Rebirth Prelude
Prelude
In the year 2093 C.E., human scientists discovered the key to unlocking humanoid forms in animals. Two groups claimed to have discovered it first. A group in what was then called the USA produced a male raccoon they labeled P5-847, while another group in China produced a female white rat called An Jai (Peaceful Beauty). The Americans quickly adapted to popular opinion and changed P5-847 to Paul. Paul and An Jai were the first of many of their species to walk on two legs and have a language that humans could understand. As their popularity grew, so did the number of species that the scientists were able to successfully anthropromorphize. Within a few months, England had badgers, Japan had mice, Australia had rabbits, and Russia had bears. Within years of the first successes, everyone seemed to want their favorite animal to be the next species.
There were some species that didn't make the cut. The kangaroo, for instance, was considered to be too much of a pest as it was, much less making them human-like. All the primates were cut as being too close to human ancestry already. As were the amphibians, the difference between converting a cold blooded species to a warm blooded one resulted in far too many failed experiments. America tried to bring the golden eagle into the ranks of the anthros, but though the transformation was successful, there was a problem in the bone structure of the avians that increased their weight to a point that their wings just would not carry them into the skies. Shortly after this discovery, they found all ten of their prototypes dead; they had simply willed themselves to death rather than live flightlessly. Avians were put on the restricted list after that, at least until they could find a way to counter the bone density problem.
One enterprising young scientist off the coast of Wales even offered the technology to dolphins and other large aquatic mammals. About ten percent of the dolphins accepted the offer, however they made a few changes to the program. They didn't want feet and refused to allow their flippers to be removed completely in favor of arms, so instead they worked out a way to create hands and fold them into the tough outer skin of the flippers, and managed to give themselves a lockable "elbow" joint. It was at this point that the world realized they had lost the seas forever. The dolphins now capable of using tools, began to dictate terms by which humans could use the oceans -- terms they reinforced by sinking ships that overfished or deposited trash on the shorelines of countries that didn't think recycling was that important.
By that time every household had an anthromorph of their very own, a strange sort of almost-peace reigned on the Earth. It lasted until the anthromorphs started to outnumber the humans. Suddenly, it was hard to walk down the street without tripping over a homeless anthromorph. Granted, they had been given all the menial jobs, like garbage collection and waste management, but now they were starting to demand rights as citizens of their various countries.
Several of the more extreme religious groups of humans (who had been protesting the anthromorphs all along) now became wildly vocal, wanting to euthanize the whole lot of them. A cool head in Australia came up with another solution -- he wanted to use them in the space program. The world leaders jumped on this idea, and funding was arranged for three colonial ships -- Washington D.C., Geneva and Shanghai -- that would carry both anthro and feral versions of each animal into the stars, along with all the things needed to terraform the worlds they found themselves deposited on. The plan was that the anthros would prepare the worlds for general known-life-form habitation, and humans would follow a few years later. They sent along a hundred human volunteers with each ship, to oversee the journey, landing, and initial colonization.
Embarkation Day was a huge success; there were representatives from every nation on Earth there to wish the wayfarer's well. Things went smoothly for the first few years, then a mayday came in from the Washington D.C.. They were experiencing heavy meteor and debris fields. They remained in contact for three days before the signal abruptly cut off. No one knew for sure what happened to the ship, but the worst was assumed as contact was never reestablished.
A decade or so later, the Shanghai touched down on it's new home. All went according to plan, and the colony was well established by the end of the first year dirtside. However, there was an over abundance of magnesium on their new world, and after that year, the population started to die off due to an excess of it. They attempted to recover by planting crops that they hoped could filter out the excess metal; however, there was too much of the magnesium to sustain a viable population, and the efforts ended in tragedy.
The aging crew of the Geneva, realizing that they only had the normal human lifespan to work with, delegated the most intelligent of their anthromorphs to replace them should something go wrong. Luckily, this was an unneeded precaution. The Geneva landed on it's designated planet with precision. Some major changes had to be made. The orbital year on this planet was exactly 400 days long, but the days were longer. After several days of debating the issue, the Earth-based 24 hour day was changed to a 40 hour day; an hour was broken into 100 minutes, each 100 seconds long. The 12-month year was scrapped in favor of breaking the 400 days down evenly into ten months of four weeks, each lasting ten days.
The colony thrived for another decade before the humans realized that they'd been abandoned. At this point, the histories get a little fuzzy; either the humans died out, or they took the Geneva and headed back the way they came. It is known that, for whatever reason, the location or existence of the Geneva has since been lost, and humans were no longer part of either the current society nor the well-recorded history,.In any case, the anthromorphs were left on their own.
* * * * *
"A few hundred years have passed since the last of the humans vanished into time, and a new problem is facing our colony on Burrow," the Professor read, "the first world the anthromorphs colonized. With each successive generation, our birth rate is declining." Again he sucked in a breath at the straightforward way the kit stated it, like a bald truth lying there on the page. "Many will disagree, but the numbers don't lie. We've gone from having litters of 8 to 10 kits down to single, occasional double, and the rare triple birth. While it doesn't seem to be a problem yet, as the previous generations pass into term age, we will notice the decline much more. All of our major programs hinge on the birth rate, from food production to space exploration; it's been the overpopulation of the colonies that make them possible. If we continue to see this decline, we will eventually find that these programs are no longer viable, and our whole way of life will change forever."
Professor Mangangoora looked up from the paper he'd been rereading and examined the young rabbit sitting opposite him. "Do you know what this is, Chaz?" He held the paper out for the rabbit to examine, waited until the boy nodded, and went on in the same bored sounding voice. "I have had to wade through some really boring scientific analysis of our history before but this..." He paused for dramatic effect, then smiled at the squirming lad. "This was the most insightful I have read in years." He watched as the boy took in what he'd just said. "I mean it, Chaz; this is stellar work. You took the same information that all the other students have had, and you came to a conclusion that shakes our world to its core."
"Professor, I..." The gray rabbit stopped and shook his head. "If this gets out... I mean, if anyone else figures it out..." He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself.
"You are right, of course; it could cause riots and primal hunting like we had in the early days." He picked up another piece of paper from his paper-strewn desk and smiled at it before handing it to the lad. "A friend of mine has been looking for a lad like you -- someone who is able to piece things together from minimal data and see the big picture. How would you like to work for the Central Burrow, my lad?"
Chaz blinked a few times, staring at the professor like he'd just pulled a Human from a hat. "The Central..."
"You are just the type they recruit. Bright, handsome, intelligent, not overly well-groomed, but that's something we can work on." The elder rabbit folded his paws in front of himself on his desk. "Well, what do you say? Shall I tell him I found him a suitable candidate?"