routine.
"That is awesome!" Angie grins.
"I know. It tooks ages to teach him. You should see people's faces when he does it outside."
Sarah Connor and Professor Tillman enter the room, conversing quietly in the doorway.
"Is that your grandfather?"
"God, no. He's my college professor."
"He's really old."
"And he snores. Like a freaking buzzsaw in an echo chamber."
"Old people are so gross."
"And if you tell them that they're like - 'you should be more respectful to your elders.'"
"Are you staying in Los Angeles very long?"
"No. Driving back today. Me and Professor Buzzsaw."
"That's too bad."
"We could email if you like?"
"Okay!"
"I don't have many friends in Michigan. People say I'm aloof and condescending. Like it's my fault I'm a genius and they're a bunch of idiots."
"People keep telling me I look like Selena Gomez - and she's not even Mexican! She was born in Texas. People should keep their stupid mouths shut."
"You ever read Calvin and Hobbes?"
"I love Calvin and Hobbes!"
"Sometimes I feel like I'm Calvin and the rest of the world's his dopey parents."
"Me too!"
Sarah Connor and Professor Tillman approach the table. "Are you ready, Angie? We should get moving."
"Can't you see I'm talking to Mia?"
Sarah Connor frowns and says, "You should be more respectful to your elders."
Mia and Angie giggle and bump knuckles.
-0-
After Mia has been driven to school it is time to say goodbye to our temporary guests.
"Goodbye, Colonel," John tells Angie. "I'll be seeing you, I guess."
"I'm totally doing it," Angie replies grim faced. "When I get my hands on a time machine I'm going back to save my brother. You won't stop me."
"Perhaps you'll feel differently when the moment arrives."
"No chance."
Without another word she crosses the street and gets in the Impala.
Professor Tillman shakes hands with each of us. "Pleasure to meet you all. I'm not sure what assistance an ailing physics professor can provide, but if you need my help don't hesitate to call."
"Thanks, Professor. Have a safe journey."
The Impala's horn blares. Angie is getting impatient.
"That girl needs to be taught some manners," Sarah Connor fumes.
"She'll grow out of it. And she is my Einstein, after all. A force for good in this world."
The force for good rolls down a side window and yells, "Get a shift on, numbnuts. We haven't got all day."
Tillman's smile fade. "Of course, Einstein didn't have quite so much...attitude."
-0-
Based on actual events. Sort of.
Back in January there was a media report about students from Michigan University attempting to find any trace time travellers might have left behind had they visited us from the future. I thought - what if they found Sarah's old interviews? The tricky part was how they'd find the safe house. Enter Angie, genius and right royal pain in the ass. I'm no psychologist but I'd say she's determined to make people hate her as much as she hates herself.
She'll be back. To coin a phrase.
John wasn't entirely accurate when he said there was no time machine. If you recall, Cameron prime hopped into Cameron subprime's timeline, meaning there is a spare locked away in a New Mexico bank vault. Cameron probably kept schtum just in case John suffers another calamity. Of course, should that occur the next timeline will have three Camerons' and one John. Hur hur - are you thinking what I'm thinking? That's right. The perfect number for a game of Bridge!