Tron

17

FLYNN’S DISEMBODIED POINT of view watched the circuit landscape of the Electronic World draw away from him, growing small at breathtaking speed—except that he had no breath. Soon it had resolved into a globe of intricate geometric shapes limned in light. Then it shrank into infinite distance.

He only half-remembered now the terrific fight with the MCP, in which he’d been aided by Tron’s timely inspiration in hurling his disk at the vertex of the energy cones. His instinctive use of his special powers had helped him in his effort to set things to rights, and to direct a reversal of his digitization. And in that he had been aided too by programs that had begun running after the destruction of the MCP. He hoped he hadn’t blown it…

The laser array hummed, issuing a line of coherent light. It flashed at an exact range, precisely decoding the structure of Flynn’s body, a task which would’ve been impossible if the MCP hadn’t devoted so much effort to digitizing him in the first place.

He barely had time to catch his breath, to wonder, to rejoice and raise thanks to the Powers That Be. He barely had time to marvel at the things that had happened to him and think: Good-bye; good luck! to his friends.

Because just then the computer begin printing out hard copy:

file = DSKI:FLYNN .MEM 700.706

------------------------------

.dir (flynn) /hist/ listall

File System Accounting Log

Directory Access History

User name: Kevin O. Flynn

Password: *FLOTILLA*

Subdirectory: game software

Access control:

This User: 

encryption protection 

(level 5)

Other Users: 

access denied

Access History:

File name

Project name

File Created

Last Access

PARA

“Space Paranoids”

21-MAR by FLYNN

30-AUG by DILLINGER

VICE

“Vice Squad”

15-APR by FLYNN

30-AUG by DILLINGER

LITE

“Light Cycles”

10-JUN by FLYNN

30-AUG by DILLINGER

CIRCMAS

“Circuit Masters”

29-MAR by FLYNN

30-AUG by DILLINGER

WARP

“Warp Factor”

12-AUG by FLYNN

30-AUG by DILLINGER

Flynn snatched up the copy with a whoop and a laugh, and dashed off to find Alan and Lora.

In the aerie of the ENCOM tower, early-morning light grayed the windows of Edward Dillinger’s office. He’d spent the night in the sumptuous private suite that adjoined his office, too tired for a limousine or helicopter ride home, only to be awakened in the predawn by an alarm squeal from his desk.

Now he sat before it and watched as one of the desk’s many screens showed him the same information that had been printed out for Flynn. There would be no way to hide it now, he knew, nor any way to refile it under limited access. The Master Control Program was no longer running, as if it had been utterly destroyed—by what means, he had no idea. And Bradley’s Tron program was running.

Dillinger’s superdesk told him that Flynn and the others were already manipulating the ENCOM system. Soon enough, Gibbs and the rest would be down on Dillinger’s neck. His career over, the criminal implications of what he’d done only now coming through to him, he ignored the coming of daylight in the moribund silence of his office.

The black executive helicopter circled down from the blue sky toward the landing pad on the roof of the ENCOM building. Lora and Alan squinted into the blades’ backwash as a ground crewman held the chopper’s door open.

Out jumped Flynn; grinning broadly, he’d just returned from concluding a major multinational agreement much in ENCOM’s favor. He had on a natty double-breasted suit, but had chosen to wear his running shoes.

Y’know, those two don’t look too bad together, he thought, as Alan and Lora ran to meet him. He hoisted his attaché case in triumph. When they’d exchanged greetings, Alan said, “Dillinger wants to talk to you; he says it’s all a mistake.” He had to yell to be heard over turning rotors.

ENCOM’s new Senior Operating Officer smirked. A number of lettered agencies were lined up, indictments in hand, for a crack at Edward Dillinger. Flynn shook his head. “Can’t; bad for the corporate image.” Alan smiled, somewhat like a wolf.

They fell in behind him as Flynn headed for the elevator. “Besides,” he finished, “I’m beat.”

“Hey,” Lora protested, “you’ve got an executive board meeting.”

Flynn turned his smile on them both again; Alan’s arm around her shoulders seemed the most appropriate thing in the world. He slipped them a wink. “This is the executive board meeting!”

High over the System soared the Solar Sailer, cruising above the glittering beauty of the radiant Domains and the phosphorescent tides of the Game Sea.

Tron stood on the bridge with his arm around Yori. The Sailer changed transmission beams and came onto another tack as the Bit shot past them, playing and cutting figure eights, zipping along next to the graceful Sailer, over a System ablaze, a free System.