We Are Pilots
10
If Users are gods on the Grid then they must be like Greek gods - seemingly invincible but lacking in omniscience and, on more than one occasion, common sense.
Sam can use some omniscience right now. He's all but convinced that he's gone by that particular skyscraper at the corner of that city block three times now. He doesn't know what sector he's in either, or if it's anywhere near Crystal's club. He'd ask Tron for help but the security program is out cold and Sam doesn't have the heart to rouse him out of stasis.
As he peers out at the city he thinks that, under different circumstances, he wouldn't mind weaving through the sectors making up TRON City, mapping it out in his mind for future reference. There's a lot of downtown he sees in its layout - a small blessing from Flynn, seeing as-okay, he definitely recognizes that overpass; it's the fourth time now and the few pedestrians out and about are starting to notice.
"Just my luck," he mutters under his breath as he stops the light runner and sits back. Out of the corner of his eye he sees them gathering on the other side of the street, whispering to themselves and pointing at the conspicuous vehicle.
Without thought he starts sliding down in his seat, trying to pretend that they're not there and they can't see him. If there's one thing he's learned over and over it's that keeping a low profile here is the best thing to do if he wants to stay alive. It'll probably help if he ditched the light runner but that's not really an option right now, especially since he can't carry Tron and keep it inconspicuous. Also he figures it's not a good idea to get on Enyo's bad side by abandoning a very valuable vehicle here. Sam may be a User but he's still fumbling with the ropes and without the portal he's stuck here, surrounded by programs that may or may not be hostile to Users and User-friendly programs.
And where the hell can he go?
Well, fuck, he thinks sourly. Then, The maps.
How could he have forgotten what he didfind at his father's safe house? He pries his disk off, wincing when the movement aggravates the bruises on the right side of his body, and pulled up the display. He flicks through the memory files - he makes a note to himself to reorganize them into orderly folders, then laughs to himself when he realizes that's impossible to do with someone like him - and pulls up the most recent map. Then he looks at the time stamp at the bottom right-hand corner of the display and groans.
Right. This map's over a thousand years old. Who knows what Clu did to it during his reign and who knows what else happened to the Grid after the Reintegration. Sam isn't looking forward to remapping the city after this is all over.
He flicks his eyes to his left. More programs gather on the other side of the street, pointing at the light runner and talking to each other. Nobody seems interested in crossing the street to investigate. In fact they seem...nervous.
He tilts his head. They seem to be coming to a conclusion about something because a program is shouldered out of the crowd onto the street. Sam watches, bemused, as the program looks nervously over his shoulder at the others while inching closer to the light runner. Now a little curious himself Sam locks his disk back onto its dock, gives Tron a sideways glance, and releases the hatch.
As one the programs on the opposite sidewalk take several steps back while the lone program on the street flinches. Sam hops out of the vehicle and almost falls over when his knees wobble on impact. With a grimace he slowly straightens his back, looks around the block, and then steps forward.
"Uh...can I help?"
The program - blue circuits, like Tron - visibly swallows. There's a curving blackened scar from his left temple down to his jaw like someone tried to slice his face off. It could be the reason for his skittish behavior; he flinches again, arm up to shield himself, when Sam raises his hands in a placating manner.
"Hey, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you," Sam says, keeping his voice low. "What's your name?"
"Why?"
Well that's unexpected. "Just want to know why you're all...over there, watching us. Me. Watching me."
The program gives him a funny look. "You have a light runner."
"Well technically it's not mine-"
"There was...the portal." The program points eastward and Sam follows the direction to the star-less sky. "A User came here, and left us again. You must know what the User did here; only the light runner can cross the Outlands to the Sea-"
"Wait, hold on."
Sam rubs his forehead as he processes the words. So all those programs massed on the other sidewalk are staring at him because they think he knows what this User - himself - was doing here and they want to know why he left without doing anything for them. He can't tell if they're friendly or hostile - he's leaning towards hostile, personally, but that's only because he's had to fight through a lot of programs to get to and from the safe house - so he's not sure what answer he can give without being alienated or, worse, attacked.
This is complicated.
"Look, uh, the portal...closed, before the User could get there. So he's stuck here...somewhere." Sam gestures around and then points at the ground. "He's still here, and he, uh, he's working on it. Working on fixing the Grid. Just give him time, he's new to all this."
The program's bright blue eyes widen. "Are you sure?"
Sam smiles weakly and shrugs. "Yeah. I'm sure."
Quite suddenly the program's face lights up and he grabs Sam by the shoulders, shakes him once, and whirls around to the others. "The User's still here, and he's going to fix everything!"
Like a ripple the mood changes as every word comes out of the program's mouth into the tense air. The others relax and some give the light runner a more appreciative look. A few nod to Sam in acknowledgement as they leave the crowd. Sam stays rooted to the spot, not quite what just happened in the past thirty seconds, and then remembers what it was he meant to do.
"Hey, wait!" he calls out to the program. "Do you-do you know what sector this is?"
"You don't know?" The program turns back around to look at him in confusion. "What sector are you from?"
"Uh...do you know Enyo?"
"Enyo?" Something flickers through the program's eyes and he quickly steps away from Sam. "You should get out of here. This is one of Octane's sectors. If he knew-look, Rho Sector is 45.2138-"
"Wait." Sam grabs his disk and pulls up the old map. "I didn't see a Rho Sector-"
"Why are you carrying around an obsolete map?" the program asks. "That hasn't been the layout of the Grid for-"
"Over a thousand years, I know. I just found it and it looks nothing like what I know about this place. Just show me where Enyo's sector is now and I'll go."
The program frowns deeply as he studies first the map and then Sam. His eyes keep flicking between the two, leaving Sam feeling uneasy. Did he ask the wrong questions? Did he give himself away? The light runner is conspicuous enough but if the programs here know he's the User...and Octane. Why is Octane everywhere?
He starts out of his reverie when the program takes a large step back and gives him a suspicious look. "Why are you wearing Disc Warrior armor? The Game Grid's been closed for twenty-five point two cycles-"
What the hell? "Yeah, so?"
The program glances at the light runner and Sam follows his line of sight, can barely make out Tron's profile from the reflection on the light runner's hatch. He feels a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth; should Tron be out that long? Was the recompilation more damaging than expected? What if he doesn't wake up? Then what? Theoretically he can upload the original programming code and replace the damage but would Alan still have it? Wouldn't he be suspicious of Sam's sudden interest in the old first-of-its-kind firewall program-
"You're asking all the wrong questions." The program looks at Tron again and Sam slides carefully to the program's right, blocking the view. "Who are you?"
He can just leave, find his own way back to Enyo and Crystal and the relative safety of their neutral sector. Or he can continue floundering about in a place where he's still very much a stranger. He's not Kevin Flynn, after all; he didn't build this city. He wavers for a bit, then sighs and says, "Just show me where her sector is."
And just like that the friendly and somewhat anxious demeanor disappears. The still nameless program coldly locates the markers on the map defining the borders of the new sectors, traces the quickest route from this sector to Enyo's, and then leaves without another word, disappearing around the corner of a particularly ominous abandoned structure. Sam sighs again as he looks down at the faint cyan lines on the map, and turns back to the light runner.
Tron's eyes are open and watching him get back into the light runner, following his movements without lifting his head. Sam stares at the steering handle while the hatch closes over them, fighting the urge to punch it. Instead he curls his hands tightly, feeling fingernails dig into the skintight fabric.
"It won't be easy," the security program says quietly.
Sam leans back in his seat. He stares through the glass at the sky and the glow of the lit towers around them. Octane. This is one of his sectors? How many does this guy have? Shit. "Yeah."
He hears movement, the quiet slide and shift of simulated material, then almost jumps when a warm hand curves around his shoulder. He looks at Tron and is momentarily speechless in the face of the trust and confidence in the program's eyes.
"Just give us time," he says, squeezes his shoulder once, and then sits back. His eyes flutter and close while his circuits dim until only the ones on his sternum remain glowing.
Swallowing hard against a dry mouth Sam forcibly pries his attention away from Tron and starts up the light runner.
"...like dirt bikes. If the light runner can modify itself for the Outlands why can't lightcycles?"
Tron just nods; it's been either that or a very short answer for the past forty or so minutes. He doesn't seem to mind when Sam lets his mouth run off with the few ideas bubbling in his head for the Grid but when he shuts his eyes and tilts his head away Sam stops talking and focuses on driving.
Sam makes a mental note to ask Crystal or Enyo about recompilation when he sees them.
Tron's been awake for the last five minutes, though, sitting up in his seat and watching everything with a keen eye. Sam breaks off from his rambling about dirt bikes and the old Ducati to ask, "Feeling better?"
Tron shrugs, says, "I've had worse."
Sam doesn't have anything to say to that.
After a minute or two Tron tells him to take a right at the next intersection. Three buildings down there is a welcome sight - Crystal's club. From where they are Sam can hear the MP3s' heavy rhythmic beat; it vibrates through the light runner and inside him, like he's standing too close to the speakers at a particularly rowdy concert.
Right before he releases the light runner's hatch he gives Tron a critical look. He opens his mouth but the program beats him to the punch, says, "I can walk on my own."
Sam shakes his head, trying to suppress a smile. "Suit yourself."
In constantly worrying about Tron's state of being Sam forgot how incredibly sore and tired he was himself; he sways as he gets out of the light runner and half-stumbles after Tron up onto the sidewalk. He looks over his shoulder at the light runner's white circuits and mutters, "I hope she doesn't notice."
Nobody notices them, although Sam can't tell if it's the near darkness, the vertigo-inducing strobe lights, the beat the MP3s are spinning out, or the neon cocktails that seem to float in the air like fireflies. He tries to stay ahead of Tron and push aside the programs blocking their curving route around the back of the crowd but Tron keeps stepping out in front of him, weaving through the bodies and forging a path for him to follow. He's still shielding Sam, seems to be doing it more on purpose and less because he's meant to, and it leaves Sam feeling strange, like his stomach's tied up in knots. At the same time he can't help feeling grateful; while the security program's every stride appears to be stronger and surer his are faltering, and Sam's starting to feel the gravity's pull on his limbs.
Crystal, as expected, is behind the counter, pouring boldly colored energy from an assortment of carafes on the glowing panels into two tall slim glasses. She does it so effortlessly and the sight of the colors splashing and swirling into a chemical blue is so entrancing that Sam forgets where he is and trips over someone's foot. Tron's even faster, grabbing him by the arm and holding him up until he regains his balance. Embarrassed, Sam quickly tugs his arm back and makes a beeline for the nearest empty barstool. A few programs turn their heads to study the newest arrival but when Tron joins him a second later they shift their attention elsewhere. Two of them even look disappointed although Sam doesn't know what's so fascinating about him. Besides being a User, that is. Maybe if he isn't so tired their expressions'll make more sense.
The music starts grinding down on the last of his sanity and he plants the side of his face on the cool countertop, shuts his eyes and starts thinking about his bed back home on the other side of the Grid. When he opens his eyes again Tron has his elbows propped on the bar, face buried in his hands. Sam stares at the circuits on the back of his fingers and thumb until a white-lit program moves out of the corner of his eye. Ever so slowly he lifts his head and looks up at Crystal.
She sets the two glasses down on the counter in front of them and then gives them an appraising look. "You look like the Outlands chewed you up and spit you back out."
"Something like that," Sam says roughly, and then clears his throat. He pokes at the cocktail in front of him; Tron is already halfway done with his and is looking far more alert than in the past few hours.
"Drink it," Crystal says, pushing the glass into the web between his thumb and index finger. "It won't have the same effect on you as it does for us but it should help."
Behind him the MP3s change tracks, replacing the rapid beats with a slower tempo. It's the cue for programs to start drifting to the bar to chat or order drinks. Crystal hesitates, her eyes full of questions, but someone calls her name.
"Holler if you need me," she says, pats Sam's hand, and moves away.
Sam finally sits all the way up, grimacing when his back cracks. He pinches his nose bridge and almost knocks the glass over when his hand falls heavily on the countertop. He swirls the contents of the glass with his other hand for a moment, lifts it to his nose and sniffs, then tips the cocktail into his mouth. Unlike other times this one is highly charged, prickling and electric as it coats his tongue and slides down his throat. The world abruptly and sharply focuses and he's suddenly hyperaware of his surroundings, like the music the MP3s are spinning out, the chatter of the programs around him, the backlit panels behind the bar illuminating the neon colors in rows and rows of glass carafes. Another sip and the pleasant warmth floods his body, numbing the aches and bruises, and reaching all the way down to his fingertips and toes. His circuits' glow intensifies with another swallow.
"Whoa." He holds up the glass, tilting the remaining blue liquid this way and that. It doesn't look different from the cocktails other programs in the bar area are holding but none of them look as buzzed and bright as he feels. He holds his free arm out and studies the white lines. "Is it supposed to do that?'
He looks at Tron, who's giving him a strange and fond smile. Quite suddenly he can't breathe, can't move, can't think, is paralyzed by the bluish-gray eyes, the aching familiarity of his face, the glowing blue circuits on his body. Just as abruptly the moment passes and the dull roar of the club becomes pronounced again. Flushing hot Sam looks away and stares down at the backlit counter, fighting the urge to press his heart back into his chest.
He ends up eavesdropping on a group of programs standing to his left.
"...saw the whole thing. Sen wouldn't lie, not with the rumors going around."
"Except they're not rumors anymore. He's the real deal."
One of the programs snorts derisively. "'Real deal'? What's he done so far? With Pollux ousted that sector's gone dead; is that what we want?"
"There had to be a reason why he did that. And Pollux is nothing like Octane or Shaddox-"
"Enyo knew the Creator. She's putting her disk behind the new one. I think that says enough, don't you?"
"She's also harboring Clu's little pet. What can you say to that?"
Anger flares up in his chest like fire as Sam sits up and turns to his left. Of the cluster of programs standing there the rail thin bald blue-lit program notices him first and fumbles with his green cocktail. One by one the others turn around and, to Sam's confusion, they start backing away. Then Crystal breezes by on the other side of the bar and loudly says, "I'll thank you not to derezz my bar, Sam Flynn."
What are you talking abou-what the hell?
He lifts his arm off the counter but the damage is already done; a deep crack runs down a third of a darkened panel and bits of code are chipping off. He quickly pulls up the code and repairs the damage, minimizes the display while the counter repairs itself and the panel flicks back on. He looks up at the group of terrified programs, smirks and salutes them with his glass, and watches them scatter. With a shrug he twists around to face the bar and tips the contents into his mouth.
"So what other User tricks are you hiding up your sleeve?"
Perched on the barstool next to his is Enyo. Where the hell did she come from?
"It's impressive but I don't recommend doing it again. We want a Creator who creates, not destroys." She pats him on the arm sympathetically while he coughs the energy out of his lungs. "So, did you find what you were looking for?"
Tron leans over to see who Sam's talking to, pressing up against his shoulder. The unexpected contact is electric, a hot-cold shiver spreading through his body while catapulting his heart up his throat. His circuits glow with sudden intensity and Sam curls his fingers around his glass tightly, desperately willing them to dim down. He drops his gaze to the panel, unable to meet Enyo's eyes or consider what Tron must think of the vivid reaction.
"Not exactly," he says, pretending very hard that his voice didn't just crack. He thinks about the presence next to him, thinks about his father's tired voice looping in his head, thinks about Quorra on the other side. Quietly he adds, "Found what I needed, though."
"Bet you did," she says. "Nice light runner, by the way. Quite an upgrade from the one I lent you."
He stiffens. "Yeah, uh, about that-"
She raises her hand, stopping him. "Say no more. What's important is that we now know that many of Clu's followers are still out there." She then nods to Tron. "And that both of you survived."
"How do you-"
"I have my sources," she says smugly. "I was created to stay up-to-date on the Grid's status, which reminds me - the portal's closed. What are you going to do?"
Sam groans and covers his face. He'd forgotten about the portal. At the very serious look on Enyo's face he quickly explains. "Q's on the other side and we agreed on when to open it if it closed before I came back. So I'm not stuck here forever. But since I am done I just need to...somehow get a message out and have her open it-"
"An I/O tower," Tron suddenly says. "That's how Clu sent the message that brought you to the Grid. It's gone now."
Sam always did wonder how Clu sent Alan that page, but, "Tower?"
Enyo nods. "Tower. I/O towers were religious places where we went to communicate with our Users. It used to be that we could only receive communications but you're a User, you can repurpose it to send a message to the other side. And not all of the towers were destroyed; there's one still standing two sectors over.'
She slides off the barstool and leans on the counter, looks at him expectantly. "We can go now."
His first instinct is to glance to his right; there's a strange expression on Tron's face but it disappears under the more familiar serenity and stoicism as he meets Sam's gaze. Sam looks back at Enyo and is now unsure what to make of the expression on herface. Still there's that expectation in her brown eyes. They're both waiting for him to make the decision.
The thing is, Sam's now realizing, he's not quite ready to leave the Grid. The closed portal still ticks in his mind, reminding him constantly of the permanent damage it did to his life and the lives of so many others; he knows how important it is to get the portal open now, but the urgency's taken a backseat to this unsettled feeling, this notion that something hasn't been resolved and he can't leave until it is.
He can have Quorra open the portal and still spend several hours here before leaving, can't he? He keeps forgetting that time on the Grid is faster than time on the other side. This, he realizes with no small amount of happiness, means he can send her the message and then take a much-needed nap without losing any time at all.
"Yeah, why not," he says, rubbing his thumb along the length of the slender glass. "Sounds easy enough-"
"You're in no condition to go back out there," Tron points out. Trust him to pick up on that immediately. "The situation in the city hasn't changed and you need the rest-"
"Just give me a couple of these and the tower's location," Sam interrupts, holding up his glass and swirling around the last splash of energy. And really, it's not that different from all those late nights he spent during his high school and CalTech years. Okay, so there's a bit of a difference between pouring over handwritten notes and blocks of text, and fighting for his life after an hours-long journey to a remote house in the digital wilderness, but the idea is still the same.
At the disapproving look on Tron's face he rolls his eyes and bumps the program's shoulder, adds, "I'll be fine. I can write shortcuts, remember? Shouldn't be too hard."
Is he just imagining things or did Tron's circuits just get brighter? They flash bluish-white before stuttering back to a steady blue glow and nobody else seems to notice. Tron in fact is just shaking his head and saying something under his breath.
"What?"
Tron smiles. "Sometimes you remind me of Flynn."
Sam doesn't know what to say to that. Instead he looks down at the cocktail in his hand, then empties the glass into his mouth and studies the way the light refracts off the rim of it. Tron slides away to talk to Crystal, leaving Sam with Enyo.
She's leering at him.
"What?"
"Nothing," Enyo says, but her smile suggests otherwise.
Sam does not trust that program.
The shortcut Sam writes is big enough for three lightcycles and they end up racing each other from one end to the other, zipping along at impossible speeds and trailing rippling light ribbons in white, blue, and yellow. Sam's not sure how Tron does it but he finishes a half-length in front and doesn't try to hide a victorious smile as they dismount and the lightcycles collapse into batons.
As they climb up the translucent rungs to a narrow alleyway behind the I/O tower Enyo told them about Sam says, "Told you it wasn't going to be a problem."
Tron pauses halfway up the next run to give him a look. Sam decides it's probably not a good time to make a smart remark about the sudden bout of vertigo when he looks down. It's not like he measured the height of the shortcut when he wrote it.
The abandoned I/O tower is a massive construct, distinct compared to the other towers and skyscrapers in the area. Sam stares up at the curving walls while Enyo walks ahead to the double doors to see if they can get inside. Tron lingers behind, a thoughtful look gracing his face as he tilts his chin up.
Sam sidles alongside him and asks, "How does this work again?"
"We come here when our Users summon us-"
"How do you know that?"
Tron shrugs. He sounds distant when he says, "You feel it. Like something deep inside, calling you to the nearest tower..."
Sam doubts it's going to get more descriptive than that. "What happens next?"
"Each tower is protected by a Tower Guardian. You must ask their permission to go inside to communicate with your User. When the MCP took over the Guardians were forbidden to let any program in; Yori and I convinced Dumont to let me communicate with Alan-1 in order to learn how to stop the MCP, and he almost lost his life for it."
"Dumont, huh?" The Dumont Sam knows is the modified shipping container he'd lived in for several years next to the river. "Did Dad port him in here, too?"
"He did. I don't know where he is now, though." Tron sighs and softly says, "Clu probably had him and the other Guardians derezzed. Of course Flynn was the only User who could communicate with us, but the Guardians could just as easily start an uprising as Zuse once did. They're all gone now."
He looks so wistful and lost, and Sam wishes he kept his mouth shut. He touches the program's arm, getting Tron to look at him.
"Hey, I'm sorry about what happened."
Tron smiles and shakes his head. "There's nothing to apologize for."
He looks like he's about to say something else but Enyo interrupts, calling across the plaza for them.
"Looks like you'll have to break us in," she says as they approach. She has that look again, one almost identical to the look the Sirens wear when they know something and Sam doesn't. He's of the belief that she spends way too much time around Crystal.
While Tron stands guard Sam presses the palm of his hand on the wall and pulls up the code. Enyo watches with rapt fascination as he writes in a command line and then quickly steps back when the wall starts humming. A second later the doors slide apart, releasing a blast of cold stale air. Sam takes a cautious step inside and as soon as his foot hits the floor the tower lights up.
"Whoa."
He doesn't know who said it. The lobby of the I/O tower is so massive it verges on the sublime; the sheer walls and the high ceiling remind him of the exterior of the Walt Disney Concert Hall, only with tastefully placed cyan circuitry instead of a reflective surface and on a much grander. Their footsteps echo in the vast emptiness as they walk across the floor to another large sliding door.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Enyo asks. Her voice bounces off the seemingly random curves, echoing and vibrating in the air.
"Yeah, it is," Sam says as he looks up again at the ceiling.
It takes seconds for Sam to open the next door. Cold sterile air blasts in his face as the door slides open; inside are low circular stairs rising up to a platform with a control panel. Behind it is a narrow walkway crossing a massive chasm to a small entryway on the other side. The architecture is still just as grand, with steep curving walls that reach skyward. The only difference is the transparent ceiling giving them a clear view of the cloudy dark sky.
Enyo bounds ahead, going up the steps two at a time. Sam glances at Tron, looking for some kind of explanation.
"This is where the Guardian monitors our communication with our Users. He's required to activate the tower and open the link between us, but I think you can manage."
Sam thinks back to the stories his father told him but he draws a blank. All he remembers is Flynn doing something with a damaged Recognizer. "Right."
Sam is the last of the three to reach the top of the stairs; his lungs burn and his legs wobble from the exertion, but when Tron gives him a concerned look he waves it off with a grin and hops over into the circle of controls and interfaces to take a closer look. He pretends that he didn't almost make it and he also pretends that he didn't almost kick Enyo in the head.
The control panel gives him no clue how to activate the tower until he remembers that he doesn't need it to make the tower work. He presses his fingertips to a space between buttons and darkened screens and brings up an incredibly complicated code.
"Let's see..." he says, more to himself than the others.
Clu was able to reprogram one of these towers to page Alan but he's definitely not the person Sam wants to call up this late at night. He doesn't even know if the computer's still hooked up to the telephone line. He briefly considers sending a text to Quorra's phone but the coding involved will take much too long to write, plus the system doesn't even have the right hardware for it. Making a mental note to start upgrading the Grid for the twenty-first century once this is all over he studies the display and decides to try coding a brief message to send to the touch screen interface.
"First thing I'm doing when I come back," he says as he activates the tower, feeling a small thrill when the control panel lights up under his touch, "is reprogramming one of these so you can text me or Q if something comes up."
"Text?" Enyo asks.
Sam glances up, code glowing under his fingertips. "You can send a message to my phone. Need specific hardware for that, though. Don't want you accidentally paging Alan instead."
She looks even more confused than the first time. He can go into exponentially greater detail about the wonders of twenty-first century technology but there's something crucial that he has to do first. And twenty-first century technology can't compare with the tower whirring and lighting up as he continues modifying the code to enable two-way communication. There's a flash above his head and Sam looks up to see a thin beam of light streaking into the sky.
He looks down at the control panel and lifts his hands, watching the code display disappear. "Okay, so basically I walk over there-" he points at the bridge "-and inside that room there's...what happens, exactly?"
"There's a beam of light," Tron says. "It will read your disk, confirm it's the correct one, and imprints any information or directive from your User on it. With you it should be the reverse. Do you need help?"
Sam is calculating whether or not he can jump over the control panel to the outside without falling on his face or breaking something. Coding isn't exactly easy, especially on the Grid, and the buzz from the energy Sam downed back at the club is starting to fade. A different kind of buzzing is settling in and Sam resists rubbing his eyes, takes a deep breath to get his bearing and sharpen his mind.
"I'm fine," he says. "Just give me a second."
Steeling himself he hoists himself up and over but the landing isn't graceful; he bangs his hipbone against the side and his leg almost gives out under him. He swears, pressing his hand against it, and makes a point of avoiding Tron's frown and Enyo's raised eyebrow as he hobbles towards the bridge.
"That went well," he mutters and peers over the ledge. Vertigo hits again and he catches himself before he sways forward. Swallowing hard he keeps his eyes on the narrow bridge and inches his way across.
As he crosses to the inner sanctum he hears Tron's voice, a murmur that carries across the deep drop and echoes around him.
"All that is visible must grow beyond itself, and extend into the realm of the invisible."
The inner sanctum is incredibly small, a tight space where the only way is up. Sam studies the tendrils of circuits crawling up the walls until the light above almost blinds him, and then looks at the small round platform in the middle of the room. He takes his disk off his back and turns it over in his hands as he goes over what Tron told him about I/O towers. He slowly steps up onto the platform and immediately shields his eyes when a spotlight shines down on him. Deja vu rushes through him, memories carrying him back to the moment a Recognizer threw a beam of light on him and closed in, dropping out the ground around him until he was trapped on a lone pillar.
This time there's only light and no threat of being hauled off to the Games. Sam breathes deep and then holds his disk up over his head. Something tugs on it and he slowly releases the Light Disc, watches it rise up in the light and disappear.
"What, that's it?"
Sam feels a bit cheated.
How long is it supposed to take? Where does his disk even go? Will he get it back or will it stay up there somewhere until Quorra responds, either by somehow sending back a message or opening the portal?
He rubs his hip as he looks skyward, squinting against the light. Seeing nothing he sighs and sits down, pressing his hand against the buzzing in his head. He feels himself sway to the side and catches himself from toppling over. He shakes his head to wake himself back up, then yawns and hears his jaw crack.
"Fuck." He looks up while rubbing it but doesn't see anything. "How long is this supposed to take?"
As if on cue the light suddenly intensifies and he quickly stands up. He makes out the shape of his disk as it slowly descends - too slowly for his taste.
"Oh come on," he says and rises up on the balls of his feet to grab it.
As soon as his fingers wrap around the disk the light dims. He takes a step back and his foot lands on air; he ends up on the floor, curling onto his side and pressing his hand to the back of his head. Everything rings loudly as he swears under his breath and rolls onto his hands and knees to push himself up. He limps over to his disk and locks it into place on his back, then walks out of the room, hand sliding along the wall for support and causing the pencil-thin circuits to pulse.
Tron and Enyo are deep in conversation when he comes out of the inner sanctum and carefully, very carefully, crosses back over the bridge. He doesn't look down but the lightheaded sensation returns anyway and the ground rocks under his feet as soon as he reaches the other side. He ends up leaning against the control panel, feels his knees buckle as exhaustion clouds his mind. Someone is calling out his name as he slides down to the floor and presses his forehead against the cool panels. He closes his eyes and feels himself unwind.
He regains consciousness for a few seconds, feels himself being lifted up and carried somewhere while voices talk around him. He hates being considered helpless - he's not seven years old and listening to his grandparents discuss the situation with his missing father the next room over while buried under the blankets with only his Tron action figure for company - but he can't exactly move. He blinks and catches sight of a blurry blue "T" centimeters away from him.
"Put me down, I can walk," he tries to say but a finger presses against his mouth and someone hushes him.
Sleep clouds his mind and at the end of the tunnel is a bright light. The Ducati roars as he swerves around the other cars, the sound vibrating all around him. Suddenly there's no asphalt underneath, no ground, no cars, no tunnel, just the lights of downtown L.A.
He follows the graceful lines of traffic on the 405 and wonders at the circuits on the skyscrapers. Up ahead he can see the giant oval of Hollywood Park, lightcycles circling the racetrack, and the Solar Sailers coming in and out of LAX. He sits back on the rumbling Ducati and watches, feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards in a smile.
It's incredible.
The city dissolves and in the darkness he hears footsteps approach. Still sluggish and lost in a sleepy haze he listens and waits; they come to a stop somewhere in front of him.
"Still out?" It's Enyo.
"Yes." Tron sighs. "I told him it was a bad idea coming here so soon after what happened in the Outlands."
Sam can hear her smile in her words. "Users don't know their limits; they're always trying, no matter how right or wrong they are. Julia-59 was constantly rewriting me, trying to make me better, all the way up until Flynn approached me about the new system he was building with you."
"I was wondering why you said 'Users'."
"I'm just that old," Enyo says, "and insignificant enough to fly under Clu's radar. I'm the only one left of the group he brought over from the old servers."
"You're..." Tron hesitates, searching for words. "You're very strange. You're not like the others at all."
"I could say the same of you but that makes sense seeing as we're both from elsewhere."
Sam's mind slowly orients itself as he becomes more awake. He's curled up on the floor, against the wall with his disk pressing into his lower back. He hears Tron's quiet hum, so different from the loud broken whir when he first came back to the Grid, and feels a hand gently caress the side of his head. A chill and a shiver runs up his spine while heat unfurls in his chest; Sam fights the urge to curl around the feeling and give himself away.
An uneasy silence hangs in the air and then something squeaks, like Enyo twisting the ball or heel of her foot against the floor.
"He's more than a User to you, isn't he?" she suddenly asks. "More than just the Son of Flynn?"
His heart pounds louder and louder the longer Tron stays silent and Sam thinks he's going to be sick. He doesn't think he can breathe. The hand resting on his head suddenly weighs several tons and it just makes him want to run.
"You don't have to say anything," Enyo says, then abruptly changes topics. "Rho Sector isn't the easiest to patrol. We lost so many just to establish its neutrality, and now that he's here it's going to get worse. Not everyone wants him, not everyone thinks they need him but we know better. You have to be careful."
"You did just fine the last twenty-five point two-"
"Until someone upset the status quo, after upsetting the status quo," Enyo says lightly. "We'll need your help to just stay one step ahead of the others."
"I can do that."
"Never doubted you, but if you need help ask Crystal's sisters. In the meantime..." Sam hears someone shift about. "The light runner's outside. Some programs decided to try taking it off my hands. I hope nobody misses them. I certainly won't."
Tron huffs a laugh. "And what are you going to do?"
"I'm staying here until something happens. I'm no Guardian but I think I can tell when someone's trying to reach our mighty User. If the portal opens, just listen for the rioting in the streets." In a softer voice she adds, "You know, I don't think he'll say no."
What is she talking about? Sam hears Tron shift uneasily as Enyo takes a step back.
"Why?" Tron finally asks.
"Why not?" she says, which seems to be her attitude towards a lot of things. "If you forgave yourself for everything that happened why are you still holding back?"
"I..."
There's a knowing shush, accompanied by the echo of Enyo's footsteps that eventually fade. Sam holds himself absolutely still, hoping it still looks like he's asleep. The exchange between the two programs whirl in his mind like a hurricane, words said and unspoken drowning out whatever thoughts he had about Quorra and the portal.
"He's more than a User to you, isn't he? More than just the Son of Flynn?"
It's true, in a sense. Unlike the others Tron never treated him like the User they know he is, like the savior everybody else hopes he can be. He's always done his best to protect Sam, but isn't that just how he's written? Beyond that he never...asked for anything, never expected anything of him, never put that kind of pressure and expectation on him. Sam never noticed but in hindsight it's something he appreciates. Who didn't look at him expectantly, talked to him like he's just wasting his potential? All Tron ever did was help him, and it means so much more than he thought possible.
Somewhere above his head Tron says his name softly, like it's something to treasure, and he can't help the shuddering breath because nobody's ever done that before. Abruptly the hand lifts away from his head and Sam takes another breath, steels himself, and opens his eyes.
They're in the lobby of the I/O tower. He shuts his eyes against the too bright light.
"Well, crap." He feels like it, too.
Slowly he rolls onto his back and blinks again. There are glass panels on the ceiling like skylights and he can see the glowing beam of light reaching from the inner sanctum of the tower into the sky. He tilts his head back and looks at Tron, who's sitting against the wall and looking down at the circuits on the back of his right hand. Sam studies the pensive look in his face and freezes when the program tilts his head down to meet Sam's gaze. His eyes are an incredible and magnetic blue-gray.
He licks his upper lip and then says, "So, uh, I'm guessing Q hasn't opened the portal yet." He's not sure why he's whispering.
The seconds tick by before Tron finally answers. "No. You haven't been asleep long. We should go back. Enyo will keep watch, you need rest, and I..." He raises his hand and Sam holds his breath, heart pounding erratically. Tron hesitates, presses his fingertips together, and then lowers it. He looks elsewhere, says, "I need to think things out."
Sam slowly lets out the breath he's been holding and sits up. "Yeah, good idea."
They're no more than a few feet apart as they walk across the lobby to the doors and the light runner that's waiting for them on the plaza rather than on the street, but they might as well be on opposite sides of the bridge inside the tower. Tron has withdrawn into himself, shoulders slumping forward and head tilted down in a way reminiscent of Rinzler. Sam is a half-step behind, tired and aching and mind awhirl with what he overheard-
Not just what he overheard. Everything Enyo said and didn't say just put words to the shift in his head, something that's been in motion since that conversation outside the safe house. There's suddenly a way to look at the unavoidable storm and the program at the eye of the hurricane, and it's made real his inexplicable want and need to be near Tron, to reach out and make him smile, to watch his circuits like up like fireworks.
It's something Sam never expected to face when he came here. It wasn't something he was looking for.
It's terrifying.