The non-descript Corellian Corvette landed on the designated platform on Coruscant or Imperial City as it was known by the current occupants. The pilot was a twin-horned, hairy, kaffe-skinned Gotal – who, from the looks of it, knew his way around a cockpit. He was dressed in traditional male Gotal attire with knee-high boots appropriate for much more rough terrain than the streets of Imperial City were likely to offer. Black loose-fitting pants with a sleeveless, hip-length jacket and a utility belt completed the look.
Once the pilot had powered down the repulsors, he turned to his co-pilot – a male Wookiee – and asked, “Can you take it from here, pal? I wanna go check on Leia.”
Chewbacca, having undergone a dye job that transformed his normally auburn-flecked fur to a black and white spectacle similar to a brilliant star scape, howled back in affirmation.
Han Solo rose from his chair, moved to itch at a spot right under his nose, but remembering his elaborate make-up job, settled for wiggling his lips and nose around for a minute trying to relieve the strong desire to scratch.
He made his way out of the cockpit and headed aft, passing by the dozen or so Wookiee passengers with a polite nod. When he rounded the corner to a common area that opened up to the passenger cabin doors, he found Lando, the suave smuggler’s cape swirling around at the sound of Han’s approaching footsteps.
“Luke’s in there with her,” Lando announced, without being asked and indicated one of the passenger cabin doors with a tilt of his alien chin. He was disguised as an Arcona. Han suspected that his friend had chosen that particular species solely on the fact that they were known to wear long, flowing, elaborately tailored capes. “She’s had a rough time of it,” Lando added, as Han brushed passed him with a nod and mumbled thanks.
Han entered the cabin to find it drenched in quiet darkness, the only light spilling across the floor from the ‘fresher door at the opposite side of the room. As if sensing his entrance, a large figure appeared in the opened doorway, eclipsing the sparse lighting with its towering form.
“We’ve landed?” The strange voice asked.
Even though Han knew that it was Luke behind the makeup and the mask, he still couldn’t help but flinch a little. Luke was dressed as an Anomid. The species had no vocal chords and spoke through elaborate masks which allowed them to communicate with other species. The mask was similar to a breath mask, but was not designed for breathing. Regardless, Han found the booming voice and mechanical breathing a little unsettling in more ways than one.
“Yeah. How is she?” Han said, moving toward Luke as the Jedi stepped out of the doorway allowing a wedge of light to eagerly flood back into the room. Apparently hyperspace travel had not agreed with Han’s pregnant wife and since he had been flying the ship, he hadn’t seen her since they exited hyperspace when he had left her huddled in the corner of the ‘fresher cradling a bucket.
“We were able to get her disguise on and I don’t think she has anything left to…you know. So, she hasn’t done that in a while.” Luke’s boyish shrug and the familiar tone of his voice overrode his intimidating disguise.
“Great. Now she’ll be operating on an empty stomach,” Han grumbled.
Luke put his pale-skinned hand on Han’s shoulder. “I’ll go and get some ration bars and ready the troops.”
“Thanks,” Han replied as he side-stepped his brother-in-law and headed into the ‘fresher.
He found Leia standing in front of the sink adjusting one of her earrings with her long, suction-cupped fingers. Han stepped up beside her. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Leia dropped her hands and curled them around the edge of the sink. “Thank you,” she said, as she watched Han’s fingers work the clasp of the decorative ear piece.
“How ya feelin’?” Han asked, finished with the earring he placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to face him.
“Lucky for us we chose a green-skinned species for me. It saved tons of Alliance credits on make-up.”
Han could tell that she was smiling somewhere underneath her disguise. Leia was dressed as a Rodian, another unsettling choice in Han’s opinion. The last Rodian he had tangled with ended up face-down dead on a cantina table in Mos Eisley. “Can you eat with that thing?” He asked, eyeing up her stubby snout.
“Yes, but throwing up in it may not be pretty.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and tilted her green head up at him, her large multi-faceted eyes somehow having the same effect on him as her big, brown human ones. He thought of kissing her, but between his small sliver of a mouth and her rounded muzzle, he settled for a peck on her bumpy forehead. “I’ll try to eat something,” she whispered as he kissed her.
When he drew away, he licked his lips. She tasted of molded synthetics, or maybe it was him. “Luke’s rounding up some ration bars,” he replied. “You ready for this?”
“I am,” she answered confidently, but Han knew that was something that she could fake as easily as the movements of the little antennae on her head. “I feel much better now that we’ve touched down.”
“Good,” he replied. “We stick together until the conference room. I don’t want you out of my sight.”
“Understood.” Her long reptilian fingers ran up his chest and gripped him at his shoulders. “You will be careful, won’t you?”
“Always.” Again there was an urge to kiss her and an even stronger one to just whisk her away forever and say to hell with the Empire and Coruscant and to the Jedi and…
“Let’s get moving, you two,” the alien, breath-masked voice called from the doorway to their quarters.
“I love you, Leia Solo,” Han drawled out to the green-skinned alien in his arms.
“I love you, too,” she replied and then grabbed his hand in hers and dragged him toward the exit.
Zyra’s condition for me: They actually have to leave for the mission, but how far they get is up to you.