Hello all! I'm back from my convention and I'm almost caught up on sleep. So obviously it's time to get back to our story! Barring anything unexpected, I should have an update every Monday to the end in December. One reviewer said that they believed Acts 1-4 felt like "preamble." If that's true, then the time has come to ramp up into the main event.

Personally, I see this whole story as kind of 2 very distinct story arcs, and Act 5 is the link between them. So here we go!

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Away

Donatello's last thought on Earth was, I wonder if the teleportal will feel as uncomfortable this time around.

Then came the sensation of being broken down first into conscious, distant, lumpy piles of matter, then even further into smaller sections until his awareness of his own body was more floaty and nebulous, a bit like being on powerful, pain-numbing drugs. The feeling of motion, of being, of thinking, became vague and disconnected.

Donatello managed just enough coherence to wonder if this was what it felt like to die.

Until suddenly his body was slamming back to itself, a prickly, wet sensation of limbs and nerves remembering they were corporeal and solid. As he reformed, more feelings and self-awareness returned, his internal clock trying to determine how many seconds the transit had taken, his restored senses beginning to analyze his surroundings.

Yep. Just as bad as last time.

Donatello opened his eyes on the Utrom Homeworld.

Beside him, Leatherhead actually stumbled backwards until his legs hit one of the metal boxes the three had packed and brought to the pickup coordinates. Leatherhead sank down onto the crate which bowed under his weight but did not collapse, his breathing suddenly quickened.

"I'm...here at last? The home of my people?" he whispered.

The room was dome-shaped, high and pulsing with life. But where the TCRI building in Manhattan had been dimly lit and its colors a sickly sort of yellowish palette, this room was pleasantly bright and the colors were more vibrant. The bio-technology Donatello remembered from the Utrom base on Earth here was far more advanced and far more delicate. The room was lined with computers and monitors and sensors, and yet it reminded him more than anything else of being inside an egg.

The next instant, a nearby door opened and several Utrom on their floating discs entered.

Leatherhead's eyes widened and Don spotted wetness gathering in them. His shock vanished and he jumped to his feet, rushing to them.

But when he spoke, it was not anything Donatello could understand. He paused in his instinctive action to join his friend, suddenly unsure.

Zayton beside him said, "You have not yet had the opportunity to learn the Utrom language, have you?"

Don shook his head. "No. When we met them, they all spoke English."

"Ah, yes, because you were primarily interacting with Mortu's agents who were required to operate in public for the duration of their time on Earth. Most of the scientists from the stranded ship did not bother to learn English when they moved to New York, and some spoke little Japanese as well. Their own language is rather different. They will understand you, however." He patted the turtle's shoulder. "And we will see about getting you a proper translator soon as well."

Donatello's mouth twitched as he remembered the breather that he had used while in the Triceraton Arena. He hoped this translator wouldn't itch the way that one had.

"So, do the Utrom breathe oxygen like we do? I guess I didn't realize they might have adapted to survive on Earth differently than their native world."

"They breathe several different chemicals, but they are not harmed by oxygen in the air for it is naturally occurring on this planet," the Professor answered. "They are aware of Earth species' respiratory needs, however, and arranged for us to arrive in a chamber which would be comfortable for you and Leatherhead."

"Oh. That's nice of them."

But then, for the week Donatello had been preparing to leave Earth and join his friends with the Utrom, the alien people had been nothing but nice. All communications had gone directly through Zayton's robot body for reasons to do with unscrambling the messages which neither side wanted interpreted by any authorities on Earth or elsewhere – thankfully, Professor Honn'i'kedt had been with the Utrom long enough to know their codes and could translate easily.

Once Leatherhead and Zayton had explained to the Utrom their desire to rejoin the Collective and to bring Donatello with them, the alien people had offered their finest hospitality to all three. Zayton's lab was all he required in terms of living quarters since he had neither need to sleep nor eat, but rooms were immediately arranged for Leatherhead and Donatello. In fact, Donatello learned that the Utrom equivalent of an apartment was waiting for all three to share – which eased his mind; the last thing Donatello wanted was to leave Earth and find himself living alone all over again.

What Donatello did not know was precisely how much Zayton had told the Utrom in his exchanges. Donatello had given permission for his friends to be as honest with their alien society as they wished, and the Professor had taken full advantage of that allowance. Not only had he explained the reason for Donatello's need to leave the Earth in detail, but he had also disclosed the current, worrying state of Donatello's psyche.

The Utrom were troubled that an ally and friend who had served them well in their fight against Ch'rell was so deeply injured and in need. That, if nothing else, would have been reason enough to bring Donatello to where they could attempt to repay him.

But Professor Honn'i'kedt had not stopped there.

He had, again with Donatello's knowledge, also submitted some of Donatello's plans and inventions to the Utrom. If the Utrom would have accepted and helped Donatello out of an unpaid debt, they now yearned for the young turtle to live and work amongst them.

To the Utrom Collective, scientific aptitude and brilliance was ardently sought after and much valued. The Utrom stranded on Earth had noticed that the turtles had shown some ability with their technology, but their brief interactions had not given them much in the way of in-depth knowledge of their real potential. Indeed, when the turtles had been with the Collective for the trial of Ch'rell, they had not allowed any of the turtles to interact with their technology much at all.

Which is to say, they had had no idea of the caliber of mind they had left behind on the Earth.

And Donatello, as Zayton pointed out with rather smug anticipation, was still not fully mature and was entirely self-taught. The things he had invented, the items and experiments he had perfected, these had been done by scavenging alone in junkyards. The Utrom who had been stranded on Earth had taken hundreds of years to get to the level of technology required to return home; if one such as Donatello had been among them, they might have created a working teleportal device decades earlier.

After all, Donatello had invented a functioning, hovering sewer sled before he was fifteen Earth years old.

Discussions were still underway, but Zayton was certain when they were concluded that Donatello would be offered a place at any number of academic institutions, and perhaps even a position equal to his own on the Utrom's highest scientific panel. And if not, Zayton would happily take Donatello as an 'assistant' to himself and sneak him in that way. Once given the opportunity to truly develop his potential, the Professor was certain Donatello would surpass them all.

"I apologize, my friends," Leatherhead said, turning away from his rapid conversation in the alien language of the Utrom. "Please, allow me to make the introductions."

Donatello stepped off the teleportal platform a little shyly, hanging back a step from Zayton. He wasn't afraid, but he felt exposed. He was the only stranger here. It was yet another lonely feeling in the many whose subtle shades filled him all the time now, though he was mostly too nervous to pay much attention to this one in particular.

"Hamato Donatello and Professor Zayton Honn'i'kedt, please meet Uutin and Yxio and Raaq and Walu. These were my primary teachers and caregivers for the duration of my youth. You might call them my parents." Leatherhead pointed to each with a broad smile, opening his long mouth wide.

Donatello made a perfect, proper bow. "It is an honor to meet you," he said. Mentally, he tried to affix the four Utrom in his mind along with their names, noting tiny, nearly indiscernible differences between them. It would be rude if he admitted that the Utrom still mostly looked identical to him.

Zayton bobbed his head and spoke in English. "Thank you for your help in our relocation. It is a pleasure to meet you in person. Well, as far as that goes, I suppose."

One of the Utrom – Uutin, Don was determined to remember – said something in that musical language.

Leatherhead translated, "Xe wants you to know that it is equally pleasant to xem to meet you both and that you are welcome among xyr people if for no better reason than you are my friend and surrogate brother just as I call xe my parent."

Donatello raised an eye-ridge.

Beside him, Zayton said, "The Utrom race has more expressions of gender than the binary system of he and she which is overwhelmingly common on Earth. Thankfully, your language has begun to include gender-neutral versions, and these are what are preferred by those Utrom who are not biologically or socially equivalent to males and females."

"Huh," Donatello said. Then he shrugged. "And I'm a mutant turtle, male biologically and socially, but of an entirely different order of species from humans, so I'm not about to be weirded out by anybody being different."

He thought with a pang of Usagi's world. If they couldn't handle honorable ninja working in a forge, I wonder how they'd take non-binary-gendered individuals. Probably about as well as they took me, I guess.

"But I do have a question. How come we didn't hear about this when we were here? Or when the Utrom explained their history to us?"

"Because," came a familiar voice speaking English, "we knew so little about you. We did not wish to try your limits for comfort when already so much was changing your worldview." Another Utrom floated through the door. But this one Donatello did recognize.

"Mister Mortu!" He smiled. "It's nice to see a friendly face."

"I, too, am pleased to see you again, Donatello. Though I was surprised by Professor Honn'i'kedt's message. I would not have expected…well." He stopped. The corners of his mouth tipping down, he said, "I am sorry that you found yourself in such a position."

Don's heart quaked and he had to swallow before answering, "Thank you. I'm sorry, too. But I'm really grateful the Utrom were willing to take me in."

"Willing doesn't begin to describe it," Mortu said. "After what the Professor sent them, I would say you may have your pick of agencies or posts within the Collective. A mind like yours can help a great many people, Donatello, and the High Council will be grateful for wherever you decide to make use of it."

Zayton stepped between the two and made a sound rather like clearing one's throat with his voice processor. "Forgive me, Mortu, but Donatello will not be accepting any positions until after he has had some time to adjust and to heal from his ordeal. I will not allow him to be pushed beyond his own comfort at the expense of his health."

Mortu actually floated back a few inches and raised his fore-legs in a conciliatory manner. "Of course. I did not mean to pressure him." He looked up to Donatello. "My apologies, Donatello. Please forgive my presumption."

Don shook his head. "It's okay."

Zayton was still looking pointedly at the Utrom, though, so Mortu added, "Per our agreement, Donatello will be considered a...I'm not sure there is an English word for it. A tuastum."

"A what now?" Don asked.

Leatherhead spoke up. "It means you are considered an adult on a trial basis. You will be given the legal right to make your own decisions and live without the Collective assigning you any caregivers or surrogate parents to watch over you. However, as you are biologically not anywhere close to what the Utrom consider maturity, some things must be approved by your guardians before they are allowed to take place, such as any formal offers for employment. Similarly, you will not yet be permitted to leave the Homeworld without a guardian's permission."

"Well, I didn't plan on going anywhere. But, who are these guardians? Do I have any say?" Don wanted to know.

"Yes, you do," Mortu said quickly. "At the present time, you have three designated guardians but you may refuse any or all of them. If you do so, then more guardians will be offered. You are old enough and mature enough to know your own mind about whom you choose to trust in our world."

"Okay. So who are my guardians now?"

"Why, the three of us." Zayton gestured. "I am, of course, an adult and now a citizen of the Utrom Collective, as is Leatherhead. And we thought it prudent to include Mortu who could also speak for you on a more official level as well as advise you as you enter this new life."

"But if this is not comfortable, my friend, you need only say so," Leatherhead said quickly. "We are your friends first. We will do nothing to endanger this. My own parents would happily offer you the same care they showed me if you wish it."

Donatello was feeling slightly dazed, but he shook his head. "Thanks LH, but that's okay. I'm the stranger here, and I'd much rather know that you guys were the ones looking out for me. I don't mind you being my guardians. You're kind of the only family I have left."

"Quite so," Zayton said. "And though the Collective sees you as not a full adult, I assure you, my boy, Leatherhead and I will treat you no differently here than we ever have. We are merely your advocates."

"And as such," Mortu put in, "I believe it would be wise to show Donatello to the rooms he will share with you two so he can rest. Already this has been a difficult day and it is not even half over yet."

Donatello moved to grab one of the crates still on the teleportal pad, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shell – Leatherhead's.

"You may leave them. Our belongings will be brought to us by automated delivery later."

"Don't they need to be scanned? Or decontaminated?" Donatello asked.

Zayton shook his robotic head. "Both occurred in transit. Besides, we are what you might call 'special cases.' Leatherhead is as well known to the Utrom as Mortu, and they would never dream of doubting him. You and I have both earned the trust of the Collective, and with Leatherhead and Mortu to vouch for us, we are offered certain freedoms above even normal off-world guests."

"I've never been a VIP before," Don said, and he almost did not think of Usagi's world and his own lack of acceptance there.

"I believe life in the Collective will be very different for you, my boy," Zayton said gently.

Donatello fought a dry tension in his throat and nodded. "Different's okay. I could do with different for a while."

Mortu hovered to his side. "You may also leave what you are carrying. The distance to your new home is not far, but I do not wish to tire you."

Donatello managed a partial smile. "Thanks, but this is something I really don't want to let out of my sight."

He closed one hand to grip the strap across his shoulder. He had rigged the duffle bag from April to have an extra-thick strap so it could take additional weight. But it wasn't the bag itself that was heavy – it was mostly full of the small personal items Donatello had wanted to keep, including a handmade altar for Master Yoshi and a few pictures – but rather what he had lashed tightly to the strap and now carried on his shell in the space usually reserved for his bo. The bundle had been wrapped in a long swath of material to protect and conceal it, and its weight was comforting.

Mortu's eyes swept over the thin package, taller than Donatello. "May I ask what it is?"

"I know I didn't need to bring weapons, so I left most of that stuff on Earth. I mean, I brought my bo and a few shurikens and such just so I can keep in practice. But there were some very special weapons that I didn't want to leave where they could be found. They're...well, they're probably still magic, even if we can't use them anymore."

"Magic?" Mortu blinked.

Don sighed. "It's a long story."

"And one we shall tell only after we have become settled," Zayton said firmly.

"Yes, of course. Please." Mortu turned in the air and began to float towards the door. "Follow me."

Donatello fell in beside the Professor, letting Leatherhead linger behind still exchanging words in the Utrom language. The bio-technology that surrounded him was so very alien, it did much to entertain his curiosity and keep his heart from latching onto any dangerous feelings of loss or loneliness.

But it helped that this trip to the Homeworld so little resembled the last.

When Donatello and his brothers had been brought to the Homeworld after narrowly escaping death from self-destructing the spaceship the Shredder had built, they had spent only a few days with the Utrom, and most of those they had passed asleep. Donatello's memories of the healing treatments given to himself and his brothers were vague and hazy and filled with the sensation of knitting bones and the pain of torn flesh.

He did remember Mortu offering the family the chance to remain on the Homeworld to heal under the watchful eyes of the Utrom doctors, but Master Splinter had politely refused, instead wishing to return to the Earth as quickly as possible. Donatello had wondered afterwards if Leo's sullen, unresponsive temperament had been the reason – Splinter had seen that his eldest son was laboring under emotional as well as physical pain and thought familiar surroundings might help him deal with it.

The part Donatello remembered most clearly was the trial of Ch'rell itself in the High Council chamber, complete with dozens of different species represented beside the other witnesses and advocates present. It was the only time other than when they were returned home that the family had been weaned off the various compounds to help accelerate their healing and dull their pain. Everything else was foggy at best.

So when the group emerged from several twisting hallways into what Don would have called a central square or a lobby or something, the sight that met him was a complete, breathtaking surprise.

"Wow," he whispered.

"Welcome to the main research facility of the Utrom Science Institute," Professor Honn'i'kedt said. "I've always enjoyed this view. You can even see the High Council building from here. After all, we are now in the heart of the Collective."

Donatello had seen some stunning landscapes in his lifetime, from other alien worlds to alternate dimensions to the distant past to a century in the future. But none of them were anything like this.

Where New York City of 2105 had been multi-hued, towering buildings protruding into the sky like a field of crystals, the Utrom Collective seemed to build out and around a center rather than up from the ground. Standing on a ledge overlooking a series of doors and tunnels that led back into the depths of the Science Institute, Don had a perfect view of the broad portico inscribed with words in the Utrom language that opened into the city beyond the impossibly curved windows that stretched over the entire Institute's dome shape. Hovering above like a moon in the sky was the building he remembered seeing briefly from the outside as the High Council's chamber; Donatello had thought then that it looked like an alien brain and it still did, if highly stylized and artistic.

The roads that linked the various buildings together were winding and curved and soft, like tendons or veins, and clusters were connected to one another through thick stalks that reminded Don of bronchioles in human lungs for carrying air into the alveoli to be entered into the bloodstream.

Mikey would say it looks like broccoli, he thought suddenly. All those stalks that branch up to the bulbous, bumpy leaves.

And it did. In fact, the entire city looked rather like what Donatello had always seen in medical shows and the occasional, semi-accurate science fiction movie about people being shrunken and put into a human body. It was as if the entire city were the organism and the Utrom were its red blood cells.

That gave him an idea weird enough to need confirmation. "Is the whole planet alive?" Don asked.

"Yes," Leatherhead said. "The Utrom originally evolved as a means for their world to battle infection and heal itself, rather like our own white blood cells. Over time, they learned to combine their growing technological abilities with the living system that pervades every part of the Homeworld. It is very difficult now to separate them. The Utrom, their technology, and the Homeworld are nearly one and the same."

"So is the planet self-aware? Conscious?" Don stared around with wider eyes, seeing more and more how this was not just a city, but an ecosystem and an organ system in one.

"That is one of the great philosophical debates of the Utrom people," Mortu said. "There are those who believe our planet is merely a more highly-evolved and biologically interconnected world than your own but with no more higher function. There are also those who believe it is far more aware than ourselves and that we are simply not able to comprehend its cognition."

The Professor spoke softly from Donatello's side. "This is part of the reason the Utrom Collective is so dedicated to the ways of pacifism and respect for all life. Their very planet is alive and in order for both to survive, they must both take care of one another."

Don smiled at him. "I can see why you like it here."

"Indeed."

"Come," Mortu said. "Your quarters are not far from here."

He floated over to a platform large enough for Donatello, Zayton, and Leatherhead to stand on without bumping into one another and settled into one of several alcoves on the platform's railings obviously made to hold the Utrom discs. When he and Leatherhead's family were all in place, Mortu manipulated the controls with the metal forelegs of his disc to lift them into the air. He carefully steered them along a marked path out the broad doors of the Science Institute and into the daylight.

Don started to choke.

Leatherhead put both hands on his shoulders. "Employ your breathing techniques, my friend. This will only trouble you for a few moments."

Donatello gave him a mild glare. Could have mentioned that earlier, he thought with annoyance.

Leatherhead's nostrils were folded down and he shrugged apologetically, beginning his low rumble in his chest.

"I forgot you don't have breathing filters yet," Mortu said, sounding chagrined. "This is my oversight. I am sorry. We will rectify this shortly."

But before Donatello even had time to figure out how much longer he could hold his breath, Mortu had piloted the craft into a nearby tunnel which closed behind them. A few moments later, the tunnel opened into what Donatello might have called a shopping mall just from the arrangement of what were obviously stores and stalls around a public area with a variety of foodstuffs being sold and consumed. For the first time, Donatello realized there were many more species than just Utrom present.

"You may breathe again," Mortu said. "Several different members of the Collective rely upon oxygen for respiration, so most buildings maintain a different mix of atmosphere than that found outside."

"How do they leave the buildings, then?" Donatello asked. "I don't see them wearing breathers like we had on the Triceraton Homeworld."

For that matter, Donatello didn't see anything from the Triceraton Homeworld, which was not that surprising. The Utrom Collective was politically and socially about as different from the Triceratons as was possible.

"While an external breathing apparatus is an option, the Utrom have developed a means to introduce the technology directly into the respiratory passages of a variety of beings," Zayton said. "Most of those who spend a great deal of time on any world other than their own opt for the simple surgery to install the bio-implants to make breathing easier."

"Wow."

Leatherhead nodded. "No such implants were necessary while I was on Earth, and with the limited technology available we were not confident that they would work correctly on me, but now that we are here, I intend to have them installed myself. The bio-implants will make it possible for you to breathe through hundreds of different atmospheres that at present would be deadly."

"Do they purify knock-out gas, too?" Don asked, only partially kidding. He thought of the number of times he and his brothers had been gassed.

"Yes," Mortu said. "At least most compounds known to the Utrom, anyway."

"That is something we can discuss later," the Professor said. "We will also discuss translators so you can determine what, if any, surgical options you wish to pursue. For now, let us focus on one thing at a time."

"Yes," Mortu said. "The building above us is a residential dormitory, I believe you might call it, attached to the Science Institute. Most everyone who lives here is a student, instructor, or researcher at the Institute. I thought you might appreciate proximity to your potential peers, many of whom are off-worlders like yourself. They hold regular gatherings to help one another adjust to our way of life, and I am told they are quite welcoming."

"I can confirm as much," Zayton said. "They will be helpful for both of you."

Leatherhead smiled slightly. "Even though I was raised by Utrom, this world is almost as strange to me as it is to you, Donatello. I am gratified I shall not face such adjustments alone."

"No, we're in this together," Don said absently. He was studying the architectural structure, his mind drawing correlations and conclusions, so he did not see Leatherhead exchange a glance with Zayton and a few of the Utrom on board.

Mortu piloted the craft through the open atrium of the dormitory up into the air. The building was shaped a bit like a beehive with rooms on the outside and the doors all facing inwards to open walkways that looked over the common area below. Several similar crafts were in the air, all carefully navigating around one another, and Donatello could see docking stations for them at regular intervals on each level. But not all levels were the same height, which he supposed made sense – the Utrom were only a foot or so tall even with the discs, but other species stood half-again as large as Leatherhead.

Mortu drew to a halt six levels from the bottom on a floor that seemed to be sized several times the height of the level directly below it. "Here we are. You will be in unit number 605."

When the platform was latched onto the docking station, Mortu lifted off from his seat and led the way along the roundish hallway. Donatello counted the doors, as he could not quite read Utrom numbers yet. But he needn't have worried.

The door that led to his new home had a small picture of himself, another of Leatherhead, and a third of the Professor along with words in the Utrom language along one side. Looking ahead, Donatello could see that similar such signs adorned all the doors, though a few did not include pictures.

"This will help others assist you if you become lost before you are able to understand those who do not already speak your language," Mortu explained, watching him. Then he stretched his forelegs to a panel just beneath the three pictures and keyed in a series of buttons.

"The door will now memorize your three inputs so you can open it at will. Otherwise, only myself as your other guardian or someone with authorization from the High Council can open the door unless you open it yourselves."

Leatherhead stepped up and placed his large hand on the door. Donatello watched, fascinated, as the door shifted momentarily from something that looked solid as steel to almost a fleshy texture. A few lines of light emerged beneath Leatherhead's hand and blinked along what Donatello could only think of as nerves until they reached the edge of the doorframe. Then the entire door shifted back to what could have been stone or metal.

"How does it do that?" he had to ask.

"I will be happy to explain to you the intricacies of the Utrom bio-technology," Zayton offered, stepping forward and putting his own hand to the door. "For example, while the door will read your DNA and Leatherhead's, in my case it will read not my exoskeleton, but a series of electromagnetic pulses I am emitting, like a code. The door can also be programmed to read one of the Utrom personal conveyors much like you programmed the security of your lair to read the distinct signature of one of your Shell Cells."

"This is so cool!" Don grinned, eagerly taking Zayton's place before the door. When he touched the apparent metal, it felt warm and yet solid to him, but while its exterior became downright organic, it felt no less steely beneath his hand even when its surface glowed.

As he took his hand away, the door opened to a space that was both alien and somehow familiar.

"I took the liberty of sending along a few design ideas," the Professor said. "The result should be something of a blend of the Utrom standards with furniture like that you are accustomed to from your previous lairs."

Leatherhead smiled at him. "I should say you succeeded, Zayton."

Donatello had been expecting something equivalent to Casey's old one-bedroom apartment before he'd moved in with April; a small kitchen, a basic living room, and a bedroom and bathroom crammed into the space between this door and the next room over. Instead, he realized at once that the floors were much taller than he'd realized from outside, more like two-and-a-half stories in height, and the space was essentially wedge-shaped with the narrowest part at the door.

The entire far wall was made up of windows that looked out over the Utrom Homeworld with a view of the Science Institute and the High Council's building. The main floor was clearly the living room and kitchen separated only by a table with chairs. Donatello did spot a door he hoped led to a bathroom he and Leatherhead could actually use, but most of his attention was taken by looking up.

There was a great deal more space vertically in the unit than laterally, so Donatello could appreciate the logic in having small, hanging rooms in the air above the living space. One had clearly been built for Leatherhead from its dimensions, a suspended, enclosed cabin with a door wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders that stretched like a tube backwards to the windows.

Far at the top of the apartment, back against the window wall, was another cabin which Donatello surmised was for himself. His, however, spanned the entire length of the window though it was not more than a few yards wide. These two rooms had little porches of their own and winding staircases that linked them together and to the main level. Additionally, just below Donatello's own room was a broad, open platform that was as long as the window wall but twice as wide as his room. This had three desks already set up on it facing out the windows.

"You will, of course, have a full laboratory at the Institute or whatever research position you accept eventually," Zayton said, following his gaze, "but I believe we all will be more likely to rest on a regular basis if we have our work here as well. Then, at least, we may carry one another to bed if necessary."

Donatello stepped into the room, blinking with wonder. Lights hung from the ceiling as well as from the staircases and the various platforms above, making the whole thing feel like he was standing amidst a crowd of paper lanterns floating in the sky. And yet there was something so organic about the curves of the railings on the staircases, the tethers that held the upper rooms suspended, the shapes of the steps. It was as different from the sewer lair as a tree is different from a dandelion.

"Donatello," Leatherhead called, "come stand here for a moment."

Don obeyed the request and moved until he had both feet on a small, bright red mat beside the door. To his surprise, the mat began to move.

"Hold still," Leatherhead advised. "It will remove any contamination from your feet so you can proceed without treading dirt."

"It tickles!" Donatello tried not to squirm.

"It does." Leatherhead nodded. "But on the plus side, once it finishes its work, your feet will be as clean as if you had bathed them."

The mat scrubbed at Don's feet for a few more moments before it fell still. He lifted a foot and peered at it. "I'm not sure my feet have been this clean since...ever!" Then he looked at the mat. "It's organic!"

"Yes, a small plot of a native plant that feeds off virtually any particulate matter," Mortu said. "As long as you regularly offer it the dirt and dust from your feet, it will be entirely happy to consume it. Those organic beings who are disturbed by the feel of water or other chemical means of bathing make use of larger plots for a full-body clean. It will even eat your dead skin cells and scales."

"What does it produce as a waste by-product?" Donatello asked.

"A form of electrical energy which is harnessed by the floor," Zayton said. "This is then recycled back into our unit to aid in powering the lights and other devices."

"So if we ever have a power outage, I just need to sit on the mat?" Don asked, poking it slightly and watching as the red feelers that reminded him of the thick strands of shag carpet investigated his finger and neatly rubbed the skin until it was clean. He drew it away before the carpet could get too excited about the permanent grease under his nails.

"That would be one method," Mortu said, smiling, "though I would not worry too much. All our power is generated by solar energy collection, so it does not run out. But it is true that in the course of construction, a building's connection to their local power supplier may be severed."

"Oh, I know all about that." Don grinned ruefully. "I've cut those lines myself when building the lair. Good thing I won't have to do any electrical work on this building or I'd probably break something worse!"

Suddenly Donatello was caught by a yawn.

"If you are feeling at all fatigued," Zayton said kindly, "then perhaps you should retire to your new room. Certainly I do not require sleep and so can wait for our belongings to arrive."

Donatello glanced at the window, "It doesn't look late."

"No," Mortu said, "but it was past evening on Earth when we retrieved you, and while you may have been unaware of the transit, your body will have been tired by it. Though barely midday here, you are likely reacting as though you have stayed up all night."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Don said with a shrug.

"And you have not slept well for weeks." Zayton actually crossed his arms. "Even a nap would satisfy me. Please, my friend?"

Donatello rubbed his head, embarrassed to be called out in front of Leatherhead's Utrom parents. But then Leatherhead also yawned, a huge, jaw-cracking sigh that shook him to his toes. He immediately covered his mouth when he was done and looked down a little sheepishly.

"I believe I am also rather tired," he admitted.

Donatello chuckled. "Okay. Maybe a nap wouldn't hurt if even you're feeling it, big guy."

"I am indeed, my friend." Leatherhead smiled at him. "While I bid farewell to my parents, why don't you decide if you like the configuration of your room? If it isn't to your preferences, we can change it."

Don recognized the polite request when he heard it, and he could guess that Leatherhead might want a little privacy with the Utrom that had raised him. So he just nodded and turned towards the staircase.

"Donatello."

He shifted to see Mortu smiling, and he knew enough about how Utrom facial expressions translated to term this one 'fond.'

"This space was also configured with your particular form of exercise in mind. This is your home now. You may ascend to your room in whatever way gives you the most enjoyment."

Donatello couldn't quite help the smile that warmed his face. He saw the other Utrom looking at him with puzzlement in their eyes and suddenly felt a little more steady in this new, strange world.

"Thanks, Mister Mortu."

"Just call me Mortu, please." The Utrom's smile had lost none of its kindness. "We will be seeing rather a lot of one another, Donatello."

Don nodded. Then he turned to the space above him, the different supports and shapes in the room. Most of his focus was on his balance, his tensing muscles, and inhaling deeply to make up for the slightly different composition of air; only a tiny part, automatic as remembering to blink, bothered with the calculations and estimations of which supports were strong enough to handle his weight.

In one leap, Donatello exploded upwards, landing nimbly on one of the tethers that held the nearest staircase in place – though it was little more than the width of his heel. He did not stop there, however, pushing off and curling into a ball to spin through the air. Cognizant of the long parcel on his back, he did not try to land on the roof of Leatherhead's room for fear he would bump his precious cargo; rather, he grabbed onto its edge with one hand. Then he kicked off the wall and managed a rising backflip that put him in position to land on the porch of his own little room high above.

He landed easily and silently in a crouch, his heart hammering and his breathing quick and for a moment Don felt like breaking into a laugh. It was exactly the sort of thing Leo had always frowned upon in their lairs no matter who argued that it was fun, harmless, or a useful technique for honing one's agility away from the rooftops above. And if Master Splinter had seen it, he would have reminded Donatello that his left side was still a little weak and his balance was still too forward when he flipped in reverse.

But there was no censure now. Below, Leatherhead and Zayton were both applauding and the Utrom were making a whistling noise he guessed had a similar meaning.

With no brothers here to compare himself against, his failings were not as obvious.

Mortu took to the air on his hovering disc and was soon across from Don. "If you like, Donatello, I could arrange for you to practice with the Guardians who accompanied us away from Earth. Their numbers are few, but they, too, have spent a lifetime training. Perhaps you may learn from one another."

He rose. "I'll think about it. I don't exactly know what I'm going to do next."

"I know," Mortu said gently. "But it is my experience that when one is alone in a world that is quite alien, the more one can hold onto those familiar things that remind one of their true self, the easier the transition."

"I guess you'd know, what with being stranded on Earth for so long."

"Yes. And while I am certain Professor Honn'i'kedt will wish to keep me from reminding you of what you have lost, I believe you will be soothed if you can hold onto the ninja part of your legacy. Even as it reminds you of those from whom you have parted, it is still part of you, Donatello." He paused and his form shifted sideways a bit, like a human would tip their head in consideration. "Or do you wish to renounce all things ninja?"

"No." This was quick, reflexive, but having said it, Donatello felt relieved to find it was true. "No, I don't. It won't be easy, but I...I made a promise to be an honorable heir to Master Yoshi among the Utrom. And he would still be a Guardian."

"Yes, he would," Mortu said. "And when you are ready, you may join the ranks to which he once belonged for practice and training. Or in truth, if that is your choice. Either way, perhaps it will be a familiarity that helps you adjust."

"Thanks, Mortu."

"Now, please take a look at your room and tell me what you think."

Don turned to the door behind him and it slid open before he could even touch it. His eyes were at first drawn to the big wall of windows that looked out over the Homeworld. He could see there were shades that could be drawn to block the light, but he couldn't imagine not wanting them open with such a strange, intriguing view to be had of landforms that were also buildings that were all possibly alive.

At the far end of the narrow room was a bed that was wide enough to stretch across the entire width of the space in one big square. Between his door and his bed were shelves along the blank wall, a small desk and chair, and, to his surprise, a meditation mat that looked woven and more Earthly than anything else he had seen so far.

"It was my suggestion," Mortu said quietly. "Hamato Yoshi always appreciated privacy when meditating, and he never liked to sit upon one of our creations while doing so. I thought you might prefer the same."

"I didn't even think of that," Donatello admitted. "But I'm grateful for it. Thank you."

"You will also find that there is storage space under your bed, in the ceiling, and even a bit in the floor for you to use for those things you wish not to keep communally with your roommates." Mortu glanced at the long parcel on Donatello's back. "Unless you would rather display them?"

Donatello shook his head. "No. The fewer people who know about these, the better."

He moved to the desk and slipped the duffle bag onto it, reverently depositing the wrapped weapons. Already he could tell which shelves he would use for books, which for his pictures and gadgets, so he did not bother to open the bag at all. Instead, he untied the cord that bound the cloth around his weapons.

First free of the cloth was his bo, his steady, reliable bo. This he tucked into place on his shell per habit, but then looked up.

"It won't be a problem for me to carry this with me, will it? I mean, it is a weapon and this is a pacifist society…"

Mortu raised a foreleg. "No, it should be fine. Now, if I hear word of you starting fights…" He smiled.

Don smiled, too. "Not very likely. Unless you try to keep me away from coffee."

Mortu laughed. "One of the Guardians said the very same thing upon arrival. Thankfully, we have a concoction that is almost identical to your coffee, if a bit stronger and thicker, and with very little adjustment can be made to your taste."

"Oh good. If you didn't have coffee, this whole deal would be off," Don said with a wink. Then he turned back to his bundle.

Next out of it was a long, slim spear colored silver and purple that hummed in his hand. He lifted it and held it out before him, closing his eyes.

"Byakko, the Fang of the Dragon," he said quietly. "Master of the cleaving wind."

Donatello turned to the bed and knelt. He guessed that he could touch the solid-seeming panel beneath the mattress and reveal something and he was correct – a drawer that was narrow but deep opened. He pulled it all the way out and carefully set Byakko inside. Then he returned to the now-smaller bundle.

Donatello's expression cracked slightly as he drew out the three-section staff that was vibrantly orange and seemed to crackle in the air.

"Inazuma, which commands lightning from the heavens."

He could almost feel Michelangelo's laughter in the sacred Fang as he purposefully folded it up and laid it to rest beside Byakko.

The last item in the pack nearly broke his resolve and his fingers shook.

"Banrai, which can shatter mountains with its thunder."

The chain sickle vibrated in a way that reminded Don of Raph's angry growl. He folded it carefully and set it in the drawer with the other two, feeling as though he had been burned when he shut them away beneath the bed.

Donatello didn't turn around yet, not knowing if he could keep his face composed, but he did speak in a low, unsteady voice.

"I don't think the guys really thought about them," he said quietly, "when they left for good. We'd kept them hidden so long. I don't think my brothers even remember now that we had them, or how dangerous they are. Which is good. I have a feeling the Fangs of the Dragon shouldn't cross dimensions. They're part of this world. Like I am."

He took a shuddering breath.

"I couldn't leave them behind where I wouldn't know if they were safe. I guess I could have sent them off to the others, the humans who fought with us when we used them. But...I couldn't face them and tell them that my family had...well. The Ninja Tribunal entrusted them to the Hamato Clan. So they had to come with me."

"Donatello," Mortu said very softly, "what you have experienced, the loss of your family and your grief...I understand."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Don nodded, fighting the urge to cry.

"My heart mourns with you, my friend. Truly. And I know such pain takes time even to face in full. But, I hope, when you have settled here, that you will permit us to help you with it."

"Zayton already talked me into getting counseling," Donatello said. "And maybe a brain scan, too. He thinks maybe I've got scarring from a combination of injuries and leftovers from the Outbreak Virus."

"To say nothing of the Triceraton mind-reader, which is a vile and dangerous instrument," Mortu said, trying to keep from spitting his anger that such a vicious, illegal implement had been used on the young turtle; if he had known of it when the turtles had been on the Homeworld after their defeat of Ch'rell, he would have insisted on a great deal more treatment than had been done. "That is another medical discussion for when you have rested. But I assure you, if there is damage, we will try to repair it."

"I appreciate that. If I can't get my brain working right, I'm not really going to be able to earn my keep enough to pay you back for all this." Don finally turned to face Mortu. "I'm not sure I can anyway. A place like this has to cost a fortune."

"That is not how I see what has happened here," Mortu said firmly. "This room, our help, it is not charity. It is not a loan. It is your due, Hamato Donatello."

Don frowned. "Why?"

"First, it is part of the contract we forged with Hamato Yoshi, and as his heir, you deserve the reward he was unable to claim for himself," Mortu said. "But more importantly, you have already served the Utrom Collective. You helped defeat Ch'rell. You ensured my crew and I could escape the Earth and arrive here safely. And you helped return Professor Honn'i'kedt and Leatherhead to us. If you do nothing but sit here and stare out the window for the rest of your life, we will still owe you the greater debt, young one."

Donatello blinked.

Mortu moved in the air to where he was right across from Donatello. "My friend, I understand that you have struggled of late and that you have been considered the lesser amongst the society chosen by your family. But you are not lesser anymore. Here, once we establish some baselines and bring your accreditation up to where it obviously should be, you may proceed as far and as fast as you wish."

That caught his attention. "Accreditation?"

Mortu smiled. "Surely you don't deny you have done enough work to earn yourself what on Earth would be considered a PhD several times over, do you?"

"Uh...I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Then I suggest you do so," Mortu said, his smile widening. "Our degrees and titles vary slightly, so you will have many options for a proper form of address."

"Such as?"

"In your language I think some would approximate Doctor, Professor, Master, Teacher, Magister, and what would translate to Poly-Doctor, in addition to several titles that have no English equivalent in a scholastic context. At present, I believe you need only prepare and present a final experiment and you could become a Poly-Doctor in at least two fields at once."

Donatello's head swam and he actually backed up to sit on his bed. It was soft, he noted absently, and the mattress or sheets or whatever they were seemed to warm against his skin.

Mortu shifted nearer. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's just...a lot to take in."

"I know. That is why I hope you will rest now. Give yourself the chance to acclimate to such newness. In a few hours you can come and begin to sort through the many options available to you. I have been released from my official duties for a time and so can attend to you day or night as you need for the next several days."

Donatello absently pulled his bo from its sheath and set it on the floor leaning against the wall. He crawled onto the bed, feeling his shock melt to exhaustion, and the bed was so soft and heating steadily and he was melting in comfort and he didn't bother to fight it.

"Thanks...f'r ever'thing. I...apprec'ate it."

"You are more than welcome, my friend," Mortu said softly from somewhere above him.

Donatello found the edge of a blanket and burrowed beneath it, almost moaning with the sheer luxury of being completely snug and wrapped in softness and security. He didn't even need to leave a part of himself listening for danger anymore. There was no danger here. There was only warmth and welcome and security.

"Already...easier'n home…" he muttered as his eyes closed.

Mortu floated back to the door, hitting a control on his way that darkened the windows slightly, dimming the bright sunlight so the young one could rest.

"I will do my best to ensure that your new beginning is far better than your former life," Mortu said. "Rest, Donatello. Welcome to your future."