There are six of them in total: Sam, Flynn, the leader Bartik, and three of Bartik's men: Rilke, Tarlok, and Psi. Flynn walks down the street with Bartik and Psi; Sam follows with Rilke and Tarlok, about twenty paces behind. Sam's feeling better from his rest at the resistance headquarters, and his leg is much better thanks to the vial of energy his father gave him. It still hurts him, though, and he has to walk with a limp. It's thanks to this, and his carrying Quorra's disc in addition to his own, that the two programs flank him closely on either side. No need to attract any more attention that necessary.
Sam fights down the urge to look over his shoulder every time they're passed by a pair of Clu's red-lined sentries. The plan, as far as he's been told, is to walk to a shipping bay in the lower levels of the city, eliminate any guards who could report their presence, then hitch a ride out to the Portal. And then, finally, go home.
He's trying not to hope too much. There's still so much that could go wrong, especially since—he clenches his jaw to keep from looking around—there seem to be more and more sentries and guards the farther they get into the city. Sam still can't quite understand how they haven't been stopped yet. But Flynn had confirmed back at the headquarters that the sentries had been ordered to look for a pair traveling together, not two groups of three. And despite their silly get-ups—Flynn with his robes and cloak, and Sam with a borrowed long coat to disguise his games grid outfit—no one has paid them any mind. Sam just hopes that it'll last.
More and more of Clu's lackeys appear, but none of them take notice of two clumps of programs in the increasing crowds. Sam doesn't breathe any easier. His leg is aches more the longer he walks on it, but he can't afford to limp any more than he already is. He grits his teeth and keeps going, trying his best to ignore the pain. It's not as bad as it was, he reminds himself. It's nowhere near that anymore.
"How much farther do we have to go?" he asks quietly.
"A few more blocks," whispers Rilke. "Then down the service stairs to the bay."
"Right." He takes a deep breath to steel himself, and keeps walking.
His leg is begging for a rest by the time they reach their destination: a nondescript door in a small kiosk next to a towering building. The stands open; Flynn and the others had disappeared through it ahead of them. Rilke and Tarlok hustle Sam casually through the door, and then Tarlok shuts it behind them. "The worst is over," Rilke says to Sam. "Is your injury holding up well?"
"Hurts like hell," Sam growls. Rilke looks confused; Sam sighs. "It hurts. But what else is new?"
"All right. Let's continue. They'll be waiting for us in the bay."
Their way down the stairs is slow going, at least until Sam figures out how to use the handrails to swing his bad leg over every other step. They reach the bay in decent time, though Bartik looks impatient as they emerge on the landing. He says nothing to them, but Flynn steps forward to grip Sam's shoulder. "Glad you made it," he says.
"You too," Sam mumbles. He's glad when Bartik clears his throat, because at least he doesn't have to come up with anything else to say.
"The transport is leaving soon," Bartik says. "We need to get this done if we're to reach the Portal in time."
Flynn turns away from Sam, but keeps his grip on his shoulder. "Of course. You're in charge here, Bartik; what do you need me to do?"
"Get into the security feed," Bartik replies. "Find out how many guards there are, and then shut the feed down so we can take them out."
"All right." Flynn gives Sam's shoulder a squeeze, then turns his attention to the nearest wall. Sam watches as he splays his fingers against the flat surface, then twists his wrist to open an invisible panel, revealing flowing lines of code Sam can't hope to understand. He stares, slightly mesmerized, as Flynn scrolls through the code, tapping bits of it here and there and pushing other sections away until the code resolves itself into an image on the wall: the security feed.
"Looks like two sentries down there," Flynn remarks. He looks up at Bartik. "Think your men can handle it?"
Bartik gives Flynn a scorching look. "I think we'll be just fine, Creator. Rilke, Tarlok-approach them from behind while Psi distracts them. Don't cause a commotion."
"Yessir," the three programs reply in unison. Without another word, they hurry around the corner and into the bay proper. Sam, Flynn, and Bartik meanwhile turn as one to watch the security feed.
The feed is unchanged for a moment, and then Psi wanders into view. Even from here, they can hear him singing, though Sam doesn't remotely recognize the song. His first thought is that Psi is pretending to be drunk, but... can programs even emget /emdrunk? (Does he even want to know?) Whatever it is Psi's doing, however, is certainly getting the guards' attention; they have both abandoned their posts to approach him.
Then two discs speed into view, striking each guard in the back. Flynn taps the feed on the wall with two fingers, and the image dissolves into static. They all can hear sounds of fighting from within the bay, but they don't dare look out to see if the coast is clear. Instead they wait in tense silence. Sam fidgets with Quorra's disc, gripping and turning it in one hand. His injured leg throbs, reminding him of how much he has been through tonight, and how close he is to the end of it all. If they get through this, they're practically home free.
But first they have to catch the sailer out of the city.
The sound of footsteps brings his mind back to the present. It's Rilke, slightly out of breath but in one piece. "All clear," he says, nodding to his commander. "The sailer's in final preparations; we need to hurry if we're going to catch it."
There's no time for any more words; they all set off around the corner as fast as they can.
Sam has to stop himself from gawking when he finally sees the solar sailer they've been talking about: a vast vehicle that looks like a cross between a train and an umbrella. Solid cargo containers hang together to form a two-decked body, with vast, petal-like sails on the far end. But even so, he's falling behind the others, his limp losing him distance even as he pushes himself as hard as he can. He sees Tarlok and Psi waiting at the entrance to the sailer as Rilke dashes past them; his father and Bartik aren't far behind him, but Sam is even farther behind.
His leg is screaming, howling for relief, but he can't stop. He clenches his teeth and pushes himself again. Just a bit farther, just a bit-
There's a sound of power being turn on and an almighty thud. Sam pays it no mind, until he hears his father screaming his name.
The sailer has begun to move.
Sam can't be more than twenty feet away, but panic sets in anyway: he's not going to make it. The sailer is going to leave, and he's going to be stranded here, alone, left to the mercies of Clu's guards and possibly even Clu himself again.
He can't let that happen.
Sam puts on another, impossible burst of speed, even as his leg throbs with fresh pain, even as the sailer's loading ramp leaves the ground.
He reaches the sailer and puts all his strength behind a leap—
The ramp hits him squarely in the chest, knocking his wind out as he scrabbles for purchase, his legs dangling. Hands seize his arms almost immediately, pulling him aboard.
He doesn't even have the breath to say thank you. He collapses on the floor, gasping for air as he curls around his injured leg.
Someone helps him to his knees. Arms embrace him, and it takes Sam a moment to realize that it's his father. He awkwardly returns the embrace, and his father whispers, "I thought I'd lost you again."
Sam notices the "again." "Me too," he croaks back.
Flynn strokes the back of Sam's head, then finally pulls away. "Let's get you somewhere you can rest."
"Sounds good." Flynn helps Sam to his feet, and supports him as he limps further into the confines of the sailer.
He hears Bartik say, "Do you still think they're worth it?"
And Rilke replies, "Of course."
ooo ooo ooo
It's been half an hour, maybe more, since their chaotic departure from the city. Sam's found a place to sit near the fore end of the sailer, on the upper deck. His bad leg is stretched out in front of him, but his other leg is bent so he can rest his arm on his knee. He's been fidgeting with Quorra's disc again, but for now he places it on the deck in front of him. Out beyond the massive sails, in the dark and cloudy sky, he can see a bright and distant light in the sky. The Portal. Their ticket home, if things don't go to hell in the meantime.
He doesn't want to hope, but it keeps on happening. They're so close now. And maybe it's easier to hope now, when earlier tonight things had seemed so hopeless. It wasn't until Quorra attacked Rinzler in that hallway that Sam began to have any hope of getting home.
Sam sighs as he remembers Quorra's sacrifice, especially now in light of what his father told him about her being an Iso. He still doesn't fully understand what that means, but he knows it makes her unique, and it makes Clu hate her. He can relate to that, at least. But thinking about what Clu did to him, and what he might in turn do to her, makes him wish even more that he'd convinced her to escape with him.
"User."
Sam looks up to see Rilke standing nearby. "Yeah?"
"May I join you? The view from here is exquisite."
Sam shrugs. "Sure. It's Sam, by the way," he adds as Rilke sits down beside him.
"Sam?" Rilke sounds slightly confused.
"My name."
"Of course." A short silence, then: "Is your injury mending well?"
"Not really mending," Sam replies. "Hurts less, though, which I guess is good."
"Yes."
They exchange an awkward glance, then both return to looking at the view of the faraway Portal. Sam doesn't really know what to say to the program, and he's rotten at small talk anyway.
"You seem troubled, Sam Flynn," Rilke says, after the silence has stretched past comfortable.
"You spend half your night being tortured and running from a madman, tell me how you feel," Sam snaps. He's being meaner than he needs to be, but he doesn't care right now.
"Clu is a madman," Rilke agrees. "It's lucky he didn't kill you. He despises Users almost as much as he did the Isos."
"Yeah." Sam glances back at the Portal, then looks down at Quorra's disc on the floor in front of him. "Lucky."
"How did you escape him?" Rilke asks. "If it's not too much to ask."
It is, Sam thinks coldly, but he says, "I was rescued by a program. Quorra. She was-is a friend of Dad's, I think. Flynn's. She let herself get captured so I could get away. And she's an Iso." And probably dead by now, if they took her to Clu.
"There aren't any Isos left," Rilke says, sounding very certain.
"Apparently she's the last one," Sam replies. "She escaped somehow, met up with Flynn. And now Clu has her."
Rilke stares at him, but his thoughts are obviously elsewhere. Sam doesn't know what else to say, and leaves him to his silence. Eventually, though, Rilke speaks.
"I knew an Iso," he says. "Remora. She was... exquisite. Intelligent. Vivacious. Endlessly fascinated by everything. We were..." He paused. "I told her to go home, to the Iso district, the night the Purge began."
Sam has nothing to say to that. How can you comfort someone who knows they made the wrong choice? He wonders why Rilke is even telling him this, but then again, it seems obvious: he shares Sam's guilt.
"I wonder if I might have been able to keep her safe," Rilke continues. "So many tried to protect their friends. But there were many more programs who hated the Isos almost as much as Clu did, and he encouraged their animosity until his purposes were met and the Isos were all wiped out. And then he turned his attention to us."
"How'd you end up with Bartik and his crowd?" Sam asks.
"I wanted to make up for what I did," Rilke says with a shrug. "My function isn't very useful, but I'm good at going unnoticed, and Bartik is always looking for new spies. The old ones keep getting derezzed," he adds with a hollow laugh. "I work for him in the hopes that we can have a truly free system again. Perhaps when the Creator returns to his world, it will be possible."
"Yeah."
More silence drifts between them. After a while, Rilke says, "It's possible Clu won't kill your friend Quorra outright, not if she is the last of the Isos. I'm sure you know what he's like when it comes to revenge."
"Yeah, no kidding."
"Yes. If he pursues us, there may be some chance of rescuing her."
"Yeah?"
"If there is such a chance, you'll have my help." He meets Sam's eyes, and Sam can immediately tell he's sincere. It's in his eyes and expression, in his guilt and his hope and his belief in the future. He means what he says.
"Thanks," Sam says.
They say nothing else as they turn again to gaze at the Portal, far away but getting closer.
ooo ooo ooo
They have left the confines of the city and are already out above the Sea of Simulation. Clu stands at the head of the throne ship, looking out the great window at the light of the Portal. They're due to reach the Rectifier in a short while, and then his real work on the Iso can begin. It wouldn't do to kill her right away, not when she's expecting it. Besides, he has more... resources at the Rectifier than he does here on the ship. She'll pay for everything she's done, and then, perhaps, he'll derezz her.
He hears the doors behind him hiss open, followed by a soft "Oh!" from Jarvis, who Clu knows has come face to face with Rinzler. Clu turns in time to see his champion stepping aside to admit Jarvis, who approaches Clu cautiously.
"What is it," Clu says flatly. He has no patience left for further disappointments, and Jarvis' expression gives him little hope of good news.
"There was fighting in one of the city's sublevel hangar bays," Jarvis says. "The sentries were attacked and derezzed, but the security feeds were offline for the duration of the attack. We believe this to be the work of Flynn the Creator."
"If you haven't captured him, Jarvis, why are you here?" Clu asks. Jarvis flinches.
"It's, uh, where the attack took place that I thought deserved your attention-"
"Get to the point," Clu snaps.
"Hangar Bay 113!" Jarvis half-yelps. "It's where your, uh, special cargo departs for the Rec-our destination."
"And he stopped it?"
"No, sir. The solar sailer departed as scheduled. We believe-"
"That's all I need to hear," Clu says. He's grinning now, because he knows exactly what Jarvis was about to suggest. "You're dismissed."
"Yessir."
He wants to laugh. Flynn caught the sailer, because he believes it's headed towards the Portal. But he's wrong.
Flynn's not going to reach the Portal. He'll reach the Rectifier first.
And Clu's going to get there before him.
ooo ooo ooo
Breathe in.
Flynn kneels on the upper platform of the solar sailer, meditating. He doesn't bother trying to clear his thoughts. Instead, he organizes them.
They don't know where the sailer is bound.
They don't know what Clu is up to.
And he doesn't know what has happened to Quorra.
First things first: the sailer and its destination. All they knew when they caught this ride was that it set out over the Sea of Simulation. What awaits them so far afield, Flynn doesn't know. This ship has cargo, so it's bound for somewhere, but there's a very low chance it will take them clear out to the Portal. But there's nothing out amid the Sea. Unless...
It's been a thousand cycles. Clu certainly hasn't spent that time sitting down. There could well be a base of some sort out there now. Clu's been waiting for this night as long as Flynn has; he might well be marshaling his forces, all in the hope that he can obtain Flynn's disc. It's not a pleasant thought, but it's one he must consider nonetheless.
That's the thing, though-they don't know what Clu is doing. He could still be in the city, waiting for news of their capture. He could have already found out about the fight in the hangar bay, and be in pursuit of them. As much as he's venerated as Creator here on the Grid, Flynn is by no means omniscient. Even though he knows Clu about as well as he knows himself, he can't always guess what he's going to do.
Which brings him to his final thought: he doesn't know what has happened to Quorra. That she was captured after rescuing Sam is a certainty. The sys admin tower is always crawling with Black Guard, and as competent as she is, even Quorra can't fight forever. Flynn is just as certain that she is now a prisoner of Clu. The true question is what Clu is going to do to her.
She knew what she was doing, Flynn reminds himself. She knew the consequences when she sent Sam away. Still, the thought of her in Clu's clutches makes his stomach turn. If Clu discovers that she's an Iso, then she's as good as dead. To tell the truth, it's only a matter of time, and a question of whether Clu is going to indulge himself with torture first. Isos could always take more punishment than the average program, and it would be just like Clu to push Quorra to her limit before killing her.
It's all of a piece, really. Everything before them depends on Clu. Whether he's preparing for his invasion, whether he'll prefer torture to outright derezzing. Whether he'll pursue them or merely let those at his possible base deal with them instead. (No. He'll want to do it himself.) Rescuing Quorra seems like only a faint possibility; she might already be dead.
In the end, he sees little point in puzzling over what might be. They'll take things as they come, and-
"Bartik! Creator!" The program Psi's voice cuts into Flynn's thoughts. He opens his eyes and looks up to see Psi at the stairs to the bottom deck
"What's the matter?" Flynn asks as he slowly gets to his feet.
"I found out what the cargo is," Psi replies, looking positively ill.
That gets everyone's attention. They all move towards the stairs and follow Psi down below decks.
The cargo containers are full of programs, all of them in stasis. Flynn hears Sam swear, and to tell the truth, he's thinking of a few choice words himself.
"Now we know what happened to the missing programs," Rilke says softly.
"Indeed," Bartik says.
"Hey," Sam says suddenly. "I recognize this guy." He's pointing at a program through the glass. "He was with me on the, uh, the Recognizer when I first got here. The guard said he was being sent to 'rectify.'"
"What does that mean?" Bartik asks, but Flynn already knows the answer.
"It's Clu," he says. It's always Clu. "He can edit programs, change their purpose to suit his needs. You could call it rectification, if you wanted."
"But what purpose could he have for so many programs?"
"He's building an army."
"To overrun the city?"
"No." Flynn bows his head a moment as the weight of all this settles around him. "To invade Earth."
"Earth?" It takes Bartik a moment, but he gets there. "Your system. Your world."
"Yes."
"But..." Psi still sounds confused. "Probably thousands of programs have gone missing, since this all started. Clu could overrun the whole Grid if he wanted to, with numbers like that. How many soldiers could he need?"
"A lot," Flynn replies. "The whole Grid is maybe ten, fifteen thousand square mi-length units. The Earth is 200 million. And Clu wants it all."
Silence follows his words. Even Bartik looks stunned. "We're not headed to the Portal," Flynn continues. "I'm sure of that now. There must be a base somewhere over the Sea, ahead of us. These programs still need to be turned into soldiers."
"And we'll end up right in the middle of it," Bartik realizes.
"Users help us," Rilke murmurs.
"There is good news." Flynn smiles grimly.
"Good news?" Sam sounds incredulous.
"A base readying for invasion is bound to have transports. We should be able to steal a couple light jets and make it to the Portal, if Clu isn't already pursuing us."
"After making our way through an army," Bartik says flatly, crossing his arms.
"After making our way through an army," Flynn confirms.