Call me Ishmael. Yeah, I know, but in this case it's really my name.
Ishmael Horatio Wang. Unfortunately, my parents had an odd sense of
humor. Had they known what I'd wind up doing with my life, they might
have picked a different name—Richard Henry Dana, perhaps. Why they
picked Ishmael Horatio is a long and not terribly interesting story
that begins with: My mother was an Ancient Lit professor…and ends with
me being saddled with these non sequitur monikers.
That story ended eighteen stanyers before the two Neris Company
Security people showed up at my door with long faces and low voices.
Perhaps their expressions gave it away, or because they asked for me
and not my mom, but I knew their visit wasn't good. I couldn’t imagine
what I might have done to attract the attention of company security
and I didn’t think they’d come to drag me away. I'd never been a
troublemaker, not like some of the other kids at the University
enclave. They had come for me though—to tell me she was dead.