Hey all,

So, this is the last chapter of Act 5. There's lots of things I should probably be telling you right now, but I have a fever and my brain is all swirly. I also will wait until I can think about more than 2 words at a time before I reply to you because you deserve for me to make sense and not be all fevery. Also, I need to go to bed.

Oh, I remember one thing. The themesong for Act 5 was "Learn to Fly" by the Foo Fighters.

Next week we begin Act 6 and everything changes all over again...

Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Devil

This was definitely not Donatello's usual mindscape. He'd dived head-first into meditation with a reckless sort of urgency before, but this was more like when Yoshi's sphere or even Master Splinter grabbed onto his spirit and carried it along in a mental whirlpool rather than arriving here under his own power. A force had pulled him here, someplace Don had not seen before. The space was amorphous and vast, like sitting in a slate-grey sky swirling with clouds.

And he sensed he was not alone.

"Hello?" he called.

The clouds tinged vaguely purple, then white, before parting and creating a small passageway.

Through which stepped...Donatello.

"Huh?"

The other Donatello raised a hand and smiled softly. "Don't be alarmed. It's me. Well, it's you, but you from...well, some other you."

Don peered more closely at him. "You're older than me."

"Yes, by a lot. No, I won't tell you how much."

"Are you from the future? I mean, my future? Or is it a different future?" He thought briefly of the future with his broken brothers and shivered.

The other Donatello shrugged. "It kind of depends on you, doesn't it? Either I'm your future or I'm the future you might have had."

Don nodded. "Okay. Then why are you here?"

"Come on, where's the fun in that?" The older Don smirked. "Can't you guess?"

"If I had to...I'd say you came to warn me."

"Obviously. But you know I can't be very specific about it."

"Temporal paradox?"

"Plus inter-dimensional paradox."

Don grimaced. "Ew. Okay. Well, go ahead and be vague, and I'll do what I can with it."

The older Don smiled. "What you can do with it is more than most people. You know that."

Don swallowed. "I do. I mean, generally. Most of the time. Thanks to Poly-Doctor Krian'daren."

"Aunt Kria, yes. We owe her a lot, don't we?"

"Yeah." Then, "Wait, you know her, too?"

"Oh, yes. And you just wait," the older Don said. "You'll owe her a lot more before this is all over."

"What's 'this,' then?"

"Well, first, you have to make a decision." The smile went out of the older Don's eyes.

"Okay."

"The future ahead of you holds...heartache. Unbelievable heartache. You can't prevent that. But you have the chance to decide which heart to break."

Don frowned. "Wait. Don't you mean – ?"

"No, I really don't."

Understanding washed over Don. "Oh shell."

"Yeah, oh shell." Older Don let out a long breath. "You can do something about it, but you'll have to balance the scales."

Don closed his eyes. "I see."

"I thought you would."

"You know what I'll do then."

"Obviously. I'm you. Or, I was something like you."

"Right. Okay. I'll do it." He opened his eyes as resolve settled deep into his soul.

The older Donatello was smiling, albeit sadly. "Then I can give you one piece of advice and one warning. And you better figure out at least part of what to do with them or you're going to be in big trouble when you wake up."

"Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. The Enlightened Ones are already through the door, aren't they?"

"And closing in on your position." The older Don nodded. "But you have a few minutes more. Time passes differently here, remember."

"Right. Well, what's the advice?"

"You and your brothers were chosen by the Ninja Tribunal because the four of you had a very unique gift. Right?"

"Sure, the spiritual as well as physical ability to battle the demon Shredder."

"Yes, and while Leo got all the credit for finding his dragon soul first, you are the one who found the meaning of the energy within you right at the beginning."

"Sure."

"There is something you and I can do, Donatello. Something even our father has not mastered. Something unique to us. I can't tell you what it is because you have to understand it on your own. But the first step along that path is the key to what you've been struggling to learn from Master Yoshi and from Byakko."

Don frowned. "That's not much of a hint."

The older Don shrugged. "You're the one on the threshold. The door's inside your heart."

"Well, I did ask for vague. Okay, so what's the warning?"

Now the older Don grew even more solemn. "Unless you want to risk everything you have ever wanted to protect, do not leave the Homeworld until you can replicate Master Yoshi's mental techniques."

"Or else what?" Don wanted to know.

"Think about it. What's the worst possible reason I could give you that specific warning? Now assume that to a factor of ten."

"Shell."

"Yeah." But then the older Don smiled a bit. "However, if you follow my excellent advice, it will work out okay. Not how you expect it to, probably, but okay enough."

"Thanks, I guess?"

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to give you a little time to work on that hint because you're gonna need it in about four minutes when you wake up."

And the older Donatello began to fade.

"Hey!" Don called after him. "How come you never showed up before now? Like when the demon Shredder came, or when I was alone back at the lair? You know Aunt Kria so you're obviously me from some future point after this, not a deviation that happened a while ago. You could have warned me about stuff. You could have..."

Don sighed.

"You could have braced me for them leaving."

The older Donatello shook his head. "You wouldn't have believed me. And you still don't know everything from your own past; how could you have trusted in mine? But as much as this path has hurt us both, believe me that the alternatives are far, far worse."

A shiver trickled down Don's spine. "I don't want to believe you, but I can't really not believe myself, either."

"Good." The voice was almost gone. "Now figure out that hint and get back to kicking shell!"

"Wait!" Don yelled. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Sure!" A laugh echoed. "In the mirror someday!"

"Fat lot of help I am," Don grumbled to himself, sensing that his other self was gone beyond the hearing of it. "Okay. A few minutes."

Donatello turned over the wording of the hint in his mind several times.

"This is me, so I just have to trust that how I would say something is what I mean. But what did I say other than that I need to figure out what I've been trying to figure out. And that I can."

And that I can do something Master Splinter can't, was too scary to admit out loud.

"Wait. If I was giving myself a hint, I'd do it the same way I do computer security. It's not just about keeping the secret, but redirecting it."

You're the one on the threshold. The door's inside your heart.

And earlier: Plus inter-dimensional paradox.

"That's the real hint. The stuff in between was just a factual setup. And when you put that into context of everything else, either said or implied..."

Donatello's mind made an intuitive leap that could have carried him the long way across the Grand Canyon.

"If the same innate ability that made us acolytes capable of defeating the demon Shredder has some connection to interdimensional resonance, then what I've been trying to do has been all wrong. It's never been about trying to transcend dimensional boundaries through meditation or any sort of spiritual power.

"It's about bending myself and letting the universe bend with me!"

Donatello's eyes snapped open.

The Institute's roof was swarming with beings, Utrom and others, all of them armed and wearing the dark sash that marked them as members of the Enlightened Ones.

If there was ever a more inappropriate name for a group I've never heard of it, Don thought sourly.

But at least I have at least a few seconds before they spot me up here.

Long enough to give it a try.

He didn't dare close his eyes again, not with enemies everywhere. Using tiny, silent motions, he pulled the bag at his waist into his hands, balling it up as tightly as he could.

It doesn't even matter if I can't get it back later. I can always build new equipment. The only thing that matters is them not getting ahold of any of it.

Okay. Now, concentrate. Focus.

And...now!

Donatello couldn't have put words to exactly what he did. He simply stretched and found an unremarkable, forgettable door hidden deep in his soul. With a rush of sudden will and certainty, he shoved the door open.

And the bag in his hands vanished into a pocket dimension anchored somewhere inside his spirit.

I DID IT! He almost danced but for the presence of the Enlightened Ones.

Now it's time to kick shell. I'll teach these guys what happens when you interrupt my lecture, not to mention threatening my Institute!

Don slipped from his hiding spot, moving silently and in as much cover as he could find. He was just about to start a big fight when a sound reached him from over the edge of the rooftop.

Perfect timing!

Don waited until all attention was focused on the sound drawing nearer before he leaped from his spot, bellowing, "Hey! Come and get me!"

The entire crowd turned away from the roof's edge to face him, charging after a moment's surprise.

Which meant their backs were all to the spot from which Mortu on his hover-disc appeared, flanked by two dozen Utrom members of the Secrete Obscura firing stunning bolts in a hail of red light.

Donatello clashed with the nearest members of the Enlightened Ones, dodging fire from the group's Utrom members on their own discs and evading the bipedal or multi-pedal ones.

"Donatello!" Mortu called. "Are you all right?"

"The project is safe!" he yelled back. "Now it's just...kyah!...me versus them!"

Then he realized how very many beings were beginning to pile around him, kept back only by his whirling bo.

He amended his statement to Mortu. "But I could use some help!"

"And you shall have it!"

Leatherhead landed heavily on at least three of the beings closing in on Donatello. Don looked over his shoulder to see a far hatch broken open.

"Oh dear! I really should have stayed behind," Zayton said, pulling himself onto the roof.

"Professor, if you've got any offensive capacity, now's the time to use it!" Don yelled.

Zayton nodded. "I have a security measure which I installed for just this occasion." His Fugitoid hands retracted and were replaced with a stunning weapon like Mortu's. "I shall work my way towards you, my friends!"

Leatherhead grinned toothily at Donatello. "I believe we can finish off these miscreants before he arrives."

Joy and belonging and certainty rushed through Don, the same that had been his constant companions fighting beside his family – but now without the reminder of pain that was almost as familiar as breathing. Today, now, in this moment surrounded by terrorists who wanted to hurt the High Council, the Utrom race, the galaxy, Don's heart was alight.

He didn't need to miss his family.

His family was right here beside him.

A fierce smile splitting his face, Donatello redoubled his efforts. "A week of dishes says I can get twice as many as you counting from right now, LH!"

"You're on, my brother!" Leatherhead called back, openly laughing in delight at the expression in Donatello's eyes.

If I had but known that Donatello's heart could be so thoroughly eased by combating a vile threat, he thought between blows, well, I would not have put him in danger, but I might have tried to protect him a bit less. It appears that Donatello's loyalties are forged in battle. Foolish of me to have missed it.

Mortu spared a moment as he looked over the battlefield, unwilling to repress the human smile that pulled at him.

He looked at where Zayton was babbling apologetically at every Enlightened One he zapped, even catching many as they fell so they could be lowered to the ground gently. Brilliant and gentle and a little foolish, but fierce at heart defending that which he calls worthy.

He looked at Leatherhead, roaring and swinging arms and tail, using his superior strength against most of his foes to crash them into one another or knock them unconscious. But though he fought with raw power and fury, there was no madness in his eyes. Surgery and therapy restored much that he lost, but having something to protect has given him so much more.

And he looked to Donatello, fighting with a skill rivaled only by one Guardian whom Mortu would never forget. Donatello's bo was like lightning incarnate, but more remarkable was his choice of opponents. While Zayton stunned the unwary and Leatherhead smashed the common of those on the rooftop, Donatello sought out those who were the biggest, the strongest, or who struck with the greatest skill. He knows he can fight them as none of us can, and so he accepts the burden of Guardian without a word or a moment of hesitation, all to help us achieve the easiest victory.

We would all fight for the Homeworld or the Heart or in defense of that which is noble. But today, now, I can see it in their faces. They fight for each other. As I do.

We fight for each other. For our family.

Our family. The four of us, rather different from Donatello and his brothers, but some things cannot be changed. I lead and Donatello follows me willingly and with trust. Leatherhead is the most like and unlike Donatello, almost his complete opposite: raised as a thinker who chooses to fight rather than a fighter who chose science. Zayton holds us together with his own sort of humor and also his steady sense of loyalty. And Donatello supports and protects us all as only he can to give us the chance to be our best selves.

By the Heart itself. How extraordinary.

With our spirits united, the Homeworld has never been safer.

He flipped his attention back to his own agents. "I want this rooftop secured now! Surround on the perimeter and move in. And stay away from Astrocyte Donatello, Doctor Leatherhead, and Professor Honn'i'kedt – they don't have the time to spare to watch out for you!"

But of course they would. They would sooner surrender than harm an ally. That's how they are.

How we are.

Together.

-==OOO==-

The clean-up after the attack took many days and many explanations to the High Council, which eventually concluded that the events off-world had indeed been a ruse to try to remove the Guardians from their posts and open the symposium to threat.

The High Council did have some harsh words for the Secrete Obscura having failed to prevent the attack in the first place and thereby putting at risk so many innocent civilians, to say nothing of the amount of invaluable information that could have been dangerous in the hands of terrorists like the Enlightened Ones. Mortu accepted their blame calmly, even if it wasn't quite fair. But he was well familiar with their difficulty in dealing with him.

Mortu believed the High Council had been disconcerted enough with the changes to the Collective that had come in his wake; they regarded him highly, but he could understand that he was something of a thorn to them, albeit a loyal and helpful thorn most of the time.

The Utrom society was a pacifistic one, which always preferred not to fight and generally reacted with suspicion to anyone who followed a martial path. Before the human Guardians had come from Earth, the Secrete Obscura had always been a force of only Utrom, for the High Council had never trusted in anyone not accepted by the Heart, and the Heart had never passed any warriors until the humans arrived.

Privately, Mortu thought that had less to do with the Earthers' inherent worthiness and more with permission not being granted to non-Utrom warriors to approach the Heart in the first place until he forced the Council to make an exception for those of the Guardian Corps who had volunteered. After all, one doesn't willingly invite a threat into one's bloodstream. In the flows since that, more non-Utrom had approached the Heart than ever before, and more were invited to the Secrete as well. It was to the good, Mortu believed, but it did set the High Council on edge.

As welcoming and diverse as the larger Collective had become over time, when it came to the Heart, the High Council was still rather as closed and protective and wary as they had been when the Utrom had first evolved consciousness after millennia of serving as agents of the planet's self-defense.

It was an innate dichotomy like so many others among the Utrom race. Such as their pacifistic perspective, but the advanced weaponry held by the Secrete Obscura. Such as their willingness to give endlessly to those who furthered exploration and discovery, but held back from those who fought to preserve it.

They were open and welcoming – to a point. But Mortu had long been determined to see that welcome extended where it was due, and his return with the Guardian Corps had given him the opportunity to diversify the Secrete for the sake of protecting the Homeworld.

Which was, in the end, the only thing any of them cared about, and his unique skill in doing so was why the Council tolerated all the rest of Mortu's 'social innovations.'

Mortu was grateful that the navigators of his ship had joined the High Council in full upon their return to the Homeworld to offer the perspectives of those who had lived so differently for so long. Without them, Mortu wasn't sure even Donatello would have been permitted the Heart.

But he had. And he had proven its choice.

In the aftermath of the attack, Donatello explained everything he had done, primarily in securing his own information and leading the vast majority of the Enlightened force away from the escaping civilians. He chose not to inform the High Council as to how he had 'hidden' his equipment, but he did tell Mortu and Leatherhead and Zayton and Krian'daren later, complete with a demonstration.

The High Council had awarded Donatello a special commendation for his courage, selflessness, and quick-thinking. Donatello had blushed furiously, but had accepted it, as he also accepted the highest praise of the Guardians when they returned.

But once the excitement faded, life settled again, though with several unexpected changes.

Donatello was again offered an official position with both the Guardians and the Secrete Obscura, but he opted instead to remain an honorary member of each without a formal designation. He was, however, given permanent access and authority as though he held a rank nearly equal to Guardian Bonani Owens, but he rarely chose to make use of it.

With the symposium spoiled, another was scheduled for the following flow. However, Donatello's work, in addition to his heroic actions and his unusual background, made him something of a media darling who was regularly asked for interviews or to give special presentations. Before long, the Institute began producing and broadcasting smaller lectures by Donatello, soon scheduling them as often as every other quarter-rhythm, which Donatello agreed to put on only in order to encourage more people to take an unorthodox approach to science and to get more public recognition for his friends and students.

And as long as Donatello didn't think about how many millions of beings were watching him after the first rhythm, he was able to pretend past his nervousness and discovered that he actually enjoyed teaching on such a wide, public scale.

Zayton had nearly ruined the entire scheme, however, when he submitted his idea for what the broadcast should be called.

"You are aware of the television program on Earth called 'Bill Nye the Science Guy.' I thought we could do something quite similar, but call it 'Donatello the Science Fellow!'"

"No way! Besides, it doesn't even rhyme in Utrom and I'm the only person who would get the joke besides you two. I don't want to have to explain it every episode when someone asks!"

"To make it rhyme in Utrom it would have to be, 'Donatello the Science Sage,' or something like that."

"That's even worse, Leatherhead. Please stop helping."

Donatello's program was geared towards explaining how to think 'outside the box' as he said when it came to experimenting and to approaching problems, so he gained an audience not only among other scientists, most of whom had been long removed from having to build sophisticated equipment from garbage, but also among children.

Soon spheres and digital communications began flooding into the Institute from all over the Collective and beyond from children and young scientists demonstrating how they had solved a problem through unconventional means. Donatello was delighted and made a point of talking about their submissions throughout his lectures.

More than teaching for the sake of teaching, Don found joy in helping others discover their own ways of thinking, of reasoning, of creatively approaching and comprehending the world.

And he was happy.

A few rhythms later, he stopped seeing Krian'daren but for once every quarter-rhythm.

As he explained to his friends, "I think...this is what happens when you lose someone you love and it leaves a hole in your heart. You never really get over the sorrow of the loss, but you start living again and you start filling the hole in with other things. And then one day you wake up and realize you haven't thought about what you lost in days, and though you miss them, you don't die from it the same way. I still...I'll always miss my brothers and Master Splinter. But...I remember the good times now. I hate the way we ended, but if we hadn't, I wouldn't be here now."

"And we want you here very much, my brother," Leatherhead assured him.

"More than I have adequate words to explain," Zayton said.

"I know," Don smiled at them.

Mortu had not spoken, but he had leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Donatello's for a long moment. It was an Utrom gesture of profound love and respect, and when he at last drew back, tears stood in the turtle's eyes.

That night, Donatello took his one picture of the Hamato Clan he had brought with him – Splinter smiling over Leo's shoulder while Mikey and Raph traded noogies and Don's arm was visible on one side of the frame clearly waving in an attempt to get them to hold still so he could take the shot – and set it in his altar beside Hamato Yoshi's name.

It ached, it truly did, but it was also a release.

Shortly thereafter, Mortu moved his living quarters into an apartment only one level up from theirs in the dormitory just so he could be closer to them. Not because he needed to protect them, but because he belonged to them. As much as he had ever belonged to his stranded crew or his own parents, he belonged to those three off-worlders who had taken the Homeworld by storm.

Meanwhile, Donatello also began sharing some of his metaphysical experiments with his friends. Try as they might, none of the other three could replicate his ability to create a controlled dimensional fold and store items within it, though they helped him study it intensely in the privacy of their apartment – Donatello did not dare reveal this ability to any but themselves and Krian'daren.

"The Enlightened Ones crashed the symposium because of my trick with digitizing physical items. Imagine who might come knocking if they knew about this."

He wasn't wrong, so they maintained the secret.

Working together, they learned that the dimensional fold was entirely void of air or light, though its temperature approximated Donatello's own body heat. They also learned that he could vary the size of it somewhat and could keep multiple items within it, and the one he wanted would always come to his hands when he reached for it.

While it was absolutely fascinating on one level, it was practical only as a very secure, very hidden pocket for Donatello. He never used it where others could see, but, being a ninja, he was very, very good at making use of it invisibly even in a crowded room.

It also led Donatello deeper in his interest in studying interdimensional particles and travel, which he did with a sort of regretful nostalgia when he was reminded of what he had lost to another dimension. But this was one amongst a dozen interests which he vacillated between as inspiration struck.

His students at the Institute all gravitated towards one project or another, and as they did, he would let them take the lead in developing a theory or perfecting an invention and then gave them all the credit and glory for whatever they discovered or mastered.

Myle told Donatello, Mortu, Leatherhead, and Zayton that applications to the Institute by individuals as well as other science-oriented organizations wanting to partner had increased significantly, and xe credited Donatello with it all. He, humbly, only shrugged and redoubled his efforts to set a good example whether in his lab with one student or being broadcast across the galaxy before millions.

Donatello had been a part of the Homeworld for almost two and a half flows, or about eleven rhythms, and yet it seemed as if he had been among them forever.

Mortu felt like the sun had risen anew. Not just in his life, which it certainly had, but for the Homeworld and maybe even the whole Collective.

He remembered a proverb from Earth:

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

And he could not help but think that perhaps Donatello was the horseshoe nail the universe had been waiting to slot into place.

Later, much later, he would think on that proverb again with a keener, darker sense not of how a horseshoe nail could mean so much, but of the fragility of a system that relies so totally upon a single nail.

-==OOO==-

Donatello was training in the Guardians' dojo one mid-morning during his twelfth rhythm on the Homeworld when the wall above the entrance flashed red – an emergency incoming message. All activity halted at once.

A moment later, Mortu appeared on the screen that was otherwise just a part of the wall.

"Guardians, there has been an attack on an outpost at the edge of the Collective near Federation space. I will be leading the Secrete to attempt to retrieve any survivors. I must call upon you to take up the guardianship of the Homeworld in our absence."

Bonani gave him a brief bow. "Good hunting, Mister Mortu. We will protect the Homeworld faithfully."

"I know you will." Then Mortu's eyes turned to where Donatello stood. "Donatello, you may join me if you wish, or you may remain behind with the Guardians. Either group would gladly welcome your help."

Don hesitated for just a moment. "I'm...not ready to leave the Homeworld yet, Mortu. I'll stay and help however I can, though." He looked into Mortu's eyes with concern. "You'll be safe, right?"

"I do not know," Mortu said. "We go by teleportal within the hour. If there are survivors, we will send them back the same way."

Don nodded. "Then I'd like to help with that part. I can take some of what I've been working on to make the teleportal a little more stable and a little quicker on the de-materialization and re-materialization processes."

"Excellent. Professor Honn'i'kedt will also be joining us. Come as quickly as you can. Your communicator has the coordinates."

"I'm on my way." Don turned and gave the Guardians a bow. "If you decide you need me, just call. But I think I can be more help with the teleportal than standing guard."

Bonani gave him a slight smile. "I understand. Go and support your friends." He turned away and began issuing orders to his Guardians.

Don darted for the door, practically throwing himself at his transport and transferring the data from his communicator to its navigation. The spot Mortu had indicated was on the edge of the zone near where the Heart was so carefully protected.

Halfway there, Don caught up to Leatherhead's own transport with Zayton hanging on for dear life.

"I am glad to see you!" the Professor yelled over the wind racing by. "Between the two of us, we will be able to ensure a safe return for Mortu's agents and anyone they can locate."

"What about you, LH?" Don called.

"I will be joining the medical personnel to help treat any injuries. I have rather some unusual experience dealing with uncommon ailments." His tone was serious but there was the sly edge of a smile on his face.

Don nodded, relief curling in his gut. Whatever this is, we'll face it together.

One of Mortu's lieutenants met the three at the entrance. "Follow quickly," xe said. "We are assembling the teams now."

Leatherhead ran alongside Donatello and Zayton until they reached a junction in the corridor down which were the medical facilities, where he left them with a quick grip on Don's arm and a fierce, "Good luck."

Don and Zayton continued on to a large chamber very like the one Don remembered from the TCRI building in New York where their own teleportal had been. Where he had, he recalled, gotten a taste first-hand that the pacifistic Utrom shot a mean stunning beam. He was glad of it as he watched groups of Utrom form up.

He was surprised that about half the force were wearing the robo-organic bodies the Utrom had employed on earth to blend in.

Mortu emerged from a door behind them wearing a suit of his own. When he saw Don's expression, he said, "The bipedal form has the advantage of limbs not concerned with locomotion. If there are Utrom or others who are injured, we will be able to carry them to safety with less likelihood of further injury."

It was all so like the TCRI building, Don felt cold in his chest. Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed for Mortu's suit's arm. "You'll be okay, right?"

Mortu made a human smile. "Yes, I promise. Zayton has helped us refine these suits and added several new abilities which will ensure we can protect one another. I may not return for some time as I coordinate the rescue efforts, but I will return to you in the end."

Don let out a breath. "Okay."

"Come, Donatello," Zayton said. "Let us make their journey a bit easier."

The Utrom who were at the teleportal controls moved away and Zayton and Don took their place. The pair of them began coding almost in sync, adjusting the teleportal's function and making it more efficient. Don pulled down some of his research from where he kept it on a secured network and patched it in, allowing the teleportal to read what it was transporting through his digitalization process much more quickly than its purely organic scan.

Zayton then plugged his consciousness into the system itself and checked it for errors. He could read programming at the speed of unconscious thought, and so could ensure that nothing had been garbled in their haste that might have dangerous consequences.

"All right," Zayton said a moment later, pulling back into his Fugitoid body. "I believe we are ready for transmission."

Mortu stepped onto the pad. "Rather than wait for signals from us, retrieve whatever is at these same coordinates in half an hour. After that, unless I send word otherwise, do so every ten minutes."

"Understood," Don said.

"Let's go," Mortu called. The assembled Utrom made their way onto the pad to join him.

"Transporting now," Zayton said, and keyed in the commands.

The entire group vanished in brilliant blue light.

Don couldn't just sit there and stare at an empty pad for half an hour, so he turned to the Utrom lieutenant who had guided them.

"Can you arrange for some supplies to be brought here? And a medical team? I don't want them to send someone back and have us scrambling."

"Good thinking," xe said. "I will do both at once. Are there any supplies you are specifically requesting?"

"Well, some ropes, maybe, though I know they have some of that with them. Maybe some laser cutting tools, in case someone is trapped."

"What they have in their robo-organic bodies is not strong enough to cut through space-worthy metal," Zayton added, "so a stronger unit could be valuable."

"And be ready to grab more stuff," Don said. "If they come back the first time and need something, we'll want to be able to lay hands on it quickly."

Xe moved away on xyr disc at its best speed.

"Donatello?" Zayton touched his shoulder gently.

"Yes?"

"If you are so concerned, you could go with them."

Don shook his head. "No, I really can't. I...sorta made a promise to myself. I'm not ready to leave the planet yet. Even if I wanted to, I need a lot more time first."

They fell into silence and waited for the time to expire.

After precisely half an hour, Zayton initiated the return, picking up whatever had been at the designated location.

When the first forms arrived on the pad, Don was swamped with sudden rage and even more sudden grief.

Huddled together were fifteen Utrom without suits or even hover-discs, many of whom were bleeding from wounds all over their small bodies and strange, scarred burns on their craniums. Their colors were all off, pale and blotchy.

But it was their eyes that chilled his soul.

Their eyes were glazed. Dull. Dead.

And yet they lived.

Donatello could not just stand there, so he leaped over the console to join the assembled medical staff. He found himself paired with Leatherhead, carefully lifting body after body and transferring them to the Utrom versions of gurneys.

Their skin felt cold and clammy, not warm and reassuringly solid as it should have been. And their eyes never registered the change, never saw their surroundings or their saviors.

Suddenly one of the medical staff gave a low cry.

In the center of the injured lay an infant Utrom, clearly dead.

Donatello had never seen a dead Utrom, and he knew he would never be able to forget the tiny child, no larger than a baseball, whose skin was so pale it was almost white and whose still mouth was spotted with blood.

To spare the Utrom healers who were aghast and sickened, Leatherhead himself lifted and cradled the tiny one, holding it as gingerly as if it were the Heart itself. Tears streaming from his eyes, Leatherhead placed it on the last gurney.

"Donatello." Zayton called the turtle from his heartsick shock. "We must clear the pad for more."

Don nodded, numb and furious and sad, and grabbed a huge wad of spongy material kept by the machine for just this reason. Bile rose in his throat as he wiped at the blood and grime that had come with the Utrom and now soiled the landing pad. He cleared the pad just enough that the next arrivals wouldn't have to materialize in such odium before it was time for another retrieval.

This time, a few Utrom in the bipedal suits arrived with the small cluster of injured Utrom. They, however, carried in their robo-organic arms more bodies of the dead.

And so it went for what felt to Donatello like forever. He would clear the pad only for another crowd to arrive upon it. And every single Utrom, alive or dead, bore the same burns, the same pale skin, the same bloodied wounds, and the same empty eyes.

The numbers slowed, but never was the pad empty after a transport. Even one being so injured was too many – the final tally of ninety-two was horrific.

At last the pad began returning more of Mortu's agents than victims, and before two hours had passed, Mortu himself returned, his eyes haunted.

"That's everyone. There's nothing else left."

Almost mechanically, Donatello cleaned the pad once more, scrubbing at it with Utrom cleaning agent that smelled like butter and which eradicated the last traces of blood and offal. He didn't have the courage in that moment to look at Mortu, or at Zayton, or at anyone else.

Don felt that if he looked to closely at anyone, his heart would shatter.

He scrubbed the pad far longer than necessary, long past when the room emptied. He scrubbed it until his fingers felt hot and raw.

But infinitely less so than his soul.

"Donatello?"

The unexpected voice made Don look up from where he had been staring at the empty pad for he had no idea how long.

"Aunt Kria?"

Her own eyes were profoundly sad. "They call me to help. Not great help I can do, though I try. Others with different practice try to help now."

"What happened to them?"

She closed her eyes. "Like the Triceraton mind-reader to you, but with the end you did not. Ripping and tearing at a mind until death or madness, the brain gives way."

"Isn't there anything you can do for them?" His voice caught on a sob.

"No. Others will make a try. I…" She looked at her hands and Don could see them break out in little spots that his translator told him was her people's version of a violent shiver. "I feel their minds emptied."

"Who could do something like that?" Don's anger returned on a tide of pain. "And why? What's the point? There were children!"

And he started to cry in earnest.

Krian'daren perched on the edge of the teleportal pad and pulled Donatello's head into her lap where his tears fell into clothing that smelled like butter, cleaned of its own traces from what she had been doing.

Sometime later, Leatherhead and Mortu and Zayton came in. Krian'daren rose and stepped to one side.

Donatello looked up. He wanted to demand answers. He wanted to know who had done this horrible thing and why and what were they going to do about it and could he help them exact revenge because he needed to hurt someone for all this – but the words died in his chest.

Leatherhead was crying and Mortu looked wretched and more unhinged than Donatello had ever seen the always-steady Utrom.

So he shuffled forward and put his arms around Mortu, no longer encased in a suit, and pulled him to his plastron as he would have a child. And Leatherhead put his big arms around them both and Zayton leaned on them.

And they cried together.

They let grief and horror and fury and sorrow thunder through them all and Krian'daren gave them privacy for it; there was nothing she could do for them that they were not already doing for one another. Later, another day, yes, she would be there.

But for now, the best help was their family.

-==OOO==-

Donatello didn't have the heart to try meditating with Yoshi's sphere that day. In fact, he and Leatherhead and Zayton, once dismissed after doing all they could for the victims, had returned to their quarters despondently. They barely spoke and no one suggested dinner.

Finally there came a point when Leatherhead's fury overrode his sorrow and he demolished the furniture in his own room, roaring a desperate sort of rage. Zayton and Donatello let his frenzy run its course, not interfering. When Leatherhead's energy faded and he fell to his knees amidst the rubble of his room, Zayton wordlessly offered him a sedative and he accepted it.

Donatello carefully supported him from his room to the couch where he piled his friend high with blankets and sat beside him until Leatherhead succumbed to the medically-induced sleep. Zayton offered Donatello a sedative as well, but he shook his head. Though Don knew sleep would be elusive at best, he wanted to face it clear-minded.

When he trudged up to his own room and shut the door, the dark sky over the Homeworld could not hope to match the shadow in his own heart.

Donatello curled up in his bed and let its warming wash over him. He pushed his pillow out of its place and drew it into his arms, curling around it as tightly as he could and pulling the blanket up so it covered him completely. Tears came, and Don let them. But he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even.

After endless breaths in and out – Don didn't bother to count because what was the point? – he slid into a deeper, quieter darkness.

My son.

The darkness spun and Donatello saw an image of Splinter hovering in the void before him.

"My son?" Splinter spoke. "Are you well?"

Don shook his head. He would have closed his eyes but it wouldn't block out the vision. "No."

"Come to me, my son," Splinter said, his voice low and tender. "Come. Let me ease your pain."

Don looked away. "You can't. You're not real, you're not here, and it doesn't matter. You're gone."

Splinter frowned. "I am not gone, Donatello. I am here."

Don heaved a sigh. "No, you aren't. You're just a manifestation of my psyche trying to deal with what happened." But he looked up. "I'll go see Aunt Kria tomorrow if she's not too busy. And I'll cancel my classes. I'm pretty sure this means I need some time off."

"My son, I do not understand."

Don shrugged. "My unconscious is trying to help me realize that I need time to get over what happened today. That I need to take it easy, the way you would take care of me before."

"I am not in your mind, Donatello. I am here."

He actually gave a sad bark of laughter. "Well, you've got bad timing then."

"You don't believe me?"

"Of course not. Even with the time differential, if you were going to come, you'd have come long ago. Apparently I really need to see Aunt Kria. I'm more messed up than I thought."

"Donatello."

"No." Don's head came up and he balled his fists. "I got the message, okay? I'm done with this dream. Let's just bring on the nightmares that make sense and not this one that isn't helping."

Splinter reached a hand towards Donatello, but Don's own hands came up, too. A light ignited between his warding hands and spread into a bright shield around him. Splinter was pushed back.

"My son!"

Don's head tipped to one side. "I wonder if today's trauma shook something else loose. Is that what you're trying to tell me? I've never manifested energy in a dream like this before."

"I am not trying to tell you anything of the sort."

"Well, whatever you're not trying to do, it's working. So thanks for that part." Don actually bowed slightly. "It was good to see you, Sensei, even if you're not real."

"My son, I am real!"

The light around Donatello grew as he focused upon it, and he let it carry him out of the dream and into the next one. It was filled with dead eyes and Utrom corpses, but that much was expected and that made it something of a relief.

He woke before dawn when he could endure no more dreams and sent a message to Krian'daren for an appointment as soon as she could make time. Then he went downstairs and helped Professor Honn'i'kedt make breakfast.

The sun came up and Leatherhead rose and the three of them began the journey back to their lives with a new weight in their hearts.

-==OOO==-

Several days later, Mortu joined them for breakfast.

"The time has come to return those who did not survive to the Heart," he said. "You are all welcome to join the procession if you think it would help you deal with the ordeal."

"Utrom funeral processions carry the deceased to the Heart," Leatherhead said for Donatello's benefit. "Each body is carried in separately and the Heart absorbs it. Whoever accompanies the body is said to receive some comfort from the Heart for their loss."

Zayton looked at Mortu. "All those who were lost have their own bereaved to carry them, do they not?"

"There are far more volunteers than there are deceased, yes," Mortu said, "but any number may join the procession."

Don bowed his head. "It's the least I can do, anyway. We don't even know what did this and we can't help the ones who are barely alive. I'd...like to honor them."

The funeral began at nightfall.

There were dozens of Utrom and others, including Krian'daren, who gathered in a large bus-like transport that could carry them to the entrance to the Heart. Donatello tried hard not to look at the dark purple shrouds over each body, especially the tiniest ones. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the people he knew.

Zayton was quiet, his Fugitoid body giving away nothing. Leatherhead stood close to a few Utrom who had been on Earth, speaking in low tones. Many Guardians were present, acting as an honor guard for the fallen. Krian'daren was counselling a distraught family member.

And Mortu…

He knows something, Don realized, seeing a familiar, angry gleam in his friend's eye. I said today that we didn't know what did this...but I wonder if that's true.

A new determination grew deep in his heart.

I'll find out. I'll find out what did this and why and I'll stop it. No matter what it takes.

This is my world and I will protect it.

Whatever hurt these Utrom – hurt children! – is going to find out what happens when you go up against a ninja turtle with practice taking bad guys apart!

At the entrance to the Heart, the group moved slowly down the circular passage. As they did, they broke into smaller formations, crowding around one body or another. Don split from his friends and joined a group at the back – three Utrom and one Guardian to escort a purple-shrouded form.

He watched as each group approached the Heart, watched as all but two of the Guardians stepped aside and did not enter with the other mourners. Watched haunted, grieving beings go in and come out with a shade of relief cast over their sorrow.

When his turn came, he followed the three Utrom carrying the litter with the body, nodding in understanding as the Guardian beside him did not approach the entrance. The three Utrom who held the litter with their fallen balanced upon their heads did not ask Don to take it, though he would have had an easier time carrying it than they; he simply remained beside them as they entered.

The Heart washed over him.

Love and grief as fierce as a lightning bolt.

Understanding and support a broad ground upon which to stand when all seemed shaky and impermanent.

Sorrow measured in stars and comfort in oceans.

And gratitude, profound and endless, that this one lost had been returned.

Donatello couldn't have said if he was shouting and screaming or crying or raging, but it didn't matter. He was cradled in the embrace of something beyond his understanding, something that knew him and cherished him and held him more securely than the shell on his back.

And somewhere in that wonder, beside the growing seed of peace it planted, came something else.

Something that stayed with Don long after he left the Heart chamber and returned to the surface.

Something that felt like trust and attachment, but also felt like concern. Something that felt prescient and yet ancient.

It had no words, yet Don could feel what they would have said.

I am with you. Go without fear.

Donatello didn't quite know where he was going, but it didn't matter. Whatever had caused this devastation, whatever was behind the attack on the Utrom outpost, Donatello would bring it down.

And if the Heart knew that, had read that desire in his heart and accepted it, it meant he was on the right path.

All there was left to do was follow it.

-==OOO==-

Less than a rhythm after the funeral, Donatello walked into Myle's office at the Institute.

"I'd like to request a brief leave of absence, if I may," he said.

Xe looked at him with curiosity. "May I ask why?"

"There's something I've been working on. I want to follow up a lead, but it requires going off-world. And I don't know how long I'll need, so I was going to take a ship rather than try to talk Mortu into giving me clearance for a teleportal."

"Is it so important that you must leave your duties here?" xe asked.

Don's face went still and solemn. "It is. It really is. I can't tell you what, though. It's...personal."

Myle was well aware of Donatello's history and accepted his explanation without prying further. "Very well. I will ask Zayton and Leatherhead to step in to cover your work if that is all right with you?"

"Sure. And I had an idea for the lectures," Don said. "I was thinking that I would like to partner up each of my students with one of the younglings that submitted a project to me. They can work on something together and then present it during the normal lecture broadcast."

Myle seized onto the idea. "That's a wonderful thought, Donatello. And it will encourage yet more interest across the Collective. Do you have some pairings already selected?"

"Yes. I'll send you the list after I talk to my students. I want to make sure they're okay with it as well. I mean, I know they will be, but I haven't asked them yet." He smiled shyly. "They've all wanted to help out with the lectures and they deserve the chance to be in the spotlight for once."

"Very well. Send me your proposal when you are ready. And Donatello?"

"Yes, Myle?"

"I hope you find whatever it is you are seeking, my friend."

Don bowed to xyr. "Thank you. I hope so, too."

-==OOO==-

Donatello set off in a private spacecraft loaned from the Collective's communal fleet twelve days later – leaving a sizeable crowd behind.

Besides his family, Krian'daren, Leatherhead's parents, most of the Guardians, all of his students, and many of his friends from the Institute appeared at the launchpad to see him off. Donatello was obliged to work his way through the crowd saying goodbye and thanking everyone for their well-wishes before he made it to the cockpit hatch.

The four standing beside it had engaged in lengthy arguments with Donatello – wanting to know exactly where he was going and why, but he never budged. He only told them that it was a journey he needed to take and take alone, and that they must trust him. And though three of the four were legally Donatello's guardians and could prevent him from leaving the Homeworld unaccompanied, in the end they agreed to let him go.

But it was not precisely easy for them to do so now that the moment had arrived.

"Are you certain you are confident piloting this craft, my boy?" Zayton asked with an audible trace of nervousness. "I am still willing to accompany you on your mysterious errand."

Don smiled at him. "I've been studying it and practicing with it for days. I'll be fine, Professor. But thank you for worrying."

"We will check in with you every day to ensure you are safe," Mortu said. "And I will be tracking your course."

"That's fine. I appreciate that you'll be watching out for me, Mortu." He bowed and was only a little surprised when Mortu leaned forward to press their foreheads together once more.

Krian'daren took both of Donatello's hands in hers. "Protect your heart, young one. It is less easy to fix than a mind, but I will fix all if you return poorly." She gave him a smile. "But do not return poorly. Only return."

"I promise," he told her, squeezing her hands.

Last, he turned to Leatherhead.

Before Donatello could speak, Leatherhead swept him into a huge hug. "Be safe, my friend. We will not know peace until you return to us."

Don nodded and fought a sudden onset of tears. "I know. I'll feel better when I'm home, too."

Leatherhead set him back on the ground and held his shoulders, peering deeply into his eyes. "I do not have a good feeling about you going alone, but that could simply be because I worry for you."

"I know." Don smiled around a wobbly lump in his throat. "Thank you, Leatherhead. For everything. For being my family and giving me a home." He gulped. "I promise I'll come back to it as soon as I can."

"I will hold you to that, my brother."

Finally Donatello stepped away, giving one last, watery smile and wave to those who had gathered before he climbed aboard. He spared barely a glance to the supplies stacked up in the little cabin aft of the cockpit – everything he really needed or didn't dare risk being separated from was safe in his pocket dimension.

Don waited until his friends and family had cleared the pad before he fired up the engine.

When he turned his gaze to the sky and the stars beyond, he took a deep breath.

"Here goes everything."

And he blasted off without ever looking back.

-==OOO==-

End of Act 5

-==OOO==-