Karo Veras

3-2 USA today. . .mark it down. Goals for Rooney and Lampard for England. . . Altidore, Dempsey and Gomez score for the US. Although I think Buddle starts, Gomez comes in mid 2nd half, and he's just gonna cause problems for Ledley King, who won't be able to handle his pace. I think Gomez should start for that very reason, though.

Yeah, France did not look too good. . .Mexico did get a little screwed though. That goal that was disallowed by an offside call was a horrible call. There was a guy on the post a good 2 yards behind Vela. Meanwhile, my wife thinks I'm crazy for waking up at 0700 to watch the Cup today.

Well, luckily I don't have to work on Saturday, so I'll get to watch that. I do have a wedding to go to that evening, so I'll have very little time to turn on that after the game. . .I probably would have been able to sqeak out the 18th, but I'm putting in alot of overtime during the first part of the week, and I don't want to screw that up by taking a half day off. I'm screwed on the 23rd though. Luckily, my boss is fine with me streaming the games to my 'puter.

Liberty was supposed to be relaxing. It was supposed to be the one place where somebody could, if only just for a few days, forget about the problems of the recent past and near future, and revel in the present. Karo Veras was having trouble sleeping. And he knew exactly why. The conversation had played in his head over and over like a broken record for the past 12 hours. * * * * "It doesn't matter what the mission is, Kid, a warship is a warship. That's how the Blue Ones see it" said Staff Sergeant Tala "Spank" Nari, a Bajoran Marine stationed on board the USS Simonsen. Veras opened his mouth to protest again, but thought better of it. Arguing the point with the Sergeant would do no good, it happened, and that was that. Bringing up any sort of wartime etiquette discussion wouldn't change the fact. "In any case, we headed to the Mayfair first, that's where the most lifesigns were registering" the Staff Sergeant began again. "So we began to beam them aboard, there were about 51 in all, 45 refugees 5 fleeters, 1 Marine." He paused to look up at Veras "51," he emphasized. "There were 400 refugees and 300 military on the manifest, and only 51 people were left." He his eyes drifted back down to his drink and out towards the promenade. * * * * Veras tossed again in his bed. So much death, yet no reason to leave those they did alive. It almost seemed like a punishment, a penance imposed upon them for whatever sins the Soltans believed were committed against them by the Federation. They weren't just trying to defeat Starfleet, they were trying to demoralize it. So far, it was a tactic that seemed to be working. Veras grabbed his bow from his closet, and began inspecting it. He couldn't sit here and dwell on the conversation. It wasn't healthy. He was going to do what he normally did when things began to bother him. He was going to immerse himself in an activity. The Gunny had told him to brush up on the usage of projectile weapons, and that's exactly what he was going to do. Even if it was 0330 in the morning. He headed out of his quarters with his bow in hand. His pace was brisk, and with intent. No one was in the halls at this hour, or else he probably would have garnered a few strange looks from the passersby as he walked. Not that it mattered to Veras, a few queer looks from his fellow crewmen was the last thing he had on his mind. He finally reached the holodeck. As he entered he spoke "Computer, run program Veras 852 Alpha." The world around him transformed into the open field next to his father's kava grove. * * * * "So, what happened?" Karo heard himself ask, there a sense of fear and dread slipping into his voice. "Nothing at first, really. Everything was going according to plan and procedure." Nari told him. "The cargo bays were quarantined, the Marines were performing triage while the doctors and med-techs were getting blood and tissue samples from each survivor. I was manning the entrance to CB1 along with one other of my guys." The Staff Sergeant paused to take a sip of his drink. "We had already rescued the survivors on to the Ganymede and the Buenos Aires when we received word of the first of the infected. So we moved him into isolation and the docs began to run the secondary tests. Then the second notification came, and the third, and the forth. Before we knew it, there were 65 possible infected of the 117 survivors we had rescued. Well over half." * * * * The quiver of arrows was laid up against a fence. About 15 meters away was pile of kava wood piled up about 1 meter with a circular target painted in black and white with a red line bisecting it both vertically as well as horizontally. There was no wind, he would work up to that point. Right now, it was about refreshing his memory. It had been months since he'd fired this thing. There was no need for increased difficulty. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and retrieved an arrow. He took a deep breath and fired his first shot. . . .A miss. It hit low and to the left of the target, barely catching the kava wood. Karo took another breath. He was indeed rusty. While he wasn't exactly a master archer, he was more than capable of not only hitting the target, but remaining extremely close to center. 'Clear your mind' his father had told him. 'Archery requires clarity of the mind and soundness of the body. It is an exercise of serenity and harmony.' It sounded like a load of philosophical BS, but Karo learned quickly that there was more truth to his father's words than not. Retrieving another arrow from the quiver, he drew the bow back again, and brought it up to the target. He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind of all distractions. . . * * * * "We began separating the infected from the rest of the population." Nari continued. "We tried to mask it as an attempt to stay under the occupancy limits for the cargo bays. It was actually working, we were able to maintain the decorum for a while, until we reached the refugee governor. She was a human, with a child. A little girl in fact. Not more than 3 years old, cute as can be. In any case, the mother was potentially infected, while the child was not." The Staff Sergeant stopped to take another sip of his drink. The confliction was ripping through him. Part of the grizzled Sergeant wanted to stop telling the story and switch to subject to something less painful, while the other part of him felt like he had to tell it, for some twisted cathartic reason that neither he nor Veras quite understood. The latter side of his conscience won out. "Now, Kid," he said, looking Karo straight in the eyes. "You tell me how you can possibly split up a mother and child under the ruse we were pulling," he paused as if giving Karo time to answer, but it was a rhetorical question. "You can't? Can you?" Nari said, shaking his head. "It was one of my guys who was handling the situation. He tried to convince the woman to leave her child behind, but it just wasn't going to happen. . . .'Come with me, ma'am' he ordered her. . .'You have to leave the child here ma'am'. . .'I'll explain later ma'am'. Those were his words. And he kept repeating them and repeating them. But it just wasn't going to happen, you know? She wasn't going to leave her child behind, not after an ordeal like they'd been through." * * * * Another miss, this one sailed over the target an off into the field behind. His mind still wasn't clear. He let out a curse. It was the darndest thing about these so called "mind clearing exercises", he didn't know if they were to help him clear his mind, or if he needed to clear his mind to perform them. He drew another arrow, taking another deep breath, and released. This time, it was a hit. Not the cleanest shot, but a start. It was in the outer ring, in the lower left quadrant of the target. He drew another arrow, and fired, this one in the same general area, only a little closer to center. Another arrow. . .This one struck about the same distance from center, only in the upper right quadrant. Before Karo new it, his quiver of 30 arrows was empty. He assessed his work. 27 hits, 13 in the outer circle, another 12 in the middle circle, and two just on the edge of the center circle. Not bad for a few months off. "Computer reset program" he said aloud. The background flickered ever so slightly, with the only changes to the setting being a clean board and fresh quiver of arrows against the fence. Karo took a seat against the fence next to the arrows. He flexed both of his hands, which were feeling raw and slightly sore. Karo had forgotten how taxing on the fingers it was. He took a few moments to relax * * * * "After about 2 minutes. Another one of my guys came and snatched the little girl up from her mother's side . .on my order." Nari said, a hint of remorse sneaking into his voice. "And that just sent her into a frenzy, let me tell you." A hint of a smile creeped at the edge of his lip before disappeared as quick as it appeared, Karo couldn't quite put his finger on as to why. "So one of my guys is walking away with this little girl, who's just –screaming- mind you, and the other his dragging away her mother, who's also screaming. And that's when things went to Hell in a hurry." * * * * Karo stood up, feeling even more tense than he did when he sat down. Just when he thought he had cleared his mind, it was back. He slung the quiver over his should again and walked up to the mark. Drawing an arrow, he fired. . . .A miss, well to the left and over the target. He drew another arrow a fired. . .Another miss, this one just to the right of the wood pile. Another shot. . .Miss again. . . .And another miss. . .And another miss. Karo flung his bow to the side a let out a primal scream. The sound of his voice, the images in his head, they had haunted him. . .And he could do nothing to stop it. Karo feel to his knees and pulled at his hair, allowing himself to fall to the ground, as if in a desperate prayer to the Prophets begging them to end his nightmare. But his voice kept coming, and the images only became more vivid and more graphic. * * * * Nari bit the inside of his lip hard. "Some. . . ." he paused as if to stop himself from blurting out an adjective he'd regret ". . .fleeter. . .Decided that it would be best to stun the poor mother." He paused and looked up Karo. "Can you believe that, Kid?" he asked, another rhetorical question. "He thought it'd be best to fire his damn weapon in a quarantined environment, with no damned hostiles within light years of the scene." Nari let out a swear. "I tell you, Kid. I'd never seen anything like that in my life." The anger was evident in his voice. He took another drink. His eyes shifted from the table, to out in the promenade and back again a few times before he continued. "Well, one of the governor's aides, a Klingon no less, took exception to our dear fleeter zapping his boss unconscious. He came in charging towards this guy, and strike me down if he didn't crack 4 of his ribs with this tackle" there was a twinge of satisfaction in his voice there, believing the fleeter got what he deserved. "Well, it took all of 5 seconds for the other 10 Klingons in attendance to join in the fray, and before we knew it, we had a full fledged riot on our hands." His eyes glazed over a little bit as he stared out into the promenade. "It might have ended peacefully. . .if someone hadn't decided to fire their weapon, and this time not on stun." "Well that just ticked the Klingons off even more. . . seeing one of their own lying dead as a result of a kill shot from their 'rescuers'." Nari placed a sarcastic inflection on that last word, because what he was about to describe next would definitely challenge to use of that word. "I still don't know who fired that damn shot. And I'm not sure I want to." His voice trailed off for a half second. "In any case, one of the Klingons pulled out a dagger and started charging in the general direction of the shooter. And then the shots began. . ." Nari's voice trailed off again, this time for a few seconds, as if to let the image soak into Karo's mind. "I must have yelled cease fire about 20 times before someone actually listened to me. . .But It was too late." He shook his head, as if now recalling the ordeal in his own mind. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. "I think what I saw will stay with me the rest of my life." He said, looking up at Karo with a pained looked on his face, one that sent a chill down the back of Karo's spine. "When it was all said and done. There were 64 people dead. 64. . . ." he let the number hang out there. "63 of the' rescued' and one from the Simonsen. Killed by friendly fire" He looked down at the table before looking up at Karo again. "That one guy, Corporal James "Scooter" Johnson. He was one of mine. He took a shot right to the heart." Karo could feel the lump form in his own throat as Nari's eyes began to water. Karo had yet to lose a friend here in the service, let alone to situation as messed up as that. But that wasn't why Nari's eyes were watering. "Staff Sergeant Tala Nari" a voice came from his communicator, not waiting for him to respond "Please report to the Station Internal Affairs immediately." Nari gulped down the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down on the table before standing up. "He would have taken a second shot to the other side of his torso." He said, looking straight down at Karo." "But that part of his body was shielded. . .by that 3 year old girl I told him to pick up." Karo's heart sank as the image of the child lying dead with a phaser blast crept into his head. It was an image that would make even the hardest of Marine badasses break down in tears. A child, a little girl, dead. From friendly fire. It seemed too sick to be true. Staff Sergeant Tala began towards the exit. He stopped right next to Karo, picking up his drink, and inspecting it, before setting it down on the table. "That's not even the kicker of this whole deal." He said, looking down at Karo. "On the way back to the station our doctors found that they had mixed to samples from the survivor with their control specimen. Every single one was a false positive. Can you believe that?" he said, disgusted. "All those people died for nothing." Nari gave Veras a pat on the shoulder before walking out the door. For nothing. . . All those people died for nothing. Those Klingons, that Corporal, that 3 year old girl, died for nothing. For nothing. . . * * * * The holodeck had turned off, and the clock read 0515, less than one hour before liberty. Every time he pictured the little girl, the wound became more graphic, more grotesque, as if his mind was attempting to defile any shred of innocence left within the situation. He grabbed his bow and headed out of the holodeck. His mind still racing, still unsure as to how to remove the sordid images from his consciousness. He headed straight to NNC, bow in hand. He found a place for the bow in the weapons locker. There was no use in returning it to his bunk, he was probably going to be practicing with it on duty sooner rather than later anyways. He disrobed and headed to the showers. NNC was decidedly empty, which was surprising for this time of morning, given that they were so close to the start and end of duty shifts. But that was furthest from Karo's mind. He let the cold water pour down on him, trying to shake his mind free of the images haunting his imagination. But again, like a broken record, the conversation kept replaying over and over in his mind. "It doesn't matter what the mission is, Kid, a warship is a warship. That's how the Blue Ones see it."

How come it took me so long to discover chocolate chip pancakes? I feel that my entire breakfast life has been wasted up to this point.

There was something perverse about meandering through the crowd of survivors in a full biohazard suit and phaser rifle. Karo fully understood the reasons, as did the survivors, but something about it just didn't sit well with him. These were brothers, comrades-in-arms. They had just been defeated in battle, and here he was, treating each and everyone of them as if they were some sort of prisoner of war. It didn't seem right. He wasn't around for the Dominion War, but he wondered if life was like this for survivors of those battles, if those who had been defeated in battle had to endure the same heightened suspicions as their brothers scanned them to ensure that they weren't changlings. It was something he would have to ask his father next time he was on Bajor. Karo slung his phaser rifle over his should and crouched next to the next survivor, a dejected looking Bolian He put a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Name, Rank, and position, my friend." He asked him, holding his PADD. "PO1 Ardo, Engineer" the Bolian said, looking over at Karo. Karo confirmed his identity in the PADD and nodded to the medic, who then began to administer what Karo had begun to mentally refer to as the "Blue" test. The irony here was that Ardo was naturally blue, so the meaning did not apply as much in this case. The medic nodded to Karo, who then tagged Ardo with a wristband. He gave the Bolian one last pat on the shoulder before standing up to move on to the next survivor. As he turned away, heard Ardo speak to him again. "This war isn't going so well, is it?" the Bolian asked, loud enough for most of room to hear. Karo turned back around at looked down at Ardo. There was a part of him that wanted to lash out at the Bolian for harboring such a negative attitude, but Karo knew that wouldn't do any good. Instead, Karo knelt down next to the Bolian and undid his biohazard helmet, taking it off. He put his hand back on the Bolian's shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes. "There's a change in the winds coming." He held the gaze or the Bolian for a few more seconds before sliding his biohazard helmet back on. He moved on to the next survivor. He wasn't sure if his words were of any solace. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he believed it himself. But he knew that hope was integral to victory. Without it, there would be no chance.

Karo's weekly Sentimental journey down memory lane: I miss being 8 yrs old and going to my dad's bowling league. Not necessarily for any father/son bonding reasons, but because I used to hustle for cash by keeping score for games and fetching beer from the bar. I miss being the only kid in the 1st through 3rd grade with regular cash flow. I was so cool back then. I felt like such a "G" when I'd whip out a stack of Lincolns and Washingtons at the bake sale at my little Catholic school and buy a cupcake for my little schoolboy crush. Then the bowling alley changed management, switched to automated scoring and cracked down on minors as runners. Not that I am a proponent of organized crime in anyway, but the place went to Hades in a handbasket after the owner died and his wife sold the place for cash. It also ruined my rep with the ladies, which I've yet to recover 20 years later.

All it took was a quick look and a smirk from Private Karo Veras and the bartender knew what he had in mind. He quickly produced a small metal pot and metal spoon and handed them to the Marine. Within seconds, Karo was gone, much to the bewilderment of the other Agincourt crew. He drew a few weird stares as he walked through the promenade armed with stainless steel kitchenware. He didn’t care, however. It was time for some good ol’ fashioned Marine style prankery. He reached the door of the quarters which currently held about 10 passed out Marines. Sliding through the door silently, he stalked his prey. It was a fellow Private, a field medic, as Karo recalled. He was assigned to the USS Azerbaijan. Smith was his name. He was sleeping peacefully on the bed. Not for long. . . Karo slipped into the lavatory, there a variety of liquids and pastes; mouthwash, toothpaste, hairstyling product. . .Karo dumped as much as he could into the pot before returning to the living area. He deftly slid to the side of the bed where Private Smith lay and placed the handle of the pot in the unsuspecting victims hand. Instinctively, the private’s hand lightly wrapped his fingers around the pot. Quietly, Karo then slid to the other side of the bed. With the spoon, Karo began to lightly brush the side of Private Smith’s nose. The first swipe came from Smith’s empty hand. Not Karo’s intended effect. So he lightly brushed his victims nose again. And like a hammer, it came. . . If the sound of steel on face wasn’t loud enough to wake up the room, the ensuing scream certainly was. Karo quickly slid out of the room and down the hall his prank successfully executed. Karo’s exit wasn’t totally clean, however. Unbeknownst to him, another Azerbaijan Marine had witnessed the prank from start to finish, and had already begun plotting his revenge. . . ***** Corporal Valdur Gunnarsen had arisen to the unofficial role of Commandant for the duration of this Prank war. He was the Washington to Private Veras’ Cornwallis, or something like that, and he wasn’t about to let some lowly Private get away with pranking one of his brothers. Unfortunately, the private in question, Karo Veras of the Agincourt, had done a decent job of keeping himself hidden. Since Karo’s initial offense on Private Smith, Valdur and his fellow Marines of the Azerbaijan had been able to get off a few pranks on some of Karo’s fellow Marines. But the “big fish” had alluded them. Today, however was the chance to get their revenge. It was Karo’s turn for his patrol rotation on the Agincourt. The Corporal and a few other of his fellow marines off the Azerbaijan had gained access to the Agincourt. They were unsure if Karo would be aware of the exact identity of the vistors, so it made clean execution of the prank of the utmost importance. Valdur and his “team”, which included a Lieutenant and a Staff Sergeant, both field medics, were able to sneak their way into the Marine barracks area. Their plan was to lace Karo’s bed with an itching powder, one strong enough to require more than just one visit to sickbay. The barracks were empty, and everything was going swimmingly. . . Until the power was cut from the barracks... Valdur and his team did not know what hit them, they were on the ground and cuffed within 30 seconds of the power going out. Their prank had backfired on them…. ***** Karo and Private Miller, one of the newest of the Agincourt Marines blindfolded, gagged, and cuffed the intruders. Hauling them up to their feet, they led them to the gym and sat them down on a set of chairs. One by one, they uncuffed the Azerbaijan Marine contingent and fed them into straitjackets. Without unblindfolding or ungagging them, Karo spoke. “Corporal Valdur Gunnarssen, 1st Lieutenant Niro Holas, and Staff Sergeant Jaime Inigo” He began. “You are now in the custody of the USS Agincourt.” The offending Marines struggled to get out of their jackets to no avail, in the process SSgt Inigo managed to fall off his chair and was now struggling to get back to his feet. Neither Karo or Private Miller was inclined to assist with that effort. “You are hereby charged with the egregious crime of failing miserably to execute your prank. Your punishment shall be harsh and embarrassing in nature.” “You are also ordered to turn over any and all items that are nefarious, hijinxy, or prankish in nature.” Karo ungagged Corporal Gunnarssen. “Corporal, you will now disclose the location of any and all items which fit the description stated in my previous sentence. “The only item that fits the description of your previous sentence will be located in the utility belt of Lieutenant Niro, Private.” His voice was official, much as if he was speaking to a commanding officer. Karo sensed a twinge of anticipation and expectation in the Corporals voice that he didn’t particularly care for. However, he proceded to the Lieutenant. “Lieutenant Niro, sir!” Karo address his fellow Bajoran Marine. “Do you agree with the statement given to me by Corporal Gunnarssen. “Private! The statement provided to you by the Corporal is correct!” the Lieutenants voice wreaked of the same tone of the Corporals which began to worry Karo a little bit. Nonetheless, he knelt down next to the Lieutenant and began to reach into the utility belt sack. As he searched, he felt only a fine powdery substance, he dug his hand deeper into the sack. If seconds later, it hit him. A painful burning itching sensation began to rush through his fingers and palm. Instinctively Karo yanked his hand out of the utility belt sack, which ended up being his downfall. As he pulled the hand out, he managed to bring a fair amount of the offending powder up with it, creating a cloud which wafted up to his face. Within seconds, Karo’s face began to itch as well. He let out a string of Bajoran curses as he clutched his face. The clutching however, made it worse, has he spread the powder from his face to his other hand. The Corporal and Lieutenant were laughing hysterically by this name, as was the Sergeant who was still laying on his side, gagged. “Private Smith! Re-gag and Take these scumbags out of here!” Karo managed to shout in between his curse filled rants. He could hear the laughs of his adversaries echoing down the hall as he left. It was time to find a medic. ***** Corporal Gunnarssen finally was able to gain control of his laughing as he was led to the exit of the Agincourt. Even in failure, he and his team has still managed to succeed. “Corporal Gunnarssen, Lieutenant Niro, Sergeant Inigo!” the other Agincourt Marine who he had yet to identify said. “You will walk ten paces forward and make a left turn! You will then walk in that direction until you find someone with the heart to take pity on you and release you and your colleagues from your shackles!” Without response, the Corporal began to walk, counting ten spaces and turning left. He didn’t think it would be long until one of his crewmates found them and untied them. Walking down the promenade in a straitjacket while blindfolded and gagged was a minor price to pay for the physical pain that Karo would be experiencing for the next few days. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory for the day…. ….right up until he smashed head first into a bulkhead. This war was not over….

Admiral Ackbar as the Ole Miss Mascot. . .ftw

The ale was horrible, the décor was in disrepair, and the clientele was less than savory. Veras expected nothing less from the "Snarling Targ Pub". From the bar, he had pretty good view of the room. There was a group of Ferengi at the table nearest to them, talking to some rough looking humans, engaged in some sort of business transaction regarding stolen art. Another group consisting of a Bajoran, 2 humans, and a Trill, most likely some Maquis remnant or similar type separatist group, were talking to a pair of Orion. What caught his eye, however, were the two tables consisting entirely of Klingons on opposite sides of the pub, staring bullets and gesturing wildly at each other. There was obviously some sort of beef between the 2 groups. Karo didn't care who they were, or what they were at odds about, -that- was his opening. It was another 90 seconds before the opening finally presented itself. One of the Klingons from the table nearest the bar stood up and began walking towards the bar. Veras stood up and immediately began towards the door, taking a path directly towards the approaching Klingon. As he approached, Veras stiffened his shoulder. With a slight lean, he knocked the Klingon into a chair, causing him to trip and spill a carafe full of ale all over his garb. As the rival Klingons burst into laughter, he could hear the chairs of his victim's allies slide back in anticipation of a confrontation. However, Veras kept his gaze fixed on the fallen Klingon, who was staring right back at him. Within moments, the Klingon was back on his feet. He was a full head taller than Veras, who just stared back up at him with equal malice. "Do you have a death wish, little man?" The Klingon asked, unsheathing his daqtagh and bringing it to Karo's throat. "I have an appointment, and –you- were in my way. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm leaving." As Karo turned to walk away, he felt his opponent grasp his shoulder and pull him close. "What did you say, little man?" "I said I'm leaving, much like your honor did long ago." The Klingon's eyes widened in anger, and he opened his mouth to let out a warrior's scream. That was the split second Karo needed. He stepped to the slide to avoid the daqtagh and slammed the heel of his foot into the back of his opponent's knee, as he fell forward, Karo struck him in the back of the head with that palm of his hand. With a thud, the Klingon fell to the floor, unconscious. As Karo looked up, the four other Klingons were now out of their chairs and headed straight for him. He dove down somersaulting over the fallen Klingon, grabbing the fallen dagtagh. As he re-oriented himself and prepared to strike the lead Klingon, he was surprised to see the rival Klingon group out of their chairs and in full charge towards his would be attackers. Karo silently swore under his breath, that wasn't his intended effect. He had meant his confrontation only to be an ice-breaker for the rival Klingon faction, now, he had caused a full fledged riot. Karo thought it best to make his exit, not wanting to get involved in the feud. He slipped out the door behind the Klingons, leaving them to their fight. He rounded the corner and slipped into a crowded street. He founded his way to shaded bench. He snapped a quick picture of the crest on the handle of the dagtagh and sent it up to the 'Court, hoping to get a hit on name. He continued on down the street, looking for a place to lay low and regroup. * * * Rilo Kiley, member of the 'Children of the Maquis' separatist group, slipped out the door after the mysterious fellow Bajoran. He had slipped from view quickly and inconspicuously. He was obviously some sort of trained operative. The obvious questions however were, "Who was he?" and "Who did he work for?" One did not just walk into a bar, much less one as rough as the Snarling Targ and cause a stir without some sort of reason for starting it. After a few seconds, she guessed left, opting to go in the direction of the crowd flow. Still no sign of him. She looked around frantically, trying to spot him. There were not many Bajorans on Ryder-Presit, so one should most likely stick out like a sore thumb. This one, however, obviously knew what he was doing. Then, out of shear blind luck, she caught a glimpse of him across the road, now walking in the opposite direction. * * * Karo could see the frantic eyes of the fellow Bajoran searching around from a half a block away, obviously looking for him. He recognized her instantly as the Bajoran from the bar. 'Perhaps some good might come out of that melee after all' he thought to himself. He pulled off his hood to reveal his face, and began walking in her direction, keeping an eye on her out of his peripheral vision. He could almost see her freeze as her eyes found him. He walked further down the road weaving in and out of the crowd, allowing her to keep tabs on him, at least until he got to a point where he could safely question her. He made a right turn down the next street pulling his hood over his head as he rounded the corner. * * *Kiley was sure that the other Bajoran had not noticed her presence. His pace had not quickened, nor had he made any sudden dash away from her or attempt to confront her. She didn't know whether to just keep following him or try and grab his attention. Her orders were clear. Find out his who he was and what his purpose was here on Ryder-Presit. Just as she thought she had a good trail on him, he disappeared around a corner. Kiley sped up to try and keep pace, but as she rounded the corner, she lost all sight of him. She cursed under her breath as she kept walking, her eyes again desperately searching for that mysterious man from the Snarling Targ. She kept walking a few moments longer, hoping for the same blind luck she had had to find him in the first place. From out of no where, she felt a hand grasp her side, and a dagger pressing against her back. An overwhelming fear suddenly swept over her, the mysterious man had found her instead * * * "I knew this dagtagh would come in handy." Karo whispered into the woman's ear. "Keep walking, I'll tell you when to stop." He could feel the fear flowing through the girl has he gripped her side. She was young, maybe 17 at the oldest. She wasn't exactly recon or espionage material either, but had been thrust into that type of role obviously by her superiors, whether out of stupidity or necessity. Either way, Veras was going to glean as much out of this girl as he possibly could, he just needed to find a place to do it. He spotted an alley way about 20 meters ahead and angled her towards it. "When we reach the alley, I'm going to let go of you." he whispered. "If you try to run, you'll find this dagger buried in the base of your skull, you understand?" The feel of her muscles tightening in her side told Veras that she understood. As the pair reached the alley, Veras reached around and pulled her phaser from her holdster, tossing it to the side, and let go of her as promised, "Keep walking" he told her. As they walked deeper into the alley, it opened up to a small courtyard, complete with a table and chairs. It looked to be a small break area for the restaurant they were now located behind, but it was as good a place as any to interrogate her. "Sit down." He told her, giving her a shove towards the table. * * * Kiley obediently sat down, the fear still gripping her. She tried her best to hide, but she wasn't sure how successful she was. "Let's get one thing out of the way first." The mysterious man started, "I'm not going to hurt you." Rilo regarded the man carefully. Despite his earlier threats, there seemed to be truth and sincerity in his voice, even still, part of her did not believe that she would walk out of this alley alive. "In return, you're going to answer some questions for me. Is that understood?" Rilo was still fumbling for words. She should have just nodded, but instead she blurted out "You must be proud of yourself, you just re-ignited a blood feud between the House of Dagh and the Atkad brothers." Rilo caught the hint of an exhale from the man. But she couldn't place its meaning. "What happened in the bar is none of your concern." He said, regarding her coolly. "Your only concern is answering the questions I am about to ask you." "What is your name?" he asked her. Rilo remained silent, which caused the man to lean in with a menacing look. "I've been known to go back on my promises from time to time, you know." His words were cold, sending a shiver up her spine. "Now, I'll ask you again. . .What is your name, girl?" "Rilo Kiley" "Rilo. . .A well known Maquis family. You are Jendo's granddaughter no doubt then." "You knew Rilo Jendo?" "Everyone knew of him, he was a hero of the resistance. His hatred of the Cardassians ran so deep that he decided to become an outlaw of his people to continue is personal vendetta." The man said. "It's a classic case of a man letting the romanticism of heroism get the best of logic and common sense. Your grandfather is a prime example of someone not knowing when to stop. It's a shame he dragged is family into it as well. Your beauty could have served you well in other avenues, but your naïveté is right up the Maquis alley. " Some of Rilo's fear turned into anger at the insults being flung at her family and at herself. Who was this man to judge her? "Ahh, so you are part of some sort of Maquis sentimentalist group. Your emotions betray you my dear." The anger then turned to embarrassment, the man had now figured out who she was with without her saying more than just her name. The man began to chuckle, finding some sort of humor in the situation. "We're much more than a 'sentimentalist group'" she found her self saying in defense of her faction. "Are you really? Then why would they have a little girl such as yourself roaming the streets of Ryder-Presit, in pursuit of a man who's cunning and skills are extremely out of your league?" Rilo did not have an answer to that. . .He had a point. "Precisely. . .But I digress." The man said, shifting gears. "I do not care why you're here, or about your dying cause, I have more pressing matters to attend to. But while I have you, you're going to help me out." "Then what do you want to know?" she asked him. "I want to hear everything you know about Romulan ships, ones of the stolen variety." "I don't know anything about that." "You answered that question a little too quickly, my dear." The man said, taking a seat across from her. "Something in your voice is making me not want to believe you." "I swear, I know nothing!" "Then why are you here?" "We smuggle foodstuffs for some Orion pirates into Klingon territory, to a world that is under blockade by the Klingon military. Ryder-Presit is where we usually receive payment." "Now was that so hard, my dear?" Rilo again didn't answer. She instead countered with a question of her own. "Now, who the hell are you?" "My name is Riva." "Riva. . . ." "Riva is all you need to know." He said sarcastically. "Who do you work for?" "My employer." "And who is your employer?" Rilo asked him, not really appreciating his sarcasm. "My employer is the person that pays me" he told her, not letting up on the sarcasm at all. "Why are you so interested in missing Romulan ships?" "I'm not, my employer is. So you'll have to ask them." Rilo did not like the way this was going. This Riva seemed to have some sort of smart ass answer for every question she asked. The interview was obviously going no where. "So my dear. Are you done with your questions?" Rilo let out a defeated sigh. She knew that she was going to get no where with the questions. It was probably time to end this encounter before she said something that could get her killed. "Now, I'm going let you walk out of here alive since you answered all my questions, my dear." He man told her, standing up from his chair. "Since I still don't trust you, you are going to walk out of this alley first, and I will follow. Understood?" "What about my phaser?" Rilo asked. "I discarded it near the entrance of the alley. Someone will have most certainly picked it up by now. " Rilo swore under her breath, she didn't like the idea of walking down these streets without a weapon, not when she knew what was out there. But, at this point, she didn't have a choice. Standing up, she gave the man one last look before turning around and heading out of the alley. * * * As the young woman walked off, Karo managed to hold off on a few curse words. . .Nothing. No leads, no information, nothing. The only knowledge he had gained was that there was a grassroots Maquis revival group trying to make ends meet by running food and water to a blockaded Orion pirate base, and that he was the cause of a blood feud between one of the Great houses of the Klingon High Council, and one of the largest Klingon mercenary groups around. Veras waited a few more seconds until departing the alley himself. The young Kiley had proven to be very honest, even if solely out of fear. 'Still, she might prove to be an asset' he thought to himself. He pulled the hood over his head and began tailing the young Bajoran girl. He half expected her to lead him back towards the Snarling Targ. But that was not the case. As they reached the intersection where the Targ was located, she kept going forward, past the bar. Instead, he led her straight to a hotel. He didn't catch the name, but he knew the location. Young Kiley had just made it easy for Veras to find her if he needed to call on her naïve honesty again. With that, he turned back around, back into the fray that was the streets of Ryder-Presit.Trying to figure out what he next move should be.

Snow is better than freezing rain. . .If I had to choose, that is.

I think Kent hit it on the head. The last season kinda lost a little bit of the quality, and that's what people dislike. That, combined with the rapid expansion in the choice of networks that came during this time (which also hurt DS9, mind you), and the fact that the younger generation generally wasn't exposed to Trek as much as the prior generation really hurt Voyager. From a Trek fan standpoint, I think people wanted Voyager to carry the ST standard for that new generation to follow en masse, and it didn't. So I think people were more disappointed with that as opposed to the series in general. IMHO, it had a tough act to match up with in DS9, as well. Voyager's plot didn't lend itself to the issues that DS9 could tackle. (I wrote a pair essays regarding the social issues that DS9 touched on while in school, therefore solidifying my geek status). And with Enterprise. . . . .I will. . .to this day and forever on. . .believe that Scott Bakula was the wrong choice. I loved him in everything else, from Quantum Leap, to Major League 3. But I just could not rally behind him as a Starfleet Captain. Enough out of me.

No, no. . .You can. You just can't tell anybody.

Surname: Karo Given Name: Veras Race: Bajoran Age: 24 Hair: Black Eyes: Brown Height: 6'0 Weight: 185 Father: Karo Nuno, 60 (Bajoran Militia, Ret) Mother: Karo Sinara, 53 (Bajoran Militia, Ret) Brother: Karo Panor, 30 (Major, Starfleet Marines) Sister: Litan Binea, 28 (Major, Starfleet Marines) Brother: Karo Lylo, 22 (Current Springball Association Champion) Pre-Starfleet Background Karo Veras was born in the Musilla province on Bajor to two former resistance cell members, turned Bajoran militia, turned farmers, Karo Nuno and Karo Sinara. The youngest of four, his two eldest siblings, Karo Penor and Litan Binea, are both Majors in the Starfleet Marine Corps, while his brother Lylo is the current Springball Association Champion on Bajor. Although Veras was raised on a farm growing kava, he was raised to believe he had a duty to serve in the military. His parents came from a very militaristic background, first as members of the Panas resistance cell, then as members of the Bajoran militia. Accordingly, Veras was brought up to respect authority, be on time, and not question orders. Growing up, his father and mother taught them the art of hand-to-hand combat. The Panas resistance cell operated in a more clandestine manner than many other cells operated under, meaning many of their attacks, sabotages, and assassinations were meant to be staged as "accidents", therefore keeping secret the existence of the Panas cell, or at very least protecting many of their members. As a result, many of the techniques the elder Karo's taught their children were surprise tactics, involving crude weaponry or very subtle yet precise movement. As expected, the Karo children became marines save for the youngest child, Lylo. His talents were a different arena, springball. Both Nuno and Sinara were springball enthusiasts, so they were more than happy to see their youngest take up the sport at a professional level. Currently, Karo Lylo is the defending Springball Association Champion. Veras was a good, but not great student. His grades were in the upper quarter of the class, yet not overly phenomenal. Veras preferred more physical activities to the mental, but he was taught to understand the importance of doing well in school and put in his best efforts. Upon graduation, he earned an appointment to the Academy, destined to become a Marine much like is two older siblings. Psychological Profile Karo Veras is generally a pleasant person, but he does have larger-than-life personality. Always the first with a joke, and booming laugh that seems bigger than him, Karo is generally well-liked among his peers. The consummate marine, he is ready and willing to follow orders at a whim. As a speaker, Karo is second to none, he has the ability to rally people around him. Once, during a war game simulation, Karo's platoon had been reduced to but a pair of teams, left to battle a company near full strength. While hiding and regrouping, Karo, the platoon leader, gave a rousing speech about bravery, and how through the Corps, as Marines, they had already achieved immortality, because they were the Corps, and the Corps lived forever. Inspired by that speech, he and the nine other remaining soldiers, managed to take out over 80 of the remaining opponent, before finally falling a few minutes before reinforcements arrived, destroying what was left of the opponent. It was a deed that did not go unnoticed by his instructors, who gave him high marks even though none of his team survived. Karo is a very proud individual. Although he comes from a distinguished Bajoran family with a decorated military background both as members of the militia and of the resistance, Karo feels that he has nothing to prove. As such, some feel that he may suffer from hubris. When confronted with that notion, Karo responded by getting a tattoo of the Ancient Human deity Nemesis on his back with the Bajoran words "She follows but dare not strike". Despite his seemingly overconfident nature, however, he has never needlessly endangered any marine in his care, or recklessly disobeyed an order by a superior. Karo Veras is fit for duty Training Background Upon initial graduation, Karo was hand-picked by Master Sergeant Victor "Paris" Ennios, reconnaissance and special tactics instructor and a former acquaintance of Karo's father, for recon training. Karo immediately excelled, due to his training in his youth by his parents. Half way through his recon training, he was selected for special tactics training. Special tactics is a branch of recon specifically versed in the art of assassination, sabotage, and infiltration. Due to his prowess, he was designated team lead by the training staff, with his team consistently receiving high marks through-out the training. For his operational training assignment he was sent to the 3rd Battalion 8th Marines Charlie Company located on Penthara IV. Penthara IV is a suspected Orion Syndicate hub used to funnel contraband into and out of both Talarian and Cardassian territories. Charlie Company had been assigned to assist in the tracking, control, and, if possible, the elimination of all Syndicate activities. Karo was assigned to the Special Tactics team within the Recon Platoon. During his 6 month training stint, the team was directly responsible for the 'tip-off' of 12 incoming shipments and 7 outgoing shipments to local authorities. While disrupting a total of 5 other shipments via raids and/or sabotage. The team was responsible for a total of 124 arrests and subsequent deportations and/or extraditions, which included 5 high ranking officials from various illegal organizations, as well as the elimination of 47 more criminals, including the superintendent of the Penthara operation for the Syndicate, and a Penthara government conspirator. Upon completion of his 6 months there, Karo returned to Marine HQ with the highest complements and recommendations of Charlie Company's command staff. Service Record Sep 2392: Enters Academy Jan 2394: Named Recruit Team Lead Jun 2396: Graduated from the Academy Sep 2396: Hand-picked by MSgt Ennios for Recon Training Jan 2397: Chosen to receive Special Tactics Training within Recon Apr 2397: Training Assignment to on Penthara IV with 3/8 Charlie Company Oct 2397: Returned to SF Marine HQ from Penthara IV Nov 2397: Assigned to USS Agincourt

Annabel Lee

Can I get: "in cuauhtli in ocelotl ye maca timiquican ye maca tipolihuican" To save you censorship time is Nahuatl send off to a soldier roughly translating to "Warrior, may you not die."

The quarantined areas had turned the Agincourt into a veritable labyrinth. The journey from NNC back to the quartermasters office took much longer than it would have on a normal day. Everywhere Veras looked, he saw the signs of battle. Whether it be the dead Soltan bodies being tended to by the various cleanup teams, or the looks of guarded relief from a passer-by. War. . .It was no longer a story in the news for Veras. It was right in front of him. The evidence was on the walls, on the faces of everyone he saw. It was the real side of war, the one not told in the local broadcast, or even in the legends of wars past. During basic, his class was chock full of guys looking for glory, looking to be the "hero". The looks in their eyes and ignorance of their minds caused Veras to pray to the Prophets for their souls, for if they didn't shape up prior to shipping out, their tenure as Marines was going to be a short one if they ended up in a forward area. Veras learned at a young age that being a Marine was not about being an individual, it was about being part of a unit. When one Marine did something heroic, it was the Corps that did something heroic. No, Veras was not here for glory, he was here because it was his calling, military service was in his blood. His grandparents and parents both were part of the Resistance. His parents then served in the Bajoran militia during the Dominion War. His eldest brother and sister had been in the Corps since the onset of the Soltan conflict, and now it was his turn to serve in a time of war. Veras managed to make his way to the quartermasters office, signed out his gear, and made his way back down towards NNC. His return path took him past the Marine quarters. In front of some of the doors lied tiny memorials: flowers, cards, religious artifacts, items of sentimental value, and even some which expressed some inside joke that Veras would probably never understand. The weight of the situation slowly began to settle in. Each small, crude memorial caused Veras to take pause, as each one represented a Brother.. A Brother that he would never meet, a Brother that he was potentially replacing, a Brother whose legacy as a Marine was now Veras' responsibility to carry on. He suddenly remembered the words of First Sergeant Taber, his weapons and tactics instructor, from his speech on graduation day. "Your training as a Marine does not end here." He told the class. "It will continue on until you retire. It will continue on until you die." It didn't take long for that statement to hold true, as the hallway served as a living reminder. What lesson was to be taken from this particular moment, Veras was not entirely sure. But it would come to him. Maybe in the heat of battle, or the calm of an off-duty card game. Maybe it would come in the arms of his mother as he returned to Bajor on shore leave, or the arms of a complete stranger as he handed the effects of one of his Brothers to their family. Or maybe in the arms of one of his Brothers as they held his near lifeless body and stared into eyes, telling him, without words, that he -will- live forever, through his Brothers, and through the Corps. There was no way for him to know. As Veras reached the edge of the hallway, he turned and saluted, etching each one of those makeshift memorials deep within his memory before making his way back into NNC.