The 'Bunny' Chronicles - Part 1

[Misanthrope]

For the die-hard, dedicated SMAC fans out there, this is background information for a custom faction I created.  Hopefully the stories stand on their own and are a read worthy of the intricate fabric of the fictional universe they were made to be part of.

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"Gone?  What do you mean, 'they're gone'?" Nwabudike Morgan demanded.

Looking as confused as he was concerned, the Morgan Internal Affairs Officer reviewed the reports he had compiled, "I'm sorry, CEO, but as you know, we brought only about one hundred live specimens with us when we abandoned the Unity."

Dismissing the preliminary information, CEO Morgan impatiently prompted the relevant portion of this interruption by summarizing what he already knew, "Yes, and combined with a fortuitous recovery of a small group of cryofrozen bioengineered servants, there were one hundred and fifty-one originals.  While losing the rest was a terrible financial loss, the SuperPet servants we now have already multiplied to add nearly another quarter to their numbers.  What is the problem?"

By the manner Mr. Washington was avoiding eye-contact, it was clear that he felt something was terribly wrong.  He sheepishly summarized, "We can only find five of them.  The rest have disappeared."

Irritated by the interruption, the creatures that were designed to be the ultimate home servants had been growing more and more discontent in the months since planetfall, but of all times for them to play these sorts of games, now was especially inopportune.  With an exasperated sigh, Nwabudike ordered, "You know what we're dealing with in getting established here.  We don't have time for this!  Search the markets and the homes they are assigned to, and do not trifle me with such insignificant matters!"

Seeming to collapse in on himself further, Washington admitted, "We already have, sir.  It is as if they simply absconded."

"This is ridiculous!" Morgan snapped.  Activating his comm, he summoned the servant at his own home, "Consuela."

After a few seconds of silence he proceeded, "Consuela, I have a special request for tonight."

More silence and impatiently, CEO Morgan insisted, "Consuela, respond."

With more silence hanging in the dead air, Nwabudike threatened, "Consuela, answer at once, or shopping privileges will be suspended indefinitely!"

The CEO of Morgan Industries turned the comm system to 'locate' and was immediately shown a source of transmission.  Chiding the intruding Internal Affairs Officer, he began impatiently, "Did you search the shipping docks...?"

To his credit, Mr. Washington finished, "...shipping docks of the Commodities Exchange, yes.  We found over a hundred discarded collars and comm devices.  That's what I'm trying to say, CEO, they cannot be found anywhere; not at their assignments, nor in the markets."

Morgan had personally paid SuperPet Inc. a majority of the research and development costs, and as such, he had, before leaving Earth, received assignment of the first batch of these creatures that were engineered and bred to be the ultimate servants: capable of performing routine household tasks, and content to do so with little more reward than occasional praise.  They were supposed to be, not merely smart pets, but useful family members, unswervingly loyal to their homes and desperate to please their owners in any way possible.

"Is this some sort of protest or strike?" CEO Morgan asked.

Mr. Washington was careful in answering, "If it were, certainly they would have voiced demands or at least made contact of some form.  A group that size would be difficult to hide, and at least a few would have been located since I took the liberty of alerting the local garrison.  Even with their help, those five were all we were able to locate: one in the infirmary, three in special care units and one that refuses to leave her assigned home.  We questioned her, of course, but all we were able to ascertain was that she didn't want to leave.  She doesn't appear to know where in the base the others could be hiding."

Nwabudike was reminded of a few bothersome reports and instantly scrambled through information to find the particulars:

MY00011225, aprx. 0400, secondary outer airlock garage, security staff assaulted, maintenance vehicles and supplies looted from secondary outer airlock.  One casualty, one injury: witness was rendered unconscious by a blow to the head, unable to confirm as security recordings were disabled prior to the theft and attack.  Large amount of animal hair found at scene hampered forensic efforts.
Likely conclusion: an unknown enemy infiltration team had come a long way to steal large, but relatively inexpensive and low-tech equipment.

Scrolling to earlier incidents, he made a connection, reading:

MY00011223 and 24, numerous accounts of bioengineered servants observed buying unusual amounts of bulk food and farming supplies, including respirators and construction machinery.  In several cases, goods and equipment were taken without authorized payment.

Rubbing his forehead, CEO Morgan concluded, "Nor will you find them in this base.  Apparently, they think themselves capable of surviving a long excursion into the wild."

Having not seen the other telling information, Mr. Washington asked, "Sir?"

Nwabudike detailed for him, "What we thought were petty thefts and an unauthorized access to one of the support bays last night seems to be an attempt at wilderness survival.  Our servants have taken it upon themselves to arrange for an unscheduled vacation."

The IA Officer asked submissively, "So what do we do now?"

The more he thought about it, the angrier CEO Morgan felt.  Speaking aloud, he built himself to the conclusion, "By arranging such a coordinated exodus, it seems we have grossly underestimated their adaptability and intellectual capabilities.  Even so, there are things out there that even we do not know of or yet understand.  Planet will teach these timid creatures the lethal lesson, their homes are not only for their comfort, but for their protection; no doubt many will be lost to native lifeforms and other environmental dangers.  They will return, and when they do, see to it they are punished in the harshest means possible without impairing their ability to perform assigned duties.  Take their children away, increase their workloads, assign them to noisy jobs outside of their homes and cut off communication between them.  If necessary, make examples of those who will not submit."

Washington bowed and submitted, "Yes, sir!  Right away, sir," and quickly exited the office.  The man controlled everything from the economy to the very homes where they lived, and when the CEO of this monopoly was displeased enough to order executions, it was best to be as far away from him as possible, doing your job as efficiently as possible.

- - - - - - -

Running!  Constantly running!  While most human traits were theirs, the timidity of lesser creatures built into all of them kept an entire convoy on the run and in constant movement for half a year.  Fear was a powerful motivator, and there was plenty to be afraid of here.  In the few months since their escape, they had dodged patrols, quietly bypassed potential enemies, avoided frightening terrain, and worst of all, they had fled from swarms of those horrifying worm-creatures!  The worms were small but had jaws that could bite through a person's skull, to say nothing of what they could do to the rest of a body, and they appeared in numbers that caused immediate panic.

It seemed every day presented a new catastrophe or enemy; something new to be frightened of.

Through it all, Consuela kept close contact with every vehicle and group, updating the organizer of their exodus to keep her leader aware of everyone's needs and concerns.  A rabbit-morph named Marlia, held the group together by force of will and determination.  They were all tired.  Some were injured or terribly sick.  Consuela missed her former home terribly, of course, but she also knew how crucial her information gathering was: the leader of this haggard band was uninspiring, a short, overweight, lisping person that was more lagomorph than human.  She genuinely cared and always knew when someone needed a kind word of encouragement, a glimmer of hope or some other emotional support, but she relied on Consuela for much of her information.

SuperPet had designed them from the base DNA coding up, and while the majority of their makeup came from the human genome, enough had come from other creatures to make them naturally docile and gave each of them a craving to stay at home to please their masters.  Marlia was filling the role of 'master' so well, proving herself genuinely loving and concerned for each individual, they had all become accustomed to thinking of her as their adopted 'Mother'.  She had unofficially, but unanimously, been chosen to be the Matron of their runaway group.

Consuela hurried to walk beside Marlia at the head of the convoy, still curious to how and why she constantly needed to occasionally jog merely to keep pace with the shorter woman.  She spoke solemnly, "Mother, Marianne's other twin is dead.  It seems to have hurt her worse than losing her first."

Unrelenting strides carried the short, round rabbit-woman ever in a steady, determined pace at the very front of the convoy, her regular, labored breathing audible from the rebreather mask.  Consuela was about to repeat her report for fear that something was wrong, when the Matron responded, "To lose any child is a gweat pain, but hew first was crearly not going to suvive.  It was painfu, but we see it, and we knew it will come; to lose awlso her other, wit so much hope upon dhem, wit more pain come a terwible disappointment.  How are dhe others near her?"

She had become accustomed to the severe impediment Marlia's distinctively inhuman teeth and mouth affected her speech with.  Tilting her head and perking her golden feline ears curiously, Consuela asked, "The others?"

The rabbit-woman was less than a year older, but there were times her wisdom made her seem positively ancient.  "Her pain issa pain we awll feel.  Her pain is contadious, an we awll aw huwt by it.  It huwt so much, this smawl defeat can harm us more dhan any single weapon or adyien monstahr."

The feline asked, "What must we do?"

Little footsteps hurried from behind, followed by a small, weary voice.  "Mama Maw-weeya, I'm tired."

Consuela reprimanded the little rabbit-girl, "Not now child."

Running up to take hold of Marlia's big fuzzy paw-hand, the touch of those smaller hands prompted Marlia to guide the little girl to the side of the river bed they were traveling in.  Consuela knew her duty of gathering information was important, but only her most calamitous of reports could stop this determined lapine; there were times she felt she had a better chance of stopping the supply crawlers than halting the Matron herself.  She felt somewhat envious when Marlia kneeled down and asked, "Yes.  Yes, now, child.  What is it?"

"I'm tired," she complained again.

Marlia replied patiently, "We'yaw awll tiyed."

Seeing her comment not working, the girl mourned, "Ev'one sad."

"Some'ting bad happen."

With tears already welling in her eyes, the tiny rabbit asked, "Chimmi die?"

The older 'morph nodded, quietly affirming, "Yes."

The girl tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but interrupted by the breathing mask, she merely smudged a dirty hand print across the clear surface.  She buried her masked face in the Matron's plump bosom and cried miserably for the loss, a small representation of the pain everyone else must have been feeling.  Marlia picked her up, cradling the little girl with a hug and began walking again.  Consuela, close behind, once again hurried to catch up.

The cat-woman sighed and reminded her, "We can't stop for every sad person or crying child."

"No," the Matron agreed quietly.  She thought for a long moment before answering, "...an yet, we muss.  rLittle Giffany here, she too young to have to face such tewrrible rloss.  Too young, to have to understan deafth.  She is young, but she sees, and she feels."

Looking over to Consuela without breaking stride, she as good as ordered, "Tewl Mawianne I grwieve for her rloss, and that tonight we all are sad for her.  We must comfort her for all to see, that they may all know they are all important and all loved."

"This is for show?" Consuela asked.

"No!" Marlia asserted.  "This feeling, it is twue!  We show awll we are sad that awll wiw know dhat each is importan.  Dhat losing any make us awll vewy sad.  Not onrly for Mawianne, but for all who love and feel sad, they must feel and know we all feel they pain.  I writhsh... wrifth.... I wish I could take it away, but I cannot.  I lead us to go, that we can make our own homes... with schools, with farms, with hospitows so we can make more pain stop.  Tewl her, I will see her tonight when we rest."

Consuela sighed, nodded and stepped aside to let the convoy catch up so she could deliver the message.

Meanwhile, Giffany stirred in Marlia's arms and tried to wipe her nose, smudging more grime across her mask.  She asked, "Mama Maw-weeya sad too?"

Huffing a mildly amused sigh, she hid the tugging of a sad smile and nodded.  "Yes.  We awl sad.  You see and feeoh for othor people very wewl, y'ittle one."

As she walked, it crossed the Matron's mind that Giffany could be telepathic or have some other superhuman advantage making her so sensitive while she was yet so very young.  This wasn't the first time she had proven so perceptive, and Marlia decided to watch this small child's growth and education carefully.  They would need capable and compassionate parents and grandparents.  They would need wise guidance from leaders both perceptive and bold.  Giffany was likely the first to take up the mantle of leadership of what would become the government for their forever home.

Before then, they would need a base of operations; a place to call home.

Carrying the young girl whom had cried herself to sleep, the river bed crunched steadily under her big feet as they traveled to a place to begin a life of their own.  Child in hand, heavy emotions and heavy vehicles following close behind, Marlia walked on.

- - - - - - -

"Listen, but do not speak," was the Matron's command to her student as she activated a communication device.

Years had passed, and new challenges had come and gone, but one monstrous hurdle remained in the way of progress: confronting that built-in sense of 'belonging' and facing the homes many of them had literally come from.  Giffany, standing silent, was one of the youngest to remember living in Morganite bases, but the blossoming generation that followed after her were being held back by their elders.  These older servants remained unsure of their past, and as such, they all remained unsure of their future.

Her connection established and routing information scrolled the screen beneath a frighteningly familiar 'Morgan' company logo.  In times past, it was a symbol of all that was right and good, but with so many bad memories to sour the nostalgia, so many stories of woe and neglect, tales of abuse and abandonment, what once could be viewed as comfort was now an embodiment of heartbreak.

The moment could have stretched a lifetime and held significance for each of the people in Matron Marlia's care, but for the few brief seconds before the live, breathing image of Nwabudike Morgan appeared, it landed on her, even as he spoke that this was a turning point in history.

"Am I speaking to the leader of our run-away servants?" Morgan asked.

"I am the chosen rleader of the Famiry of Flreed Houseservants," she affirmed.  Big teeth and big tongue interfering with her pronunciation, Marlia was suddenly and unexpectedly troubled by her speech impediment.  She resolved to be as firm as the inborn difficulties were in any efforts at reconciliation.

Nwabudike Morgan reprimanded her, "We paid a great deal of money to have you engineered.  By taking the rest of your kind away, you have stolen what is rightfully ours."

Marlia accused him, "You want to make slraves, but you make people.  People whom can feerl and think and lreason.  You knew we wan' to make you happy, but never you are here.  We want to feewl rLove, but always, we aw arone.  Not one, but many... most... aw'most AWLL of us, we are sad.  This why we have leave."

Marlia left unspoken the numerous instances of neglect, and in too many cases, the outright abuse.

Unimpressed, the CEO of Morgan Industries offered with a professionally warm tone, "Then return to your assignments, and I shall grant you amnesty of your theft."

Those words of property and assignments raised the hair on Marlia's neck for reasons she couldn't articulate.  If she had fangs, they would have been bared, but instead she exposed lagomorphic gnawing teeth in a gesture of uncharacteristic revulsion.  The rabbit-woman spat, "We ah NOT yoh PWOPERTY, Mohgan!"

She heard grinding teeth in the behind her as his eyes moved to the side for a few seconds, to something relevant to their conversation.  Silence lagged before the CEO continued, "Ah, yes.  You must be the pet whom was assigned to Captain Garland, Marlia Lagossi, specimen number zero-zero-zero-zero-six-nine.  I see now that our lenience in view of your loss was misplaced.  If you wish we could find you a new master."

Panic and terror was a familiar feeling after so many months on the run, and since they had established a base of operations, a place to call 'home', the dreaded feelings had become thankfully scarce; but this feeling when speaking to their creator, Nwabudike Morgan himself, was something new and intense: this was something unwelcome and threatening, and she felt, not terror for her own survival, but a rage for what it would mean to the people who looked to her for guidance, support, protection and love.  Her ears burned hot, she felt the strength of her jaws and the disproportionate muscle in her massive legs and feet, but this urge to strike back had no outlet!  Lips pulled back in a snarl, she asserted, "You made us, yet, you do not own us."

Morgan replied formally, "You were created by, and are therefore the property of, Morgan Industries."

Marlia could barely breathe for the overwhelming urge to shield her kind from more abuse.  She growled, "We are, our, own, masters now."

Before she could consider her action, she cut the connection, slamming her big hand-paw down on the communicator.

One of her incisor teeth chipped under the pressure of grinding before Marlia realized how intense was her feeling.  It hurt, and for once she was thankful because her lagomorphic genetics meant the tooth would grow back.  Tears streaked her face and she shuddered, physically weakened by the verbal exchange.  The continued sound of grinding teeth reminded her that she was not alone.  Turning to her young learner, she asked Giffany, "You heard?"

The younger half-human nodded solemnly.

Marlia worked hard to control her voice, desperately struggling to keep from sounding grieved, "Now we know, we can never go back."

Giffany nodded again, even as The Matron realized that the continuing sound of grinding teeth was not her own.

She allowed the annoying noise to be the soundtrack of her thoughts before she concluded aloud, "Tewl Consuerla, we must have guards and fighters.  These muss be lready to battle, for next we meet those we once love... dhey are now enemy."

Giffany nodded once more, affirming, "Yes, Mother," before hurrying away.

Left alone, Marlia was reminded of her own agitated habit of teeth-grinding by the pain of her freshly broken tooth.  This conversation, although short, had given her much to think about.  In the eyes of their makers, she and her kind were not people, but property, and it was for that reason they had abandoned the homes they were born to serve.  Nothing had changed.

Calling up an image of the expanding tunnels, dens and buildings of their growing colony, Marlia was surprised by the realization that she too was still holding a glimmer of hope for returning to Morgan Industries, envisioning a reunion of their burgeoning families being met with open arms and hearts overflowing with love.  Any last deluded imagination of a happy homecoming was shattered, left in charred ruins after the communication with their maker; that bridge was now ashes, collapsed into a widening chasm.  She spoke aloud to herself, startled and saddened by her own assertion, "This is ouw home now."

- - - - - - -

Matron Marlia sat in her private den, a bubbling fountain of mixed emotions.

The growing generation was becoming more wise and independent than she herself thought possible, and for this, she was truly grateful.  They were developing as people, not merely servants to other factions, but making themselves important parts of their larger family.

Their initiative, creativity and ingenuity continued to flourish, overcoming obstacles and harnessing the power of nature itself.  Marlia swelled with pride at the thought of the Family's younglings growing to adults, capable of altering their environment, despite their instinctive fear of change.

A bright glimmer of hope peaked over a dark storm in the Matron's heart.  Even the very people of the Family of Freed Houseservants could, and indeed would, eventually be changed, but this ray of hope came at a terrible cost.  Three of their best and brightest had stolen away on a Morganite supply convoy, disguised as farm workers; once inside the base, they had accessed the Morgan databanks and transmitted some incredible technical findings!  Along with it, they had found the genetic coding for their own kind and transmitted every available detail of the experiments that had created them as a people.

Abandoned as defunct and worthless information on a forgotten sector of computer memory, the babble of technical data quickly overwhelmed Marlia as she scrolled down pages and pages of confusing information.  It was clear that more advanced laboratories would be needed to make use of it and much more advanced techniques would need to be developed before putting this discovery to use, but it would surely be worth every effort.  Unlocking the secrets of lost genetic crossings, opening up untapped and previously unknown capabilities, correcting flaws, and even going so far as adapting several new species, even some aquatic species, to join the Family, this talented young infiltration team had found a veritable treasure trove of information that would take decades to truly appreciate.

However, to the Matron's dismay, the infiltration team had been discovered and either captured or killed.  Marlia swore to educate every child of the Family about their great sacrifice.  Every youngling would know the names Ann, Evon and Haruka.  Ann's mother returned with the priceless information, having left her own daughter behind, knowing there was nothing she could do to save her.
Marlia had arranged for the aggrieved spy to have a most comfortable place, surrounded and loved by a selection of attractive and intelligent young bucks from whom she could raise more children, all the while teaching future infiltration specialists about techniques to use and dangers to be avoided.

Meanwhile, scientists and geneticists in every Freed Family hospital, lab and library were being granted full access to these files in a long term search for more answers and how to use them.  Also, another team was already in transit to find the fate of these fallen heroes.  If they lived, they would be rescued, even at great cost, and they would live long, comfortably pampered lives; if not, then generations to come would honor their sacrifices and only the smartest of children would be allowed to bear their legacy by carrying their great names.

- - - - - - -

Collected comments of adversaries and allies...

CEO Morgan: There is no excuse for this affront!  We created them, hence, we own them.  Having paid for, and closely followed their production, certainly, I should know!  While they were designed to be compatible with humans, they are not humans, and these sub-human beings have taken it upon themselves to establish separate camps away from the homes where they belong.  Do not allow their ability to speak to fool you: they are not people, and are no different than an animal escaped from its home.  Knowing they can face punishment for bad behavior, they merely prolong their disobedience by staying away.  We will gladly pay a tidy reward for the safe return of these escaped individuals or their offspring.
-Public offer to the Council of Leaders on Planet, MY 2126

Col. Santiago of the Spartan Federation: Love and passion are poor substitutes for training and armaments to defend one's home.  While these creatures grow and spread with astounding speed, their bases are soft targets, meaning, if they survive the rigors of Planet itself, if necessary, I fear, repurposing the homes and ethics of these creatures will prove more difficult than conquering them.
-Battle planning session, classified

Academician Prokhor Zakharov: A most ambitious project, to be sure; certainly, the most advanced genetic production to come from any laboratories before we left Earth.  However, these creatures seem eager to consume precious resources which we cannot spare while we endeavor to establish humanity upon this unforgiving world.
-Personal journal, classified

Lady Deirdre Skye: - Having never known the ecological destruction upon Earth, like every other Morgan project, these 'Houseservants' destroy the delicate balance of nature around them.  If they truly are so intelligent as they claim, then perhaps we can reason with them to curtail the blind consumerism.  If not, then we owe it to humanity to halt their devastation by force of arms.
-Communique with unconfirmed ally, classified

Sister Jessica Westcott of The Lord's Believers: I pray repentance upon the souls of these creatures, lest they face the wrath of God!  As minions of physical evil, these... ANIMALS desecrate the beings whom brought them to this Promised Land.  There is little reasoning with them, and they believe in only what they can see and touch.  They eat without end, they take what does not belong to them if only to appease a passing fancy and fornicate as naturally as they breathe.  They aspire to be the unholy embodiment of sin.
-Prelude to the Annual Sermon of State

Pravin Lal: As the objective of our colonization of Planet was stamped, a label upon the vessel of our arrival, then these 'Servants' may prove to be our masters in the nurturing unity of their families, clans, and even their entire bases.  Overbalanced in their overflowing love, of course, but if such is the price for reuniting our mission to save humanity, then perhaps, it is ironic that we may do well to look outside of our own species for guidance.  This 'Family' of genetically engineered beings may prove to be of greater use to us than we intended, and perhaps, we may be of great use in assisting them to grow as well.
-Conversation with unknown individual at U.N. Headquarters, MY 2111

Chairman Sheng-Ji Yang: Most submissive populations that are truly the envy of every great leader, they are respectful, obedient, resourceful, adaptable and are content to live with little more than their basic needs.  Be wary, however, that these pseudo-human animals live by an insidious belief built on the importance of the individual.  It is like a house built upon a roof, and will certainly crush itself under the weight of its own foundation.  Paralyzed by their own desires, they focus on growth with no goal, expansion with no purpose.  While these 'Family of Freed Houseservants' may yet prove a valuable ally, we must be careful to never allow their philosophy to contaminate the purity of our peoples' thoughts.
-Intercepted message to the Human Hive Minister of Culture

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