Star Wars_ X-Wing 08_ Isard's Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole [11]
Despite a personal preference for remaining at home with Mirax and getting caught up with her life, Corran did enjoy the party his wife had arranged. In the almost three years he had spent in the squadron, he had gotten to know his fellow pilots well. He’d spent an incredible amount of time with them, usually under conditions that would most generously be described as adverse. They’d all become very close, and seeing them without the pressure of combat let Corran realize just how much he cared for them.
He smiled as he watched Gavin Darklighter dancing with Asyr Sei’lar. Corran remembered Gavin when he came into the squadron as a tall kid, just past that gawky phase but not by much. His light brown hair and brown eyes combined with a soft-spoken, easygoing personality that instantly inspired trust and friendship. Through the years Gavin had matured—with the goatee and mustache he now sported an external sign of the growing-up he had done. The war transformed him from a desert-world farmboy to an ace pilot and a man who thinks before he acts.
Asyr Sei’lar, the Bothan female with whom Gavin had built a relationship, had a playful light burning in her violet eyes. While she might have been described as petite, and her black and white fur did give her a kittenish appearance, she moved with a fluid grace that hinted at a lot of power in her frame. Corran respected her as a pilot and because of choices she had made. She stuck with the squadron in defiance of the wishes of her Bothan superiors, and she’s continued to see Gavin despite disapproval as well. Bucking authority, especially for a Bothan, took serious steel in the spine, but Asyr had plenty.
Ooryl Qyrgg, Corran’s long-time Gand wingman, came walking over to him, bearing a small plate covered with a rainbow of long, glistening, protoplasmic strips. He plucked one from the plate in a three-fingered hand, then delicately sucked it into his mouth, letting his mandibles click shut as it disappeared. A clear membrane nictitated over Ooryl’s compound eyes and the Gand hissed in what Corran had long ago learned to recognize as Ooryl’s approximation of a self-satisfied sigh.
“Tasty, are they?”
“Yes, Corran, very much so.” His mandibles spread apart in the best grin Ooryl could muster. “But an acquired taste. On Gand there are some races that cannot eat these uumlourti—they will actually die if they do. I do not think you would like them.”
Corran patted his friend on the gray-green exoskeleton over his left shoulder. “Truth be told, I’ve never been much for food that rates high on the slimy scale. And risking death to find out just isn’t something I want to do right now. But, don’t let me stop you.”
“I have no intention of that, Corran.”
The Corellian pilot shook his head. “There was a time, though, when you would have.”
“Ooryl does not quite understand that comment.”
“Looking at Gavin, I was thinking back to when I joined the squadron. Back then you had not been made janwuine, so you always referred to yourself as Ooryl or Qyrgg. You were not so forthright, but more cautious. Then you grew in your confidence and your skill, and it was— is—great.”
Ooryl gave him a sidelong glance. “The Ooryl you describe would have probably pointed out that he learned much from you during his time with the squadron.”
“Probably.”
“I, on the other hand, would not inflate your ego that way.” His mouthparts snapped open and closed sharply. “I am kidding you, yes?”
“I got it, Ooryl. You really have learned.”
“Yes. I have learned to appreciate my friends.” Ooryl gestured at another couple on the dance floor. “Captain Celchu remained focused on fighting the Empire despite being under suspicion of being a spy. Winter remained supportive of him despite the charges the New Republic laid against him. We were all happy when he was proved innocent, but Tycho never showed signs of being bitter.”
“True, he took