Sergeant Nestor Flick stands sentry just inside the front door of the New Republic Senator's palatial Coruscant apartment. This is a very secure private building in the heart of the Upper Level on the world that has long been the bright center of the universe. The risk to Senator Ono here in his own home is mostly theft, and that likely would be an inside job. But Nestor is not here to protect the homeowner. He's here to protect the First Order operative the Senator is covertly meeting with down the hall.
This bodyguard gig isn't what Nestor was hoping for coming out of the Academy, but it was the best he could get without a four-year degree. All the plum assignments went to the cadets with university credentials and good connections thanks to their parents' Imperial army or navy careers. So while his classmates got assigned to high profile stints on the Starkiller Base or on the Supremacy fleet, Nestor got assigned to follow around an old Imperial general whose job it is to stoke discontent among the New Republic Senate. He mostly promises favors in exchange for future support. For this task, the General poses as a lobbyist and Nestor is officially his assistant. But in truth, the General is an insurgent and Nestor is his muscle.
The element of surprise is key to the First Order's strategy. The Order likes to cloak its broad and deep reach and keep its intentions quiet. All will be revealed in due time when the attack on the New Republic commences and a handful of very influential business and political figures will reveal themselves as First Order supporters. It is a play for legitimacy. Because once the Order crushes the Republic in one swift stroke, it will need to form a new government immediately. These covert allies for the Cause will be familiar trusted faces to the public at large to help ease that transition. But until then, Nestor's job is to help facilitate contacts within the New Republic leadership and to be the First Order's eyes and ears to detect any subterfuge. There is an ever-present risk of discovery, naturally.
In practice, that means a lot of waiting and a lot of listening. And lately, with the General's frequent afterhours meetings with Senator Ono, it means a lot of her.
"GI Joe is in the foyer again. Probably listening to this."
Her voice wafts in through an open doorway. She's on her com again talking to a girlfriend as she waits for her date to arrive for some big gala evening. Nestor listens to one side of a lot of her com calls. She's always on her com. Supposedly, she's a graduate student at Coruscant University, but you'd never know it from her conversation. It's all talk of parties, fashion, boyfriends, and fancy people with boldfaced names. If this pampered Senator's daughter ever studies, she sure doesn't talk about it.
"Look, I'll call you tomorrow and we can talk about the pics in the newsfeeds. Everyone who is anyone is going to be there tonight, so the press will be out in full force. I hope I make the cut. But you know the PR types at the opera will have to make sure the big donors get their photos published, no matter how old and ugly they are. That only leaves so many spots for the rest of us."
The girlfriend must be saying something because she falls silent. Then, she laughs. "Yeah, well I suppose someday we are going to be the grande dames. Okay, gotta go. Brooks is going to be here any minute to pick me up. We can't be late or we'll miss the carpet. Afterparty pictures do not count," she says authoritatively and Nestor has no idea what that means. "Love you," she says in a singsong voice before she hangs up.
High heeled footsteps sound on the stone hallway as the lady herself now emerges, stuffing her com into a very impractical sized purse. The Senator's daughter is dressed like one of the beautiful people she is. Head to toe, camera ready sartorial perfection. She's tall, but not too tall. Blonde, but not too blonde. Slim, but not too slim. Nestor covertly looks his fill from his position in the entryway. Sightings of this girl are the best part of his job. And it's his job to notice things.
The door buzzer rings. It's her date. But she doesn't answer the door. Instead, she waits for the housemaid to answer while she stands elegantly posed. Every time he sees this girl, she looks like she's anticipating the paparazzi. Even in her own house.
Tonight's date looks like all her other dates, Nestor judges. Sizing people up is part of his job. This guy is patrician through and through. With elegant and obviously expensive formal clothes, swept back hair, too white teeth, and an attitude of breezy nonchalance. He's totally harmless. No threat here.
"Hey, Cesi. You look great." The guy greets her with one of those cosmopolitan cheek kisses the social types like. "Shall I pay my respects to the Senator?" he asks hopefully.
Nestor readies himself to intervene.
But it's unnecessary. She puts him off. "Don't bother. He's in a meeting. You know Daddy. Always busy."
"But I want him to like me," the date pouts. And geez, could this guy be more of a pussy? Men don't whine, Nestor thinks silently as he glances again at tonight's blow-dried up-and-comer. She has a revolving door of these types to escort her out on the town.
She gives tonight's guy a reassuring smile. "He likes you fine."
"Enough to have me as his son in law?"
She chuckles. "I don't like you enough for that."
The whiney date doesn't miss a beat. "Not yet," he tells her. "Look, I'm up for partner this year. I want to tell the Senator that."
"Tell me what?" a loud voice booms. It's the Senator and the General. The meeting is over, it seems. Nestor stands at rigid attention in anticipation of his boss.
"Brooks here is up for partner at his firm," the girl inserts herself, moving to intercept her father.
"Is he now?" Senator Ono greets his daughter's date with a smooth politician's smile and handshake that look effortless from decades of practice. The date nods his respect. There is no nervousness. Evidently, the two men know each other. "Best of luck on that promotion. Let us know when it's time to celebrate," the Senator remarks genially. He, like his daughter, oozes effortless charm. These are the sort of people who might spend ten seconds with you but manage to make a lasting impression. They know how to say just the right thing.
The Senator now looks his daughter over with obvious approval. He moves to kiss her cheek. "Cesi, you remind me of your mother tonight." Then he introduces her to the General. "May I present my daughter Cessily?" The General dutifully nods and she smiles back. Then the Senator introduces her date. "This is Brooks Wayfinder. Brooks is the son of an old family friend."
The daughter looks a bit impatient at the introductions and the small talk that follows. She's probably worried that she is going to miss her big chance to get her photo snapped at the party. "Daddy, Brooks and I were just leaving," she hints.
"Where to, Princess?"
"Opening night at the opera."
"Very nice. Well, I won't keep you."
"Don't wait up, Daddy," she trills as she firmly propels her date towards the exit.
The Senator grunts. "You know I will. I always do. Have fun kids," he waves the dashing young pair off. In a waft of perfume and a swish of fabric, she slips through the door.
Nestor's eyes follow her exit. He feels the subtle energy shift in the room in her wake. Girls back home don't look like her. They don't act like her either. The effortless self-assurance, the smooth inflections, the eye that discerns you at a glance. Cessily Ono is at once coyly subtle and absolutely direct. It's very attractive. Nestor is smitten by her and by everything she represents.
Her Senator father stares thoughtfully at the closed door as well. "When did I get old enough to have a daughter who goes to the opera? Time flies," he sighs.
"Who's the young man?" the General asks. The General is very adept at picking up all sorts of information. The insular world of New Republic powerbrokers is small and their connections are useful intel. It might be a big galaxy, but the list of people who matter is surprisingly short and they all know each other.
"Brooks is a banker. A scion of an old money family. Less money than pedigree these days, but plenty of connections on Muunilinst. Though," the Senator slants eyes towards the General, "you probably don't need connections on Muunilinst."
The General agrees, "We are covered in that area already."
"How are you, Sergeant Flick?" the Senator now unexpectedly addresses Nestor. That's a first. Since they were introduced months ago, the Senator has ignored him. But like all politicians, apparently Senator Ono is good with names and faces.
The General nods his permission to answer, so Nestor pipes up, "Very well, Sir."
"Have you ever been to opening night at the opera, Sergeant?"
"No, Sir. Never been to an opera, Sir," Nestor fesses up. He's certain that information comes as a surprise to no one.
"Flick will be leaving me soon," the General volunteers. "He's taking a new assignment. I'll have a new man with me next time."
"Oh? Well, good luck with that, son," the Senator commends Nestor. Then the General takes his leave with Nestor as his escort.
Nestor waits until they are in the speeder before he speaks up. "Does that mean it came through?" he asks with excitement.
"Yes." The General rubs his jaw a little as he ruminates, "I hope I didn't do the wrong thing putting your name in contention. Nestor, this could be a big chance, but it's not without risk."
"Sir, I welcome a combat position." Nestor longs for something more than hanging out in conference rooms and private homes. He's ready to see some action like his old man did back in the day.
But the General keeps giving caveats for this mystery position. "This assignment is very unusual. Your CO won't be the typical thing."
What does that mean? Well, whatever. Nestor assures his current boss, "I can get along with anyone."
"Good. You're going to need that talent, I suspect." And that's yet another cryptic statement. The General is not usually so cagey. He knows Nestor has a high security clearance for their work. But for some reason, the General seems to treat this promotion opportunity as especially need-to-know.
"Is there a start date? Will I be training my replacement?" Nestor starts thinking through the practicalities.
"Actually, I think you're starting tomorrow. Your new boss will be arriving here on Coruscant. I have rendezvous coordinates for you for tomorrow night."
And that's how a day later Nestor finds himself inside a dimly lit, overly loud, expensive hot spot in the Entertainment District. He's holding a drink and surveying the crowd like his contact beside him is.
The General had sold this new assignment as a big promotion, but Nestor is now very skeptical. For starters, his new boss is a kid. When they walked into this fancy bar, the guy at the door ID-ed him. His boss just looked at the doorman and the bouncer and said 'you don't need to see my identification.' Then they both got waved in. It saved them the hefty cover charge, but now Nestor is worried that his boss isn't even legal. Sure he's tall, but he's got one of those odd looking faces that could be thirty or could be twenty. More like twenty, Nestor guesses.
Moreover, the guy surely can't be military. Not with that hair. No man in the First Order—whether officer, NCO, or trooper—has hair that long. The guy has a mane that practically flows for Gods' sake. That's girl hair. Nestor runs a reassuring hand over his own regulation buzzcut. It's guy hair. Military guy hair.
Time in the service leaves a stamp on a man. It's in his appearance, in his bearing, and in his speech. No commanding officer ever introduced himself by his first name. You get the rank and the surname. Never 'I'm Kylo.' That introduction had been too casual, too indifferent to the chain of command, and altogether too weird for a man of any consequence in the Order. Sneaking a glance over at the lanky, nerdy dude he now works for, Nestor is underwhelmed. They're both in civilian clothes but this guy really looks like a civilian.
What a letdown. The General had talked this transfer up saying it was the chance of a lifetime,
but it looks to be more of a demotion. Too bad. Nestor was hoping for a pay increase. Guarding Generals doesn't pay nearly enough. Well, whatever this new job turns out to be, he's stuck with it for now. He might as well get to know his boss some. Who knows? Maybe he'll be fun when he thaws a bit.
At least tonight if fun. Nestor looks around and decides that this place is awesome. These are the young sleek and chic Coruscanti, the beautiful people of the galaxy who everyone else aspires to be whether they will admit it or not. With expressions ranging from bored ennui to animated excitement, they mix and mingle among their exclusive set. From the corner of the room where Nestor watches, it's like viewing a tableaux of wealth, privilege, and social capital. He's seen places like this depicted on holonet shows, but this is real life. These are real people. And he is here with them. It's a long way from where he's from.
Is Kylo enjoying this as much as he is? Nestor can't tell. The guy is inscrutable.
"This is a good hang." Nestor tries to strike up a conversation as they both stare at the crowd. People watching is a sport on Coruscant, and this is a see-and-be-seen kind of joint. There's eye candy everywhere you look, both alien and human.
But the comment garners no reply.
Nestor tries again. "Two First Order guys walk into a bar on Coruscant . . . There's a joke in this night somewhere," he muses.
His companion acts like he doesn't hear. Probably because he doesn't like jokes. This Kylo guy has a face that doesn't smile. If a guy can have resting bitch face, his boss has got it.
Well, so much for small talk. Nestor takes a sip of his beer and tries a more direct approach. He casually asks, "You come through one of the Academies?"
That question elicits a response. "No. I'm not military."
Nestor didn't think so. "College boy? You some professor analyst type?" he guesses next. There are plenty of conservative neo-Imperialist intellectuals who support the First Order. The Order actually began as a political movement. Leader Snoke still has a sizable stable of political operatives, diplomats, and policy wonks, even if it's nothing compared to his growing but mostly secret war machine.
The guy at Nestor's side shakes his head. "No."
"So, what's your story?"
"I defected."
Nestor blinks. "What?" He's never heard joining the Order described quite like that before.
The guy smirks at his confusion. "You heard me right."
Nestor plays it cool and keeps finishing for information. "So, what did you do before you defected?"
"I was studying to become a monk."
"Right." Nestor nods. "Well, that's . . . um . . . that's . . . ah . . . "
"Fucking weird?" his boss supplies the words.
"Yeah. Yeah, it is," Nestor admits. "I could never be a monk. I like girls too much."
"That was one of my many problems," the guy smirks. Kylo smirks a lot, Nestor has noticed. Everything about this guy has a tinge of smugness. And, frankly, it doesn't come off well given how young he is.
"My old boss didn't say much about this job. I don't even know what it entails," Nestor reveals, feeling a bit stupid.
"You don't have the job yet."
"Oh?"
"You're the third choice, actually."
"Okay."
"The first two were unacceptable."
Great. Well, hopefully those guys are not a hard act to follow. Wary Nestor asks, "You fired them already?"
"I killed them," Kylo corrects him.
Well, fuck. Nestor swallows hard. Recalling the General's warning that this job had risk, Nestor is wondering just what he has gotten himself into. "What is this job exactly?" And more importantly, who is this kid that he gets to kill people and get away with it?
"I'm forming a special team for a special assignment."
That was deliberately vague. Nestor nods along and prompts, "And?"
"There will be seven of us. We're from different disciplines with different skillsets. We have different strengths and different weaknesses. The goal is for us to work effectively together as a team."
That all sounds good. But still, very vague. "Is this some sort of special forces gig?" Nestor probes.
Kylo shrugs. "Something like that. But we're not military. We don't report up the chain of command. You report to me and I report to my Master."
Master. As in Master Sergeant? Nestor is lost for what this guy is telling him. So, he keeps asking questions. "And who does your Master report to?"
"History."
Nestor nods at this total bullshit answer as though it is legit. Damn, this guy manages to be simultaneously cagey and grandiose. He's going to be a total pain in the ass to work for. But remembering the fate of the two prior candidates for the job, Nestor plays along. "Right, so who's signing my paycheck?"
"The First Order."
"And what's my rank?"
"You don't have the job yet."
Nestor turns to give the kid a pointed look. "I might not take this job. So, sell me on it. What would my rank be?"
"Knight."
"What?" Nestor blinks.
"You'd be a Knight of the First Order," Kylo informs him as though that is supposed to be impressive.
Increasingly annoyed with the General for getting him into this gig, Nestor tries to be diplomatic. "That's . . . unexpected." And it's more fucking bullshit from this arrogant, long-haired kid. But affable Nestor just raises an eyebrow and jokes, "Do I get a sword?"
The guy answers like it's a real question. "No. Only I get a sword."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
Nestor grins. "Is there a castle involved?" he asks cheekily.
Again, he gets a straight answer with a straight face. "Yes."
"Does it have a round table?"
"I don't know. I haven't been there yet. Maybe."
"How's the pay?"
Kylo shrugs. "I have no idea. I'm not in this for the credits."
Neither is Nestor, but he still needs money. Still, he lets the point slide. "So, what do the Knights of the First Order do?"
"Whatever my Master wants."
"And who is that guy again?"
"Leader Snoke."
Nestor chokes on his beer. It takes a moment before he can speak.
"No shit? You work for the man himself? As a direct report?" Nestor gasps between coughs.
"No shit," Kylo tells him with another cocksure smirk. He's pleased with Nestor's startled reaction.
"Wow," Nestor breathes out. "I went to his bunker once. The Admiral I was guarding back then went there for a meeting. I never saw the Leader though."
"I used to live at that bunker," Kylo reveals.
This job is getting more mysterious, not less, the more information Nestor learns. He resumes his game of twenty questions now. "So, you're some kind of assistant to the Leader?"
"Yes."
"Like a trainee?"
"Yes. I am the Apprentice," Kylo says proudly.
But Nestor is wholly unfamiliar with that designation. "Is that a ranked position? Because before this Knight stuff, I was a Sergeant. Staff Sergeant."
"Yes, it's ranked," his boss bristles. "I rank second."
"Second Lieutenant?"
"Second. As in second to Master Snoke."
"Oh." Really? Nestor can't help but squint with some skepticism. "Aren't you a bit young for that?"
"No," the kid tells him in a quelling tone.
Remembering he's the boss, Nestor nods. "Got it."
But his question has the guy annoyed and it shows. Kylo shoots him a sideways glance now and complains, "Next time, put your gun someplace less conspicuous. You look like some 'open carry' hayseed from the Rim come to the big city. You're embarrassing me." The words are cutting with disdain.
"Yes, Sir," Nestor forces himself to reply as he explains under his breath, "I don't go anywhere without a weapon."
"Neither do I, but I don't wear it as a conspicuous bulge in my jacket like I'm the bouncer at this club and not a patron."
Nestor's eyes rake down the tall guy's lean frame. He doesn't see any evidence that he is packing. "Where's your gun?" He's curious.
"I don't carry a blaster."
"Vibroblade?"
"Don't insult me."
"What is this a guessing game?" Nestor gives a little chuckle and a smile. He's trying to keep the mood light. But geez, this guy is an asshole. Is he always this high-strung? "Sorry, boss, but you don't look like you've got an electrostaff stashed behind your back."
"I carry a sword. I told you that," Kylo snaps.
Right. Damn, this guy is intense. "A sword. That's . . . uhm . . . old school. But cool," Nestor manages. "You do you, boss," he adds awkwardly. Then, he bites his lip realizing that last part came out as patronizing.
Peevish Kylo sneers, "It's a lightsaber."
Is Nestor supposed to be impressed? Well, he's surprised, that's for sure. "A laser sword? You carry a Jedi weapon?"
"It's called a lightsaber."
"Come on, man," Nestor gives him a look. "Who are you-Luke fucking Skywalker?"
"No. I'm going to kill Luke Skywalker," Kylo hisses. There he goes being intense again.
Nestor just nods. "Yeah, well, that's pretty much the goal, right? Destroy the Republic, kill the last Jedi, reform the galaxy. Peace and order. That's what I signed up for." Nestor takes another drink and swallows hard. He's going to hate this guy and hate this job. Fuck the General for getting him into this mess.
Kylo now meets his eyes and avows with the zeal of the monk he almost was, "I signed up to personally kill Luke Skywalker. You just did too, Flick."
Nestor takes another drink. Maybe more beer will help this situation. Because this feels like it is going downhill fast. It's like being on the worst first date ever and it won't end. He's going to have to take orders from this prick kid going forward. Oh, and his new job turns out to be a hit squad to kill a badass Jedi. Yep, Nestor sighs inwardly, this sucks.
Finally, Kylo starts volunteering information. "The Knights are not military. We're extra-military. We are a personal prelature of Leader Snoke."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"It means you report to me and I report to Snoke. And we get to kill any blowhard general who gets in the way of our mission."
Huh. That's not normally how the Order operates. But okay. "What is our mission?"
"I just told you," the kid snaps. "To kill Skywalker."
"That's it?"
"That's a lot."
Well, at least it's an objective Nestor can get behind. "Alright. Sign me up. That bastard's got a lot to answer for."
"Agreed," the kid nods. It's the first moment of accord between them.
After that, a long silence falls. There's nothing but the buzz of the crowd, a few squeals from drunken women across the room, and the rhythmic thump of music that you feel as much as you hear. Nestor keeps covertly checking out his boss. Kylo is dressed in all black, which is common among the Order, whether you're in uniform or not. Except this guy is dressed much more expensively than most men his age. Something about him strikes Nestor as very somber. They are standing together in a fancy bar on a Saturday night in Coruscant, but this guy can't begin to crack a smile. He just stands there sullenly taking sips of his beer as he glowers at the crowd. Everything about his body language is tense and off-putting.
Searching for something to say, Nestor pipes up, "Is your sword green too?" Luke Skywalker has a green sword in all the holonet pictures.
The kid shakes his head. "It's blue."
"Blue is good."
"It's my grandfather's sword," the kid announces. Again, it's like he's expecting Nestor to be impressed.
So, he plays along. "Was Grandpa a Jedi?"
"He hunted Jedi."
Nestor raises both eyebrows. "Worked for Vader, eh?"
"Worked for Palatine."
Nestor whistles low. Now, that is impressive. "Man, I wish I had your connections," he admits with a sigh. "Seems like everyone who's anyone in the Order has Imperial connections." Nestor's family has an Imperial past, but no one in the Order cares if your dad was a stormtrooper.
His boss looks away and works his jaw a bit before he mutters, "Trust me, you don't want my connections."
What to say next? This guy is really hard to talk to. He must be introverted. So, Nestor tries again to joke a bit. "Have you got the magic Force to go with Grandpa's sword? Because otherwise, Luke Skywalker is going to kick your ass when you light it up. What we really need is one of those Sith Lord types. Too bad they're all gone."
"They're not gone," the kid corrects him.
"Great, well, do you know any? Because I'm no match for Luke Skywalker," Nestor says sheepishly. "No one is." It's suicide.
"I am a match for Skywalker. I'm going to kill Skywalker."
And there the kid goes again being intense. "I admire your confidence. But you know, that guy singlehandedly brought down the Empire."
"I can take him."
The kid completely believes this, Nestor sees. Who is this guy, he wonders? Well, whoever he is, Nestor won't run down that bravado. He just approves, "Glad you're on our side then, Kylo."
Another long silence falls. Nestor pretends to watch the crowd while he puzzles some more over his new boss. Kylo is hard to place. The critical attitude and smug arrogance are Core, but his accent is generic. It's Mid Rim, if anything. The clothes and the hair are Core, but his politics are not. And the laser sword? Well, that's a wildcard. Who is this guy, Nestor wonders again?
His mind starts connecting the dots. Nestor's no genius, but he's not dim. The more he thinks through the bits and pieces of information Kylo has revealed, the more the outlines of his role take shape. Nestor thinks he has it now. He understands why the General thought this was a great opportunity. And also, why he warned that it has special risk.
"You do have the Force," Nestor concludes softly. "Any guy as young as you who is number two and who is hunting Skywalker has the Force."
Aloof Kylo says nothing.
Nestor notes the lack of denial and keeps going. "That's it, right? When you said you defected, you really meant that. You came from the Republic." With a Jedi sword, to boot.
Again, Kylo says nothing. But Nestor knows he's listening.
"You're the new Vader. Is that it? Tasked with killing the Jedi while you wait in the wings to inherit an Empire?"
"Yes," the kid nods immediately to this last assertion. "I'm the new Vader."
Well, fuck. Nestor doesn't know what to make of any of this. His mind starts racing with possibilities. And that's when he sees her. He's so surprised and delighted that he speaks aloud his thoughts. "She's here."
Kylo's eyes slant towards him. "Who's here?" he asks.
Coloring a bit, Nestor sheepishly reveals, "My dream girl." Has she been here the whole time and he didn't see her? Cessily Ono is standing on the far side of the bar with another girl. She's smiling and laughing and being her party girl self. This is her in her element, he suspects.
"Which girl?" Kylo asks. He actually sounds interested.
"The tall blonde next to the redhead at 2 o'clock on the far side of the bar." Nestor looks his fill with appreciation. "Damn, that dress is hot. She's looking good tonight."
"Green dress?"
"Yep, that's her."
Kylo, of course, disdains his choice. "She looks high maintenance. And fashion-y. Fashion-y women are superficial."
"Fashion-y women are hot," Nestor schools the youngster at his side. He suspects this Kylo guy thinks he is too cool for everything and everyone. He's that particular type of nasty dude who has to piss on your fun. Yep, he definitely won't be a cool boss.
True to form, Kylo continues to neg on his choice. "She's too tall for you in those heels."
"No, she's not."
"Yes, she is. She needs a guy my height."
Nestor shoots his boss a dirty look. "Hands off. I saw her first. And she's not too tall. Cesi is perfect," he declares loyally.
"Cesi?"
"Cessily Ono."
Kylo smirks. "Ono as in Senator Ono?"
"Yes."
"Your dream girl is Senator Ono's daughter?"
"You know her?"
"I went to grade school with her little brother. Flick, she is way out of your league. Her father is the senior Senator from Coruscant and has been for decades."
"He's secretly on our side."
"That isn't going to get you laid," the kid informs him with hater glee.
Nestor lets the comment roll off his back. He's focused on gathering his nerve to approach her. Nestor straightens his jacket and runs a hand over his hair. "I hope she remembers me," he worries. Sometimes people can't place you if they see you out of context. That can be awkward.
At his side, Kylo snorts. "You don't exactly blend in here on Coruscant. You look like the guy on an Order recruiting poster. An earnest fascist revolutionary wannabe. Could you be any more obvious?" he sneers.
Nestor ignores him again. "Do you think she's leaving? Her body language looks like she's leaving."
"Ask me if I care."
"I care," Nestor shoots back. "And that redhead she's with ain't bad either."
"I like brunettes," the kid sniffs.
Whatever. "Come on. We're going over there," Nestor enlists his boss to tag along. "You're my wingman. Your job is to talk to the redhead. I get the blonde," he calls dibs on Cesi again.
"Why would I do that?" Kylo drawls, shifting his stance.
"Think of it as team building. We're going to buy them drinks. Then we're inviting them to dinner."
"Dinner?" Kylo nearly chokes.
"Yes. Drinks and then dinner. You can smile at that pretty redhead over dinner, can't you? And after dinner, who knows?" Nestor's mind can imagine any number of possibilities.
Kylo crosses his arms and looks down his long nose. "I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain, but you're not going home with Senator Ono's daughter."
"I'm not gonna fuck her. I just want her digits."
"You won't even get that."
"Watch me. I'm going to marry that girl," Nestor boasts. In the face of negativity, he always gets more positive. Nestor Flick makes a habit of being underestimated. "What are you laughing at?"
"You. An Upper Level girl like that isn't going to marry a Mid Rim First Order Academy scholarship case like you."
Yeah, well, never tell him the odds. "I'm gonna prove you wrong," Nestor counters softly, never taking his eyes off Cesi.
"If you do, I'll be your best man," Kylo jeers.
"I'm going to hold you to that promise. Come on."
But the kid hangs back. "No. She might recognize me from school. The old me."
"From when you were eight?"
"Maybe."
That's ridiculous. "What is it? Have you got a girlfriend?"
"Not currently," Kylo hedges, looking away. He's increasingly uncomfortable, Nestor perceives. And then, it occurs to him that under all Kylo's arrogance is some youthful inexperience and insecurity. Suddenly, Nestor feels like this tall prick's big brother. It's like their roles are reversed from what they should be. One minute Kylo is boasting about being unafraid of Luke Skywalker, and the next minute he's cowering at the prospect of speaking to a woman.
"Are you shy?" Wait. That came out wrong.
Kylo's eyes narrow as he hisses, "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, Flick?"
"No disrespect intended, boss. Hey, it's cool if you're shy around girls. Since you were . . . uh . . . a monk and all. Probably not many hotties at the seminary, am I right?"
"Fuck you," is Kylo's answer.
"How long were you there?"
"My parents sent me for training when I was ten."
"Ten?"
"Yes, ten," the kid grumbles. "It took me a few years before I ran away for good."
Aw, fuck. This guy is probably terrified of women, then. Nestor gets it now. He shrugs easily, trying to make light of the situation. "So, you're a late bloomer. Nothing wrong with that. A man's gotta start somewhere. I'm no expert, but here goes. Follow my lead."
"I'm staying right here."
"Then wish me luck."
"There's no such thing as luck."
"There is for me. Oh, damn, she's leaving." Across the room, Cesi and her galpal are heading fast for the door. There's no way to casually catch them and avoid looking overeager. "Missed my chance," Nestor sighs out his disappointment. "Well, fuck." He might not get another opportunity. Now, his promising evening has turned even more glum and he's still got this hater kid boss at his side. Great . . . just great.
"So . . . you're good with girls?" the kid ventures hopefully.
Nestor shrugs, "I try." He's no player, but he's been known to charm a woman now and then.
Kylo nods slowly. "What's a wingman do?"
Does this require explanation? "You tag along as I approach the girl."
"I know that," Kylo replies testily. "I mean, what do they actually say?"
Nestor looks him over, noting how gawky and awkward he now seems. Poor guy. He's probably never been with a girl. Nestor takes pity on him, even though he's a total asshole and doesn't deserve it. "Tell you what, you pick out a girl and we'll go approach her. I'll be the wingman. You can watch how it's done."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. How about that one on the end who's saying goodbye to her friend. She'll be alone in a second. Always approach the ones who are alone. They're easier to talk to." Girls in groups can be terrifying, actually.
"What do I say?" the kid gulps.
"You slide up next to her, order us drinks and offer to buy her one too. Then, get her name and pour on the charm." If this guy has any charm, that is. His snarky posturing isn't going to go far with girls, Nestor suspects. He'll get much farther with the nice guy routine.
The kid loses his nerve. "Yeah, I don't think I want to do this."
"It's easy. There's nothing to lose but credits. If she turns you down, she's a bitch. You forget her and move on. That's all there is to it."
"Right." Kylo looks terrified. No way this kid is going to kill Luke Skywalker.
"Look, if she shoots us down, that's not rejection. That's her failing to accept a good opportunity. It's her loss, not ours," Nestor rationalizes.
"Right." Kylo looks like he's about to be marched to a firing squad. Yeah . . . he's all talk. That bit earlier about killing two guys must have been bluster. This kid is trying so hard to be a tough guy. It's kind of pathetic.
Maybe he should cut him some slack, Nestor thinks. He's probably been super sheltered. Just look at how uncomfortable he now looks. Nestor can't decide if his new boss is terrified or terrifying. Maybe he's both.
Well, whatever. Talking to that girl will at least be better than talking to Kylo, Nestor figures. So he urges, "Come on. Let's do this. Now's our chance."
"Alright."
Together, they set off across the crowded room. The girl turns out to be outgoing and bubbly. They buy her a drink and chat a bit. Well, actually Nestor does all the talking. Kylo just stands there looming and looking intense. The guy is incredibly socially awkward. A little scary too up close. But it goes alright for a first attempt. Eventually, the girlfriend she is waiting to meet shows up and the pair leaves together. But as they exit, she turns and waves a cutesy goodbye to him and Kylo.
"That went well," Nestor declares victory.
"Flick?" Kylo mutters at his side.
"Yeah?"
"You're hired," the kid blurts out.
Is that a good thing? Nestor isn't sure. He simply nods. Then he raises an issue that has been bothering him. "So when you said earlier that you were studying to become a monk, you meant monk as is—"
"Jedi," Kylo finishes. "I was Jedi before I defected. Is that a problem?"
"Not as long as you stay on the good side," Nestor answers truthfully.
