Virtual Quill

It’s Christmas Day, and as I write this we’re snowed in due to the storm that paralyzed the university. Only idiots would go out in such weather, which is of course what Fenton and I did last night.
Long story short; the storm knocked out the power to the bee hive in the elm across the street. Since the elm is (somehow) connected to Tree, Tree was able to warn us and we got the bees over to our place before they froze.
To pass the time until their power returned they built wooden toys. Fenton and I took to the air in the middle of the storm, dodging gusts, freezing temperatures and owls. At the termite orphanage we dumped the toys down the chimney, giving the termite children a very happy meal.
The bees are now back in their warm home, and we’re ready to go to bed. We’ve sent greetings to our families back in Domain, and found a nice gift of honey from the bees. It’s been a pleasant respite from the drama involving Ms. Aura and her Group, which will pick back up next week. For now, however, we sleep.

After Catherine departed, Fenton relayed to me the memories of his time at MicroTalon. I wrote it all down as they kept flooding back to him.
We can’t corroborate it with the late Vin Vulpen, and his deer co-worker has long since vanished into the anonymity of the Wild, but Ray Flambeau is still around. We called him and Tammy, and it seems that Catherine had just left their lighthouse before heading out to sea (and presumably, to the portal). She’d left a check for the same amount she’d given Fenton, but without an explanation. We professed similar mystification.
Fenton could even recall some of the code he’d written at MicroTalon, that is now somehow keeping our predator/prey society from tearing itself to shreds. Eventually his memory arrived at the moment we rendezvoused with him in Redmond WA on New Year’s Eve. At that point all of the gaps were filled in.
That left the decision squarely in our laps. After going back and forth for the past week, we decided tonight that joining the Group was our destiny. My life, with its bizarre coincidences and events (an accident at sea throwing me as an infant through the portal, as if I’d been aimed at it), seems to have led me to this moment. Fenton supported the decision, and we accessed the URL given to us.
An innocent-looking page asked for a Username and Password, and we followed the instructions given to us by Catherine. Our laptop’s webcam activated, and we found ourselves face to face with a condor. I gasped in surprise; it was one of my instructors at NASA when I went up in the shuttle.
He greeted me warmly and welcomed us to the Group. Our printer sprang to life, and two QR code images appeared. We were to laminate them and carry them with us at all times. Scanning those from any Smartphone would immediately connect us with the Group.
I asked what happened next, and he said they were taking the holidays off and would get back to us in January. Until then their website would display a game for our amusement.
Yep. Angry Birds.

I’ll do my best to relate events clearly and concisely. It’s hard, however, when one’s world is turned upside down.
Ms. Aura arrived at our house alone, looking the same as ever in her black feathers. She insisted that as adults we call her Catherine now, and gave us a summary of her life as a human on the other side of the portal. She showed photos of herself and Nigel as humans, and her human husband Greg (the counterpart of the bear captain who married Danielle and George Fennec). More importantly to Fenton and myself were the pictures of her six-month-old child Ursala.
Ursala is human in every way, except for having bear fur and an ursine nose. No one, including me, understands the logic that accounts for both her and the human Francis. Perhaps the portal crossing causes a completely random element to enter one’s genes as they’re passed to the next generation.
That was only a warm-up to the main event: the revelation that birds not only control access to and from dimensional portals, but that they pretty much control...everything. Or else, they used to, until they enabled computers to keep our predator/prey society from spinning out of control. I was aghast, but there was more to come. Fenton suddenly got a blank look on his face, and then yelled at Catherine, “You held me hostage for months!”
Wide-eyed, he recounted to me how he, Vin Vulpen and Ray Flambeau had been forced to work at MicroTalon with a huge team creating that very computer system. Catherine confirmed everything and gave him a check for his back pay, with interest.
I was livid, recalling my mental anguish when I thought Fenton was dead, and even worse, when I thought he was alive and no one would believe me. I don’t often lose my temper, but I did then. Catherine accepted and acknowledged every drop of my fury as I unloaded on her.
Eventually it was Fenton who asked, “What now?” Catherine told us we were now full members of something she called the Group, which until now consisted entirely of feathered species. She provided a list of contacts and passwords to their inner circle.
We asked why she isn’t worried that we’d simply tell the world about their secrets. She said we were free to do so, but no one would believe us. (Coming from a couple of SF geeks like us, true.) Fenton asked about our human friends Nick and Ki. She said she didn’t know, but we could tell she was deeply concerned about something to do with them.
Then she was gone. We have one week to decide whether to join the Group. It’s going to take longer than that to screw my head back on straight.

Ms. Aura is on her way. Next week.
She’ll be a turkey buzzard again, and traveling alone without Nigel. I assume she’ll be asking for any further information I have about that squirrel, but I suspect that it will be more than that.
For the past few weeks I’ve doing research on her, and the less I find the deeper I dig. I’ve finally unearthed some files linking her to MicroTalon. It was shortly after that discovery that I heard from her; it was as if that action on my part raised an alarm of some sort.
Fenton and I never discuss MicroTalon, and not just because all our equipment is Carrot Computer-based. Years ago, he disappeared and was declared dead by everyone except me. He eventually resurfaced at MicroTalon headquarters of all places, with no memory of the intervening period, under some rather unusual circumstances that have never been fully explained. He’s never been able to piece together any recollections; just some vague disturbing feelings. I don’t want to upset him, so I don’t press him on the subject.
That may no longer be possible, which concerns me as Fenton’s well-being is my top priority. I’ve arranged that our meeting be in a public place, a loud restaurant near campus. I don’t know what to expect.