There are strange things done at this university in the mountains, and it's all one person's fault. Or at least the fault was all focused through one person.
Let me begin where it all started to go sideways.
...
"Pardon
me," I said, as I tried to avoid spilling the flask that had
been thrust into my hands. "I thought an ornithology lab was for
studying birds, not creating them."
"Both,"
said Professor Windsor, as they flipped through some papers. "We
study what we create."
"You
create these things and then you study them?"
"Well
it would be hard to do it the other way around, wouldn’t it?"
I
looked around at the lab. There were at least a dozen different
incubators on the counters, interspersed with glass apparatuses that
I couldn’t name. There were multiple electrical machines whose true
purpose I had never been apprised of. I thought I had seen one of
them give off an electrical arc once.
There
was also a big electrical switch on the wall, you know, the kind
where you have to grab the handle and move the whole thing. The first
day I was in the lab, which is to say, the day before, I had seen
Professor Windsor turn the switch on, and something loud had begun to
hum. The Professor had cackled.
Something
about this place bugged me, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it
was. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t ever been told how to
operate the one little autoclave they had. Maybe it was the fact that
the weigh boats were scattered randomly instead of being placed
neatly. Maybe it was the fact that the scales weren’t plugged in.
Maybe it was the fact that the cabinets looked like they had been
taken from someone’s kitchen, and that corrosives, acids and
flammables were all stored together. Maybe it was the fact that the
Professor’s obviously-DIY haircut wasn’t covered by any kind of
hat, nor were they wearing gloves, nor was their lab coat actually
buttoned – nor had they reminded me to put any PPE on myself.
Maybe
it was the complete lack of fume hoods. I was definitely getting a
whiff of things I shouldn’t be whiffing at all.
I
was beginning to have second thoughts about working in this place.
"Let
me get this straight," I said. "You...create life."
Professor
Windsor nodded.
"Have
you ever submitted your research proposals to the Review Board?"
Professor
Windsor looked puzzled. "The what now?"
"Have
you ever submitted your articles for Peer Review?"
"Pshaw.
Nobody is my peer."
Now
I was getting antsy. "Please tell me you’ve at least given
your documentation to a trusted colleague for the sake of a
replication study."
The
Professor laughed. "You think we would trust anyone outside the
lab with the stuff we do? You’re nuts! Ah, but you’re new here.
Come on outside, and I’ll show you why we like to keep our efforts
on the down-low here." They grabbed me by the arm. I was dragged
out a side door, still holding onto the full, open-topped beaker.
I
found myself in the middle of a large courtyard. There didn’t seem
to be much in it besides oddly-smelling dirt. In the dirt were
multiple places of deep gouges in parallel. I was peering at the
marks, wondering what on earth could have made them, when there was a
piercing screech. I looked up at a pair of tall steel gates.
I
barely had time to think "oh no" before something huge
crashed against the gates from the other side, shattering the locks
and bending the steel outward. I jumped, splashing some of the
beaker’s contents on my wrist.
And
then the gates slammed open, and there towering over me was the
largest bird I or anyone in human history had ever seen. It stood as
tall as a telephone pole, with a coat of glossy brown feathers like a
Golden Eagle, a long neck like a swan, a wickedly curved beak the
size of a sheep, feet that could stomp me flat, and talons as long as
I was tall. It had golden eyes that seemed to stare right into my
soul.
It
gave a thunderous, ear-piercing screech, causing me to jump again,
and I dropped the flask in the dirt, causing the solution to jump out
of the top and soak my shoe. The bird screeched again, forcing me to
put my hands over my ears. "Stop
that!"
I
yelled. "You
obnoxious creature! Either spread your wings and get lost, or get
back in your pen!"
The
great bird looked puzzled.
Then
it opened its beak, and spoke. "Spread...wings?
What do you mean?"
For
a moment I was too stunned to respond.
"Please,
little bird. What do you mean, spread my wings?"
I
glanced at Professor Windsor, who, far from looking terrified, or
confused, or any emotion I could have expected out of this situation,
had an eager gleam in their eyes. I turned back to the bird. "I
mean, extend both wings outward from you. Like this."
I
spread my arms to either side.
The
great bird copied my movements, stretching both wings as far as they
would go. Which was, as it happened, the entire width of the
courtyard. "This
feels odd,"
said
the bird. "What
do I do with my wings now?"
"You
flap them up and down and – actually, that’s going to take some
work to get right if you’ve never done that before. Might as well
get back in the pen now and wait for the Professor to give you proper
instruction."
"I
do not think they will. They are a neglectful master. I am tired of
being caged."
Yikes.
I really didn’t want to work for this place. But now I was feeling
for this poor bird. Now I was stuck. I mean, besides the whole
work-for-room-and-board-and-tuition arrangement. "Just
think of your pen as your safest home for now. Outside this place,
everyone who sees you will fear you and try to kill you. You need to
learn how to get away from them quickly. Is there anyone in this
facility who can teach you?"
"The
master is the only one who works here."
I
shot Professor Windsor an incredulous look. The Professor didn’t
notice because they were scribbling furiously on a pad of paper.
Well, I guess I understood why I was being granted lavish
compensation for my work. They couldn’t find anyone else dumb
enough to apply for this job. Well, I might as well bite the bullet.
Better to have this thing on my good side when I was going to be
cleaning its cage. I turned back to the bird. “You
should really have a bird to teach you how to fly. All a human can do
is teach you to flap your wings. It’s not the same thing.”
“Are
you not a bird?”
“No,
you silly, I’m –” I
paused at the sudden itching on my wrist. I looked down.
My
left wrist was covered in blue-gray feathers.
“Perhaps
you can teach me after all,”
said
the bird. “I
look forward to it.”
Its
feathers smoothed as it lowered its head and slunk back through the
gate.
“That
was absolutely marvelous,” said Professor Windsor. “You actually
managed to communicate with the beast. I’ve never managed it.”
“What
do you mean?” I said, hiding my hands behind my back. “That was
plain American, wasn’t it?”
The
Professor shook their head. “No, my fine feathered friend. That was
a lot of cawing.”
Now
both of my wrists were itching. I took my right arm from behind my
back. There were a few blue-gray feathers there. I looked up at the
Professor, whose eyes were fixed on my wrist. “Uh…what was in
that flask?”
“A
special recipe from Dr. Morrow,” said the Professor.
“Doctor
who?”
“No,
Doctor Morrow. You are going to make a fascinating
case
study, my fine feathered friend.”