The Ducati idled at the traffic light, as a booted foot tapped impatiently on the asphalt.

Beneath the helmet's face-shield, Sam Flynn smiled to himself, still recalling Quorra's words from a few moments earlier. Just after they'd left the arcade on the way to ENCOM, she'd suddenly tapped on his shoulder and surprised him by asking, "I'm a little tired,...can you take me home first?" It was an ordinary question, really, and he didn't know why it made him smile so to think of it again just now. Unless it was the "home" part...it was the first time she'd used the word, and to him it meant that in the past few days since arriving in the strange new User world, she'd come to think of his completely unconventional boxcar of an apartment as the place where she felt safe, comfortable, relaxed. As home. And it was good, hearing her call it that.

She was there now resting, which he also thought was good, especially considering how difficult as sleep had been for her since her arrival here from the Grid. She would be there napping while he was gone, and she would be there waiting for him when he got back, and he liked that.

He sighed, still waiting for the light to change.
As he thought about it, maybe there was something more to it, his liking her asking him to take her 'home'...he'd never really considered the place his "home" before, at least not in the full context of the word. In fact he hadn't even really used the word much at all since 1989, because since then, no place had felt like home to him, and no place had really had the potential to. Until now.

The light changed to green, and he rolled the throttle, accelerating forward into the turn lane for the freeway access road. Glancing across at the Ralph's on the corner as he passed, he made a mental note to stop there on the way back and get Quorra some of the little peanut butter cookies she'd liked so well, the ones they'd gotten from the vending machine outside the cellular store this morning. She'd devoured them rather quickly, buoyantly happy to have found a food in the User world which she recognized as one of her favorites from the grid. He chuckled again, thinking about it...Quorra was the only other person he'd ever known who adored peanut butter as much as his dad. And why didn't that surprise him?

He smiled again to himself, as he accelerated into the carpool lane. Absolutely he'd stop on the way back and get some of the little cookies for her, as well as her own jar of peanut butter too. They needed a few groceries anyway. It was odd, to think of himself suddenly wanting to buy groceries instead of just ordering take-out, but it was no more odd than finding himself thinking there could finally be a place called home again, even in a world without Kevin Flynn in it.


The ENCOM parking structure looked relatively empty, and the security guard wasn't at the post, so Sam drove the bike right past the automated gate arm, continuing on into the first level. Passing down the row of empty parking spots, he saw the one whose sign-marker read, "Bradley, Alan - Chairman Emeritus". A few spaces down from that was the spot for" Hardington, Kurt - CEO." Twenty one years ago, that sign had his father's name on it instead. And soon, it would most likely read, "Flynn, Sam - CEO". Much had changed, indeed.

Sam parked the bike in the motorcycle spaces near the elevators, and took off his helmet.
As he walked, in his head he was playing the "what if/then" game again,...a game which had never really gotten him anywhere in the past except to stir his resentments, or lately in the present, to stir his grief. Yet he played it anyway...
What if...his dad could have found a way out of the Grid, instead of the way it had all played out?
Then...he would have his dad with him right now.
Accepting things had never been one of Sam's strong points. That was why he'd gotten so good at playing the "what if/then" game in his head to begin with, as pointless as it was.

He'd tried a version of that same game in his head while in the Grid – the "why/then" game - and he'd even voiced it to Kevin as they'd stood aboard the Solar Sailer
"why didn't you ever just re-write the code or find some way to over-ride all this, some password or something, then-..."
But Kevin hadn't allowed the statement to get much further into the 'then' before interrupting, his eyes serious though his voice was gentle, "Sam,..if there was some magic word, some...secret code, some grand revelation,...something- anything...which would have stopped all this and given me my freedom back,...don't you think I would have said it?..don't you think I would have done it?..."

Then seeing his son's frustrated silence, Kevin had continued, "...son,...it isn't easy to come to terms with, and...and it's not fair at all, but,...there are some things in the-...in this world,...that happen to you and you just can't write, talk, reason or even fight your way out of 'em,...no matter what...because it wasn't your fight to start with. This has kinda' been one of those things."

And Sam had looked at him, not meaning for his words to sound as judgmental as they probably did, "So you just gave up, then?..."

But Kevin had taken no offense. He'd just offered a soft wry smile, nodded, then said matter-of-factly, in a soft wistful voice, "I had no other choice. Not until you showed up."

Sam sighed, stepping aboard the elevator, absently touching the small casement which hung on his necklace.
At least he had a choice, whereas his father hadn't until it was too late.
Whatever corruption had led to his father's years of entrapment and eventual demise in the Grid, if he was soon to become the new CEO of ENCOM Sam might be in the optimal position to try to get to the bottom of it, and hopefully someday, to stop it.

The elevator doors opened and Sam stepped out, walking to the door and sliding his employee pass-card through the lock mechanism. A few seconds later, he was headed down the hall to Alan's office. He hoped he'd find him sitting at his desk.

Instead, Sam found a closed door, and the lights were off.
Glancing through the small window beside the door he could see that the desk was unoccupied.
He sighed, walking back towards the elevators, before stopping, then plopping into a chair at the waiting area beside the floor receptionist's desk.
He sat there a moment thinking, then retrieved his cell from his jacket pocket, and sat scrolling through the photos. There was the one of the tow-truck, with the tow company's name and number clearly visible on the back window of the cab.
He dialed the number and waited.

The conversation was rather short, and the answers he got didn't tell him anything he didn't already know.
Yes, theres' a silver 2009 Maxima here.
Yes, that's the license plate.
No, the owner hasn't called in yet.
Yes, we're open all day Saturday.
No, only the registered owner of a vehicle can pick it up. Sorry.

Sam sighed as he disconnected the call.

Well, back to square one.

He tried Alan's cell again. Which was pointless. This time the message said the voice-mail box was full.
He tried Alan's home number again. The answering machine picked up, but he didn't leave a message.

Something about this was really gnawing at him now. This was not like Alan.
His mind sifted through all sorts of elaborate possibilities and scenarios, and then he chastised himself.
...stop it...
...stop being ridiculous...

The part of him that was being ridiculous wanted to argue the point that he'd harbored secret fears of this very thing happening, for a long time, like, for twenty one years, ever since his father had inexplicably disappeared without a trace.

He walked down the hall and stood by Alan's door. He reached for his wallet, flipping through it until he located the old access card, then stared at it, arguing with himself in his thoughts again.

...he said this was for in the event of an emergency...
...yeah...is this really an emergency?...come on...
...I don't know...that's what I'm trying to find out...
...a shrink would say you have abandonment issues...
...huh, among other things...
...yeah?...well,...I come by them honestly...
...is he gonna be pissed?...
...yeah, probably. I would be...
...but you know what?..too bad...something's not right here...

He settled the inner debate by taking action. He slid the card through the magnetic lock, opened the door, and walked in, closing the door behind him.

The office was impeccably tidy, which didn't surprise him.
The computer was turned off, and a dust cover protected the keyboard.
Nothing at all seemed out of place.
He stood staring down at the in-box, where a stack of papers lay neatly arranged, the top-most one being the press-release for the Flynn/ENCOM OS12 freeware promotional.
Then he sat down at the desk, staring at the desk-pad calendar which took up a good portion of the desktop. He'd always found it ironic - for a former COO of the world's largest software company and a forerunner in the digital age, Alan sure had ways of doing things the old-fashioned way...he wrote notes down by hand, used a plain desk-pad calendar to keep his appointments, and still carried a pager from the 1980's.

Sam sat down at the desk, and sighed, staring at the calendar.
Aside from a few meetings, a dental appointment, and some dry-cleaning to drop off, the week's date squares were pretty much empty. At the top of the empty Friday square Alan had jotted "Sam/dinner". On today's square he hadn't written anything.

He sat there another few seconds, then glanced at the telephone. The number "2" flashed on the small digital LED screen, which meant Alan had two messages waiting for him.

...no,...you're not going to...
...because it's none of your business...that's why...

...well,...
...wonder who he called last?...
...that's none of your business either...

He stood up, and was about to turn and leave when curiosity got the better of him.
He picked up the receiver, and surveyed the different buttons on the keypad until he found "redial".
Feeling more than a tad guilty, he hit the button, glancing quickly over at the window beside the door as he placed the receiver to his ear, just in time to hear a tri-tonal beep on the other end of the line, followed by a pre-recorded voice : "We're sorry,...you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service...please check the number and try your call again...".

He sighed, placing the receiver back in it's cradle, then he walked back across the office, the heavy door pulling itself shut and locking behind him as he left. Heading down the hall, his thoughts were already yammering away at him.

...see?...this was pointless...
...and hitting redial...dude that's just nosey...
...had to try...
...where the hell is he?...
...and why'd he leave his car at the arcade?...
...now I guess I'm driving all the way out to his house...
...yeah, or...you could just stop being ridiculous and wait for him to call you back ...
...funny,...too bad I don't have the pager number...

He gave a huff in frustration, then sighed. He'd gotten as far as the elevator when the thoughts finally came full-circle.

Redial. Disconnected. Arcade. Pager.

He turned around and walked quickly right back down the hall to Alan's door, and this time his nagging thoughts didn't have a say in the matter. The card was right back out of his wallet, and then he was right back at Alan's desk pressing the redial button.

When he saw the number, something in him froze.

A half-second later he was out the door.
Less than a minute later he was zooming the bike out of the parking deck on the way to the arcade.