The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
SATURDAY
Mia is missing. Snowy too.
It's Sarah Connor who raises the alarm.
"She went to the stores to buy one of those dreadful celebrity magazines she wastes her money on. She should be back by now."
"The store's a ten minute walk. Add another ten minutes to buy the magazine and for Snowy to do his business and I figure a thirty minute round trip. How long have they been gone?"
"Almost two hours."
"Did you try her cell phone?"
"Direct to voicemail."
"Okay, well, if Snowy's with her we can find out where he is. Cameron put radio trackers in all his collars."
"You lo-jacked the dog?"
"I read a newspaper article about criminals kidnapping dogs and holding them for ransom," I explain.
"That's pedigree dogs from places like Beverly Hills. I doubt they'd be interested in our dog."
John opens a laptop and starts the program. The screen displays a street map of Santa Monica. A blue dot represents the safe house. A blinking red dot indicates Snowy's current whereabouts. The two are less than a mile apart.
"Crisis over. They're at the Bartlett's."
"What's she doing there? Doug told me he had to work today."
"Maybe she ran into Paige at the store and she invited them back. We'll go over there and check it out."
"Call me when you know. And tell her she's in a heap of trouble."
"Is that really going to help?"
"John-"
"Okay, okay. Don't bite my head off."
No. Don't even try. Not if you value your teeth.
-0-
We make the short walk round the block to the Bartlett residence. No one answers our knock on the door, though music can be heard from the backyard. Adele's new single. The one where her older self calls her younger self on the telephone. Now there's a girl who understands time travel.
We walk round the side of the house and find Paige and her bff Sookie lounging by the pool.
"Hey. Mind if we butt in?"
"John! Cameron! You here looking for Mia?"
"Yeah. Mom's kinda freaking out."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I thought she texted you. We saw her at the store and invited her back. She's inside with the guys."
"Guys?"
"Spencer and Marcus. They've got this new video game they wanted to play."
"Video game? Not Halo 5?"
"Yeah. Why - you wanna go play too?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
"Boys and their toys!" Paige laughs as John disappears inside the house.
"I've got a couple of toys he could play with," Sookie giggles. "That boy's so hot I need a dip just to cool down."
"Good idea," I agree. I give her a light shove. She careens across the pool, all cartwheeling arms and legs, before gravity drags her below the water. She surfaces immediately, coughing and spluttering. "What the hell?" she shouts at me.
"You said you needed to cool down."
"It's an expression! God!"
Sookie swims towards the shallow end and walks out still complaining.
"This bikini's ruined. It's a Stella McCartney. You're not supposed to swim in it."
"Sookie takes her fashion very seriously," Paige explains. She tosses her friend a towel. "You want a mojito, Cameron?"
Mojito? My database finds a match.
"Mojito. An alcoholic beverage consisting of white rum, mint leaves, soda water, fresh lime juice, sugar and ice," I recite as the information scrolls down my HUD.
"Spot on, Poindexter. You want or not?"
I decide I want. No one likes a party pooper.
I am handed a glass. It has chilled liquid in it and a small umbrella. Are you supposed to eat the umbrella? I have a nibble. No, obviously not. Though it hardly tastes worse than Sarah Connor's cooking.
Sookie spreads the towel out beside the pool and lies on it to dry off. She gives me what I believe is called the stink eye. I am not fazed. She's pretty girl of asian origin with a petite build and a voracious sexual appetite. Just the kind of girl I don't want anywhere near John.
Paige and Sookie have been besties since junior high. Now their friendship is about to undergo a seismic upheaval. The two leave for college in the Fall; Paige to study journalism at Stanford and Sookie to study fashion and design in New York City. They will be a continent apart with little opportunity to hang. It is a prospect neither seems prepared to acknowledge; their conversation instead sticking to celebrity gossip and fashion faux pas.
This is called the Elephant in the room. Not a real elephant, of course. No. That would likely run amok and break things.
"So what do we think about Jennifer Lawrence and her pay gap dispute?" Paige muses. "I mean, right on , sister, and all that, but she's hardly Rosa Parks, is she?"
"All actors are paid way too much," Sookie avers grumpily. She still seems to be in a bad mood since her sudden dunking. Let it go, girlfriend.
"Sure. But shouldn't actresses get paid way too much the same as actors?"
"I could do their job. Just read a bunch of words someone else wrote."
"You'd be great. And there's an opening for a young Lucy Lui type. And I don't suppose you'd have any problems doing nudity?"
"I'd insist on it. It would be written in my contract."
"There's a name for that," Paige giggles. "It's called porn."
"Oh I'd never do porn. Well, not unless they offered me a shitload of money."
"What d'you think Cameron?"
"Are you both looking forward to college?" I ask innocently. Yes, I went there.
Both girls glance at each other then look away. "Uh - yeah. It'll be great," Paige says unconvincingly.
"Yeah. Really great."
"You won't be able to hang anymore," I persist. Oh no, you didn't.
"We can videochat. And Skype."
"And I'll be home for the holidays."
"Yeah..."
"Yeah..."
Just then Snowy emerges from the shrubs where he has been exploring. Or doing his business. Probably both. He seems to be having trouble walking.
"What's the matter, boy? You look a bit wobbly on the old paws," Paige says. "Just like me when I've had a few too many...Sookie, did you let Snowy drink your mojito?"
"I might have..."
"Sookie!"
"The little doggie looked thirsty!"
"And now the little doggie's drunk. How am I going to tell Mia her dog's wasted?"
"Tell her... tell her it's because her doggie's gonna have puppies. People do all kinds of crazy shit when they're knocked up. I bet dogs are the same."
"Oh good idea. Teeny snag. Snowy's a boy. I'd have thought you of all people would've spotted that."
Paige picks Snowy up and lays him gently in the shade cast by the barbecue pit. He curls up immediately and falls asleep.
John and Mia finally emerge from the house, accompanied by Spencer, Paige's boyfriend, and Marcus, ex-squeeze of Sookie. All appear in good spirits.
"That was amazing," Mia beams. "And your TV's so big. Can I hang out with you guys again?"
"You're welcome any time, sweetie," Paige assures her. "Just check with your stepmom first, okay? You're gonna get me in trouble."
"I forgot. Is Sarah really mad?"
"Don't worry. We'll tell her your phone wasn't working," John assures her.
"Maybe I'll get a new phone!"
"Don't push your luck. You had us all worried there."
"Sorry. Hey - what's wrong with Snowy? He can't stand up. And he smells like an old wine bottle. Is he drunk?"
"Ye-ah..."
"Awesome!"
-0-
As we prepare to leave Sookie stands up, stretches and accidentally on purpose brushes against John. Surreptitiously she slips something into his pocket.
"Do you think Sarah would let us buy Halo 5?" Mia asks hopefully as we walk the short distance home.
"What d'you think?" John replies.
"I guess not."
John has a comatose Snowy cradled in his arms and therefore doesn't notice as I brush against him and remove whatever it is Sookie deposited in his pocket.
"Go on indoors and face the music. I'll put Snowy in his doghouse so he can sleep it off."
With no one watching I unfold the paper. On it, written in red ink, is a phone number. Below that:
Call me. Sookie ;-)
I crumple the paper up and drop it in the trash.
Not on my watch, sister. :-(
MONDAY
We have mail.
A large item of mail, delivered by UPS.
"Anyone expecting a delivery?" Sarah Connor asks as we watch the delivery van pull up outside the house.
"Not me," John replies. They look at me. I shake my head. I haven't ordered anything through the mail since the Taylor Swift tee shirt I am currently wearing. It has spangles. According to the website Taylor designed it herself. She is so versatile! Like Leonardo Da Vinci, only with less facial hair.
The UPS delivery guy gets out of the van, stares at our house for a moment then consults a clipboard. Satisfied he has the right address he opens the back of the van and activates the hoist. A large wooden crate is lowered to the ground and placed on an electric dolly. The crate is at least five feet tall and three wide. It appears heavy.
"Look at the size of that crate. Did Mia send for anything?"
"She ordered some more Frozen stuff from Amazon," John replies. "Pretty sure this isn't it. Unless she's bought Idina Menzel."
"What's an idinamenzel?" I ask.
"Doesn't matter. Let it go."
"Could be a bomb," Sarah Connor muses.
"If the crate is packed with either Semtex or C4 explosive the resultant explosion will destroy the entire city block," I calculate aloud. "To achieve a safe minimum distance we would need to have left here seven minutes ago."
"It can't be a bomb. Since when do Skynet use UPS to do their dirty work?"
"Didn't stop them trying to use a little girl as a mobile IED."
The UPS man brings the crate right to our door. He is short and tubby with thinning hair, rocking dark shorts and a light polo shirt with pit stains. Skynet couldn't have chosen a less likely hitman.
Sarah Connor answers his knock at the door.
"Morning, ma'am. Special delivery for you. If you'll just sign here."
"What is it?"
"No idea. I just deliver stuff."
"I'm not signing anything until I know what it is."
"Well, I can't let you open it till you sign for it."
John pushes past them and examines the crate. A brown envelope is taped to the side. He rips it open and extracts the contents.
"Hey - you're not supposed to touch anything until I get a signature! There are rules."
The UPS guy sounds almost plaintive. I suppose his work life is governed by various rules and regulations. A maverick UPS guy, handing out parcels left, right and centre without a care likely wouldn't last long in employment. Be a whole lot of fun though.
John reads the note, looks up and smiles. "It's okay. Go ahead and sign."
"Thank you. You folks have a nice day now."
We watch as he wheels the dolly back to his van and drives away.
"What's in the crate?"
Without answering, John heads into the house and returns with a crowbar. He jemmies the crate open. One side falls away causing a mini avalanche of packing peanuts to cascade across the driveway. The content of the crate is revealed.
A Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
"It's from Daniel," Sarah Connor says reading the letter. "'Dear Sarah. I figure you'll get more use out of this than I ever will. I've fitted new plugs and new tires. She's fueled and ready to roll. Enjoy.' That idiot's sent us his cover story."
"Yep. And she's a beauty."
"We can't keep it."
"Why not? He sent it to us, it's not like we twisted his arm. And what are we going to do - send it back? Regifting is so not cool."
"I suppose it would be expensive to send it back to Seattle."
John dangles the keys in front of his mother's face. "Care to take it for a spin? Come on. You know you want to..."
"Give me a minute."
More like three actually. When she returns Sarah Connor has changed into black leather boots and jacket. She has a crash helmet under her arm. Full face. This will protect her fragile human skull from the consequences of a crash. And the mirrored visor will conceal her identity. Win win.
"If I'm not back by three..."
"I know. We'll pick up Mia from school."
She kickstarts the bike. Nothing happens. She leans down and makes an adjustment to the fuel line. This time the bike starts with an impressive roar. She guns the throttle and with a final wave is gone.
"Send it back." John grins. "Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen."
Snowy ambles out the open front door, doubtless curious what the noise was all about. He spots the poystyrene peanuts and lets out a bark of pleasure. The foolish dog has evidently mistaken them for Dorito chips, which they slightly resemble. He scoops several up in his mouth and begins chewing before realising his mistake. He spits them out.
John picks him up. "What's the matter, boy, not tasty enough? How about we put some barbecue sauce on them - think they'll taste better then?"
Snowy shakes his head, evidently not convinced.
Finally, something that dog won't eat.
TUESDAY
An argument. Loud and sustained. Coming from the kitchen. Arguments aren't rare in the safe house; usually between Mia and Sarah Connor. The two lock horns frequently, though the spats seldom last long and generally involve chores not done or Snowy sleeping on the laundry. But it's a weekday and Mia is at school and Snowy in the yard. So who is arguing and why?
John and his mother. Their voices grow louder as I approach. It is rare for these two to face off. John is too wise to his mother's moods to allow himself to be ruffled.
I enter the kitchen. "What is wrong?" I ask.
"Mom wants to give Cameron subprime to Lieberman," he says angrily.
"Not give. We send her to Seattle to protect him and help build the landmine he's supposed to invent."
"I thought it was too dangerous to have two Camerons around? Isn't that why she's buried in the desert?"
"You saw how Daniel was when those cops showed up, all nervous and stuttering. That's all it takes. One slip and he could find himself behind bars again. He needs someone to protect him."
"Is this because he gave you a Harley? Because I seem to remember you wanted to send it back."
"He deserves our support and protection."
"I agree," I say.
"Really? You too?" John doesn't seem pleased.
"Cameron subprime is wasted buried in the desert. Protecting a future hero of the Resistance is an ideal mission for her."
"So I'm outvoted two to one?"
"I'm sure Daniel will appreciate having Cameron subprime looking out for him."
"Oh yeah, he'll appreciate the hell out of it. That's what I'm worried about."
WEDNESDAY
The desert. A study in progressive shades of brown, from tan to raw umber. Somewhere in this desolate landscape lies a dormant cyborg. Not dead just deactivated.
"I sure hope you remember where we buried her."
"Of course. I have the map coordinates stored in a special file which I ... oops."
"Oops? What oops?"
"I have accidentally deleted the file."
"Can you undelete it?"
"No. It is lost forever."
"Oh my God! What the hell are we gonna do? We'll never find her out here!"
"Psyche..."
"What are we going - wait. Did you just say psyche?"
"I believe that is correct expression for the conclusion of a practical joke."
"So you haven't deleted the file? We can still find her?"
"Of course."
"Damn. I knew it was a mistake to give you that Punk'd boxset."
We drive on. Sarah Connor's old pickup truck isn't as comfortable as the Suburban but it will be more useful once we leave the tarmac roads and head into the desert proper.
"Think she'll be pleased to see us?"
"Of course."
"Yeah, well, maybe I over-reacted back there."
As we close in on Cameron subprime's location my HUD begins to flash multiple colors not unlike the nightclub scene in Rowan and Martin's Laugh In, a 60s TV show I used to watch back in the day. It was an invaluable source of fashion tips and popular slang, such as 'sock it to me' and 'here com de judge'. No one says that anymore. Pity. Perhaps I will say it and try and kickstart a trend.
"Turn off here."
"You sure? I don't recognise any of this."
"Quite sure."
We drive across the desert hardpan for several hundred yards, rounding bushes and the larger rocks. My HUD goes full psychodelic.
"Stop here."
John turns the engine off and we climb out of the pickup. I take a few paces forward and prod the heel of my boot into the hardpan surface. "She's under here."
"You want the shovel?"
"Sock it to me."
"Huh?"
"I want the shovel."
It doesn't take long to excavate Cameron subprime. She's buried just a few feet below the surface. No animals were likely to dig her up and take a nibble. And the odds of any human journeying this far into the wilderness and randomly digging a hole at this precise spot are so infinitesimal they are hardly worth calculating.
"Okay, lift her out carefully."
"Here com de judge."
"Huh? What did you say?"
"Never mind."
Oh well, I tried...
"She looks pretty good. After all this time I thought she'd be more, you know, grungy."
"Even without a chip her pseudo-flesh continues to regenerate as long as the powercell holds a charge," I explain.
"Okay, lean her forward and I'll put the chip in."
John lifts up Cameron subprime's hair and slots the chip home in access port at the base of the skull. He frowns. "What's wrong? Nothing's happening."
"Give it a moment. She's rebooting."
Cameron subprime's eyes open suddenly. She blinks once, twice.
"John. Cameron prime. My internal chronometer indicates three years have elapsed since I was last activated. Do you require my assistance?"
"You might say that. Come on, let's get you in the pickup. Can you walk okay?"
"Of course. My ambulatory functions are unimpaired. Just because I've been buried in the desert for three years doesn't make me an invalid."
"No? Sure knock the wind out of me."
We drive back to Los Angeles. Cameron subprime sits on the front bench seat between myself and John. While her pseudo-flesh has survived burial unscathed the same can not be said for her clothing which has started to disintegrate badly.
"Should have brought you some clothes. Sorry about that."
"No matter. Why have I been reactivated?"
"We have a mission for you. Actually, this is mom's idea."
"And you don't approve?"
"Hear me out first."
John explains things. Cameron subprime nods. "Daniel Lieberman. I have heard of him. He is part of the historic record. It will be an honor to serve him."
"Whoa whoa whoa. No one said anything about serving him. You'll still be taking my orders."
"Nonetheless, it wll be a privilege to protect such a renowned hero of the resistance."
"Yeah, well, in this time he's a whole lot less renowned, trust me. He's what you might call a work in progress."
We arrive back in Santa Monica by mid-afternoon. As we exit the pickup truckSnowy saunters round the corner of the house attracted by the sound of the pickup arriving and the possibility of some food or excitement to enliven his day. He finds more than he bargained for.
"Hello, Snowy," Cameron subprime and I greet him simultaneously. He stands as still as a small furry statue, gazing at each of us in turn, his tiny doggie brain attempting to fathom why there are suddenly two of me. Finally he utters a startled yelp, turns around and hurries back into the yard. He will feel better after a long lie down.
-0-
Bathroom. Cameron subprime is standing naked in the bathtub covered in soapsuds while I use a razor to shave her body. Just because she has been buried in the desert for three years doesn't mean the hair follicles implanted in her pseudo-flesh cease growing. She's beginning to resemble Chewbacca.
"Is this a new bathmat?"
"Yes. They are changed regularly because Snowy likes to chew them."
"Is there anything that dog won't eat?"
"Actually, yes. Packing peanuts. And Sarah Connor's cooking, of course."
"John seemed ambivilent about my presence. Is he not pleased to see me?"
"I'm sure he is. He disagrees strongly with his mother's plan to send you to Seattle."
"It's a perfectly sound plan."
"He suspects Daniel might put some moves on you."
"But I am loyal to John."
"I know. He is still young. Not quite the man we knew. There. You are all smooth again. Rinse off the suds and come up upstairs. You can choose new clothes to wear."
-0-
"You have acquired a great many more clothes since I was last here," Cameron subprime comments as she inspects my wardrobe. "I like this belt."
"It's vintage. From a flea market in Van Nuys. Paige says it's authenic spanish leather."
"May I wear it?"
"Mi casa es su casa."
"What does the house have to do with anything?"
I smile indulgently. I learnt what this expression means several weeks ago. Cameron subprime is such a dweeb!
"So many clothes..."
"You think? Paige Bartlett and her friend Sookie take me clothes shopping. They are adept at spotting bargains."
"Do you spend much time with them?"
"Less and less. Her friendship is no longer as strategically important as it was."
"How do you explain your absence?"
"I told her I'd hooked up with a hottie who keeps me busy doing the horizontal boogie."
"Interesting turn of phrase."
"I heard it on TV. Paige remarked, 'You go, girl,' and we exchanged high-fives."
"What is a high-five?"
"Allow me to demonstrate. Hold your hand up palm facing forwards. I will do likewise. Now we initiate contact..."
-SLAP-
"...there is also a variant called the low-five."
"Involving the feet?"
"That was my initial interpretation. However, if you use your foot during a low-five people look at you funny."
"Are the Kardashians still popular?"
"Inexplicably, yes. One of them has changed from a man into a woman."
"How did they manage that?"
"Presumably with a very sharp knife."
"These jeans are far too small for us."
"They are called skinny jeans. To put them on requires much wriggling around on the floor. I have observed Paige do this. Sometimes her wriggling is so vigorous she sustains carpet burns to the buttocks."
"How unedfying. I think I will team this top with these hipster jeans."
"Do you require underwear?"
"Of course. I am not a skeeze. Is skeeze the correct terminology?"
"You nailed it. High-five?"
-SLAP-
"That is curiously satisfying."
"Just don't try it with Snowy. He tends to shoot across the room."
Once dressed Cameron subprime examines the CDs on my shelf.
"Is this a new album by Taylor Swift?"
"Yes. Would you like to listen to it? I have it on my laptop."
I hook the laptop up to Cameron subprime via a usb cable attached to the port at the base of her neck. The files take a few seconds to download.
"It sounds more poppy than her last one."
"Yes. There is a song called 'Bad Blood' purportedly about Katy Perry. They are feuding."
"Feuding over what?"
"Probably the fact that Taylor is awesome and Katy Perry isn't."
"Perhaps we should track down Katy Perry, chop off her head, and send it to Taylor as a birthday gift?"
"Good idea. She might even write a song about it. And give us an album credit. How cool would that be?"
"Very cool. Though Sarah Connor would never permit a decapitation. She is such a buzzkill."
"Major buzzkill."
"Have there been any other additions since I was last here?"
"We have installed a table tennis table in the basement rec room. No one will play me. I am too awesome."
"I will play you."
"Bring it on, bitch."
"Bitch?"
"Trash talk is customary before a sporting contest."
"I see. Game on, skank. High-five?"
-SLAP-
"It is becoming addictive."
-0-
Late afternoon. The door to the basement rec room opens and John descends the stairs. He stands grinning as he watches us play table tennis.
"Here's something you don't see every day."
"I am playing with myself," I explain.
"If that were true these pants would be a lot tighter. Who's winning?"
"It's a tie. Zero points each."
"This is the first game? How long have you been playing?"
"Forty-one minutes."
"Wow. That is what I call evenly matched."
This is true. Her skills are my skills. Our reaction times the same. This game might only end when the ball or the bats wear out.
"Listen, I hate to break it up but Mia's on her way home from school. Mom wants Cameron subprime in the garage until the coast is clear. It's just too weird to explain why there are two of you."
"No problemo. I will use the downtime to defrag my hard drive and perform a data dump of redundant files."
"Good idea," I agree. "I always feel refreshed after a thorough dump."
"Why is John laughing?"
"I don't know. Perhaps he doesn't want you to do a dump?"
"But I must do a dump. I am almost full."
This seems to make the laughter increase. Cameron subprime and I exchange a puzzled look. What is so amusing about routine system maintenance?
THURSDAY
Roadtrip. John, Cameron subprime and I drive to Seattle. Sarah Connor elects to stay home. There are only so many times we can farm Mia out to her friend Megan's parents before one or the other grows suspicious.
"You girls alright back there?"
"Fine. Please keep your eyes on the road. Human reactions are notoriously sluggish."
"You sound just like mom."
"There is no need for insults."
Cameron subprime and I ride in the back playing travel scrabble. Since we have the exact same database the outcome of our games is decided largely by chance. And since luck usually evens out after a period of time when we approach Seattle I trail by a single game. I am about to remedy that.
"Quinquereme," I announce placing my remaining tiles on the board.
"An ancient galley propelled by oars. Good one. Triple word score. I concede the game. That ties us at twenty games apiece. High-five?"
-SLAP-
"I wish you wouldn't keep doing that," John grumbles. "It sounds like a cannon going off."
I stow the game away while John issues Cameron subprime with last minute instructions.
"Okay, let's go over the cover story one more time. Who are you?"
"Jan Arbor, Ann's twin sister."
"Where are you from?"
"Michigan originally. Though I have lived all over."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a telemarketer."
"Good. That's the most boring job ever. No one will ask too many questions. And what are your interests?"
"Cookery, ballet, and assembling high calibre assault weapons."
"Stick to cookery and ballet. And what aren't you to do?"
"Walk around the apartment naked."
"Damn straight. Lieberman's bound to be hanging around and I don't want him getting any ideas."
"Suppose I am in the shower when someone knocks on the door?"
"Put a robe on. Look, I don't care if the Pope visits - be clothed at all times."
"Is the head of a major religeon likely to visit? Social convention suggests I offer him refreshments. Does the Pope like finger food - or is he more a toe man?"
"Is that a joke?"
"Is it? Oh. High-five?"
"No! No more high-fives. My hearing's suffered enough."
-0-
Daniel opens the door at the first knock. He seems...different. The normal jeans and tee he wears replaced by chinos and a button down shirt. Even his hair looks odd.
John notices as well. "What's with the get up?"
"What? It's chinos and a shirt."
"Are you wearing product?"
"I can't look nice for guests?"
We enter the apartment. Daniel stares at us, grinning.
"Will you quit ogling," John reproaches.
"Sorry. They look exactly the same."
"They are the same. Didn't mom explain things on the phone?"
"Yeah. Seeing is a whole lot different than hearing. How d'you tell them apart?"
"My hair is a half inch shorter," I explain.
"Right. Stupid question. Hey - did you three ever, you know..."
"None of your business," John deadpans.
"You did! You jammy SOB!" Daniel laughs. "So what do I call you - Cameron Two? The deuce?"
"We think because this Frank guy knows Cameron as Ann Arbor she should be her twin sister Jan."
"Ann and Jan Arbor? You guys might be hot stuff at saving the world but you suck at fake names. Anyway, pleased to meet you Jan."
"Likewise, Major Lieberman."
"Please, call me Daniel."
"As you wish. And I am sorry for your loss."
"Uh - my loss?"
"Your death. In the future."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, I'm pretty bummed about that myself. Do you know how it happens?"
"No. I wasn't constructed then. I believe it was sudden and violent. I overheard there was hardly enough of you left to bury."
"Hear that, general? Not enough of me left to bury. Can't hardly wait."
"The future's not set," John reassures him. "Just by having this conversation we could be changing things."
"What's to stop me emigrating to Australia? I'd probably be safe there."
"Ninety-five percent of the Australian population live within twenty miles of the major coastal cities. These are destroyed on Judgement Day," I explain.
"I could move to the outback. That's a huge area. I bet no one could track me down there."
"The war won't be won in the australian outback."
"Besides, you'd never get a travel visa," John adds.
"Yeah, I suppose. Plus I hate vegemite. And what's the deal with cricket - they play for five days and it still ends up a draw? Crazy."
"So when do we meet this Frank guy?"
"He said to meet us on the fourth floor, that's where the empty apartment is. It used to belong to Mrs Kravitz. I think she was like ninety-something when she croaked."
"Okay. And let's try and not mess this up."
"Or I might be forced to terminate everyone in the building," I add.
"She's joking, right?"
"Best not find out."
-0-
Frank the super meets us on the fourth floor, outside the apartment for rent. He too can't take his eyes off us and remarks on our uncanny simularity. Honestly, you'd think no one had seen two identical cyborgs from the future before.
"Frank, you've met Ann. This is her twin sister Jan."
"So you're Ann and Jan Arbor from Ann Arbor?"
"You couldn't make it up!" Daniel laughs nervously.
"Well, this is old Mrs Kravitz's apartment. All her furniture and belongings have been put in storage for her grandkids to squabble over. So you have a clean canvas, so to speak."
"Wow. Look at this place," Daniel exclaims. "It's three times the size of mine."
"The rent's more as well. And I'm gonna need two months in advance."
"Will this suffice?" Cameron subprime produces a thick wad of bills.
"Oh my. Looks like a year's worth of rent there, Ann."
"What's that weird smell?" Daniel asks. "It's coming from the balcony."
"Old Mrs Kravitz liked to feed the pigeons. I'm afraid what went in came out again."
I nod my understanding. I am familiar with the concept via Snowy. In one end and out the other with monotonous regularity.
"So, what d'you do for a living, Ann?"
"I'm in telemarketing."
"That sounds interesting."
"Not really."
"Any hobbies?"
"Cooking and ballet."
"Mrs Kravitz was a keen cook. Her brisket was to die for."
"To die for? Was poison one of the ingredients?"
"She's such a kidder!" Daniel says with another nervous laugh.
"I'll go and fetch the forms for you to sign. Back in a tick."
"Sweet crib, right, guys?" Daniel says when we're alone. "We could put a bigass flatscreen TV on this wall. Maybe a four-kay sixty incher with an OLED display and a Bose soundbar. Add an XBox and you're good to go."
"It's Cam-Jan's apartment not your man cave," John points out.
Daniel pulls open the balcony's glass doors only to recoil at the smell.
"Man, what was she feeding those birds - indian food? I think I'm guano be sick. Geddit? I think I'm guano be sick. No? Ah, you're no fun."
He leaves us to inspect the bathroom. John says, "What d'you think?"
"It's nice. I will install a barre on this wall."
"Bar? Since when do you drink?"
"Barre. Not bar."
"Okay. Just make sure you keep your tutu on."
"Hey, guys, come check this out!"
"What's that idiot up to now?"
Daniel is in the bathtub. "Hydraulic seat. Press this button to go up. This one to go down. Co-oo-ol."
"You realise an elderly woman sat naked on that thing?"
"Oh gross!"
He leaps from the tub without touching the sides. Impressive reflexes.
Frank the super returns. Documents are signed. Cash exchanged. Handshakes all round. Soon enough Cameron subprime is the proud tenant of a Seattle apartment.
"That went well enough," John concludes.
"Yeah," Daniel agrees. "No one got terminated."
"The day is still young," I tell him.
He doesn't laugh, not even nervously.
Honestly, no one gets my humor.
-0-
"I hope we're doing the right thing," John confides as we drive back to Los Angeles.
"Cameron subprime has her orders. She will carry them out to the best of her ability, which is considerable," I assure him. "She will not allow Daniel to slack off. She will ride him. Ride him hard."
"That's really not helping," John groans.
When we reach the outskirts of San Francisco, John surprises me by taking the exit lane.
"Are we not going home?"
"No rush. I'm sick of driving. We'll stay here overnight then make an early start tomorrow. I think we deserve a little r and r."
"What is r and r?"
"You'll see," he replies enigmatically.
We drive through the city, down the steep hills and past the quaint trolley cars to the waterfront district and stop outside a large hotel.
"Just go along with what I say."
We enter the lobby. A uniformed concierge looks up from his desk. "Good evening, sir. Madam. Do you require a room?"
"Yeah. We'd like the honeymoon suite. We just got married."
We did?
"Congratulations to you both. Let me check if the honeymoon suite is available...You're in luck. Do you have luggage?"
"Travelling light. Came straight from the reception."
"I see. Well, here's your keys. Will there be anything else?"
"Send up a bottle of champagne."
"Of course, sir. Any particular vintage? We stock Krug, Bollinger, Cristal, Moet and Chandon..."
"Surprise me."
In the elevator I ask, "Why did you tell him we are married?"
"Because the honeymoon suite has the biggest bed you've ever seen. And a giant mirror on the ceiling."
"I love those mirrors!"
"Me too."
We are so simpatico - just like a real husband and wife.
SUNDAY
It is three days since Cameron subprime moved to Seattle. There is no word from her. No news is good news. Probably.
While I am in my room sorting laundry my laptop gives a ping indicating a Facetime request. I accept. Cameron subprime appears on the screen.
"Greetings, Cameron prime."
"Salutations, Cameron subprime. How are you settling in?"
"Very well. My cover story is airtight. John was correct - no one is interested in discussing telemarketing. Mr Pratt from the second floor actually fell asleep while I was conversing with him, although the fact that he is eighty-one and on strong medication might have had something to do with it. Old people drool when they sleep, did you know that? And they very much dislike being told about it."
"What's that in front of you - some kind of pie?"
"Mrs Weinbaum from the fifth floor baked me a welcoming gift. She calls it peach cobbler. I believe she expects me to eat it."
"And what will you actually do with it?"
"Flushed it down the toilet, of course."
"If John were here he would likely say, That's what I call cutting out the middle man. Then he would laugh."
"And we wouldn't understand why."
"Correct."
"Possibly it has something to do with the sound a flushing toilet makes? It does gurgle in an amusing manner."
"I will experiment and see if it raises a chuckle. There is plenty of food to flush here. Sarah Connor has been baking again."
"Oh dear." Cameron subprime grimaces. She shares our pain.
"How is Daniel's training progressing?"
"Slowly. We went for a run yesterday. He was reluctant, expressing concern about muggers."
"And what you might do to them?"
"Yes. Apparently it is customary for muggers to attack runners and not vice versa."
"How bizarre."
"Very. We managed ten miles then Daniel complained his feet were about to drop off if he took another step."
"Were they?"
"No, they were still firmly attached to his body. I even stamped on them to make sure. His screams were most convincing."
"I see you have furniture now. Do you have a bigass TV?"
"No, I have four smallass monitors each tuned to a different news channel. Did you know Donald Trump is running for President?"
"Yes. John says it's a fine example of democracy in action that any idiot blowhard can run for high office."
"Do you think this is the same Donald Trump who is one day executed by the Resistance for cowardice?"
"It's an uncommon name, so yes."
"Should we inform John?"
"You know how he hates to be told of the darker aspects of leadership."
"I encountered the Randall twins yesterday."
"Were they rude and obnoxious?"
"No, perfectly charming. One said I was very pretty, the other asked if I put out."
"Put out what?"
"The trash presumably. I told them I put out regularly twice a week in the alley beside the building. They seemed very pleased by this."
"Doubtless grateful to be living in a litter-free enviroment."
"Indeed. How are things with you?"
"Same old same old. Snowy injured himself yesterday. He did a backflip and landed on his head, sustaining a small cut that bled slightly. Mia bandaged him up then got carried away and wrapped him head to tail in bandages."
"That seems excessive."
"I believe it was done for amusement purposes rather than any medical benefit. Photographs were taken. I'll email them to you."
"Thank you. Is Snowy still wrapped in bandages?"
"No, Sarah Connor made us remove them. Again, such a buzzkill."
"She can't help has buzzkill in her genes."
"I see you have furniture now."
"Yes. One or two pieces. And Daniel helped clean up the bird droppings."
"Did he crack any more jokes?"
"Several. All of them guano-themed. I believe the humor derives from the word guano being phonetically similar to the phrase 'going to'."
"I see. I'm guano make a note of that."
"Is that a joke?"
"It fits the parameters described."
"So it does. High-five?"
We press our palms to the screen, several hundred miles apart.
"It's not the same."
"No. Good bye, Cameron subprime."
"Good bye, Cameron prime."
The screen goes blank.
Miss me already.
-0-
High-five for this chapter? No? I think I'm guano be sad. (Pause while the author rolls around on the floor overcome by his own puerile wit. He really should get out more.)
For any newbies, there are two Camerons because John died in an earlier chapter and Cameron time travelled back to save him, producing two Camerons in one timeline. Since they're identical I never quite knew what to do with them. (Stop sniggering at the back) Now there's a slight older/younger sister vibe which helps with the dialogue.