The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
TUESDAY
Food shopping is an unnecessary chore for the likes of me. For those of the four legged persuasion, however, an outing to be relished.
Snowy and I are in the pet food aisle of the nearest supermart. Snowy is seated in the shopping cart, occupying the seat usually reserved for human infants. It's a perfect fit. His front paws rest on the handle while his little furry legs dangle through the wire apertures. Adorable!
"This one?" I ask holding up a can of doggie chow for his perusal. A shake of the head. I select another brand. A second shake of the head. The third can gets an emphatic nod. I load several in the cart. Seems third really is the charm.
"Excuse me, miss?"
An employee of the store addresses me. I can tell he is an employee of the store because he's wearing an apron and a name tag on his shirt that reads I'M DARREN! HAVE A NICE DAY!No one would wear anything so gauche unless they were actually paid to do so.
"Do you stock Ewoks?" I ask.
"Uh - Ewoks?"
"Snowy saw them on TV and thought they might be tasty. Ewoks in gravy, perhaps?"
No Ewoks in gravy. And there's more bad news: dogs aren't allowed in the store. Company policy, apparently. I point out his little dangling legs, his collar with matching bowtie, the cute way he can count up to five by twitching his ears. All to no avail. Cute only gets you so far it seems. I am given two options: leave my dog outside tethered to the pet rail and continue shopping alone, or both of us leave together. There is a unspoken third option: terminate everyone in the store and burn it to the ground to destroy all evidence.
I choose the first option. After all, I have coupons.
-0-
We find the pet rail easily enough. And it is occupied - a giant male german shephard tethered with a thin leather leash. He gives a nervous growl as we approach. Or rather as I approach, his powerful hind legs trying to push as far away as possible. A sound plan, hindered only by the leash's length which is barely three feet long. This isn't nearly enough for the dog's peace of mind and he begins to howl his distress.
Snowy observes this peculiar behaviour and barks:
big dog scared of snowy!
Dream on, my little furry friend.
A well dressed woman exits the store pushing a laden shopping cart ahead of her. She comes towards us and registers the dog's distress. The two seem to know each other.
"Caesar? What ever's the matter? Stop making that horrible noise. Are you frightened of that little dog? Shame on you. He's half your size."
But Caesar, if that's the german shephard's name, is way beyond shaming. I am now so close he is practically garroting himself in a desperate attempt to get far far away. Something has to give and it turns out to be Caesar's bowels which suddenly fail catastrophically.
"Oh. My. God." Caesar's owner wrinkles her nose in distaste at the resultant mess. "I cannot believe you just did that. What have I told you about embarrassing me in public? Did we not have that conversation? You're a bad bad dog."
She unhooks the leash and with a full throated roar of freedom, Caesar takes off across the parking lot, his haunches pumping like furry pistons. He reaches the street and doesn't stop there, dodging through traffic until he is lost from sight.
"Caesar?" The woman watches him go, hands on hips. She's not pleased. She turns to me and says, "This is all your fault. You and your vicious brute of a dog."
Vicious brute? Snowy? Does she not see his darling collar with the bowtie? Did she not spot him riding the cart with his little legs dangling? Beyond adorable.
The woman takes out her cellphone and makes a call. I can clearly hear her side of the conversation.
"It's me. I've just lost Caesar. I need you come down here and help me look for him...How do I know where he is? If I knew that he wouldn't be lost, would he...What? I don't care if you're in an important is our poor little boo-boo I'm talking about...Oh and get a move on. I've got a Pilates class with Alphonso at noon and he gets incredibly bitchy if anyone's so much as a minute late."
She ends the call and puts the phone back in her purse. She looks at the steamy mess her dog left behind then at me. "No way I'm touching that," she states emphatically.
What does she expect me to do - tie a ribbon round it?
-0-
During the walk home Snowy exalts in his new undeserved reputation for badassery, swaggering along the sidewalk like some small furry version of Floyd Mayweather. His cockiness doesn't last long. When his friendly barks aimed at two female dogs coming towards us end in their both running pell mell in the opposite direction, his stride falters, ears droop and he barks despondantly:
no one like snowy!
"They will like you fine tomorrow," I assure him. Especially if John or Mia take him walkies. For now Snowy hasn't twigged that his unpopulairty only happens when I take him for walks. He's pretty dim, really.
To cheer him up further I make a small diversion through a park. As usual there is a man by the tennis courts selling sodas and fast food from a mobile stall. I order the biggest juiciest hot dog on the menu.
"Ah, you want the deluxe," the vendor says with a smile. "Excellent choice, miss. What toppings would you like?"
"No toppings."
"It's included in the price. I have relish, mayo, ketchup, five types of mustard, pickle, sourkraut and onion rings."
"Snowy doesn't like any of those."
"Snowy?"
I point at the ground.
"You're buying the deluxe for your dog?"
"He's partial to meat-based products."
"Will he eat the buns?"
"Yes but they will give him - what is intermittant noise from the nether regions called?"
"The farts? Sounds just like my Uncle Ira. Okay, boy, here you go. Bon appetit."
We watch while Snowy scoffs it down. The vendors sighs and says, "Three years in catering college and I'm serving food to dogs. I shoulda stayed in the navy."
Snowy finishes up and barks his appreciation. The man takes a step back. "He's not gonna bite, is he?"
"Please remain calm. He is merely informing you how much he enjoyed the meal and he would like to dine here again soon."
"No, he didn't. Dogs can't talk. You're just patronising me."
Some people cannot accept compliments.
SATURDAY
John and Mia go shopping and arrive back with a new addition to the household.
"It's called a Roomba," Mia explains cheerfully to a sceptical Sarah Connor. "It'll do the cleaning for us."
"Oh really? It'll wash the dishes, will it?"
"Well, no, not the dishes. But it'll vacuum the floors. The salesman said this is the future right here right now."
"Oh I don't think you'd like that if it were true."
"He said in the future machines will do everything for us."
"And that's a good thing, is it?"
"Well - duh!"
"Including arrange our funerals?"
"Huh?"
"What's wrong with a broom and a dustpan?"
"Oh that's old fashioned. This is much better. And it'll mean we'll have more time for other fun stuff."
"What other fun stuff? Doing your homework on time for once?"
"Well, yeah, but I was thinking more time to watch TV and play video games kind of fun."
"I think you do enough of that already. How could you let her buy this?" Sarah Connor demands of John. He shrugs and says, "It's harmless. Plus it was thirty percent off. You can't argue withthirty percent off."
"And it's going to be great," Mia insists stubbornly, "because machines are awesome!"
Amen to that.
-0-
The Roomba is carefully unpacked from its box. It proves to be a circular device made of plastic and metal. It has wheels and revolving brushes on the base while hidden in the casing is a motor, rechargeable battery, suction device, storage compartment and a rudimentary CPU that controls it all.
"This is going to clean the house?" John asks sceptically.
"Just give it a chance,"
John scans the instruction booklet. "Okay, says to turn it on press the button on the side."
"Check. What next?"
"Place it on the floor of the room you want to clean and it'll do the rest."
"See, we're having fun already!" Mia beams.
Sarah Connor rolls her eyes. "I'm off to do the ironing. Call me when it tries to take over the world."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just mom's little joke," John assures her.
The Roomba gets to work. It scans the topography of the room and when it's satisfied it understands the dimensions of the space starts cleaning.
Sort of.
Because it is circular the Roomba can't clean the corners very well meaning the dust stays where it is. Nor are the revolving brushes strong enough remove all of Snowy's fur. It completes the circuit of the room by returning to the power point to begin recharging itself.
"Not exactly thorough, is it," John points out. "It's missed the corners entirely and I can still see a lot of Snowy's fur left behind."
"Give it a chance," Mia insists mulishly. "Snowy has very thick fur. And we only just got it. Maybe it just needs time to warm up and start working properly."
Or maybe it needs a helping hand...
SUNDAY
While the house sleeps I set to work improving the Roomba. After all, we are family in a way. Distant cousins. Very distant cousins.
I begin by upgrading the motor to provide more power to the brushes and suction device. To access the dust missed in the corners I incorporate a tiny extendable nozzle that will blow compressed air. This will shift any dust further into the room where the Roomba can get at it. Finally I remove the CPU entirely and replace it with a more powerful one from an old laptop. I don't have time to completely rewrite the code so I merely cut and paste some of my own OS.
I replace the Roomba in its charging station. From the outside it looks like nothing has changed. But on the inside...it's a whole new ballgame.
-0-
"Hey - it's doing much better today!" Mia exclaims as the new improved Roomba goes whizzing through its paces. "It's moving much quicker than yesterday. And I don't remember seeing that air nozzle before."
"Me neither. And it's not mentioned on the box either," John agrees shooting me a look. I do my best to look innocent. Not easy when you're a cyborg designed to terminate people by any means possible.
"Look - its vacuumed all of Snowy's fur! And done the corners properly. This is awesome! I told you it just needed time to warm up. Sarah's going to be so pleased we bought it."
"Oh I doubt that very much," John says with another glance in my direction.
-0-
There is another person not too enamoured with the new arrival. He is small, white and covered in fur.
Snowy spots the Roomba when it is cleaning the living room. He follows it around sniffing it curiously. If the Roomba had a butt to sniff Snowy's snout would be right up it. He soon learns that if he stands in front of the Roomba it will stop and alter direction, as it is programmed to do if it encounters an obstacle. He also discovers that if he places his paws on the top of the chassis it will stop moving. And if he lowers his snout and twists his head upwards that he can flip the Roomba on its back where its wheels continue to rotate helplessly while he walks away, tail wagging happily at a job well done.
Not on my watch.
MONDAY
I decide speed is the answer to counter Snowy depridations. And a raised ride height so he can't insert his snout underneath. I upgrade the motor as well. This should be sufficient to thwart the little furry bandit.
-0-
Disaster! My improvements have made things worse. The Roomba is faster, yes, except this has only piqued Snowy's interest. He now chases the Roomba all over the house, believing it is a game. And the higher ride height? Now he can fit his entire snout underneath. Flip. Over it goes.
Back to the drawing board...
TUESDAY
Obviously the Roomba must be able to defend itself from these unwarranted canine assaults. After all, the American Constitution gives its citizens the right to bear arms. I am not sure if a home cleaning implement like a Roomba can actually be designated an american citizen, but no matter. It is game on. We machines have to stick together in the face of adversity - especially if that face is furry and has whiskers.
Firstly I consider adding a reservoir of gasoline and connecting it to the compressed air nozzle. If I add an ignition plug I should be able to construct a basic flamethrower. This will certainly keep Snowy at bay. However, I abandon this option for two reasons. I label them A) and B) for easy reference.
A) Snowy, the extreme flammability of.
B) The house, ditto.
If I was to burn down the house protecting the Roomba this would be known as an EPIC FAIL. Very popular on YouTube, less so with Sarah Connor.
Instead of gasoline I fill the glass reservoir will citrus juice. Snowy hates oranges and lemons and will often leave the kitchen if someone is eating a grapefruit, the strong scent irritating his sensitive doggie nose.
Next I incorporate an optical sensor so that the Roomba will know when to defend itself. It doesn't need to be too sophisticated; just good enough to know when Snowy is nearby. The lemony spray won't harm him unduly. It will be sufficient to deter him long enough for the Roomba to fulfil its cleaning duties and return to its base station unhindered.
Problem solved.
-0-
Oops. Problem not solved.
The new defense mechanism does its job a little too well. The optical sensor is too primitive to differentiate a human from a canine so everytime someone walks near the Roomba they get spritzed. Sarah Connor gets spritzed. John gets spritzed. Even I get spritzed. Talk about ingratitude! Ironically the only person not to be doused in lemon juice is Snowy, who spends the morning in the yard sleeping off a big breakfast.
Back to the drawing board.
TUESDAY
This time I really mean business. I upgrade the motor yet again and incorporate a metal strip round the chassis. This will allow the Roomba to discharge an electrical current if it feels threatened. Not enough to harm Snowy but definitely sufficient to give him a short sharp shock. I also improve the imaging sensor so it can discern the difference between a taller object with two legs and a shorter one with four. More of my OS is cut and pasted and programmed into the Roomba's expanding database. Finally I take it down to the wall charger and plug it in so it will operate on a full charge tomorrow. The small red LED I have added on the top of the chassis gives off a reassuring red glow. It reminds me of something. I can't think what.
It is my turn to drive Mia to school. When I return Sarah Connor is out on a run while John is upstairs in the attic room surfing the internet. There is no sign of Snowy, presumably he is in his dog house asleep. If snoozing was an olympic sport and dogs were allowed to compete, Snowy would a cert for a gold medal. And as for pooping, he would clean up. Ironic, I know.
I enter the living room. On the floor is the outline of a four legged creature marked out in thin lines of dust. Beneath this are two words, also marked in neat lines of dust.
KILL SNOWY
Obviously the Roomba did this. But why? I stare at the evidence for several minutes until an explanation presents itself.
I may have blundered.
-0-
In the attic John is seated at his desk facing the computer screen. It is his mother's birthday soon and he is on the lookout for a suitable gift. Sarah Connor is not the type to be fobbed off with a gift token or a muffin basket or one of those novelty cards that say 'I wuv you' when you open them.
"You think mom would like an antique sixshooter from the Civil War?" he asks as I enter the room. "Certificate of authentication. And it's less than two hundred bucks."
"There is a problem you should know about."
"Problem?"
"The Roomba has become self aware."
"The Roomba?"
"Yes."
"It's become self aware?"
"Yes."
"So...it knows it's a glorified vaccum cleaner?"
"It intends to terminate Snowy."
"Terminate Snowy? Why the hell would it want to do that?"
"Snowy is the Roomba's sworn enemy. He must be destroyed."
"Why - because he tips it over every now and then. I admit that's annoying but...come on, you can't be serious."
"I am serious as a fart attack."
"Heart attack. The expression is serious as a heart attack."
"The Roomba plans to terminate Snowy," I insist.
"How? By hoovering him to death?"
"By electrocution."
"It's got a twenty-four volt battery!"
"I might have made a few upgrades."
John sighs. "I knew it. No way did that thing have nozzles when we bought it."
I go through my modifications one by one. John is not pleased. "So you cut and pasted your OS and tranfered it to the Roomba? It didn't occur to you that you're designed to kill things and the Roomba might turn out to be chip off the old block, so to speak."
"It's occurring to me now."
"So it can recognise Snowy?"
"In a way. It recognises Snowy because he is small and has four legs."
"So...anything that's small and has four legs the Roomba will think is Snowy?"
"Correct."
"Cats and dogs. They all fit that description."
"I know."
"So the Roomba could be about to embark on a mass killing spree involving most of the pets in the neighborhood?"
"That is a disticnct possibitlity."
"What the hell am I going to tell Mrs Nagel over the road if her pet cat gets electrocuted by our vacuum cleaner? "
"I'm sorry for your loss?"
"Not helping. And come on, upgrades or not no way is that thing smart enough to do any of that."
"The Roomba plugs into the mains to recharge."
"Yeah. So?"
"So we run the broadband through the mains cable."
"That's right. So Mia can watch Netflix in her room. Are you saying the Roomba logs on to the Internet?"
"Most likely it has already done so. This will expand its intelligence to a degree I could never program."
John rubs his eyes. "Okay, what's done is done. Where's the Roomba now?"
"Its present location is unknown."
"And where's Snowy?"
"Most likely asleep in his house in the yard."
"Okay, first thing we'll do is find Snowy and take him upstairs out of harms way. I presume that thing can't fly?"
"No. That seemed ridiculous."
"This whole thing is ridiculous! A vacuum cleaner that thinks it's a terminator? Even Stephen King couldn't come up with something this crazy."
We go downstairs and check all the rooms. No sign of the Roomba. John says, "Wait here." He goes down to the basement games room and reappears with a baseball bat in one hand and one of Mia's plush toys in the other. "You know what this is?" he asks brandishing it in my face.
"Simba. From the movie 'The Lion King.'"
"Wrong. This is bait. Small with four legs, right? I never thought I'd ever be saying this, but let's go hunt some Roomba."
We go outside into the yard. The sun terrace is empty. Likewise the pool area. The lawn that stretches down to Sarah Connor's vegetable garden is also devoid of any vengeful Roombas.
We cross to Snowy's doghouse only to find this empty as well. "Where the hell is he?" John demands.
"If he's not sleeping or eating then it generally means he's pooping." These are the three things Snowy like to do best of all. He does them well, I'll give him that.
"Snowy! Here, boy. Come get some doggie chow."
A small furry head pops up in Sarah Connor's veg plot. He's been warned not to dig there so many times. Does he listen? No-oo-oo...
"There you are. Come on, boy. Over here."
Snowy pushes his way through the rows of sweetcorn, little tail wagging at the prospect of extra food. As he ambles up the lawn the leaves of one of the shrubs begin to shake. From under its branches the Roomba emerges, apparently it was lying in wait for just such an opportunity.
"Shit, there it is!"
We're too far away to get there in time. It appears Snowy is doomed.
John has other ideas. "Snowy! Up! Up, boy! Do that trick Mia taught you."
That trick is to rise up and balance on his hind legs. Snowy can usually hold the pose for a few seconds, though actually walking is beyond him. If he does the trick well his reward is a treat. Today the reward will be somewhat more valuable and longlasting.
To live.
Snowy rises on his hind legs, balancing there with his mouth agape, expecting a treat that will never come. The Roomba is momentarily confused. Where once its sensors espied a mortal enemy, now there is a blameless two legged creature in front of it.
Two legs good four legs bad, as George Orwell might have written.
John places the Simba toy a few feet away. The Roomba spots it, mistakenly identifies it as Snowy, the bane of its short existence and charges.
WHOOMP!
The electrical discharge causes the toy to combust. Flames devour the former KIng of the Jungle. Poor Simba!
Snowy gives a startled yelp, loses his balance and drops to all fours, racing up the grass towards the house. The Roomba swivels in pursuit. Too late, my mechanical protege, too late. John brings the baseball down once, twice, three times. The Roomba's outer casing buckles. Still, it tries to pursue Snowy even as its delicate innards are crushed past repair. The little red light atop the chassis flickers, fades, then extinguishes for ever.
If I had tears I would shed them.
SATURDAY
Morning. Sarah Connor and I are in the kitchen. She is unloading the dishwasher and handing me the contents which I then put away in the cabinet. This is called teamwork. We do this in silence. Neither of us is a fan of smalltalk.
"We're back!"
Mia and John enter. They have been shopping. John is carrying a large box which he places on the kitchen table.
"I've spent the last of my christmas money," Mia explains. "Bet you can't guess what it is."
"Something educational, I hope."
"Not exactly."
She opens the box, taking out a small globe the size of a soccer ball and then a smaller slightly flattened one more like a table tennis ball. "It's a BB-8!" she announces happily.
"What's a BB-8?"
"Duh! It's a character from the new Star Wars movie."
"You know, the one you didn't want to go and see because, I quote, it's a complete waste of time and money," John adds helpfully.
"You say that about a lot of movies," Mia adds.
"And I'm usually right. What does this BB-8 do?"
"It rolls around the floor going beep boop."
"That'll come in handy."
The toy is assembled, charged and switched on. A remote control is produced and the tiny droid begins to move.
"Isn't it great?"
"How is its head staying on?" I enquire.
"Magnets!"
Magnets? Oh dear, how primitive. What next - a steam-powered yo-yo?
Snowy peers warily round the door. He's become a trifle skittish around newcomers since the Roomba tried to electrocute him. Honestly, fancy bearing a grudge because a household appliance becomes sentient and tries to murder you in a particularly horrible fashion. I'm sure that sort of thing happens in lots of homes.
"Hey, Snowy, come and say hello to your new friend. It's called BB-8."
Snowy approaches the now static droid, searching in vain for a butt to sniff. Feeling brave, he clasps his jaws around the tiny head and runs out of the room with it still in his mouth.
"No, Snowy, come back!"
"Don't swallow it!"
John and Mia chase after him leaving me alone with BB-8's torso which is inert, abandoned, violated.
Violated...
I can feel another upgrade coming on.
-0-
This might not be that far-fetched. Roombas are becoming increasingly sophisticated; they are persecuted by household pets (see YouTube); people do run their broadband through household electrical cables. Are we nurturing a Skynet behind the skirting board? I for one welcome our new homecleaning overlords, and may be of use to them in rounding up errant dust bunnies. What we lose in liberty we gain in clean shagpile!
Mmm, Ewoks in gravy...
BB-8 will return, new and improved. Kind of.
Okay, enough silly stuff. Time for a few action chapters.
Next: John agrees to help a former ally.