SithLore

Coruscant was the least important world in the Alliance, and it showed it despite all the wars fought over it. The task force safeguarding it was impressive, for a lower tier Alliance world that had yet to bloom. The Alliance held Coruscant, but it didn’t need Coruscant. It was a token and a poke to the eye of the Empire. A poke that had cost many dearly.

The traffic to and from it was as busy as normal with a little less red tape here and a little more there. Alliance ships did routine passes and inspections. The orbital stations buzzed with ferrying passengers and cargo. It was business as usual, until you journeyed down to the surface and noticed the giant middle fingers the Alliance populists had made to the Empire. Fingers months in the making. Their base would love it.

The once grand Imperial Palace had seen its edges shaved. Holographic signs now projected above its greatly reduced entrances that it was now “The Emperor’s Funhouse.” A pool stole the throne room. A spa was the old Emperor’s quarters. Recreation facilities and accompanying requirements littered the bulk of the former serious construct for everything from the local sport teams and an inside park/zoo with lush lifeforms from the far corners of the Alliance to holochess and grand restrooms.

It was even home now to the best darn tooting orphanage in the galaxy. It was a grand remodel thanks to the ever not so slight increase in the taxes of the richer locals. They weren’t the enemy, but Naboo and other worlds weren’t going to pay for Coruscant’s sins. It didn’t matter to the populists. Everybody would be happy at the expense of their old Imperial enemy. Besides, a pool party in the Emperor’s throne room was well on its way to being the “in thing” for the kiddies. The fee was tax deductible and went to the beautification of Coruscant and, of course, the children.

For those in the area who wanted to get down, there was a great bar and grill in one of the nearby old Moff’s mansion with the hottest jizz rolling out all the time. It wasn’t the best way forward, but some “land” had to be seized to spur economic and social development on the upper levels for all the citizens of Coruscant. It wasn’t fair for the “poop,” as the kids say, to always fall down on those below.

The once famed military academies were all well on their way to becoming public schools or free institution of higher education, including one of the smaller ones being reborn as a school for the clown arts. Word had reached Alliacne command that it was a hoot.

Those big ugly turbolaser batteries that used to shoot ships out of the stars? A few had been torn down and replaced by hover parks. A far better use of all that power with much fresher results. Parks in general were needed on so many levels.

Checkpoints that’d divide were coming down all over. Information booths and call boxes to get help were replacing them. Most were blue and hummed a strange song, but it made some tech smile. Who was the Alliance to argue against that?

Statues of those who stood against oppression from Leia Organa to the not as famous Jar Jar Binks were on order from physical and holo-artisans. They’d soon replace all the dreadful ones honoring the Empire’s ill deeds. A review committee had already been formed to review each Imperial statue and monument. Many would come down quickly and be temporarily replaced by Alliance banners.

For example, it took five minutes for them to decide to rename the Imperial Plaza to the People’s Square and replace those ugly adornments of the Empire with rich colorful sights to remind the locals of what made Coruscant great before the darkness rose. A little scene of Senate action people could walk through. Faceless forms helping one another on an undescript level after something not so nice had gone down. A Jedi facing the once bright temple with a lone tear rolling down its cheek who turns to wipe it away and extends his free hand to the crowd. And other a few other things that’d get the locals thinking, smiling, or inspiring were on their way.

Radical changes in some areas that’d be easily seen. Little or none in others. That’s what the Alliance had been doing with its time on the once Imperial Jewel. But it wasn’t all gestures paint over their foes. Since Coruscant was now the center of nothing, some major military facilities had been shifted to law enforcement’s needs. The lower levels would be far trickier than that to crack down on, but it was a step in the right direction.

A few others had been converted into more secure commerce and civilian spaceports. The Grand Republic Medical Facility was getting a facelift and expansion, and its name back. There was a lot more to it all, but the Alliance had made suggestions to the newly established democratic elected governing body of Coruscant. The details and the rest was their problem. This was an Alliance, after all, and not a dictatorship of some ruling child. It would be a lie to say this had no grander purposes in the Alliance. It did.

There was an election coming up, and the populists knew how to rev up their base. It wasn’t like Coruscant was going to sway the election, but smiles would. And boy, Chief of State Tansir’s chief of staff had just signed off an advertisement she was sure would ensure her party remained in control and bring some much needed business to the downtrodden world of Coruscant. It was rolling out just as the campaign season kicked off to replace her.

An ewok quartet singing the latest jizz as members of several member races got their funk down in the Emperor’s Playhouse.

The Imperial Clown College opened on schedule, but the Chief of State wasn’t available to attend. She was needed on Naboo to push budget negotiations through to fund the next fiscal year. It couldn’t wait with the election on the horizon and the difficulties of doing much the closer they came. Senator Skroob led the loyal opposition in the centrist party, and he was making a lot of hot air yet unwilling to make any decisions. He was a senator after all.

Coruscant beamed with openings and those ever joyous closing. Who could forget when Imperial Tailors and Sons closed shop, temporarily as it rebranded, and had to repaint all their steam droids to fit the vibrancy of freedom. Black was now out of fashion. Grey, a pastel worth flannelling. Color was all the rage of the rainbow.

The Alliance had held the Imperial Jewel for only a short time in comparison to its billions of years of existence, but they pushed it out of the crevasses of the dark and into the bosom of the light.

Those awful Imperial holidays were getting a good old freedom makeover. Liberation Day was a half day off of work. The day denoting the “coup” of the Jedi against the Republic was now going to be Jedi History Month. It was the shortest month, but one could not rearrange the calendar for one’s own amusement or convenience.

One Chief of State’s time was coming to its end. In a short year, a new person or droid would rise up to claim the position. Who would it be?

The great Alliance was more like a loose horde. This chief had been blessed by not having to deal with too much war. The next might not be so lucky. She was glad it wouldn’t be her. Politics was mess enough with its own unique flying excrements. Still she aimed for it to be her chosen successor: Senator Sevil Bu’pe.

The commercial began. An elderly ewok that looked dashingly distinguished for his ample years stood on the holofeed at a desk covered in treats. While, ewok spoke only its native tongue, a caption was provided with lots and lots of commas. The voice over covering up his suave tones left a wicked smile on too many faces. The ewok came around the desk and leaned against it.

“Hello. I’m Chris, of, Ewoken’s Treats, and I’m, running, for Chief, of State. I’d, like, to take, this opportunity, to ask, for your support, in making me, Christopher Ewoken, your voice, your choice, to lead, this great, Alliance, into the future. I remember, when, my people, did their thing, to those Imperials, back on Endor. We’ve, never, looked back. Always to the future, we’ve strode, since that station, blew up above our, little, forest.

I can’t, speak, for my entire, planet, but I can, for me. It’s time, we usher in, a new, era, in the Alliance. A turn, if you will, towards new horizons. An expanse of wild, space. New frontiers, to bring, into our peaceful existence, but when war, comes, we rise up. We pick up sticks. We use our hands.” He raised his little furry paws to the projector. “We use, whatever, we have to, to protect our people, from harm, be it, foreign or domestic. And when, we’re done, break open, a box of Ewoken’s, famous, Alliance Delights. Thank you.”

The commercial ended on the Ewoken’s logo, proudly claiming to be the only fully ewok owned and operated bakery in the galaxy. The race was on and the first hat had been thrown in the race. Who would be next?

Another came. The orange creature looked like a Duro, but there was a chance it wasn’t one. So the holonet left that part subtly blank. Then it started.

“You my remember me as the “Just Say No to Deathsticks” clown or those fun “get your butts checked out” commercials. I’m here to tell you the Alliance can go to hell. What good has it gone? When was the last time we had some good news? It’s always somebody killed somebody or some pirate robbed a liquor store. We don’t have no time for none of that nonsense.

I want to be Chief of State, so I can burn this entire backwards yellow bellied organization down from the top. I promise to always wear too much perfume and bring ample matches. It won’t be easy, but with your help, we can start over after we clean this dump out by fire. Who knows? We might even find some spare change.

Now, I’m sure your saying, ‘This guy sounds nuts. Is this all a joke to him?’ No, it’s not. The joke was ever thinking idiots like you would actually get up and vote. That’s why we always have idiots in office. How about for once you get up and vote for an idiot who just wants to see it all burn? Vote for me. Vote for the giant meteor I’ll be.”

He turned away from the projector and then back. “And don’t forget to get your but checked. It’s a crazy galaxy. No telling what’s crawled up it.”

The primaries were crazy, but he did have a point. There was no telling what had crawled up into this election. There was a slight problem with his candidacy though. He forgot to mention his name.

Soon after the commercial ended, another began.

A young gungan male stepped up to a podium, pictures flashing of him as he smiled, looking over everyone.

"Meesa naiman sing. Meesa want to ask all of yousa for yousa's votes for cheifen of the state! Many peoples think meesa not a good leader. Many peoples no think Gungans can be serious peoples. But meesa disagreeing. Meesa is a moy decorated veteran. Helped the army when naboo was in the trouble from the bootlickers! Meesa promise, though, that if meesa is elected the chiefen of state, of this greaten Alliance, then weesa will focus not only on the poverted peoples, helping theysa get jobs, but also making the armies of ours alliance join together, so weesa can make sure that weesa no have to fear the bootlickers no more!"

With that, the gungan waved, cheering as he stepped down, and his own logo covered the screen.

"Naiman Sing: he will care for you while he fights for you." A male voice spoke before the commercial ended.

Blue skin. Long curly hair. Soft red eyes. A smile that looked more at home on her face than it might in a painting of a field of disembodied smiles. The female chiss stood in a simple Naboo dress on a humble stage before a crowd of one: you.

“The Alliance isn’t the light in the dark. It’s not the only hope in the galaxy. You are. We are. Together we can do anything. Together there is no force we can’t overcome. Together there is no problem we can’t solve. Together we are greater than we ever were apart. Together the future can be anything we wish it to be. Together as one Alliance.”

She stepped down from the stage in what could only be described as an unpracticed but well thought out move. Down she went into a loose crowd of a few different Alliances races that some tended to forget existed given the prevalence of humans in the empires of old. Of course, she stopped next to the ewok.

“It’s easy to say pretty words and rouse a crowd with lines customized for the crowd before you. It’s another to actually guide this Alliance into a better tomorrow. I can’t say I would always make the right choices or will be able to right the wrongs of yesterday, but I will try. I will work with you. I will listen to you. We are the Alliance. We are a chorus of voices.”

She extended her arms to those around her and then asked them to come closer. Her smile faded away to a blunt seriousness yet there was still warmth in her words. A warmth like a nice shower after a long day of tending the duck ranch or holding the line against Imperial aggression on some salty world. (It was well known the Empire ran on salt and salt mines were their thing.)

“The Empire serves an Emperor. The Sith serves themselves. The Alliance serves you. I come from a world ravaged by plague and the same evils you face. The Alliance took me in and gave me a home. I would like to repay that debt in service. My goals would be simple and transparent. To improve the systems in place with reasonable reforms. To protect our people. To bring new allies into this great Alliance and strengthen the whole.”

She paused for a second and then offered a humble smirk. It was time to get personal and address some of the fears of an unknown individual interrupting this week's episode of "Quantum Droid." Not that anyone wanted to see S4M download into the body of a mouse droid on the first death star 4 hours before it exploded.

“Who am I? What do I know of anything? I served the Chiss Cabinet as one of 28 governors. My whole life has been in service of where I call home in whatever capacity I could. The Alliance is now my home, and we have much work to do. Together. I’m Brast‘ar’ktarloo, but you can call me Stark.”

It wasn’t clear then amongst the field of candidates, but soon the Alliance would know only one chief of state and her name was Stark.