Tron Legacy the Junior Novel

by Alice Alfonsi

  Walking inside, Sam and the Siren boarded a glass elevator. She pressed the only button and the doors closed. The elevator soundlessly ran up the side of the colossal building. Sam marveled at the view. Not even the Encom Tower was as high as this monolith.

  The elevator finally stopped. The doors opened and Sam’s jaw dropped.

  “What is this place?” he whispered.

  The Siren took his hand. Her eyes were burning with a strange inner light. “This is the End of Line Club, Sam Flynn,” she said. Then she tugged on Sam’s hand, pulling him into the massive club.

  The interior was vast and multileveled. verandas, balconies—even floating islands—were crowded with programs. Helmeted DJs played music from a booth overlooking the kaleidoscopic floor.

  The jam masters used color and light along with sound. Everything pulsated with different hues and shades. Even the programs changed color with the throbbing beat.

  As Sam struggled to process this strange place, the Key Siren led him to the neon bar. They passed a row of Sentries sipping energy drinks. At the sight of the guards, Sam tensed with alarm.

  “Relax,” she said. “The Sentries are occupied.”

  She pointed out other Sirens just like her. They were sitting next to the Sentries, whispering to them.

  Sam nodded and continued to follow the Siren. She led him to the base of a high platform at the center of the vast club. The platform was heavily guarded by grim-faced programs. They stood, arms folded and staring straight ahead, as the party flowed around them like ocean waves around giant boulders.

  A man sat on the platform they were guarding. He wore a formal tailcoat and a top hat. He spun a cane in his left hand. His hair was white, his face the same pale color, and his clothes a startling white as well. He was like no program Sam had ever seen.

  “His name is Castor,” the Siren told Sam. “If you want to speak to Zuse, you have to go through him.”

  Sam noticed the wall of guards parting. A tough-looking program climbed the platform stairs. Pixels were missing in his face and neck—this world’s version of a hideous scar.

  “That’s Bartik. Bartik the Anarchist,” someone close to Sam whispered, pointing to his scarred face.

  Bartik crossed the high platform and approached Castor. down in the crowd, Bartik’s gang watched the meeting with interest. So did Sam. He moved closer to hear what the two were saying.

  “Have a sense of humor, my friend,” Castor began. “It’s only a revolution.”

  Plasma pulsated through Bartik’s armor. “I didn’t come here for entertainment,” he snapped. “It’s time. You can feel it. The boy’s on the grid. He’s spurred hope.”

  Sam tensed. They were talking about him.

  Bartik pointed to the windows. “The eastern sky is alight!”

  Castor sighed. “And you wish me to ask Zuse to rally the troops? Stir the masses? rouse the rabblers? Am I right?”

  “Programs are disappearing, Castor,” Bartik said. “Soon none of us will be left. We need to strike now. Unite the factions. Encourage revolution!”

  “Of course, Zuse can do these things,” Castor said, stifling a yawn.

  “Then grant me an audience,” Bartik pleaded.

  Castor yawned deeply. “Your enthusiasm is intoxicating, dear Bartik, but Zuse’s time is more than precious. We shall see…”

  The Siren turned to Sam. “Wait here.”

  He watched her move up the stairs. The guards never questioned her, and that surprised him. She leaned close to Castor and whispered in his ear.

  Castor glanced quickly at Sam, then took a harder look. Finally, he turned to Bartik and said, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I have to attend to something. But have a drink. Courtesy of End of Line.”

  Castor stepped down off the platform and walked right up to Sam. The programs around them suddenly got quiet. Sam felt like every program in the club was watching them, including Bartik and his gang. He wanted to shrink into his dirty poncho. But Castor hooked a thin arm around Sam’s.

  “Come away from these primitive functions,” Castor cooed, leading him back onto the platform.

  Castor glanced at him once more, his eyes filled with curiosity…and something else Sam couldn’t pinpoint. “The Son of Flynn!” Castor gushed as they walked. “Of all the innumerable possibilities, of all the places he could have chosen, he just happens to walk into mine!”

  CASTOR LED SAM AND THE SIREN to his private table in the massive nightclub.

  “Libations! Quickly!” Castor called to a waiter. Then he slid his scarecrowlike physique into the seat beside Sam. Smiling, Castor lifted his top hat and extended his hand.

  “Castor, your host,” he said. “Provider of any and all diversions. At your service.”

  Sam got right to the point. “I’m looking for Zuse.”

  Castor arched an eyebrow. “Indeed. Many are…”

  “Where can I find him?”

  Castor glanced at the crowd. Everyone was watching. Everyone was listening. All of them pretended they weren’t.

  “This, good sir, is a conversation best had behind closed doors,” Castor said, rising. “Perhaps we should adjourn to the private lounge?”

  Castor waved his hand, dismissing the Siren. But as Sam was hustled away, he called to her over his shoulder.

  “Thank you—” Sam paused, not knowing the Siren’s true name.

  “Gem,” she told him. “My name is gem.”

  Then, before Sam could say more, Castor hustled him off the platform and through the crowd. They paused when they arrived under the elevated booth that housed the club’s DJs. Castor spoke to them briefly.

  “I’m slipping away for a moment, boys,” he said, waving a lazy hand to encompass the club. “Change the scheme. Alter the mood, would you be so kind?”

  Castor tapped his cane to slow the music’s beat. The DJs responded. The club darkened. The color scheme changed.

  The blue waves of plasma running along the walls now pulsed in a deep purple. Soon the entire building throbbed with a purple glow, both inside and out.

  Castor smiled with satisfaction. Then he tapped the floor one last time.

  Sam jumped backward when a section of the ground opened. An ornate spiral staircase emerged from the pit. The staircase spun like a drill bit as it shot upward. Finally it stopped.

  “Whoa,” Sam whispered.

  “designed it myself,” Castor boasted. “Elegant, no?”

  MEANWHILE, IN THE CARBON-BLACK OUTLANDS, Clu had arrived at Kevin’s safe house. It had taken longer than anticipated and he was anxious. Not that he would admit that—ever. He moved onto the veranda and took in the view from Flynn’s mountaintop. Then he strode back inside and scanned the living quarters.

  “Cozy,” Clu said.

  Right now, his Sentries were searching the compound, eager to find Kevin as quickly as possible.

  Clu continued to look around the area, and his gaze landed on the dining room table. He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and wondered at its purpose. Such strange things in this place. What need did Kevin have for them? His thoughts were interrupted when Jarvis entered. The counselor was flanked by the Black Guard—Clu’s private army—in dark, faceless armor.

  “Our Sentries discovered Flynn’s outmoded Light Cycle in the Old City,” Jarvis reported. “I assure you, we traced its energy signature back to this place. But Flynn must have fled before we arrived.”

  Clu glanced at his own reflection in a giant mirror, his mind racing back to that moment when Kevin first created him.

  “You are Clu,” Flynn had said. “You are to create the perfect system. Together, we’re going to change the world.”

  Clu had never disobeyed Kevin’s first command.

  It was Flynn who lost his way, Clu thought. Flynn chose flaws over the flawless—the ISOs instead of perfection…

  Just then, Clu noticed Flynn’s chessboard. Enraged, he swept it clean.

  “Leader,” Jarvis said nervously, “mi
ght I direct your attention to the End of Line Club?”

  Clu peered through the room’s arched windows. On the distant skyline, Clu noticed that the tower was pulsing with purple light. For the first time that evening, Clu smiled.

  MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE CITY, Sam and Castor were ascending the club’s spiral staircase.

  Castor’s private lounge was located high above the End of Line Club’s dance floor. The lounge’s ceiling, floor, and walls were all glass, and the room was bathed in the same purple glow that lit the rest of the club.

  “You can’t be too careful,” Castor said. “You’ve caused quite a stir with your arrival. Whispers of revolution are gaining volume. The grid is alight.”

  Castor offered Sam a chair. “Zuse has been around since the earliest days of the grid,” he continued. “To survive, he had to mind all the percentages, all the angles.”

  “So when do I meet him?” Sam asked.

  Castor bowed his head. “You just did.”

  Sam blinked. He hadn’t seen that coming. “You’re Zuse?”

  “After the Purge, I needed to reinvent myself,” Zuse explained. “Self preservation, you understand. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I need to get to the Portal,” Sam said.

  Zuse pointed his cane at a light shining on the horizon. “The spire to the east, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s quite a journey. Beyond the far reaches of the Outlands and across the Sea of Simulation.”

  “Then you can help me?” Sam asked.

  “Of course,” Zuse replied. “But first, tell me. Have you seen…him?”

  Sam knew Zuse was asking about his dad, but he said nothing.

  After a moment, Zuse nodded. “You’re a man who understands the value of information. I should expect no less from a Flynn. At least tell me who sent you to me.”

  “Her name’s Quorra,” Sam said. “She said she knew you a long time ago.”

  “Indeed she did,” Zuse said. “Many cycles ago. It was a different time. But let’s not relive the past. Let’s worry about your future.”

  Zuse laid a friendly hand on Sam’s shoulder. He frowned at the ragged poncho. “We’ll need to change your attire,” he said. “And you’ll need a forged disc. And of course you’ll need transport across the Sea of Simulation.”

  Zuse spun his cane and laughed. “This is going to be quite the ride!”

  For the first time since he’d entered the grid, Sam felt himself relaxing. He reached for the drink that Zuse offered him. But as he did so, he glanced up through the glass skylight. His heart pounded.

  Four members of the Black Guard were bearing down toward him on high-tech parachutes!

  It’s a trap! Sam realized. He glared at the program across the table. Zuse just shrugged.

  “I believed in users once before,” he grimly confessed. “But the game has changed, Son of Flynn.”

  Sam had to act quickly. dropping his drink, he ran to the spiral staircase. But the steps were gone! Beneath Sam’s feet, a sea of dancers swayed to the trancelike rhythms.

  Just then, the skylight above Sam exploded, fracturing into pixilated shards. A guard came down right on top of him!

  The air left Sam’s lungs with a whoosh. As he grappled with his foe, they both tumbled through the open door. Then Sam and the guard plunged toward the dance floor below!

  PATRONS SCATTERED WHEN SAM and the guard slammed onto the top of the long bar. drinks flew and glass shattered. Luckily, Sam turned around during the fall. The guard landed first, absorbing most of the impact. But the armored guard still fought!

  Sam snatched a long-necked bottle and bashed the guard over the head. The guard’s helmet shattered, and he derezzed with a sizzle.

  As Sam rolled off the bar, more Black Guard soldiers landed on the dance floor. The bouncers drew their discs and fired at the guards. dozens of shots were deflected, but a few unlucky dancers were derezzed by ricochets. The guards fired back as complete chaos erupted.

  Apparently undisturbed by all the action, the DJs simply sped up the beat. But no one was dancing. Freaked-out programs stampeded for the exit. Other terrified programs huddled against the walls or dived under tables.

  One voice rang out above all the chaotic noise. “resist!”

  It was Bartik. The Anarchist was rallying his troops. They pulled their weapons free, and more deadly discs began crisscrossing the crowded club.

  Within moments, a guard was derezzed. His fellow guards closed ranks and advanced. From behind the bar, Sam was about to cry out a warning, but it was too late.

  With ruthless efficiency the guards eliminated Bartik’s gang. Now only the leader remained.

  A guard stepped forward and hurled his disc. Bartik grabbed an attractive young program and used her for a shield. She derezzed with a scream. Then two discs struck the Anarchist at the same time. Bartik burst into a flurry of bouncing cubes.

  Time to go, Sam decided. Crouching low, he started moving toward the nearest exit. Then he heard a thump and looked up.

  Zuse stood on the bar, staring down at Sam and cackling. He pointed his cane, and Sam was pinned in a spotlight beam.

  “Behold the Son of Flynn!” Zuse shouted. “Behold the son of our maker!”

  Like heat-seeking missiles, Black Guard moved in for the kill. Any hapless program that got in their way was ruthlessly derezzed.

  As Sam once again made a move for the exit, a member of the Black Guard tossed his disc. The aim was true. The disc’s gleaming edge was about to kill Sam when—

  KEL-LACK!

  Another disc expertly deflected the first. Then it bounced off the DJ booth and smoothly returned to its owner.

  It was Quorra! With graceful ease, she caught her disc, then strode into the center of the room. Immediately, she deflected another shot. With a perfectly aimed ricochet, she derezzed the Black Guard who’d almost killed Sam.

  Zuse danced along the top of the bar, grooving on the DJ’s sound. Quorra shot him an accusing look. Zuse responded with a mad laugh.

  Joining Quorra, Sam deflected a disc aimed at her back. He wanted to thank her, but there was no time.

  Quorra plowed through the guards, taking them out one by one. Her moves were graceful and elegant. Quorra used her baton defensively and derezzed opponents only if forced to. She clearly had experience with this sort of thing.

  Sam’s style of fighting was much rawer. Using his disc, he eliminated any guard that got in his way. But his anger made him reckless—a weakness in battle. Fortunately, the exit was now in sight.

  Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a guard lunged for him. The guard raised his disc like a battle-ax. At the last moment, Quorra jumped between Sam and the descending disc. The razor-sharp edge cut through her upraised arm. In a burst of blue energy, her arm was severed.

  No! Sam derezzed the guard with a quick slash of his disc. Then he lifted Quorra. Her eyes were fluttering. A strange glow suffused the stump of her arm.

  Behind Sam, a disc bounced off the wall. He looked up. A half-dozen Black Guardsmen were closing in on him! Behind them, Zuse kept up his crazy dancing.

  Sam waited for the end.

  But the end didn’t come…

  Blue lightning did.

  Like an airborne power surge, the electricity crackled through the club. Programs screamed as sparks exploded from the walls and floor. Then, eerily, the lightning collected itself, forming a whirling plasma cloud. With a flash of raw power, it shorted out all the purple lights—and knocked out every last Black Guardsman. Their armor clattered as the dark, hulking programs hit the floor.

  A familiar hand touched Sam’s shoulder.

  “Stay with me,” his father said.

  When the surviving programs saw the face of Sam’s dad, they began to murmur. Every last one of them recognized their creator. They cleared a path for Kevin, allowing him to pass.

  Sam followed his father out of the club, carrying Quorra in his arms. His dad held open the doors of the glass elevator and Sam moved i
nside quickly.

  But back in the club, several of the Black Guard were already recovering. One stumbled to his feet. As Kevin stepped into the elevator, the guard fired a grappling hook. With a clank, the hook snagged the disc on Kevin’s back!

  A split second before the elevator doors shut, the guard yanked the cord. Kevin’s disc flew into the guard’s hands.

  Unaware of what had just happened, Sam hit the button and the elevator began to descend. It was only then that Kevin reached back and realized his disc was gone. The loss sent him staggering into the corner, speechless.

  Back in the club, another guard fired a grenade at the elevator. The explosion blew the doors off and cut the cable. The elevator began to drop! Sam punched every button in sight, but the car only picked up speed!

  “Hello!” Sam yelled. “A little help here!”

  The sound of his son’s cry brought Kevin back to life. With one lift of his hand, a control panel appeared in the glass wall of the car. Kevin’s fingers flew across a crystalline keypad.

  Sam looked down at Quorra in his arms. She was unconscious. Her arm stump continued to bleed energy.

  Flynn’s actions weren’t helping. If anything, the elevator was plunging faster, despite the man’s frantic efforts.

  Holding Quorra close, Sam braced for impact.

  SAM REFUSED TO CLOSE HIS EYES. In just a few more seconds, the elevator would slam into the street.

  Suddenly Kevin whooped in triumph. At the last possible moment, the concrete opened up. The elevator car continued its descent down, and then through, the city street!

  The glass car dropped through sublevel after sublevel. The underground world was stacked with acres of maintenance machinery, networks of pipes, and ribbons of cables.

  Plasma energy throbbed through grid lines embedded in the walls. These glowing conduits were the underground world’s sole source of light. Their radiant energy powered the machines that kept the city running.

  Finally the elevator plunged into a dark tube and slowed to a stop. When the doors opened, Sam lifted Quorra out. Trying to still his own shaking legs and slow his beating heart, he stepped out onto a platform, his eyes growing wide. They had gone much farther than he thought. In front of him was the Sea of Simulation.