OMG CAN YOU BELIEVE IT I UPDATED

Sorry, sorry! I got distracted by all the writings, and then life happened, but due to everyone's encouragement and in spite of some really hectic times and a lot of ADD, I'm finally kicking out more Sea! \o/ Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who wrote me! You make this possible, seriously. :)

Aaaaaaaaand, to celebrate the holiday season, I give you ...

Chapter 7: Do You Hear What I Hear

There was light everywhere. Just as much as in the arena, except this was all warm tones and slanting rays, and it made his head throb with an odd, rhythmic pain to stare at. Through his lashes, he had an impression of stark shadows and obscenely saturated hues; a profusion of detail, as if some fractal texture-mapping had run amok.

But then he recognized the outlines of the figures silhouetted across the room, and the eye-watering contrasts and bodily aches were all too easily dismissed. "Flynn."

The creator turned. "Clu."

He was back in user clothes; clothes that had not made an appearance in over a kilocycle, though the underlying skin remained the same. Bearded, white-haired, face rough with extra textures - old, a rarely used lexicon spat out.

And beside him, Rinzler. Except that Rinzler had a face again, even averted as it was, and was clad in more of the user world's fashions. Shoulders slouched beneath a jacket, hands loose at his sides, head canted as he stared at something through the less than ideally transparent windows - he looked like he belonged here. Like he was just another user.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way."

Clu's gaze jerked back to Flynn. Stared disbelievingly before he started to laugh; a rough, grating sound that made even Rinzler's head tilt. "I cannot even begin to parse all the ways you'd expect this to be different. Were you supposed to have escaped sooner? Was I not supposed to be here? Was the system supposed to be fixed - " He bared his teeth when the user's mouth opened to protest, and hissed in vicious mockery, " - or are you going to say you really wanted to stay this time but something got in the way again?"

Flynn's mouth closed with an audible click.

Clu looked away with a raw sound, writhing against his restraints. He wanted to laugh at the same time he wanted to roar, wanted to hit something, wanted to move. He itched beneath his shell like when he had walked through Flynn's sanctuary, and stared at his distorted reflection in the mirrored surfaces of user flotsam before he had swept them all off the table -

"Clu! Clu, damnit - "

He snarled when he saw the hand reaching for him, jerked backwards hard enough that the chair he was bound to scraped loudly upon the imperfections of the floor. Everything here was so obscenely textured, no wonder Flynn tried to start over with the Grid -

The user rocked back on his heels, mouth pressed to a thin line as he let his hand fall by his side again. "Clu, look, all I had was an idea, all right? Just an idea, and it didn't work out. But maybe it's better this way, maybe this is our second chance - "

"Our second chance? What happened to your third chance, your fourth, how many cycles did we wait for all of your chances ... " and by this point, he didn't care that it wasn't the main issue or even an issue anymore because something inside his head was pounding unceasingly and his middle was churning weirdly and, at the moment, he couldn't for all his processor time manage to string anything more profound together except that he really, really wished he could turn off all the lights. All of them. The entire user system.

"Man. It hasn't been that long that I've forgotten what I look like when I have the mother of all hangovers."

Clu snarled weakly, but couldn't quite make himself open his eyes further than a narrowed, furious squint down at the floor. Except that the extra tension so near his temples was making the internal pounding all the more pronounced, and he was beginning to wonder if there was just something fundamentally incompatible between basic and user code ...

"Hold on there, buddy, I'm sure Sam has some painkillers around here. C'mon, Tron."

Cloth rustled and steps scuffed. Clu had no system-access here, but he didn't need it to track Flynn's movements as the user walked away to another section of the room. It was only when he did not process a second set that he slanted his eyes upwards - perhaps he should not depend on any tenuous connection remaining with Rinzler here, but he had not thought the program to be so completely hidden from his senses ...

Which he had not been. Rinzler still stood sentinel by the windows, just as he had since Clu's awakening.

"Hey, Tron, you probably know just as much as I do about what these things look like these days - "

'Tron' did not stir. Didn't so much as blink, even when the deepening slant of light rays slashed bright across his face; eyes wide and staring, completely entranced.

Clu could feel something hot and heavy settle deep within his chest; something that made the skin across his cheeks tighten, his lips curl back, his gaze narrow. "Rinzler - " he spat, betrayal honing his tongue -

The dark head turned sharply toward him; shoulders rounded, arms loose, hands ready. The light had continued to grow behind him until he was merely a shadow, and for a moment, even with the unfamiliar outlines of user clothing, his silhouette looked exactly like -

"Tron! C'mon, man, some help for the needy, here!"

This time, Flynn's hail drew the program's gaze away. Clu's breath remained stoppered in his throat, cutting words swallowed, as his one-time enforcer shook himself, blinking, before padding obediently toward the summons. Shoulders back, head held high - and nary a glance for the sysadmin he has to pass along the way.

This time, Clu could feel his mouth stretching in a far different expression. Looks like the game's not over yet, Flynn.

Kevin considered the kitchen and had the unhappy thought that this would be a lot easier on the Grid.

It wasn't even just the sheer busy-ness of the real world, with all its textures and colors and facades and things, but his fingers itched to press against a surface and simply search. A tag query, a usage function match, even just a thumbnail scan ...

"Hey, Tron, you probably know just as much as I do about what these things look like these days -" he called over his shoulder as he approached the first row of drawers. Not that he expected much help from that quarter, but divide and conquer, and for a bachelor, Sam's - house? apartment? what had he called it ... a 'pad'? - was inordinately cluttered. Or maybe Kevin was just too used to the Grid's clean lines and unblemished surfaces, all its functions zipped away until one gave it a simple touch and thought to unfurl ...

He turned on his heels, feeling unaccountably restless; both frustrated and enchanted with his new environment at the same time. Now that the buffer of memory and nostalgia had settled and there were no longer any other distractions, he was belatedly discovering that everything was familiar, and yet, not. Less bulky than the designs and devices of the eighties. Not quite as sleek and understated as the Grid. He kept reaching for the wrong things in the wrong places - interfaces, switches, even man pages at one point - to help him sort out a logical system from the disorder; but he had already run out of drawers and cabinets to pull open and, honestly, the real solution would be to invent some sort of tagging system that could be tracked down no matter where the thing was misplaced -

Something rattled behind him when he tried to back up for a wider view of the kitchen. He whirled, and barely kept from making a bigger mess when the shallow bowl he had upset nearly upended its hoard of fruit completely with the sudden motion. But the sole escapee - an orange he didn't quite catch - rolled away unheeded when he noticed the tiny figurines nearly hidden in the fruit bowl's shadow, and it was with an oddly Zen moment that he reached out to carefully pick up one of the small plastic toys.

Everything felt distant and buffered. Something that had helped him, on the Grid, when he had first noticed the gray in his hair, when he had had to start subtracting timestamps to remember the time that had passed. But now it just made him feel helpless, as if something else was in control as he turned the figure this way and that, noted the bald spots and the scuff marks and the looseness of the joints, and a shudder worked its way down his spine as he stared at the white-suited figure with its light blue lines and wondered if this was, in any way, like what rectification felt like.

"Tron!" he called, and tried not to wince at how hoarse and desperate he sounded. Setting the vintage figurine down again, he cleared his throat and entreated, "C'mon, man, some help for the needy, here!" But when the program finally stepped into view, gaze fixed just left of center, face as opaque as the mask he had worn till now, Kevin wondered if being confronted with this was any better than the half-familiar, half-alien silence he had been left with before.

Inhale. Exhale.

Well, Tron was already here, it would be ridiculous to ask him to leave again. Squaring his shoulders, he was just beginning to scrape together what he hoped was a passable description of what he was looking for when he was confronted with audio that sounded distinctly ... small.

Head tilting, he rounded the counter's edge and slowly homed in on the couch. It went beyond simply readjustment from the odd accoustics of the Grid - whatever speakers were playing sounded flat, tinny, and ... Kevin halted uncertainly when the tune shut off, but when it restarted not a a split-micro later, he was finally able to fish a flat, rectangular device out from between the cushions.

It was like a palm-sized version of one of Encom's touch-surface desks. Shiny and polished, its face was occupied by a colorful background with a prominent dialog box floating on top, declaring 'Alan Bradley' beneath a photo of the same propped in a recliner, asleep and half-slouched, glasses askew, mouth sagged open. Distracted by the screen's resolution and color fidelity, the image was replaced by the message '2 missed calls' before he thought to do anything more - but then the audio looped again, Bradley reappeared in all his undignified technicolor glory, and Kevin smirked before following the on-screen instructions and swiped the virtual slider to one side.

"Sam, where the hell are you? I know you're not asleep after a night like that and heaven knows I'd rather you were, but we've got a situation breathing down our necks - "

Ah. So that's what the thing was. Gingerly holding the end emitting Alan's voice closer to his ear, Kevin surveyed the room, attempting to see if he could pick out a relay or base station for the handset. "Sounds just like old times, Alan."

There was a distinctly flabbergasted pause before his old friend spluttered predictably. "Kevin? Why are you - where's - what're you doing with Sam's cell phone and why do you sound like you're ten feet across the - "

Kevin pursed his lips thoughtfully as he pulled the - celphone? - away, eyeing its near-symmetrical design while Alan's amusingly Jiminy'd voice continued to natter on. Then, rotating the device, he put it near his head again. "What's a celphone and why is Sam using something by that Finnish upstart? Don't tell me Encom's fallen behind, we've held the patents to stuff like this since the seventies - "

" - even be wandering around the city when you've just - wait, what? What's this about a Finnish upst - are you talking about Nokia? Why are we talking about - "

"I'm holding something with their name all over it. Unless it's a clever disguise for Encom's next generation prototype, but to be honest, I hope not because you'll need to fire the design team - "

"No, we're not firing the design team, and Encom's pulled out of the consumer electronics race since '05 and you're not even CEO anymore - Kevin, why are we even talking? Put Sam on the phone, now!"

Dropping into the couch and bracing his free arm across its back, Kevin didn't bother suppressing his grin at the real growl in Alan's voice. "Sorry, man. Sam's taken Quorra out for a ride. Want me to take a message?" Blinking at the string of words this response engendered, he whistled. "Time's really put some salt in you, buddy."

"Flynn," and Kevin could just see Alan pinching the bridge of his nose, glasses pushed up to his brow-line, and felt his grin soften into fondness at even getting the chance to envision that response again - just before it dropped away altogether at the man's next words. "Look, Kevin, this is serious, all right? We're talking about Sam's future here - we're talking about his freedom, do you get me? They want to press charges, they want to sue, they want him in jail - "

It was, in a way, much like his experience on the Grid - his fondest dreams, mixed with unimaginable nightmares. There were daring exploits of the electronic and real world varieties, skydives off of skyscrapers, an information distribution network more expansive than he had dared to imagine national boundaries and regulations would have allowed.

And then there were the familiar corporate sharks who had, disappointingly, not died out as a species; who were, even now, circling around a potential kill. "Okay, wait, let me get this straight. Beyond some youthful indiscretions - "

"What, just minor things like a B&E and violating local airspace?"

"Does it really count as a B&E if, according to you, he practically owns Encom and if the police already fined and released him after the stunt?" Kevin retorted, instinctively flexing his wrist to remind himself of the smooth roll of prayer beads around his wrist; an inexplicable tag-along when his clothes had been categorically swapped by the laser. Perhaps it was some tagging difference between 'attire' and 'accessory'? "What happened, Bradley? I thought you were the responsible one - "

"Excuse me? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If what you think I'm saying is that I thought anyone under your wing would've been a little less prone to reckless decisions - "

"Hey, I can only do so much in place of a father who was, may I point out, just as - !"

"And, what, you were just the next door neighbor? We made you his godfather - " Kevin snapped back, starting to his feet and pacing past the length of the couch - only to meet the gaze of his dark-suited doppelganger hunched in the shadowed recesses of the apartment. His own face stared stonily back at him, while one corner of the mouth curling in a satisfied smirk.

"To hell with you, Flynn! We had to stand in for you so that you could galivinate around in your little Wonderland - "

Kevin tore his gaze away. Spun shakily, and felt his breath come no easier when he found another all too familiar face waiting for him on the other side. For a moment, with older-Alan's voice in his ear and Alan's too-young face gazing expressionlessly back, he wondered if everything that had happened - Sam, the confrontation with Clu, their escape from the Grid - had simply been a product of his latest sleep cycle.

" - tell Sam to call me back ASAP. We're done here - "

Kevin shook himself. "Alan ... Alan! Wait, christ, just ... just hold on a moment, all right ... " He slumped back down onto the couch, shading his eyes from the strengthening sunlight in the room with a hand curled around his brow, elbows braced against his spread knees. "Look, I just ... I meant that I was hoping you would be a good influence, all right?"

"Don't give me your BS again to get out of - "

"Jesus christ, Alan, we're talking about my son and the only thing I have left of Jordan!"

Alan shut up. Kevin could hear his own breaths in the sudden silence, rasping in his throat, and he gritted his teeth and consciously held the last one, releasing it in a slow, carefully controlled stream. Inhale ... exhale ... inhale ... exhale ...

"Fine. What now, then?"

Kevin scraped his hand down his face and leaned back, eyes closed. "You said the board's basically leveling charges of IP theft? That's usually fines if the other party's got the means to pay up, not jail time."

"He has contracts, binding agreements ... standard procedural stuff that everyone down to the lowest intern signs. Stuff that no one except a corporate spy or a consultant or a resigning employee ever worries about - non-compete agreements, trade secrets, IP protection, theft of company property ... Kevin, he didn't just take a copy for his personal use or even to share with his circle of personal buddies for bragging rights. He essentially stole Encom's flagship product and handed it right over to all our competitors. The lawyers aren't going to care for the free software movement or the fact that he wasn't paid to do it. This is their potential excuse to strip him of everything - and to finally get him out of the board's collective hair, once and for all."

Kevin could almost feel caches swapping out as he tried to recall strategies he had not used for over a millennia of subjective time - and was keenly reminded, in spite of all his recent experiences, of the allure of the Grid with its lack of lawyers and bureaucracy. "I'm guessing that trying to put a team together that will outdo Encom's litigation group is out of the question."

"Is that some euphemism for 'I have no clue what the hell I'm doing'?"

"Then we'll just have to make sure that the lawyers never get involved."

There was a significant pause this time. "I'm still not convinced you're saying anything different."

But Kevin could hear the suspicion in his one-time best friend's voice; the suspicion that heralded a grudging willingness to believe if Kevin could talk fast enough. "What if ... " Inhale, exhale. "What if you told Encom you could - Sam could - give them something that will blow this OS12 of theirs right out of the water?"

This time, the pause was long and leaden before Alan said, "You must be joking. Kevin, you're not going to hand them the - giving them a new toy's not gonna move their sights from Sam - "

"No, of course not, not the Grid, not the whole thing, anyway." He wanted to get up, stand, move and pace, wave his arms, except he could almost feel the two stares coming from opposite sides, pinning him as surely as any light staff, and he was trying to cobble together a plan in a game he had not played in ten lifetimes, against players he had never met. "But greed, we appeal to their greed. They just lost their cash cow but we're going to give them a golden goose instead, but only if they don't slay it before it can make them all millionaires; they won't be able to resist - "

"Kevin, we can't, not in the timespan we have - a third of the board is already here, and it's barely past seven in the morning! This is going to be a witch hunt, we don't have time to plan something on this scale; if we make even one slip - "

"We don't need to plan it all now, we just need to buy time, Alan. C'mon, you should know how this game's played better than I do by now! For god's sake, they're on version twelve of their OS? Isn't it getting a little long in the tooth? Tell the world this is the final one. No, tell them it's only the prelude of what's to come. We're giving it away because it'll be worthless when we release our next project, it will be obsolete - "

"Jesus christ, are you even listening to yourself, Flynn?" Kevin stuttered, halting uncertainly as his rhythm was interrupted, but before he could attempt to reclaim it, Alan continued in an oddly soft tone, "It's like you'd never left."

Kevin could feel his forehead wrinkling as he tried to interpret the silence that followed, but before he could manage even an awkward question a sudden flurry of barking had him jerking his head up from its recline.

Marvin's claws scrabbled across the floor as the dog rushed up to the front door, yapping and little stub-tail wagging fit to fall right off. "I think there's someone at the door."

"Sam?"

"No, he took his bike. I haven't heard it coming around ... " Kevin rolled back to his feet, treading carefully along the same path the dog had just taken toward the door.

"Maybe it's an early delivery? Just ignore it - "

The door rattled. "They're trying to get in."

"What? You mean someone's trying to break in? Kevin, hang up right now, call - "

"No, like they've got a key - "

The door swung open.

"Wait, the only people who have keys are Sam, myself, and - "

"Marvin - Marvin, down, boy! Hey, Sam! Alan told me you were awake, and I was already on my way to the labs, so I thought I'd drop by earlier rather than later - "

Kevin felt his throat click with a swallow. "Lora?"

"What - Lora? Wait, I called her, asked her to bring over some women's clothes - "

The woman had stopped, Marvin hopping excitedly around her heels. Blond hair even lighter now with the grey threaded through it, face and figure rounded and lined by age, it was nevertheless obvious even through time's screen whom he faced - just as she confirmed it with a whispered, "Oh my god ... Kevin?"

" - but she said she wouldn't be free until the afternoon - I thought I'd have time to explain - "

Her eyes flicked past his shoulder and what remaining color in her face drained away. The bag that had been slung over her shoulder slipped and landed with a soft thump upon the floor, narrowly missing the dog. Kevin was suddenly aware of a shadow, hovering right on the edge of his periphery ...

Behind him, a slow, ticking growl began to swell.