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CHAPTER SEVEN
I ’ L L  B E  T H E R E
DONATELLO’S TALE
 

 

AUGUST 28TH, 2045  HONDA PROVINCE, JAPAN

Don stared at the words glowing on the screen in front of him.

"I’ll be there."

A random thought sprung into his head while he was contemplating them.

"It’s funny," he thought to himself aloud, "how everything’s changed in thirty-five years…but here I am, in front of a screen still made up of tiny phosphors, connected to a thing which is still called a computer, which in turn is connected to the vast network of computers all over the world, which itself is still known as the Internet." He laughed softly at the thought. "I even receive E-mail."

E-mail and the Internet remained the primary link to the outside world for Don. After he had left, he knew he couldn’t survive long without a steady source of income. He wasn’t about to go forage for food; not that it was beneath him, mind you, but he had so many ideas he had to work on, and share. So he set himself up. First he found an apartment over the Web—of course, you couldn’t do that in New York. When the Utroms had landed on Earth thirty years ago to make their historic speech before the United Nations the Turtles, and all other mutants and aliens, need not hide themselves from the world any longer, and Donatello embraced the opportunity to really make a life for himself.

He went to Silicon Valley. He stayed there a while, getting his company going on the Net, working out of that apartment.

His workload eventually necessitated that he hire other employees. He didn’t want to do that in the States, though; DARPA might still be on the lookout. So he moved a second time; this time to Japan. The first time he’d journeyed there had been when he’d gone to Chihaya Village to tend to the burial of his master. The work force in Japan had plenty of technical expertise, and he wouldn’t have to worry about DARPA banging down his door. Also, he wanted to watch over Splinter. He never got to tell the others where he had buried him; there was no one else to do the job.

And his company grew. He owned an office building, which he never visited, instead running it from behind the scenes. Carlton, one of his two vice presidents, delighted in telling him how the myth of "Don Tello" was growing in the company. "Don Tello" was becoming a bigger myth in the computer industry than Bill Gates had been back in the 80s and 90s. He had subsidiaries in every major country, lobbyists in every government. Still, only three people ever really saw him; Carlton, George (his other vice-president); and Melina, his wife.

"I wonder what they will think when they find out? I wonder if any of them has gotten married?" He smiled at the thought of Leo in a serious relationship with a female, then roared at the thought of Mike with a housewife—which wasn’t so strange... in their much earlier years Mike had enormous luck with the fairer sex, first Sara "Horridus," then Seri, with whom they had some children.

His smile faded, though, when he thought of Raph. Where was Raph? He had pulled strings, called in favors, done everything he knew how…but still no Raph.

Which led him back to the words on the screen.

"I’ll be there."

They were from Shadow. Other than Raph, she was the only one he had trouble contacting. None of his agents found anything while looking for her; he had only given them the name Shadow Jones. When everything had come up empty, he decided to do it "the old fashioned way." He went on the Net and started doing searches. With the assistance of Chet, his computer’s motherboard A.I., he began going through names. Shadow Jones. Google... nothing. Alta Vista…nothing. Infoseek… nothing. 411… nada. Well, actually a lot of things… Jones was a very common name. But still, no Shadow. While he was doing his search, he thought of something. Maybe she was using—her other name. Her birth name. What was it again? Maria. Maria…Puzorelli.

Maria Puzorelli. And there it was. Homepage...yes. It was your now stereotypical homepage, with the usual 4D real-time house, with pictures and articles that you could click on and access. Hmmm, she got married 12 years ago…fortunately, she was still using her maiden name. If not, perhaps he never would have found her.

E-mail…yes. mariap50@master.com.

He looked at the E-mail address a moment, then smiled. She was using his company’s online service! He shook his head at the irony. Masterworks has taken over the world!

As he wrote her the letter explaining the… reunion, his mind mused on the name he had given his company. Masterworks. A subtle play on words, that; it was both an homage to Splinter and to his brothers. They had always called Splinter their master, and they were his masterworks, in a way. Also, it alluded to the master artists that they were each named after. And, he thought, this company is my master work.

Or maybe my work for the master.

"He’s dead," he could hear himself say.

Dead, Don thought. And the family died with him. Why didn’t we listen to what he said?

"Never forget that which binds you…Never forget…"

But we did forget, Don thought. I left to bury Splinter, and when I got back, everyone had gone. I thought maybe Leo would still be there…

But there was just a note.

"Don. If you come back, you’ll get this. I don’t expect you to come back. Not now. Mike left. There’s no reason for me—for any of us—to stay here anymore. Our master is dead. The Foot is dead. Raphael is dead. Mike is gone. You are gone. I am leaving. May good fortune find you, brother. Leo."

Raph? Dead? How would Leo… then it came to him. To Leo, right then, at least, Raph was dead. Don had seen the hatred and blame in Leo’s eyes when Splinter was shot. For Leo, until he conquered that anger, there could be no Raph.

That’s why it surprised him so much when he heard from Leo. Don had just started looking for his brothers, as well as April and Casey, when he got a call from Leonardo.

"Don?"

"Leo? Leo, is that you?" Don was overjoyed. Leo was alive! That was one.

"Yes, Don, it’s me."

"Wow! This is great! I was just looking for you!"

"You were?"

"Yes! I just had this… feeling… it’s been a long time."

"Thirty-five years."

"Yeah."

"Listen, Don, I’ve been thinking. About what happened thirty-five years ago... that damned year, 2010. About you. About Mike. About…Raph," Leo paused, then rushed on as if he had to say everything at once. "I miss you guys. No, actually, it’s more than that. I need you guys. You…and April, and Casey, and Shadow…you were home. That’s what Splinter was saying, when he was talking about that which binds us. Our physical home was destroyed, but we shouldn’t have let our home be destroyed. And it’s my fault. I tried to keep you together, I tried to…" he broke down, as he never would have in the old days.

"Leo…it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault…or maybe it was everyone’s fault. I don’t know. We all just drifted, without thinking. And maybe now we’re realizing…we need a home."

Leo regained control of himself. "Yes, you are right. That is exactly what I have been contemplating. Now, I hear that you have connections…"

"Speaking of connections," Don interjected, "you must have some pretty good ones yourself. It’s not everyone who can get my home phone number. How’d you do it?"

"Good old ninja footwork," Leo said, then laughed a little. "I mean, who hasn’t heard of Don Tello, head of Masterworks? After that, it was easy. There aren’t many Tellos in the Tokyo phone book, you know."

"So you called Melina Tello on the off chance it might be my number."

"Exactly."

"Hmmm. I’m glad reporters aren’t as resourceful as you."

"Hah." Leo paused. "Who is Melina, anyway?"

"She’s my wife."

"Your…wife?"

"I’ll explain the whole thing later. But first, we have to plan the…what should we call it? A reunion?"

"Sounds good. Reunion. A family reunion."

So they planned the reunion. Leo and Don kept in close contact. Don had his agents out combing for the rest of the "family." Mike found Leo before Don found Mike, even so. But Don did manage to track down April, Casey, and now Shadow.

"I’ll be there."

It seemed that everyone—even April and Casey, despite their age—would show up. Everyone except Raph.

Don sighed and reached over to use the mouse. As he watched his hand move toward it, it came to him again how glad he had been to rid himself of that cyborg suit. The others—Mike especially—had been rather disgusted by the methods he employed to rid himself of it. He had procured a batch of the cloning worms that the Foot used to clone Oroku Saki, the Shredder. Then he had fiddled with them genetically so that once they joined together, they would no longer be worms at all, but would become his muscles, his organs. They worked beautifully, he mused as he gazed at his hand. He was now indistinguishable from his original self, both physically and genetically. And when he was done he had the suit left over.

"C’mon, don’t talk like that, master, you’re gonna be fine," he said to Splinter, knowing in his heart that it wasn’t true. Splinter would most definitely not be fine. Unless… "Maybe I can put this cyborg suit to good use, even without the symbiote. It saved my life, maybe I can use it to save Master Splinter…"

But Splinter had refused. And died.

It could have saved him, Don thought. He looked at Splinter’s broken body. "Maybe it’ll help someone else someday…"

So he saved the suit. Eventually, Masterworks was able to make a version of the suit that could be used in medical emergencies, but removed later. Don made it so no one would have to die as Master Splinter did.

Don thought of all of this as he reached for the mouse. He closed the letter—the note from Shadow, then shut down his computer. He went into the living room where his wife was waiting with their bags and plane tickets. The tickets read "La Guardia Airport, NYC."

"You ready, hon?" Melina asked.

"Yeah," Don answered.

"I’ll be there."

"So will I," Don whispered.

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