Star Wars: The Jedi Revolt

Chapter Seven: Hang-Ups

Chancellor Leia was passed out in her second-largest living room. It was early in the morning on Coruscant. The breaking light of the systems only sun having the privilege to set upon this upper section of the ecumenopolis, and no further.

She was still drunk from the night before. Her fight with Luke had prompted a rare slip in judgment that caused her to consume too much Kuat brandy with a Devaronian Senator. She had somehow changed into an elegant nightgown before passing out on the sofa's midsection, which was made from the hull of a decommissioned X-Wing. The plush leather seats of various cockpits acted as cushions, though they had been reupholstered to make them slightly more comfortable.

Her janitorial droids were cleaning the mess from last night's festivities. The smells from the party lingered. Hints of cured meats and half-drunken wine wafted through the air, adding greatly to her throbbing headache. She clung to a soft, silken blanket that had been draped over her by a droid attendant while she slept. She rang her fingers unconsciously through the fabric, enjoying its softness.

Her live-in assistant, C-3PO, approached her, gently jostling her into the land of the living. She took the sight of him in. The golden-coated droid had been given several upgrades since their time in the war. Improved hydraulics meant his footsteps were softer than back then. He was also equipped with turrets on his shoulder joints that constantly rotated back and forth—a reminder that the wars she fought now were a little more complex than red men with lightsabers.

He was still the same anxious droid, though, and he brought the same frantic energy to every conversation. "Good morning, Chancellor," he said nervously. "I am sorry to wake you so early, but your campaign manager Hiram and your assistant Corellia are requesting access up to the apartment. Security has given them the all-clear."

"This early? That's not good," she stated, the concern in her voice apparent, but then remembering this would only make C-3PO even more nervous, she tacked a reassuring statement to the end of her remark. "Don't worry, C-3PO. I am sure it's nothing too serious. Tell Captain Haluttu to send them up. "

"I hope so, Chancellor," he fretted. "A crisis is the last thing we need."

C-3PO hit a button on his wrist that gave the all-clear for the Chancellor's Guards to let Hiram and Corellia up. The living room had large, floor-to-ceiling windows with a direct line of sight with the elevator's golden doors. These massive, elegant doors were etched with an illustrated history of the Battle of Yavin. An abstracted X-wing was in the center, straddling between where the two doors opened. You could see the ship shooting out a line representing a set of torpedoes, making their mark inside the bowels of an exploding Death Star.

Leia watched as the doors opened and out stepped Hiram and Corellia. They had just ascended hundreds of floors in a fraction of a second to reach her suite. The two of them looked as frazzled as she undoubtedly did—a sign that neither of them had slept particularly well. Hiram's hair was frizzy and unkempt. He was wearing an unbuttoned jacket that was half-tucked into his pants. Corellia's blue uniform was likewise frumpled, a major oversight for someone with her training.

The two of them made their way to her and bowed. "My Chancellor," they both murmured, panting, which told Leia that they had both come here in a great hurry.

"That bad, huh?" Leia said with the driest hint of sarcasm.

"Yes," Hiram said plainly, still out of breath.

C-3PO quietly set down a glass of water as well as several anti-nausea pills on the table in front of her. Leia sat up and took a sip, and then swallowed the pills in a single gulp, collecting herself as she completed this vital after-party ritual.