Their journey continued through the wasteland of northern San Diego, taking them south along a well-worn path that ran in parallel against the old highway. The road was cluttered with cars just as it had been on Judgment day. When the bombs fell the people inside had been turned to ash. Though cruel, their fate was certainly no more cruel than what the people of today faced twenty-four-seven.

He wondered if anyone that had lived envied those that had not. Was it better to die in the fire or face life against an army of unrelenting determination, of unreal cunning? The picture in his mind was forming but for now remained incomplete. As he sat back in the seat, feeling the car bounce along the rubble-strewn path he felt a certain pity for them and a certain resentment for himself.

He had missed the fire.

The San Diego bunker was really a compound that sprawled across several blocks of the old city. John could see towers from a distance and noted their roughly human feel as if they had been constructed from whatever was laying around. They had to be man made. They were perches for the resistance. From there they could watch the ruined city and defend their front gate. It sounded like a dangerous job.

The base was surrounded by surprisingly well-built concrete walls. They were about six or seven meters high and very thick. He imagined that it would take nothing short of another nuke going off to uproot them. Autocannons guarded the battlements. Whatever was inside, he was certain that he was safer there than out here.

The entrance was a lock and hold type where one would pass a vehicle into a holding cell. John heard something about X-rays and magnetometers and Geiger counters. They were being inspected. You couldn't be too careful these days.

Once they let the car pass through the first set of locks they were still one door away. This was the real kicker. John imagined you could blast your way through the first one, it really wasn't anything special. It was a steel slab hung on rails that slid along outstretched rails and wobbled in the wind. The interior door was where the action was. As they entered the second chamber he could see guards above with rifles leveled at all of them. There had to be at least a half dozen guns on them right now, enough so that there was at least one for each of them.

For all of this, Derrick and Kyle didn't look at all put off. He saw Derrick give a hand signal to someone up above, and then saw a small steel door open through his hidden vantage point.

A single, massive man stepped out. John knew instantly that he was not human. He carried a rotary cannon the size of a man's thigh and poked it in the window as if he was the morning paper.

"Name."

"Alison Young, San Diego command scout unit. I.D. sierra foxtrot 5589."

"Voice print authorized. Welcome home, Alison Young."

She gave him a curt smile and the ritual continued. Derrick was next, then Kyle. The machine looked in the back at John, tapping the barrel of his weapon on the door plating.

"Step out."

"Do it. Don't worry." Alison said.

He lifted the door and stood face to face with it, or face to chest. Damn this thing was tall. His shoulders seemed to spread out forever and he could imagine the workings inside, the mechanical servos and drive motors that gave this quasi-human artificial life.

"Name."

"John. Connor." He said.

The machine came down to his eye level. "I don't know you." He pulled a small device from his pocket and pointed it at John's eyes. There was a brief flash of red light, leaving John blinded for just a moment. The machine seemed to regard this task with a sort of interest John found odd. He looked at the soldiers in the car. "You vouch for this boy?"

Alison nodded. Kyle said 'yes'. Derrick grunted something. John wasn't sure if it was 'Sure' or 'Please take him off our hands.'

"Human, male Caucasian, John Connor. You have a mild concussion. When you have time please see Solé in medical." He stepped back and made a motion for John to re-enter the vehicle.

"Your vehicle is cleared for entry. Welcome to San Diego, enjoy your stay and obey all posted laws and signs."

The machine stepped away and John returned to his seat, glad to be done with whatever had just happened. The interior door, a steel slab that looked like it was three feet thick, rolled open and the interior of the base opened to them.

"Who was that?"

"Perry." All three of them answered.

He took one look back before the door sealed shut behind him. Perry was still looking at him. He hadn't put the gun down. John doubted if he ever did.

John was surprised to see the inside rather bustling with activity. The staging area of the base was filled with people, most of them in uniforms similar to the ones worn by his traveling companions. The yard was littered with debris but most of it was piled in the corners, high stacks of busted concrete and ruined equipment leaning against the walls.

Alison pulled them into some sort of garage where they disembarked. They had traveled light and didn't have much to unload; only a few guns and their scant supplies. Derrick took his rifle and his pack and brushed by John without a word.

"Get the blood off this thing." He told a pit mechanic. "And get it ready to go out again. Think there's something up with the suspension in the back. It's a little rough."

John didn't really know what to do, but now seemed like a good time to re-inquire about the purpose of his flight across the wasteland.

"So, I never really got the word on why I'm here."

Derrick was still standing nearby. "You're here because the General wants you here."

"The General?"

"My C.O. He says get you, so we do, and I lose two guys along the way. So you must be pretty damned important." He left the garage with that and John thought it best not to pursue.

"Don't worry John." Kyle said from behind him. "I mean, he's got a short memory. We're just grunts, doing what we're told. Sometimes people die. It's not often we get to save a life." Kyle was looking over the cannon on the back of the car. "How'd you like this thing?"

"It was alright. Gets awful hot."

"Yeah, can't fire it full out or the barrel will melt. You did good though." He seemed to think for a moment before continuing. "Solé is the doc, she's real good. Go see her; she's past alpha ring in medical. Can't miss it." Kyle moved to follow Alison out of the garage.

"Wait…am I just supposed to go there? What happens next?"

"That's up to the General. He seemed real interested in getting you down here, now we go tell him we're back. Don't worry about it; just don't run off, okay? Go let the doc take a look at you."

The main fortifications of San Diego bunker were arranged in three loose rings, from outside to inside being echo, bravo and alpha towards the center. They were individually fortified and sustainable, he learned. Echo held the grunts and bunks, a slang way of saying the least essential people, the civilians and anyone else lucky enough to find themselves on this side of the wall. Bravo ring was deeper into the compound and existed half underground and half above. John felt like he was walking into a bazaar as he passed through Bravo ring, with literally dozens of places to eat and drink, places to get laid and places to get on your knees and pray. If there was a city of the future, he guessed Bravo ring was it.

Alpha ring wasn't like the others. Where the others had semi-civilian themes about them, even the grunts and bunks, Alpha ring was all business. You had to have passes to get in, the first of which was the balls of steel to ask two terminators for permission to go through their door. John nervously approached the only entrance he could see, trying not to lock eyes with the imposing machines standing guard.

"I need to go to the doc..uhh Solé, that is."

"Name?" Same question as before, same tone. John put two and two together.

"John Connor."

The man reached behind him and opened the door. "You're on my list and have access to the clinic only. Walk down this hallway and stop at the guard station at the bottom of the ramp. Give them your name or you will be shot until dead. If they let you in…" The guard stressed the if, as if they might not feel like it. "…They will direct you further. Please attend to all business in this visit, you are not authorized for re-entry. You have one hour. If you do not check out in that time I will come looking for you. If I find you in alpha ring after that time, you will be shot until dead." He pushed some unseen button behind him and the door whooshed open like he was walking onto the Starship Enterprise.

Before John was three feet past the door on the other side, it slid shut. It took him a moment to adjust to the darkness. The walkway sloped downwards at a fair angle, taking him down at least a few meters in his first fifty feet of walking. The hallway was dimly lit and long with no windows or doors – just a straight shot down into the bowels of the base.

He ran his fingers along the wall and was surprised to see how smooth it felt. It was like solid stone that had been carved into an arch. Did people do this? It was hard to imagine this kind of construction happening after Judgment day. He put the question in his back pocket and continued down.

The intersection at the bottom of the ramp was just as the machine had said it would be. There was a checkpoint guarded by two large rotary cannons, their barrels black with soot. A woman stood near them, her gaze fixed directly upon him.

"John Connor." He offered this time without being asked.

She took a look at him and lifted one arm. "First door on the left. Stay to the left, go nowhere else."

Medical was denoted by a single large red cross above an open arch. It was a small, clean room but not so clean he would want to be here for a long time. It smelled like rubber tubing and blood. The floors were neatly scrubbed and John wondered how often they had to clean up. He thought of Sinclair and entered.

The room was empty. John glanced around, noting the blood on the floor. The room smelled like blood and bleach. There were baskets of crimson gauze and a few makeshift beds.

"Is there anyone here?" He called out. Since he'd traveled beneath the surface the hair on his arms and neck had been standing up. He had chills running down his spine and he wasn't sure he wanted to stay any longer, regardless of his injury. He felt just fine, just needed to get some sleep.

"Who are you?"

John spun on his heels. Somehow, someone had snuck up behind him. Whoever it was had cats feet. She was standing only a few feet from him, a beautiful woman with caramel skin and faintly Asian features.

"I uhhh..." He wouldn't be John Connor without the awkward introduction.

"This is the hospital. Are you injured?" She had a strange accent. It was faintly English but with a sort of casual twang that he found pleasant.

"I'm John." He started with what he was sure of. "I guess, the guy at the front sent me down here. I hit my head."

This seemed to be all she needed. She pulled him into a nearby room and sat him on the bed. She slapped a blood pressure cuff on him and took his temperature. She pulled his head close to her and ran her fingers through his hair on the back of his head. He realized he was very, very close to her breasts and had to resist the urge to stare down her smock.

"Head in the game, John." He said.

"What game?" She asked.

"Nothing, just talking to myself."

"Do you do that a lot? Or is that something that's happened since you hit your head?"

"I do it all the time." He said, instantly regretting it.

If she cared she didn't seem to notice. Her fingers found the goose egg on the back of his scalp, pressing into it with a strength belied by her physique. She looked at his blood pressure, took the thermometer and read it.

"So how bad is it?" He asked.

"You'll live for now." She said. "What happened?"

"I fell back off a car. Backwards."

"You should be more careful."

"I was being shot at."

"Like I said." Her lips didn't smile but John could hear one on her voice. "You'll be fine, just lay down a little early tonight if you can. The human body is an amazing machine. It'll recover."

John thought that was a strange way to put it, but he found himself nodding in agreement.

He told her he would take the advice and run with it, lay down early, no alcohol, and he promised himself to try to find somewhere soft to sleep if he could. He thought a king sized bed would probably be out of the question, but even something as soft as a rolled up jacket and a blanket would be an improvement over where he had been the previous night.

John was getting ready to walk out when she turned her head. "Someone is coming." She rushed to the arched doorway and listened again. "They've found him, thank god. You'll have to move, I need the bed."

He did as he was told, straining his own ears to listen for whatever she had heard. There was nothing, but then…

The voices echoed down the long hallway he had come down earlier and he could hear the angry sound of rusty wheels being rushed down the hallway. There were a few people, at least one man and one woman, yelling at one another.

A moment later a nondescript cart rolled around the corner. It was pushed by a man, and a woman walked quickly alongside it. The man and the woman wore regulation uniforms but John didn't recognize the other, he was wearing something else, something more plain. Whatever it was, it was soaked in blood.

"Bring him over here, quickly." Solé was at her table, unloading gauze and surgical tools from some hidden cache. The soldiers lifted the man onto the table. He was struggling with all his human strength but for some reason he was completely silent. The only sound coming from his lips was ragged breathing.

"Oh man…" John said, gazing at his wound.

He watched as she worked without saying a word. She didn't demand or insist, her eyes remained fixed on what she was doing without fail. The man on the table looked at her with terror. For some reason, though his wound looked severe he remained utterly silent. He simply had his eyes fixed on Solé while the other two held his hands at his sides. What were they doing?

"John are you still there?" Solé asked.

"Yes, I'm here." His voice was calm and even, surprising him.

"Come here, I need another pair of hands."

He did as he was told, coming to stand right next to her, shoulder to shoulder and awaited her orders. He saw her pressing into the man as he thrashed on the bed, still not making a sound. She was strong.

"Place your hand here, over this clamp and hold tightly. Do not let it slip." She guided his hand into his body, past his skin. John felt the warmth of flesh and tried to compose himself. He thought of other things, anything else would be better. In the end, he forced himself to look.

The wound was tremendous and John was amazed it hadn't killed him. He still seemed to have quite a bit of fight left in him in fact, as he struggled against the two that had brought him in. They held him fast though, each with a hand on his shoulder and another on his wrist. It looked like they were taking no cares to be gentle.

With one last burst of strength the man burst free from his captors. He reached for a trocar on the nearby table and with a flick of the wrist plunged it into the Doctors chest. John tried to stop him but his strength was unreal.

Sole took a step backwards and then lifted her head, a look of irritation on her face. She removed the trocar and let it fall to the floor. Once John and the others got control of him again she resumed her work, this time being far less gentle.

"Good, one moment while I insert this." She guided a long needle into his arm. This seemed to send him into a thrashing fit as he glared at the doctor. John thought he looked like he hated her, like he absolutely despised her. He tried to remember ever seeing this look on another man's face and came up empty.

Soon, the thrashing stopped and his eyes seemed to sink back into his head. The cords of muscle on his arms and shoulder went slack and his consciousness dissolved. Solé looked at him wearing a blank expression, then turned her attention to John.

"Thank you for your assistance." She was looking at him, but the others took this as their own queue to leave. John stepped back, unsure of what to do. Solé continued to work on the man as he slept.

"You're a terminator."

She tilted her head to one side but her face remained blank. "Yes, I am. Is that a problem? I can have another doctor treat you."

He thought about it, and the strange answer was "No, I just didn't suspect it. You seemed natural."

She looked pleased. "I have taken great lengths to blend in with my human compatriots. I have learned much from them."

John turned his gaze to the man on the table. His blood was all over his hands, up his arm, on his clothes. John wanted to wash it off, quickly. His hand felt sticky and sick.

"What's with this guy? I would expect something like that to hurt quite a bit."

Solé looked at him over her shoulder as she worked. "He's not one of us, if that's what you're getting at."

John wasn't sure what 'us' she was referring to. "You mean not a machine. I got that much."

"No, non-resistance human. Look." She held up his arm. Where there had been a hand covering before, there was a tattoo now. John could see it clearly. It was a bar code label capped with characters he couldn't decipher.

"A grey." She said.

"I don't know what that is." Whatever it was sounded unpleasant.

"Humans who work with SkyNET. Turncoats, less well liked than even myself I'm afraid." She said. "This one left our base some months ago with valuable intelligence. He left willingly and many people died because of him."

"Why didn't he scream?"

"SkyNET sometimes destroys the section of the brain that performs speech, rendering auditory communication impossible. This renders them less likely to reveal information if they are captured."

John cringed at the thought. "And he volunteered?"

"Some would rather be on the winning side, no matter the cost to themselves or others. This man is looked upon as less than human by the soldiers. Once we get what information we can from him, he'll be put to death."

It didn't surprise him but at the same time the thought of putting a man to death didn't sit easily within Johns mind. When someone makes that kind of betrayal, when the stakes are so high, he supposed there was no other punishment.

"You should go wash the blood off. There's a sink around the corner." She offered.

(*****)

A few hours had passed since his foray in medical. John wandered around the Bazaar and spent a little time chatting up the locals. He'd met a few people and found them pleasant but all the same he was relieved when Kyle came to find him.

John stood before the nondescript metal door and took in a big gulp of air. The more he thought about it the more he wanted to run away, to return to the sewer where he'd first come to this strange place. John wanted to go home. Here, he would likely learn things he wanted to avoid. Contained within were the secrets of the future, bold and terrible for all to see.

"Go in. He's expecting you." Kyle said.

He pushed the door open and stepped into a room shrouded in darkness save for the center where a single light shone. He waited for the others to follow but when he looked over his shoulder at them he realized that they'd be staying outside. He was going in alone. He stepped through the doorway, feeling a cool draft coming from somewhere. The door closed behind him and he stood for a moment, still and quiet.

"John Connor." The voice was vaguely familiar and had a down home drawl to it. "Sit, please."

He didn't have to be asked again but needed to hear the voice in the shadows speak once more. He was so close to putting a face to it, so close to knowing the name. Its deep baritone was friendly, and John was surprised when he heard himself speak.

"I know you."

"And I know you. I've been waiting for you for a long, long time."

The General got up, sliding his chair across the concrete. There was a dim light behind him and John could see just how big he was. This man was tall, well over six feet high, and broad at the shoulders. At first he just stood in the shadows as if judging him from afar, like looking into a picture. When he finally did step forward, his strides were long and measured and the first step he took had a dip to it, as if he was trying to keep his footing.

John could see that wasn't it at all. He had ducked.

James Ellison departed the shadows and stepped under the hanging light just far enough for John to see all of him, and there was a lot to see. He was dressed in combat fatigues and a shirt with no sleeves. His arms bulged out around his frame giving him the appearance of a Greek statue carved in black marble. He was massive, bald with an ash colored beard that clung to his face.

John's jaw must have dropped somewhere along the way because he felt himself close his mouth. This was...James?

"Agent Ellison?"

James chuckled a little. "I haven't been Agent James Ellison in years. Thanks for reminding me of better days, John." He sighed. "Mostly now they just call me General, or sir, depending on which end of the stick I'm on."

"What happened to you?"

"You know what happened. For you it was only yesterday but for me it was two decades ago. That's a long time. A lot can happen." His words bore a sort of disappointment. "But you're back, and that means things have changed."

John understood what he was saying. "That wasn't what I asked."

James Ellison. General, three stars. Three hundred eighty three kilograms. Quite a lot of that was now a hyperalloy combat chassis, blended seamlessly into his organic soul. His arms were carbon-colored metal, shaped with smooth curves to give the appearance of the real thing but John could see the silver armatures and cylinders moving underneath. His shirt barely hid the lining around his chest, a chrome breastplate that guarded what was left of his internal organs.

"You mean this?" He held out his arms as if to show himself for inspection. "Well, it's hard to explain really, but I think you can imagine how it happened."

"I...I can't guess." He was being honest.

"A little at a time, just like everything else." James said. "I gave a little at a time, until you see what stands before you. I feel like a new man." He didn't sound like a new man. He sounded old, his voice far away.

There was an awkward silence between them as they took each other in, one still a boy and the other hardly even a man. James looked him up and down, cataloguing what he looked like, how he sat, how he held his hands. IF this boy had walked in from anywhere else, he'd have thrown him the hell out. It was hard to believe what he was about to do for him. He had promises to keep.

The man who might save the future sat before him just a boy. James tried to soften his expression.

"We have a lot to talk about. Gabriel, Michael, come out please."

Two identical men emerged from the shadows. Had they been there all along? They were of thick build with round faces, and each carried a heavy endorifle in his right hand. Their eyes were fixed, unblinking on John.

"Gentlemen, you can step out for a moment."

One of them moved towards the door, but the one on the left remained. "General, are you certain? We don't know if the boy is trustworthy."

"I am certain I can handle the situation, please wait with the group outside." James walked to the door and held it open for him. "Some things need to be said in private Gabriel. I'll call you in shortly."

James closed the door and flipped the lock behind him. John could hear voices outside but there was no way to make out what was being said. The General resumed his place near his desk.

"You can come out now, Miss Weaver."

John turned as he spoke and saw Catherine Weaver deform, then reform. She had been hiding as a trunk in the corner, eavesdropping on all conversations in the office.

"You noticed." She said to the General, smiling.

"I noticed the minute you slithered in here. When I heard about John I put two and two together."

"How could you be sure I wasn't someone else?"

"There are no others like you, Catherine. Not here, at least. I thank God for that." He said, emphatically. "Thought I suppose I'll have a lot of explaining to do. But now that you're here, let us speak openly."

"Very well. I'll start by saying that I didn't know you had it in you James."

"You mean my upgrades?" He joked. "We've got a whole troop of people with artificial prosthesis, some of my best soldiers. We call them refits."

" Solé?" John asked.

James looked at him, nodding. "How did you know?"

"She's a machine. It just seemed logical."

James nodded. "Yes, she's a machine." He said, sounding like he only half believed it.

Weaver spoke. "Those things aside, we need to make contact with John Henry and return home. We cannot win in this future. I'm sorry to say it General, but your war effort has gone too far off the rails to be saved." There was a finality about what she was saying. John watched the General and noted the lack of any reaction at all.

"You noticed?"

"A thousand endoskeletons stationed eight miles to the north. A battalion of Ogres and hunter-killers wandering around outside. It's a wonder this bunker is still in once piece."

John turned to him. "Is that true?"

"I'm afraid it is. We're in the late days of the war John, but not a winning one. The machines have us one move from checkmate, not just here but all over the world." Finally he showed an emotion, that of frustration. "Too much fighting, not enough winning. I'm afraid this isn't the future your mother told you about."

John shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure I understand."

James took a deep breath, running his hands over his scalp. "After you left things got dicey for a while. Your mother and I and Savannah were on someone's shit list."

"Kaliba." John injected.

"SkyNET. Kaliba was a front so that it could acquire resources moving into the future. By the time we understood the scope of it there was no hope for us. It wasn't just the bombs dropping this time, either. The war on the ground had been going since day one."

"So it's true. John Henry believed SkyNET was operative in 2009."

James nodded, solemnly. "When I told Sarah about how John Henry was infiltrated she knew it had to be the machines, already active and aware. They didn't launch a full strike all at once, they didn't have to. SkyNET took control of nuclear arsenals and used them as it saw fit, day after day, week after week. Judgment day was only the first day."

"Jesus..." John said.

"He wasn't listening."

"How? I mean, how did it get control like that?"

"At this point we don't know. We know that it gained access to the world's nuclear arsenals gradually, a system at a time. Even off line stockpiles weren't safe. Some warheads were delivered by infiltration units disguised as military officials. They had launch codes, locations, everything."

John had stopped listening, concentrating on those simple words. 'Your mother.'

"General, do you know what happened to my mother?"

John saw his face grow ashen and regretted asking immediately. James reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope and a simple silver locket. The envelope was tattered but still sealed, the crease across the top grown thin with age.

"I've kept this for you for a long time. She wanted you to have it." He handed John the envelope, retaining the locket.

John -

I write this letter not knowing if it will ever find you. I threw it into the sea of time in hopes that some day it might make its' way to you against all odds. I will likely not live to see Judgment Day. Cameron was right. I am sick, and I will likely die of my illness. I am not sad about that, but I cry whenever I think about you, and how long I would have to hold on to see you. I don't think I can do it anymore, so I'm saying this brief goodbye. I hope you'll be back some day, because right now hope is all I have. I know you had your reasons.

No Fate,

Love

Mother

Once he finished reading the note for the third time he could tell there were tears forming in his eyes, threatening to reveal him to the two others in the room. John stopped breathing for a moment and just took it all in. This was the future without him. The dam broke, and soon he could taste the salt on his lips.

"I hoped I would get to give you that letter John. It's been part of my life's work. Take comfort in this: When your mother passed, she was with people that she knew as friends. You would be amazed John at the people that were there. I was there, and I'll never forget it."

He held back his tears enough to choke out a thank you, rubbing his face on his arm. His cheeks were soaked and hot, like they had not been in a very long time.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be like this."

The strangest moment in the bunker was when Catherine brushed past him. She placed one hand on his back and whispered into his ear.

"Don't despair John, time heals all wounds."

The three of them talked for a while about what had happened in the absence of John Connor and John Henry. Judgment day was indeed 12, 12, 2012. It had been pushed back a little, but not by much. Billions dead in the blasts, perhaps hundreds of millions more gone from starvation or radiation sickness. Lean times John, lean times. After that, the real horror began. James told stories of exodus from cities across the globe, and the disbelief when reality finally began to dawn on the survivors. They were at war with machines.

The resistance grew from the remains of the worlds militaries. Initially thing went well. SkyNET didn't have its feet under it and there were several times where they would destroy a node and not hear from the machines for months. But they would always be back. They were relentless. They hid, to rebuild and refit, and when they came back they were stronger than they had been before. Eventually San Francisco became a nexus for their activity and had been ever since.

The General related stories of the years leading up to this one and the damning loss of Los Angeles. It was a tactical error that had cost the lives of thousands of fighters. There had been a weapon, a stored nuke in Los Angeles. They were going to deliver it to San Francisco via rocket, but a lone infiltrator detonated the nuke inside the compound. Overnight, the back of the western American resistance was broken. They had been fighting an uphill battle ever since.

As he finished John could think only of getting back. This future was too terrible to bear. Sitting in that room with James and Catherine he made a promise to himself that he would get back and set things right. John Connor would go back and turn the tables on the machines, use their own tricks against them. But he couldn't do it alone.

When John finished thinking to himself he found that the they were both staring at him as if waiting for something. John straightened upright, suddenly uncomfortable. James and Catherine both said nothing to him.

After a moment he went to the door. "Moment of truth."

He cracked it open and stuck his head outside. Catherine cocked her head to one side as if she was listening. She held her ground and John suddenly wondered what would happen when the people outside saw this strange woman in James office. A lovely concubine? James didn't seem like the type. He stood beside her and watched a small procession file in.

The Reese brothers were first. They eyed John for a moment, Derrick longer than Kyle, before taking their place along the wall. Alison was next, followed by the other two, Michael and Gabriel. Once they set eyes on the machine by James' desk they immediately set towards her. She did not move.

"Whoa, woah there you two." James bounced between them, holding up his hand. "Yes, she is, and no, you won't. You can just relax. Now, why don't we all get to know each other."

They certainly had a lot of ground to cover.