The Republic stakes out its positions when it sends an unsolicited ceasefire proposal. It's a wishlist that contains everything and anything they could think of. Rey warned him that he wouldn't like it. She is right.
His First Order team has gathered in a conference room to review the proposal. The Republic missive begins with details on what qualifies as a ceasefire. It's a complete cessation of hostilities with provisions for a neutral buffer zone and onerous disarmament requirements that reduce the Order's military capabilities to basic police function levels. For good measure, the enemy also throws in a complete ban on the design, development, and use of weapons of mass destruction.
Kylo is silent in his disapproval, but his staff is not. Voices from around the room illustrate how poorly the proposal is received.
"Demilitarization? Are they kidding?"
"Someone please remind them that this is a ceasefire, not their victory lap."
"They must be worried we have another Final Order fleet stashed somewhere. Or that we're in the process of building one."
"If we had one, I would use it," Kylo responds dryly.
"This isn't even bilateral demilitarization. It's unilateral. Leader, Sir, the way this is written, we give up our armies and fleet while they keep theirs."
"Not gonna happen," an Admiral drawls in a broad Mid Rim accent before he slaps the table in disgust and tosses aside his datapad. Apparently, he's read enough.
Colonel Crassus, who has been engaging in some backchannel communications with the Republic, now explains. "Sir, they argue that we were the aggressors at Hosnia and Exogol, and that in time we will be aggressors again. They seek to delay that possibility, and avoid it if possible."
Again, Kylo remains silent and listens to others react.
"This is worse than the Concordance that ended the last war! It even has exile provisions—Sir, did you see?" an outraged political analyst huffs. "Everyone in this room is forbidden entry into Republic territory. Our families and direct descendants are forbidden to hold elected office in the Republic."
Kylo shrugs and looks to the veteran Imperial bureaucrat. "Were you planning on running for Senate?"
"Hell, no," the man disavows. "I have no aspirations to democracy." He says this last word like it's a dreaded disease. Kylo has to suppress a smile at the old man's bluster.
"Then who cares? Keep going." He's perfectly happy to give on points like exile if he can trade it for wiggle room on important issues like disarmament.
Next on the list are guarantees of basic civil rights for First Order citizens and an elected legislature with representatives from all Rim systems. The Republic also wants him to repatriate all citizens living in First Order territories who wish to return to the Republic.
"A Senate. Wait—they want us to have a Senate?" someone chokes.
Kylo grunts. "We have a Senate. I am the Senate."
"I believe the word they use is tyrant, Sir," Colonel Crassus reports. "See paragraph 3 subpart c."
He takes offense. "Tyrants are hated. I am not hated by my own people." For a while he was mostly ignored by the public and perhaps laughed at privately at in some quarters. But not any longer. Not since he has returned. "To be clear: they are the Republic with the representational democracy, we are not. Remind them of that. There will be no Senate," he proclaims to universal nods of approval.
"Yes, Sir."
His most senior military leader General Sulla, a harsh man who can always be counted on to overreact, grouses, "Why repatriate the traitors in our midst? We should shoot them instead."
Kylo is unimpressed with this solution. "Why waste the ammo?" he sniffs. "I'm fine to send them all back. If you don't want to live in our New Empire, then leave. I don't want their democratic types hanging sound as spies and agitators. Crassus," he orders his best aide, "make sure our response has the Republic required to repatriate any of their citizens who want to join us."
"I doubt they think that's an issue, Sir."
"Maybe not for a few years," he maintains, "but give us time. The galaxy will be in awe of our success, order, and unity."
Everyone dutifully nods at this obligatory grandstanding. Then, they move on.
The next portion of the Republic's proposal is all trade related. These are tariff provisions and minimum goods quotas to ensure the Core gets a steady stream of finished goods to supply its consumers. There are guarantees against nationalization of Rim assets owned by Core companies and investors. Also, a commitment to provide raw materials, including valuable metals, bacta, and hyperfuel, to the Core.
These economic terms are where he has the most leverage to negotiate. The Rim needs the Core and the Core needs the Rim, Kylo knows. The secession of the outlying systems from the Republic won't change that. But it is an opportunity to reset the terms of the arrangement. For too long, the Rim has been exploited for its natural resources and cheap labor. He intends to change that on his watch. But he's no fool—Kylo understands that the goal is significant reform, rather than an economic paradigm shift that will send both the Rim and the Core economies reeling from disruptions in established markets.
And that brings them to the final point of the Republic's heavy-handed proposal: the apology.
"We're supposed to say we're sorry for Hosnia?" someone asks incredulously.
"Yeah, how's this—we're sorry we didn't build two Starkillers so we could take out Coruscant too."
"We maybe ought to apologize for Hux's speech," Kylo offers. "That was a horrible speech." It made the First Order look like a pack of rabid dogs. With that cartoonish rant, Hux epitomized the extremism the Core both fears and ridicules.
General Sulla takes this comment to mean he is wavering on the issue and needs a pep talk. The pompous Imperial veteran—and very likely Final Order operative in Kylo's opinion—now attempts to gird his resolve. "Sir, we cannot go down the path of apologizing for those deaths or we will be apologizing for every death. It's war. People die. Deal with it. Next those fools on Coruscant will be asking for reparations," the General snarls.
Time for some more flag waving, Kylo decides. He looks Sulla in the eye and announces, "We will not apologize for who we are, for what we believe, or for what we have done in furtherance of our cause." That chest thumping outburst seems to mollify everyone for now.
Kylo knows that he's negotiating with his own followers as much as he is negotiating with the Republic. He's trying to push the Republic to the center as he simultaneously coaxes his own people that direction. The issue isn't so much with the rank and file or the commonfolk civilians. They enthusiastically support his peace-for-independence idea. The problem lies with the Order leadership, including many in this very room. Kylo's already asking these diehards to accept half the galaxy instead of the whole galaxy. How much further will they be willing to compromise? He'll soon find out.
In the end, he decides to respond on some, but not all, of the Republic's proposal topics. He will remain silent on Hosnia and disarmament, which he fears are deal breakers for both sides. Dig into those trade provisions first, he instructs his people. Get all the economists you need as advisors and come up with a counterproposal that accepts some of their ideas while it advances our interests. And get some lawyers in here to draw up some vague language on civil rights, too. He won't agree to a Senate, but he's fine to give his citizen guarantees of basic freedoms. It's what they will expect and also just the thing to combat the Republic's assertion that he's a fascist tyrant Sith.
"But what about demilitarization?" Sulla, Crassus, and all the rest want to know. It's a personal issue for them as much as it is a strategic military and political topic. These are military men who know that any significant reduction in force reduces their personal influence. Peacetime might put some of them out of a job.
Kylo has a simple answer: he punts. Work the easy issues first, he instructs. If we can't get agreement on the easy issues, there's no point in tackling the hard stuff. That's common sense, but it's also an easy excuse for his true strategy. He's trying to get enough agreement with the Republic to keep the discussions going. He wants both sides to start pounding out the easy details so that hopefully they will begin to feel invested in the future he envisions. Who knows? Maybe a little progress combined with some momentum will enable them to reach agreement on Hosnia and disarmament.
Kylo does some more obligatory First Order cheerleading, issues more instructions, and then leaves the meeting. Walking out, he can't help but reflect on what a truly lousy Sith he is. Peace is a lie, so he ought to at least be making these negotiations some complicated ruse. Except he's not. He's completely sincere and he really wants this to work. His people don't know it yet, but he's willing to compromise plenty for peace. A true Sith would think in terms of absolutes and ultimatums. But he's a lousy Sith who uses an ultimatum to get to negotiations. Somewhere, old Darth Sidious is plenty ticked with him, Kylo suspects. For he's now one part Darth Vader issuing threats and one part Obi-Wan 'the Negotiator' Kenobi striking deals. It's just more evidence of his inner conflict, Kylo decides. But far from feeling ashamed for his lack of manly Dark virtues, he decides to feel righteously balanced about it all.
While his people parse language and debate the details of the First Order response, preliminary peace negotiations are conducted in the press. Surrogates from both sides make appearances on the public affairs holonet shows to stake out positions in advance of an actual sit down between the two sides.
It's a bit of a mismatch. The First Order has plenty of slick, pretty, and media savvy spokespeople. Their propaganda game has long been on point. But they all employ the communications style that Snoke favored: simple, direct, often brutal language. The original Supreme Leader wanted plain speaking to his plain speaking, often undereducated supporters. No grandiose prose that verged on poetry for them. It was the colloquialism of everyday people spoken in no-frills vernacular Basic. Naturally, it was all designed as a contrast to the fast talking, often lawyerly or professorial sounding Republic representatives. Old Darth Sidious knew what he was doing as he stoked a culture war between the Rim and the Core. To this day, Kylo continues the same blunt, brusque 'tell it like it is' style that comes natural to him.
The Republic representatives might as well be speaking a different language. For they default to a kind of woke-corporate communications patois that is smooth and calming but also slippery and opaque. You can never quite get your mind around their thoughts as you grab for meanng. But it all sounds blissfully optimistic. Never mind that it does nothing to refute the complaints of the Rimmers. And who cares? Not them. These people have little empathy and even less curiosity for the plight of the outlying systems. They care about more enduring concepts. Important Things That Matter To Us All, they contend. They speak reverently of abstract nouns like justice, freedom, equality, and dare anyone to disagree with their take on things. Their favorite adjective is 'sacred.' They go on and on about the sacred right to vote and the sacred unity of the Republic. Sacred this and sacred that. It's code for enshrining the failed past, and that is exactly what Kylo wants to avoid.
Moreover, it grates on his nerves to hear the thoroughly secular Republic invoke such piety. Their frequent exhortations that 'may the Force be with us,' strike a sour note with him. That clown they call Chancellor wouldn't know the Force if he fried her with lightning himself. But this is how things go, Kylo knows. Public life has become extremely, unrelentingly performative. Everyone is always performing—the politicians, the leaders, the holonet newsfeed anchors, and the angry activists who are staged for the cameras. Kylo is sufficiently self-aware to realize that his side is guilty too. The First Order has a very manipulative and reactionary media juggernaut that spits out content day in, day out.
But the theatrical bent to current affairs gives natural actors an edge and leaves those who aren't so inclined at a disadvantage. That means he's a bad fit for today's media environment. But Kylo does his best. He tells himself that if he's often disheveled on camera, then he's coming across as his authentic, non-pretty boy self. He's a gruff man's man—well, at least his public persona is—and that's something the Rim recognizes and respects.
Frankly, he never dreamed he would be speechifying so much. He's not taciturn by nature so much as he is watchful. He prefers to sit back, strategize, and then act, rather than talk. But this Supreme Leader gig is increasingly more of a political job than it is a military post. Kylo would never admit it, but he often begins tackling a new problem by asking himself what his mother would do in the circumstance.
Right now, he's watching the latest set of excerpt clips from the overnight newfeeds. The news cycle runs on so many different worlds that it is impossible to keep up. So, he has his staff monitor the enemy media chatter and send him the highlights to review. Just now, he's watching a segment from Chandrila about the upcoming three-year anniversary of the destruction of Hosnia. The news anchor interviews off-world survivors about their grief and struggles to start anew.
It's the usual tearful story. The survivors speak a great deal about their pain—it is a subject that animates them. But as the individual sob stories drone on, the subjects seem also to wield that pain as a weapon in a way that leaves Kylo wondering if pain is really the word for what they experienced, as opposed to anger followed by cool desire for revenge. These are victims who now want to victimize those they blame in payback.
He's Kylo Ren, the latest in a long line of sons of Darkness, and he recognizes lust for retribution when he sees it. Yet again, he thinks, it's an indication that the Republic is trending Dark. And that's no real surprise. The universe is a constantly shifting matrix of Dark and Light, and the Republic and the First Order reflect that state. The difference, he thinks sourly, is that, unlike the Republic, the First Order doesn't pretend to be good. They are what they are, and they make no apologies about it. And that's the thing—the Republic wants an apology.
The Hosnia issue is a big one. Firing a superweapon at the enemy's capital system to start a war is going to leave hard feelings. So, Kylo decides to take counsel from the most objective—maybe the only objective—source he can find: Darth Plagueis the Wise.
He arrives on Zakuul to find the big Muun lounging on his terrace, looking relaxed and at ease in his luxury villa like some celebrity mogul on vacation. Plagueis is wearing flowing robes that look surprisingly Jedi-like. Kylo blinks at this sartorial choice. He never contemplated seeing this guy in anything other than a dark color. Black, of course, maybe navy or regal purple. But grey? Grey? It looks disconcertingly like his uncle dressed formally as a Jedi Master. Kylo isn't sure if he likes it or what it portends.
His host looks up at his approach and drawls, "All hail, Darth Ren."
Is he being mocked? Kylo can't tell. Plagueis sort of generally seems to be laughing at him and everyone else for that matter. But as he approaches, he sees the mangled Muun has a wry glint to his hooded eyes that matches his twisted lip smirk. Yes, he is definitely being ridiculed.
Now, he's even more sheepish about his visit. "Got time for me?" Kylo ventures, a bit embarrassed that he has come seeking advice.
"Yes, yes . . . " Plagueis waves him into the empty chair opposite him. "All I have is time, my boy. Lots and lots of time as an immortal god of the Force."
"A humble one too," Kylo quips as he seats himself.
He contrives to emulate his host's casual sprawl that is a subtle power pose. Darth Plagueis the Wise can't be bothered to stand at the arrival of the Supreme Leader. The guy looks relaxed and bored as he manspreads whereas the rest of the galaxy—whether friend or foe—invariably trembles in his presence.
But not this guy. As usual, the Muun is full of pithy pronouncements. "Humility is as overrated as truth. Just as rare, too."
"So says the Sith," Kylo observes pointedly. Plagueis is no run of the mill deceptive Dark Lord, but the devious mastermind of the Clone Wars. He took lies to a Dark zenith during his reign.
Plagueis shrugs. "Former Sith. I've dropped the Darth. It was too limiting."
"Since you have now promoted yourself to god?"
"I resurrected you, didn't I?" The Muun's smile is smug.
"I resurrected Rey," he counters.
"Well, then, you must be a god too." Plagueis gestures expansively. "Welcome to the pantheon. You can be a junior deity."
Yet again, it's impossible to tell if the droll Muun is serious. But Kylo knows to be wary. The zombie Sith Master rather blithely says all sorts of incredible things that turn out to be true, from 'you're not dead' to 'I am your great grandfather in the Force' to 'your uncle, Lord Vader, and I once hatched an ill-fated plot to kill Sheev Palpatine long before you were born.'
That consternation keeps him silent a long moment. Too long a moment. While Kylo internally debates how to ask for guidance and advice without looking like he still needs guidance and advice, Plagueis starts talking.
"You've been busy. Take care that you do not get my daughter killed. It is a dangerous game you two are playing."
"Are we that transparent?"
"To me, because I know of the bond. As does Lord Sidious, I remind you." Old Plagueis wags a spindly finger at him. "Do not let anyone else learn of that bond. It compromises both of you."
Too late. His whole flagship knows that Rey is his spy and they speak to one another through the Force. But Kylo dutifully nods. He's well aware of the dangers. They can't be helped at this point.
"Tell me all that blood on her in your message was staged." Plagueis shoots him a look of reproof. "I won't have you harming my girl."
He fesses up. "It was real. Rey came with yellow eyes to kill me."
"Did she now? I knew it!" Plagueis slaps a knee in triumph. "That girl's a Skywalker through and through!" he crows his approval at his daughter's foray into the Shadow Force. "She's full of conflict and confusion, like you." The Muun slants eyes his way now. "I take it you won the fight?"
"I caught her across the midsection."
"That's a bad wound."
"I was able to heal her."
"Completely?" Plagueis worries.
"There isn't even a scar."
"Good boy. That's two she owes you." Darth Plagueis flashes a smile and confides man to man. "Always put a pretty woman in debt to you. It's very useful leverage."
"I healed her body and her mind. Afterwards, her yellow eyes were gone."
"Were they now? Very interesting. I once knew of someone who could heal the body and the mind."
"A Jedi?"
"No, a witch." Inscrutable old Plagueis muses, "Long before you Skywalkers came on the scene, the witches of Dathomir were the closest anyone had come in millennia to balancing the Force."
Kylo's eyes narrow and his ears perk up. "Dathomir. As in the home of—"
"Lord Maul. For a time, I thought he was the Chosen One. But that was before we ruined him with Sith training and before your grandfather appeared, of course."
"Who was the witch who could heal?"
"Maul's mother."
"Mother Talzin?"
"Yes. I never met her," Plagueis reveals. "I sent Sheev to Dathomir to kill little Maul. Instead, Sheev stole the little boy to train him."
"Why?"
"Sheev thought Maul could help him kill me. And since Maul was thought to be the Chosen One back then, Sheev figured controlling Maul as his Apprentice was the obvious way to blunt his long-term threat. There was no point in Sheev killing me only to be killed by Maul."
Kylo is well versed in the power plays afoot in the Master and Apprentice relationship. He nods his understanding and Plagueis continues.
"Sheev controlled that boy very effectively through a toxic mix of harsh discipline and promises of fatherly love. Maul was still his willing pawn decades after Sheev had replaced him and exterminated the Nightsisters."
"How pathetic." Kylo curls his lip.
Plagueis shoots him a sharp look. "Love and devotion are not pathetic. Maul's emotions were misplaced, but they were genuine."
Whatever. It's still pathetic for a Sith Apprentice to remain loyal to his disdainful Master. Any Sith worth his saber should have sought revenge, Kylo decides.
The Munn must be sifting his thoughts because he recounts, "Maul allied with me halfheartedly for a time until he learned of my relationship to your grandfather. Maul bowed out because he suspected I was using him until I could approach Lord Vader."
"Were you?" Kylo asks.
"Of course." The Muun is upfront. With no trace of irony, he now warns, "Take a lesson from Darth Maul: manipulation is Sheev's true talent. Sheev was only adequate with a sword and satisfactory with the Force, but his guile was excellent. Poor Maul was raised to be his weapon, but Maul never understood and accepted that."
Kylo gets it. He needs no education on the betrayals of the ruthless Sith. He now summarizes the theme that has shaped galactic history for generations, including Maul's life and his own: "He who controls the Chosen One controls the Force."
"Exactly. It's why Sheev took Maul for his own. It's why he took your grandfather as Apprentice. It's why he trained you in his disguise as me. Lord Sidious has angered the Force plenty through the years with his Death Stars and his necromancy, so he knows he dare not outright kill a Chosen One rival. But Sheev being Sheev, he always has a strategy."
"Are you still trolling him in the Force?"
"It passes the time between your visits."
That's his cue to ask for advice. But Kylo can't find a way to do it without bleeding power. So, he stalls again, staring out at the Zakuul countryside while he pretends that this is what Dark Lords of the Force do in their spare time. They shoot the shit on a veranda listening to birds chirp while the galaxy is in turmoil.
Plagueis calls him out. "Well? Why are you here? Stop being embarrassed, boy. I've seen you naked and I've seen you with yellow eyes. There's not much you could do or ask that would shock me. Spit it out."
Okay, here goes. "Is peace a lie?" Please say no.
The Muun chuckles. "Having doubts, are you?"
"Yes." He might as well admit it.
Plagueis thinks a moment before he answers. "I have plotted several wars, but I have only plotted one peace. It failed miserably."
Kylo guesses, "You're talking about the alliance between Vader, you, and my uncle?"
"Yes. We were to overthrow Sheev, reform the Empire, and make peace with the Rebels." For a brief unguarded moment, Darth Plagueis the Wise looks very tired, very old, and very sad. He sighs and then recovers his usual confidence. "Peace is not a lie. It's just very, very hard to achieve and to keep."
"So the Sith were wrong," he presses.
"Not really. They were right about the issue, but they drew the wrong conclusion. Conflict is a constant in the universe. There is conflict everywhere between beings. You see it writ large between systems and political factions. But it's intrinsic to all life. Conflict exists between mates and amid siblings. It's present among friends and between colleagues. If people get along, it is because they choose to get along."
"Bygones and all that?"
"Forgiveness plays a part, yes. But so does turning the other cheek and picking one's battles. That's where the Sith went wrong. They saw rampant conflict and assumed it would lead to a fight, maybe even a war."
Well, naturally. "We use conflict to our advantage."
"Yes. We Sith stoke discontent to play the parties off one another. Yes, yes, I did all that once . . . " Plagueis muses thoughtfully, "Starting a war is the easy part. Ending a war is a far harder task. And ending a war with an agreement, and not a victory or defeat? Well, that's much more difficult. You are nothing if not ambitious, Lord Ren." The Muun appraises him with something approaching proud papa approval. And also, perhaps a wistful hint of jealousy.
Kylo reveals, "I think peace is the first step to balance."
"Do you?"
"What I can do with the Force matters, but what the lay people of the galaxy do matters as well."
"How democratic of you to care about what the little people think," Plagueis snorts.
But Kylo persists. It's that attitude—that demigods in throne rooms with lightsabers determine the future—which he wants leave behind. It simply hasn't worked. Why try it again? Stubbornly, he maintains, "I don't think one person can balance the Force."
"There is Rey."
"We're not enough. We need to lead everyone else to the middle as well."
That sentiment earns him a skeptical look. "You're not leading anyone to the middle, you're splitting the galaxy in two."
Well, yes. But . . . "It will bring peace. And maybe in time, some harmony," Kylo contends.
Plagueis replies with an ominous history lesson. "Long ago, the galaxy was split in two. There was the early Republic and the Sith Empire. Dark and Light lived separate and equal in a kind of rough equivalence. But that was not balance."
"Every now and then, war erupted. But mostly the two realms kept their distance. That had its downsides, my Lord. All that disassociation tends to promote polarization. Over time, each side drifted into extremes. It's how we find ourselves in the present situation. A clash of cultures and values that is increasingly more skew than in opposition."
"The two sides are more alike than either realizes," Kylo disagrees.
Plagueis raises an eyebrow.
Kylo refuses to back down. "When the Rim secedes, the war will stop. We'll manage the rest as we go along."
"Winging it?" the Muun accuses.
"Got a better idea?" he challenges back.
The old Sith Master just grunts with his old man harrumph. He must have no rejoinder because he changes the topic. "How's your treasury? Need more credits?"
"I might."
"You can have them. Take my credits, but take my advice as well."
Kylo bristles. "I'm not your Apprentice."
Plagueis flashes a quick, sly smile that is unnerving. But he says nothing.
What are he and the Muun exactly? Not friends. Men like them don't have friends. They have enemies and allies. Plagueis is an ally . . . he thinks. Already, Kylo is indebted to the creepy Muun for his life and for billions of credits and counting. It's regrettable, but unavoidable. He knows not to get in any deeper with this guy. Still, he's back here again seeking Plagueis' counsel. Kylo wants to be his own man—to shake off the influence of any Master—and yet he's finding it hard to go it alone.
His host starts fishing. "Are you negotiating yet?"
He nods. "The Republic sent a proposal."
"And?"
"We're very far apart."
"That can hardly be a surprise."
"I'm trying to get some traction on the easy issues. I'm putting the hard stuff to the side."
"Hard stuff meaning Hosnia?"
"Yes. They also want very punitive disarmament provisions."
"Don't give them that."
"I don't plan on it."
Plagueis starts bragging now. "The original Death Star was my idea."
Kylo calls bullshit on that boast. "Planet killing superweapons are nothing new. Revan used one on Malachor thousands of years ago."
"True," the Muun concedes easily. "Initially, the Death Star was supposed to start the Clone Wars, but it took too long to build. Once I was sidelined by my Apprentice, impatient Sheev abandoned that plan. He started the war with Dooku pretending to be his foe. That meant the Death Star evolved into a peacekeeping device until, of course, Sheev allowed it to be used on Alderaan. He sowed the seeds of his own defeat with that decision." The Muun shakes his head in disapproval. "But you see my original plan reemerge again with the Starkiller Base. Sheev's never had an original idea in his head—he went back to my ideas with his newest weapon. Sheev destroyed Hosnia and assumed the rest of the galaxy would fall in line soon after."
"He didn't count on my mother," Kylo smirks.
"True. You'd think after Yavin and Endor that Sheev would know to fear a Skywalker. But my old Apprentice never learns. His overconfidence is his weakness," the Dark Lord observes gravely.
"I have inherited his blame for Hosnia," Kylo sighs. "But there's no point in apologizing. Apologies change nothing."
"You're speaking like a Sith," Plagueis accuses mildly.
"Yes," he admits. "I can't change what happened, so they need to accept it and move on."
The old Muun sits forward in his chair and advises softly, "Perhaps you should pay a visit to your grandmother. Ask Astral Sidhu of Alderaan how she feels about superweapons."
What purpose would that serve? He's the Crown Prince of doomed Alderaan. He knows all about the grief and political fallout from the use of a superweapon. As a child, his mother routinely trotted him out as a prop for the annual anniversary of the destruction of her homeworld. His mother's adoptive family and Alderaan meant everything to her, and nothing could ever fill the void of their loss. But to young Ben Solo, it was a historic event that blended into the larger arc of history, which even as a child he recognized was replete with unfairness and misfortune. 'Sorry' doesn't erase that. Better choices in the future are all you can do.
Frankly, this topic irritates him. It raises special guilt associated with his mother and it reminds him of how duped he was by Snoke. Kylo is no fan of Starkiller Base, and he resents being tagged as its responsible party. He especially resents it because the damn thing blew up before the galaxy was fully conquered. Because if you're going to use a super weapon, you ought to at least build it without a vulnerable technical flaw and then put it to good use.
He looks to the Muun and sneers, "I don't need a history lesson. Are your forgetting who my mother was?"
Plagueis shakes his head no. "The difference between Astral and your mother is that Astral survived Alderaan and still found a way to love your grandfather."
Oh. "Oh." Right. Maybe he should talk to Astral after all.
"Your task is to move each side past blame. You say the Republic and the First Order are more alike than either side realizes. If you're right, then perhaps you will make peace."
Kylo doesn't find that bland observation to be very helpful. He wants concrete advice. Someone to tell him what precisely to do and how to do it. Hell, he's spent his whole life being told what to do. First, by his parents. Then, by Luke as his Jedi Master. Next, by Snoke as his Sith Master. All along, he chafed at the oversight. But now that he is beset with responsibilities and needs the direction, no one is around to help him. It's frustrating.
He tells Plagueis, "My people will never accept an apology for Hosnia. They feel that attack was justified."
"Then you are going to have to do a very convincing tap dance to the Republic."
Again, Plagueis is telling him what he already knows. There are no answers to be had from the dissatisfying Muun, Kylo decides. He stands to leave.
"Going so soon?"
Yes. "I have half the galaxy to run." And peace to negotiate, the Force to balance, plus an ongoing war that might soon resume.
"Then answer me this before you go," old Plagueis stalls him. "Where did Sheev get the Final Order fleet?"
"It was hidden on Exogol."
"That's where it was hidden, not where he got it from."
"Does it matter?"
"Only to the extent that you worry he might replace it and come after you."
Kylo judges this to be a low risk. "It was all Imperial Era tech. He stashed that stuff all over the galaxy in garrisons in the event he was deposed. It's why it took years to defeat the Imperial remnants. He had lots of contingency plans for his demise. Apparently, they included a spare fleet in storage on Exogol."
Plagueis digests this information with pursed lips. "Sheev Palpatine is nothing if not predictable. Heed me when I say he has never had an original idea."
"Great. I guess that means I should be on the look out for Death Star IV," glum Kylo takes refuge in sarcasm.
He leaves Zakuul more discouraged than when he arrived. He had been so elated at first when the Republic agreed to discuss terms and he and Rey had finally reconciled. But the reality of the peace process has tempered his expectations. Moreover, the loneliness of his ongoing separation from Rey has set in. This is their plight—separate lives for a shared goal. She's betraying her people, like he's betraying his diehards, all in furtherance of an elusive, romantic dream of balance. Are they the galaxy's biggest fools? He hopes not.
The bond opens regularly these days, but it's always during the work day. There are often people around and that limits what they can say. There are times when Rey can't even respond to him with her voice. She just thinks her words for him to understand through the bond. It's always rushed, many times awkward, and inevitably dissatisfying. Those fleeting meetings in the Force simply do not suffice. He misses Rey terribly. She's the only person with whom his persistent sense of isolation, and his nagging fears of futility, abate. They are in this together. That means everything for his flagging self-confidence of late.
And so, when the bond opens one night as he towels off after a saber workout, Kylo is shocked and excited.
He blurts out, "You're alone."
"Yes, are you?" She's looking around at his surroundings, but her eyes keep wandering back to his bare chest.
She knows he's noticed through the bond. Rey blushes. "Yes. I'm alone." It looks like she's in the tiny studio apartment she calls home on Coruscant.
"Good. Come here." He approaches and holds up his hand with palm facing her. "Touch me."
They once touched hands through the Force and saw the future. Now, he cannot resist repeating that gesture. For he has many fears for the future—for their future together as a couple, for the galaxy's future, and for the future of the Force-and he needs reassurance. Besides, he's dying to touch her. He falls asleep to fantasies of Rey in his arms. He craves her.
But she approaches with trepidation, her hands down at her sides. "Are you sure this will work? Because last time, you said that when the time comes, I would be the one to turn . . . "
Oh, right. He did say that. He meant it at the time, too. But it was true. "You did stand with me at Exogol. And now, you stand with me in secret."
"But I didn't turn." She looks to him questioningly. "What you saw was wrong."
What she saw was wrong too. "I didn't turn either. But you were right that I didn't bow before Snoke." He killed the puppet Snoke and stood with a sword before his alter ego Lord Sidious. He tells Rey, "We each saw a version of the events to come, but we understood them in the wrong context . . . in the old context of Dark or Light, not Dark and Light."
She nods. "I figured you must have turned in order for me to stand with you . . . "
"And I wrongly assumed you would have to turn to stand with me."
"We stood together—Dark and Light," she whispers. "No one turned. We were ourselves. We each represented our sides," she now knows. Because he might have worn his 'good boy' sweater and held a blue sword, but he was far from a Jedi in that moment, as Rey only discovered after his resurrection.
"No one had to turn. We met in the middle to face a common enemy."
Rey looks down and sighs, "Then, we lost." Her sense of failure floods the bond.
He corrects her. "We didn't lose. We won, but Sidious will be back. It will take more than us standing together to defeat him next time."
Rey is very solemn, scared even. "It will take balance."
"Yes. Touch me," he urges again, holding both hands up now. "Show me the future." He waits with an inhaled breath as she raises up her right hand to match it to his left. She pauses, their hands a hair's breadth apart. She looks to him for reassurance. "Are you sure?"
Can they do this again? Dare they? They are lightyears apart physically, but finally united in spirit. Will the Force reward their progress and faith with another vision? Is the Force still with them? He has to know.
"Do it."
His hand is trembling and so is hers as she advances it. Kylo watches entranced, ready for the Force to enlighten him.
But it doesn't. Rey's hand moves through his, like someone might wave a hand through and past a hologram projection. It's like he isn't there, for there is no physical connection. They remain in their separate spots, unable to interact beyond their intertwined minds.
"I can't feel you . . . " Rey is crushed. Her heart sinks.
His too. "Did you see anything?"
She shakes her head no. "Did you?"
"Not that time."
"I wonder why." Rey looks to him for answers.
She's always looking to him for answers. He has some of the answers, but not all of the answers. Mostly, he has hunches. He's been leading the First Order off those hunches ever since he came back. It's reckless, but he doesn't know any better way than to respond like Han Solo did to predicaments—improvising in the moment. Searching his feelings. Trusting his judgement. Letting the Force guide him, if it deigns to do so.
But with Rey, Kylo is upfront about the limitations of his knowledge. "I don't know. I really hoped this would work."
So much for his plan to kiss her through the bond. There won't be any hot Force sex for them tonight.
She knows where his thoughts are wandering. Rey reddens and confesses, "I wish we could be together again. I just . . . just . . . want to hug you," she finishes weakly, embarrassed to admit to her desire for affection. His girl needs love so badly, and yet she's skittish and disdaining of it all the same.
He has no such inhibitions. He's long been emotionally needy in ways his family did not recognize and could not satisfy. His father was largely absent, his mother was busy with her work, and his uncle cultivated a Jedi mindset of calm detachment that Kylo never understood and could not emulate. And so, he is his usual emo self as he stares across the bond and promises, "We will be together soon."
He longs for this woman in a deep and unsettling way. And he fears that their separation, though necessary, will drive them apart. As independent as Rey is, she needs looking after far more than she knows. That stint on Jakku that left her yellow eyed and murderous has Kylo worried for her. His girl needs minding.
There is a long-standing cultural trope of the beautiful young girl and the monster. Maybe he's a literal monster with ugly, scary, deformities or maybe he's some sort of stealth monster stalker serial killer. But no matter how he presents his Darkness, the monster is coaxed back to humanity by the steadfast, unconditional, perhaps even foolish love of the girl. And then, it's happily ever after time. Except life is not a fairytale, especially if you're a Skywalker. And so, when Rey cast herself in the role of the girl and him in the role of the monster, she never dreamed that she was a monster as well. How shocking, how horrifying, how humbling it must have been for Rey to finally realize that she is every bit as capable of Darkness as he is. Kylo had told her as much. Plagueis had warned her too. But that's not the same as calling yourself a Jedi and then looking in the mirror to find yellow eyes staring back at you.
It took that awful scene in his ship's hangar bay to break down Rey's trust barriers. He was there to heal, to comfort, and to reconcile just like he hoped. But their new accord is very fragile. So is Rey herself, despite all her scavenger toughness. And that makes him worry for his girl. She's no traditional damsel in distress in need of rescue, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need support. Ironically, his valiant girl is often at her most vulnerable when she swings her sword. Usually, she's swinging it at him. That doesn't help matters.
So, determined to see Rey one way or another, he reverts to Plan B now that the Force bond Plan A didn't work. Kylo scrambles for his datapad and starts poking fast before the bond closes. "Take these coordinates down."
"Coordinates?"
"Meet me there." He starts rattling off the string of numbers.
Rey recognizes the planet code. "But that's Coruscant!"
"Yes. Meet me there in . . . in . . . " He mentally adjusts his schedule and decides, "Three days. At noon local time."
"Ben, you can't come here!" Rey recoils from the risk.
He just grins. "Watch me."
"Ben! Listen to me—it's too dangerous—I won't let you—"
He's undeterred. He's never been the cautious type. He shrugs and explains, "You said you need a hug. I'm coming to give you a hug." A hug and more.