The Gun

Firing range, ISD Suspense, post-Trojan Horse

Ibram let off three shots in quick succession. The computer told him he got one bull’s-eye shot, and two near-bull’s-eye’s. Good, he thought. But not good enough.

Despite being a Viper pilot, Ibram always made sure he kept up with his other skills, like self defence, and small’s arms. Ibram was practising with his DC-15s commando pistol. A present, like most of his possessions, from his father.

Ibram reset the targets, and started firing again.

The DC-15s was, in Ibram’s opinion, one of the best small arms out there. It was used by the Republic Commandos during the Clone Wars was valued for its reliability and-

That’s odd.

On the third shot, the gun had misfired. The converters hadn’t generated enough energy to make a round, and so the gun had sort of… fizzled.

7 years, Ibram thought has he sat down and opened his small toll kit. 7 years and it’s never done that.

Removing the casing, Ibram started repairing his gun, remembering when he had received the ‘trusty’ weapon on his 12th birthday…..

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Yaga Minor, Yavvitiri, 7 years previous

“What’s with the hands daddy?”

“You’ll see son, you’ll see.” Gabriel Tyrol was leading his son through the mechanics bay, covering the young boy’s eyes with his hands.#

“Is it a birthday present? Because if it is you’re a day late. Uncle Daniel gave me his present on time. So did Auntie Jan.”

Gabriel chuckled. “Well I’m your father, so I get to give you your presents whenever I want. Now shush, before I make it disappear.”

Ibram kept his mouth shut. He was very excited. Dad had always said he would get him something special for his 12th birthday. His last year before he became a man, apparently, although Ibram had looked down his pants many times; he thought he already looked like a man.

“Here we are! Ta-da!” Ibram’s dad removed his hands. On the table was a small, sleek and black blaster pistol, along with a small tool kit.

“Woooooooaaahhh. It’s amazing! What is it?” Ibram tenderly picked up the gun.

“This ‘Bram, is a DC-17s. A very useful pistol. Was used by the ARC commandos during the Clone Wars.”

Ibrams face lit up, he loved the ARC troopers. “Really!”

“You bet’cha. Now Ibram.” He said, becoming stern. Oh dear, Ibram thought.

“You have to be very careful with this weapon, as it could seriously hurt someone. I’ve fiddled with the settings, so that it doesn’t give out lethal blasts, but you have to prove to me that you can be responsible. You do that, then in a couple years I’ll show you how to change the settings back.”

“Ok.” Ibram stared at the gun in his hands. I could hurt people with this, he realised. The thought scared him.

His father smiled. “Good, I’ve given you a small repair kit for it and a manual in case it breaks. I’ve set up a little target range out back so you can practice.”

Ibram grabbed his stuff and ran out the door, eager to get started.

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Miss, shoulder-shot, head-shot.

Ibram needed practice, badly. His dad had set up a target board in the shape of a man, against the back of the mechanics bay. Whilst the small gun wasn’t powerful enough to put a hole through the board, it made a dent, so that Ibram could easily see where he had hit.

He thought about trying it out against some of the rats he saw scurrying about, but then his dad’s words came back to him, and he thought better of it.

He was about to go look at the board when a group of kids came round the corner.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” It was Nix, one of the local thugs. His dad was a bouncer.

“What the Gak you doing here Brammy boy? Playing Clone Wars?” They group broke out into a laugh. Ibram just kept quiet.

Nix looked at the dented board, and then at the gun in Ibram’s hand. “Aw, ickle Ibram has an ickle toy gun. Was that a present from dad-day?”

“So?” Ibram was getting annoyed, but he had dealt with these kids before. They usually went a way if you ignored them. Usually.

“So!?” Nix scoffed. “So!? Are you talking back to me Bram? You know you shouldn’t talk back to me. I should punish you now.” They all started taking steps towards him.

“Keep away!” Ibram said. He raised his gun and pointed it at Nix. “This ain’t a toy Nix, It’s real, and I suggest you keep away.”

Nix grinned. “Well if it’s real, why don’t you shoot me?”

Nix was very close at this point. Ibram hesitated a second, but decided that his dad’s fury was easier to bear then what Nix would do, so he pulled the trigger. Or at least tried too.

Nix, not taking the chance that it was a real gun, palmed the gun out of Ibram’s hand, and then punched the boy in the stomach, doubling him over. The rest fell on him like jackals.

As the group kicked and hit Ibram, Nix went over to the fallen weapon, picked it up, and fired it at the board. He smiled as it made a dent. “Hey guys, Brambles was telling the truth after all.”

The boys stopped and parted as Nix came over, holding the gun by his side. “A real gun…and you threatened to shoot me with it…” The bully was staring weirdly at the beaten kid on the ground. “You know what they say bram, an eye for an eye.” He placed the gun against Ibram’s forehead. Ibram whimpered in fear.

After about a minute, Nix pulled the gun away, and dropped it next to Ibram. “Keep your toy, threaten me again and you’ll wish you were dead.”

They wandered off, leaving a battered Ibram snivelling in the dust. He got up, slowly, picked up his, and in a rage, fired three shots at the board.

Headshot, Headshot, Headshot.

==========================================

Ibram stood up and went back to the range. He let of a quick three round burst. Three bulls-eyes, and the gun performed flawlessly. Perfect, he mused.

After the incident, Ibram had subscribed to self defence classes; to make sure Nix and the others couldn’t treat him like that again. The next time Nix tried to bother, he went away with a broken nose.

4 months later, Ibram eventually figured out what his dad had done to the gun to lower the output and, without telling the old man, changed it back. He eventually told his dad before he left for the VE. His dad had simply laughed, and said that he had expected Ibram to figure it out sooner.

Ibram holstered his pistol, and left the firing range.

OOC:

1,142 words

The Crash

Medical Quarters, Navy HQ, Abrea
24 hours after Operation: Search & Rescue

“Well, a few bumps and bruises, but nothing too bad fatal. You should be up on you’re feet, or in the cockpit, in no time.”

Ibram breathed a sigh of relief as the Doctor consulted his chart. The CO had ordered sleep as soon as they returned from Votek, and then for everyone to report to the Doctor for a check-up.

Ibram had been having pains down his right side for most of the day, but it turned out to be nothing but mild bruising.

“Thanks Doc,” he said. “I was getting worried there.”

The Doctor smiled. He was an aged man, who had probably seen his fair share of blood. “Don’t worry Petty Officer, luckily for you I know my stuff. Still, a healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anyone – it was good of you to come see me.”

“Well, the CO ordered it, and it wouldn’t look good on my record if I started disobeying orders…”

Before the Doctor could reply, the doors to the infirmary bust open and two orderlies came rushing in with a hover-stretcher, a medical droid trailing in their wake.

“We’ve got a code one critical here!”

The Doctor was on his feet at once. “I’m here, give me a sit rep.”

“Multiple injuries, both external and internal. He’s also been in vacuum for longer then the normal time. Low level radiation poison is also a possible…”

“Alright, download the full report to the station; get him in to Intensive…”

Ibram bid is farewells and made to leave, not wanting to get in the Doc’s way. He gave a cursory glance at the person on the stretcher, and stopped dead.

R…rocket!?

“That guy’s in my squadron!” he yelled.

The Doc looked round at him, “well he won’t be for much longer unless I get to work on him right away. Take this man in.”

The Doc, one of the orderlies and the droid went through the double doors. The other orderly made to follow, but first stopped and turned to Ibram.

“He jumped in system in a banged up old starfighter…luckily he was picked up by a patrol. It doesn’t look good though…”

Ibram was left alone, staring at the doors to the intensive care unit.

Why do they all have to look the same?


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Yage Minor, two years previous

“You’re late Tyrol”

“Sorry, Mr Mathers.”

Ibram bowed his head as his boss stared lazily at him from the landing. Mr Mathers was the owner of one of the wealthier estates on the outskirts of Yavvitiri.

In order to keep the money flowing whilst he figured out what he wanted to do in life, Ibram often took odd jobs around the city. However times were becoming tight, especially since him and Marisa had just moved in together.

And it didn’t help that you gave me this job on such short notice either…

“Well, just don’t be late again. You need the jobs I offer you after all.”

Don’t I know it.

The only real possession Ibram owned was the ARC-170 that he had learnt to fly in as a kid. Maintaining the ageing fighter was getting more expensive as the years wore on however, and it was odd jobs like this that kept it in the air. He had wanted to test fly it today, but Mr. Mathers had called up at the last minute and told him to work today. At such short notice, it was no wonder Ibram was late.

It’s ok hunny, I’ll fly it. Marisa’s voice echoed in his mind.

She was nearly as nuts about the fighter as he was. Nearly.

“You’re not well Mari, lie in today, we can test it when I get back.”

Marisa had been under the weather all week. He kept trying to get her to go to the doctors, but she was convinced it would pass. Ibram had the sneaking suspicion she was pregnant, but he couldn’t be sure…

“Tyrol, you’re daydreaming. Get to work!” Mr. Mathers snapped.

“Sorry sir, I’ll get right to it.”

Unpacking the cleaner droids he had borrowed from his Dad, Ibram set to work tidying up Mr. Mathers house. He had some function tonight, and for reasons Ibram could not work out, Mr. Mathers was unhappy with the way his house looked.

The sooner I get done, the quicker I leave, I guess…

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3 hours later

Whoever thought of that phrase should have been shot.

Ibram had been trying to ‘clean’ the place for the past few hours, and each time he thought he had finished, Mr. Mathers came and found something wrong with it. He made a mental note to never work for this man again. Ever.

“Tyrol, you’ve stopped.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Mathers, but the droids need to spend a couple minutes cooling down and recharging. They’re not built to go on for this long.”

“Well then you should spend the money you earn from me buying better equipment!. I can hire people just a cheaply as you who have far better equipment”

“I’m sorry Mr. Mathers, but I can’t afford to buy better equipment, even with the money you give me.”

“I don’t think I like your tone Tyorl-“

But before he could carry on, Ibram’s personal communicator beeped. That made Ibram’s blood run cold. With his communicator in the virtual ‘off’ mode, no-one could get in touch with unless it was really really important.

He reached into his pocket and switched it on, connecting his communicator with the incoming call.

Mr. Mathers looked like he was going to have a hissy fit. “Tyrol! How dare you take that thing out whilst I’m talking to you. I’ve half a mind to-“

“Quiet!” Ibram shouted as the voice on the other end started speaking.

“Mr Ibram Tyrol, this is an automated message from the Yavvitiri spaceport authority. There was an incident at approximately 10:22:01 today involving an ARC-170 that is registered in your name. The occupant was a human female, approximately 19 years of age. She was involved in a mid-air collision involving another ship.

The ARC-170 was severely damaged and has been impounded, awaiting you to come and pick it up. If you do not pick it up within 24 hours, it will be scrapped.

If you wish to press charges against the occupant of your vehicle, then please take the reference number attached to this message, and bring it to our central office.

If the occupant was a relative or family member, then you may visit them at the Yavvitiri Medical Centre.

This message will now repeat:

Mr Ibram Tyrol…”

But Ibram Tyrol had already gone.

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Yavvitiri Medical Centre

Ibram rushed through the doors of the hospital, the automated message playing over and over in his mind. He had rushed out of the door almost as soon as he had heard there had been an accident.

God damn you Marisa, I told you to stay in today…

Mr. Mathers had shouted something at him as he ran for his speeder, probably firing him or something, but Ibram hadn’t cared…so long as he didn’t get in his way.

He ran up to the front desk.

“Hello, I’m here for Marisa Deago. She was admitted earlier today, some sort of mid-air collision?”

The receptionist, a female Twi’Lek, checked with her computer.

“I’m sorry; we have no-one under that name. An unidentified person was admitted a few hours ago around the time-frame you gave. Severe injuries.”

Ibram took a moment respond.

“…That….that must be her. I need to go see her. She’s my fiancée. “

“I’m afraid you’re not allowed. She’s still in intensive care. And until we can verify her identity, I don’t think you’ll be allowed in until the doctors are done.”

Ibram stood their, stunned and looked over towards the double doors that led into the intensive care unit.

“How Long?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Ibram’s heart stopped, and his eyes become vacant. Slowly, he turned away from the desk, found a chair, and sat back down.

His eyes never left the door.

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“Tyrol? You ok?”

Ibram slowly came out of his revere and looked up into the questioning face of his Commander, Thomas Dagoram.

“Yes sir, sorry I was just… thinking.”

They’d finally let him in to see Marisa. It had taken his Dad, several angry conversations and a couple of hours to achieve, but they had finally let him in.

Doctors hadn’t even gotten her into a Bacta tank yet. They said there was nothing they could do. She opened her eyes only once before she died, but it was enough. Ibram got to say goodbye.

“How’s Arkan?” The skipper asked.

“Not sure sir, he’s been in there for a couple hours.”

Thomas nodded, and handed Ibram a datapad.

“When he’s fixed, assign someone to watch him, and then get the squadron up in the air again. I’m going away for a few days, so I’m leaving you in charge.”

Ibram didn’t  know what to say.

“I-n charge? What about the XO.”

“You are the XO.” Thomas smiled.

Ibram’s draw dropped. Thomas chuckled.

“C-3 has been re-assigned. They’re opening up a new squadron that requires his experience. You’ve shown a lot of enthusiasm lately, so you you’re it until your dead. Or I find somebody better.”

“Y-yes sir!” Ibram stood up and saluted.

“Carry on XO.” Thomas said.