Rom was extremely excited. He could barely hold still. He had to resist the urge to start dancing, which would definitely attract unwanted gazes from the other commuters at the spaceport. Also, dancing would be awkward with the toolbox in his hand.

Blatant displays of emotion were uncommon among Galvanic Mechamorphs. Frowned on, actually. It was a trait passed down from their creators, the Galvans. As a people, the Mechamorphs tried to emulate their makers, tried to please them by acting as haughty and indifferent as them. It was a useless façade; there was a reason Azmuth, the most intelligent of all the Galvans, had confined Rom's people to a tiny moon orbiting Galvan Prime and named it Galvan B. Slapping a B on the end when their planet had a cool title like "Prime" was pretty apathetic. But Rom wasn't exactly a normal Mechamorph, and his personal creators were hardly normal Galvans. Rom would have been more self-conscious on any other day, but not today.

The teenage boy took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He didn't want the other students thinking that he was childish. He was actually quite mature for his age. Just a little bit volatile, that was all. Part of his nervousness stemmed from the fact that Rom had never been off-planet, or off-moon, as it were. The other part was the fact that he'd get to see his creators—he called them his uncles—for the first time in ages.

The Academy was new. Only a few years old, at this point. Rom himself wasn't sure why they'd started another one up. He was glad that they had, of course. He'd applied right away as soon as he found out about it. A chance to get away from this crummy scrapheap? Please. And the Plumbers! But he'd been rejected the first time. And the second time. And the third time. And the fourth time. Like they said… fifth time's the charm.

The spacecraft he would board to his new future was touching down. Rom stood well back until it had powered down its engines, then rushed forward to board the ship and meet his new allies. An access panel started to fold away as Rom waited expectantly.

Everyone knew who the Plumbers were. Adventurers… champions… super-soldiers of fortune. Collectively, the organization had saved countless worlds. Individuals belonging to the Plumbers, and associated with them, had saved entire universes! Like the legendary Ben 10…

Rom had actually met Ben. Sort of. Not really. But the fabled hero had saved his life when Malware attacked his city. Rom would have been absorbed or crushed beneath falling rubble – that's permanent death for most lifeforms – if not for Ben's timely intervention. So Rom felt he needed to pay the Plumbers back, somehow. This Academy was the best way to go about it.

Plus, his uncles were Plumbers too.

"Uncle Blukic! Uncle Driba!"

The other teens waiting on the platform glanced down at the two scientists. "Blukic and Driba have a nephew?"

"More importantly, they have a smart nephew?" a small, weevil-like alien with yellow chitin, beady black eyes, four spindly legs, and two horns branching out from a central shaft on his head – almost certainly a Cogopilian – snickered. Rom knew all about the species in the Omnitrix, a mutagenic device with a faster-than-light uplink to the greatest genetic archive in the universe, through the many textbooks he'd read on Azmuth, Ben, Professor Paradox, and all the other legendary heroes. He'd had a lot of time for reading, living alone.

Blukic scratched at his rear, the greyish corduroy overalls hanging loosely off his thin shoulders making a weird noise. Rom hoped it was the overalls. Gears and split pins jangled around inside the single pocket centered on the front, below which he wore his Plumber's Badge. "We're not related," he said in his gravelly voice, adjusting his baseball cap. Well, gravelly for a Galvan. They were all sort of squeaky.

Max Tennyson – the Max Tennyson! – emerged from the shadows, looking from the small grey men to the black-and-orange humanoid. Magister Tennyson was a pilot, a fighter, and a captain from the old days, but Rom never would've expected him to grace a mere military transport ship with his presence. Especially not with how old he was. The Magister's faded short-cropped hair was starting to thin, and there were more lines in the man's face than in a cartoon character. For such a prominent figure, he wore surprisingly mundane clothes; a pastel flower-print shirt and plain blue jeans. "Never would have guessed."

"Yeah, there's a strong resemblance!" Driba exclaimed. Where Blukic had an almost triangular head atop a long, skinny neck, Driba had no neck and a lumpy head, looking not entirely unlike a potato with arms and legs. He wore a standard, albeit tiny, Plumber's uniform, white plate armor with black undergarments and his badge over his heart. "Confuses a lot of people!"

A red-skinned Tetramand girl with full black lips and regal, pretty features standing behind them harrumphed, all four of her muscular arms folded across her chest, as her Cogopilian acquaintance continued to snicker. Rom dropped his toolbox at the top of the ramp and gathered his uncles up in a big hug… which must have seemed positively enormous to the tiny Galvans.

"How ya doin', kiddo?" Blukic grunted.

"Getting better!"

Driba squirmed beneath his grasp. "Good to hear. Now, as much as I like you, Rom, I like being able to breathe just as much, if not more. So if you could ease up…"

Rom dropped them with a start. "Oh, right! Sorry, sorry, sorry." He wrung his hands helplessly as the two of them groaned. "Sorry."

Blukic rubbed his head. "It's all right. You haven't been around Galvans much, but that's something that's gonna have to change from here on out. You'll get to spend more time with us, I reckon." He winked, and Rom beamed. Literally: the lines of light running across his body shone more brightly.

"Okay, Rom," Magister Tennyson said. "Welcome to the Manifest." The older man swept his arm in the direction of the bulky spacecraft. A hundred and twenty meters of super-lightweight alloy and carbon nanotube glistened in the waning eventide glow. "You can catch up with Blukic and Driba once you've settled in. Anyone want Rom in their room?"

The Tetramand raised a hand with a bold smirk.

"You think I don't know your tricks by now, Sula?" Max said sternly. "Sorry, no. You'll have to wait to browbeat the newcomer until later."

Her smile faded.

"Anyone else?"

Rom shifted uncomfortably as no one else volunteered. Apparently, the only person who wanted to be in proximity to him had unscrupulous motives. His ectoplasm started to droop.

"Oh, honestly," Magister Tennyson clucked. "You guys act like it's some monumental decision. You'll only be roommates until we arrive at the Academy."

A boy with beige skin and eyes all over his arms and chest stepped forward, his head having only a mouth and two fin-like ears. "He can bunk with us, I guess," the Opticoid said with fake indifference. Who was he putting on a show for? Rom would need to figure out the hierarchy of the group quickly if he was to find a place among them. He didn't want to be a pariah again. He'd certainly had enough of that treatment on Galvan B.

The Cogopilian snorted. "Ayy, Wardell. You're lucky Irk slept in today, or you'd be in for another scolding."

"Oh, I'm sure I'm in for a scolding no matter what I do." Wardell shrugged.

Magister Tennyson snapped his fingers and gestured for the cadets to follow him into the bowels of the Manifest. The halls were crawling with fully-fledged Plumbers. Rom could see several humans, dozens of species he couldn't identify, and was that a Spheroid? The large, green, blowfish-like reptilian alien certainly looked like one, with his mouth full of sharp teeth and a body that was all head, but Rom had never heard of a Spheroid Plumber before. Maybe he just hadn't read enough data files. A frightening thought.

"Don't forget that you guys are still on-duty," the Magister said. "Rom, since you're an engineer, you'll be doing general maintenance. Speaking of which… I hear you don't like using your Mechamorph abilities."

If Rom had had a face, he'd have started blushing. "It's not that, per se… I would rather succeed because I'm genuinely talented, not because I'm taking shortcuts."

Max nodded at him. He nodded at him! "Commendable. But remember, part of being a Plumber is learning how to use your unique talents – powers included – to the maximum of their potential. If you have an advantage over your opponents… use it."

Driba cleared his throat. "You have to understand, Magister Tennyson; on Galvan B, Rom was surrounded by people with the exact same abilities as him."

"That's true of every species," Blukic replied.

"No it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

Driba glared at Blukic with froggy eyes. "No it isn't!"

"Is too."

"Is not!"

Rom laughed as his uncles bickered vehemently. Magister Tennyson and the other aliens just sighed. They were deeper within the Manifest now, with no portholes to the outside in sight. Most of them continued on to the bridge, but Wardell stopped Rom by a sliding door with a keypad.

"See you around, eye guy," the Cogopilian chirped as they walked away.

Wardell groaned good-naturedly, then raised a finger to his lip as the door opened. "Quiet. Irk is napping and I'd rather keep it that way."

The two of them tiptoed in. There were four beds in each corner, a long desk, and a wheelchair sitting next to it. Two of the beds were immaculately made; the others were messy. Occupying one of said shambles was a large, tiger-like humanoid, who was snoring loudly. He had piebald saffron fur with black stripes, a white muzzle, four-fingered hands, and brows that jutted out over his eyes.

"Appoplexian," Rom said, awed and a bit nervous.

"Shh!"

"Sorry. Does the chair belong to him?"

Wardell noticed the wheelchair. His eyes widened with concern. "No… that's Aurelian's. He can't get anywhere without it. We'd better go find him." The Opticoid boy went over and grabbed the device by its wheels. It let out a tiny squeak, which was probably why Wardell was trying to lift it rather than just rolling it out. "Come help me with this," he hissed. "Quietly."

Rom moved to where Wardell was waiting and crouched, hoisting the wheelchair by its carriage while his new roommate held the other side. The two of them turned until Rom was facing the exit.

"Hold on. Let me get the door."

Wardell reached out with one hand and pressed it against the sensor. The door slid open with a whoosh and a click. Rom winced at the sound, but Irk just muttered in his sleep and rolled over. The two of them skulked out and waited for the door to close again before Wardell set the wheelchair on the steel floor.

"Let's see. If I were Aurelian right now, where would I be stuck?" Wardell muttered, setting the wheelchair down before leaning against the wall. "It'd have to be someplace where I can't call for help or crawl away. Knowing her, he's probably tangled up somewhere… Okay, I've got an idea of where to look." He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and walked off, motioning for Rom to follow.

"So how'd he end up without his wheelchair?" Rom asked.

The Opticoid teenager sighed. "Sula's a big bully. She picks on just about everyone, except for the other girls. She leaves Irk alone, too, for whatever reason."

"Probably because he's an Appoplexian."

"Nah, Tetramands are more than a match for Appoplexians. Anyway, she often takes Aurelian's wheelchair away and leaves him stranded in some remote corner of the ship. Really gets a kick out of it, I guess. No clue what goes on inside her head."

A thick-chested Plumber with crystalline features walked up to them and clapped a hand to Wardell's shoulder. "Speedy go missing again?"

"Affirmative, sir."

"Poor kid. Ever since he lost the use of his legs in that accident… I always feel bad for him. Well, best of luck to you."

Rom watched the man depart. To him, it seemed incredibly insensitive to call a handicapped person 'Speedy'. Of course, the cultural gap was something to keep in mind. He'd only read about the names and abilities of some of the many races, not about the cultural values. "Accident?"

"Bunch of villains attacked his hometown. Don't know why. He was helping his friends and family evacuate – that's part of the reason he was accepted to the Academy. Selfless courage. But… he was in one of the buildings when the bad guys dropped the roof on him. Caught him by surprise, crushing his legs."

Wardell opened the door to a room filled with energy conduits hanging from the ceiling and trailing into the walls; thick, corrugated tubes interspersed with wiring. The two of them looked around, but there weren't any other people in sight.

"Aurelian?" Wardell called out. "You there?"

"Up here," a miserable voice reverberated. Rom and Wardell looked up. Wrapped up in the wires above them was a blue-skinned boy with sharp features, white eyes, thin black lips, wheels for feet, and a long, thin tail.

"Hold on, buddy. I'll get you down, and then you can say hello to the new kid." Wardell wrapped his arms around a conduit and began shimmying up.

"Wait," Rom whispered. "He's a Kineceleran?"

"Yup." Wardell grabbed ahold of the lowest-hanging wire and pulled himself up. He then swung from wire to wire until he'd reached the tangled mess that held RLEN captive – the universally impatient Kinecelerans always used letters and numbers for shorthand – where he began working apart the cables. Once the boy's arms were free, he started helping. Less than thirty ticks of the clock later, Wardell jumped to the floor with RLEN in his arms. Rom felt a double dose of sympathy now that he knew the boy's species. To go from lightning speed to a wheelchair… it must have been awful.

"Thanks Wardell," RLEN said cheerfully as the Opticoid helped him into his chair.

"Always, man."

RLEN wheeled himself out of the room, the other two following close behind. By Rom's estimate, they were near the heart of the Manifest. It had taken them around a dozen minutes to get there from their room. The trip back was rather uneventful, with none of the older Plumbers approaching them. Everyone minded their own business.

"What's there to do on the ship?" Rom asked.

"There's a gym… a cafeteria… not a huge diversity, really. We mostly just talk and play ball when we're not helping out."

"Why are you guys here? You're not new students."

Wardell shook his head. "We were visiting family during the break. Those of us who still have family get to meet some of the fresh batch early."

The three of them reached their room, Wardell holding a finger to his lips for RLEN, and the three of them sneaked in. Wardell froze when he saw that Irk had transitioned from the bed to the desk. The Appoplexian was still asleep, but Wardell held his arms out and backed away.

"What's the deal?" Rom asked obliviously. "He's still knocked out cold."

"He moved, which means he's restless," Wardell hissed, "which means–"

Irk's eyes flew open.

"Ah, heck."

The Appoplexian was on his feet in a flash, whirling to face them. "Irk does not appreciate it when Irk's classmates talk about him behind his back!"

"Don't talk in the third person, Irk. It's creepy."

Irk noticed Rom. "New kid!"

"Er. Hi. I'm Rom. I'm a mechanic."

"Let me tell you something, you over-glorified inflatable trick-or-treat decoration! Irk is like a can of Silly Putty someone put in the microwave and forgot about! When you mess with Irk, you mess with a supernova on steroids!"

Rom stared at him blankly. "…Silly Putty?"

"Bah!" Irk lunged for him, but Wardell placed himself between them.

"Calm down, Metaphor Man. Remember Magister Hulka."

Irk stopped growling and took several deep breaths. "Irk apologizes for his uncalled for behavior!" he barked.

"First person, man. First person."

The floor beneath them started rumbling. It didn't last long, but it was fierce.

"What in the worlds was that?" RLEN muttered.

The speaker on the wall crackled to life and Magister Tennyson's voice emanated from the perforated metal disk. "Wardell, Irk. Take your roommates to investigate the portside hall. One of the power relays has been damaged. Good time for Rom to test the waters."

Wardell sighed with resignation and headed out. Irk bashed his head on the door, which had started sliding shut before he'd gotten out. He started growling again.

"Let me tell you something, inanimate sheet of metal with no control over its actions! You do that every time Irk leaves the room, and Irk has had it up to here with your tomfoolery!"

Rom walked up to the door and looked at it with interest. "You say every time?"

"This is the four-hundred-twelfth instance, but who's counting!?"

Thinking back to what Max had said, Rom pinched off a blob of himself and sent it into the mechanism. There was, in fact, something wrong with the door. One of the pressure-sensitive triggers wasn't completely flush with its socket. He pushed it back into alignment and tried opening the door again. This time it didn't click.

"Fixed it." Rom swaggered away, humming to himself. Magister Tennyson had been right. Plus, it felt pretty good to be special. The others gave him a curious look before they, too, headed to the portside hall.

[-]

Rom was starting to feel uneasy. His classmates were around the corner standing watch, at his request. The power relay wasn't damaged at all… instead, it had been completely removed from its couplings. The nearby systems were out of order as well. That wasn't something that could just happen naturally; if it could, there would be frequent losses of power to the camera feeds. The way the ship had shaken could explain it… Had they passed near a gravity well? I suppose it doesn't matter. Magister Tennyson would have told us if something was wrong. He started restoring the faulty wires.

"Freeze," a breathy voice called out behind him. "Or we shoot to kill."

Rom jumped and whirled around. A large man with green skin and facial tentacles was pointing a gun at him, while his Pyronite companion cooked up a fireball. Standing behind the Chimera Sui Generis was a white, humanoid moth. Clouds of ice crystals appeared when he breathed. Rom started sweating – well, oiling, the Mechamorph equivalent, at any rate – and stepped away from the panel.

"Hey man," Rom stuttered. "I'm just the engineer. Let me just finish fixing this, and then I'll do whatever you want."

"No."

"It's kind of important."

Mr. Ice Guy glared at him, but the Pyronite lowered his hands. "I don't see why not. It's not like he can do anything to stop us from getting what we came for."

"Fine," Mr. Ice Guy sighed. "Do it quickly." The Sui Generis walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm, pressing his weapon against the boy's torso.

I need to alert the bridge. Rom pushed the capsule back into place. Com system?

"You have three seconds before we kill you. Three."

They'd see me trying to send a message. Use the energy relay to send a message in binary?

"Two."

Too slow. Looks like I have no other choice.

"One."

With nothing to lose, Rom did the thing he hated most. Cringing, he plunged into the system, becoming one with the mechanism. The Sui Generis grabbed him, but Rom slipped through the brute's fingers like a liquid, leaving the man clutching his uniform. Of course, he couldn't fill the entire Manifest, only a miniscule portion of it at a time, but by changing which portion that was from one second to the next, Rom could ride along straight to the bridge, moving through the wires nearly as fast as the electrons flowing through them – flowing through him now as well. It would be easy to lose oneself in here, a literal ghost in the machine. Many Mechamorphs eventually did lose themselves, becoming one with the landscape on Galvan B. It was a fate he feared more than anything.

Marvin was sipping a cup of stale soda as he monitored the star field. Suddenly, an entire person emerged from his console. The human technician fell out of his seat as Rom reformed in a crouch, looking around frantically. His eye widened with relief when he saw the older man staring out one of the monitors.

"Magister Tennyson!" he shouted. "Intruders near the broken relay!"

Max scowled. "Intruders? How'd they get on board?"

"I don't know! But they're there, I promise!"

"Well, I believe you. I can't think of any reason you'd lie about something like this."

Magister Tennyson sent the alert out, ordering his men to neutralize the threat. Soon enough, they radioed in that there were, indeed, intruders. He walked over to Rom and patted him on the back. He patted Rom on the back! Rom wanted to squeal with joy.

"I'm proud of you. You used your abilities when the time called for it, even though you didn't want to."

Consequently, Rom did the only natural thing to do when a childhood idol praises a perfectly normal, fully-functioning member of society. He fainted.

[-]

"So, Ignis… Rime tells me you've failed once again." The man in the shadows clenched his fist. "And I have tolerated many of your failures."

The three lackeys were standing in front of their leader's throne. Ignis shivered even though his entire body was wreathed with flame. This was an incredibly dangerous confrontation. All confrontations with their leader were. "It won't happen again. I'll succeed next time." They would have retrieved the target successfully if he'd just let Rime kill that kid. Stupid. Very stupid.

"Yes," the man mused. A hand disappeared into the gloom, presumably stroking his chin. "You might." The hand reappeared, pointing at him with an open palm as if reaching out. Rime and the Sui Generis flinched. "But you say that every time you fail. As I said… I have tolerated many of your failures."

The Pyronite began screaming as his energy was painfully stripped away, torn from his body against his will. The hooded man seemed to suck it up, breathing in hungrily as it disappeared into his body. Shadows were replaced with blinding light. Soon, all the fire was stripped away from Ignis, leaving only a burned-out husk on the floor.

"And I do not tolerate failure."