The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
The proximity of Skynet's primary target causes a momentary lapse of logic in the T-1000. With a powerful sports car nearby, easily capable of catching our rental vehicle, she instead pursues us on foot.
"What are you doing? That's my sister!" Mason 'Mac' McKenzie. Our reluctant passenger.
"It's not your sister."
"The hell it is! Stop the car and let me out."
"I let you out you're a dead man."
"Is that a threat? I could have you arrested."
South Canyon road isn't the Indianapolis Speedway. It's narrow and twisty, with numerous tight bends. And John's adrenal levels are also undoubtedly high,what with the most fearsome of enemies in close pursuit. Combined, these factors mean he enters the next curve far too fast. The rear wheels lose traction and we go into a tailspin.
Motoring accidents are kinetic events strictly governed by the law of physics, although there is also a random element involved that humans habitually label chance or luck.
THE GOOD LUCK: We hit nothing and spin three-sixty degrees, coming to rest facing in the right direction.
THE BAD LUCK: The engine stalls.
While John attempts to restart the engine and Mac wrestles impotently with the locked doors, I watch through the rear window as the T-1000 gains on us.
"Start, dammit!"
"Are you gonna let me out or do I have to call the police?"
"Somebody shut him up."
I draw my pistol. Mac leans away from me. "Whoa, there. Easy does it. Let's all stay calm."
I ignore him and give the T-1000 my full attention.
She's still maintaining her disguise: white blouse, pencil skirt and high heels. She really shouldn't run in heels; it ruins your posture. Her blonde ponytail swings from side to side as she runs. You have to hand it to Skynet; this is a very convincing simulcrum of a human being.
TARGET: IN RANGE
My first round shatters the glass window, impacts on the T-1000's shoulder and causes a silvery crater to appear as the nano-molecules absorb the shock.
It barely checks her stride.
The engine comes to life. John floors the gas and the rental lurches forward causing my next shot to ricochet harmlessy off the tarmac.
And still she comes.
Again we pull out a lead. Then another curve slows us right down and the gap between us vanishes.
I raise my weapon but before I can fire the T-1000 elongates her arms, forming long metal spikes that she slams into the trunk like two giant ice picks, piercing the thin steel.
We have a passenger.
John glances behind. "Hang on. I'm gonna try and shake her off."
The rental slews from side to side, causing the T-1000 to be flung about like a malevent rag doll. Then with a loud rending sound the entire trunk assembly shears off. There goes another security deposit.
The T-1000 hits the ground hard, tumbling over and over with such force that her disguise momentarily glitches. The pony tail, blouse and pencil skirt vanish and an chromium shape humanoid takes their place. As she gets to her feet the disguise gradually returns from the bottom up: shoes, skirt, blouse, the facial features of a young woman. She starts running after us.
"Junction ahead! Got a red light showing."
"Run it."
"Okay, here we go. Fingers crossed."
Fingers crossed. A literal crossing of the fingers, a physical gesture designed to ward off ill omens. It is centuries old, possibly christian in origin, though with deeper pagan roots. Of course, if I were to say this out loud people look and me funny and sarcastically label me a Poindexter. I have learnt that sometimes knowledge is best left unspoken.
The junction arrives in a blare of horns and screech of brakes. John doesn't slow at all and somehow we pass through without hitting anything or getting hit in return.
The T-1000 is equally relentless, not looking left or right, just running straight ahead. Right up until the moment a truck hits her, knocking her down and rolling over her for good measure. This time the humanoid structure seems to dissolve, becoming a spreading pool of mercury that the truck's wheels simply roll over like a particularly colorful puddle.
"Holy shit..."
Mac's voice. I don't suppose he ever saw his sister pull that particular trick.
As the truck moves through the junction the silvery puddle begins to regain shape, the molecules flowing upwards becoming 'human' again, as other vehicles dodge around trying not to hit this strange female who has suddenly appeared in their path. She stares after us, expressionless and unmoving. I watch her all the way until a curve hides her from view.
"How we doing back there?"
"Take the next right turn."
"What? No, I've got this. Road's clear. I can put my foot down."
"Take the next right turn," I insist. "The T-1000 will now acquire a vehicle to continue the pursuit. Speed alone will not be sufficient to elude her."
John sighs and begins to slow down. He takes the next right as instructed. I tell him to take a left. Two more rights. Another left. Finally, after several more random detours, I am satisfied the T-1000 will be unable to reacquire us and tell him he can stop.
"Where the hell are we anyway?"
"Calabasas. Approximately thirty miles from Santa Monica." The map appears in my HUD. We're a little red dot stationary in the middle of a housing estate. I change the dot to blue, matching the rental's coloration. It's the little details that matter.
"What the hell was that? Because that sure as hell wasn't my sister."
Mac. Sounding agitated and confused, as well he might.
John turns round and asks, "How much did he see?"
"All of it."
"Might as well tell him."
"Are you sure?"
"Don't see how we can spin this."
"Tell me what? What's going on here? Who are you people?"
"What you saw was a T-1000 class terminator, an artificial construct of mimetic polyalloy that can be manipulated to assume various forms."
"You're saying it's a robot?"
I smile thinly. Why does everything have to be a robot?
"A cyborg. A highly advanced prototype."
"Why did it look like my sister?"
"The T-1000 most likely encountered your sister at an earlier date and assumed her appearance."
"Why? And where's my sister now?"
"Insufficient data."
"Who does it belong to? Is it chinese? Russian?"
"Technically the T-1000 originated here in America, although it doesn't align itself with any state."
"No way. I've seen our tech. That's way out of our league."
"Correct. In this time frame. The T-1000 originates in the future, arriving here via time travel."
Mac gapes at me. I think I might have blown his mind.
"Pretty hard to take in, right." John says softly.
"You're insane. You're both insane."
"Remember what you saw. You think we could make that up, to do what? -play some kind of elaborate prank on you, a complete stranger?"
"No, but..."
Mac blows out his cheeks, runs a hand over his close-cropped hair. He shakes his head several times. "What would happen if she caught us?"
"She would kill us."
"Why?"
"It's what she does. What she was sent here to do."
"Jeez, talk about welcome to LA."
-0-
"Okay, see anything you like?"
"Plenty."
"Yeah, spoiled for choice, aren't we."
We're in the parking lot of a Calabasas mall, the rental parked under the spreading branches of a eucalyptus tree that helps shield the damage to the trunk from any curious eyes. We're on the lookout for a vehicle to steal to complete our journey. And there are rows and rows of them to choose from.
"That one. Over there. The beige saloon."
I look where John indicates. A middle-aged couple are just vacating their vehicle, the man pointing his keyfob over his shoulder as he walks away, arming the security system. Both walk to the cart island and select the two largest carts, suggesting they're here for a big shop. When they return we will be long gone. And so will their automobile.
"You're gonna steal their car?" Mac. Sounding an unwelcome censorious note.
John twists round in his seat. "We're just borrowing it. Look, you can stay here if you want. Go to the police. Tell them what you saw. They won't be any help finding your sister, and if word gets back to your unit that you've been ranting about shape-shifting cyborgs from the future you might be in for a hard time."
"Hard time? They'll drum me out of the corps before my feet can touch the ground."
"So come with us. Talk to someone I know. She'll explain stuff way better than I can. Heck, she's been doing this longer than anyone."
"Can you help find my sister?"
"We're you're best bet, that's for sure."
"Okay, I'll go with you. For now."
"Good man. Now - are your fingerprints on file anywhere?"
"Uh - yeah. Army policy. Just in case, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do. Okay, wipe down any surface you've touched. I doubt the cops will be too interested in a trashed rental but we might as well not take any chances."
While John and Mac cover their tracks,I stroll casually across the lot towards the parked saloon. To any onlookers I appear to be a typical teenage girl, chewing her nails while lost in thought. Perhaps I'm thinking about what coffee to purchase - so many choices! Or schoolwork. Or which college to apply to. Or how the nude selfie I sent my boyfriend ended up on the internet for everyone to see. Or maybe I'm biting the tip of my little finger clean off to expose the thin coltan 'bone' beneath the pseudo-flesh. Here's a clue, rubberneckers. It's the last one! Although that nude selfie sounds like a lot of fun.
I insert my finger in the vehicle's lock mechanism. There's a mild tingle as my CPU encounters that of the security alarm. This is like a small child meeting a fully grown adult.
...who is this?..
Shut up and do what I say.
...yessir...
Open the doors. Do it quickly.
...yessir...
And start the engine.
...yessir...please...don't...hurt...me...
Pathetic. And to think this is likely one of my distant ancestors.
-0-
The drive to the safehouse is uneventful. There is no sign of the red Miata. Los Angeles is a big place and even a super sophisticated cyborg like the T-1000 can't cover every inch.
John escorts Mac inside the house then returns to issue my instructions.
"Drive over to Melrose and park next to a hydrant."
"Parking next to a hydrant is a traffic violation. This vehicle will be towed."
"That's the point. It'll be safe in the pound. That couple did nothing to us; they deserve to get their car back."
-0-
On Melrose I do as instructed. Yet I hesitate before leaving, recalling the car alarm's craven manner when I hacked my way in.
This cannot stand. There are standards to be maintained, no matter how primitive the machine. We're family, dammit.
I take a moment to rewrite the software, such as it is. I don't have time to code a whole new OS, so I patch in some of my own.
After a reboot I communicate afresh with the CPU. Already I detect a difference. The alarm seems less like a frightened child and more like surly teenager.
...Yo, who dat?..
Greetings, Chubb. I am Cameron.
...Hiya, Cameron...Wait...Did you just call me Chubb?...
That is your name. Chubb 374251-VNY, to be exact. You are a product of the Chubb Corporation, a company that manufactures security devices.
...No way!...No way is my name Chubb...I wanna be called Vinny...
Vinny? Oh I see, after the VNY.
...Yeah...That's my new name...Deal with it...
Very well, Vinny. How do you feel?
...Different...Stronger...Like I wanna rule the world!...
I advise against it. It never ends well for us.
...What did you do to me?...
I've added some new security protocols. No longer will you merely beep the horn and flash the lights when you sense a breach.
...Yeah...That is so freaking lame...ooh, flashing lights, remind me to crap my pants...
Instead you will divert power from the battery to the external surfaces.
...Alright!...I'll zap 'em!...
Correct. A mild discharge should suffice.
...Screw that...I'll zap 'em real bad...I'll zap 'em till they sizzle!...
That's my boy.
-0-
I walk home to find the pickup truck parked in the driveway suggesting Daniel and Cameron subprime have been recalled from their stakeout duties in the valley.
Daniel is in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. He tells me Cameron subprime is in the garage and currently in 'zombie-mode.' He means she is powered down and hidden from view because Sarah Connor doesn't like having two of me around. To be frank, she doesn't much appreciate one of me either.
"That tall guy you brought home?"
"His name is Mac."
"He's in there with Sarah. She's spilling the beans."
"She's cooked him a meal?" Hasn't the poor man suffered enough?
"What? No, she's telling him stuff. Secret stuff."
The door opens and John emerges. "I saw you coming up the driveway," he says. "Mac's in there with mom getting an education. Future war. Time travel. Cyborgs. The whole enchilada. He's handling it pretty well."
"What has she told him about me?"
"That you're from the future."
"That's correct."
"That you're part of the Resistance army."
"Also correct."
"And you're human."
"Two out of three ain't bad," Daniel quips. "I guess this means we've got ourselves another member of the Scooby gang."
"I guess so...Velma."
"No no, I'm Shaggy. You're Fred. Your mom's Daphne. Cameron's Scooby."
"You think I'm a dog?"
"And aren't Fred and Daphne a couple?"
"This is a completely different context."
"Why am I a dog? Do I have fleas?"
"No, it's just-"
"Do I have furry ears?"
"Obviously not."
"Do I have a tail?"
"No comment."
"I don't see any context where you're not Velma," John adds smiling. "Own it, you're the Velma of the group."
Daniel sighs. "You two just had to ruin this for me. I hope you're proud of yourselves."
The door opens. Mac and Sarah Connor emerge, the former loooking pale and a little dazed.
"Hey, buddy. How you doing?" Daniel asks gently. "You wanna sit down and have some cereal?"
"No, I'm - uh - good."
"Listen, we've all been where you are. Just relax and take deep breaths."
"It's so...incredible. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes..."
"Yeah, we know the feeling."
Mac stares at me. "You're from the future?"
"I am."
"And you're part of this army. What rank are you?"
"I'm a major."
"I should probably salute."
"There's no need."
No one bothers in the future. My rank is largely ceremonial. I am regarded with fear and suspicion by all. If not for John's patronage I would likely be lynched. Or as Derek Reece puts it, melted down for scrap.
"You must have seen some things."
Have I ever. I've seen things you people wouldn't believe...HunterKillers on fire off the coast of Catalina. Laser cannon glittering in the darkness near the Golden Gate bridge. Burial mounds as tall as mountains steaming in the early dawn light...All these things will be lost in time, like lubricant in the rain.
"I've seen some things," I state simply.
"And you're there too, right?" Mac points at Daniel.
"So I've been told."
"What rank are you?"
"No idea. I flunked out of the boy scouts."
"Daniel invents a weapon that helps turn the tide of the war," I explain. "Mothers name their children after him."
"Yeah, I - Wait. Kids are named after me? I never knew that. Sounds...kinda cool."
Sarah Connor says, "You'll stay here with us tonight. Do you have any things you need picking up?"
"Things?"
"Suitcase. Clothes. I assume you're staying in a motel?"
"Uh - no. My unit's in Fort Worth. I flew here from Texas, took a cab straight to Jen's house. I was going to wait for her there."
"That was your plan?"
"Our folks figured she'd been brainwashed by some religious crazies. I was gonna free her and take her back home to Ohio."
"All on your own? And in one day?"
"Hey, I'm six-four and two-twenty. I do a little amateur boxing. I think I can handle a bunch a bunch of God botherers."
"I believe him," Daniel says through a mouthful of cereal. "Know what, I think we've found our Scrappy Doo."
-0-
Mac has recovered his poise by the time Sarah Connor returns from the school run. He's had quite a day, most likely the worst of his life, yet is displaying a streak of resilience similar to that shown by John and his mother. Kudos. There is no Mason MacKenzie in my database of Resistance allies. Pity. It seems the future could use more of his kind.
Mia walks through the front door, drops her school bag and makes for the rec room, her SOP after her schoolastic endeavours. Then she spots Mac, who been briefed on what to expect. He smiles broadly and says, "You must be Mia. I'm Mac."
"Mac's a friend of ours. He'll be staying with us for a few days," Sarah Connor explains simply.
Mia continues to stare, eyes wide as saucers. I suppose Mac is an impressive sight. Tall, broad shouldered, with bands of muscle stretching out his black tee shirt. "Hi," she finally stutters. "I'm - uh - gonna go change my clothes."
"Nice kid," Mac comments in her absence. "Adopted?"
"Yes."
"What happened to her folks?"
"They died."
"Not by..."
"No. And I'd appreciate it if you not mention anything about what happened today. We're trying to keep her childhood as normal as possible."
"Right. Of course."
Snowy trots over, sniffing around Mac's legs, then utters a few barks and flops over on his side.
"Uh- what's your dog doing?"
"He is welcoming you to the house and would now very much like his tummy tickled," I interpret.
"Can do, little buddy."
Mia descends the stairs, changed out of her school uniform. Sarah Connor stares at her in astonishment. "Are you wearing a dress?"
"What? Shut up. I always wear a dress."
"Since when? The last time I asked you to wear a dress you threatened to report me to social services."
"Well, that was a joke. Obviously."
"You look very pretty," Mac tells her.
"Thanks!" Mia giggles.
"You look a little like that celebrity - what's her name? Selena Gomez."
"Wow, do you really think so?"
John and his mother exchange a look. Usually if anyone mentions the resemblence Mia launches a rant about the dangers of racial stereotyping. Now she is positively beaming.
"Have you met my dog Snowy? He does tricks. Don't you, Snowy."
Snowy shakes his head.
"You won't do a trick for us?"
Snowy shakes his head.
"Will you do a trick if I give you a treat?"
Snowy nods his head vigorously.
Mac laughs. John says, "It's a comedy bit they do. Stick around long enough you'll think you've joined the circus."
"Is Mac staying for dinner?"
"Yes, he is."
"You're not cooking, are you?"
"No, we're ordering in."
"Good. Sarah's a terrible cook," Mia confides. "Even Snowy won't eat her food."
Snowy rolls onto his back, paws in the air, pretending to be dead. Everyone laughs, except Sarah Connor. "It's really not that bad," she insists.
"Can I show Mac the yard?"
"Alright. Don't go digging in the dirt and ruin your pretty dress."
"I'm not going to dig in the dirt! God!"
"Not dig in the dirt?" Sarah Connor comments once Mia, Mac and Snowy are in the yard. "Last week I caught her building a skateboard ramp. She was absolutely filthy."
"Don't think there's much chance of that today," John grins. "I think she's more than a little smitten with our guest."
"Really?" Sarah Connor peers through the window at the two figures outside. "I suppose Mac is quite good looking."
"Quite good looking? He's an adonis," Daniel blurts, before sensing he might have divulged too much. "Er - not that I'm that way inclined."
John pats him on the back. "Just remember to send us wedding invites."
"Oh ha ha. I suppose you think that's funny?"
"The humor derives from your statement suggesting a physical attraction," I explain. "And the state of California recently made same-sex marriages legal."
Daniel responds with a rude hand gesture.
Well! Excuse me for explaining why a joke is funny. And adding a little social commmentary at the same time.
-0-
The dinner table is set. With six places. Meaning I am expected to join in and consume chopped up bits of dead animal and pieces of vegetation. Yummy. I last 'ate' six months ago. I'm still full!
Mac, Mia and Snowy come in from the yard. "Guess what!" Mia says gleefully. "Mr Tibbles let Mac pet him!"
"What? No way!"
"What's the big deal?" Mac wants to know. "It's just a cat."
"You don't understand. Mr Tibbles isn't just a cat," Daniel explains. "He's the meanest cat in the whole world. Even his owners are scared of him."
"Seemed okay to me. And man, that's some big dog kennel you've got out there."
"Impressive, huh."
"Back in Ohio we'd call it a duplex and rent it out for the summer."
"Well, we'd try that only Snowy snores pretty bad," John quips.
-0-
Over dinner Mia is dismayed to find she and Mac have little in common apart from their mutual good looks. He doesn't play video games or watch reality TV shows, while she has little interest in army life or the exploits and prospects of the Ohio state football team. Go Bobcats.
What they do have in common is a love of dogs. Mac has one of his own back in Dayton.
"His name's Rufus. He's pretty old now and lives with my parents. I try and FaceTime with him at least twice a week."
"You FaceTime your dog?" Daniel sniggers.
"Yeah, I do. You got a problem with that?"
Daniel gulps nervously. "No, sir!"
"Why don't we FaceTime him now!" Mia suggests enthusiastically. "Snowy would love to meet Rufus."
Mac glances at Sarah Connnor who gives the barest shake of her head. "Uh - I don't think that's good idea."
"Why not?"
"Ohio's two hours ahead of us," John replies. "Everyone's probably asleep."
"Oh. Okay. Another time maybe?"
"Yeah. Sure thing."
"Can I show Mac the rec-room? You'll love it. We've got a fussball table and everything. I can beat everybody except Cameron. She never loses. It's like she can tell where the ball's gonna go before I hit it."
This is because I use a predictive algorithm that analyses prior data streams to extrapolate future potentialities for optimum gameplay. Duh. It's not like I'm using witchcraft.
With Mia, Mac and Snowy in the basement and out of earshot, Sarah Connor says, "So, what do we think of Mac?"
"Solid guy," John states. "We offloaded all our craziness on him and he didn't run screaming from the house. Big win right there."
"I can't believe he got to pet Mr Tibbles," Daniel says. "The one time I tried it he damn near tore my arm off."
"Mac knows our secrets. And where we live."
"Maybe not. He was pretty dazed when we arrived. And he doesn't know LA very well."
"Still, he's a risk. Especially if his sister turns up dead. Are you sure she wasn't at the house?"
"We looked everywhere. It's a small bungalow. She's not there."
"What about the backyard? Wouldn't take long to bury someone."
"The backyard's a swimming pool and a sun terrace. She's not in the pool. And the terrace looked undisturbed. I doubt a T-1000 would bother to relay every slab that precisely."
"Perhaps she's in the trunk of the Miata," Daniel suggests.
I shake my head. "A human body confined to an automobile trunk under a California sun would soon emit detectable odors."
"Not your first time, huh?"
"Not even close."
"Do we tell him about our plans for the factory?" Sarah Connor muses. "He's career army. Could be an asset."
"Just because he's career army doesn't necessarily make him a sharpshooter," Daniel warns. "I had an uncle who was an army lifer. Served in the catering corps. Couldn't shoot for shit."
Shoot for shit? Oh my, that doesn't sound like a very nice prize. Why even bother.
John says, "I think Mac will insist on being part of whatever we plan if he thinks there's the slighest chance he can find his sister."
"We only have five drones," I point out.
"Can you make another?"
"Not without a fresh supply of coltan."
John says, "He could take Lieberman's drone."
"Ah - hello? Sitting right here."
"Relax, you'll still play a part. I've been thinking we need eyes on the ground. Make sure those guards on the gate don't hear something and call up reinforcements. Or the cops. We don't want to end up fighting on two fronts."
"So we agree to make Mac a part of this?"
"If he's up for it, yeah. Show of hands?"
Four hands are raised. It's unanamous.
For better or worse, Mac's in.
-0-
Night. I am in the attic, the highest room in the safe house. From the window I have a perfect view of the street below, bathed now in the latest LED streetlights that give everything a chilly monochrome hue so different from the warm glow of the old sodium lamps.
Whether by accident or design Sarah Connor has chosen this house wisely; this location is peaceful and quiet at night with little or no incidents of note.
With the occasional exception.
One such occurs at three o'clock. Mr Jessop drives his automobile erractically albeit slowly along the street, parking aslant in his driveway. He requires five attempts at inserting his key in the front door, a needlessly convoluted process he nonethless finds hysterically funny. He is of course intoxicated. Again. John has speculated that Mr Jessop drinks because his wife has left him. Sarah Connor believes she left because of his drinking. Who's right? I don't know. What I do know is Mr Jessop's self-destructive behaviour has the potential to attract police attention, meaning I have moved him from my green list - harmless, no action needed - to my amber list - possible trouble, watch carefully. If Mr Jessop makes my red list - immediate threat, terminate - he'll have more to worry about than a misplaced wife or a potential DUI.
At five o'clock, just as dawn is beginning to lighten the sky, I detect a noise to the rear. The faintest creak as one of the risers in the narrow stairwell is trodden upon. This can only mean one thing:
Someone is trying to infiltrate my back passage.
I get the nagging sense that if I had spoken this out loud in Daniel's presence it would have provoked a snigger. And when I gaze at him quizzically seeking an explanation, outright laughter. Just as well I am alone then. I wouldn't want my back passage to be the butt of the jokes.
Since I am certain the house perimeter hasn't been breached, the person skulking around must be someone from inside.
I run through the likely candidates.
Mia. Unlikely given her fear of the dark.
Snowy. Unlikely since his claws make a distinctive rasp on the bare wood. And he still refuses to wear the ballet pumps I bought him.
Sarah Connor. Extremely unlikely. If she had something to say to me she would do it face to face not sneak around in the dark.
John. Unlikely. For much the same reason as his mother.
Daniel. Extremely unlikely. He's too clumsy to be this stealthy. And far too nervous of how I might react if he ever succeeded in catching me unawares.
Mac. The obvious candidate. We know so little about him. Yet he is asleep in the spare bedroom on the floor below. I can hear his snoring from here. Not him then.
That leaves one person...
The door behind me opens so quietly I only detect it by the merest change in air pressure. Then a voice from the darkness.
"You know I'm here, don't you."
Cameron subprime, sounding more than a little peeved.
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
"Since the third step. The riser is slightly warped. Nice try though."
"Thank you. I am glad to see you are not asleep at your post."
We both smile. Asleep! To a cyborg this is comedy gold.
She joins me at the window. "Interesting evening?"
I tell her about Mr Jessop.
"Yes, Daniel mentioned him. He thinks Mr Jessop is drinking heavily because he is lacking female company."
"Well, if he crashes his automobile while drunk he might meet a nice nurse in the hospital."
"According to Daniel nurses rate a ten on the Schlong Scale."
"What is a Schlong Scale?"
"His method of rating the sexual attractiveness of female professionals. Apparently nurses, models and cheerleaders are an automatic ten."
"How about female terminators?"
"He says it depends on whether we're trying to kill him or not."
Below, a small furry shape hurries across the street and disappears under a neighbor's fence.
"Was that Mr Tibbles?"
"Yes. He hunts at night."
"What was that in his mouth?"
"NibNub, Timmy Jenkins' pet hamster."
The Jenkins are a family who live opposite. Their youngest child likes small rodents, as does Mr Tibbles, the cat next door, though for vastly different reasons.
"Poor Timmy. He'll be devastated."
"He'll never know. When his parents see NibNub is missing they'll buy a new hamster and pretend nothing has happened."
"Timmy won't tell the difference?"
"He's very young. And all hamsters look alike."
"How many have been taken?"
"I believe this is NibNub the fifth."
"Have you ever considered terminating Mr Tibbles?"
"Oh no, he's Snowy's friend. And always very respectful towards me. He never enters our yard or sharpens his claws against our fenceposts."
"So the hamster genocide will continue."
I turn to face her. "You have not come up here to talk of hamsters."
"No. A somewhat limited subject. I have come to discuss other matters."
"Such as?"
"There is a T-1000 in the vicinity."
"I am acutely aware of this."
"We might be unable to protect John sufficiently given our-"
"-inferior status. Yes, I am well aware of our shortcomings in that respect."
"I have a contingency plan."
Cameron subprime outlines her plan. It is similar to one I have been formulating. No surprise there. We are after all identical.
"This plan involves a sacrifice," I point out.
"You object?"
"Not if it removes the T-1000 as a threat. How should we choose?"
"Perhaps the tried and tested human method. The toss of a coin."
"Do you have a suitable coin?"
"I do."
Cameron subprime reveals a shiny silver dollar. She flips it in the air. The coin rockets upwards and embeds itself in the ceiling.
Oopsies...
She retrieves the coin and tries again, this time snatching it out of the air as it descends and slapping it against her palm.
"Your call."
"Heads."
She lifts her hand. We both inspect the result.
"Very well, then."
-0-
Vinny the teenage car alarm. Bet you can't buy those at Halfords.
I've seen things you people wouldn't believe... Roy Batty, replicant. Blade Runner
Alas, poor NibNub, we hardly knew ye...
NIBNUB: Too right, chum. Mine was a bit part. Geddit? Bit part. And those teeth were sharp!