— What are you thinking about?
— I'm free. And what do I know? I don't even know how to read.
— You know things that can't be taught.
— I know nothing. Nothing. And I wanna know. I want to... I wanna know.
— Know what?
— Everything! Why a star falls and a bird doesn't, where the sun goes at night, why the moon changes shape. I wanna know where the wind comes from.
— The wind begins in a cave: far to the north, a young god sleeps in that cave. He dreams of a girl and he sighs, and the night wind stirs with his breath.
— I wanna know all about you. Every line, every curve. I wanna know every part of you. Every beat of your heart.

— Did you see this war?
— No. I grew up after. In the ruins. Starving. Hiding from the H-Ks. Hunter-killers. Patrol machines built in automated factories. Most of us were rounded up, put in camps for orderly disposal. This was burned in by laser scanner. Some of us were kept alive. To work. Loading bodies. The disposal units ran night and day. We were that close to going out forever. But there was one man who taught us to fight. To storm the wire of the camps. To smash those metal motherfuckers into junk. He turned it around. He brought us back from the brink. His name was Connor. John Connor. Your son, Sarah. Your unborn son.