The corners of his eyes crease up a little more deeply, a suggestion of a smile. "Roland. Don't recall getting yours, either. We're well met, I think, even considering where we met up in. I'd shake your hand, but I think it's best our hands're kept free."

He gestures forward, toward those coiled tendrils. Forward is, of course, the only place there is to go. No point in trying to go back. "I don't know what all your machines can do yet - you do better from the front, or back?"