[Fic] TDD Universe: Messages In a Bottle
Set in the Devil's Dues universe
Fandom(s): Tron: Legacy
Characters: Sam Flynn, Tron/Rinzler
Rating: T
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary:
The world had ended. It just took a while for everyone to catch up.
IMPORTANT NOTE!!!
This is a side-story to my post-apocalypse-AU story, The Devil's Dues. To get the most out of this, you should definitely read that first. It's not done yet, but the first four chapters are enough to give the frame for this.
Messages In a Bottle
"...insane! The base price for the program itself should be comparable with current market pricing even if most of the revenue will be mined from the - "
Alan lifted off his glasses with a sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Kyle, how many times do we have to go over this? The software sector's supposed to be the most agile and innovative of all technology industries, but even the printer manufacturers figured this out a decade ago ... by practically giving your base platform away and then charging through the accessories - "
"Which is all well and good for the occasional Facebook phenomenon or the odd viral hit, but we're an established worldwide corporation with resources that allow us to create market strategies that are supported by more than simple luck - !"
Alan was just rocking forward in his all-too-cushy executive chair - he needed to do more sit-ups, if it was this difficult to find his way out of the padding - when there was a sudden thump that had everyone jumping in their seats. At first, he thought that something had fallen over - perhaps one of the small potted trees, as unlikely as it may seem - but he was just craning his head toward the conference room door along with the other eight executives when someone blurted stridently, "San Francisco's been attacked!"
There was a distinct pause, a disbelieving snort, and even a single, uncertain laugh before Alan scrambled to slip his glasses back on and blinked at the secretary who had burst in. "Attacked?" he echoed, his tongue unconsciously curling around each syllable as if the word had suddenly become foreign; alien.
"Attacked!" she repeated, voice high and thin, one hand fluttering helplessly in the air while the other pressed, white-knuckled, upon the door that had so recently rebounded off the wall. "Bombed! They say the financial district's already flattened. City Hall's half-gone. It's still going on, all the news programs are going crazy - !"
Alan felt all movement stop, the room abruptly silent, not even the brush of a suit leg or the whisper of a hand shifting upon the polished oak table breaking the subliminal hum of the air conditioning system.
Wetting suddenly dry lips, he carefully placed his hands on his chair's armrests and pushed himself to his feet. "Gentlemen, ladies," he rasped, "may I suggest we adjourn for the time being."
"Sam, it's 2:14 right now. I ... I know you're still in there, and I don't know if that link-up of yours forwards voicemail, but ... there's some big things happening in the real world right now. Please, just ... just come out as soon as you can. And give me a call when you do, all right?" Alan hesitated on the traditional farewell, let the silence stretch on for too long, and finally shut his phone awkwardly without saying another word, rubbing his eyes.
David Morrow, the slavedriver, was patroling the aisles in the central cubicle farm, haranguing the odd employee or intern he caught paying more attention to the news than to their work. Alan didn't even know why he bothered - this floor was full of administrative staff rather than engineers or designers; there was nothing that would be set back noticeably by even an hour's worth of inattention.
Those with friends and families in the Bay Area had already been excused for the day. Those who remained looked just as disjointed and disconnected as he felt. He had initially been voted down by the executive staff when he proposed just letting everyone go for the remaining few office hours, but now he strode down the central corridor to casually hook David's elbow when the VP cowed a young woman to near tears for watching streaming news coverage. "We should just let them go," he hissed when they reached a relatively isolated corner, "I think that's more than proof enough that we're not going to get anything productive done in these last three hours anyway."
"What, and you think they'll get anything productive done when they leave?" David growled back, yanking his arm away.
"Sorry, poor choice of words on my part, this isn't about productivity - " Alan snapped sarcastically, squaring his shoulders out of pure reflex though he had no intention of allowing this devolve into a physical fight.
"At least we agree on something, then!" David snorted, seizing the lead when Alan paused incredulously. "You think I don't see that they're not going to get crap-all done? But if we let them go, what're they going to do? Sit around their TVs, wringing their hands? They may as well have something to keep them busy here."
Alan's eyes narrowed. "Don't you think we should let them decide that, then? They can go if they want, but if they want the distraction, they can stay here - "
"First rule of management - this isn't a democracy. You manage people, and that's how you keep them from thinking and then panicking - "
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Alan groaned, throwing his hands up as if that might allow him to sweep the entire conversation aside. If only anything was that easy. "I'll take full responsibility if you want - just go and make the announcement!"
David stared at him, face set into lines that had Alan's back stiffening, afraid that this was going to turn into a very public and very ugly shouting-fest, before the man snorted and then unexpectedly grinned; his square face suddenly transformed into something surprisingly puckish. "See? You're getting the hang of it already. Yessir!" he tossed out in mocking salute before stamping off to presumably spread the word - but not before taking the chance along the way to snap at a man who had stopped in the middle of the aisle while furiously typing on his phone.
Alan sighed, giving into bemusement as he rubbed his eyes one more time before straightening and heading for his office, resisting the urge to check his phone for calls or messages.
"Sam? Uh, it's me again. It's 3:27 now, and ... we just got the news. I mean, it's been confirmed. Someone dropped a nuclear bomb near San Jose - think there were reports that it had been diverted, but not enough. Silicon Valley's gone, and so's LA, and ... and it's incredible, the east coast is under fire too, and no one knows how they're fielding this much firepower at once or - or rather, no one's allowing that information to reach the public and things are ...
"Sorry, I didn't mean to go into the news, you can find all that out for yourself later. Traffic's a mess outside, so I'm staying in the office for now. Give me a call soon as you can, all right? Seattle might not be on the world radar as much as DC, New York, or SF, but ... yeah. Please call. Bye," Alan blurted before quickly hitting the end call button. Chastising himself for not sounding at all like the calm and collected godfather image he had wanted to project, he gave up on the sixty-three new messages in his inbox - the number incrementing even as he pushed himself to his feet - and headed back into the cubicle farm.
There were only a dozen or so employees left of the forty-plus that had been there, and they had all shifted to be closer together. Though there was a constant flow of reporter chatter from two or three newsfeeds - weeded down like the office population as data centers and hubs across the country were knocked offline - the current cubicle occupants were themselves completely silent; all staring with wide eyes and pale faces, one woman with tears drying on her cheeks.
Alan had not been in Seattle at the time of the 9/11 attacks, and had only managed to return home a few days later after the initial shock had passed and people had sorted out whether they needed a leave of absence or not. Now, he wondered if reactions were similar, or maybe it was worse this time - after all, the terrorist attacks had come and gone. They were a terrible act, but there had come an end, almost before people had realized that there was a beginning. But now? Now, they were all still strung on the edge of anticipation, wondering what would happen next, whether there would be another target, if it would be on a distant loved one's city or their own ...
"Perry?" he ventured as he picked out one of the men, a young Indian who jerked in his seat and looked up sharply enough that Alan's neck twinged in sympathy. "Sorry," he patted the air with a wry grin of apology, "didn't meant to startle you. Just wanted to see if you've heard anything new."
"Oh ... oh, no, Sir, not really," Perry slumped back into his seat, the two others who had squeezed themselves into his cubicle shifting restlessly at the reminder. "New York ... well, it was hit, but they've had some ... some experience with this sort of stuff, you know? I think some of it was deflected, and with DC and the defenses there just a few hours away ... but New England in general's getting hammered, and the evacuation's - "
Alan drew up a chair for himself as he let the Indian's gently accented words wash over him, paying only half his attention to the information itself. It wasn't as if he hadn't already heard everything from the streaming broadcasts in his own office - after all, the motivation behind his question had never been about the news at all.
"Sam ... the Boeing airfield was just hit." Alan had to pause, then, all the words that he had prepared slipping through his mental fingertips as he stared at the distant plumes of smoke rising toward the clouds. He took a deep, trembling breath, struggling to put his thoughts in order, wondering where all his vaunted skills at orderliness and calm had gone, before frustration over his own loss of control made him abruptly cut the line with nothing else said.
They were down to four on this floor. He had just sent off the others, told them to go on foot if the streets were still in traffic grid-lock, and the remaining few were just gathering some small keepsakes while one woman took a last chance to use the bathroom.
"D-do you ... do you think they'll target here?" came a wavering voice behind him, and he turned to regard the plump, middle-aged woman who had spoken. A "Charlene" or "Sharla", she was an inveterate office gossip, but had a good attention for detail. He vaguely recalled approving David's proposal to have her work part-time with the accounting team to help catch typos in their spreadsheets.
"I think so," he sighed, then wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake in admitting the truth when she let out a panicked squeak. He quickly reached out to give her arm a hopefully comforting squeeze. "But not for a little while yet. We should take what time we've got to get as far away from downtown as possible."
"I'm ready," their stray sheep called breathlessly, still smoothing her shirt down as she trotted out of the lady's room.
"All right, then, let's go," Alan raised his voice, counting heads as he began to herd them toward the exit.
As they piled into the elevator, the doors closed on the sound of a shrill, whistling shriek outside, and one of the women screamed when the cabin shuddered, lights flickering. Alan thanked whatever star he had been born under that he had a healthy heart as it slammed uncomfortably against his ribcage at the adrenaline spike.
Biting back a curse, he yanked on the emergency stop, eliciting another choked off sob when the elevator screeched to a halt, and he punched repeatedly at the door-open button as he mentally reviewed the emergency exits. "Bob, take one of Jenine's hands please, we're getting off. The stairwell's to our left, we're going to take that down instead. Perry, let's help the others up - looks like we're caught between floors ... "
"Sam ... Sam, I don't think I'll be able to call again for a while. If you're still at the arcade ... stay there. Stay in the basement. The arcade might be just far enough away from the worst of the damage to remain standing, but if it isn't, the basement's just about the next best thing to a bunker. And ... and if you have the time, get Tron out. Please, take him with you - I know you'll have Quorra, and she'll more than carry her own weight, but I know Tron, I know he can help you, he'll do everything in his power to keep you safe ... anything ... like I would ... and ...
"Sorry. I promised myself when I made this call that I wouldn't get sentimental - but, I guess, we both know that some things just aren't possible. And ... and I guess if I'm going to toe the line, then I may as well just run right through it, so ... so plug your ears right now if you want, but I'm going to give this - *beep*"
"Sorry, it's me again, the damned time limit on the voicemail cut me off.
"Okay, going to try and talk quick - Sam, I'd tried all this time to tell you about your father, how you had been the entire world to him and how nothing would have kept him away but for - I don't know. I didn't want to say death, but I couldn't think of anything else that could have held him back. Of course, now we know that there was - wait, sorry, that's not where I wanted to go. What I'm trying to say is ...
"I guess I'm just realizing that maybe I never said enough about myself, how I felt, because I didn't think it was my place to say these things instead of Kevin, and ... and I'm sorry, if I didn't say this enough, but you were loved, Sam, I'm so proud of you, and I think Kevin has been more than punished enough for his shortsightedness because he never got to see you grow up like I did. I wouldn't have wished that fate on him if there had been the choice, but it's been a privilege to have had the time I had with you, and ... and I guess there's never enough time, even if we have our whole lives, to say something like this.
"You have a big heart, Sam. It's why it's led you astray sometimes, because it's so easy to hurt. But never forget - *beep*"
Endnotes:
I never gave a thought to Alan's side of things, and had been content to leave his story perpetually in limbo, before a late-night convo with Winzler (as these things inevitably begin) got me to thinking - what if Sam had inadvertently done exactly what Alan had wanted, had asked him to do, if he had ever been able to retrieve those lost voicemails? And then things snowballed from there, and in spite of being three days behind in NaNoWriMo and four days of buried in workstuff from morning till bedtime, this sort of happened.
Fandom(s): Tron: Legacy
Characters: Sam Flynn, Tron/Rinzler
Rating: T
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary:
The world had ended. It just took a while for everyone to catch up.
IMPORTANT NOTE!!!
This is a side-story to my post-apocalypse-AU story, The Devil's Dues. To get the most out of this, you should definitely read that first. It's not done yet, but the first four chapters are enough to give the frame for this.
Messages In a Bottle
"...insane! The base price for the program itself should be comparable with current market pricing even if most of the revenue will be mined from the - "
Alan lifted off his glasses with a sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Kyle, how many times do we have to go over this? The software sector's supposed to be the most agile and innovative of all technology industries, but even the printer manufacturers figured this out a decade ago ... by practically giving your base platform away and then charging through the accessories - "
"Which is all well and good for the occasional Facebook phenomenon or the odd viral hit, but we're an established worldwide corporation with resources that allow us to create market strategies that are supported by more than simple luck - !"
Alan was just rocking forward in his all-too-cushy executive chair - he needed to do more sit-ups, if it was this difficult to find his way out of the padding - when there was a sudden thump that had everyone jumping in their seats. At first, he thought that something had fallen over - perhaps one of the small potted trees, as unlikely as it may seem - but he was just craning his head toward the conference room door along with the other eight executives when someone blurted stridently, "San Francisco's been attacked!"
There was a distinct pause, a disbelieving snort, and even a single, uncertain laugh before Alan scrambled to slip his glasses back on and blinked at the secretary who had burst in. "Attacked?" he echoed, his tongue unconsciously curling around each syllable as if the word had suddenly become foreign; alien.
"Attacked!" she repeated, voice high and thin, one hand fluttering helplessly in the air while the other pressed, white-knuckled, upon the door that had so recently rebounded off the wall. "Bombed! They say the financial district's already flattened. City Hall's half-gone. It's still going on, all the news programs are going crazy - !"
Alan felt all movement stop, the room abruptly silent, not even the brush of a suit leg or the whisper of a hand shifting upon the polished oak table breaking the subliminal hum of the air conditioning system.
Wetting suddenly dry lips, he carefully placed his hands on his chair's armrests and pushed himself to his feet. "Gentlemen, ladies," he rasped, "may I suggest we adjourn for the time being."
"Sam, it's 2:14 right now. I ... I know you're still in there, and I don't know if that link-up of yours forwards voicemail, but ... there's some big things happening in the real world right now. Please, just ... just come out as soon as you can. And give me a call when you do, all right?" Alan hesitated on the traditional farewell, let the silence stretch on for too long, and finally shut his phone awkwardly without saying another word, rubbing his eyes.
David Morrow, the slavedriver, was patroling the aisles in the central cubicle farm, haranguing the odd employee or intern he caught paying more attention to the news than to their work. Alan didn't even know why he bothered - this floor was full of administrative staff rather than engineers or designers; there was nothing that would be set back noticeably by even an hour's worth of inattention.
Those with friends and families in the Bay Area had already been excused for the day. Those who remained looked just as disjointed and disconnected as he felt. He had initially been voted down by the executive staff when he proposed just letting everyone go for the remaining few office hours, but now he strode down the central corridor to casually hook David's elbow when the VP cowed a young woman to near tears for watching streaming news coverage. "We should just let them go," he hissed when they reached a relatively isolated corner, "I think that's more than proof enough that we're not going to get anything productive done in these last three hours anyway."
"What, and you think they'll get anything productive done when they leave?" David growled back, yanking his arm away.
"Sorry, poor choice of words on my part, this isn't about productivity - " Alan snapped sarcastically, squaring his shoulders out of pure reflex though he had no intention of allowing this devolve into a physical fight.
"At least we agree on something, then!" David snorted, seizing the lead when Alan paused incredulously. "You think I don't see that they're not going to get crap-all done? But if we let them go, what're they going to do? Sit around their TVs, wringing their hands? They may as well have something to keep them busy here."
Alan's eyes narrowed. "Don't you think we should let them decide that, then? They can go if they want, but if they want the distraction, they can stay here - "
"First rule of management - this isn't a democracy. You manage people, and that's how you keep them from thinking and then panicking - "
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Alan groaned, throwing his hands up as if that might allow him to sweep the entire conversation aside. If only anything was that easy. "I'll take full responsibility if you want - just go and make the announcement!"
David stared at him, face set into lines that had Alan's back stiffening, afraid that this was going to turn into a very public and very ugly shouting-fest, before the man snorted and then unexpectedly grinned; his square face suddenly transformed into something surprisingly puckish. "See? You're getting the hang of it already. Yessir!" he tossed out in mocking salute before stamping off to presumably spread the word - but not before taking the chance along the way to snap at a man who had stopped in the middle of the aisle while furiously typing on his phone.
Alan sighed, giving into bemusement as he rubbed his eyes one more time before straightening and heading for his office, resisting the urge to check his phone for calls or messages.
"Sam? Uh, it's me again. It's 3:27 now, and ... we just got the news. I mean, it's been confirmed. Someone dropped a nuclear bomb near San Jose - think there were reports that it had been diverted, but not enough. Silicon Valley's gone, and so's LA, and ... and it's incredible, the east coast is under fire too, and no one knows how they're fielding this much firepower at once or - or rather, no one's allowing that information to reach the public and things are ...
"Sorry, I didn't mean to go into the news, you can find all that out for yourself later. Traffic's a mess outside, so I'm staying in the office for now. Give me a call soon as you can, all right? Seattle might not be on the world radar as much as DC, New York, or SF, but ... yeah. Please call. Bye," Alan blurted before quickly hitting the end call button. Chastising himself for not sounding at all like the calm and collected godfather image he had wanted to project, he gave up on the sixty-three new messages in his inbox - the number incrementing even as he pushed himself to his feet - and headed back into the cubicle farm.
There were only a dozen or so employees left of the forty-plus that had been there, and they had all shifted to be closer together. Though there was a constant flow of reporter chatter from two or three newsfeeds - weeded down like the office population as data centers and hubs across the country were knocked offline - the current cubicle occupants were themselves completely silent; all staring with wide eyes and pale faces, one woman with tears drying on her cheeks.
Alan had not been in Seattle at the time of the 9/11 attacks, and had only managed to return home a few days later after the initial shock had passed and people had sorted out whether they needed a leave of absence or not. Now, he wondered if reactions were similar, or maybe it was worse this time - after all, the terrorist attacks had come and gone. They were a terrible act, but there had come an end, almost before people had realized that there was a beginning. But now? Now, they were all still strung on the edge of anticipation, wondering what would happen next, whether there would be another target, if it would be on a distant loved one's city or their own ...
"Perry?" he ventured as he picked out one of the men, a young Indian who jerked in his seat and looked up sharply enough that Alan's neck twinged in sympathy. "Sorry," he patted the air with a wry grin of apology, "didn't meant to startle you. Just wanted to see if you've heard anything new."
"Oh ... oh, no, Sir, not really," Perry slumped back into his seat, the two others who had squeezed themselves into his cubicle shifting restlessly at the reminder. "New York ... well, it was hit, but they've had some ... some experience with this sort of stuff, you know? I think some of it was deflected, and with DC and the defenses there just a few hours away ... but New England in general's getting hammered, and the evacuation's - "
Alan drew up a chair for himself as he let the Indian's gently accented words wash over him, paying only half his attention to the information itself. It wasn't as if he hadn't already heard everything from the streaming broadcasts in his own office - after all, the motivation behind his question had never been about the news at all.
"Sam ... the Boeing airfield was just hit." Alan had to pause, then, all the words that he had prepared slipping through his mental fingertips as he stared at the distant plumes of smoke rising toward the clouds. He took a deep, trembling breath, struggling to put his thoughts in order, wondering where all his vaunted skills at orderliness and calm had gone, before frustration over his own loss of control made him abruptly cut the line with nothing else said.
They were down to four on this floor. He had just sent off the others, told them to go on foot if the streets were still in traffic grid-lock, and the remaining few were just gathering some small keepsakes while one woman took a last chance to use the bathroom.
"D-do you ... do you think they'll target here?" came a wavering voice behind him, and he turned to regard the plump, middle-aged woman who had spoken. A "Charlene" or "Sharla", she was an inveterate office gossip, but had a good attention for detail. He vaguely recalled approving David's proposal to have her work part-time with the accounting team to help catch typos in their spreadsheets.
"I think so," he sighed, then wondered for a moment if he had made a mistake in admitting the truth when she let out a panicked squeak. He quickly reached out to give her arm a hopefully comforting squeeze. "But not for a little while yet. We should take what time we've got to get as far away from downtown as possible."
"I'm ready," their stray sheep called breathlessly, still smoothing her shirt down as she trotted out of the lady's room.
"All right, then, let's go," Alan raised his voice, counting heads as he began to herd them toward the exit.
As they piled into the elevator, the doors closed on the sound of a shrill, whistling shriek outside, and one of the women screamed when the cabin shuddered, lights flickering. Alan thanked whatever star he had been born under that he had a healthy heart as it slammed uncomfortably against his ribcage at the adrenaline spike.
Biting back a curse, he yanked on the emergency stop, eliciting another choked off sob when the elevator screeched to a halt, and he punched repeatedly at the door-open button as he mentally reviewed the emergency exits. "Bob, take one of Jenine's hands please, we're getting off. The stairwell's to our left, we're going to take that down instead. Perry, let's help the others up - looks like we're caught between floors ... "
"Sam ... Sam, I don't think I'll be able to call again for a while. If you're still at the arcade ... stay there. Stay in the basement. The arcade might be just far enough away from the worst of the damage to remain standing, but if it isn't, the basement's just about the next best thing to a bunker. And ... and if you have the time, get Tron out. Please, take him with you - I know you'll have Quorra, and she'll more than carry her own weight, but I know Tron, I know he can help you, he'll do everything in his power to keep you safe ... anything ... like I would ... and ...
"Sorry. I promised myself when I made this call that I wouldn't get sentimental - but, I guess, we both know that some things just aren't possible. And ... and I guess if I'm going to toe the line, then I may as well just run right through it, so ... so plug your ears right now if you want, but I'm going to give this - *beep*"
"Sorry, it's me again, the damned time limit on the voicemail cut me off.
"Okay, going to try and talk quick - Sam, I'd tried all this time to tell you about your father, how you had been the entire world to him and how nothing would have kept him away but for - I don't know. I didn't want to say death, but I couldn't think of anything else that could have held him back. Of course, now we know that there was - wait, sorry, that's not where I wanted to go. What I'm trying to say is ...
"I guess I'm just realizing that maybe I never said enough about myself, how I felt, because I didn't think it was my place to say these things instead of Kevin, and ... and I'm sorry, if I didn't say this enough, but you were loved, Sam, I'm so proud of you, and I think Kevin has been more than punished enough for his shortsightedness because he never got to see you grow up like I did. I wouldn't have wished that fate on him if there had been the choice, but it's been a privilege to have had the time I had with you, and ... and I guess there's never enough time, even if we have our whole lives, to say something like this.
"You have a big heart, Sam. It's why it's led you astray sometimes, because it's so easy to hurt. But never forget - *beep*"
Endnotes:
I never gave a thought to Alan's side of things, and had been content to leave his story perpetually in limbo, before a late-night convo with Winzler (as these things inevitably begin) got me to thinking - what if Sam had inadvertently done exactly what Alan had wanted, had asked him to do, if he had ever been able to retrieve those lost voicemails? And then things snowballed from there, and in spite of being three days behind in NaNoWriMo and four days of buried in workstuff from morning till bedtime, this sort of happened.