The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
SUNDAY continued...
The laser beam attached to the pistol is low powered; purely a guide for greater accuracy. It has no melting or cutting properties. It is barely warm to the touch. A death ray it isn't. Yet it saves us all.
As the laser beam shines on her face, Alison Young puts her hands up to shield her eyes from the glare. She isn't looking where she is going and with so much rumble strewn across the ground a fall is inevitable.
DISTANCE TO LIEBERMAN MINE: THREE FEET TWO INCHES
DANGER
ADVISE IMMEDIATE EVACUATION
That's easier said than done with the weight of T-800 slumped across my legs.
John reacts first, going to Alison Young's aid. Humane. Understandable. Foolish.
"BOMB!" I yell.
Sarah Connor appears. "What's she yelling about?"
"I think she said bomb. Shit! Look, something's strapped to her body."
"LIEBERMAN MINE!"
"Stay still, sweetie, let Uncle John just cut this nasty thing off you...Got it."
A freed Alison Young dodges round Sarah Connor and crouches beside her unconcious mother. She starts to cry. She thinks she's got problems? I was two inches away from being blown skyhigh.
"John, be careful. That's Semtex. If it explodes..."
"Yeah, that had occured to me. If it's a Lieberman mine then it'll only go off if it detects coltan. Help Cameron get clear."
With Sarah Connor's help I manage to shift the T-800 off my legs. Together we drag it towards the backwall. The proximity alarms in my HUD finally cease.
"Okay, ready? I'm going to disarm this thing. One. Two. Three..."
He wrenches the detonator off the lump of Semtex. Nothing happens. We all breath a sigh of relief. Except me, obviously. No lungs.
"How's the mother doing?"
"Unresponsive. I think she has concussion. There are bruises to the side of her head. That thing probably hit her. I've called for an ambulance. We don't have long. We need to get out of here before they arrive."
"No one's going anywhere."
Officer Smalling. A silhouette in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame, service pistol held at arms length.
"Officer Smalling. You shouldn't be on your feet. Your ribs-"
"Shut up! Put your weapons down. Hands where I can see them."
"Listen, we-"
"Weapons down!"
We comply. Officer Smalling moves further into the room to get a closer look at the decapitated T-800. "You're not FBI. And what the hell is that thing?"
"Cyborg. Sent from the future to kill us."
"You think I'm stupid?"
"No, I don't. I think you're a brave young woman who's in way above her pay grade."
She stands over the T-800, bending down to get a closer look.
"Where's its head?"
"Vaporised."
"It's metal of some kind, like a...a..."
"Cyborg?"
"Robot."
Tomato...tomarto.
Sarah Connor says urgently, "We need to go."
"You're not going anywhere until I call for backup."
John sighs. "I'm sorry, Officer Smalling. I really am." He nods at me.
I step in front of the police woman. "Give me the gun."
"Stay back! I'll shoot. I swear."
"Give me the gun."
"Not another step!"
I take the step.
The bullet strikes me in the middle of my forehead. The headshot is certainly popular today. I reach up and prise it out with my fingertips. It penetrated my pseudo-flesh easily enough but not the armour plate beneath. I hold it up to show her: a small lead mushroom. I drop it at her feet.
It's a shock too many for Officer Smalling. She puts up no resistance as John gently takes the gun from her hand and gently eases her to the ground.
"Sit there and don't move. Help will be here soon. I wasn't kidding about those ribs."
"What...What am I going to tell the lieutenant?"
"The truth."
"Cyborgs from the future? He'll never believe me. No one will."
"A man will pay you a visit in a few days. He'll believe every word. He'll call himself Rubin Creed. Or John Ryan. I want you give him a message. The mother and the girl had nothing to do with any of this. He's to leave them alone to live their lives."
From outside, sirens.
I hoist the T-800 over my shoulder and we prepare to leave.
"Wait. Who are you people?"
"Believe it or not, we're the good guys.
-0-
SUNDAY
It's a big deal. A very big deal.
The kidnap and rescue of Clare Young and her daughter has captured the attention of the whole country. There is no way this can be quietly forgotten about. A press conference is scheduled in Palmdale, attended by the great and the good of the Palmdale Police Department. It's standing room only in the media section.
"Wonder what fairy tale they're gonna come up with this time?" John speculates as we gather in the living room to watch the broadcast on the flatscreen TV.
Up on the makeshift stage sits Officer Smalling, looking pale and nervous under the bright TV lights. She's in full dress uniform with her hair pulled back in a tidy bun. Even so, the way she is seated, slightly hunched over as if in pain, suggests she is still feeling the effects of that gunshot to the chest.
"Look at her. She should be in a hospital bed, not paraded in front of the press like this," Sarah Connor comments sourly.
One of the senior officers stands up and reads a prepared statement. It's fairy tale time.
According to the official police version of events, Officer Smalling was driving to work in her patrol vehicle when she spotted activity in the abandoned nightclub formerly known as the Club Trocadero. Believing it to be homeless vagrants who frequently seek shelter there, she investigated and chanced upon the kidnapper and his hostages. A firefight ensued during which Officer Smalling was seriously wounded. Despite her injuries she managed to drive off the kidnapper and radio for assistance. For bravery over and beyond the call of duty, she is being promoted, given a payrise and a civic honor for exemplary conduct in the face of great personal danger. She has also received congratulations via telephone from the governor of California and Vice-President Biden. There is talk of an invite to the White House when she is well enough to travel.
"Sonofabitch. They're paying her off."
"Doesn't look too happy about it, does she."
"She's knows it's total BS. Wonder if Clare Young will corroberate all this."
"I think she will. Didn't Officer Smalling say she was behind on her mortgage? Play ball and that goes away."
"And if she doesn't play ball?"
"The banks foreclose on the house. Maybe they threaten to take her daughter away. They'll think of some pretext to put the sqeeze on. Perhaps they'll claim they found WMDs in her clothes closet. Makes you proud to live in a democracy."
Up on the stage, Officer Smalling smiles shyly as a battery of flashbulbs go off in her face.
The pictures are for today.
The lies for posterity.
MONDAY
Morning. I am in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Thanks to my obsessive watching of the cookery channels I've become a dab hand with the skillet.
John enters and says, "Something smells good. What's cooking, good looking?"
"Savoury pancakes."
"Let me have a taste."
He spears a piece with a fork and takes it over to the table.
"Delicious. Interesting texture. Why is it crunchy?"
"That is the worming tablets."
"The...what now?"
"The only way to get Snowy to eat his worming tablets is to disguise them in food."
"This is for Snowy? I feel sick."
"You said it was delicious."
"That was before I knew I was eating dogfood."
Sarah Connor enters the kitchen. "Something smells nice."
John holds up a hand. "Don't even go there. Trust me. You'll regret it."
She puts something on the table. The Lieberman mine. Or rather the sensor and detonation trigger. Even so, my HUD flashes a warning and I take an involuntary step back. I hate those things.
"We have to decide what we're going to do with this."
"I've examined it. Some of it's regular circuits like you can buy off the shelf at Radio Shack. But there's other stuff I don't recognise. Weird little circuits. And I haven't a clue how it all works."
"This could be a breakthrough. If we can replicate this, manufacture them in the thousands, then even if we can't prevent Judgement Day we might at least shorten the war by years, possibly even months."
"That's a pretty big if. This is future tech. We'd basically have to backward engineer it. Who are we gonna find to do that?"
"I think we should give it to Daniel."
"Lieberman? Why him?"
"He's the one that invents it. It bears his name. Who better?"
"Well, yeah, but that's in the future. There's no reason to...hey, you don't think this is how it happens, do you? Oh man, the irony! Some random T-800 brings a weapon back from the future and inadvertedly causes it to be invented in the first place! Burnnnn!"
"So you agree we should give it to Daniel?"
"Worth a shot. You want me to parcel it up?"
"No. This is too valuable to trust to the mail. I think we need to go to Seattle and deliver it in person."
"Great. Another roadtrip. We haven't been on one of those for like...two days."
I carefully slide the pancakes off the skillet and on to a serving dish. I place it in the middle of the table.
"Who wants pancakes?"
There are no takers. Well! Don't blame me if everyone gets worms.
SATURDAY
The journey to Seattle is a long one. With Sarah Connor choosing to drive, John and I sit in the back and play a game of travel scrabble to pass the time. The game involves small plastic tiles with letters and numerical values being placed on a board with similar numerical values assigned to tiny squares. The winner is the player with the most points. Since I have both the Webster and Oxford English dictionaries installed in my database I am quietly confident of victory.
"What's a zygospore?" John demands. "Is that even a word?" So far we have been playing for three hours and he has openly questioned sixty percent of the words I have deployed. I admit some of them are extremely obscure, yet completely acceptable within the rules of the game.
"A zygospore is a sporidium formed by the union of two similar gametes."
Duh!
"I think you made it up. Mom - you ever hear of a zygospore?"
"Can't say I have."
"I assure you it is included in the Webster and Oxford English dictionaries. And it's on a triple word score."
"What's the score now?"
"Two hundred seventeen plays forty-two. In my favor."
"How many tiles are left?"
"Nine."
"I'm screwed, aren't I?"
"If by screwed you mean your chances of winning are zero, then yes, you are screwed."
"How many games is that now?"
"Eighteen. Not including the one where you lost your temper and deliberately knocked the board over."
"That was an accident."
"I think not. You were angry because I would not permit the word 'bumfluff' to be included."
"It's a word!"
"Not according to Mr Webster. Or Mr Oxford. I lead eighteen - zero. Another game?"
"No. You're cheating. You've got a dictionary implanted in your head."
"Two, actually. And there is nothing in the rules that forbids this. Only consulting a physical copy during a game will cause a player to be disqualified. It's in the rulebook."
"Which you've also got in your head."
"Correct. In several languages, including Klingon."
"Let's play another game. I-Spy. That's simple enough. You can go first."
I-Spy is indeed a very simple game. You note something visible in the immediate vicinity and reveal only the first letter of its name. The other person must guess what it is purely by deductive observation.
"I spy with my little optical sensor something beginning with...Cee."
"Carpet."
"No."
"Cruise control."
"No."
"Clock."
"No."
"Caravan."
"No."
Forty minutes and sixty unsuccessful guesses later John throws up his hands in frustration and says, "I give up. What the hell is it?"
"Circumzenithal arc. "
"What, on God's green earth, is a circumzenithal arc?"
"It is an atmospheric effect that causes a partial halo to appear round the sun. It's created by ice crystals in the upper atmosphere and can be observed by putting your head out the window and looking up. See? A circumzenithal arc ."
John closes his eyes and mutters several rude words under his breath.
"Is it still my turn?"
"No. It's not. It's mine. Okay, John, let's concentrate, you can do this...I spy with my little eye something beginning with...A."
"Asphalt."
"Dammit!"
-0-
North of San Francisco we stop for gas. Then we drive a short distance off the Interstate and stop at a diner. Humans need refueling as well.
John and his mother order large meals. It's been some time since they have eaten.
The waitress finishes taking their order then looks over at me. I shake my head. "Nothing, thank you."
"Oh sweetie, you gotta eat. You're skin and bone."
She departs before I can remonstrate with her. Skin and bone? What a terrible thing to call a terminator. It's so ...human.
While the meals are consumed I scan the diner for possible threats. There is little to concern me. No opportunity to kick some ass. The diner is barely a quarter full. The only activity is in a side alcove where a small boy appears to be fighting a vending machine. I decide to investigate.
"What are you doing? I ask standing beside him.
"I put my dollar in the slot and now it won't give me my candy bar," the boy explains. "Stupid machine!"
I peer through the perspex front. He's telling the truth. The candy seems to be jammed and hasn't dropped into the access chute as it is designed to do.
"Give the boy his candy bar."
"It can't hear you!"
He's correct. There are no audio or optical sensors. It really is a stupid machine.
"Can't you do something?"
I can and do. Brute force is required. I grip the sides of the machine and give it a good shaking.
Success! The errant candy bar drops into the chute - along with every candy bar the machine possesses. Oops.
"Wow! Thanks, lady! Do you want some?" the boy asks already beginning to fill his pockets.
I decline and profer a warning about excess sugar consumption leading to obesity and diabetes. The boy barely listens. Oh well. Enjoy your lifetime of health problems.
Sarah Connor finishes her meal and elects to visit the ladies restroom. I accompany her, not because I am fearful for her safety or a desire to expunge waste products from my body. Yuk. No, I wish to check my hair. I recently cut it for the first time in fifteen years, trimming a quarter inch off the length, and the restroom is bound to have a mirror. Both John and Mia insist I look no different. Are they blind? It's a quarter inch shorter. I'm practically bald.
The restroom is a square room lit by an overhead flurescent light since there are no windows. There are four stalls one of which Sarah Connor enters before closing and locking the door. As a rule humans dislike being observed excreting waste products, although on the internet there are many websites devoted entirely to this practice. How weird is that?
Along one wall are several aluminum sinks above which is a long narrow mirror. On the wall next to it someone has scrawled in red Sharpie:
FOR A GOOD TIME CALL JURGEN
8443-555-7698
YOUR PLEASURE IS MY MEASURE
Who is this Jurgen and why has he chosen to advertise his services in such a crude manner? Has he not heard of pop ups? The good time bit suggests he is an entertainer of some description. And what does 'your pleasure is my measure' mean? Can pleasure be quantified? It's an interesting concept. Perhaps I should call Jurgen and ask him to fill me in.
I lean closer to the mirror, brushing my hair aside to inspect my brow for any lingering signs of damage. The pseudo-flesh is smooth and unblemished. Being shot at point blank range by Officer Smalling meant I had to spend a couple of days wearing a baseball cap to disguise the scar. I told Mia I was experiencing a bad hair day. Me a bad hair day? As if.
Behind me the stall door opens and Sarah Connor emerges. She pauses briefly to wash her hands then brushes past me saying, "When you're done admiring yourself, let's go."
We collect John in the main room and head for the exit. I pass the vending machine where the small boy is still extracting candy bars. From somewhere he has acquired a canvas bag which he is diligently filling up. He sees me and smiles and waves. I smile and wave back. Just your friendly neighborhood terminator dispensing happiness and joy wherever I go. Of course, if I was in badass mode the happiness and joy would be replaced by mayhem and screaming. Good times.
-0-
John decides to drive the final stretch to Seattle so Sarah Connor occupies the passenger seat. She brusquely declines my offer to play travel scrabble and/or i-spy. She probably fears I would whip her ass.
As we arrive at the outskirts of the city, a map is produced to plot a route to Daniel's apartment building. Sat-Nav isn't trusted because its a machine. That is so discriminatory.
"Okay, at the next intersection we need to go right, then it's the second left."
Actually, the third left would be quicker. I don't divulge this information. Neither is aware I have visited Seattle previously and therefore don't bother seeking my advice. Good. Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies.
"I suppose he knows we're coming?" John asks as he steers the Suburban into the building's parking area.
"I sent him a text back at the diner."
"Good. I'd hate to drive all this way and find Lieberman's slacking off at the beach."
We enter the building. I automatically peel right and head for the stairs like I did on the last visit. John says, "You taking the stairs? We're gonna take the elevator. Race you," he grins.
I head up the stairwell, resisting the temptation to hurry. That would be cheating. I take each step at my usual pace. On the fourth floor I come upon a discarded magazine with Kendall Jenner's face on the cover. She is part of the Kardashian circus, milking her dubious celebrity for all its worth. It is hard to tell why she is famous. And even harder to care.
I push through the final door and take up station outside Daniel's apartment. There is no sign of John. I win again. I am on a roll.
The elevator doors open and mother and son emerge. John smiles ruefully. "Some little kids got on and thought it'd be funny if they pushed all the buttons. We stopped at every floor."
"They were ill-disciplined brats," Sarah Connor grumbles.
"Yeah, you told them that. What did they say back? Oh yeah. 'Eat me, grandma.'"
Ooh, that's a zinger. I make a note of that one. Might come in handy.
John knocks on the door. It's opened instantly by a grinning Daniel Lieberman, future hero of the Resistance. He's wearing jeans and a tee shirt with a picture of Snoopy the cartoon dog riding a surfboard. The thought bubble says, 'cowabunga!' Ooh, another zinger. I make a note of that one as well. This trip is proving very educational.
"Hey, guys! Great to see you. Come on in."
Sarah Connor says, "Just a second. Did you check through the spyhole before you opened the door?"
"Uh - no. I knew it was you. I got your text."
"And suppose it wasn't us? Suppose it was the police? You'd be in custody now."
"You're right. Sorry. I'm usually more careful."
"Don't mind mom. She's mad because some kids smart mouthed her on the way up."
"Oh you met the Randall twins? Yeah, they're little terrors. The other day they let off firecrackers in the corridor. I almost had a heart attack."
We enter the apartment. Daniel turns to me and says, "Hey, Cameron. Long time no see. What's new with you?"
What's new with me? I check my database before replying:
"I recently learned the phrase 'time of the month' isn't a reference to the Gregorian calendar. Instead it alludes to a human female's menstruation cycle. Why are you holding up your hand?"
"I want you to stop talking."
"You dislike the sound of my voice?"
"Your voice is fine. The subject matter, not so much."
"You don't find menstruation fascinating? The way the uterine wall can shed up to-"
"Someone please change the subject," Daniel urges.
"Good idea," John laughs. "So, where's this girlfriend of yours - Kristal, is it?"
Daniel looks stricken. "Oh. Right. You don't know. Krissie and I broke up a few weeks ago."
"What happened?" Sarah Connor asks in a surprisingly tender voice. The grump of a few moments ago suddenly gone.
"We were arguing more and more. We didn't have a whole heap of stuff in common really. Things came to a head when we were planning our vacation. Krissie found this great online deal. Two weeks in Bermuda. Five star hotel right by the beach. Fully comped and everything. It really was a sweet deal."
"And you can't fly..."
"Right. I'm a fugitive from justice. I can't risk an airport. Not these days with the increased security."
"What did you tell her?"
"What could I tell her? I said I had a plane phobia, that I was afraid of flying. She was supportive at first. Then she suggested I see a therapist. Or a hypnotist. Or take sedatives before the flight. Plus there was her sister. She's never liked me. They do yoga class together every week. I'm sure she bad mouths me, tells Krissie she could better."
"Sorry, man. That's harsh."
"What is yoga?" I ask.
"Exercise for lazy people, if you ask me."
Exercise for lazy people? That sounds ideal for Snowy. It's getting harder and harder to make him do laps of the yard. I'll book him in for classes when we're back in LA. I wonder if they sell tiny leg warmers in packs of four?
"Hey, let me give you a tour of the place. It's pretty small, though the rent's gonna be a killer with just me."
We get the Grand Tour, room by room. It's mostly unchanged from the last time, though there's a marked absence of women's panties hanging up to dry in the bathroom.
"And check out the door," Daniel enthuses proudly. "Looks like ordinary wood? Wrong. Sheet steel with matching frame."
"Great, man. How'd you run that past the landlord?"
"Oh we never see the landlord. Some rich guy lives in Fresno. I only had to run it past the super, a guy named Frank. I fed him some sob story about being robbed at my last two apartments and didn't want it to happen again."
"And he believed you?"
"Sure. Frank's pretty cool. He looks after Lulu for me while I'm at work."
"Right. You've a dog named Lulu. Where is she?"
"Stashed her in Frank's apartment. I figured if Cameron was with you she might start yapping. Lulu I mean, not Cameron."
We exchange a look. This is exactly what did happen. Non stop yapping. A reminder that for all his flaws Snowy is a very special dog.
"Yeah, you're probably right.," John agrees. "This one time we were in the park and this dogwalker came along. Young girl with about seven dogs all one leash. They took one sniff of Cameron and skeddadled. The girl fell over and the dogs dragged her along behind them!"
I remember this. She was wearing soccer shorts. The friction from being dragged across the grass made the shorts fall off, exposing her thong and pasty white buttocks. Mia laughed so hard she almost wet herself.
"And check this out." Daniel opens the glass doors to the balcony. He shifts some plant pots to reveal the escape device I fitted on my previous visit. "If the police or any metal monsters show up I can attach this hook to my belt and jump. The cable's a spring loaded brake so I won't go splatt."
"Yeah? You try it out?"
"Sure have."
"Work okay?"
"I'm here talking to you, aren't I?"
"Wow. That's a drop of six floors. Pretty ballsy, man."
This is not strictly true. I threw Daniel over the balcony. AsI recall, there was a great deal of poop involved.
Sarah Connor leans over the railing. "How many exits?" she asks peering down.
"One. At the rear. Locked gate but I have a key."
"Is that a bike rack down there?"
"Yeah. Tenants only."
"Good. Two wheels are faster if you have make a quick getaway."
"Er - I don't actually own a bike."
"No matter. I'll give you a pair of bolt cutters."
"You want me to steal someone's bike?"
"Daniel, if anyone is after you they will either kill you or send you to prison for a very long time. Stealing a bike is the least of it."
"You're right. Sorry. So...how are things with you guys? Where's Mia and Snowy?"
"We left them in LA with friends. It's a long journey and I didn't want to stop every twenty minutes so that dog could do his business. "
This is true. Snowy is very regular. Too regular, if you ask me.
"We come bearing gifts," John declares rummaging in his backpack. "Here you go. Present for you."
He hands over the Lieberman mine, minus the Semtex of course.
"Er - thanks? What is it - some kind of mp3 player?"
"Nope. It's a LIeberman mine. From the future."
Daniel's jaw drops open. "What? No way. This is what I invent? How..?"
We tell him about Palmdale. The T-800's plan to blow us all up. The kidnapped Alison Young.
"Wait. I saw that on TV. They said some police woman saved the child and her mother. Gave her a medal and everything."
"Nope. It was actually us."
"So how did he bring this back with him?"
"Probably in his mouth. It needs to be covered by flesh to make the trip. And the Semtex he could source right here in the present day."
"How could he arm it without blowing himself up?"
"That's why the mother was kidnapped. We figure he forced her to strap the landmine to Alison and arm it while he stood at a safe distance. Then he knocked her out so she couldn't yell a warning."
"Is she gonna be okay?"
"Newspapers say she's recovering in hospital. Little Alison's staying with relatives under a police guard. The kidnapper's supposed to still be at large, not melted down to slag and buried in our backyard."
"So this let's me out, right? I don't have to invent it anymore."
"Wrong. We can't figure out how it works."
"So give it to a scientist. Someone who knows what he's doing."
"Has to be you, man. Sorry."
"Why?"
"It called a Lieberman mine for a reason. You ever watch Back to the Future?"
"Sure. Classic movie."
"Remember the scene at the prom where Marty plays 'Johnny B. Goode' and Chuck Berry's listening on the phone?"
"Yeah. So?"
"So who wrote the song?"
"Chuck Berry wrote 'Johnny B. Goode'".
"Only because he hears Marty playing it."
"Okay, Marty then."
"But Marty only plays it because he heard the record back in the 80s."
Shi-it...So you're saying I'm Chuck Berry?"
"Yup. Just don't go buying any glass tables."
Daniel sits down on the couch, turning the Lieberman device over and over in his hands. Sarah Connor explains, "If we can get a headstart on this we could manufacture these in quantity. If we can't stop Judgement Day at least we can be better prepared than before."
"Of course, we don't know for sure if this is actually the way things worked out the first time round," John speculates.
"What d'you mean?"
"This whole chain of events could be how you came to invent it in the first place."
"But...that means we've had this conversation before? Literally word for word. That is ... spooky."
"Depends on the perspective. Our present is someone else's past."
"Cameron's from the future. She must know."
I shake my head. "I have very little data on the Lieberman mine's gestation. Future John never confided in me."
"Why the hell not? Would have saved us all a lot of bother if he'd given you detailed instructions on how to make this thing."
"Look at it from his point of view," John explains. " In future me's present this has already been invented. There's no need to issue instructions since it's a done deal from his perspective."
"From my perspective it's a pain in the ass and he's a complete jerk. And you can tell him that when you see him."
"No need," John grins. "I'm right here, remember?"
"Man, this stuff is making my brain hurt!"
"Join the club."
-0-
Time passes. Everyone relaxes and gets comfortable, which for me means standing to attention by the balcony doors. Daniel yells, "Hey, Cameron, pull the stick out and chill!" This causes even Sarah Connor to crack a smile. I widen my stance slightly. That for me is chill.
Pretzels and beers are produced. Anecdotes are exchanged. Mia's progress at school is discussed. And Snowy's antics are laughed at in an affectionate manner. John spots a copy of the video game Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare and before you know it he and Daniel are seated side by side on the sofa playing it. The future leader of mankind and one of its greatest heroes controlling avatars who shoot pretend bullets at pretend enemies amidst pretend cityscapes, swapping good natured insults as they play.
Sarah Connor stands up and says, "Is there a way up to the roof? I'd like to stretch my legs."
"Uh - sure. You want me to show you?"
"I can find my way. You stay and play your little game."
"Okay, you'll need a key. And give the door a firm shove because sometimes it sticks."
She taps me on the shoulder and whispers, "You come with me."
Oh dear, why does want me to accompany her to the roof? I hope she's not planning on tossing me off. I hate being tossed off. I prefer to be the one doing the tossing."
We walk the four flights of stairs up to the roof door. It does indeed require a firm shove, the metal screeching as it rubs against the ground. The afternoon sun is bright after the gloomy stairwells and Sarah Connor dons sunglasses to combat the glare. I've left mine in the Suburban. No matter. I engage a chromatic filter over my optics that works just as well though isn't as sexy as a cool pair of mirrored aviators.
There's no one but us on the roof, though several lawn chairs, a barbecue set and numerous discarded beer cans suggest this place gets a fair bit of use. Sarah Connor picks her way through the detritus and leans up against the parapet, elbows back and face tilted up to catch the rays. I do likewise, adopting her pose exactly. When in Rome...
"You've been here before, haven't you."
"Yes. During the war. Part of Future John's entourage."
"That's not what I meant. You were here recently."
"What makes you say that?"
"Couple of clues. Daniel made sure his dog wasn't around because he knew how she panics when you're around. Probably barked nonstop."
I confirm nothing. I don't like where this conversation is going.
"The other clue was that gadget on the balcony. Daniel's a smart boy but that's not his style. It's more something you'd think of."
Still I say nothing.
"Play the silent card all you want; I know I'm right."
Busted...
"Will you tell John?"
"I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Those two boys have a complex relationship. And John hasn't had many male friends since Derek died. He could use one. They're around the same age. Have similar interests. They both struggle with their destinies. I'm not going to rock the boat just to look clever. And that gadget suggests your visit was meant to be helpful."
"It was."
"Did you meet the girlfriend - Krissie?"
"Yes."
"I hope you didn't do anything to upset her?"
I pointed a gun at her and said I would pull the trigger and let her bleed out if she didn't follow my orders.
"I was the perfect guest," I lie.
"Somehow I doubt that." She turns round and stares across the gap at the other apartment building. "That block is pretty close. If we could run a cable across it would be another escape option."
"Like a zipwire?"
"That would work."
"I already suggested it. Daniel wasn't keen."
"He say why?"
"I believe fear of falling was an inhibiting factor."
"I suppose we are fairly high up. The trick is not to look down."
"A better trick is not to fall."
"How did you get him to test that gadget?"
"Kinetic persuasion."
"You threw him over, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"You must've been awfully confident it would work."
"Of course."
"Arrogant as ever. You do that to my son and I'll blow your artificial brains out. Understand?"
"Yes."
We stare into space, lost in our thoughts. My thoughts focus on what it would be like to toss Sarah Connor over the side of the building, the sweet sound her screams would make as she plunged to her doom. Blow my artificial brains out indeed.
Suddenly from behind us comes the loud metal screech of the door being forced open. A heavy footfall on the roof is followed by a loud male voice hoarse with aggression yelling:
"There you are! I've got you both cornered now. This time they'll be no getting away!"
-0-
A circumzenithal arc is a real thing. Strange but true.
Yoga being exercise for lazy people is simply Daniel's jaundiced opinion. I know several rugby players who swear by yoga to keep in shape.