Candidate Dax Nebulon stood backstage. Through the forty-foot viewscreens showing a collage of his formative years, and which now were the only thing shielding him from the view of his adoring audience, he could hear their chant.
“Frak yeah! Frak yeah! Frak yeah!”
His heart was racing, though he knew this was the moment for which he’d been preparing for parsecs. That is, if parsecs were a measure of time. Which they weren’t.
He could hear the automated introductory speech. It was a matter of moments before he would hear his name, and would have no choice but to step onstage. For some reason, this was always the hardest part.
“Ladies and Gentlemen and Those of You Who Choose to Decline Such Designations, I introduce to you the Republican Candidate for President of the Galactic Republic, DAX NEBULON!”
Dax forced his face into a natural-looking smile and stepped onstage. The crowd noise increased several decibels.
“FRAK YEAH! FRAK YEAH! FRAK YEAH!”
Having to repeat “thank you” and “good evening” several times before the crowd began to quiet enough for his speech to begin, Dax found his heart rate slowing to normal as he gazed around the venue.
The place was huge, and packed with people of all colors and creeds. Of multiple species, for that matter. Many generations ago, the Republicans had taken to dressing in costume for their conventions. The trend caught on, snowballing every four years with each subsequent convention, so that by now it was difficult to tell the real Wookiees from the elaborate and lovingly-created costumes. All throughout the sea of humanity (and alienity) waved red, white and blue placards bearing the slogan “Frak Yeah!” Dax, of course, knew that this wasn’t an expletive, but a reference to one of the main components of his campaign platform: the necessity of hydraulic fracturing on Uranus.