DAALA: Enter!

(The door hisses open, and two soldiers enter.)

SOLDIER #1: Admiral, a group of stormtroopers has arrived at the base, and requests an audience.

DAALA: Indeed? I assume their authorization codes checked out?

SOLDIER #1: Of course. But--

DAALA: Yes?

SOLDIER #1: Sir, they used the Delta Omega Five code.

DAALA: (eyes widening a bit) Did they really? Show them in.

SOLDIER #1: Sir, forgive my curiosity, but isn't Delta Omega Five for top priority assignments?

(DAALA simply stares at him. After a moment, he humbly nods, then turns to SOLDIER #2, waving him toward the doorway. SOLDIER #2 departs, then returns a moment later, leading six stormtroopers into the room.)

DAALA: (to SOLDIER #1 and #2) You may leave us.

(The soldiers nod, and depart. The door closes behind them. For a moment, DAALA simply stares at the stormtroopers, thrumming her fingers against the arm of her chair.)

DAALA: I could be killed for this, you know. My own men would shoot me. But you're my only hope.

(The stormtroopers take off their helmets, revealing WEDGE, TYCHO, HOBBIE, JANSON, CORRAN and GAVIN.)

WEDGE: Honey, discretion is Rouge Squadron's middle name. Now, what's the problem?

DAALA: I have to go to Moff Borlan's party. One of those stupid "meet and greet" deals, as we try to secure a new alliance with a neighboring system. I don't want to go, but if I have to, I'll be damned if I let Borlan's little hussy of a wife look better than me!

WEDGE: Just leave it to us, sister. (he turns to the Rouges) Damage assessment! Stat!

(The Rouges swarm over DAALA, checking fingernails, toenails, skin tone. JANSON examines her hair.)

JANSON: Lovely, simply lovely. Do you use a cream rinse?

DAALA: Every day.

JANSON: Hand dry or blow dry?

DAALA: Hand dry, of course.

JANSON: (to WEDGE) I think I love this woman.

CORRAN: (examining DAALA's right hand) We've got a hangnail! Code Red! Code Red!

(HOBBIE hands CORRAN a pair of tweezers. CORRAN frowns at them, hands them back.)

CORRAN: Damn it, I need #3 tweezers! Those are #2!

HOBBIE: Sorry, sorry!

(He hands over the correct tweezers, and CORRAN sets to work. WEDGE, meanwhile, begins to apply makeup.)

WEDGE: So...how's every little thing? I heard you'd retired, or something.

DAALA: Wherever did you hear such nonsense?

WEDGE: Oh, you know how people talk.

DAALA: Yeah, I do. You know, I'm kind of surprised you guys agreed to come out here. I mean, us being on opposite sides, and all.

WEDGE: Honey, good looks don't recognize *any* boundaries. Let everyone else fight their silly little wars; we'll spend our time making the galaxy look beautiful. Right, guys?

JANSON, TYCHO, HOBBIE, CORRAN and GAVIN: (in unison) Right!

(Twenty minutes later, DAALA's hair is up in curlers, as the Rouges continue their work...)

DAALA: --and so I was all, like, "Sun Crusher"? What a stupid name! We are *not* calling it that!

JANSON: Preach on, sister.

CORRAN: Okay, Daala, before Gavin and I can start painting these nails, we've got to see what you're going to be wearing, so we can color coordinate.

DAALA: My dress is over in the wardrobe, there. (she gestures) The green one.

(CORRAN walks over, opens the wardrobe and lifts out the green dress.)

CORRAN: Oh. My. God. I think I'm going to pee my pants, this is so beautiful. (he turns toward the other Rouges, holding up the dress) Is this not faboo?

TYCHO: *Totally* faboo.

JANSON: (to WEDGE) I am going to marry this woman.

GAVIN: What do you think, Corran? Emerald Gloss #5 for the nails?

CORRAN: Definitely.

(With obvious reluctance, CORRAN puts the dress away. GAVIN walks over and rummages through a small pack of supplies they've set on top of one of DAALA's consoles, pulling out a small bottle of nail polish. As he does, he accidently knocks over a tube of hair gel, which hits a button...which begins to flash.)

GAVIN: Whoops. That can't be good.

(Seconds later, the door opens, and SOLDIER #1 and SOLDIER #2 burst into the room, guns drawn.)

SOLDIER #1: Admiral, we saw your silent alarm go off and-- (he breaks off, noticing the helmet-less stormtroopers with her...) Rogue Squadron!

WEDGE: (rolling his eyes) It's *Rouge* Squadron now. Hel-LO?!

DAALA: (to soldiers) Uh...I can explain this...

(SOLDIER #1 looks at DAALA, sitting there with her hair in curlers...looks again at the Rouges surrounding her, all of them holding various implements.)

SOLDIER #1: Those Rebels are torturing the Admiral!

DAALA: Uh...yeah! That's right!

(As the soldiers take aim, TYCHO whips out a couple of lipstick tubes and flings them, striking the soldiers in their foreheads. As the soldiers reel back, JANSON steps forward, a can of hairspray in each hand, and sprays out an obscuring mist. SOLDIER #2 regains his composure and aims his gun--but SOLDIER #1 slaps it down.)

SOLDIER #1: No, you fool! You'll ignite the fumes! Hold your breath, and we'll charge through it!

(The soldiers take a deep breath, start to run into the mist. WEDGE grabs a tube of hair gel, squirts it onto the floor; when the soldiers emerge from the mist, they step in the gel, slip, and crash to the floor--whereupon the Rouges jump on them, knocking them out and stealing their weapons.)

WEDGE: (grinning) Who says high fashion isn't an adventure?

(JANSON hurries back to DAALA, pulls out all the hair curlers, then gives her hair a final look.)

JANSON: Fab-u-lous. My lady, it's been a privelege to work on this hair. (he kisses her hand.)

WEDGE: (pulling JANSON away) No time for love, Dr. Jones. We've gotta get out of here.

(CORRAN hands DAALA the Emerald Gloss #5 nail polish.)

CORRAN: Don't use too much. And send me a picture of you in that dress...

DAALA: I will. How can I ever thank you?

WEDGE: Honey, making people look good is its own reward. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got to make our getaway.

(The Rouges put their stormtrooper helmets back on, offer DAALA a quick salute, and hurry from the room. DAALA stares after them.)

DAALA: Good luck, Rouge Squadron, wherever you may go...

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