The Nevada Desert was an ocean of calm within the storm of Skynet's extermination campaign. Even after the fallout from the nuclear warhead that had destroyed Las Vegas and most of its half million or so residents, the desert still looked practically identical to how it had done before. Barring the total lack of heat that would have normally been present in the middle of August – replaced by a murky greyness resulting from billions of tonnes of dust and rock caught in the atmosphere from the explosions – there was very little difference between the pre and post Judgement Day Nevada Desert. The barren, rocky expanse of desert stretched on and on, seemingly without end and all but devoid of any signs of life. The scenery could easily be mistaken for a lunar landscape, it was so deathly still.

The isolated silence was broken only by a single vehicle blazing a trail across the rocky terrain and throwing up dust, shards of rock, and other particulates into the air as it surged forwards.

Cameron drove the battered Stryker in a straight line through the desert, focussed with a typical Terminator single-mindedness on reaching her destination. North Las Vegas had been destroyed by Skynet and there were no other resistance units around with the exception of the men and materiel John had ordered to Area 51.

Cameron didn't have much in the way of a plan; she needed spare parts from the endoskeletons in the base's underground lab complex and she needed vehicles and manpower to help her search for John. They had men, vehicles, and aircraft; they could organise a search and find either John or some clue as to where he was.

Cameron didn't think John was still in Las Vegas anymore; he wouldn't have just left her whilst she was offline. He also wasn't killed by the machines that had attacked them, at least, not straight away; she'd searched the immediate area en route to the airport and if John had been run down and killed by them she'd have found a body close to where she'd rebooted. He'd either escaped them and was still in hiding or on the run, or he'd been captured. In which case he could be anywhere; Cameron had no knowledge of Skynet installations in Nevada apart from Area 51 and Nellis air base.

A small dot in the distance caught Cameron's attention and she drove towards it. The dot got bigger as it and the Stryker simultaneously approached each other, until it was close enough that Cameron could see it was a Humvee speeding straight towards her. The Humvee swerved broadside to face Cameron and screeched to a stop, a soldier manning an M-19 grenade launcher mounted on the roof swung the weapon around at the Stryker as three more men burst from the car and pointed weapons at the front of the personnel carrier. The M4s the men had were no threat to her inside the Stryker; its armour could shrug off their rounds like they were rainwater, but the M-19 was a different matter; it would make short work of her battered APC, and her along with it. The men held their fire but the message was clear: get out.

Cameron switched off the engine and opened the rear hatch. She picked up her own M4 and held it loosely as she stepped outside and approached them, still limping badly on her damaged leg. The men stared at her with mild hostility as she approached.

"What the hell do you want?" The lead soldier sighed, irritated, as he approached, his gun pointed in her direction but not quite aimed at her. He'd been hoping to see people; not a thing.

"John's missing, North Las Vegas is gone. I need to find John," Cameron replied.

"We know about Vegas," he snapped. "What we don't know is how Skynet found them; how do we know you didn't betray them to the machines?"

"You don't know, but I didn't," Cameron answered. "I need to find John," she insisted.

"So go find him," another of the men retorted.

"I need assistance," Cameron said. She didn't trust any of the men from Las Vegas, but she needed manpower to help her search; more people searching for John increased the chances of her finding him. "Please," she added, dropping her rifle to the floor to show she meant no harm. Without it, she had little chance to defend herself from the armed trio before her, and more importantly, the fourth soldier manning the M-19 aimed right at her, if they decided to open fire, but it was a calculated risk she had to take.

The lead soldier hesitated, unsure of what to do. He decided he didn't want to be the one who brought a machine to the base, but if it was genuine then Connor needed their help. He wasn't going to make that call however, and decided someone higher up could take the rap for that if anything went wrong.

"Patrol Delta Four to base Zero Alpha, come in," he pressed on his radio.

"Zero Alpha to Delta Four, go ahead."

"We've got Connor's metal here; Connor's missing and she's asking for help." He immediately cursed himself for saying 'her' rather than 'it;' the exposed gleaming metal showing through the large gash its face belied the machine's true nature. There was a pregnant silence over the airwaves, during which the lead soldier stared at Cameron. She in turn stared blankly back at him. She had no backup plan if this failed; she couldn't survive a single hit from the M-19 launcher and even if she somehow survived and got away she'd still be damaged and alone in her search for John.

"Delta Four, disarm it and bring it back to base, out." Cameron's face remained unchanged but inside she felt a sense of relief – or what she believed to be relief; she was glad they'd accepted her request.

"Back in the Stryker, tin can," the lead soldier spat, gesturing towards the personnel carrier with the barrel of his rifle. "You know the way; just remember we've got the grenade launcher trained on you, so don't try anything.

"And leave the rifle there," he said as Cameron leaned over to pick up her weapon. Cameron preferred to have the rifle with her, but she'd remain passive for now. She'd give in to whatever demands they made; unlike humans she felt no sense of pride. She'd do whatever it took to render their assistance.

Cameron got back into the Stryker and started the engine up. She rolled forwards and the Humvee followed behind; close enough to be in easy weapons range, but far enough away that if Cameron tried anything, they wouldn't be in any immediate danger and would have time to react.

The two vehicle convoy rolled on for a little over an hour until they crested the same hill from where John had launched his assault to capture Area 51, and headed down the slope towards the perimeter wire of the base. Cameron saw as she eased the Stryker to a standstill that two Bradley armoured fighting vehicles had their chain guns trained on her, and a man approached the personnel carrier, flanked by two soldiers in full combat gear and each brandishing an M-240 machine gun. Cameron exited the Stryker and limped towards the man – identified by his uniform as Major Scott; Ryan's adjutant and second in command. The four men from the Humvee all got out of their vehicle as well and stood ready with their weapons. They followed closely as Cameron hobbled up to the Major.

Major Scott stepped closer to Cameron and looked her up and down, took in the visible damage she'd sustained, and sneered slightly, clearly unimpressed and very unhappy to see her.

"I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to show your face here," he spat out in contempt. "So much for 'artificial intelligence;' kill it," he ordered the two men with machine guns as he turned away. The two men shouldered their weapons and pulled on their triggers as Cameron sprung forward on her good leg and grabbed one of the guns by the barrel, shoving it back with enough force that the butt cracked into the gunner's shoulder, instantly dislocating the joint. He dropped the weapon and screamed; Cameron pushed the barrel up with lightning speed and smacked the man in the face with it, knocking him to the ground unconscious.

The second man fired a burst into Cameron, the 7.62mm rounds tore through her face and neck and she ignored the hot, biting sensation as each bullet struck her and gouged chunks out of her flesh as she threw the gun at his helmeted head. Even with the Kevlar helmet covering his skull, the force of the blow was enough to send him sprawling to the ground. The four men who'd brought her in raised their rifles but hesitated; she was too close to the Major to open fire without hitting him as well, the same was true of the Bradley's chain guns. She limped towards Scott and shoved him against a Humvee with enough force to shatter the window glass.

"John's missing; I came for help," Cameron said; her voice and face both blank but Scott could sense an air about her; he didn't think it was possible for a robot to have feelings but it was clear to him the machine was royally pissed. Cameron had asked for help, had come to Area 51 for help finding John, and they tried to destroy her. She didn't know where John was, but wherever he was, he needed her. She had to find him and protect him: she needed to; she needed him.

Cameron had nothing to exist for without John; not only her mission but her best and only friend, and the only person she cared about; the one who taught her things and helped her understand her growing emotions – emotions that might not even exist without him. Without him she was nothing, a machine, dead. John had told her he felt the same way, which meant that without her John wouldn't survive; not her John. If John were to physically survive without her he would still be alone and would become like Future John; the John she loved would be dead. Killing her was the same as killing John, she realised. She wouldn't allow that to happen; she picked up and M240 machine gun from one of the unconscious soldiers on the ground and aimed at Major Scott's chest.

"You'll help me find John," Cameron insisted, flashing her eyes blue to emphasise her point; if he didn't help her then he was useless to her.

Major Scott grinned, impressed with the machine after that little display. Even damaged, he saw Cameron was more than a match for the men he'd assembled. Unarmed as it was, it would never have stood up to a full squad assault in her condition, but still had a lot of fight in it; enough to suit his needs. And it seemed willing to do whatever it took to find Connor; he could use that to his advantage.

"We can come to... an arrangement," he said to her, the fear on his face disappeared and was replaced by a smug grin. "Stand down," he ordered his men, who looked disappointed they wouldn't get the chance to blow her away.

"What kind of arrangement?" Cameron asked.

"I'll help you find Connor if you help me with something first."

"You help me find John first," Cameron insisted, holding the barrel of the machine gun inches from his head. Scott's confident smile remained.

"That's not how it works," he shook his head, smirking as he lazily brushed the barrel away from his face. "Quid pro quo, tin can; if I help you I want something in return."

"What do you want?" Cameron asked after a moment's hesitation, unsure of the man's intentions. She dropped the machine gun to the ground and stepped back; she wouldn't be able to coerce him into helping and couldn't kill him without the other soldiers attacking her, and he knew it. Any such threats would be ineffective; he had the advantage, she'd have to comply. She was willing to do whatever he demanded if it meant finding John. Scott walked towards the research building where they'd found the HK and the endoskeleton, gesturing Cameron to follow.

"Connor was right about one thing; Skynet wants this place back," Scott answered, his demeanour toward Cameron switched like a light; changing from openly hostile to conversational. "There's been Predators flying overhead ever since we took the base and we've already been attacked once.

"There's no damage," Cameron replied. She'd seen none of the signs of battle that had been obvious in the decimated airport. Nothing beyond what had happened when they'd captured the base, at least. If Skynet had attacked them she thought there would be more damage; human bodies, damaged buildings, destroyed drones and armoured vehicles. There were none.

"It was only a stinging attack," Scott answered. "A handful of T-1s and a pair of HKs, we took them out easily enough."

Cameron was confused; from what Ryan had told them, Nellis air base contained a factory and produced their own machines. Skynet could have deployed dozens of units against them and destroyed them outright.

"It was testing our firepower; counting our guns," Scott continued as they walked inside and down the stairs towards the basement lab complex. She found the stairs difficult with the damage to her knee, and nearly lost her balance a few times on the way down. She ignored the grating of the damaged knee joint and the pain signals that surged through her neural net processor.

"They know what we've got now," he said as they entered the lab. "But they don't know about this," he pointed to the HK plasma cannon she'd used to shoot the Aurora, back on it's pedestal, sans the glass display case she'd shattered before. "And they don't know we've got you." Cameron thought it strange that she was unwanted minutes ago, but now he was treating her like she was the key to defending Area 51. Also that he was so interested in a non functional plasma weapon.

"It doesn't work, it's broken," Cameron told him. Not quite true, it was only depleted, but he didn't know that.

"Machines break and they can be fixed," Scott replied, looking straight at her as he spoke. His implication wasn't lost on Cameron. She, like the cannon, was broken. And like the cannon, she could be repaired. "If you can fix it," Scott continued. "And use it to give us an edge in battle - maybe even build a few more – then I'll devote all our resources to get Connor back."

"Why?"

"'Why' what?" Scott asked.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because it's in both our interests," Scott chuckled. "Believe me, I'm putting my people first here. So do we have a deal or not?" he asked coldly, crossing his arms and waiting for an answer.

Cameron knew she had no choice; without his help the odds of her finding John were negligible, and if she refused it was likely he would assemble men to destroy her.

"Deal," Cameron replied, holding out her hand as she'd seen humans do countless times before. Scott snorted dismissively at her outstretched hand, turned around to leave Cameron alone in the lab. He wasn't above making a deal with her but he didn't want to spend any more time around the freaky machine than absolutely necessary, and he certainly didn't want to touch it. Connor might like its company all day long, but he was clearly the only one. Before he left, Cameron told him she needed a medical kit; he shrugged his shoulders, unsure why she needed it, but said he'd have one sent down to her when he had the time.

Cameron hefted the plasma cannon over her shoulder and limped into the main lab. She found shelves of tools already in the lab – likely used by the researchers employed by the Air Force before Judgement Day, and moved over to the endoskeletons in the glass display cases. With single punch she shattered the glass and stepped closer to the inert machines and performed a cursory inspection. They were battered and torn apart; in very bad shape for the most part. Cameron grabbed various precision tools from their racks and pulled off armour plates, twisted joints out of place, and removed pistons and servos.

In a little under an hour Cameron had the three T-900s completely disassembled in pieces on the floor and ready for inspection. She scanned over the pieces and searched for the components she needed: breast and dorsal plates, pistons and servos for her knee, and most importantly, a replacement for her aortic power conduit. Between the three disassembled machines she found very few useful parts; six dorsal plates, two breast plates, two intact knee servos, and one functional power cell. Four out of the six dorsal plates were too twisted and battered to be any use – their structural integrity compromised worse than her current armour plating - and the two remaining were too large; the same for the breast plates. This would have been easier if it had been T-888 models she was using instead of the 900 series; T-888s came in different sizes and their parts were more compatible with her frame.

Worst of all was that none of the aortic power conduits were in working condition; they'd all been too damaged to use, so she was stuck with her leaking conduit. The single T-900 power cell was incompatible with her systems, but she wasn't planning to use the power cell for herself; she had other plans for that.

Cameron took the parts in the best condition and placed them down at a workstation. The scientists and technicians had attempted to rebuild the HK and the terminators several times between 1947 and 2011, and had a large array of precision tools for working with metal, including a laser cutter and an arc welder. Cameron smiled slightly; it was perfect for what she needed. She placed the breast plate under the cutter and switched on the laser, opting for manual rather than computer control – which in her case was essentially the same thing.

The breast plate was too large and wrongly proportioned for Cameron to switch the part with her own and she'd have to melt down the breast plates completely and re-cut them in order for them to fit, a process that would take hours, if not longer. Cameron wasn't willing to wait that long before starting to search for John again, so instead she cut a half-centimetre thick, ten-centimetre by ten-centimetre square that she could weld over the breast plate. John or Derek would have called it a stopgap measure, she thought.

It hurt her to think of John, yet that was all she could do. Her mind was never fully occupied; she could process thoughts so fast, and so many at the same time, that a portion of her mind was always focussed on John. She wanted him back. She felt an overwhelming sadness as she worked; she didn't even know if he was still alive, if she'd ever see him again. She'd search as long as it took until she either found him or her power cell ran out. She hoped it was the former; without John she felt incomplete, broken.

With all the parts she could use laid in front of her, Cameron sat down on a chair, pulled her boots off and undid her belt, sliding off her trousers. Then she took off her combat jacket, t-shirt, and bra. Naked but for her underwear – a pair she knew John liked - she examined the damage to her skin: she saw the jagged hole in her chest – just above her right breast - where the metal had impaled her and barely missed her power cell. Three centimetres long and half a centimetre wide; it was large enough to be an immediate concern, and the structural damage to the rest of the breast plate was compromised to the point that she was vulnerable – a burst from a T-1's guns could punch through the weakened armour and shred her power cell. She could change it out, but the similar wound on the dorsal plate was impossible to repair on her own. She didn't trust anyone in Area 51 to help repair her, only John; he always helped repair her even when she didn't need his assistance. It was nice to have help; especially from John.

Cameron took out the switchblade she always carried on her and cut a straight line across the top of her chest; from her armpit to the centre of her chest. Then another incision downwards, between her breasts, and a made a third cut running parallel to that one, down from just below her armpit to just underneath her right breast; framing the entire right side of her chest on three sides with a bloody red line.

Cameron dug her fingers into the line at the top and pulled, peeling the flesh away from her endoskeleton downwards and letting it hang like a flap, exposing the gleaming, bloodstained coltan breastplate below. The pain of the knife cutting through her skin was nothing, she felt it but she didn't have the same response as humans had – it was simply to alert her to the damage, and didn't force her to flinch or move in any way that humans did automatically in self preservation and to limit their injuries. The physical pain didn't bother Cameron; what hurt her most was looking down at the damaged coltan plating underneath, and being unsure what John would think if he saw it. He professed to love her, just as she loved him, but Cameron had noticed John flinch and look away every time she'd sustained damage and a portion of her metal endoskeleton was exposed.

She thought he likely still pretended to himself she was human, and when she was damaged he saw the real her, and didn't like it. She would ask him directly when she found him. She had to repair herself first, however.

Cameron held the square of coltan she'd cut from one of the T-900s and turned on the arc welder, moving the white hot tip of the tool slowly around the where edges of the cut square touched her breastplate. Given the heat resistant nature of her coltan endoskeleton, it took several minutes for the metal to give, eventually starting to melt under the intense heat and the melting portions of the square and breastplate flowed together, bonding tightly. Cameron continued, ignoring the more significant pain signals being sent to her chip from the high heat damage being sustained. She had to do this or she'd be even more vulnerable to damage later.

Eventually, after almost an hour of continuous work, she'd effectively welded the square over the hole in her breastplate, covering up the damage like a giant metal band aid. It wasn't as good as replacing the entire breastplate, and the welded on section would protrude under her skin, but it was enough to stop any well placed shots from penetrating her armour. Satisfied, and once the metal had cooled enough, she carefully pulled the flap of flesh back up over the joint, but it flopped back down again with nothing to hold it in place.

She was disturbed from continuing her repairs as a soldier entered the room carrying the med kit she'd asked for almost two hours ago.

"Hey, tin can, the Major wants to know how long until the plasma cannon's... holy shit!" the trooper dropped the med kit to the floor and instinctively reached for his sidearm as he saw the bloody, metallic mess of Cameron's chest. All the soldiers on the base were originally from North Las Vegas, and all knew what she was; few had actually seen the exposed coltan, and none on this level. "What the hell?"

"I'm a scary robot," Cameron replied; she didn't care what he thought of her, most humans – future and present – despised her. She cared nothing for any of them either; only John. Sensing the soldier's fear and revulsion, she moved closer to him, noted his increased respiration and perspiration, his dilated pupils, and the barely contained expression of fear in the soldier's face as she approached.

"W...what are you doing?" he asked nervously as Cameron came closer to him, he froze in fear, unable to move apart from a constant nervous trembling. If Cameron were a human commander she would have sighed in frustration. Humans like these weren't useful to the resistance – not in combat. She'd seen many like him in the future - tunnel rats, mostly; they didn't last long.

"You should go, you shouldn't stay here," she told him. He was hyperventilating as she stopped just short of him and deliberately flashed her eyes blue. The soldier's fear finally overcame him and he fainted, falling to the ground in an undignified heap.

Good, Cameron thought, now she could continue undisturbed. She took the medical kit and left the unconscious soldier where he lay. Taking out a needle and thread, she quickly stitched the loose flap of her chest back up then wrapped bandages around her chest – not to protect against infection; Skynet had designed Terminators' skin to be immune to bacterial and viral infection – but to hold the flesh in place until it fully healed. Once she'd bandaged her chest up she put her bra back on to further hold her chest in place. It would take a little over two days for skin to fully heal up.

With her breast plate repaired as best as she could, she focussed her attention on the damage to her knee. She picked up the switchblade again and cut a wide circle around her knee. As a machine, Cameron had almost endless patience, but she felt an urge to work faster, to repair herself as quickly as possible; the faster she repaired herself and fulfilled her part of the deal with Major Scott, the faster she could find John.

"Tin can, you done yet?" Major Scott's voice rang out as he entered the main lab. He'd left her for hours now and had heard nothing from either her or the two men he'd placed to guard the lab, and decided to check on the machine's progress himself. The room looked like a bomb had hit it; the HK and endoskeletons had been torn apart and lay in pieces on the floor. The machine – Cameron – was stood with her back to him, working on something he couldn't see. A few feet away, on the ground, was Private Walker, the young trooper he'd sent to supply the machine with a medical kit. He was unconscious on the floor, his hands and feet bound together and medical tape over his mouth.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded, fingering his holstered sidearm, ready to use it – not that it would do much good against her. Cameron stopped her work and turned round to face him.

"He fainted," Cameron gestured her head towards Private Walker's prone, unconscious form. "I restrained him." She'd tied him up shortly after he'd fainted so that when he came to he wouldn't disturb her work. She concluded he wasn't very strong, as he'd still not regained consciousness.

Suspicious, Major Scott kneeled down and checked the young soldier's vitals. He was alive, and seemed unharmed. Major Scott had been there when Cameron had taken out the T-70 in Area 51, had seen her rip its head off with ease, and figured if she'd attacked the private there would be very little left of him. He gave her the benefit of the doubt for now; he still needed her for now. Once she'd served her purpose he'd see about melting her into scrap.

"It's been almost four hours," he said, irritated. "Is the plasma cannon ready?"

"Yes," Cameron turned back to the workstation and picked up a long silvery device, covered in numerous dents, burn marks, and welding scars. It was shorter than it was previously, and slimmer; a stripped down, butt ugly version of its former self.

Once Cameron had finished her chest and tied up Private Walker, she'd cut open her knee and replaced the servos with those of the T-900. They, like the breastplate, were too big and didn't fit properly, but she'd managed to alter them to fit well enough to work, and then stitched up her knee in a similar manner to her chest, and covered that in bandages to hold the self inflicted wound together and allow it to heal. Then she'd started work on the plasma cannon.

The weapon itself worked when she'd used it, but the power source had been depleted. She'd taken the weapon apart and integrated the surviving T-900 power cell inside the cannon, replacing it in the depleted power source's place and removing the external wires, placing them all inside the cannon's casing. She'd then stripped down the weapon to make it smaller and lighter; the HK plasma cannon was large, heavy, and bulky; never intended as an infantry weapon – Skynet had built phased plasma rifles for its army of endoskeletons and infiltrators - and even though she could easily carry it, she'd decided to make it easier to wield by removing a lot of parts she deemed unnecessary. She'd gutted the weapon, stripping it of several internal parts, and using the laser cutter to reduce the barrel length and to cut several parts down to size.

The end result was a semiautomatic phased plasma cannon; one hundred and eighteen centimetres long and forty pounds in weight – one third smaller and lighter than the original weapon Cameron had used against the Aurora. It could now be used by a very strong human, though she had no intention of allowing any human to fire it; this weapon was for her alone to terminate whatever machines Skynet had between herself and John.

She aimed the cannon at the pile of machine parts on the floor and pulled the trigger three times. Three blinding, blue-white flashes flared in rapid succession, forcing Scott to look away shield his eyes with his hands, as three bolts of condensed, superheated plasma tore from the weapon in less than a fraction of a second and smashed into the pile of spare parts, boiling the metal away on impact and melting the surrounding parts into a warped, unrecognisable pile of half-molten slag. She turned back to Major Scott, the weapon pointed at the floor.

"Good," Scott replied, genuinely impressed. "And are you ready?" he asked.

"I repaired myself," Cameron answered simply as she walked towards him, displaying the weapon. She still limped badly from her knee, caused by the mismatching servos in the joint, but it wouldn't break and render her immobile, like her original parts would have likely done. "I couldn't fully repair all of..."

"Doesn't matter," Scott answered, not really giving a crap about her condition beyond her combat capabilities. "Can you fight?"

Cameron had performed a diagnostic check once she'd completed all the repairs she could on her own. Her power cell was still draining, unable to repair the ruptured and leaking aortic conduit; her right dorsal plate was still damaged and vulnerable to small arms fire, she'd have to avoid being shot in the back; and her knee's mobility was still compromised, but better than before. Her operational effectiveness had risen from thirty-four to sixty-nine percent. Far from full capacity but Cameron deemed it would be enough; there was nothing else she could do from here and finding John took priority over her condition. He was her only priority.

"Yes, I can fight," she replied.

"Good, because there's been a change of plan; you're going to Nellis tonight."

"We had a deal," Cameron said; her hand twitching as it sometimes did when she felt angry – something she and John had never been able to solve after the car bomb incident; and she barely managed to override an unconscious 'terminate' command. He'd gone back on his deal to help her find John, she thought.

"And it still stands," Scott shot back. "Where do you think Connor is?"

"I don't know," Cameron answered, not getting what he was driving at; if she'd known where John was she would have gone after him alone. She didn't trust Major Scott; she couldn't explain why but she simply didn't, but she needed him and his men to find John.

"He's in Nellis," Scott sighed, his patience with the machine wearing thin. "Skynet's taking prisoners now; our F-16 pilots saw some kind of POW camp inside Nellis on a recon flyby; if Connor's alive he'll be there."

"You knew where John was, why didn't you tell me?" Cameron asked, feeling angrier that she'd been lied to; he knew where John was – or likely was – and could have already sent men on a rescue mission.

"What, and have you repair yourself and then piss off to find Connor, leaving us to the wolves? I don't think so," Scott chuckled. "Like I said before, 'quid pro quo;' I help you, you help me. Connor's in Nellis and that's our biggest threat; I'll get you in, you take down their defences with the plasma cannon and locate Connor, and I'll send everything we've got to support you once you find him. We get Connor back and Nellis taken care of; two birds with one stone."

Cameron took a moment to process Scott's words. She'd been curious why he was helping her, sensing he was hiding something. She hadn't trusted him, she still didn't trust him, but his goal was the same as hers, and Nellis air base was a major Skynet installation; even in the future, Future John had regarded the Skynet airbase as a major threat. She would comply with Major Scott, for now. She nodded her head slowly in agreement.

"Good," he grinned. "Because you're going in tonight."

To be continued...