The Origin
Blue doesn't remember much from the time before his adulthood exam. He does not recall his old name and recollects only faint shadows of the foster parents that must have raised him – careful hands and pieces of smiles. Suddenly, he was the Origin, and suddenly he was different, even among the others like him later dubbed "Mu." There was a palpable electricity in the air after the escape from Artamera, his hands shaking as he issued commands, as they scrambled for people to be pilots on their stolen spacecraft, to cook meals, and provide medical care to the wounded. There was no scramble for leadership, for although Blue's hands shook and he had not lived nearly half as long as some of the Mu, it was his power that had unlatched the gate of their cage, and he who was the First.
Among the Mu there were many people, from all walks of life: teachers, receptionists, scientists, stay-at-home mothers, accountants, and children. There was even one Mu who had been a psychologist; his hair was shot with silver, and he remembered everything, from his foster parents to his training. His thought-waves were like the lapping of a calm ocean. The skill had not manifested until he was in his sixties, and even then it was a gradual thing, a photographic clarity that grew and an empathy that carefully embraced and soothed away pain.
It had not been for him as it had been for Blue, a sudden catastrophe that left him amnesic. Blue had felt a churning jealousy and then relief, for he had no way to deal with the grief of those who had lost brothers and sisters, friends, parents and foster children in the tragedy. By the third day, Dr. Kalowitz had aged a decade and broke down in the middle of Blue's briefing room, face twisted with pain, crying out only a fraction of the devastation he had siphoned away from the minds of those onboard.
It was the last time Blue was petty.