Hello all!

Well, I'm still somewhat sick. My voice has been reduced to squeaks and whispers, and I cough like there's a thunderstorm trying to crawl out of my lungs, but my head is finally clear, so I'll take it!

I really love all of you readers, by the way. You've kept me wonderful company this week with your kindness and your speculations and your support. I almost feel bad repaying you with this chapter. Because it probably isn't what any of you thought you'd be seeing this week.

Since I haven't mentioned it before, here's a bit of meta-nerdity for you. When I originally specced this story out in the end of 2015 (the entire thing was written starting in December 2015 and finished in August 2016), I vaguely associated each of the 8 different Acts with an elemental power. Sometimes they turned out to be a whole lot more on point than I expected. (Poke me if you want to know more.) Anyway, here's what we have so far:

Act 1 = Earth
Act 2 = Air
Act 3 = Fire
Act 4 = Water
Act 5 = Metal

Which leads me to this – fair warning, my friends. The elemental power I associated with Act 6 is Chaos.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Decisions

. "In more distressing news, Astrocyte Hamato Donatello has now been missing for a full rhythm and authorities fear for his safety. The young terrapin joined the Science Institute approximately three flows ago and has been instrumental in advancing our engineering and telexistence science, publishing multiple studies and presenting his unique view of science in a public broadcast that has won him acclaim throughout the Collective.
. "However, while traveling off-world, Astrocyte Donatello vanished, leaving only his ship and a few personal items behind. Sources close to the Science Institute as well as the Legacy Guardians suspect foul play. Authorities ask that, should anyone sight Donatello, to please contact the Science Institute or the High Council with any details that might aid in his safe recovery."

Professor Honn'i'kedt looked up from the modified computer terminal as Leatherhead rose from his seat. "Now, my friend, please do not do anything drastic. I do not wish to have to replace any furniture or equipment again. It takes time away from my primary focus."

Leatherhead was growling low and deep in his chest, his eyes shifting between rounded and slitted, but he clenched his hands tightly.

"I will do no harm."

But nothing could calm his rage. A full Utrom rhythm, forty days of worrying and consuming fear, and Donatello was still lost to them!

Zayton flicked his thoughts through the Collective's virtual traffic, checking for any of the various keywords and strings of code he had marked as potentially helpful. Sometimes when the Utrom public broadcasts were sent, they generated additional chatter which could produce leads to locate their missing friend. But, unfortunately, while it was helpful to know how many beings were concerned for Donatello and hoped he would be found, that was cold comfort against a lack of actual sightings or clues.

"I appreciate Mortu's professionalism," Zayton said after a moment, "but I fear his duty to maintain secrecy is now hampering our ability to uncover accurate information. If the Collective does not know where they should be looking, they stand very little chance of helping us locate Donatello."

"What can be so important in that one area of space that he cannot even tell us the true coordinates where Donatello's vessel was found?" Leatherhead asked as he had so many times. "And what does it matter where? Donatello could be halfway across the galaxy from there by now!"

"And yet," Zayton said, striving for a calming tone against Leatherhead's rising anger, "perhaps this evasion is to our advantage. As you say, Donatello could be anywhere. If we concentrated the search, perhaps one who could otherwise find him might not be looking."

"Of course." Leatherhead gave a visceral sigh, forcing control back over his emotions. "We must ensure that all possible allies are prepared so that when Donatello contacts them they will be able to lead us to him."

It was an argument they had had many, many times with Mortu since the discovery of Donatello's abandoned, damaged ship. But Mortu had never wavered, not once. He had only given them his oath that he would tell them the full truth if it became relevant, but not before.

Leatherhead had not spoken to Mortu for a quarter-rhythm. It was only after several discussions with Krian'daren and Zayton that he was able to forgive the delicate position Mortu must be facing; on the one hand, he was both friend and guardian to Donatello, but on the other, he still served the Collective as trusted member of the Secrete Obscura.

However, the fact that Mortu had to maintain any secrecy at all only reinforced their paranoia and terror on behalf of their lost friend.

Leatherhead looked away. "I will check the Institute system again. It has been several hours. There may be a message."

Zayton spoke quietly. "My friend, if Donatello were able to seek us out in any way, especially one as easy as sending an email, he would have done so by now. I fear we must assume he cannot. Or perhaps he does not wish to."

Leatherhead's growl intensified, though his expression grew no more savage. "I will assume that is not a possibility until I hear it from Donatello himself. And I will also continue to assume that he will find a way to contact us as soon as he is able."

The door opened and Mortu entered, his expression drawn and tense. Zayton and Leatherhead barely acknowledged him.

"But if his depression returned unexpectedly, given the state we found him in back on Earth, he might…"

"Even then, he would not disappear. I will not believe that Donatello, my friend and brother, has...succumbed...until someone provides me with incontrovertible proof to that fact. Without so much as a sighting of him, I will not surrender my faith in him so easily."

"It is possible," Mortu spoke up slowly, "that such has now been found."

"What do you mean?" Leatherhead turned to him, snapping his jaw.

Mortu closed his eyes. "As the most recent report was being broadcast, something was uncovered by my information gathering program: a sighting submitted anonymously. I have checked its source. I believe it is genuine."

"Please calm yourself, Leatherhead." Honn'i'kedt put a hand on Leatherhead's. "We must see it, but we need your mind clear so you can assess it with us."

Leatherhead nodded, his jaw moving as he fought to quiet his agitation. After several minutes of breathing and silence, he sighed and his shoulders drooped.

"You may proceed, my friend."

Mortu shifted in air to project an image from his hovering disc.

"Understand that what I am about to show you is, in the strictest sense, a breach of my responsibility to the Secrete Obscura. However, even the High Council agreed you have the right to know."

The visual was a little fuzzy, as though recorded by a sensor that had been damaged. It showed what was some form of automated docking station for a ship like those common on colonies and space-stations outside the Collective, particularly nearest the Federation. After a moment of stillness, a bulkhead was breached by a violent explosion.

A small portion of an enormous ship entered through the hole. The ship appeared to be a fusion of Utrom bio-technology with something else, something older and far more angular than even that favored by the Triceratons. The ship cast out tentacle-like mooring lines, some of which held it in place while others began removing items from the docking station including banks of controls and raw materials piled to one side.

As the ship broke a wider hole and acquired items farther into the dock, it drew nearer to the sensor. A form was visible through one of the windows. Mortu carefully enhanced the image.

It showed a hazy green figure with a purple band across its head. The shape of a terrapin was unmistakeable.

Mortu paused, pained for a moment, before he said, "This ship is known to the Collective. It houses the Architect."

"And who or what is that?" Professor Honn'i'kedt asked.

"The Architect...is the being who perpetrated the attack on the Utrom colony, the one you...well, you recall it. It was in this same area we found Donatello's ship. I believe there can be no doubt now that the Architect is the one who…" He could not quite finish, but he had said enough.

Zayton actually took a step backwards. "It cannot be."

Leatherhead closed his eyes and gulped in a ragged breath, fighting the memory of Utrom bodies and lifeless eyes. "No. Not Donatello."

Mortu ceased projecting and looked between the pair of them, the frightened, grieving silence thick. When he spoke, his voice was low but firm.

"This is far worse than we feared. I believe...we have no choice. We must attempt to retrieve them."

"Why?" Zayton asked. "Why cannot the Secrete…?"

"Because we cannot," Mortu said with a mix of despair and rage. "The Council has forbidden it. They are not yet willing to risk more lives on such an errand."

"But will they come for him? After all that has happened? If our attempt does nothing but continue to waste time, I would rather seek out help from other allies. Perhaps Traximus."

Mortu waved a foreleg. "The Triceratons will not act against the Architect, not while they are still attempting to rebuild after their war with the Federation. Their resources are already strained."

"But Traximus himself would come," Zayton insisted. "After Donatello's history with them, the Republic may even support his independent action."

Mortu frowned. "Even with the Architect involved, the Utrom Collective cannot risk endangering our tentative relationship with the reformed Triceraton Senate, to say nothing of sharing data which is meant to be secret. I agree with you that Traximus would come, but we cannot ask it of him. Not even for Donatello."

Professor Honn'i'kedt made a grinding noise with his vocal processor, the closest he could get to an annoyed huff. "But to put our faith in them…"

Leatherhead opened his eyes and looked at them. "We can but try. If they refuse us, we will have lost nothing but some time, and though I am as eager to prevent any delay as you, we must not make any mis-steps in our haste. The risk is too great."

Zayton dropped his hands and gave a robotic shrug. "Very well. But if they prove false again, I shall not restrain my urge to give them a thorough piece of my mind!"

In spite of everything, Leatherhead huffed a small laugh. "If it is warranted, my friend, I fear I may do far worse."

"Then let us prepare for our trip. I assume we will utilize Donatello's own method?" Mortu asked.

Zayton and Leatherhead both turned to him. "I would not expect you to come, Mortu," Zayton said.

The Utrom's wide mouth drew back in a fierce, Earth scowl. "Donatello is my friend and I am also one of his appointed guardians. And what has happened to him is at least as much my fault as anyone's. Of course I will be a part of this."

"But the High Council?" Leatherhead asked.

"If necessary, I will resign my position. But they will permit me to do this much as long as I go without involving either the Guardians or any other Utrom under my command. To have Donatello missing is upsetting more than just those of us closest to him, and the Council is also quite nervous about the circumstances of his disappearance, but they will not risk Homeworld security any more than strictly necessary by my involvement."

"And you are something of a rebel. I believe you miss living on 'the wild side,' to use an Earth phrase," Zayton said.

Mortu gave an Utrom eye-roll. "As you wish."

Leatherhead took a deep breath, willing calm to remain where his anger wished to grow. "How soon do we leave?"

"I will need a day to arrange matters before I can risk an absence, since no matter the outcome I will not be returning to my post until Donatello has been retrieved safely. And I will also use the time to prepare a robo-organic body for myself and an appropriate skin." He glanced to Zayton. "I can acquire a skin for you, as well."

"Only if it will not cause undue delay," the Professor said. "Too much time has already passed. I will not force Donatello to wait for the sake of not frightening those…" But he stopped before he could say the unkind words he was thinking.

"I will go at once. Let me know if you have any other requirements for our journey." But before Mortu turned to float away, he paused. "I believe it would be unwise to share our intent with anyone. Though Donatello has won himself many allies here, in addition to preventing a Homeworld panic, I do not wish to argue with those who might attempt to join our expedition."

Leatherhead raised a questioning eye-ridge at him.

Mortu sighed. "There are too many scientists too interested in Donatello's trans-dimensional work as it is. I do not wish this to become a scientific exploration when it should be the start of a rescue mission."

"Ah." Leatherhead nodded. "Agreed. Only those whose priority is Donatello's safety should join us." He glanced to Honn'i'kedt. "And if they are not included in such, we shall not lose time convincing them."

Zayton nodded. "Indeed. And Krian'daren?"

"Krian'daren would come if I asked," Mortu said, "but I will not. She is too valuable to risk, especially if the Architect really is involved. Moreover, we should leave someone here in case Donatello does make contact."

"She will not appreciate this," Leatherhead said, a rueful smile tugging at his mouth.

"No, she will not. However, while Krian'daren is many wonderful things, but she is not equipped for combat. And." Mortu's eyes flashed. "For all that she is mother-figure to Donatello, he is ours first.."

"Our tuastum," Zayton said. "Our friend."

"Our brother." Leatherhead's conviction grew solid strength enough to rival the Heart.

Mortu looked between them, never so grateful for this odd little family. "Yes. And no matter what they decide, we will bring him home."

-==OOO==-

"Help! Someone! Stop them! Help!"

A pair of figures ducked around a corner.

"Man, you run slower than that old lady."

"Shut up, Wax!"

"If you can't learn to run faster, you ain't never gonna make it as a Dragon!"

"I said shut up!"

The younger of the two, carrying a large purse with a now-broken strap, skidded into an alleyway, leaning against the brick and panting for breath.

Beside him, Waxer sniggered. "Rookie."

"Hey, I got the purse, didn't I?"

"C'mon. Let's go show 'Face. You're gonna cost 'im some money, though. He had twenty on you bailin' on me."

The kid glared. "Shows maybe he ain't as smart as he thinks."

"He ain't," Waxer agreed with a shrug, "but without Hun, he's all we got. So, you comin or what?"

As the pair darted from the alleyway across the street towards the current Purple Dragons' hideout, neither noticed the shadows looming above. At a silent signal, three shadows broke from the rest and climbed to the rooftop.

Raph kicked a brick. "I can't believe they're recruiting again. Don't they ever know when to quit?"

"Apparently not," Leo said. "But I bet we can dissuade them if we hurry."

Mikey grinned. "Yeah! It's been too long since we've given anybody a good, old-fashioned turtle beat-down!"

All three turtles paused for a moment.

Leo drew in a breath. "Let's go."

He led his brothers from the roof to the next, his sharp eyes picking out the fleeing pair of Dragons easily. Following them and staying hidden was effortless, second-nature, and gave him no excuse not to think.

It's not the same. Don should be here. Should be beside us.

We fight as four, not three.

And forget about planning anything elaborate.

Don, where are you? Will you ever come home?

Leo would have punched that question if it had form.

He'll come, at least to check in. He promised. April said he would call her and Casey about five months from when he left, which was sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

But he's late, nagged at him.

Not necessarily. Five months from Christmas would be the end of May. We're only at the beginning of May now. April was just checking in, in case Don came back early. Otherwise she wouldn't even have tried calling until this week.

It's been a year since Usagi came to get us. A year we mostly spent in his world. A year Master Splinter spent in and out of illness. A year Mikey spent mostly on his own in that village and Raph spent wandering. And I spent...

It went so fast.

And now we've been here less than two months and it's crawling by.

This must be how it felt to Donnie.

Shell.

There's nothing I can ever do to make it up to him.

But if he comes back – when, when he comes back – I'll try. I promise.

It was an old internal conversation, and one Leo knew he didn't hold alone. Raph and Mikey, too, counted the days relentlessly, waiting for one where Donatello would make contact with April and they could reach him. Until then, there was nothing to do but think.

They'd torn apart Leatherhead's old lair, and as much of their own as they dared, but there was nothing to find. A note from Donatello in their lair's instructions made it clear he had deleted and purged every conceivable piece of information so that anyone who managed to get through his defenses into their home would not be able to track either himself or his brothers in any way.

It was thoughtful, and sensible, and completely frustrating.

For once, Donnie, couldn't you have been a little less thorough?

Leo jolted his thoughts back to the present as the Purple Dragons they were chasing ducked into a boarded-up shop. He halted their charge on the roof across the street.

"What's the plan?" Mikey asked.

"I'm going to go around the back and try to sneak in. You two take the roof. There's gotta be a vent or a skylight or something."

"And then," Raph rumbled, low and dark, "we kick some shell."

Leo nodded. Normally, he was against just barging into enemy strongholds to start a fight, but the Purple Dragons had gone way, way too far. They'd burned out Casey and April's home, had driven them away. And they had attacked Donatello again and again from what April said, never letting up, always outnumbering him, making his every step on the surface potentially deadly.

That had to be answered for – and tonight was the night.

Leo glanced at Raph and Mikey. Looks like I'm not the only one more than ready to go. They've been waiting for this chance for a week as much as I have. Maybe this'll help us all get rid of some of our pent-up frustration. We're never going to fix this family if we're all wound up tighter than the gears on the new BattleShell. Or Raph's bike. Or the other vehicles Don made for us.

Oh Donnie.

"Come on. Let's do this."

-==OOO==-

Splinter had not intended to fall asleep. He knew he was dreaming, no longer meditating, and he was angry with himself for the lapse.

But perhaps such was inevitable. As my sons have returned to themselves, the lack of Donatello has become oppressive, a weight upon all our souls.

If they have, any of them, slept more than I in the last few days, I would be very surprised indeed.

Still, it has been many years since sleep took me from meditation.

My soul is wearied more than I realized.

Before him, Splinter became aware of a plain of brown and yellow, like wheat reflecting a glorious sunset.

A familiar form stood amidst the waves of the tall grasses.

"Donatello!"

Splinter's missing son turned to look over a shoulder, but his face was blank, almost slack. He looked forward again and started to walk towards the sun setting upon the horizon.

"My son!"

Splinter began to run.

Donatello's steps carried him farther and faster than Splinter's no matter how he raced after his lost son.

And Splinter became aware that the sun was not in the distant sky, but rather a fireball resting on the ground, a hungry inferno enveloping all that drew near.

"My son! Stop!"

Donatello did not look back even when he let himself be carried into the flames.

As Splinter continued to run, the sun rose from the ground and returned to its place in the sky.

"Donatello!"

The farther away the sun sailed, the darker the sky and the plain below it. Splinter could feel the integrity of the dream fading as he lapsed back to a light sleep.

No. There is truth here. I must not lose it! I must maintain whatever connection drew me here that I understand its meaning before it is too late!

He fought the dark for several more moments.

Until he was startled completely awake by the voices of his sons in the main room of the lair, which caused him to lose the final remnants of the dream.

"It's better than they deserve, the punks!"

"Raph, calm down."

"This is me bein' calm, Fearless."

"Dude, he's right about that. This is Raph we're talking about. If he were any more calm, he'd be, like, asleep!"

"Okay. Fair enough. And I understand – I really do. But we can't just kill a bunch of kids who might not even have done anything."

"Kill them, no. But DragonFace and the rest of the big dogs got away!"

"And we'll get them next time, I'm sure of it. For now, though, they've gone to ground and we might as well do the same."

"Hey, at least we ruined Mohawk's stupid hair. Now they'll have to call him Baldy. Or maybe Patches."

"Heh. That was a good one, Mikey. I'mma call him Patches from now on."

"Leo! Quick! Make sure Raph's not running a fever or something!"

All three chuckled. It wasn't the laughter that had once been so common, full and contented, but while it carried the shadows of their uncertainty, it at least echoed with the brotherhood they had almost lost.

A burst of intuition, of premonition, lifted Splinter from his place on his mat as though he had been pulled by a string.

Splinter emerged from his room suddenly, cracking his walking stick against the doorframe. "My sons!" he called.

Leo, Raph, and Mikey ran to him, fearing the worst. Their father had been meditating almost without stopping for days in an attempt to reach Don after a particularly vivid dream in which he felt sure he had connected with his lost son for an instant. However, Splitner's uncharacteristic agitation now was almost more frightening than the fact that he had not succeeded in finding Don since.

"I sense we will soon have visitors...and perhaps answers," he said.

"What do you…?" But before Mikey could even finish the question, a light bloomed in the middle of the lair – a very familiar portal.

"Usagi?" Leo called, wondering why or even how Usagi could have summoned an interdimensional doorway the likes of which they hadn't seen since leaving Turtle Prime.

But the form that emerged from the portal was not the ronin rabbit who had not been to visit since returning the last of their belongings. Instead, it was an unknown human, followed by another unknown human shorter than the first, and a hulking form bringing up the rear before the portal vanished. But this last was familiar.

"Leatherhead!"

The first human looked up, his expression falling into a grim smile. "Greetings. We apologize for our unexpected entrance."

"I know that voice!" Raph said. "You're Mister Mortu!"

"You are correct," Mortu said, peeling away the clothing the suit wore to reveal his true face in the robo-organic abdomen. "And he is also one known to you, though not in this form."

The shorter human's face did not move naturally – in fact, it barely moved at all even as the mouth opened slightly. "I am Professor Honn'i'kedt."

"It is a great relief to see you, Professor." Master Splinter stepped out from around his surprised sons. "If you have come, you must have information about Donatello. We have heard nothing since finding the letter written by yourself on my son's behalf."

The three newly-arrived exchanged glances. It was Mortu who looked back at them, his false human face betraying no expression at all and his Utrom face thoroughly inscrutable.

"Does Donatello...interest you again?"

Splinter's tail lashed. "My son was always of great importance to my heart. That did not change."

The Professor's blank face turned to the turtles and his voice held pure contempt. "Perhaps that is true. But such cannot be said of your sons, Master Splinter."

All three turtles shied away from that. Leo gulped and said, "We...we made a mistake. A horrible mistake."

Leatherhead looked piercingly at them. "You little realize how horrible, I fear. If not for myself and Zayton, your brother would…" But he stopped.

"Clearly much has happened of which we stand in ignorance," Splinter said. "But the only question that truly matters is this – where is my son?"

"That is why we have come," Mortu said. "We believe Donatello to be in grave peril and we do not know if we can save him alone."

"What kind of peril?" Raph demanded, a sick feeling growing in his stomach.

"How'd you even get here?" Mikey asked.

"We traveled from the Homeworld to the dimension inhabited by Usagi," Leatherhead said. "When we learned you had already left from there, we merely followed the coordinates to your lair."

"Sit down. This will take some explanation," the Professor said, his face still betraying nothing. He moved away, Leatherhead and Mortu following, heading to where the turtles and Splinter could face them from the living room couches. The turtles and Splinter sat down gingerly, as if afraid even to brace themselves.

Mortu and Leatherhead spoke briefly in a language unknown to the turtles or Splinter. It was Leatherhead who began the explanation, returning to English.

"Months ago, shortly after he was last in contact with you, Professor Honn'i'kedt and I journeyed to the Utrom Homeworld with Donatello. There was no life for him here, and it would have been dangerous for him to remain."

"Dangerous?" Mikey asked.

Leatherhead's snout twitched, but he otherwise ignored the question.

"Donatello was well-suited to life among the Utrom with us," he continued. "He was able to study a number of different facets of science, as well as certain martial techniques passed down through the Guardians, and became rather well-known through his multiple publications and forums."

"Forums?" Leo frowned. "Donnie was giving speeches?"

"Donatello has become a leading authority in the Utrom Collective in several disciplines and a much sought-after resource," Mortu put in.

"Wait," Raph frowned. "I know Donnie's a smart turtle and all, but how the shell did he get that popular that fast? Did he go on Utrom TV or something?"

"He did, but that is not the only reason for his acclaim. You forget that the use of the teleportal device results in a skewed relationship with temporal reality," the Professor said. "When I first arrived on Earth with you after being rescued by the Utrom's own teleportal, our journey together had lasted three of what you called weeks, but here on Earth it was a matter of hours. By your reckoning, how long has it been since our departure?"

Leo gulped. "About...four months? Maybe five? We weren't exactly sure when you left."

Leatherhead spoke up. "Regardless, for us, and for Donatello, he has been a member of the Utrom Collective for over nineteen Earth months." He added before the three turtles before him could react, "But we are not here because of his accomplishments."

"Please continue," Splinter said, but his own eyes were wide at the implication of the amount of time his son had been alone.

Mortu waved a foreleg. "Approximately one rhythm ago by our count, about six weeks as you would consider it, Donatello left the Utrom Homeworld on a scientific errand. We did not realize it at the time, but his destination was one we would not have let him attempt to reach because it is...very unsafe. However, in a message he encoded for me, he explained that he felt he had no choice but to make this perilous journey alone for he did not wish to endanger anyone else."

"Oh Donnie…" Raph whispered.

"I take it," Splinter said, "that Donatello found himself in some sort of trouble."

Leatherhead nodded and swallowed thickly.

It was Mortu who admitted, "Donatello has been abducted by the Architect."

"And who is that?" Leo asked. Inside, he was already burning. Abducted. After a year and a half on his own. Shell. This is all my fault.

But whoever this Architect is, they will be sorry they ever even thought of touching my brother!

"Allow me," came the Professor's clipped voice. Without inflection, he recited the facts that Mortu had finally shared about the being who had done such horrible things – and who now held Donatello in its power.

"The Architect is a bio-organic artificial intelligence. It was originally discovered in the wreckage of a long-dead civilization at the very edge of what was then the known galaxy. Initially, we believe the Architect was something akin to an evolved artificial maintenance process pervading something similar to the internet on Earth. But over millennia isolated on a lifeless world, it became fully sentient and what you might call unbalanced.

"When the first Utrom explorers encountered the Architect, they uploaded it into their ship in order to preserve what they saw as a viable form of life that deserved the chance to leave its own dead world. However, the Architect turned on them. It infused its being into the Utrom ship and murdered the crew. Then it vanished for centuries, existing as something of a phantom. Stories were spread of an Utrom ghost ship that would attack and cripple other vessels and leave those members of the passengers and crew who survived the encounter in near-vegetative states."

Leatherhead spoke up again. "A few years before the Utrom trapped on Earth returned home, the Architect emerged from its shadowy existence. What had been rumor was quickly confirmed as fact by the Secrete Obscura, a covert martial force of the High Council."

Mortu sighed. "The Architect's ship was recorded attacking a research expedition on the edge of the Utrom Collective. Of the scientists we later found alive, all had suffered extreme memory loss and profound cognitive damage, scarring similar to that we had seen from use of the Triceraton mind probe. We concluded that the Architect, for unknown reasons, was attempting to gain some sort of information or intelligence."

The Professor took up the explanation. "Since then, the Homeworld has had many reports of attacks on other species throughout the galaxy as well as Utrom outposts and ships." He paused. Then, "Donatello had been investigating the scene of one such recent attack when he vanished."

"We did not know he was going there," Leatherhead said. "We did not even know he had acquired the intelligence to identify the location. But...the most recent attack...it had a profound impact upon all of us. I believe...Donatello felt moved to try to prevent another before more lives could be lost."

Mortu's humanoid forehead began to emit a glow and a projected image appeared. "This is the footage we recovered only a few days ago. This is the Architect's ship breaking into a space-dock. And here…"

The turtles did not need Mortu to enhance the image to know that they were seeing Donatello through the window of the ship that was stealing from and destroying the dock around it.

"What does this mean, Mister Mortu?" Splinter asked, masterfully controlling his voice.

"We don't know," Mortu said. "As far as we can determine, the Architect has never taken prisoners before. All its other confirmed victims were found either dead or irreparably damaged. But we fear whatever fate awaits Donatello the longer he is in the power of the Architect."

"And as the incidence of attacks has been increasing lately, particularly in our part of the galaxy, the Utrom Collective may be forced to launch an attack against the Architect if it continues its actions," Leatherhead said. "If we cannot free Donatello from the Architect before the Collective chooses to strike, he may not survive the battle."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Leo asked, pushing to his feet. "We're going to find this Architect and get our brother out of there! No matter what it takes."

Leatherhead, Mortu, and the Professor exchanged wary looks. Their stillness and silence in the wake of Leo's declaration cast a chill across the group.

Raph stood, too. "That is why you came here, right? So we'd help you spring Donnie?"

"Yes," Leatherhead said. "However…" But he trailed off.

The Professor turned to face them head-on, his expressionless mask as cold as his words.

"While we three are less-well-equipped to engage in infiltration or combat than yourselves, we have not yet exhausted our allies who may be of help. Undoubtedly you are the most skilled of our options, but you are also in no small way responsible for Donatello's deplorable state before we brought him to the Utrom."

He paused. Then he spoke with a voice that, had it not been mechanical, might have trembled.

"I would rather lose Donatello to the Architect than permit you to inflict such pain upon him again."

His words fell like a bomb.

Into the shocked silence, Mikey's voice rose, small and scared. "What did happen to Donnie?"

"I'm not sure it's any of your business," Mortu said.

Splinter's face darkened and he gripped his walking stick tightly enough to crack it, but he kept his voice composed. "He is my son. Whatever our crimes against him, whatever our mistakes, Hamato Donatello is my son and his welfare is forever my business."

Then Splinter let out a breath and his expression crumpled.

"But I can see that when this family abandoned him, you did not. Perhaps...he would no longer choose to trust us with this."

"Sensei!" Leo objected. "They have to tell us! Don's our brother!"

Splinter's eyes held grief as he turned to Leo. "If Donatello himself would object to our knowledge, if he no longer wishes to have us for his family, they must respect his decision."

Leatherhead lifted a hand and spoke in a low voice.

"Because I will not betray Donatello's privacy, let me say only as much as is a matter of public record. When Donatello first joined the Collective, he voluntarily submitted himself for rigorous psychological assessment and remediation, as well as some direct cognitive therapy – what you might call very advanced brain surgery. Donatello's emotional state when he left the Earth was such that the best Utrom doctors were not certain he would make a complete recovery. As to whether or not he has...well, only he knows for sure, but his progress has been demonstrably significant."

"Why did Don need brain surgery?" Mikey asked through a dry, tight throat.

"To repair the extensive cranial damage caused by a combination of multiple untreated concussions, scarring from the use of the Triceraton mind-probe, and a certain amount of trauma left over from the Outbreak virus and the poison from the other dimension," Leatherhead said. "But these were merely the physical symptoms. Donatello's psychological injuries were no less severe, caused by…"

But he stopped. It was clear to him from the stricken expressions before him that Donatello's family knew well the source of his pain.

Mortu spoke up, his tone almost gentle. "It is difficult to divide the stressors on Donatello's psyche as a result of his emotional struggles from the actual, physical devastation his brain experienced. Even Utrom science cannot say where his broken heart may have stopped and his injured mind continued. We did try to heal both, however."

"And we have been thus far successful," the Professor, however, spoke sharply. "I will not permit anyone to undo that healing, even you. Perhaps especially you."

Raph's fists were so tight he thought for sure he would break his own knuckles. He looked up at the Fugitoid's disguise. "And what gives you the right to decide if we're good enough for Don or not?"

Before the Professor could answer, Mortu stepped between them. "Under Utrom law, Donatello is a tuastum, a juvenile, and when he entered our society formally, he did so as an orphan. For as long as he is an underage citizen without any family, the Utrom Collective retains formal custody. As it stands, Leatherhead, Professor Honn'i'kedt, and I are his legal guardians."

Leo swallowed, his head swimming, and he turned to Leatherhead. "You've...you've been like family to us for so long, Leatherhead. Do you really think we'd...hurt Donnie?"

"My friend," Leatherhead's voice rumbled low and dangerously soft, "you already have."

Mikey made a sound like a choked off sob. But Splinter turned to Mortu.

"You would not have come to us at all if you did not intend for us to help you in some way. What can we say that will convince you?"

"An explanation would help," Mortu said honestly. "Leatherhead is inclined to trust you, to believe your behavior was rooted in something unknown even to Donatello at the time. Professor Honn'i'kedt is not so forgiving, but he, too, would have said before recent events that he did not think Donatello could be safer anywhere than with you who are his family. If you can explain your actions, we will be able to decide how to proceed."

Leo jumped on it. "It was Usagi's dimension. It...did something to us. We didn't realize it, but we found out later that when you spend too much time in the wrong dimension, you get warped."

"Like being on drugs," Raph asked. "And when I came back with Donnie the first time, we went through some kind of withdrawal. Every time I went back and forth, it got harder and harder to deal."

Mikey gulped. "It wasn't just Donnie we...forgot. We kinda lost track of everything for a while there."

Splinter lifted his head and stood to his full height. "While the effects were less on myself and apparently on Donatello, my sons speak the truth. They were as one under the influence of dark magic. It is only with our final return to our home that their full senses have returned."

The Professor looked to the others. "It's plausible. Donatello himself evidenced some form of nano-neural impact that could have been caused by the different quantum realities. Perhaps the very damage that he had already sustained left him less vulnerable to contamination."

"But is it enough?" Mortu asked quietly.

Suddenly, Leo moved until he stood before them. Then he dropped to his knees in the deepest of bows, pressing his forehead to the floor.

"I, Hamato Leonardo, swear on my life, my family, and my honor that I will never intentionally hurt my brother Donatello again. I can't undo what happened, but I can try to do better from now on. I will make any vow you ask. I will do anything you want. I swear I won't make this mistake again. Please. Please believe me."

Before anyone else could respond, Splinter moved to Leonardo's side and also fell to his knees. His own forehead touched the floor.

"I accept that my son has been terribly hurt at our hands. And if his decision is to disown us under the laws of your Utrom Collective, I will respect it. But I beg you to permit us to help rescue him. Once Donatello is safe, we will honor whatever choice he makes. But we must ensure his safety."

Behind them, Michelangelo and Raphael were frozen, gaping. Never in their lives had they seen Splinter bow so low to someone. To humble himself completely.

Never had they known their father to be so desperate.

Mortu turned to the Professor. "Are you satisfied?"

The expressionless head nodded. "As much as can be expected. I believe that dimensional instabilities could have exacerbated their behavior and made it unconscionable. And I agree that the priority must be in successfully recovering Donatello. But I will not allow my position as Donatello's advocate to be removed unless he himself requests it, and I will act as I see fit until that time."

"I concur," Mortu said. "Leatherhead?"

"I believe we should trust in this display and return to the Homeworld as quickly as possible. There can be no delay in rescuing Donatello."

Leo and Splinter returned to their feet swiftly. "How soon can we leave?" Leo asked.

"Any moment we wish. You need only pack whatever weaponry or equipment you might want. You will not require many supplies," Mortu said.

"Go," Splinter barked and his sons scattered, racing to the dojo and returning each with their go-bags. Bags prepared by Donatello and left for us in case of emergency. For just such an occasion as this, though he could not have known it would be concerning himself.

He may even have given up hope that we would return to find them, let alone use them to save him. My poor son.

In mere seconds, the three turtles were assembled around Splinter.

Mortu held up a hand with a small device in it. "This will transfer us back to the Homeworld. Is there anything else you need?"

"No," Leo shook his head. "We just need Donnie back where he belongs."

Mortu's expression quirked but he did not answer. Instead, he signalled for retrieval.

The seven vanished in the wash of an Utrom teleportal.