Raff and the Starship of Knowledge

About Morphs and Introduction

© Copyrighted by Furryhart 11/07/2014 ©

About Morphs

Morphs are a genetic manipulation of a base animal stock. They usually, more or less, look just like their base animal parent, or donor, whose cells they were created from. They are then enhanced genetically and given special abilities that separate them from the norm, like paw hands to manipulate things, the ability to walk on their hind legs, intelligence to think and speak, and maybe even increased size. There were many other types of genetic mutations used to create some morphs, making some more useful and others more dangerous. Most of them were unauthorized genetic experiments, created for money, profit and more often, for illegal purposes. Some, however, were experiments funded by the Galactic Federation themselves, although most of these were thought to have been destroyed, along with any evidence.

Morphs can also be created from a sexual union between a morph and a base animal of the same genetic type, such as a male morph fox and an ordinary female fox, or between two morphs of the same genetic type, such as a male morph rabbit and a female morph rabbit. The result of such unions is an offspring with the genetic combination of the two parents. The offspring may or may not have any of the mutations of the morph parents and may result in other mutations, good or bad, being passed on to them. Some interspecies morphs have been born, due to the genetic manipulation process of the parents, resulting in a new morph species being created. Such unions were only a small part of genetic experiments being carried on in these genetic labs.

In the Galactic year 4713 all genetic experimentation was supposedly abolished and made illegal, but more morphs kept showing up in the news, as raid after raid was made on illegal genetic labs all over the federation. Most morphs were usually destroyed, before the raids, by the lab personal getting rid of evidence. Others were killed by the federation police during the raid, by accident or by officers having orders to do so, by the local government. Still some managed to escape and found the outside world very hostile towards them. It wasn’t until a very influential animal rights group stepped in to stop the senseless killing of morphs, that the Galactic Federation made an official mandate to appease them. This official mandate gave all non dangerous morphs the right to live and become full citizens.

This however caused an uproar, as most pure strain human and humanoid citizens found morphs repulsive, because of their looks, smells and strange behaviors. These citizens were also appalled by the fact that most morphs wore no clothing and refused to do so, feeling most uncomfortable in them. The morph soon found themselves outcasts of society, with no one to turn to for help. Some perished right away, other lived very impoverished lives in slums or abandoned buildings and still others turned to crime. Then there were those few who found their place in the universe and became heroes, like Raff, a morph raccoon and Mophit, a morph otter. This then is the story of how they met, fell in love and became very famous morphs explorers.

Introductions

My name is Raff, or at least that is what most people around here call me, as in riffraff. What my true name might have been, if any, was completely lost to me. I am a two and a half foot tall raccoon morph of some sort, of undetermined age; but what exactly I am, is of much debate in this city. Some say I was brought here to this world by aliens and was dumped here, along with the rest of their garbage. Some say I am a miserable diseased animal that, for some god forsaken reason, became intelligent. Some say that I was exposed to radioactive runoff in one of these abandoned warehouses and was horribly mutated by it. Still others say I am a laboratory experiment that went completely wrong and I was dumped here, to hide their mistake. There are others, less kind surmises; but whatever the truth may be I do not even know myself, or even care, for that matter. As far back as I can remember, I had always lived among these rundown dilapidated buildings and warehouses on the east side of the Denton Spaceport.

I survive here day to day mainly by rummaging through the trashcans and dumpsters around the spaceport at night, for something to eat, avoiding the local police. I am able to eat almost anything edible, even things that would gag a maggot and because of this; I have become rather plump, or do I have worms again? Anyway, I seem to be immune to any disease, which, because of the way I have to live in this rundown old city, is a very good thing. The only thing that ever bothers me are these damn fleas that from time to time make me scratch a lot. I manage, however, to keep the fleas at bay when I rummage through the dumpsters. They are a never-ending source of toxins and poisons, which I also seem to be immune to. You might say my body has adapted quite well to my environment, or you might say that I had been made to survive in this kind of environment.

I also survive by fixing and selling things that I find dropped on the ground, in trashcans or in dumpsters, to some of the more shady characters that thrive around here. I really don’t like dealing with them, but it’s the only way I can get the things I need to survive. I actually trade the things that I find for things that I need, as credits are of no use to me. It’s not like I can just pop down to the local marketplace and get what I want, being what I am. I am not exactly what you would call a socially acceptable being, as most people are repulsed by my wild unkempt appearance and by my, shall I say, odorous presence. It is all the creeps can do to deal with me, but I bring them many valuable things to barter with and I also sometimes do things for them. Nothing exactly illegal, mind you, but I have a special talent for fixing things that they sometimes require.

I keep mostly to myself, living in an old cargo crate inside of abandoned warehouse number nineteen. There I sleep and keep the things that I find to fix them up and sell them, or keep them myself if I happen to take a liking to them. One thing in particular that I have always possessed and keep close to me at all times, is a small micro-toolkit that I use to repair the things that I find. I also have nimble little fingers on my small dexterous paw hands and keen eyes, perfect for working on very small things, in particular. I have always been clever at using them to fix things, even things that I knew nothing about. Things mechanical and electronic have always seemed like child’s play to me to figure out and repair. I could have probably gotten a good job at the spaceport doing this, if they could just get past my appearance, smell and my bad table manners. But I have always been chased off by their security, like some kind of rabid animal any time I approached it. Once, they even had me brought in by local law enforcement, but I was quickly released for some reason… was it my breath?

Another oddity about me is that I loved electricity, not only using it, but feeling it course through my small furred body. I can’t get enough of it and often need to electrocute myself once in a while, like a drug. It makes me feel giddy, as if I was drunk of alcohol or drugs; both of which have no effect on me, so it’s my only vice. Then one night I found out, quite by accident, that electricity can actually heal my wounds as well. I had been shot and badly wounded by a local resident with buckshot while I was rummaging through his trashcans. I managed to escape him and found myself near the power box of his housing complex. There was a broken panel with bare exposed wires and contacts inside of it, so I quickly helped myself to them, wanting to deaden the tremendous pain I was feeling. As the electricity coursed through my body, it blocked the pain, as I knew it would. However, before I managed to blow up the power transformer, I found that the lead shot had popped out of my wounds and my wounds had then closed up. The rest of that night, I walked around in the dark in a shuddering, drunken stupor for a while, but I was whole again, smelling of singed fur. What a wonderful odor!