Ramirez

Cristobal Miguel Moreno Ramirez
File:Ramirez.jpg
Full Name:	Cristobal Miguel Moreno Ramirez
Nickname:	""
Species:	Human
Gender:	male
Birthplace:	Valencia, Spain, Earth
Birthdate:	Oct 24, 2429
Empire:	United Federation of Planets
Organization:	Starfleet
Assignment:	USS Phoenix NCC-170100-A
Billet:	Tactical Officer and Pilot
Rank:	Ensign

Cristobal Miguel Moreno Ramirez is a Ensign in Starfleet, serving aboard the USS Phoenix NCC-170100-A as the Tactical Officer and Pilot.

Description

He has striking blue eyes that contrast strongly with his olive-toned Mediterranean complexion, deep set with long, dark lashes. Thick black hair is cut conservatively, practically, and is perfectly coifed. His well-defined facial features are a collection of sharp angles complemented by a warm, approachable smile. At first glance, he is a fine representation of a human male.



His blue eyes, though captivating, hold a depth of intelligence and curiosity; the thoughtful gaze floats calmly, placidly from place to place. He is tall-ish and athletic, with a physique that reflects an active lifestyle. A sense of physical confidence and competence exudes from him.

Biography

My father was a warrior. It's not a term I use lightly, not when our part of the galaxy is peopled with some of the warlike races we've been at loggerheads with over the years. He served in the early 2400's, and he did it proudly. In a way, he was lucky, I suppose. My father's mentality was that of a warrior. He lived for war. He was born in a time that welcomed such men, and he was blessed with purpose.

My grandfather was a tactical officer on the USS Carpathia, NCC-43118. He died along with the rest of the crew when Carpathia rammed Carrier Alpha-26 during the Dominion War. He received his posthumous Medal of Valor like everyone else. So, when my father joined Starfleet, that was the bar that had been set for my family. My father took that bar seriously, and while he served, I think that was his real goal -- to die gloriously in the face of enemy fire, just like his father had. And so the sins of the father were visited upon his son. Namely Cristobal Miguel Moreno Ramirez. Me. That Miguel was my grandfather. No pressure growing up, right?

Both Mother and Father came from Valencia. Mother was a botanist. By training, in any case. I am certain she became a botanist not because she was so very interested in science, but for her love of green and growing things. Father wasn't around much -- the life of a serving Starfleet officer does not lend itself to a home life of constant involvement. Not back then, anyhow. So, I was raised primarily by Mother, with a father who would occasionally show up and say disapproving things about my grades, my athletic prowess, my character, and my general fitness to be worthy of the Moreno name.

My father never got a war to fight like Grandfather did. He served in a time where the resources of the Federation were channeled towards collective defense. He fought little skirmishes, of course, but major fleet engagements? He never saw one. I think he never forgave God and the universe for it.

In any case, I was born October 24, 2429 by Earth reckoning. I was baptized within my first week -- Father insisted -- and I was expected from that very moment to carry on the family name and the family tradition. Despite the general tone with which I write about Father....he was a good man. He was a hard man, he wasn't a warm man, but he loved me. He supported me. He helped mentor me and he prepared me.

I suppose they put a lot of effort into me because, well, I was an only child. On my mother's side, they have consistently had small families -- one or two children at the most. My father, though? Devout Catholic, and he followed the old teachings of 'be fruitful and multiply!' My mother....did not. I had no siblings, and I suspect this was a source of constant tension between my parents. My Father, more than once, said to me: "Cris, you had better succeed, you're the only shot your mother is going to give us to keep the family name in God's good graces." He tried to make it a joke to me...but I could tell there was a serious undertone there, even when I was very young.

Devout Catholicism was a focal point of my upbringing. I can't say that /I/ ended up particularly devout, however. Father would take time off from his postings to come home for all the important events: first communion, confirmation, and the like. He was there for my birthdays -- to his credit, he only missed three of them, despite his Starfleet commitments. One the one hand, my father would return for the big days. On the other hand...he wasn't really there much the rest of the time. I would estimate that, from the time I was born until the time I left for Starfleet Academy, my father was home maybe....a quarter of that time?

My mother though....she was /always/ there for me. Valencia, on the eastern coast of Spain, gave free access to the Mediterranean. My mother, bless her heart, made sure that my childhood was filled with activities. Swimming. Diving. Boating. Football -- so much football. She was there for me when the school plays took place. She was there for me when I broke up with Maria, my first girlfriend. She was there for me when I needed help with calculus. She was there for me when I needed help writing that stupid haiku I had to write in primary school.

In any case. Father was there to give my life structure and purpose, and to let me know that because it was just me, I had to do everything to carry on the family tradition. My mother? She was there to give my life humanity and meaning and warmth. As a kid and even a teenager, we spent a lot of time together. A lot of that time was in the hills around Valencia. I learned more about plants from her on those walks than I ever learned looking at a terminal.

And because of that preparation Father and Mother expended so much of their energy on, I was accepted to the Academy in 2451. Why so late? Because I spent three years travelling across the planet, doing what my mother said was good for my soul: seeing it. Seeing the people. Seeing the wild, green places still left there. Father was infuriated that I 'wasted three years of my life.' Mother was proud of me. I visited all seven continents in that three year sabbatical. I think those three years, where I learned nothing formal but so very much about /people/ were some of the best-spent years of my life. Even if Father would send me weekly messages begging me to 'not waste my life.'

Eventually, the wanderlust subsided enough that I returned home and transmitted my application to Starfleet Academy. I don't know if my father pulled strings. I don't know if I just got lucky. But I was accepted on my first attempt.

I would love to sit here and tell you I graduated top of my class at Starfleet Academy. I would very much like to proclaim that I was the star pupil of my class. That would be a lie, though. I was less than committed to the IDIC experience at the Academy. I tended to barely put effort into classes and topics I found boring -- really, this is my biggest failing as a man and an officer, I think. I let my boredom get in the way. In any case, I did finish in the top quarter. It wasn't like I was hopeless.

I had two loves in the academy, both of which proved that an apple can only fall so far from its tree. My mother, bless her, would have loved for me to have gone down a sciences track. And I find life sciences interesting, I truly do. But it was never what /fascinated/ me, nor what made me stay up at night. No, tactics and the infinitely complex variations of them in space were my true love. I loved flight. Adored it. I learned sailplanes first, but small fighter craft and shuttles and the like were just....fun. I loved the skill necessary to get the most out of a small craft.

But fightercraft were a distraction, I suppose. The time eventually came where I had to make a choice in my final year at the academy, of course. While I was qualified to go down the small craft track, I ultimately decided to pursue a dual tactical officer track and small craft pilot track. I love small craft. I'm talented and skilled. But the stark reality is this: they are not the focus of Starfleet. They likely won't give me the opportunity to excel. I love the freedom of flying something so fast and powerful that you can't really comprehend it. But I needed a 'real' job in the eyes of Starfleet.

It's not so bad. I love the tactical side of the house nearly as much. And what the hell. I actually have a reasonable background in botany...though no doctorate. Not by any stretch.

By now, dear reader, you've probably picked up on the past tense where my parents are concerned. It wasn't some terrible and dramatic death. An accident. They were sitting at a curbside cafe when a passing vehicle lost control, killing them both. Pure chance. Pure random chaos. That's the universe, you see. That's God's plan. Just...chaos. They died a year before I graduated from the Academy. That final year was so hard. I had no siblings with which to grieve. And though the Academy provided all the counseling resources in the world, nothing can replace your parents. Nothing in the world.

That last year was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I buckled down. I pushed myself. I had some hard nights, and it took a lot of effort, but I made it through. Graduated top quarter, despite all the slacking off I did in my earlier years. I miss my parents, so very much. Nothing can replace them. But they'd be proud of me. I'm awaiting my first assignment. Let's hope it's a good one.