February 2013

"But New York's finest didn't seem inclined to wait for the rally organizers to sort out their miscommunication," Leonardo read. He pronounced the words in a slow, even tone, with just a hint of dramatic tension. "The next thing David knew, he and his brothers were being hauled off the stage and tossed into a police van."

He closed the book, smoothing his fingers over the embossed type on the cover - Leonardo Hamato, The Wisdom of Rats - as the crowd burst into applause.

There had been much to celebrate in the last few years. In 2010, Michelangelo had became the first mutant to earn a college diploma, walking across the stage at RISD to accept his degree in illustration, with only a minimum of accompanying protest noise in the background. The cheers - from Mike's family, as well as from the many friends he had made along the way - more than drowned out the angry chants.

Don had followed two years later. Inspired by Lynn's work in animal cognition, he'd pursued a double major in biology and neuroscience. His writing skills had remained decidedly mediocre, but his capacity to absorb and process information had put him near the top of his class. He'd expressed interest in going for a Ph.D. - he wanted to be Dr. Lamb, like his mom - but for the time being he had decided to prioritize acting as an ambassador for mutant rights. Studying for an advanced degree while serving as the named plaintiff in an unprecedented legal case was just too much, he said.

Lamb v. United States was still bouncing around the court system, as various parties filed amicus briefs and petitions for writs of mandamus and other types of documents that Leonardo still didn't understand. Other aspects of the whole mutant issue, though, had been resolved in quite concrete and comprehensible ways.

The suit against TCRI, for example. At first, the prosecutors assigned to the case hadn't been sure what charges they could lay against the Techno Cosmic Research Institute, as the organization was officially known. Once that hurdle had been cleared, though, TCRI's executives had quickly pleaded guilty and agreed to a settlement with the mutants, a maneuver which had allowed the Utroms to transfer their accumulated wealth back to themselves, while also passing some on to the Turtles. The Hamato clan, through a trust set up by their lawyer, had subsequently purchased a house in Silver Lake, Connecticut, a place just out of the way enough that they felt able to relax.

Not that they spent a whole lot of time there. Don was always travelling for interviews, conferences, and assorted other opportunities to present mutantkind in a positive light. Raph spent most of his time in New York - he had a steady job there, and for once, when he said he was happy, Leo believed him. Mike mostly worked as an illustrator of children's books, and while one would have thought he could do that from their comfortably spacious new home, in reality he often needed to be elsewhere to discuss projects with authors, pitch manuscripts to editors, and, apparently, "seek inspiration".

Splinter, meanwhile, had spawned his own subfield of research into mutant biology. Though chronologically speaking he was about the same age as all the other mutants, he was the only one who had been mutated late in the natural lifetime of his original species. While scientists therefore couldn't be certain that his own aging process was an accurate preview of what would happen as the other mutants grew older, they were still highly interested in learning all they could about his body and his mind. Splinter had patiently agreed to most of their research proposals, expressing his eagerness to help his younger counterparts understand what their own futures might look like.

It was a puzzle that had been much on Leonardo's mind of late. Now, in these early days of 2013, he and his brothers were only months away from their twenty-fifth birthday. For a while Don had bragged that he would reach that milestone first. But a couple of years ago - perhaps rethinking whether he was really so excited to be the first Turtle to experience each new age - he had given up his customary April birthday in favor of the one that his brothers shared in June. They would all celebrate their quarter-century together - and, shortly after that, the ten-year anniversary of their reunion.

Leonardo's younger self never would have imagined the life he had now. Even just a few years ago - even with his gift for prediction - he would not have foreseen this path. It was on one of his lowest days that it had all become possible.

He'd been sitting in the house in Connecticut, in shock from having just lost his job as a library page. That afternoon, the library director had called him into her office, where she had praised him, at great length, for his diligence and accuracy in re-shelving books.

"But you unsettle the patrons," she'd said. "I'm sorry, but we have to let you go."

Mutants were still not a protected class, so there had been nothing for Leonardo to say other than a murmured acknowledgement of the facts. He'd handed in his employee badge and gone home.

He hadn't tried to lie to his brothers about the day's events. He'd learned his lesson from the IQ score incident. He'd gotten a lot better about not trying to hide his feelings, either. Between Don's intellectual perceptiveness and Mikey's empathic abilities, he couldn't get away with anything.

"Forget about shelving books," Don had said, after Leonardo had finished expressing his disappointment about having lost access to the quiet, orderly world of the non-fiction stacks. "You should write a book."

"About what?" Leo had asked blankly.

"About us," Don had replied. "About how we grew up, and about how we found each other, and about what we're fighting for."

"But so much of that is private," Leo had said. "Why would I write a book about it?"

"Because if you don't tell our story," Don replied, "someone else will."

It had been a valid point. And that was how, after years of putting words on paper, crossing out, re-writing, laboriously editing the chapters Donatello had contributed, mailing pitch letters to publishing houses, and finally signing a contract with an inconceivably large dollar figure printed on it, Leonardo Hamato had come to be headlining a book tour.

He hadn't put all the words on paper, of course. He'd very carefully left out the truth about TCRI, for one. And he'd mostly glossed over his family's status as the heirs to a distinctive style of ninjutsu. Though they had admitted to being serious practitioners of the martial arts all the way back in the Channel 6 interview, most people seemed to have forgotten that part in all the commotion over the existence of walking, talking, mutated animals. It had seemed best to not re-open the issue.

And then, of course, there were the pieces of the story that he didn't know. Collecting everyone's memories as he pieced together the larger narrative had brought Leo closer with his brothers and his father, as well as with the whole extended family. But throughout the process he had sensed the presence of secrets, of details left unmentioned and knowledge kept hidden. There were things that his family didn't even want him to know.

Drawings of key moments from the book-in-process had started showing up on his keyboard, and it hadn't taken Leonardo long to determine their source. "If you want to illustrate it," Leo had said to Mike, as they sat in the kitchen one day, "you can just say so."

"Wow," Mike had said, as he slid one sketch after another across the table - the Turtles lined up in Stockman's glass-walled "habitat", Donatello gaping idiotically at a human boy who stared back at him from out of the computer screen, Michelangelo triumphantly returning home with a cat in his arms (not how Leonardo remembered that scene; they would have to discuss Mike's use of artistic license), Raphael leading a spectral sea turtle through the waves. "Easiest pitch ever."

And that was why Michelangelo was now standing next to him, talking a mile a minute to his adoring fans as he drew another Turtle head-sketch on the cover page of another copy of Leonardo's book.

It was known in the industry that Leonardo Hamato only did signings at a counter, never at a table, and always with his back to a wall. He could handle crowds, but only if he was on his feet and didn't feel surrounded. Admitting his needs in that department had been an exercise in vulnerability, but over the course of several long conversations, his agent had convinced him that having a panic attack in public would not be good either for book sales or for the larger cause of mutant advancement.

Even this late in the tour, the signings hadn't gotten any easier. He forced a smile as the next person on line approached him.

"Hi," she said. Good. He liked the ones who didn't start with a personal question about his life or a literary inquiry about the deeper meaning of the book. "Could you sign it for Miranda, please?"

"Sure," Leonardo said. He wrote the inscription with care (no matter how many books he signed, it didn't get any easier - but also, his handwriting didn't devolve into the illegible scrawl that many authors adopted), then added his name in looping cursive. "Thank you for coming."

Their hands met over the hardbound tome as Leo slid it back across the counter. Miranda looked like she might say something, but then she just smiled awkwardly, scooped the book to her chest, and hurried towards the register.

If Leo didn't have such a damn good memory, his recollection of her would have been completely gone two signatures later. As it was, a ghost of her imprinted itself on his cortex, alongside every other person he'd encountered in his life. Though he'd taken the IQ test five times now and had never managed to achieve a triple-digit score, he swore he remembered every person he'd ever had any interaction with. They piled up in his mind, one after another, this day's fans on top of all those he had met before.

It took a couple of hours to clear the line. Then, as Leo and Mike stood behind the counter, appreciating the silence that had descended back over the bookshop, the owner brought them their coats.

"Thank you so much," she said. "Can I offer you a dinner recommendation?"

"I can't believe I'm saying no," Mike replied, as he glanced at the ornate clock on the far wall, "but we have to get to the airport. We're supposed to be in Portland tomorrow."

"Of course," the bookseller said. "Do you need any help calling a cab?"

"No, thank you," Leo said. "The agent takes care of everything. Our ride will be here any minute."

"Great," the shop owner replied. "Have a safe flight."

Another moment in the calming quiet. Then: "You ready, bro?"

"I'm coming," Leo said.

And they went out together into the bright, clear day.