In the field hospital on a frontier world of the Ascendancy you hear screams that are reminiscent of a time before anesthetic. Although these screams are not of pain, but of anguish, as pureblooded colonials who have been wounded in the field of battle losing limbs or organs being replaced with augmentations. They are now named as Molari for passing the acceptable amount of visible cybernetics. The Molari are given a choice, be moved to a front line unit and be used as expendable cannon fodder, or return home to a society that doesn't view them as Colonials. Amidst the cries and anger is Ulthrax Dornvek renamed to Molari Dorn, he does neither. He believes he has a place that will accept him and not view him any differently, his home Quinvain Minor, where he has a family that loved him unconditionally before he went away.
Dorn’s recovery and therapy is seen to be by various species more empathetic than the colonials. Umbric hybrids, beings that he once viewed as an “other”, treat him with patience and understanding as he navigates his new life as an “other”. Some Molari lash out with anger at the Umbrics, because they still have their Ascendancy programming or because they refuse to accept that this is their new life. Stares from colonials in the hospital for less serious injuries, within their stares is a lifetime of ingrained hatred and prejudice, but they also recognize their former fellow soldiers. There is a silent understanding that any mistake that does not result in immediate death will result in them becoming a Molari. On the day of his discharge a representative from the Varkh Augment Regulation Bureau sees to his future.
“Dorn? I am from the VARB, I am to go through your processing papers and just a few questions. Have you decided if you will return to the legions or attempt to find work out there?”
“I will return to my home on Quinvain Minor. The Ulthrax house has a repair shop for Imperial ships. I will take my knowledge and assi-”
“You are no longer an Ulthrax, you are a Molari. You ceased to be a colonial. Do you have transport to Quinvain Minor?”
“What is that supposed to mean? I have bled for the Varkh, probably more than you have. How am I not a colonial?”
“You lost organs and limbs, the blood that runs through you is not yours, it is Molari. Specially created to handle the augmentations. You no longer have the pieces that made you Colonial; you passed that threshold after losing in a battle. Now do you have transport to Quinvain Minor?”
“I did not elect to have these augmentations, the doctors put these on me without permission. I am still the same person I always was.”
“I will not be discussing this with you, if you are not going to cooperate then I will return later with soldiers. I simply require an answer to my questions and you can be on your way. Do you have transport to Quinvain Minor?”
The rest of the conversation went by and Dorn was given his pass and papers and sent out into the Uncaring Galaxy. As he waited for the transport ship that would take him home he stared as if realizing the situation that he was forced into. His own military made him into an untethered, and now the entirety of Ascendancy society looks upon him with disdain, and simmering hatred. He heard the words “You ceased to be a Colonial” rattling in his brain, well then what am I? I was born in the Ascendancy, I fought for the Ascendancy, I nearly died for the Ascendancy. The Transport to the ship arrived and Dorn stood up, grabbing his belongings and carrying them to the ship for the trip to Quinvain Minor.
I decided I would look into what that VARB Rep had said, did they really replace my blood? The Ascendancy being the Ascendancy they sell testing kits at almost every store, with taglines like “Find out how pure you are!” and “Be the envy of all your friends when you prove you’re pure”. As I went to check out the cashier laughed and said “What are you hoping to discover, which robot your mother fucked? Those are for Colonials!” I convinced him that I was purchasing it for a relative and I was able to walk out with it. I immediately went to a lavatory and I pricked my finger on my remaining hand and let a droplet out onto the test strip. My blood still looked like blood, but the strip immediately came back MOLARI.
I spent the next couple days learning what the process was for becoming a Molari, it was naturally pretty difficult to find, but some of my augments made navigating complicated systems easier, like its second nature. The best I could discover was that there was a slight marker put in my body that would make it impossible for me to ever have normal colonial blood again. Apparently its standard procedure with Ascendancy Augment surgeries, they would put a marker in the bone marrow and all new cells would produce that marker.
It was on my fourth day when I attempted to go into the Dining hall that the reality of my new status sunk in. I entered the hall as I would have always done on trips with family. These halls were filled with Colonials all discussing the empire and their interests, it had often been one of my favorite places to visit growing up as there was always something happening and the food would always be of the best quality. However, as soon as I entered the hall the raucous noise was lowered to a deafening silence as all eyes shifted to stare at me, saying nothing, until eventually another Molari, a servant, came up to me and attempted to shuffle me out of the room. I shifted past him as I found a familiar face, a friend of my fathers, I approached him.
“Oh we don't need any drinks, but we could use some appetizers”
“Vorndrake Traskorn, it’s me, Ulthrax Dornvek. I haven't seen you in 20 years”
“My dear boy, you look terrible. Last I heard you were in the Legions, I take it that went poorly for you”
“Yes, I have not had an easy go, but I’m headed home to see my family again” I lifted my arm and brushed the hair out of my face, and that is when he noticed my Augmented arm and I saw his demeanor shift from amiable to disgust.
“By the Pyre, your GAI score must be a disaster! Molari are not allowed in the Colonial dining hall boy, take your mistakes to the lower decks where you can be with the rest of the Augborn!”
After another several days went by, I decided to take all my meals in my cabin and not leave the general area around there. I kept myself entertained with holovids of the gladiator matches that they display, until they decided to show the “Recreation of the Molari Rebellion” This involved 30 Molari armed with nothing, other than 20 pulse pistols with few charges left on each and some stun batons. These ragtag Molari were facing against the “Varkh Skarntrekh Legions” It was a massacre, all non lethal, but no Molari outlasted 3 minutes. I turned off the screen and decided to read and work with my hands.
I built a small droid that could perform menial tasks, like cleaning messes and carrying objects. I built it from a small P3-T3 kit they had available through the vessel’s shop. I think it was meant more for repairs to Molari, but it would suit all my needs making my life easier… But then I thought, could the droid change peoples opinions of me? My life has evolved to have different problems than when I was just a Colonial. I would create a droid to handle tasks that normal Colonials give to Molari, I am no better, perpetuating the cycle of abuse. I wouldn't make a servant droid, I would make a friend and I would name him Pete.
On my final day I decided to eat with the Molari in their hall, if this was to be my life, I would meet my peers. I took Pete with me and as we entered, the jovial feeling that I recalled from my childhood returned. The Molari dining hall was filled with happiness that I had not experienced since I left to join the Ascendancy. Some of them were playing a game of cards, others were painting, while some had decided to act out a play. A woman approached me and spoke quickly “You were the one that walked into the Colonial Hall? That was amazing! When I heard that a Molari walked in their stuffy hall. They said ‘you punched one of them’. But I said ‘he’d be dead if that happened’. And here you are not dead, SEE KRASK!” Before I could respond she ran off to go find someone else to talk with.
I decided to sit and listen to some of the music that was being played through the speakers, quietly observing the room. Another Molari, the servant from days prior who tried to help me before I entered the Colonial hall, stared at me. He looked surprised, I just stared back as if I would be anywhere else, eventually he worked up the courage to speak to me. He introduced himself as Krask and he spoke to me about the rules of Molari Society, his patient voice reminding me of the Umbric nurses that helped me acclimate to my augments. Molari aren’t allowed to speak to any castes above them, the first offense is a slap on the wrist but if you have a history of speaking out, they will remove your ability to speak. Krask pointed out some of the Molari that had this treatment, their throat given a screen that displays their thoughts, for all to see.
I decided I had seen enough and returned to my cabin, standing in front was the woman that approached me in the hall. I attempted to bush past her, but she insisted on speaking with me, I assured her that was all we would be doing. Then she began talking, each word seemingly coming out faster than the previous. “You seem like a tough guy, I’m guessing you were military, same. They had me out doing recon against a group of rebel Molari. They captured me and applied the augments I have. They knew the Ascendancy would cast me out. They said the fact that I had a cybernetic brain implanted without my will meant nothing. The Ascendancy wouldn’t remove them, they would just mark me. Tainted Goods. I’m guessing your story is the same. Well I’m going to tell you there is a third path, which doesn't require you becoming fodder or an outcast” She left a pin, looking like a laurel surrounding a torch. “When you’re ready the Federation will accept you.”
Eventually the transport vessel arrived at Quinvain Minor, just as pristine as I recalled, walking down the streets from my childhood now with different experiences. I see the neighbors, whose children I used to play with, shuffle their families inside as I walk past. One child was bold enough to attempt to throw an oil can at me, I caught it and gripped it tightly, bursting the container. The child ran away crying, grabbing his arm as if I had hurt him, I proceeded towards my home, standing out front was my father. The look on his weathered face was one of mixed feelings, I had gone to fight as his son and come back as something else. As if I wasn't his son, like something had taken my soul from me and now inhabited his son. My mother stood just inside the window, I could see her weeping, once she looked at me her weeping became an uncontrolled sob. He spoke no words, he merely shook his head… I would have to find a new home.
