Attaching memory file time code 2
plus 144.92484 cycles
“I don't know if I like the thought of a Games Arena in this system,” Flynn finally declared.
Tron's expression shifted into a grimace, eyes soft - nearly human, the User thought - and full of sorrow and understanding, but his stance remained firm. “I understand your concerns, and share them, to some extent, but the facts remain; many of the Grid's programs are beginning to exhibit various stress-errors, and the only diversions currently available are sleep mode, recharge, and interface. None of these -other than interface - address the slow buildup of excess energy among programs, and the hypersensitivity which is a primary factor in the errors and conflicts I told you about earlier, but not all programs are... able to participate in that particular form of energy release. Games would allow programs to burn off that energy, either through participating, or the frenzy of spectating.”
Flynn couldn't help feeling that he was missing something from that explanation, but he couldn't place what. “I can understand that, I guess. I just don't really want to see anyone get hurt.” Lightcycles and circular platforms floated through his mind.
Tron nodded in understanding, and it occurred to the User that the security program had been a captive of those games far longer than he had been; that it would be this particular program that brought the idea to him, was more indicative of the serious nature of the matter than he'd previously thought. That led him to another thought, though...
“Tron, buddy... Are you one of the programs being affected by the, uh... excess energy?” The fourth time he'd seen Tron, back on ENCOM's system, was the first time he'd gone to a program club; it was also the first, and last, time he engaged a program in a drinking contest. In doing so, he learned that while non-alcoholic, refined energy had a profound impact on his body - in particular, a reaction rather like a sugar high of epic proportion and, due to the sudden influx of extra energy, all of his movements were overexaggerated and overcompensatory, leaving him stumbling as if he were drunk - and that Tron could drink him under the table in no time at all.
It made sense, after he was finally back to himself: Tron was a high-level, powerful program; he had to have the ability to take in and efficiently store an impressive amount of energy to execute many of the stunts and maneuvers he pulled off. If there was nothing to regularly drain his reserves...
Tron just happened to visually scan their surroundings for incoming programs at that exact moment; it had nothing to do with experiencing difficulty meeting Flynn's gaze, naturally. “I... have recently increased the number of patrols I make through the Outlands by 247.1%.”
Flynn huffed in exasperation, “That doesn't answer my-”
But it did; the Outlands, being little more than a visual representation of raw, unused data-space, was different than the streets and buildings of the city. It didn't have the deep, baseline thrum of energy flowing through it - it wasn't alive, so to speak - like the city, and so each program venturing out into it for any appreciable length of time experienced an extra drain on their energy - there was nothing already there to support and facilitate their functionality. Flynn himself could attest to the presence of random pools of raw energy that could support a program, but their placement was random, and could divert elsewhere with seemingly no provocation or advance notice; they could not be relied upon. All in all, it was rather like crossing the desert, and how good one's water supply was.
Tron, in this instance, was purposefully using this knowledge to deplete his energy reserves, playing a proverbial game of chicken by wandering around in an environment that could derezz him.
The User sighed.
“All right... I'll start writing a Games Arena and gather some games for it,” Kevin sounded defeated, and Tron felt a corresponding guilt. In the ensuing silence, Tron habitually checked his current energy levels - heading toward the high end of operational safety, again - and turned to suggest that the two of them rendezvous with Clu; between the two of them, they could have a partially operational Arena before Flynn's time was up. He refrained from speaking, though, when interpreting the look upon the User's face increased in priority.
“In the meantime,” Flynn finally said, after a long pause, “I'd like to introduce you to some other kinds of games; they might help you pass the time while I work on that Arena. If I'm gonna make it, I'm gonna make it awesome and safe.” Tron simply nodded along, calculating it less painful to the User to refrain from informing him of several fatal accidents Tron had witnessed during Games when he was just in beta-test, before the MCP had taken over; it was impossible to have a completely safe Arena, and Tron couldn't reach a consensus among his various processes on whether or not that was a positive or negative conclusion. The unspoken danger demanded that a program be faster, keener, stronger, expend more of themselves than they would otherwise find sufficient, in the event that the danger became less speculation, and more certainty.
Flynn had his baton out, and used it to motion that Tron should follow him, “Come on, man. I know the perfect place for a lesson in Games to Pass the Time While A Certain User Builds the Digital Colosseum.” With a turn and a crack, the User was speeding down the street.
After several long moments, to give Flynn a lead, Tron was following, engaging almost twice as much of his processing power as the situation warranted; treating the situation like a real lightcycle match used up more energy, and the wind resistance was a welcome cooling effect on his slightly overheated circuits.
“-oh, and if you throw the ball through the hoop from beyond those big, curved lines, you'll score three points, instead of just two. This bit over here is where the game usually starts at, and -”
Tron nodded along with enthusiasm, and added more notes to his growing list of rules for the game. It was a rather popular User game, apparently; the playing boundary was relatively small, and rectangular, with two horizontal hoops attached to the bottom of two more rectangles floating at opposite ends. Flynn had mumbled earlier about 'heights for standards', before he'd shrugged and finished coding in the smaller rectangles, who then began to shift vertically between significantly taller than the User could jump from a stationary position, to a point that the program could easily grasp the hoop with an outstretched hand.
He calculated the likelihood if Alan-One had ever played this game before, but did not voice the question; Flynn had become increasingly vague whenever Tron brought up his User. He'd begun to suspect a correlation between his User's lack of contact with him - even just for a status check - and Flynn's hedging and a vague assurance that they would be communicating again 'soon'. Taking this information into account, the program had assumed that his User was displeased with him in some way, and Flynn was working toward some form of reconciliation. Flynn had worked with his code many times already on this new system, so he hoped that he would soon be back to his User's standards.
The thought that he might have been taken away in secret never occurred to him; Flynn was his friend.
He trusted him.
He was a bit dubious, however, about the effectiveness of this game in burning off excess energy, no matter how fascinating he found the User connection to it.
“Users... expend a great deal of energy playing this... 'basket ball' game?”
Flynn shrugged, one hand balancing the somewhat large, glowing 'basket ball' - Tron had tried to figure out why it was called that, but his incomprehension had only increased from the additional information when the User explained what a basket was - and motioned for the program to join him in the small center circle where the game would begin. “I guess so. I don't play very often, physically at least, but I'm usually tired after. I saw a few official games in college, too, and the players always seemed to be sweating like pigs and ready to fall over. Come on, man, let's play, and you can see for yourself.”
Tron, perplexed by the User's descriptive definition - what was a 'pig', and what was this 'sweating' action it performed in a such a distinctive way as to indicate a powerful expenditure of energy? - hesitated for a moment, before joining Flynn in the circle. Using his free hand, the User nudged and prodded the program into the space across from him and smirked. Tron calculated that Flynn was confident in his familiarity with the game, in addition to previous experience at playing it, and expected to win, probably with ease; it was an assessment that Tron reluctantly agreed with. He hated losing; it was almost against his programming, but the facts supported the conclusion that he was about to lose, repeatedly.
Hopefully the energy usage would be worth it.
Flynn's current, rather cocky expression certainly wasn't.
He was a little ashamed to admit it, but Flynn was relishing his current increase of confidence.
The ability to manipulate the very essence of Grid-reality aside - and not even then, exactly - there was little that he could do that Tron either couldn't, or not as well. It shouldn't bother him but it did; in the real world he was ridiculously successful, gifted intellectually and romantically, quick to laugh, fit and handsome, if he did say so himself. Out there, he was content and admired, with 'envy' just a word used to describe other people.
In here, however, he occasionally was more personally acquainted with the word.
It wasn't Tron's fault; the program couldn't help who and what he was, and would probably even check some of his behavior if the User asked. In so many ways, the program was what Flynn wasn't, from his rather simple but firm beliefs, to how he treated everyone - Tower Guardian, Repair Function, User, Maintenance Utility, System Administrator, Bit - with the same sort of respectful seriousness, no matter their relative importance within the system. There had been many situations in which he'd wondered what things would be like, if he was a little more like the program. There were just some things he couldn't do, though - that recent disaster with the Grid bugs came to mind - and this inability wasn't reciprocated. Tron could do pretty much everything the User could, but better, faster, more efficiently, and generally without trying; he was written to be the best. It wasn't his fault.
It also wasn't his fault that Flynn knew a good deal more about basketball than he was letting on.
The User was still going to enjoy using that additional knowledge to be better, beat Tron, at something, at least for a little while.
He handed the basketball to the program, with instructions to press it into the floor of their small circle.
He wanted to have the height advantage when the ball was shot upward, in lieu of a referee.
Tron crouched, the basketball glowing blue in his hands, and pressed it to the floor. The floor of the circle flashed white, and the ball disappeared inside as if the floor had evaporated into light. The program hesitated in his crouch, watching the floor with renewed curiosity.
Abruptly, the ball shot back out of the ground like a short-range cannon.
The User crouched to jump after it, but the program was already crouching.
Kevin Flynn could only watch in shock as Tron leaped after the ball, caught it with just the right angle of a turn, and immediately redirected the ball into the easily predictable path of the User's hoop.
The ball didn't even brush the inner edges of the hoop as it fell through, and bounced feebly to a stop.
Flynn stared from the ball to Tron several times.
“I forgot how good you are at calculating speed, force, and trajectory,” he admitted with an only slightly forced chuckle.
He wasn't going to be better at him in basketball, after all.
Tron tilted his head to one side rather like a bird, and regarded the User for a moment, before moving to retrieve the ball. “While I was calculating the maneuver I did experience an increased energy drain, it was brief, and ultimately a negligible amount. I know all the calculations now, too, so the energy usage will decrease. This isn't going to work.” After saying this, he turned and presented the ball to the User, visually scanning the surface of the ball, reluctant to meet Flynn's gaze after the effort that went into constructing this game.
Suddenly reminded of the reason for the basketball game - which wasn't to one up his friend, no matter what his ego thought on the matter - the User took the ball from the program, and promptly tossed it over his own shoulder. At Tron's look of confusion, Flynn just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, man, don't sweat it. Let's go grab Clu and tell him about the Arena. Maybe afterward I'll introduce you to poker, or something.” He gave the shoulder under his hand a little shake, and turned to walk to the street. After a moment, and one last glance at the 'basket ball' playing field, Tron followed.
“Kevin?”
“Yeah, Tron?”
“I would like to ask you a question.”
“Sure.”
“What is 'sweat'?”
The User's laughter echoed in the empty street as two lightcycles, one white, the other blue, sped away.