I Have My Reasons

"It's insane that you keep updating that old thing," said Risha as she walked over to sit next to Vacy in the lounge of the Wonder. "Got to cost you a fortune. It'd make a lot more sense to sell it – hell, to pawn it, because you probably can't sell it – and put the credits toward a new one. You'd come out ahead."

Vacy gently set the well-worn blaster down on the counter and looked at her crewmate. After a few moments, she nodded. "By some measures, yes, I suppose I might. But a lot of it depends on what you want from your weapon."

"Precision. Damage. Reliability." Risha ticked her requirements off on her fingers. "Special features are a bonus."

"Some special features can be added on," Vacy replied, nodding again, "but yes, in most cases, you're best off purchasing a model they're native to. As for the rest – well – a lot of how effective your weapon is comes from how well you know it." She held up a hand, continuing before Risha could cut her off. "And I know you know quite a bit about different weapons. But knowing about a weapon is different from knowing your weapon."

Over on the beat-up sofa bolted in front of the holonet projector, Corso Riggs smiled quietly to himself.

Vacy picked up the SoroSuub and the microgrips again. She used the grips to pull the crystal chamber open, then reached in and wrenched it free. "See…" She set the crystal down on the counter, then picked up a new one, carefully nesting it into the prongs of the mount. "When you get a new gun, there's some things that change that you might not be thinkin' about." She nudged the chamber closed, then ran a calibration to ensure the crystal was aligned properly.

She handed the pistol to Risha, then continued. "The weight of the weapon. Shape of the grip, how your hand fits around it. The amount of pressure you put on the trigger before it fires. And a lot of that information is usually available in the specs, but again, what you know with your head is a mite different from what you learn from personal experience," she added with a grin.

Risha released the ammunition clip, checking the ion gas cartridge briefly before replacing it and handing the blaster back to Vacy.

The captain gritted her teeth as she gently used the microgrips to loosen the barrel, then twisted it the rest of the way barehanded, until it fell into her palm. "When you use a weapon, it takes awhile to get to know it. And like droids, guns – and other weapons, in fairness – they develop quirks over time." She picked up a new barrel and screwed it on, using the grips to ensure it was securely fastened. "Some folks see those as flaws, and do what maintenance they can to minimize 'em, and when it gets unavoidable, they sell 'em off.

"But other folks… well they see those quirks as character, kinda." She smiled quietly, running her fingertips over the blaster that had served her so well. "Almost personality. Be a shame to throw away something like that."

Risha shook her head with a grin. "Better be careful, Captain. You sound almost maudlin. People may think you're going senile in your old age," she said wryly as she headed back out the door and down the hall.

Vacy tossed the ruined enhancements into the rubbish bin, then put the tools away and slipped Flashy back into his holster. She walked across the lounge and dropped onto the other end of the couch from Corso, stretching her legs out and leaning back.

He looked up from the datapad he was holding and grinned. "You know, Captain, I don't think I could've given a better lecture myself. Didn't realize I was such a role model for you."

She stuck her tongue out at him, then grinned back. "Yeah, well, don't go gettin' a thick head about it or I'll have to take you down a peg or two."

"If you think you can." He smirked.

Vacy wondered how much time he'd been spending around Risha. "Hey, any time, any place." She smirked right back at him, kicking at his feet lazily, then standing up and heading for the door. "Just remember… I've got a pretty kickass gun, Farm Boy." She winked at him, then headed up to the bridge to chart their next course.

Woo! I seem to be on a kind of techy vibe today. Hope it wasn't too much. I'm picturing this as set at the beginning of Tattooine, but it really could be anywhere between Taris and Alderaan.

Thoughts, ideas, suggestions welcome! Pleeeease review. :D

Update (4/29): Since this is a REEEEALLY long Author's Note, I moved it to the end. Manners, yanno.

Given that this story is about important memories, it's dedicated to Michael Stackpole, my all-time fave Star Wars novelist. (If you're not interested in the explanation, just scroll down past the line break below.)

Some years ago I went to his very first writing workshop at Dragon*Con. And one of the first things he asked was how many of those in the group considered themselves writers. And I did not raise my hand, because I had never enjoyed writing and tended to avoid it if I could.

But one thing I do love is talking about stories, about what works and what doesn't work, and WHY it does or doesn't work. And writers get to do that. So I approached him after that particular seminar and asked "if you don't like writing, how much writing do you have to do before you learn to like it? And how do you make yourself write when you don't like it?"

And he said something that I'm sure has been said many times to others in similar situations: Fake it until you make it.

So I kept plugging away, mostly writing reflections about work. And then SWTOR came out. And for my fourth character (deepest apologies to my Knight, my Warrior, and my Hunter!) I picked a smuggler. But even then it wasn't until I was on the fleet, dithering about my specialization, that the seeds of a story took root and began to grow. I'd never played a healer before, and I was nervous about doing so. And it occurred to me that in-game, there's really no learning curve for the characters. You go to your trainer, pay up, and whammo, you have your new skill! And so I started thinking about what it would be like if the character learned something new and at first really wasn't all that good at it, and suddenly it was like I could not stop writing.

And for the first time in I'm-not-saying-how-long, I'm looking forward to writing. And I'm writing every chance I get. It's gotten harder, now; the stories aren't just writing themselves any more. But I'm still enjoying it.

I know it isn't anything that will get published. Maybe it'll lead to writing something that can be. Maybe it won't.

But for now, this is enough. Thanks, Mr. Stackpole.