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Property!
They see him as property!
His worst fear is realized; even the people who venerate him see him as a commodity. A thing.
Roberta, seeing that look in his eyes, grabs his hand. “Look at me, Cam!” she orders.
He does, knowing deep down that making a scene will be the worst thing he can do for himself. He needs her to talk him down.
“Thirty pieces of silver!” he shouts. “Brutus! Rosenbergs!”
“I am not a traitor! I am true to you, Cam. This deal was made without my knowledge. I’m as furious as you, but we both must make the best of it.”
His head is swimming. “Grassy knoll!”
“It’s not a conspiracy either! Yes, I knew about it when I brought you here—but I also knew that telling you would be a mistake.” She throws an angry glare at the two men. “Because if it were your choice, the technical issue of ownership need never have come up.”
“Out of the bag.” Cam forces his breathing to slow and his flaring temper to drop into a smolder. “Close the barn door. The horses are gone.”
“What the hell is he babbling about?” snaps the senator.
“Quiet!” Roberta orders. “Both of you!” The fact that Roberta can quiet a senator and a general with a single word feels like some sort of victory. Regardless of who and what they own, they are not in charge here. At least not at this juncture.
Cam knows that anything out of his mouth will be just another spark of metaphorical language—the way he spoke when he was first rewound, but he doesn’t care.
“Lemon,” he says.
The two men glance around the table in search of a lemon. “No.” Cam takes a bite of prime rib, forcing himself to calm down enough to better translate his thoughts. “What I mean is that no matter what you paid for me, you’ve thrown away your money if I don’t perform.”
The senator is still perplexed, but General Bodeker nods. “You’re saying that we bought ourselves a lemon.”
Cam takes another bite. “Gold star for you.”
The two men look to each other, shifting uncomfortably. Good. That’s exactly what he wants.
“But if I do perform, then everybody gets what they want.”
“So we’re back where we started,” says Bodeker, with waning patience.
“But at least now we understand each other.” Cam considers the situation. Considers Roberta, who is all but wringing her hands with anxiety now. Then he turns to the two men. “Tear up your contract with Proactive Citizenry,” he says. “Void it. And then I’ll sign my own contract that commits me to whatever you want me to do. So that it’s my decision rather than a purchase.”
That seems to baffle all three of them.
“Is that possible?” asks the senator.
“Technically he’s still a minor,” Roberta says.
“Technically I don’t exist,” Cam reminds her. “Isn’t that right?”
No one answers.
“So,” says Cam. “Make me exist on paper. And on that same paper, I’ll sign over my life to you. Because I choose to.”
The general looks to the senator, but the senator just shrugs. So General Bodeker turns to Cam and says:
“We’ll consider it and get back to you.”
• • •
