Kylo stares wearily at the screens of star charts he has memorized. The Maw, unstable wild space in the center of the seedy Kessel system has been widely mapped and explored for hundreds of years. There's lots of information about the cluster of black holes where Rey is imprisoned. But here's the catch: the information is all from navigators who were seeking to avoid the Maw. They feared being sucked into the galaxy's best known and largest gravitational vortex. They weren't contemplating deliberately going into it, like he is.
There's nothing useful here, he decides with a sigh. He's wasting his time.
So, on a whim, he exits his quarters and heads for the cargo hold deep in the nether regions of the Resurgence. It's late at night—third shift—so the corridors of his star destroyer are largely deserted. There's no one but a few forklift droids to see him enter an area mostly inhabited by munitions crates. But at the far corner, tucked away where you have to look to find it behind a bunch of oxygen tanks and hyperfuel reservoirs, sits the Millennium Falcon.
If anyone had good working knowledge of the Maw, Kylo figures, it was his father and Chewie. Somewhere in their logs he might find something useful.
The Falcon's ramp is deployed while it sits parked, but the ship is completely powered down. Nothing residual has been left running. That means it takes a good ten minutes to reboot even though he's not bothering to warm the engines. He's only here for the navicomputer.
As Han Solo's son, Kylo knows what few legitimate spacers know—that the galaxy's drug couriers and spice smugglers have a wealth of personal, proprietary navigational knowledge that never makes it to any official source. And the Millennium Falcon, which famously made the Kessel run in a dubious twelve parsecs, skirted as close to the Maw as anyone who lived to tell about it ever did.
As the ship's hard drives churn and whirl, Kylo cools his heels. It's an uncomfortable task. For while he cannot bear to part with this broken-down relic, it raises old ghosts he would rather not think about. Usually, his relentless focus on the future enables him to avoid sad reveries like this. But looking around, he can't help but remember his parents and Chewbacca. His uncle too. There is a lot of regret surrounding him right now. It's oppressive.
But frankly, those long-ago childhood memories he can handle—Kylo has long practice suppressing them with resentment. It's the more recent memories of Rey in the Falcon that he can't shake off. This freighter was her personal retreat on Zakuul. It's where they had some of their first civil conversations. And also, their first kisses . . . and more. Come to think of it, he and Rey have never had much time alone. Their romance has been a paltry few stolen nights and afternoons spent together orchestrated by lots of sneaking around and often preceded by conflict and violence. They've never had the chance to do everyday things like a normal couple. That's no surprise—they aren't normal people and never will be. But still . . . just for a few fleeting hours, he would have liked for things to be easy and boring between them. Maybe they could fight about what to eat for dinner or what show to watch on the holonet . . . Anything but the Force and galactic politics.
Kylo swallows hard. Things feel very bleak right now. Will he ever see Rey again? If he does, will she be that scary Dark version of herself she so feared? And what about the child they made together? Will it be a son or a daughter? Maybe, he will never know. Or maybe, he will meet his kid the first time when in twenty years' time they come to kill him. That's what happened with Vader and Luke.
That particular fear bedevils him greatly. Because Kylo himself was the child of an absent father. Han Solo drifted away for longer and longer absences as the strain between his parents grew. By the time his mother sent him away to Luke, he was lucky to see his father more than a few times a year. Han Solo must have viewed his relocation to train at the Jedi temple as some sort of coming-of-age moment. Because after that, his father basically washed his hands of all responsibility towards him. Han Solo delegated the fathering to Luke entirely after that. It's why the halfhearted attempt at a reunion on the Starkiller Base had failed spectacularly. You don't walk back into your grown kid's life over a decade later, and ask him to come home. Not when you basically abandoned the family home life yourself. While Kylo regrets it now, killing Han Solo had been surprisingly easy in the moment. It provided a resolution to so much festering angst at long last. Truthfully, it had felt good. And, admittedly, he wasn't the easiest kid to parent. But still . . . his father never made much of an effort. Han Solo ruffled his hair and called him 'kid' much the same as he did Luke. That was the extent of his affection and involvement. Mostly, his father seemed to want to be buddies, and that wasn't enough for young Ben Solo.
It was Luke Skywalker who taught him to fly and to use a wrench. His uncle stepped up to do the father thing without complaint. So many of the skills Kylo uses as an adult began with teaching from Luke. It went way beyond just the Force. And that's why his uncle's betrayal cut so deep. Luke was far more than merely an admired mentor. He was, for all practical purposes, Kylo's entire family from age ten onward. He had trusted and loved his uncle . . . to devastating results.
And that's part of the dysfunction of his clan, Kylo thinks. For generations now, the Skywalkers have been raised in broken, makeshift homes. Luke himself had been an orphan raised by non-blood kin. His mother had been raised by adoptive parents. And the family patriarch Anakin had been raised by the Jedi. No one, as far as he knows, ever received a traditional nuclear family upbringing. It's the main reason Kylo wants to give a stable, loving, two-parent home to his own children, if possible. But that seems like a long shot currently.
There's no denying it: the news of Rey's capture by Darth Sidious has been made exponentially worse by her pregnancy. Kylo faces losing even more than he initially feared. There's just so much at stake now for him personally.
He knows now why Vader saved Luke on the Death Star. Kylo feels pretty certain that he would do the same himself if he had been in that throne room. Like Vader, he has been Darth Sidious' Apprentice. And that means he will do anything to save his own child from repeating his experience. For isn't that what a father is supposed to do on some basic level? To protect his child against predators and abusers.
Well, he's going to finish what his grandfather started long ago. That used to mean securing order in the galaxy for Snoke. But now that means balancing the Force and saving his family from Darth Sidious. He simply cannot allow Rey and his baby to suffer at the hands of Sheev Palpatine. And so, if that means that like Vader he will sacrifice his own life in the effort, so be it. Love, he's learning, makes all sorts of unappealing things bearable. Because it's not about just him any longer.
The navicomputer is online now. He wastes an hour poking through its databanks. Han Solo might have been a ramshackle mechanic and a seat-of-the-pants pilot, but he was meticulous about his maps and logs. There is plenty in the Falcon's computers about Kessel and the Maw. But none of it is useful for what he needs. Yet again, Han Solo proves to be useless.
Kylo stifles a yawn. He rubs at his bleary eyes. He knows he needs to get some sleep. Tomorrow could be a long day on Coruscant, and he needs to be sharp. So, he shuts down the Falcon and trudges back to his quarters. Too many nights lately he has lain awake worrying about Rey. It's wearing him down.
He would admit it to no one, but he's scared. Very, very scared. It's an unwelcome, somewhat unexpected feeling. When he emerged back to life having been resurrected by the Muun, in many ways Kylo felt he had nothing left to lose. Having actually died, he no longer feared death. Mostly, he feared living without purpose and dying without a legacy. His resurrected self—no longer the duped stooge of Darth Sidious—craved a life of significance. It gave him the boldness to plot the resurgence of the First Order and to make a daring deal for peace with the Republic. He even brought independence to the Rim.
But all that is in jeopardy now with the threatened return of Sheev Palpatine. Worst of all, Rey and his unborn kid are captives. That new twist is like a gut punch of Force lightning. It has him second guessing himself. It has him obsessed with all sorts of bad scenarios. He's feeling fearful in a way he never has before, even in the aftermath of the fiasco at his uncle's temple . . . even when he faced down Luke Skywalker's Force projection at Crait . . . and even when he realized that Darth Sidious is alive and intent on reclaiming the galaxy. For this is what love does, Kylo knows from bitter personal experience several times over: love makes you vulnerable. Lose love—whether it's love from your parent, from your mentor, or from your wife—and you gain pain, regret, and sorrow. He's lived that already in his prior life. And so right now, Kylo is in a slow, silent panic about losing Rey next.
He knows his mental game is flagging. He's overtired and overwrought. So, tonight he omits his usual mental grinding. Instead, he settles for a simple prayer to the Force. Take care of Rey and the baby. Please do not let them suffer at the hands of Darth Sidious. You don't need to save me. Just save them. If anyone can find balance, they can.
For all her Chosen One Dark tendencies, Rey is a fundamentally good person . . . like he privately will acknowledge Luke was . . . like his mother could be on occasion . . . and like how Astral describes the remnants of Anakin Skywalker behind the mask of Darth Vader. Kylo knows that he himself is a miserably flawed shadow of Rey and the other Skywalkers. He isn't worthy of balancing the Force. He thinks that—like Plagueis—his role is in shaping events to make balance possible. Someone else will need to make the breakthrough and be the hero for everyone.
Rey should be that hero. She has the stout heart and the moral courage that he lacks. For look at him now slowly falling apart as he contemplates life without her. That's a possibility he has begun girding himself for, even if it feels unthinkable. Their now completely silent dyad connection feels something like a death already. It has him shaken to the core. He's never felt so alone.
For once Rey came into his life, nothing was ever the same. She was a catalyst and a change agent and a breath of fresh air for his sullen soul. She looked into his eyes and saw all of him in a way no one else ever had. She was the best of the Light—compassionate, idealistic, and altruistic—and the worst of the Light—stubborn, dogmatic, and fearful—and he was hooked. Sparks flew when they were enemies, but love grew when they were allies. And now the thought of losing Rey panics him. Kylo doesn't want to become his grandmother, who found a great love and then lost it all too soon thanks to Darth Sidious.
Fuck. Why is he doing this? He said he wouldn't do this tonight. He needs some rest. So Kylo once again offers up a prayer to the Force before he rolls over and falls asleep. Take care of Rey and the baby. Please do not let them suffer at the hands of Darth Sidious. You don't need to save me. Just save them. Please . . . save them . . .
He's in that hazy mental state between waking and sleep when a woman's giggle floats through his mind. It's not Rey, it's someone else. Someone with a breathy, childish voice. I hear you. I hear you, my son . . . the Son . . .
"Whaaat?" Half asleep, exhausted Kylo opens one eye in confusion. Is someone there? No, there's no one there. But the voice echoes between his ears.
I hear you. I have her. Come to me in the Maw and I will give her to you.
Suddenly, he's wide awake. Kylo sits up, eyes open, arm outstretched to think his sword into his grip. The voice does not reoccur, but the impression remains. Kylo's had enough powerful Force users in his brain before that he recognizes the lingering blur of consciousness. Every mental connection takes a moment to dissipate, he knows from experience.
Somewhat aghast and somewhat intrigued, he identifies aloud his midnight mental visitor: "Lady Abeloth."
The thought instantly occurs to him: Plagueis will be apoplectic if he ever learns of this midnight visitation.
Still a bit stunned, Kylo says the forbidden name aloud again. "Lady Abeloth."
She's the temptress Plagueis warned him about. The femme fatale the Muun seduced into conspiracy before he abandoned her. The goddess who calls to only the most powerful Sith she deems worthy and capable of releasing her. And now, Lady Abeloth has set her sights on him. She's not selling her own lures this time. And she's not promising power. She's promising the most irresistible thing ever to Kylo Ren: love. It's all he has ever needed and he craves it to this day. Plagueis said the goddess offers you what your heart most desires. And in this case, that's Rey.
Lady Abeloth is in league with Darth Sidious. This is absolutely a trap. But it's a good one and he falls headfirst into it eager to be caught. What can he say? Kylo Ren is a fool for love. Besides, what's the first move after you discover a trap? You spring the trap. It's classic Jedi strategy.
At least, that's what Kylo tells himself he's doing as he leaps out of bed barefoot and bare chested in his underwear clutching his sword. Staring into literal darkness he demands, "Where are you? Talk to me! Tell me more!"
There is no response. Just a faint girlish giggle that his mind perceives but his ears do not. Is the goddess mocking him for how quickly he took her bait? He can't tell. She almost strikes him as nervous, but maybe that too is an act. Plagueis warned him of her guile. She has a long list of Dark Lords who she ran circles around before she lured them to their deaths.
Great. Now he's never going to sleep, Kylo sighs.
And that's why he finds himself stifling a yawn the next afternoon as the transport carrying himself, Plagueis, and Astral begins its final approach to one of the many landing platforms for the New Republic's original Senate headquarters on Coruscant. Kylo has been here before. It's where his mother worked in the years before the capital of the galaxy moved to Hosnia.
"This is not going to work," Kylo grouses as he stands upright and marches towards the ship's exit.
The Muun does the same. "Why didn't you say so before?"
"I did say so before," Kylo harrumphs. This diplomatic mission to the Republic is doomed to failure. The traitor FN-2187 hates him, and with good reason. He will never be convinced to trust the First Order as an ally. "Where's Astral?" Kylo snarls with impatience.
"Putting on lipstick."
"She needs to hurry up," he complains as he peers out a window and scowls. He's in a very bad mood. He's been dreading this meeting ever since Plagueis agreed to it. His lack of sleep and stress don't help matters. Neither do the three cups of strong caf he downed during the flight. He's still exhausted but now he's jittery too.
"This whole thing was your idea," the Muun reminds him.
"It was a bad idea."
He had a foolish romantic dream of uniting the galaxy to oppose Darth Sidious. But it is folly to believe that the Republic might hate Sheev Palpatine more than it hates him. Kylo Ren is universally hated, like Darth Vader once was. That used to be a point of pride for him, but lately . . . well, not so much. There are real limitations to being the ultimate bad guy in most people's eyes.
"Settle down now," the Muun soothes softly. "The worst thing that can happen is they say no."
Kylo begs to differ. "The worst thing that can happen is we get killed. Not all of us are immortal."
"I won't let it come to that. Stay positive, my boy," Plagueis counsels.
Kylo won't be cajoled. He mutters under his breath, "I have a bad feeling about this . . ." He exhales hard. "Where's Astral?" How long does it take to put on lipstick?
"Never rush a lady," Plagueis reproves man to man. "They hate that."
"Who cares? I want to get this over with." Is lipstick really that important?
The Muun points out, "We haven't even touched down yet."
He's right. But that doesn't stop Kylo from complaining some more. Well, more like whining at this point. "We don't even have a strategy."
"We do have a strategy. We're going to scare them."
"I already scare them. That's the problem—they're too scared of me and not scared enough of Palpatine."
"Trust in the Force, my boy."
"That's not a strategy," he snaps back. Frustration bubbles over as he vents some more. "This is a waste of time!"
The wrecked Muun shrugs off his determined negativity. "If it is, then we move on. I'd like to have the Republic's help, but we don't need it."
Actually, it's the reverse. "They need us."
"Yes, and today's meeting is to convince them of that. Let's get them scared, Kylo Ren," the Muun flashes a devious smile. The ghost of the old Darth Plagueis persona he has abdicated momentarily reappears.
The ship has landed now and the boarding ramp deploys. But suddenly, Kylo's impatience to get things going evaporates. He's lost the urge to march out onto the landing platform to meet his enemy for this exercise in futility. He stalls at the top of the ramp just inside the transport. Something about this doesn't feel right.
Kylo turns to the Muun and prods. "You first. Age before beauty."
Plagueis chuckles and declines. "Ah, no, I follow your lead, Supreme Leader." The Muun bows low, mocking him.
"You were Supreme Leader first," Kylo grumbles.
"That was my clone. I have never been the Supreme Leader, or the Emperor, or the Chancellor. All those schemes and nothing to show for them . . ." Is Plagueis lamenting or self-effacing? Sometimes, it can be hard to tell. But he continues in the same theme, "Always a kingmaker, never the king . . ."
"I thought that was always the bridesmaid, never the bride," Kylo retorts.
"Just get going. We didn't travel lightyears for you to get cold feet at the last minute. I'll wait for Astral. You get things started and the slow old people will join you."
Kylo frowns as he keeps his boots planted. He stretches out his feelings. What is afoot? Will the Force clue him in? After a moment of concentration, he surmises what's bothering him. "I sense a trap."
"Well then, this could be more fun than I expected," Plagueis actually grins. "Here, I thought this would be all talk and no action. Next move?"
Kylo sighs, thinking of Lady Abeloth's very effective lure last night. "Spring the trap."
"Very good. Sheev taught you well."
"Luke taught me that."
"I stand corrected."
The Muun seems unconcerned about the danger, but that doesn't assure him. "Tell Astral to stay in the ship," Kylo decides. He doesn't want his slow-moving dowager grandmother caught in the middle of some firefight.
"Tell Astral what?" It's his grandmother appearing at his side ready to disembark.
"He wants you to stay in the ship," Plagueis explains, "just until we can verify your safety."
"Okay. But why isn't he going?"
"He's stalling."
Kylo objects. "I'm not stalling."
"He's stalling."
His indomitable grandmother will have none of that. She marches past him and starts descending the ramp with her cane bracing her descent.
"Wait!" Kylo calls. "It's too dangerous!" In two strides, he's at her side offering his arm to steady her on the steep incline. But he's out of the ship now and, like it or not, on his way to greet his enemy.
"They won't shoot an old lady," Astral tells him under her breath. "At least, I hope they won't. So stick with me, my Lord."
"Who's helping who here?" Kylo wonders aloud as she leans heavily on his arm.
"Well played, Astral," the listening Muun approves as he brings up the rear. "He was stalling."
"I could tell."
Kylo grits his teeth. "I sensed danger." He wasn't afraid. He wasn't intimidated. He was merely assessing the situation.
"Skywalkers run to danger, not from it," his grande dame grandmother announces.
She's right, of course. Still, he can't help but voice his misgivings. "Look at all those haters," Kylo grumbles as he surveys their welcoming party with scant enthusiasm. "Now I know how sinners feel marching into purgatory."
"There is no heaven and there is no Hell. There is only the Force," Plagueis intones primly.
"This sure feels like Hell," Kylo mumbles. "Why are we doing this again?"
"For Rey." His grandmother neatly shuts down his grousing and recalls him to his purpose. "For Rey and for the galaxy."
That gets him focused. The little squeeze Astral gives his hand helps too. He needs all the encouragement he can get these days.
So Kylo gallantly escorts his grandmother forward as Plagueis majestically glides behind them. It is slow, stately progress that Kylo hopes projects maximum confidence. With any luck, no one can tell that Team Skywalker is pretty much an old lady, a wrecked relic of the past, and a screwup kid who has made so many mistakes that he has no business ruling the Rim let alone seeking a rematch with Darth Sidious. But he's been bluffing the Republic all along, Kylo reminds himself, so why stop now? He lifts his chin and throws his shoulders back with what he hopes is sufficient swagger.
All the while his eyes rake the dignitaries assigned to receive them. Each appears conspicuously armed, as are the guards who flank them. Everyone, it seems, is prepared for trouble. Look, they even found Force pikes somewhere. Should he be flattered?
Plagueis must be sensing something too because he mentions under his breath, "Be alert."
The warning is validation Kylo doesn't want. It makes his heartbeat faster as the adrenaline rush of danger floods his mind. Is there an ambush coming? Decades ago, his biological grandmother was nearly murdered on a landing platform much the same as this one.
But their conspicuous promenade is over. Their trio comes to a halt before Chancellor Dameron. Where is General Finn? The man he's supposed to persuade is absent. That's not encouraging.
"My lady." Astral merits a perfunctory polite greeting from Dameron. But he himself gets a curled lip one word welcome. "Ren."
"Chancellor," Kylo replies, deliberately using the formal title for his counterpart head of state that Dameron refuses to grant to him.
Dameron's eyes now find the Muun looming over his shoulder. "Plagueis."
"Chancellor," the former Sith Master nods genially, like this is a social event and they are all friends . . . which they're not. You could cut the tension at this meeting with a lightsaber, Kylo thinks to himself.
Dameron has seen Plagueis before but none of his flunkeys have. One and all they fail to maintain their poker faces as they stare behind him up at the guy who looks like the dead Supreme Leader but dresses like Luke Skywalker's Muun big brother. Clearly, no one knows what to make of him even though they obviously had been warned to expect him. And, admittedly, the seven-foot mangled humanoid is a bizarre sight. But Plagueis tolerates the gaping stares with aplomb. Kylo has to admire his unflagging confidence. If it bothers Plagueis that he looks like a hideous zombie, he doesn't let on.
Dameron's eyes find his lightsaber hanging at his waist. "I'll take the sword." He opens his hand and waits.
Kylo blinks in affronted disbelief. Does the Republic actually expect him to surrender his weapon? Not a chance. He responds with a cold glare as he crosses his arms.
"Come on. Hand it over. The last time I saw you, you killed someone with it," Dameron drawls. The Chancellor shoots him a pointed 'don't fuck with me' look. It doesn't go over well.
"I don't need a sword to kill you!" Kylo hisses back, momentarily forgetting his planned charm offensive to his host and the rest of the Republic delegation.
Astral now moves to insert herself. "My Lord, allow me to hold the saber," she murmurs a not-so-subtle hint for a compromise. She accompanies it with a pleading look.
"Very well." He relents, unhooking the sword dangling from his waist and handing it from his grandmother. "Be careful," he admonishes her sternly.
Astral's lips twitch with amusement but before witnesses she lowers her eyes and nods. "Of course, my lord."
The exchange prompts Plagueis to dryly remind him and everyone else present, "Lady Vader has seen a lightsaber before."
For his part, Dameron looks unhappy with the saber in custody of his grandmother who is far from a nonpartisan, but he accepts this resolution without comment.
The Muun is clearly enjoying how flummoxed the Chancellor is. Plagueis remarks of Lady Vader, "Disarming, isn't she?" in a groan worthy pun. But no one so much as smiles because the atmosphere is far too serious.
"Lead the way, Chancellor." Astral smoothly prompts their host to move things along. Dameron and his entourage take the hint and they are ushered away, presumably to meet the traitor general inside.
No one bothers to make any meaningless small talk along the way. There's no 'how was the flight?' or 'glad you're here' social pretense. Kylo is glad. He sucks at insincerity. It's a point of pride actually.
"Not much has changed since I last was here," Plagueis remarks, breaking the silence as their group enters into the Old Senate office building that somehow managed to survive the Empire.
"You were the Banking Clan Chairman, were you not?" some nervous Republic underling asks the Muun.
"Yes," Plagueis purrs. "Back when your grandparents were your age, I controlled monetary policy while my Apprentice bribed his way through legislation. He was the Senate, and I was the credits."
"Stop scaring them," Kylo chides, taking his cue to start scaring everyone. "They know that Sheev Palpatine successfully controlled the Old Republic Senate. He's fully capable of controlling this new Senate in a few months."
"That's if he wants to collapse their government from within," the Muun points out, warming to this theme. "He may simply launch a war and conquer the Republic. Why wait around to do things the same way again? Where's the fun in that?"
"If he's alive—if," listening Dameron pipes up, "he has no army."
"If he has what I think he has," Plagueis responds ominously in his booming sage-like baritone, "then he will have an army . . . an army and a fleet and more . . ."
Kylo plays along, slyly stoking fear. "There's no proof he has the Star Forge. That's pure speculation on your part."
"How do you think he got that fleet at Exogol? Someone in the New Republic would have noticed if Kuat was rolling that kind of firepower off their assembly lines."
"The Star what?" Dameron squints at them.
"The Star Forge. Go google it on the holonet," Plagueis advises. "It was not destroyed long ago as claimed."
"Stop scaring them with old, unconfirmed Sith lore," Kylo chimes in, suppressing a smile at the Muun's blatant fearmongering. "You're not helping things."
Plagueis harrumphs. "I know my old Apprentice. He never has new ideas. He probably has a clone army ready as well. Sheev loves clones."
"This meeting might make me miss clones," Kylo quips in an allusion to the coming discussions with the former FN-2187.
Beside him, Astral's lips twitch. Everyone else looks like they don't know what to say.
"I don't think you can use the Star Forge for clones . . . can you?" Kylo now wonders aloud to keep his dialogue of doom going with the Muun.
"I don't see why not," Plagueis judges. He does his best spooky Sith Master voice as he chides, "Do not underestimate the power of the Dark Side."
"I know what you're doing. It's not working," Dameron informs them. "The Republic will not be intimidated."
But the Muun is undeterred. "If I'm right about the Star Forge, then perhaps Sheev may have another Death Star—"
Death Star? Death Star? Plagueis actually went there? Kylo forces himself not to laugh at the sheer outrageousness of the Muun's scare tactics. Kylo dutifully plays his devil's advocate role, objecting, "We don't know that."
"—and if he has another Death Star, there's only one solution. It takes a Skywalker to blow a Death Star."
"Yeah," Dameron pipes up dryly, "a good Skywalker. Not a Sith Skywalker. And I took the shot at the Starkiller," he reminds everyone of his heroics.
"I believe my granddaughter Leia Skywalker was in command of the Resistance," the Muun proves his point. "Good or bad, the Skywalkers have defeated Sheev's Death Stars," he continues. "Did you know that Darth Vader leaked the second Death Star plans to the Rebels?"
"He's not going to believe that," Kylo plays along.
"It's true," Astral speaks up. She completes the argument now for all the listening Republic aides. "And if we need a Skywalker to save the galaxy again, that only leaves you, Lord Ren. All will depend on you."
"You may end up ruling the galaxy by default," the Muun muses with a completely straight face. "Once Sheev defeats the Republic and we beat Sheev, I suppose the First Order wins everything as the last ones standing. My friend, I'm afraid that you may rule it all, whether you want the Core or not."
"I don't want to rule a bunch of whiny, entitled soft elites," Kylo automatically disavows any such ambition. It's exactly what the Republic fears most, so he is quick to shoot the idea down emphatically.
"You may have to rule the Core," Plagueis sighs, "if the Republic collapses under the weight of their own democratic principles and inaction." He shoots a pointed look at Dameron.
The Chancellor now growls, "I know what you're doing," again through gritted teeth. "It won't work."
Plagueis merely chuckles with taunting knowingness. "I like you, Chancellor. You're smart, but not too smart."
"Stop dissing him," Kylo complains as he and Plagueis continue their roles as good cop and bad cop of the First Order. "You said you'd be nice," Kylo accuses.
"I am never nice," the Muun sniffs. "What I am is truthful. We are here in the spirit of cooperation. And for that, we need to be straightforward."
"Here we are," Dameron and his entourage come to a halt before a set of double doors. They're the old-fashioned type that you have to physically open with your hand. They look to be as old as the Old Republic itself. Dameron himself steps forward to throw open the left door and motions to him. "After you."
Here comes the ambush, Kylo thinks to himself.
He's right.
"REN!"
Standing opposite him in a very large assembly room is the galaxy's most famous AWOL stormtrooper FN-2187. He's accompanied by several dozen of his brethren in a mass stare down. For behind General Finn stands a crowd of former troopers, each of them with their regulation First Order helmet tucked under their arm. These are the men and women from beneath the anonymous helmets. They are either foundlings or kidnap victims or children abandoned to the First Order by their parents. None of that is specifically his fault, mind you. But as Supreme Leader, he gets the blame. And from the looks Kylo sees as he scans their faces, he's about to get an earful. This ambush will be more righteous, he hopes, than violent. The traitor and his brigade of fellow deserters are about to claim the moral high ground.
Kylo has to suppress a groan. Because fuck . . . yet again, he's trapped. This time, it's not by a pissed off goddess in a black hole seeking to lure him, it's by a pissed off traitor in the Republic seeking to berate him. But what else is new? They say more money, more problems. But in his family, it's more power, more problems. And he's got lots of problems.
Kylo swears under his breath. "Yeah, I definitely miss the clones."
Dameron overhears. "This is the only way he would agree to meet with you." Dameron almost seems apologetic about the situation. It suggests that the Chancellor is personally convinced to an alliance. Did some time to reflect on what he learned on the Resurgence helped to make the Chancellor a true proponent? Kylo hopes so. And that makes some sense—of the bromance duo who de facto rule the Republic until the new Senate is convened, Dameron is by far the more reasonable. He pushed through the ceasefire, which his snarling bestie lead general publicly opposed.
"REN!"
Just the tone in which the traitor bellows his name is a clear challenge. Look at him standing hands on hips in a strut pose of command. And is that Rey's lightsaber hanging at his hip? It is. Kylo's eyes narrow with complete disapproval. Fuck this Jedi poseur.
From behind him, sardonic Plagueis drawls, "Ah, my boy, here's the warm welcome you warned us to expect."
Kylo shoots Dameron standing at his side a hard look. "I guess this is why you needed to disarm me? For this planned stunt?"
The Chancellor is a little sheepish. "Just let him vent," he mutters under his breath. And that's easy to say when you aren't the chief target of FN-2187's vehemence. "No one's gonna die today."
Kylo raises an eyebrow. "So, it's just my character that's being assassinated?"
"Ren, you have this coming. Just listen for a bit and then we can all move on."
Maybe this is Dameron's astute political maneuvering to coalesce the factions on the Republic side. But Kylo is bothered, truly bothered by the theatrics he has walked into. Personal attacks come with being the Supreme Leader, but this isn't some random anonymous hater on the holonet. This is an old enemy, a turncoat to his cause, and a man who apparently fancied himself his romantic rival. That makes this confrontation as personal as it is political. He very much doubts this will be a shouting match that ends in a draw. Confrontations before witnesses are always more dangerous because the exit strategies get complicated when you have to save face.
But Kylo plays it cool. Let the traitor emote. He won't give the guy the satisfaction of getting him angry. He will offer a posture of bored indifference, which he hopes his foe finds especially maddening.
So Kylo shrugs and breezily tells Dameron, "Well, tell him to go ahead. Let the grandstanding begin. Give me your best denunciation," he smirks with maximum sarcasm. "Are the cameras rolling? Get my good side."
"Just let him do his thing," Dameron mutters under his breath, looking at bit exasperated with both him and the traitor. "It's the only way he would agree to meet with you," the Chancellor repeats his earlier words, this time more defensively.
From across the room, the traitor again bellows, "Ren! You've got a lot of nerve coming here!"
Taking a deep breath, Kylo now steps forward to utter words Darth Vader never would have said. Hell, no guy named Darth would ever make this claim with sincerity. But Kylo Ren does because there's nothing he won't do for Rey, even making nice to his enemy, her friend. So, sucking up his considerable Dark pride and a lot of longstanding animus, he announces, "I come in peace."