TRON fanfic: The Outpost (7/?)
Sep. 15th, 2017 08:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skye_writerTitle: The Outpost
Author:skye_writer
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Tron, Original Characters
Summary: No one knew where the virus came from. By the time they noticed it, it was too late. The Grid's factions put their differences aside and built a haven in the Outlands--the Outpost. Time passes; the Grid's programs survive. Then the Portal opens again, bringing Users back to the Grid, and what happens next may change their world forever.
Warnings: Death of minor unnamed character.
Things returned to normal at the Outpost, or as close to normal as they could get these cycles. The virus continued ravaging the Outlands, though it did not yet approach the Outpost’s borders. Rho went on occasional border patrols with the Nameless, wherein they discussed very little but Rho’s complaints about her work both as a message runner and in the mess rotation. The Nameless lent a mostly sympathetic ear, and Rho did not mention anything they’d spoken of in the pump station.
The flow of refugees to the Outpost had slowed to a trickle. The construction crews no longer had to work for millicycles on end to keep pace with new arrivals; the atmosphere around the Outpost in general became more relaxed. A couple of MP3s were granted permission to open a club in one of the central sublevels. Rho went a time or two, looking for a good time but met mostly with questions about the Users and the Nameless. She already had a reputation as the Nameless’ favorite; the fact that she’d escorted the Users to the Outpost had only increased it. Everyone wanted to know what the Users knew. Were they close to finding a way to fight the virus? When would they be returning? Did she know?
Rho knew some of what they wanted, but she wasn’t sure it was her place to tell. She said “I don’t know” so many times she lost count, and eventually she stopped going out to the club. It meant a lot of time spent alone in her apartment, lost in her own thoughts. Her friends from back in the war didn’t want much to do with her. They said she’d become cocky since she’d gone to get the Users, like she knew better than everyone else. It wasn’t true, or at least, she didn’t think it was. Was it because she went on so many patrols with the Nameless? Or because she didn’t give up any information?
She vented to the Nameless, who remained noncommittal. She thought about it probably too much. She’d volunteered to go on that mission because she wanted to get out of the Outpost. Not because she wanted to hang it over the others’ heads. But now she knew things she couldn’t tell, and no matter how many times she said “I don’t know,” it didn’t seem to convince anyone.
She threw herself into her work, though there seemed to be less of it now that the influx of refugees had slowed. She ran messages for Axel and Edis, either to the Council members or else the architects and foremen and medtechs. The Council member Atana seemed particularly keen on relaying messages to Edis and Axel, private messages encoded on disks that Rho could not read. One time, maybe a decicycle after the Users had departed, Atana paused before handing over her message. She eyed Rho up and down, which made Rho a little nervous. “Are you a believer, Rho?” she asked.
Rho blinked, thrown by the question. “I—not really? I believe the Users can help us, but I don’t follow—I mean, I’ve never even seen an I/O tower—”
Atana’s eyes narrowed. “I see. You’re friends with the Nameless, are you not?”
“Yes, Councilwoman.”
“How much did he tell you of our meeting with the Users?”
She is a member of the Council, Rho thought. I can’t lie to her. “A little,” she admitted. “He told me when the Users are coming back, and that they’re hoping they can stop the virus.”
“I see,” Atana said again. She handed over her message disk. “Here you are, program. Get that to Edis posthaste. That will be all.”
Rho left Atana’s apartment very puzzled, and she nearly walked into two programs before she finally cleared her mind and got back to the work at hand.
Rho forgot the encounter with Atana, though the Councilwoman’s messages to the Outpost leaders did not decrease in frequency. She continued her work, always glad for the brief respites that came in the form of border runs with the Nameless.
She was down at the northern gate to clear one such run with Captain Halix when it began.
“The Nameless is due for another border run in two millicycles,” Halix said to Rho over the top of his info tablet. “He told me you wanted to come along. You’ve cleared it with Kedi, then?”
“Yessir,” Rho replied, rocking back on her feet a little bit. Kedi supervised the message runners for the whole Outpost. “You know I always do, sir.” She grinned in what she hoped was a winning manner.
“Yes,” Halix said. “That’s that, then, I suppose—”
“Captain!” The comm on the workstation behind Halix crackled to life. “We need a medtech down to the quarantine!”
Halix turned and flipped on his end of the comm. “What’s come in? More stragglers from Argon?”
“No, sir!” replied the program on the other end. “Messengers from Xenon!”
Halix frowned, and so did Rho. Xenon City was the most remote of the Grid cities. Messages rarely came out from that way, but what little word they’d had over the last couple of cycles had said that Xenon had been least affected by the virus. None of the programs at the Outpost had come from Xenon, unless they’d been living in one of the closer cities prior to the Departure and the war. But now they’d sent messengers?
“I’ll send word for the medtech,” he replied on the comm. “Be down to quarantine in a micro.” He flipped off the comm and turned to find Rho still standing at the station. “You’re dismissed, program,” he said.
“With all respect, sir,” Rho said, “can I come with you to quarantine? I’m Axel and Edis’ preferred message runner, and if this is big news, they need to know immediately.”
Halix eyed her for a moment, his dark face impassive. Finally, he said, “All right. Come along, then.”
Halix stopped a sentry to send word for the medtech, then continued on. Rho trotted along after him through the hangar bay and down to the gate itself, and the cordoned off area that served as a quarantine. The sentries saluted Halix as he approached, but looked at Rho in confusion. Halix ignored this and walked up to the glass partition, where five programs waited.
They were one and all exhausted. Four of them sat in various spots around the quarantine chamber, while the last stood by the partition. Halix flipped on the comm. “Greetings, programs,” he said. “My men say you’re from Xenon. What word do you bring?”
The program breathed heavily for a moment. He seemed to Rho on the verge of deresolution; how long had it been since he’d had a shot of energy? “We bring word,” he started, then paused. He shook his head, still panting, then continued. “Xenon has fallen to the virus. We were sent ahead… of the evacuation. We left beacons.”
“Evacuation,” Halix repeated. “How many programs? How soon?”
The program shook his head again. “Three, maybe four centicycles. We thought—containment. Containment would work. But it only—only four safe sectors in the whole city. The whole city. The whole—” He stopped, shaking himself again. “Estimate. A thousand. Maybe fewer survive the journey. Survive the journey. Survive. Survive. Survive. Surv—”
He disintegrated, derezzed into a pile of unusable code.
Rho stared, shaking. She’d seen plenty of programs derezzed in her time; she’d fought in two wars, after all. But never had she seen one derezz from simple starvation. The idea itself was absurd to her. She’d never heard of anyone wanting for energy on the Grid; it had always been more or less freely supplied for anyone who needed it. More potent varieties might cost you something in time or work, but basic energy was what everyone needed to function. It would have been ridiculous to bar someone from having it.
But this program had come from so long and twisted a way that he had run out of energy, and found no springs in the Outlands. All to tell them of what was coming, to prepare a place for his fellow programs.
A thousand, he’d said. She blinked, recovering herself. A thousand programs coming here, in less than half a decicycle. She turned to Halix. “I have to go to Edis and Axel immediately,” she said. “They need to know about this right now.”
“Go,” Halix said, nodding. “And someone find energy rations for these other programs!” he shouted as she dashed away. The sentries sprang into action around her, but she wove deftly through them. Word of this might trickle out somehow, and she needed to make sure Edis and Axel were among the first to know.
It was fortunate the Council offices were centralized, Rho thought; she wasn’t sure she would have been able to run across the whole Outpost without stopping. The sentry at the door to Edis’ office eyed her as she jogged to a halt in front of him. “Identify,” he barked.
“Rho,” she said. “Message runner with urgent news for General Edis and Commander Axel. From Xenon City.”
“Send her in,” came Edis’ muffled voice from behind the door.
“Entry granted,” the sentry said, standing aside as the door swept open.
Edis sat at his desk, an info tablet in his hand. “Rho. You’re not on duty this millicycle, are you? Where’s Dari?”
“Doing her work, I assume,” Rho replied. “I was in the northern hangar bay when some programs arrived, from Xenon City.”
His eyebrows raised at that. “I thought I’d misheard you. What news, then?”
“Xenon has fallen,” Rho reported. “They sent messengers ahead of their evac party. We have three or four centicycles before they arrive.”
“How many? Xenon was large, almost as large as Tron City. How many survived?”
Rho closed her eyes and said, “One thousand.”
“Oh my U—one thousand?” Edis repeated.
Rho opened her eyes and pretended she had not heard his epithet. “One thousand is what the program said, sir. He was—starving, he derezzed right after he told us, but we have to believe that number is accurate, at least for now. Halix was getting rations to the other messengers, so it’s possible one of them has a better estimate.”
“Perhaps,” Edis said. “And a great many may be lost to the virus, either on their journey, or here at the gates. Still, we must be prepared.” He sighed. “We should have seen this coming. Xenon was the last of them… and we are not prepared to house so many so soon. Find Axel and tell him to come here immediately. He should be in his quarters or else in Mess 1. Return with or without him, I do not care. I will have orders for you to deliver to the foremen and architects. I understand you’re not on duty, but—”
Rho nodded. “I understand, sir. I’m free for the next two millicycles.”
Edis nodded back at her, then waved a hand. “Go, then.”
Rho went.
The four centicycles that followed were the most chaotic in Rho’s memory, and she’d been around for the brokering of the peace, and the Outpost’s early days. Word got out about the coming programs; probably a sentry from the northern gate had blabbed about it, and news like that always traveled faster than picocycles, it seemed like. A public Council meeting was held to put all rumors to rest, but it did little to ease anyone’s worry. One thousand programs were coming to the Outpost, and everyone from Axel and Edis on down knew there wasn’t going to be room for them.
Programs were recruited in to help with construction, though it was barely in their functions. Some programs worked for millicycles on end, until they collapsed. When three programs derezzed from exhaustion and lack of energy, the mess halls were coordinated to bring energy to the construction areas so it would not happen again. Rho was spared that duty, but only because she was needed at almost all times to run messages between the Council and the construction zones.
The Xenon exodus was spotted by a Recognizer patrol half a millicycle before they would have arrived at the Outpost. The Recognizer stopped them in their tracks, telling them to wait where they were. Outpost officials would meet them there, bringing with them energy rations and medtechs to test for the virus. The mass of programs was visible from the highest floors of the Outpost, and many programs were seen staring out the windows at the refugees who would soon be joining them.
The constructors had built over two hundred apartments for the Xenon refugees, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Nine hundred and eighty-two programs had survived the journey across the Outlands. Two hundred and ten had become infected by the virus, and either ran into the Outlands or allowed themselves to be derezzed for the safety of the others. Two hundred and fifty-six were given apartments in the Outpost, many of them community or military leaders. That left just over five hundred programs with nowhere to stay. Some had friends among those given apartments, and opted to stay with them, but the rest were bereft.
Axel and Edis then announced the new room-sharing policy. Programs with apartments of their own would be chosen by lot to share their space with a Xenon refugee for half a decicycle. The refugee would then be moved to another apartment to give the host program a respite. It was temporary measure, their leaders insisted; every centicycle some refugees would be given new apartments in the Outpost’s rapidly growing East Wing. But the refugees had to be given space to stay; they could not risk further infection by keeping them in the Outlands until all were given accommodations.
Rho found herself in the first round of programs chosen to room share. The Xenon program, Merrill, was a wispy thing, with long white hair she often hid behind. She did not speak to Rho, though Rho tried many times to get her to say something. “What’s your function?” she asked when Merrill first arrived. The program said nothing, merely sat on the apartment’s only chair and stared out the window at the Outlands.
“Well,” Rho said, nervously, “I’m a message runner. I’m out most millicycles, so, you know. Make yourself comfortable. I’m sure they’ll find work for you soon enough. And hey, this is only supposed to be temporary, so…” Her smile faded as it became clear Merrill was ignoring her. “Okay. See you later.” She turned to go, but paused at the door to give the program one last look. She wondered what had happened to her in the Outlands. What had happened to all of them.
Merrill would speak in her own time, she supposed. And this was only supposed to be temporary.
She left the apartment in search of the Nameless. Maybe he would let her along on his next border patrol, and give them a chance to talk.
The protests began before the first half decicycle was even over. Longtime Outpost residents didn’t appreciate their private spaces (many of them quite small to begin with) being impinged upon by newcomers. The Xenon refugees did not agree with the policy that would have them moving from place to place every half a decicycle. Programs from both sides of the issue, many of them with little enough to do, gathered outside the Council’s offices, demanding they one and all be heard.
It took less than a centicycle before a public Council meeting was called, so one and all could air their grievances.
Rho found the Nameless in the press to get into the Council chambers. “Hey,” she said to him.
He nodded at her, and didn’t protest when she grabbed onto his wrist to use his greater bulk to push through the crowd.
“What do you think is gonna happen?” she asked him as they entered and filed into a pair of available seats.
“Not what these programs want,” he replied.
Rho let go of him as they settled into their seats. She braced her hands on her knees and peered over the programs in front of them. The Council floor was teeming with programs, those protesters chosen by lot to bring their complaints before the Council. The bench was empty; the Council had not filed in yet.
“They’re not going to change the room sharing policy,” the Nameless said. “There’s still no room for all the programs from Xenon, no matter how much they complain.”
“Then what’s the point?” Rho asked.
“The Council will give assurances,” the Nameless said. “Tell us that everything is only temporary, and things will be back to normal before long.”
“That’s what they said when this all started,” Rho pointed out, glancing at him incredulously. “Those protesters aren’t going to be happy with that.”
“I’m sure the Council has some plan to get things over sooner rather than later.” The Nameless stared impassively down at the Council floor. “Probably the construction programs will be worked triple time. But riots need to be avoided, or else this place won’t function.”
Rho nodded grimly, and looked back down at the Council bench. She remembered the riots back when Clu had first come into power, and the ones after the Departure. Programs had been torn apart in those crowds, and entire blocks had been desiccated. And many more programs had been derezzed by sentries in the name of Clu’s peace and power. The Outpost was smaller than Tron City, more contained. A riot would almost certainly destroy a lot of what they’d worked to build. And while they were all on the same side now, Rho didn’t doubt the sentries would be deployed again in the face of a riot.
And then there would be sides again, and once that happened… the Outpost almost certainly would not survive.
Rho opened her mouth to share her thoughts with the Nameless, but a hush had suddenly fallen over the crowd. She blinked, and saw the seven Council members filing to their seats at the bench. The meeting had begun.
It went almost exactly as the Nameless had predicted. The protesters complained, and the Council—actually, mostly Axel and Edis—deflected and repeated the promises they’d given when this had all started.
Then a lithe program with almost violet circuitry pushed herself to the front of the crowd on the floor and addressed the Council. “My name is Zetta,” she said, her voice high and clear. “I come from Xenon. I resent that my fellow programs and I are to be moved about this place like so much unwanted data, but I resent even more that this Council does not represent us all. I resent that these two tyrants”—there were jeers from the crowd around her and in the seats above— “have pressed their plan upon us with such little regard for our happiness. What have the rest of you to say?,” she said, glancing at the Council’s other five members. “Do you support this plan, this tyranny upon us? Do you represent me and my fellow Xenon programs, or are you only looking out for yourself in this den of cowards?”
Cheers and jeers alike followed her speech. Programs on the floor clapped Zetta’s shoulders, and she stared defiantly at the Council, her chin raised and her posture unflinching.
Edis covered his eyes with one hand. Axel grabbed him by the shoulder, and seemed to be saying something to him.
And then Conin, the Council’s only other loyalist, glanced at the leaders. He looked back down at Zetta and the other programs on the floor. “We were none of us consulted,” he spat.
The Council chambers erupted in boos. The programs around Rho and the Nameless surged to their feet, shouting with all the rest, as if this were a Games match and the crowd favorite was on the edge of losing.
“It’s true,” Haibt, one of the Council’s neutrals, said over the din. “Your leaders enacted this plan without our advisement or input. As if they alone know what is best for this Outpost, as if we are merely half-wit half-bits with no opinion!”
More boos, more shouting.
Edis shook off Axel’s grip on his shoulder and rounded on Haibt, snarling, “I didn’t hear you present better ideas!”
“Easy—” Axel began, but Edis ignored him.
“Easy!” Edis spat. “As if it were easy to house a thousand programs on less than a decicycle’s notice! As if it were easy to save them all from the virus’ menace!”
“The Users could have done it,” Atana cried suddenly. “The Users could have solved our problems with ease, and you know it. And yet you have let them abandon us again! Three decicycles on and they have not returned!”
“You know damn well when they’re due back—” Axel said, but Atana cut him off.
“The Users,” she repeated, her voice somehow louder than the other Council members’ together. “Where are the Users, Edis? Axel? This crisis would be over with their help. There would be no need for these lies. Where are the Users? Where. Are. The Users.” She repeated this over and over, her voice loud in the Council chambers, echoing off the walls until the mantra was taken up by the other programs around them.
“WHERE. ARE. THE USERS.”
Atana continued her admonishment of Edis and Axel when she seemed certain her rallying cry would not die down. “Enough of these lies,” she said. “Enough, as Zetta says, of your tyranny. What do you know about the Users? What lies have you told us in their absence?”
Rho stared and listened, not quite believing the things that were going on around her. She and the Nameless were still seated, but the programs around them raised their fists to the air and repeated Atana’s initial question. This couldn’t be happening, Rho thought. There were less than four hundred believers in the whole of the Outpost, and the Council chambers seated seven hundred. They couldn’t all believe the Users would solve everything. She saw former loyalists, still wearing their red circuitry proudly, taking up the call.
“I feel like my code’s bugged,” she half shouted to the Nameless. “What is going on?”
The Nameless’ jaw clenched and unclenched. “Atana’s been busy,” he said.
Finally, Axel was able to get a word in edgewise against Atana’s onslaught of demands. “The Users will return!” he shouted over her. “In three centicycles, they will be back! I swear on it!”
The chanting stopped as the programs cheered and booed in equal measure.
“Why did you not share this information from the start?” Atana demanded. “What profit could be had from keeping it to yourself?”
“Their safety,” growled Edis. “You think the Users are so well loved,” he continued, glaring down the bench at Atana. “I know there are programs here who despise them, who would not stop at attacking them when they arrive. I know I would have, ten cycles ago. News of their arrival would not have been kept quiet. By the time it spread they would be well on their way back here. And yet you put them at risk for some play at power—”
“Blasphemy!” Atana shouted over him. “You admit you would attack those who created you—”
“That’s not what I—”
“—who brought you to this Grid, who raised you to power—”
“Clu raised me to power—”
“—who gave you your name, your code, your identity and—”
Atana’s voice cut off suddenly, and it appeared it was Axel’s turn to glare at her. “Silence,” he said quietly, and his voice was loud enough to be heard over the noise of the crowd. “Silence,” he repeated, looking out at the mass of programs before him. “This meeting of the Outpost Council is hereby dismissed. I expect you all to be gone and about your business in one hundred mircos. Councilwoman Atana, we must have words.”
Atana gaped at him, but stood mechanically when the other Council members did. They filed out into the Council’s private offices, followed by shouts of “tyrant” and “Users” and many others besides.
The Nameless grabbed Rho by the wrist and began pushing his way out of the crowd, dragging her behind him. Rho protested—his grip was strong—but he didn’t appear to hear her.
They emerged from the doors to the Council chambers and found themselves in front of a crowd. Those who hadn’t been able to make it in were waiting for news of what had happened. The Nameless dropped Rho’s wrist and glanced them all over. “Meeting’s over,” he said. “Room sharing still stands, and the Users will return in three centicycles. Everyone’s to be about their business in one hundred micros. Understood?”
The Nameless commanded a certain kind of respect at the Outpost. It was the kind of respect that made programs listen to him when he spoke, and believe what he said besides. The programs around them stared for a few moments, then began slowly dispersing. The Nameless joined them, and Rho trailed behind him.
“What just happened?” she asked him as he turned down an abandoned corridor.
“Atana made a power play,” he replied. “And she had help.”
“Atana—? Help?”
“Someone made her voice amp louder than the others’,” the Nameless said. “She didn’t remember that Axel’s original function includes setup like that, which was how he cut her off.”
“But why would Atana make a power play?” Rho could barely comprehend it. “I mean, all right, maybe she thinks she could do things better than Axel and Edis, but… she’s only on the Council to appease the believers, and give the neutral parties a bit more pull than either side of the old war. Why would she—”
“I don’t know,” the Nameless said tersely. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either.”
“Three centicycles.” He stopped, and Rho nearly ran into him. “The Outpost could tear itself apart in that time. And then what will the Users come back to?”
Rho swallowed, nodding. “Do you think they’ll remove Atana from the Council?”
“No,” the Nameless replied at once. “Not unless they really want a riot. She’ll still be on the Council.”
“And not get in trouble for what she did? She turned that whole room against Axel and Edis, I don’t even know how—”
“She’s been busy,” the Nameless said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s spent the last few centicycles having her followers talk up the Users around other programs.”
“What about all the messages she’s been sending Edis and Axel?” Rho asked. “She has one of those for me almost every time I’m on duty.”
“I don’t know about that.” The Nameless shrugged. “It could be anything.” He sighed. “We’ve got three centicycles before the Users return. We have to survive that long.”
“Right.”
“I need some time alone,” the Nameless said. “Need to think.”
“Okay.” Rho nodded. “I need to cycle down for half a millicycle or something, after all that mess. I’ll see you later.”
The Nameless nodded at her in acknowledgment, and Rho went on her way, her head full of what had just transpired and the rest of her unable to process it.
Author:
skye_writerRating: T
Characters/Pairings: Tron, Original Characters
Summary: No one knew where the virus came from. By the time they noticed it, it was too late. The Grid's factions put their differences aside and built a haven in the Outlands--the Outpost. Time passes; the Grid's programs survive. Then the Portal opens again, bringing Users back to the Grid, and what happens next may change their world forever.
Warnings: Death of minor unnamed character.
PART ONE: INCUBATION
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE INTERIM
Things returned to normal at the Outpost, or as close to normal as they could get these cycles. The virus continued ravaging the Outlands, though it did not yet approach the Outpost’s borders. Rho went on occasional border patrols with the Nameless, wherein they discussed very little but Rho’s complaints about her work both as a message runner and in the mess rotation. The Nameless lent a mostly sympathetic ear, and Rho did not mention anything they’d spoken of in the pump station.
The flow of refugees to the Outpost had slowed to a trickle. The construction crews no longer had to work for millicycles on end to keep pace with new arrivals; the atmosphere around the Outpost in general became more relaxed. A couple of MP3s were granted permission to open a club in one of the central sublevels. Rho went a time or two, looking for a good time but met mostly with questions about the Users and the Nameless. She already had a reputation as the Nameless’ favorite; the fact that she’d escorted the Users to the Outpost had only increased it. Everyone wanted to know what the Users knew. Were they close to finding a way to fight the virus? When would they be returning? Did she know?
Rho knew some of what they wanted, but she wasn’t sure it was her place to tell. She said “I don’t know” so many times she lost count, and eventually she stopped going out to the club. It meant a lot of time spent alone in her apartment, lost in her own thoughts. Her friends from back in the war didn’t want much to do with her. They said she’d become cocky since she’d gone to get the Users, like she knew better than everyone else. It wasn’t true, or at least, she didn’t think it was. Was it because she went on so many patrols with the Nameless? Or because she didn’t give up any information?
She vented to the Nameless, who remained noncommittal. She thought about it probably too much. She’d volunteered to go on that mission because she wanted to get out of the Outpost. Not because she wanted to hang it over the others’ heads. But now she knew things she couldn’t tell, and no matter how many times she said “I don’t know,” it didn’t seem to convince anyone.
She threw herself into her work, though there seemed to be less of it now that the influx of refugees had slowed. She ran messages for Axel and Edis, either to the Council members or else the architects and foremen and medtechs. The Council member Atana seemed particularly keen on relaying messages to Edis and Axel, private messages encoded on disks that Rho could not read. One time, maybe a decicycle after the Users had departed, Atana paused before handing over her message. She eyed Rho up and down, which made Rho a little nervous. “Are you a believer, Rho?” she asked.
Rho blinked, thrown by the question. “I—not really? I believe the Users can help us, but I don’t follow—I mean, I’ve never even seen an I/O tower—”
Atana’s eyes narrowed. “I see. You’re friends with the Nameless, are you not?”
“Yes, Councilwoman.”
“How much did he tell you of our meeting with the Users?”
She is a member of the Council, Rho thought. I can’t lie to her. “A little,” she admitted. “He told me when the Users are coming back, and that they’re hoping they can stop the virus.”
“I see,” Atana said again. She handed over her message disk. “Here you are, program. Get that to Edis posthaste. That will be all.”
Rho left Atana’s apartment very puzzled, and she nearly walked into two programs before she finally cleared her mind and got back to the work at hand.
Rho forgot the encounter with Atana, though the Councilwoman’s messages to the Outpost leaders did not decrease in frequency. She continued her work, always glad for the brief respites that came in the form of border runs with the Nameless.
ooo
She was down at the northern gate to clear one such run with Captain Halix when it began.
“The Nameless is due for another border run in two millicycles,” Halix said to Rho over the top of his info tablet. “He told me you wanted to come along. You’ve cleared it with Kedi, then?”
“Yessir,” Rho replied, rocking back on her feet a little bit. Kedi supervised the message runners for the whole Outpost. “You know I always do, sir.” She grinned in what she hoped was a winning manner.
“Yes,” Halix said. “That’s that, then, I suppose—”
“Captain!” The comm on the workstation behind Halix crackled to life. “We need a medtech down to the quarantine!”
Halix turned and flipped on his end of the comm. “What’s come in? More stragglers from Argon?”
“No, sir!” replied the program on the other end. “Messengers from Xenon!”
Halix frowned, and so did Rho. Xenon City was the most remote of the Grid cities. Messages rarely came out from that way, but what little word they’d had over the last couple of cycles had said that Xenon had been least affected by the virus. None of the programs at the Outpost had come from Xenon, unless they’d been living in one of the closer cities prior to the Departure and the war. But now they’d sent messengers?
“I’ll send word for the medtech,” he replied on the comm. “Be down to quarantine in a micro.” He flipped off the comm and turned to find Rho still standing at the station. “You’re dismissed, program,” he said.
“With all respect, sir,” Rho said, “can I come with you to quarantine? I’m Axel and Edis’ preferred message runner, and if this is big news, they need to know immediately.”
Halix eyed her for a moment, his dark face impassive. Finally, he said, “All right. Come along, then.”
Halix stopped a sentry to send word for the medtech, then continued on. Rho trotted along after him through the hangar bay and down to the gate itself, and the cordoned off area that served as a quarantine. The sentries saluted Halix as he approached, but looked at Rho in confusion. Halix ignored this and walked up to the glass partition, where five programs waited.
They were one and all exhausted. Four of them sat in various spots around the quarantine chamber, while the last stood by the partition. Halix flipped on the comm. “Greetings, programs,” he said. “My men say you’re from Xenon. What word do you bring?”
The program breathed heavily for a moment. He seemed to Rho on the verge of deresolution; how long had it been since he’d had a shot of energy? “We bring word,” he started, then paused. He shook his head, still panting, then continued. “Xenon has fallen to the virus. We were sent ahead… of the evacuation. We left beacons.”
“Evacuation,” Halix repeated. “How many programs? How soon?”
The program shook his head again. “Three, maybe four centicycles. We thought—containment. Containment would work. But it only—only four safe sectors in the whole city. The whole city. The whole—” He stopped, shaking himself again. “Estimate. A thousand. Maybe fewer survive the journey. Survive the journey. Survive. Survive. Survive. Surv—”
He disintegrated, derezzed into a pile of unusable code.
Rho stared, shaking. She’d seen plenty of programs derezzed in her time; she’d fought in two wars, after all. But never had she seen one derezz from simple starvation. The idea itself was absurd to her. She’d never heard of anyone wanting for energy on the Grid; it had always been more or less freely supplied for anyone who needed it. More potent varieties might cost you something in time or work, but basic energy was what everyone needed to function. It would have been ridiculous to bar someone from having it.
But this program had come from so long and twisted a way that he had run out of energy, and found no springs in the Outlands. All to tell them of what was coming, to prepare a place for his fellow programs.
A thousand, he’d said. She blinked, recovering herself. A thousand programs coming here, in less than half a decicycle. She turned to Halix. “I have to go to Edis and Axel immediately,” she said. “They need to know about this right now.”
“Go,” Halix said, nodding. “And someone find energy rations for these other programs!” he shouted as she dashed away. The sentries sprang into action around her, but she wove deftly through them. Word of this might trickle out somehow, and she needed to make sure Edis and Axel were among the first to know.
It was fortunate the Council offices were centralized, Rho thought; she wasn’t sure she would have been able to run across the whole Outpost without stopping. The sentry at the door to Edis’ office eyed her as she jogged to a halt in front of him. “Identify,” he barked.
“Rho,” she said. “Message runner with urgent news for General Edis and Commander Axel. From Xenon City.”
“Send her in,” came Edis’ muffled voice from behind the door.
“Entry granted,” the sentry said, standing aside as the door swept open.
Edis sat at his desk, an info tablet in his hand. “Rho. You’re not on duty this millicycle, are you? Where’s Dari?”
“Doing her work, I assume,” Rho replied. “I was in the northern hangar bay when some programs arrived, from Xenon City.”
His eyebrows raised at that. “I thought I’d misheard you. What news, then?”
“Xenon has fallen,” Rho reported. “They sent messengers ahead of their evac party. We have three or four centicycles before they arrive.”
“How many? Xenon was large, almost as large as Tron City. How many survived?”
Rho closed her eyes and said, “One thousand.”
“Oh my U—one thousand?” Edis repeated.
Rho opened her eyes and pretended she had not heard his epithet. “One thousand is what the program said, sir. He was—starving, he derezzed right after he told us, but we have to believe that number is accurate, at least for now. Halix was getting rations to the other messengers, so it’s possible one of them has a better estimate.”
“Perhaps,” Edis said. “And a great many may be lost to the virus, either on their journey, or here at the gates. Still, we must be prepared.” He sighed. “We should have seen this coming. Xenon was the last of them… and we are not prepared to house so many so soon. Find Axel and tell him to come here immediately. He should be in his quarters or else in Mess 1. Return with or without him, I do not care. I will have orders for you to deliver to the foremen and architects. I understand you’re not on duty, but—”
Rho nodded. “I understand, sir. I’m free for the next two millicycles.”
Edis nodded back at her, then waved a hand. “Go, then.”
Rho went.
ooo
The four centicycles that followed were the most chaotic in Rho’s memory, and she’d been around for the brokering of the peace, and the Outpost’s early days. Word got out about the coming programs; probably a sentry from the northern gate had blabbed about it, and news like that always traveled faster than picocycles, it seemed like. A public Council meeting was held to put all rumors to rest, but it did little to ease anyone’s worry. One thousand programs were coming to the Outpost, and everyone from Axel and Edis on down knew there wasn’t going to be room for them.
Programs were recruited in to help with construction, though it was barely in their functions. Some programs worked for millicycles on end, until they collapsed. When three programs derezzed from exhaustion and lack of energy, the mess halls were coordinated to bring energy to the construction areas so it would not happen again. Rho was spared that duty, but only because she was needed at almost all times to run messages between the Council and the construction zones.
The Xenon exodus was spotted by a Recognizer patrol half a millicycle before they would have arrived at the Outpost. The Recognizer stopped them in their tracks, telling them to wait where they were. Outpost officials would meet them there, bringing with them energy rations and medtechs to test for the virus. The mass of programs was visible from the highest floors of the Outpost, and many programs were seen staring out the windows at the refugees who would soon be joining them.
The constructors had built over two hundred apartments for the Xenon refugees, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Nine hundred and eighty-two programs had survived the journey across the Outlands. Two hundred and ten had become infected by the virus, and either ran into the Outlands or allowed themselves to be derezzed for the safety of the others. Two hundred and fifty-six were given apartments in the Outpost, many of them community or military leaders. That left just over five hundred programs with nowhere to stay. Some had friends among those given apartments, and opted to stay with them, but the rest were bereft.
Axel and Edis then announced the new room-sharing policy. Programs with apartments of their own would be chosen by lot to share their space with a Xenon refugee for half a decicycle. The refugee would then be moved to another apartment to give the host program a respite. It was temporary measure, their leaders insisted; every centicycle some refugees would be given new apartments in the Outpost’s rapidly growing East Wing. But the refugees had to be given space to stay; they could not risk further infection by keeping them in the Outlands until all were given accommodations.
Rho found herself in the first round of programs chosen to room share. The Xenon program, Merrill, was a wispy thing, with long white hair she often hid behind. She did not speak to Rho, though Rho tried many times to get her to say something. “What’s your function?” she asked when Merrill first arrived. The program said nothing, merely sat on the apartment’s only chair and stared out the window at the Outlands.
“Well,” Rho said, nervously, “I’m a message runner. I’m out most millicycles, so, you know. Make yourself comfortable. I’m sure they’ll find work for you soon enough. And hey, this is only supposed to be temporary, so…” Her smile faded as it became clear Merrill was ignoring her. “Okay. See you later.” She turned to go, but paused at the door to give the program one last look. She wondered what had happened to her in the Outlands. What had happened to all of them.
Merrill would speak in her own time, she supposed. And this was only supposed to be temporary.
She left the apartment in search of the Nameless. Maybe he would let her along on his next border patrol, and give them a chance to talk.
ooo
The protests began before the first half decicycle was even over. Longtime Outpost residents didn’t appreciate their private spaces (many of them quite small to begin with) being impinged upon by newcomers. The Xenon refugees did not agree with the policy that would have them moving from place to place every half a decicycle. Programs from both sides of the issue, many of them with little enough to do, gathered outside the Council’s offices, demanding they one and all be heard.
It took less than a centicycle before a public Council meeting was called, so one and all could air their grievances.
Rho found the Nameless in the press to get into the Council chambers. “Hey,” she said to him.
He nodded at her, and didn’t protest when she grabbed onto his wrist to use his greater bulk to push through the crowd.
“What do you think is gonna happen?” she asked him as they entered and filed into a pair of available seats.
“Not what these programs want,” he replied.
Rho let go of him as they settled into their seats. She braced her hands on her knees and peered over the programs in front of them. The Council floor was teeming with programs, those protesters chosen by lot to bring their complaints before the Council. The bench was empty; the Council had not filed in yet.
“They’re not going to change the room sharing policy,” the Nameless said. “There’s still no room for all the programs from Xenon, no matter how much they complain.”
“Then what’s the point?” Rho asked.
“The Council will give assurances,” the Nameless said. “Tell us that everything is only temporary, and things will be back to normal before long.”
“That’s what they said when this all started,” Rho pointed out, glancing at him incredulously. “Those protesters aren’t going to be happy with that.”
“I’m sure the Council has some plan to get things over sooner rather than later.” The Nameless stared impassively down at the Council floor. “Probably the construction programs will be worked triple time. But riots need to be avoided, or else this place won’t function.”
Rho nodded grimly, and looked back down at the Council bench. She remembered the riots back when Clu had first come into power, and the ones after the Departure. Programs had been torn apart in those crowds, and entire blocks had been desiccated. And many more programs had been derezzed by sentries in the name of Clu’s peace and power. The Outpost was smaller than Tron City, more contained. A riot would almost certainly destroy a lot of what they’d worked to build. And while they were all on the same side now, Rho didn’t doubt the sentries would be deployed again in the face of a riot.
And then there would be sides again, and once that happened… the Outpost almost certainly would not survive.
Rho opened her mouth to share her thoughts with the Nameless, but a hush had suddenly fallen over the crowd. She blinked, and saw the seven Council members filing to their seats at the bench. The meeting had begun.
It went almost exactly as the Nameless had predicted. The protesters complained, and the Council—actually, mostly Axel and Edis—deflected and repeated the promises they’d given when this had all started.
Then a lithe program with almost violet circuitry pushed herself to the front of the crowd on the floor and addressed the Council. “My name is Zetta,” she said, her voice high and clear. “I come from Xenon. I resent that my fellow programs and I are to be moved about this place like so much unwanted data, but I resent even more that this Council does not represent us all. I resent that these two tyrants”—there were jeers from the crowd around her and in the seats above— “have pressed their plan upon us with such little regard for our happiness. What have the rest of you to say?,” she said, glancing at the Council’s other five members. “Do you support this plan, this tyranny upon us? Do you represent me and my fellow Xenon programs, or are you only looking out for yourself in this den of cowards?”
Cheers and jeers alike followed her speech. Programs on the floor clapped Zetta’s shoulders, and she stared defiantly at the Council, her chin raised and her posture unflinching.
Edis covered his eyes with one hand. Axel grabbed him by the shoulder, and seemed to be saying something to him.
And then Conin, the Council’s only other loyalist, glanced at the leaders. He looked back down at Zetta and the other programs on the floor. “We were none of us consulted,” he spat.
The Council chambers erupted in boos. The programs around Rho and the Nameless surged to their feet, shouting with all the rest, as if this were a Games match and the crowd favorite was on the edge of losing.
“It’s true,” Haibt, one of the Council’s neutrals, said over the din. “Your leaders enacted this plan without our advisement or input. As if they alone know what is best for this Outpost, as if we are merely half-wit half-bits with no opinion!”
More boos, more shouting.
Edis shook off Axel’s grip on his shoulder and rounded on Haibt, snarling, “I didn’t hear you present better ideas!”
“Easy—” Axel began, but Edis ignored him.
“Easy!” Edis spat. “As if it were easy to house a thousand programs on less than a decicycle’s notice! As if it were easy to save them all from the virus’ menace!”
“The Users could have done it,” Atana cried suddenly. “The Users could have solved our problems with ease, and you know it. And yet you have let them abandon us again! Three decicycles on and they have not returned!”
“You know damn well when they’re due back—” Axel said, but Atana cut him off.
“The Users,” she repeated, her voice somehow louder than the other Council members’ together. “Where are the Users, Edis? Axel? This crisis would be over with their help. There would be no need for these lies. Where are the Users? Where. Are. The Users.” She repeated this over and over, her voice loud in the Council chambers, echoing off the walls until the mantra was taken up by the other programs around them.
“WHERE. ARE. THE USERS.”
Atana continued her admonishment of Edis and Axel when she seemed certain her rallying cry would not die down. “Enough of these lies,” she said. “Enough, as Zetta says, of your tyranny. What do you know about the Users? What lies have you told us in their absence?”
Rho stared and listened, not quite believing the things that were going on around her. She and the Nameless were still seated, but the programs around them raised their fists to the air and repeated Atana’s initial question. This couldn’t be happening, Rho thought. There were less than four hundred believers in the whole of the Outpost, and the Council chambers seated seven hundred. They couldn’t all believe the Users would solve everything. She saw former loyalists, still wearing their red circuitry proudly, taking up the call.
“I feel like my code’s bugged,” she half shouted to the Nameless. “What is going on?”
The Nameless’ jaw clenched and unclenched. “Atana’s been busy,” he said.
Finally, Axel was able to get a word in edgewise against Atana’s onslaught of demands. “The Users will return!” he shouted over her. “In three centicycles, they will be back! I swear on it!”
The chanting stopped as the programs cheered and booed in equal measure.
“Why did you not share this information from the start?” Atana demanded. “What profit could be had from keeping it to yourself?”
“Their safety,” growled Edis. “You think the Users are so well loved,” he continued, glaring down the bench at Atana. “I know there are programs here who despise them, who would not stop at attacking them when they arrive. I know I would have, ten cycles ago. News of their arrival would not have been kept quiet. By the time it spread they would be well on their way back here. And yet you put them at risk for some play at power—”
“Blasphemy!” Atana shouted over him. “You admit you would attack those who created you—”
“That’s not what I—”
“—who brought you to this Grid, who raised you to power—”
“Clu raised me to power—”
“—who gave you your name, your code, your identity and—”
Atana’s voice cut off suddenly, and it appeared it was Axel’s turn to glare at her. “Silence,” he said quietly, and his voice was loud enough to be heard over the noise of the crowd. “Silence,” he repeated, looking out at the mass of programs before him. “This meeting of the Outpost Council is hereby dismissed. I expect you all to be gone and about your business in one hundred mircos. Councilwoman Atana, we must have words.”
Atana gaped at him, but stood mechanically when the other Council members did. They filed out into the Council’s private offices, followed by shouts of “tyrant” and “Users” and many others besides.
The Nameless grabbed Rho by the wrist and began pushing his way out of the crowd, dragging her behind him. Rho protested—his grip was strong—but he didn’t appear to hear her.
They emerged from the doors to the Council chambers and found themselves in front of a crowd. Those who hadn’t been able to make it in were waiting for news of what had happened. The Nameless dropped Rho’s wrist and glanced them all over. “Meeting’s over,” he said. “Room sharing still stands, and the Users will return in three centicycles. Everyone’s to be about their business in one hundred micros. Understood?”
The Nameless commanded a certain kind of respect at the Outpost. It was the kind of respect that made programs listen to him when he spoke, and believe what he said besides. The programs around them stared for a few moments, then began slowly dispersing. The Nameless joined them, and Rho trailed behind him.
“What just happened?” she asked him as he turned down an abandoned corridor.
“Atana made a power play,” he replied. “And she had help.”
“Atana—? Help?”
“Someone made her voice amp louder than the others’,” the Nameless said. “She didn’t remember that Axel’s original function includes setup like that, which was how he cut her off.”
“But why would Atana make a power play?” Rho could barely comprehend it. “I mean, all right, maybe she thinks she could do things better than Axel and Edis, but… she’s only on the Council to appease the believers, and give the neutral parties a bit more pull than either side of the old war. Why would she—”
“I don’t know,” the Nameless said tersely. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t either.”
“Three centicycles.” He stopped, and Rho nearly ran into him. “The Outpost could tear itself apart in that time. And then what will the Users come back to?”
Rho swallowed, nodding. “Do you think they’ll remove Atana from the Council?”
“No,” the Nameless replied at once. “Not unless they really want a riot. She’ll still be on the Council.”
“And not get in trouble for what she did? She turned that whole room against Axel and Edis, I don’t even know how—”
“She’s been busy,” the Nameless said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s spent the last few centicycles having her followers talk up the Users around other programs.”
“What about all the messages she’s been sending Edis and Axel?” Rho asked. “She has one of those for me almost every time I’m on duty.”
“I don’t know about that.” The Nameless shrugged. “It could be anything.” He sighed. “We’ve got three centicycles before the Users return. We have to survive that long.”
“Right.”
“I need some time alone,” the Nameless said. “Need to think.”
“Okay.” Rho nodded. “I need to cycle down for half a millicycle or something, after all that mess. I’ll see you later.”
The Nameless nodded at her in acknowledgment, and Rho went on her way, her head full of what had just transpired and the rest of her unable to process it.
