Kindred Spirits

Tar had left his homeworld of Balosar when he was fourteen, much like many of his people his age. The planet of Balosar was a poor planet, overrun by exploitative megacorporations and criminals - not this bothered Tar much, or any other Balosar. No, Tar wasn't leaving home to get away from it. He left home for much the reason anyone else does - a desire for more. You see the work on Balosar was plentiful, but underpaying - even that of the criminal variety. With a planet positively crawling in scum and villainy, it was tough to make it big. Too much competition.
Tar took a job onboard the freighter Miran, captained by Ulag, a middle aged and relatively boisterous male Devaronian. Ulag ran a tight ship, expecting the crew to have a strong work ethic and attention to detail. Tar had neither, but his cleverness and curiosity endeared him to the captain. While the crew were busy loading cargo or cleaning, Tar would be busily exploring the ship's nooks and crannies, fiddling with the few droids onboard, or staring wide-eyed out of the bridge viewport. Ulag found a protégé in him, teaching him over the years how to run the ship, navigate the crowded space lanes around the busiest planets, how to spot profitable goods, and above all how to handle a slug thrower. 
Ulag was a prodigious shot. As a self-employed freighter captain he had seen his fair share of pirates, angry mutinies, and hungry beasts. With a simple slug thrower he could bullseye the smallest of targets, even under stress. His calm demeanor and focus awed Tar. He taught Tar how to handle the long rifle, how to compensate for its recoil, drop, and focus - even when quickly cycling the next round. Marksmenship - that is true marksmenship - is a long lost skill made obsolete by blasters and smart weapons. He taught Tar to recognize his breathing, the small muscle movements that would affect his shot, the patience needed for the longest of shots. Tar took to this like a fish to water, becoming a skilled shot second only to Ulag himself.
As the years went by, Tar grew restless. He yearned for more, yearned to have something of his own. Ulag, as a Devaronian, understood. The males of his people were known for their wanderlust, and he could see in Tar himself at a younger age. He knew that it was nearing time for him to strike out on his own, and he hoped that he had prepared him for it. Ulag had never found a mate, and had never had children of his own. He felt saddened at the thought of Tar leaving the ship - in the last few years he had been a constant presence, with many of the other crew changing as work ebbed and flowed. But he knew it was time, and while in the dull blue glow of hyperspace he greeted Tar in his room, bag and rifle in hand. 
They talked long, Ulag mostly musing about his time amongst the stars exploring the galaxy. He talked long about dodging pirates in the Outer Rim, negotiating prices with powerful Hutts, seeing the gleaming towers of Coruscant, and the endless sands of Tattooine. Tar listened, confused at first. He was worried that Ulag was working up to firing him. He knew he didn't work as hard as the rest of the crew, and had been longing too long for a change. But as Ulag talked, he understood. He was a kindred spirit, and understood Tar better than he had understood himself. He was giving Tar the chance to forge his own path. Ulag was bouncing around the point, until he looked at Tar and saw in his face a thin smile of understanding. 
Ulag opened the bag, taking out among other things a box of slug rounds, a modest pouch of credits, and a very worn respirator. He neatly laid out the contents of the bag, explaining each items use as he went. He then picked up the rifle, his personal slug thrower. Its wooden stock was neatly carved with Devaronian symbols, finished a light auburn and well cared for. Its metal receiver and barrel, easily four feet on their own, was polished and well maintained, though its light patina betrayed its age. He handed it to Tar with a reverence reserved for the finest blades, and offered him the hope that he may find it useful, but without need. 
On Raxus Prime, as the crew worked to unload the Miran's cargo, Ulag walked Tar down the ramp. The port of Terra Firma was not a busy one. Ulag took his time, chatting about the weather and future prospects, remarking that the planet did not smell as bad as he remembered. He looked Tar over, the teenager he had taken in years ago now a man ready to go on his own, pack on his shoulder and rifle in hand. Ulag was a tough man, as was expected of a ship's captain, but in this moment his voice faltered. He took Tar into his arms, squeezing the life out of him. He held the embrace for only a moment, taking a step back and holding his hand on the young man's shoulder. He looked over Tar one last time, and bid him farewell and goodluck. As Tar faded into the crowd, Ulag watched from the ship's ramp.
"Make me proud, son."