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Ishmael Aldor

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About Ishmael Aldor

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    Salt this, buddy!

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    In Training/Unassigned/On Leave
  1. ((Starbase 118, Commercial Sector) “Call me Ishmael.” Cadet Ishmael Aldor enjoyed the thought of introducing himself to the people of Starbase 118 with the opening line of his father’s favorite book. Isaac Aldor, the aging ambassador to Leya-1, loved Moby [...] to the point of naming his only son after its narrator, much to the dismay of his stern, conservative wife. Ishmael himself didn’t mind however, as he was sure he prefered such a historical name to whatever his mother would have picked — probably something like Xe’ra or Haelchuo. He shuddered a bit, but then started reminiscing about the parts of his childhood spent on Leya-1. Oh how he missed the rich food and bold, efficient cities — nothing like the bustling madness of this place... Ishmael suddenly realized he had been staring blankly into space for the past few minutes and began feeling self-conscious. “Oh gosh I probably look like a complete weirdo”, he mused. “I wonder if anybody thought I was staring at them, especially with these glasses.” He reached for his temple and touched the tinted lenses, which he needed to see clearly in any well lit place; simply put, he had his mother’s eyes. The cadet smiled, shook his head, and pulled out a small map of the sector. He was headed for the Klingon Qo’noS district to kill the few hours he had before briefing. Following a brisk walk he found himself inside a small antique shop with few windows, and put his glasses in his pocket after folding them neatly. He noticed the elderly, stern-looking shopkeeper glaring at him, but continued to a shelf lined with knives and statuettes. After inspecting a baakonite figurine for a good half-minute, Ishmael turned to the shopkeeper. “Excu...” He stopped himself, not wanting to insult the Klingon with pleasantries. He cleared his throat and asked, “Can you tell me anything about the history of this figure? When was it forged?” “If you are here seeking trouble”, the shopkeeper spoke in a low, threatening voice, “it may not end well for you.” He glanced at a bat’leth sword hanging next to him so Ishmael would notice it. “I am not looking for trouble, I just want something to decorate my quarters” Ishmael said firmly. “You are Al-Leyan.” “Only half, and I have no ill will towards you, Klingon.” The shopkeeper looked unconvinced. “I was not raised the traditional way on Leya-1, and I recognize some of the positive effects your empire has had. After all, what would the Al-Leyans be without your D-5’s or Birds of Prey?” The Klingon narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Do you even know who it is you are holding?” Ishmael looked down at the figurine. “I can only think of one warrior who would be depicted so ornately, out of the same metal as your bat’leth over there. I’m guessing this must be Kahless the Unforgettable.” The shopkeeper kept staring at him for a moment, and then spoke, “It was forged two generations ago, I don’t know who by. If you want it, it will be 23 of your Federation credits, or 40 Darseks.” “Here you go”, and the cadet pulled out the credits and began making his way to the exit. “You seem fresh, new to this base. Who are you?” “Call me Ishmael”, he said with a small chuckle, and started walking back to his quarters.
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