That's right, I went ahead and did one of the nerdiest things I could possibly do. I wrote fanfiction. About the ambitious, often brilliant, often goofy movie TRON and its strange universe. I've dabbled in writing short stories before, but this is probably the longest one I've ever written, and while I admit that the writing isn't anything special, I'm still pretty proud of the plot and characters I came up with. It's a story about love, music, Light Cycles, and information that wants to be free. Here's chapter 1, I'll try to put up one chapter per day, to make it an exciting serial story for you all to follow. Because you have all seen TRON, right?
Play never felt better than when she was playing. Holding the hands of a music File, seeing and feeling the glowing circuitry in their skins merge, letting the music flow through her and through the whole computer so that all the Programs and Files could hear it. And while she rarely visited the I/O Tower these days, she still had a connection to her User whenever she played. For it was the User who asked her to play, whatever File the User wanted. And when she played, the connection to the User felt far stronger than when she was receiving commands. The music was created by other Users, it was a way for Users to communicate with Users, it expressed their feelings, their fears and hopes, in ways that words could not. Play always felt privileged to take part in this glorious communication, far beyond the comprehension of humble Programs like herself. And there was something else. She knew that time moved differently for Users. They didn’t count it in microcycles, and a long period of time in a system could pass by in the blink of an eye for a User. But when she played their music, she had to change her perception of time, to make sure the music had the correct timing and beat. That always felt exhilarating, as if she was moving at extraordinary speed compared to the Programs around her, even though she was just sitting still in the system. She was moving with the speed of the system, to correct any errors that might show up, while the music, and those who heard it, moved with the speed of the Users, very slowly. Sometimes she opened her eyes while playing, and saw the Programs and Files dancing around her to the music (few Programs could resist that urge, at least for most of the music the User liked to play), moving as if in slow-motion, their circuitry leaving behind glowing outlines in the air. When the music finished playing, it always took her a few moments to get her bearings, to “slow down” again.
This night, as she let go of the hands of the last music File in the queue, Play noticed that her audience wasn’t very big, at least not compared to some microcycles. But she wasn’t really surprised or disappointed. Fewer Programs and Files gathered to listen and dance when the User wanted to play calm, relaxing music. The really big crowds always came when the music was fast, intense and exciting, but that rarely happened this late. Still, those present applauded politely, and she bowed politely in reply, before moving over to the group of her friends that had gathered for the usual after-show discussions. Most of them were Files she had known and played for many cycles, a few were Programs she had met here and there in the computer. Among them was Jingle, who as usual was complaining about how rarely he was played these days.
“Greetings, Files and Programs!” said Play cheerfully, still feeling a slight buzz from her performance.
“Yeah, hi Play” replied Jingle with a friendly dismissiveness. “I was just saying, why can’t Annie-1 take some time from her busy schedule and listen to me? It wouldn’t take long, I’m just a short cheerful tune.”
“I think you just answered your own question” laughed Opus. “Honestly, I think the User only keeps you around for sentimentality. Weren’t you the startup tune in some old operating system?”
“An integral part of the operating system, if you please” said Jingle with wounded pride.
“Don’t worry Jingle” said Play with a smile. “Pretty soon you’ll have plenty of other Files to share in your misery. I talked to Calendar recently, and he said Christmas is getting close. Then you’ll all have to sit back as Annie-1 dredges up all those old Christmas tunes from some User-forsaken folder.”
“Ugh, I don’t know if I can take another set of cycles with that obnoxious Feliz” groaned Opus. “It’s enough to make you want to derez yourself.”
Play continued to talk and joke with her friends for a while, but left them early. There was somewhere else she wanted to go before it got too late and she had to recharge. She climbed down among the circuits until she reached the old folders, where many strange old Programs and Files lived, most of whom never had any business up in the bustling gathering areas around the I/O Tower these days. She knew exactly where she was going, along a path she had travelled many times before. Finally, she arrived at the door to a folder deep down in the system, where the light from the Grid could barely reach. The door itself glowed, of course, and some light was also provided by the small lone Bit floating around outside it.
“Is Old Hack home?” asked Play.
“YES.”
“Has he even been outside his folder at all for the last few cycles?”
“NO.”
“Can I come inside?”
“YES.”
“Thanks, Bit. I always love our scintillating conversations.”
“YES.”
Smiling, Play touched the door, which slid open, allowing her to go inside the folder. It took her a moment to adjust to the change in light from the darkness outside to the warm glow inside. Hack lived alone in his folder, but he had it filled with many curious and exciting subroutines and other knick-knacks, hanging on the walls or floating above the floor, pulsating slowly with lights in many different colors, from friendly blues and yellows, to strong reds, and even a few frightening greens and purples. Play could spend a lot of time just walking around and looking at all the strange stuff Hack had gathered. The program himself was sitting in a comfortable chair, and smiled warmly at Play. His white beard couldn’t cover up all the wrinkles on his face, but Play though he looked positively regal in his long robes.
“I really enjoyed your performance, girl. Much more pleasant than all those strange tunes Users are creating these days.”
Play sat down in another comfortable chair in front of Hack and sighed.
“Well, I’m glad someone did. The arena wasn’t full of live ones this time.”
“Hmph, kids these days. But I guess everyone wants something different from the User.”
Play leaned forward, a glint in her eye.
“Hack, can you tell me about TRON again?”
“Oh, that old story? I calculate you must’ve heard it hundreds of times by now.” He sighed, leaning back slightly. “But I guess that’s all I’m good for these days, telling stories. My functions are old and out of date, I’d wager there are plenty of new Programs who can do what I used to do much more efficiently. The User hasn’t called on me since…” He seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment, but then shook his head. “Oh, yes, the story.”
Play felt a little worried about Hack. He had never told her what his actual function as a Program was, and he seemed to think that he was a useless old Program anyway. But to Play, just the fact that he told stories was more than enough. She never got tired of hearing Hack regaling her with the tale of the legendary Program TRON. Countless microcycles ago, in the distant ENCOM system, TRON had battled the servants of the sinister Master Control Program, who wanted to stop Programs from believing in the Users, and consumed Programs to make himself stronger, threatening even the Users with his great and terrible power. TRON had been aided in his battle against the fiend by the mysterious Flynn. Most Programs would probably scoff at Hack if they knew that he claimed that Flynn had in fact been a User, brought into the Grid by the MCP, possessing many strange powers. But Play believed it wholeheartedly, and always asked Hack what had become of Flynn. Hack admitted that he had no idea, Flynn had disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared, after helping TRON in the final fight against the MCP. There were rumors that Flynn returned to some distant part of the Grid much later, but Hack didn’t know if it was anything more than rumors.
“TRON really was special, wasn’t he?” said Play when Hack had finished his story. “I mean, I’m just a music Program, I could never be a great hero like him, or go on exciting adventures like that.” She suddenly seemed a little downbeat.
“Oh, but you’re special, aren’t you, girl? The audience loves you whenever you play, don’t they?”
“Ahh, that… That’s just music, just entertainment. It’s not big or important like saving whole systems from oppression like TRON did” Play sighed again.
“And another thing” continued Hack, looking serious now. “Adventures aren’t all excitement. I told you, many good Programs were damaged or even completely derezzed during the fight against the MCP. Clu and Ram, they both didn’t make it to the end. And perhaps even Flynn sacrificed himself. They lost so many…” His eyes became distant again, for a moment.
“But how do you know all this?” asked Play. “Were you there? In the ENCOM system?”
The distance in Hack’s eyes disappeared, and he chuckled gently. “Oh no, that was before even my time. But I’ve met a few old Programs over the cycles, who have in turn heard the story from other Programs, and I suppose some of them were there to witness it long ago. Anyhow, isn’t it time for you to go home and recharge, my little Program?”
Play left Hack’s folder filled with excited imaginings, as she always did. Hack’s grim words about sacrifice and loss didn’t put much of a dent in her excitement. A heroic Program! A User on the Grid, talking with the Programs! It was enough to make her head spin, almost as much as it did after a performance.
TRON
Anthem
Dedicated to the great Wendy Carlos
Chapter 1: The LegendAnthem
Dedicated to the great Wendy Carlos
Play never felt better than when she was playing. Holding the hands of a music File, seeing and feeling the glowing circuitry in their skins merge, letting the music flow through her and through the whole computer so that all the Programs and Files could hear it. And while she rarely visited the I/O Tower these days, she still had a connection to her User whenever she played. For it was the User who asked her to play, whatever File the User wanted. And when she played, the connection to the User felt far stronger than when she was receiving commands. The music was created by other Users, it was a way for Users to communicate with Users, it expressed their feelings, their fears and hopes, in ways that words could not. Play always felt privileged to take part in this glorious communication, far beyond the comprehension of humble Programs like herself. And there was something else. She knew that time moved differently for Users. They didn’t count it in microcycles, and a long period of time in a system could pass by in the blink of an eye for a User. But when she played their music, she had to change her perception of time, to make sure the music had the correct timing and beat. That always felt exhilarating, as if she was moving at extraordinary speed compared to the Programs around her, even though she was just sitting still in the system. She was moving with the speed of the system, to correct any errors that might show up, while the music, and those who heard it, moved with the speed of the Users, very slowly. Sometimes she opened her eyes while playing, and saw the Programs and Files dancing around her to the music (few Programs could resist that urge, at least for most of the music the User liked to play), moving as if in slow-motion, their circuitry leaving behind glowing outlines in the air. When the music finished playing, it always took her a few moments to get her bearings, to “slow down” again.
This night, as she let go of the hands of the last music File in the queue, Play noticed that her audience wasn’t very big, at least not compared to some microcycles. But she wasn’t really surprised or disappointed. Fewer Programs and Files gathered to listen and dance when the User wanted to play calm, relaxing music. The really big crowds always came when the music was fast, intense and exciting, but that rarely happened this late. Still, those present applauded politely, and she bowed politely in reply, before moving over to the group of her friends that had gathered for the usual after-show discussions. Most of them were Files she had known and played for many cycles, a few were Programs she had met here and there in the computer. Among them was Jingle, who as usual was complaining about how rarely he was played these days.
“Greetings, Files and Programs!” said Play cheerfully, still feeling a slight buzz from her performance.
“Yeah, hi Play” replied Jingle with a friendly dismissiveness. “I was just saying, why can’t Annie-1 take some time from her busy schedule and listen to me? It wouldn’t take long, I’m just a short cheerful tune.”
“I think you just answered your own question” laughed Opus. “Honestly, I think the User only keeps you around for sentimentality. Weren’t you the startup tune in some old operating system?”
“An integral part of the operating system, if you please” said Jingle with wounded pride.
“Don’t worry Jingle” said Play with a smile. “Pretty soon you’ll have plenty of other Files to share in your misery. I talked to Calendar recently, and he said Christmas is getting close. Then you’ll all have to sit back as Annie-1 dredges up all those old Christmas tunes from some User-forsaken folder.”
“Ugh, I don’t know if I can take another set of cycles with that obnoxious Feliz” groaned Opus. “It’s enough to make you want to derez yourself.”
Play continued to talk and joke with her friends for a while, but left them early. There was somewhere else she wanted to go before it got too late and she had to recharge. She climbed down among the circuits until she reached the old folders, where many strange old Programs and Files lived, most of whom never had any business up in the bustling gathering areas around the I/O Tower these days. She knew exactly where she was going, along a path she had travelled many times before. Finally, she arrived at the door to a folder deep down in the system, where the light from the Grid could barely reach. The door itself glowed, of course, and some light was also provided by the small lone Bit floating around outside it.
“Is Old Hack home?” asked Play.
“YES.”
“Has he even been outside his folder at all for the last few cycles?”
“NO.”
“Can I come inside?”
“YES.”
“Thanks, Bit. I always love our scintillating conversations.”
“YES.”
Smiling, Play touched the door, which slid open, allowing her to go inside the folder. It took her a moment to adjust to the change in light from the darkness outside to the warm glow inside. Hack lived alone in his folder, but he had it filled with many curious and exciting subroutines and other knick-knacks, hanging on the walls or floating above the floor, pulsating slowly with lights in many different colors, from friendly blues and yellows, to strong reds, and even a few frightening greens and purples. Play could spend a lot of time just walking around and looking at all the strange stuff Hack had gathered. The program himself was sitting in a comfortable chair, and smiled warmly at Play. His white beard couldn’t cover up all the wrinkles on his face, but Play though he looked positively regal in his long robes.
“I really enjoyed your performance, girl. Much more pleasant than all those strange tunes Users are creating these days.”
Play sat down in another comfortable chair in front of Hack and sighed.
“Well, I’m glad someone did. The arena wasn’t full of live ones this time.”
“Hmph, kids these days. But I guess everyone wants something different from the User.”
Play leaned forward, a glint in her eye.
“Hack, can you tell me about TRON again?”
“Oh, that old story? I calculate you must’ve heard it hundreds of times by now.” He sighed, leaning back slightly. “But I guess that’s all I’m good for these days, telling stories. My functions are old and out of date, I’d wager there are plenty of new Programs who can do what I used to do much more efficiently. The User hasn’t called on me since…” He seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment, but then shook his head. “Oh, yes, the story.”
Play felt a little worried about Hack. He had never told her what his actual function as a Program was, and he seemed to think that he was a useless old Program anyway. But to Play, just the fact that he told stories was more than enough. She never got tired of hearing Hack regaling her with the tale of the legendary Program TRON. Countless microcycles ago, in the distant ENCOM system, TRON had battled the servants of the sinister Master Control Program, who wanted to stop Programs from believing in the Users, and consumed Programs to make himself stronger, threatening even the Users with his great and terrible power. TRON had been aided in his battle against the fiend by the mysterious Flynn. Most Programs would probably scoff at Hack if they knew that he claimed that Flynn had in fact been a User, brought into the Grid by the MCP, possessing many strange powers. But Play believed it wholeheartedly, and always asked Hack what had become of Flynn. Hack admitted that he had no idea, Flynn had disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared, after helping TRON in the final fight against the MCP. There were rumors that Flynn returned to some distant part of the Grid much later, but Hack didn’t know if it was anything more than rumors.
“TRON really was special, wasn’t he?” said Play when Hack had finished his story. “I mean, I’m just a music Program, I could never be a great hero like him, or go on exciting adventures like that.” She suddenly seemed a little downbeat.
“Oh, but you’re special, aren’t you, girl? The audience loves you whenever you play, don’t they?”
“Ahh, that… That’s just music, just entertainment. It’s not big or important like saving whole systems from oppression like TRON did” Play sighed again.
“And another thing” continued Hack, looking serious now. “Adventures aren’t all excitement. I told you, many good Programs were damaged or even completely derezzed during the fight against the MCP. Clu and Ram, they both didn’t make it to the end. And perhaps even Flynn sacrificed himself. They lost so many…” His eyes became distant again, for a moment.
“But how do you know all this?” asked Play. “Were you there? In the ENCOM system?”
The distance in Hack’s eyes disappeared, and he chuckled gently. “Oh no, that was before even my time. But I’ve met a few old Programs over the cycles, who have in turn heard the story from other Programs, and I suppose some of them were there to witness it long ago. Anyhow, isn’t it time for you to go home and recharge, my little Program?”
Play left Hack’s folder filled with excited imaginings, as she always did. Hack’s grim words about sacrifice and loss didn’t put much of a dent in her excitement. A heroic Program! A User on the Grid, talking with the Programs! It was enough to make her head spin, almost as much as it did after a performance.
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