Here's a sample from the prequel to my next photonovel, The United.
The setting for this Photonovel is one year after the events of Revenge of the Sith, on the second "Empire Day". The picture is of the Imperial propaganda promoting the ever growing military. The text reads: "Defending you"
===========================================================United: The Sacrafice the Bearer Beared“After the glorious Emperor saved the Galaxy from the cold deathly claws of the Separatist Movement, he then realized the dangers that still faced the Galaxy. Through deploying the mighty Grand Army of the Empire to various theatres of war across the Galaxy, the Emperor was able to maintain order from the savage demagogues in the outer rim. United and Mighty, the Emperor finally freed the Galaxy of its dangerous self and took unto him it’s body…single, united. Forever.”
- The Imperial Tome for the Advancement of the United, 4:23.
The mid morning is a bright one on the sterile, white streets of Imperial Center Monument. The Monument itself is an offering to the brave warriors of the Clone Wars. Its linear streets and alleys devoid of permanent life, in a way it’s just like the brave Clone Soldiers that the monument is built for…unwavering…cold…soulless.
But not today, today was a day for celebration. Coruscanti and off-worlder alike joined in the merriment of this, the second “Empire Day”. Crowds nearly 2 million strong line the streets near the executive boxes where the Military High Command and Imperial Supporters stand around the heroic zenith of the age, Emperor Palpatine.
The Emperor stands tall, and yet hides his distorted and disgusting features from the public under the hood of his black robe. The Emperor is somewhat like the Galaxy at the time…simple. He wears only a black robe, carries only a modest cane, and is surrounded by a few necessary bodyguards
. But neither are truly simple, the Galaxy is at war with itself...mainly thanks to the cancer of Palpatine. The Emperor, however, shares a different kind of turmoil. His only thoughts are of self-advancement and the destruction of all he sees inferior. Yet where would he be without the inferior rabble? He knows deep down that until he can achieve his ultimate goal…to become the Force persona, he will need to keep the infidels around. This is where his true hatred comes from, from his drive to destroy the infidels and his frustration at continually having to climb to reach the top. He wants his goal now. He wants to destroy them now. But he cannot. Not even if he wants to.
The Senatorial procession makes its way down the street, turning sharply into the Executive boxes. A young human male, of dark pigment carries the banner of the former Galactic Republic ahead of two Imperial Security officers in smart blue uniforms. Behind them, a small cockade of blue robed Senate guards. One of them even sporting the antiquated feather adorned fin.
The crowds go silent as the standard bearer approaches the executive arena. He passes a column of Clone Troopers, their blasters at the ready. The column of soldiers is flanked by Imperial Veterans of war…sporting the old fashion armor from just a few years earlier. The Empire is the Military Industrial Complex gone mad, with new materials being supplied to high priority
personnel every so two or three years.
Behind these troops, several Clone Troopers stand arranged in an eerie living statue like pose…each precise to a fault. And in front of the column stands the commander of these forces, his arms crossed proudly at his back, his smug expression atypical of a “fit and willing Imperial son”.
Under the Emperors box stands several Imperial Senators, notebly Mon Mothma and Bail Organa. Beside them stand many of the Emperors closest advisors, wearing dark colored robes of a simple make
It was once said by the now deceased poet Jahkaus Amoul that the “Greatness and pomp that was once the regal Galactic Republic is now gone, replaced only by cold unfeeling utility. In essence, the Galaxy has been made sterile, and callous,”.
Even though a rose colored image of the late Republic, it is true. The Empire was dead, more superficial. Society had lost something since the beginnings of the rise of the Emperor…an ornate elegance it would never truly restore. This is represented in the attire of the Emperors advisors and friend’s, there is no longer a need or a want for unnecessary pleasures. Only for what is now.
As the Senatorial procession advances forward, a human male wearing povish clothes jumps forward with a blaster and fires into the heart of the young standard bearer. Shouting “Long Remember the Death of the Republic!”, the man is mowed down by blaster fire from the soldiers in the colum. The officer of the troops is also killed in that fated instant.
The crowds panic and begin to flee before the voice of the Emperor is heard over the screams of small children. “STOP! This is a time for celebration! We shall celebrate the sacrifice of this brave young son of the sons! And we shall celebrate the self elimination of this insidious threat!”
And so the people did return to their stations, faithful that their beloved leader was right. After all, he did survive the Jedi Rebellion.
And like the Jedi Rebellion, this was but a ploy…a ploy in a much, much larger scheme.