Tron Legacy the Junior Novel

by Alice Alfonsi

  Copyright © 2010 Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 100115690.

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number on file.

  ISBN 978-1-4231-4612-4

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  WHEN SAM FLYNN WAS A LITTLE BOY, his dad, Kevin, told him a story every night before he went back to the office. Kevin didn’t work the night shift or anything. He owned a software company, Encom, and he worked there…a lot.

  Sam loved his father’s stories because they were almost always about Tron, the hero of the popular video game his dad had invented.

  “The grid is the digital frontier,” Kevin would tell Sam. “Add quantum paring, biodigital teleportation, enfoldment, and they have the power to change everything…”

  Hold up, dad, Sam would think. I’m only seven!

  Even though Sam wasn’t quite old enough to understand everything his dad said, he loved the stories anyway and would always try to follow along.

  “I imagined what it looked like inside the computer,” Kevin would say to his son. “I kept dreaming of a world I thought I’d never see. Then one day—”

  “You got in,” Sam finished, always right on cue.

  “I got in…” his dad would echo.

  Sam understood this part of the story. His dad had actually gotten into a computer. He’d played the games from the inside.

  “The world behind the computer screen was more beautiful and more dangerous than I ever imagined,” his father would explain. “But with the help of a brave warrior named Tron, I took down the evil Master Control Program. Then I got back out.”

  The story always ended there. Except for one important night ...

  “I tried to forget the digital world,” Kevin informed his son. “But I couldn’t let it go. I kept tinkering, and one day I got inside again.”

  Sam got excited. This part of the story was new!

  “It was my world, my creation,” Kevin said. “But I needed help to build a new system, so I created a program that could think. Like me. Like you. I named it Codified Likeness Utility—or Clu for short. But then something unexpected happened. A miracle!”

  His father did not go on. Sam pleaded with him to stay home that night. Sam wanted to hear more of the story. But Kevin shook his head.

  “I have to go, Sam,” his dad said. “We’ve got to see how the story ends, right?”

  Sam nodded, but his eyes were filled with disappointment. Trying to cheer him up, Kevin promised Sam that they would go to Flynn’s arcade first thing the next morning. They could play a couple of levels of the games that Kevin had invented: Space Paranoids and, of course, Tron.

  “Can we play on the same team?” Sam asked.

  “We’re always on the same team, kiddo,” his father said before stepping out of the bedroom. They were always in it together.

  But that wasn’t true.

  That night, Kevin Flynn disappeared…

  MANY YEARS PASSED, and the pain from his father’s disappearance stayed with Sam, refusing to fade. His dad’s last words still echoed inside Sam’s brain: “We’re always on the same team, kiddo.”

  Sam shook his head angrily, trying to drown out the words. He revved his motorcycle’s engine. The wall of noise battered his ears, but the memories would not go away.

  Some team we are, Sam thought. I’m here, dad. I’ve been here all along! Where the heck are you?

  Heat lightning rippled across the night sky. Up ahead, cars hurtled along the freeway. Without warning, traffic slowed to a crawl. Bright red brake lights blinked in the night. Instead of slowing down, Sam sped up, expertly darting his bike around the scarlet lights.

  I have to get there on time, he thought. Especially tonight…

  It was exactly twenty years ago to the day, that Sam’s dad had finished his bedtime story, left for the office…and vanished.

  At the time, Kevin Flynn’s disappearance had been front-page news. After all, he owned one of the biggest companies in the world. There was a huge media circus. reporters camped out in front of Sam’s home. But the stories were all about the fate of Encom. No one really cared about young Sam. He was just a kid with a mom who’d died a few years before and a genius dad who’d gone missing—without even saying good-bye.

  It’s that stupid company’s fault my dad is gone, Sam thought. Encom was always more important to dad than me.

  After his father vanished, Sam inherited a huge stake in his company. But Sam didn’t care. He pretended the company didn’t exist, except on one day every year—the anniversary of his father’s disappearance.

  Every year on that day, Sam pranked Encom. Once he performed a flaming motorcycle stunt at the company barbecue. Another year he hacked into the CEO’s computer. Then there was the time he bungee jumped during a big press junket.

  Sam knew these wild pranks could never make up for a life without his father. But the stunts gave him satisfaction. On that one day a year, he made sure everyone at Encom remembered that he was still here—and that his dad wasn’t. It was, in a weird way, his only connection to the father he would probably never see again.

  For tonight’s very special anniversary, Sam had planned something really spectacular.

  Pulling free of his memories, Sam gave a sharp jerk on his motorcycle handlebars and cut across six lanes of traffic. He blew down an off-ramp, ran a red light, and swerved into a narrow alley. Finally, he parked the cycle on a big commercial boulevard. In the daylight hours, these streets were very busy. Now they were dark and deserted. Everyone was home—with their families.

  With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Sam jogged toward Encom Tower. In the quiet shadows of the night, a young man joined him. The kid wore a dark hoodie, black jeans, and dark sneakers. This was Sobel. He was an acquaintance of Sam’s. Sam didn’t have friends.

  “You were on time,” Sobel whispered gleefully. “That’s good. Synchronization is good.”

  Together, the two jogged to a steel security door near Encom’s loading dock. Sam pulled up the cord hanging around his neck. Attached to it was a USB device. He plugged the device into the electronic door lock. Then he connected it to a handheld keypad with a tiny LEd screen.

  “We take down the big guy up there,” Sobel whispered. “That is assassin cool. That is rep, bro!”

  “Huge rep,” Sam quietly replied, still working the keypad.

  “But why we always messin’ with the same guys?” Sobel asked. “I know they’re master-of-the-universe, corporate-evil style, but I want to hit other villains, too. My game is too strong for just one enemy.”

  “You do have mad game,” Sam said halfheartedly, his eyes on the hundreds of cipher codes running through his device. He knew one of them would open the lock.

  “You’re courageous, Sam,” Sobel said. “You’re my Butch Cassidy! This is just the beginning!”

  Sam noticed something on the screen just then. “Uh-oh…”

  “What’s up?” Sobel asked, worry
in his voice.

  “They added a new security cipher,” Sam explained. “The code I hit…I might have just called the cops.”

  Sobel’s eyes grew big. “Cops?”

  Sam shrugged. “So we get caught. This is where reps are made, ‘assassin.’ ”

  But now Sobel had gone completely pale. “If I’m caught by the cops, call my stepmom!” He took off down the street. “My stepmom!”

  Sam rolled his eyes. Figured. The only person he could rely on was himself. “Okay, Sundance!” he called. See you on the flip side, he added silently.

  Just then, the multiple locks clicked, and the security door opened. Sam smiled, tucked the USB device into his jacket, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Then he took a deep breath and darted through the door.

  At the base of the stairs, Sam spotted the red light on the first security camera, indicating that it was active. He slipped a modified laser pointer out of his wrist sheath and fired at the lens.

  Somewhere inside Encom, a security monitor went blank. Then another and another as Sam fired at each camera.

  Now, that’s how we do it, he thought. Invisible people can’t get caught.

  Sam needed no map as he raced through the building. He’d studied the floor plans and knew exactly which route to take.

  After two flights of stairs, Sam arrived at a bank of freight elevators. He hit the button and an elevator instantly opened—just as he knew it would.

  Three minutes later Sam stepped onto the skyscraper’s roof, his backpack now firmly attached to both shoulders.

  The night air was warm and laced with the smell of the ocean. Sam paused in the neon glow of the huge Encom sign that topped the building.

  “Hey, dad,” Sam whispered to the dark wind, hoping that wherever his father was, he could hear him asking: “How you doing?”

  Just then, Sam heard a heavy door clang. Boots clomped across the roof. Two security guards appeared behind him! It looked like he hadn’t been as invisible as he hoped.

  Here we go, Sam thought.

  A third uniformed man appeared. This last guy was big and beefy. He wore special bars on his collar indicating that he was the guy in charge. “I got you now!” the big man called to Sam.

  Sam ignored him as he tugged on the straps of his backpack, making sure they were secure. Then he began climbing to the top of the neon sign.

  The guards shouted at him to get down, but he didn’t listen. So the big guard started to follow him up.

  Sam kept climbing—right onto a catwalk suspended high above the city. The walkway was attached to a huge crane.

  “I’ve got you cornered,” the big officer shouted as he climbed onto the walkway. He faced Sam, moving a step closer.

  “Take it easy, buddy,” Sam said, backing away.

  “The name’s Ernie,” the guard said. “You should know the name of the sheriff who brought you down.”

  “You’re a sheriff?”

  “You think you’re so smart,” Ernie shouted. “Every year at this time, some stupid stunt. And every time with that logo, that 89 symbol you leave behind! But not this year. No more chew-outs from my boss, because this year I’ve got my man!”

  By now, the night wind was buffeting them both. The crane began to sway. Sam clutched the rail, looked at the ground far below and then back at Ernie.

  “Your boss is fine with this,” he informed the man.

  Ernie frowned and shook his head. “No way.”

  “Who’s your boss?” Sam asked.

  Ernie inched a little closer to Sam. A blast of wind hit them, and the crane’s swaying became more violent.

  “The security chief is my boss,” Ernie shouted.

  “That’s not actually true,” Sam told him, “because your boss works for the board of directors, and they work for the shareholders.”

  Ernie gave Sam a “so what” look.

  “do you know who the biggest shareholder is, Ernie?”

  “I don’t know!” Ernie cried. “Some kid!”

  Sam stuck a thumb in his own chest—and grinned.

  “You’re the kid?” Ernie groaned.

  Sam nodded.

  “You’re killin’ me,” Ernie muttered.

  Still grinning, Sam dived off the walkway. “See ya, Sheriff!” he shouted as he hurtled toward the pavement.

  Ernie looked away, too horrified to watch. That’s when he saw the 89 logo glowing from a giant neon sticker now attached to the crane. Sam had struck again.

  SAM FELT HIMSELF FALLING FAST THROUGH THE AIR. With a hard jolt, the parachute hidden in his backpack deployed and his body was jerked back up again.

  Sam laughed. Everything was working out exactly as planned. He began floating down slowly, his feet dangling over his intended landing zone—the employee parking lot. And then, the gust came.

  With a whoosh the night wind caught his chute, twisting and turning it.

  Uh-oh…

  While sirens began wailing in the distance, Sam felt the wind sweeping him away from the parking lot. He was drifting helplessly now, over the darkened city streets.

  Down, down he floated, and then, with another jolt, he stopped. Aw, no! he thought. His parachute had gotten caught on a streetlight!

  Sam looked down to the pavement—the very hard pavement. He could slip out of the chute’s harness and let himself fall to the ground. But it was just a little too high a drop.

  With a sigh, Sam folded his arms and waited.

  Just then, he noticed a cab rolling down the empty street. Timing his move just right, he slipped out of the parachute harness and landed with a thump on the taxi’s roof. Perfect!

  “Hey, no free ride!” the driver shouted out his window.

  Just then, a pair of police cars flew around the corner. Lights flashing, sirens wailing, two more units appeared on the opposite end of the block.

  Wow! Sam thought. When I call the cops, I really call ’em!

  The taxi was blocked in. The driver hit the brakes. But Sam wasn’t stopping. He rolled off the roof of the taxi and landed on his feet. Then he leaped on and over the hoods of both police cars and took off full speed down the street. Behind him, more official vehicles screeched to a halt.

  Just as he reached his motorcycle back at the original landing site, a blinding beam of light shone down from above. Sam looked up and saw a police helicopter overhead, its blades beating the night air.

  Policemen rushed out of the shadows. They had been waiting. Strong hands seized him. One of the officers snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. Another told Sam what he already knew.

  “You’re under arrest!”

  A FEW HOURS LATER, EVERYTHING WAS CLEARED UP. While his dad might not be around, his name still pulled a lot of weight. Uncuffed and released, and not much worse for the wear, Sam left the police station and headed home.

  Home for Sam wasn’t a nice little ranch house in the suburbs or a huge mansion in a subdivision, which, by the way, he could easily afford. Sam Flynn lived where no one else did, next to a junkyard near the city docks.

  During the day, this area was loud and active. Sam didn’t like it much then. But now, just past midnight, the piers were closed, the warehouses were deserted, and the city skyline silently flickered like rows of lit candles in a quiet church.

  Sam cut his motorcycle engine and parked beside a stack of boxcar-size shipping containers. Carrying a bag of take-out burgers, he climbed a metal staircase to the container on the very top.

  Home sweet home, he thought, pulling out a key.

  Thanks to a giant window cut into one side of the metal container, Sam had a great view of the city. But tonight he ignored the scenery.

  Walking in the front door, he heard a friendly bark. A furry dog, tail wagging, bounded up to greet him.

  “Hey, Marvin,” Sam called, reaching into the bag. He tossed his dog a thick, hot burger. “double-double. No mayo. Just the way you like it.”

  Marvin barked a thank you and began nibbling on the
juicy meat.

  Sam went to the fridge and grabbed a cold drink, then headed for the couch with his own burger.

  His place was a total mess. Papers and books were piled everywhere. The shelf was cluttered with rows of action figures, and in the middle of the room, a vintage motorcycle sat up on blocks. This was his father’s old bike. Sam was in the middle of rebuilding the twenty-year-old ducati. One wheel and a lot of engine parts were scattered all over the floor.

  Sam stretched out on a couch beside his father’s cycle, unwrapped his burger, and began to eat. That’s when Sam realized he wasn’t alone. A man stepped out of the shadows.

  Sam bolted upright in alarm. Then he saw the man’s face. “Alan,” he said with relief, “what are you doing in my apartment?”

  Alan Bradley shrugged. “You don’t answer your phone.” He smiled. “How ya been, Sam?”

  Sam narrowed his eyes. Years ago, Alan had been his father’s best friend. After his father had escaped the digital world and focused back on the real world, he’d made Alan a partner at Encom. And when Kevin disappeared, Alan had been the one to help raise the young orphan. Now Alan managed Sam’s majority ownership of the corporation—and he tried to manage Sam, too.

  “When I was twelve I might have appreciated the whole surrogate-father thing,” Sam bitterly told Alan. “But come on. I got it under control now.”

  Alan gestured to the mess around him. “Clearly.”

  “What is it?” Sam lashed back. “do you want to help me with my homework?”

  Alan turned his back on Sam and peered at the city skyline. “I heard you did a triple axel off the Tower a few hours ago,” he said. “rough landing, huh?”

  Sam rubbed the wrists where he’d been cuffed. “Could have been worse.”

  Alan sighed. “I also heard you sent the last batch of dividend checks to some interesting charities.”

  “The dog-park thing?” Sam gestured to his canine bud. “That was Marvin’s idea.”

  Alan folded his arms.

  “Are we gonna do this again?” Sam asked, shaking his head. “do I look like I’m ready to run a Fortune 500 company?”

  “No,” Alan said. “And truthfully, the board’s pretty happy with you where you are. That way they can keep doing whatever they want. What I find curious is that annual prank you pull on the company. You have an interesting way of being disinterested.”