"So this is where the deplorables live. I think I can smell the lives of quiet desperation."

As they ride through the streets of his hometown in the back of a hired speeder cab, Nestor is seriously regretting letting Kylo tag along. But when his boss had revealed that they had a few days before they are scheduled to meet up with the rest of the new Knights, Nestor had the bright idea to stop along the way for a quick visit home. Drop me on my homeworld and I'll meet you in the Rim, Nestor had suggested offhand. Somehow, that has turned into this moment.

"You can stay with the ship, if you want," Nestor suggests casually.

"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to miss this sightseeing trip," Kylo drawls, his long nose practically pressed to the window. "Never seen so many fat women and guys with beer bellies."

It's more nasty sarcasm. Annoyed at his mean spiritedness, Nestor speaks up. "These are working people. They come home tired and want to be with their families. They don't go to the gym."

"This whole world needs to go to the gym," Kylo decrees. He grunts. "This sure isn't Coruscant."

"No, it's not," Nestor agrees. "But there are good aspects to that."

"Like what?"

"Like it's less expensive and less crowded. Like the people are friendly. There's more space. The schools are decent. People know their neighbors."

"These people probably hate Coruscant."

"They hate your attitude, that's for sure. But yeah, the local politicians like to stoke hate for the Core." Class warfare is a tried and true political tactic in the galaxy's flyover systems like this one. It's the same old script of resentment. Nestor shakes his head. "That rap only gets you so far."

"Why?"

"Because what the politicos miss is that these people don't want to tear down the Core, they want to be the Core. They want all the advantages of a Kuat or a Coruscant combined with their Mid Rim lives."

The humdrum Mid Rim is the bulk of the galaxy, with mainly human worlds. Its economies are based on skilled manufacturing and service industry jobs that are too sophisticated for droids but too déclassé for the elite. That makes for worlds full of middle-class people. They are the target consumers for every mass-produced item in the galaxy. They are the hardworking, taxpaying bourgeoisie. They gawk at the lifestyles and culture of the Core and they look down on the slaves and outlaws of the Rim. You can't get more wholesome or conventional than the Mid Rim. And, honestly, there are lots of good aspects to those values.

But Kylo fails to appreciate them. He shoots Nestor a knowing look. "Combining this place with Corsucant?" he scoffs. "Is that like you wanting to marry some Senator's daughter?"

"Yeah, I guess." Nestor isn't embarrassed about his ambitions. "There's nothing wrong with aiming high. It's aiming low that gets you in trouble."

"Is that what passes for folksy wisdom in these parts? Amid the huddled masses yearning to breathe free?" Kylo jeers.

"You can stay with the ship, if you want," Nestor suggests again, this time a bit pointedly.

Asshole Kylo sneers, "And miss all this everyman fun? Not a chance."

Nestor cocks his head at his new boss and frowns. "You know, we are not who the media portrays us to be. We're not the alien hating, wife beating, gun crazy, stupid fools they call us. We know when we're being made fun of and talked down to. We know when we get played."

"Is that your home team stump speech for the next Senate race?"

That crack finally gets a rise out of even tempered Nestor. He growls, "I didn't join the Order to run for Senate. Democracy is what made things worse around here. Everyone knows that, even if some won't admit it."

His rare testy tone gets Kylo's attention. And now, the kid drops the condescension and it becomes a political discussion. "Why not? Why aren't people more upset here like they are in the Rim?"

Nestor shrugs. "These people aren't that political. They're more interested in making ends meet and raising a family than they are engaging in partisan debates. Most just want things to be better. They don't much care how you accomplish it. They just want to get things done."

Kylo glances out the speeder window. "If I lived here, I'd want things to be better. Well," he decides, "the new weapon will take care of things."

He's talking about the Starkiller. It's the worst kept secret in the First Order. How the Republic hasn't gotten wind of that project is beyond Nestor. And, sure, if it works, it's a gamechanger. But that's a big 'if,' and Nestor says so. "Even if they can get the weapon to work, it will only do so much."

Kylo disagrees. "It will take out the Republic government. Checkmate. We win."

"The weapon might win us the galaxy, but it won't keep it. We need people from places like this to support the Order if we are going to achieve our goals."

Kylo sniffs. "These people will do what they're told."

Does this guy hear himself? Probably not. People seldom recognize their own bias because their perspective blinds them. But Nestor Flick who grew up in the Mid Rim, with politics that are Outer Rim, and a job that heretofore kept him mostly in the Core, has every vantage point. He tells it like it is. "No, they won't. They're not sheep. And they are far more resourceful and resilient than the Core believes. Look around—these are the people who we need to combine with our supporters in the Rim. You know that old saying about 'who holds the Core, holds the galaxy'? It's wrong. Who holds the Mid Rim holds the galaxy." This is the middle ground of opinion that will catapult the Order from being a fringe group of extremists to being a credible political reform movement.

Nestor now tells the speeder driver, "Pull up on the left. We're here."

Nestor walks into his parent's small standalone pre-fab dwelling to find Mom alone. After the hugs and kisses, they end up in the kitchen where she's chopping vegetables for dinner. Every serious conversation in the Flick household always takes place in the kitchen. Today is no exception. They chat as she cooks and bustles about the cabinets.

Tall Kylo just stands there looming as a silent, conspicuous eavesdropper. The guy looks like he's afraid to touch anything. Like it might get him dirty. Nestor is silently offended. His parents' place might not be fancy, but it's clean and orderly. The Flicks might not have much, but they take pride in it.

So Nestor endeavors to ignore Kylo. He's determined not to let his uninvited boss ruin the visit. "Is Dad working third shift again?" he asks.

"No, he's just late. The speeder's broken. He's taking the bus home these days." Mom looks over her shoulder from her place at the counter. She gestures again to the table. "Sit down, sit down. You too young man," she orders Kylo.

They dutifully obey her nagging.

"Want some water?" She fills two glasses from the faucet and hands them over. Nestor almost wants to laugh at Kylo's reaction. This guy never drinks water out of the tap, he's guessing.

"What's the matter with the speeder?" Nestor asks.

"Probably age. That thing's got almost two hundred thousand miles on it by now."

"You need a new one," Nestor tells her what she already knows.

Mom nods. "We probably need to start keeping an eye out for a good used one."

She's worried about credits, like always. "I can help," Nestor offers softly.

Mom looks up from her chopping. "Don't let your father hear you say that. Your father is a proud man. He won't take credits from you."

"He wouldn't have to know."

Now Mom puts down her knife and crosses her arms. "I don't keep secrets from your father. Never have, never will."

"But Mom—"

She waves him off. "Save your money. Go spend some credits on a pretty girl. Give me some grandchildren."

Nestor drops the point. It's futile to argue with Mom. "So, what's new around here?"

"Jynna sent you an invitation to the wedding. I kept it. It's the fancy kind on real paper."

Nestor looks away. "I'm not going to that wedding."

"Yeah, I didn't think so. I sent your regrets already." Mom's face softens. "She wasn't good enough for you, Nes."

"That's not what she thought."

"That guy she's marrying is nothing compared to you."

This is not a topic Nestor wants to discuss. "What else is new?" he changes he topic.

"Your Aunt Mabel lost her job."

"Really? She's been at the droid factory forever."

"Yeah, but they started cutting back hours last year. And then last season, they began layoffs. She made it to the final group. She was proud of that. But they're shutting the plant and moving it to the Rim. Slave labor is cheaper than paying a living wage."

Kylo speaks up now. "There are no slaves left in the Rim."

Mom begs to differ. "They might as well be slaves. Those Rimmers work for nothing. They live like pre-industrialized worlds. Sometimes, I think the Republic likes it that way," she grumbles. "All those robber baron moguls in the Core get rich off the backs of the rest of the galaxy. They make droids and speeders for next to nothing in the Rim and then they mark them way up to sell to us suckers in the Mid Rim. They get all the profits, we go into debt to buy their shit, and the Rimmers are lucky if they get enough to eat. If you ask me, intergalactic trade is scam."

No one at the table disagrees with her. In a nutshell, that's the First Order's chief economic complaint against its foe: that the New Republic's policies have increased the Core's wealth at the expense of everyone else.

Mom resumes her updates now. "Rick Nightflood went back into rehab last week. It's his third time."

"Booze?"

"And spice."

"Where'd he get the credits for spice?"

"Who knows?" she shrugs. "Oh, and your cousin's pregnant again."

"Same guy?"

"Different guy. But I think this one might stick around. I hope so. Supposedly they're getting engaged, but I'll believe it when I see it. Why no one waits to get a ring on their finger before having kids these days is beyond me," she frowns.

The door sounds now and in walks Dad. He's still wearing his factory uniform. Like most men Nestor grew up around, Dad takes a shower after work, not before. "Heya kid! You didn't tell us you were coming." A big smile appears across his tired, sagging features at the surprise visit.

Nestor intercepts him and gets smothered in a bear hug. As they pull back, Dad glances at Kylo. "Who have we here?"

Nestor makes the introductions.

"Water?" Mom offers.

"Hell, no. My day is done. Open a beer. Make it three," Dad winks at him and Kylo. "We've got company." Dad sits down to join them at the kitchen table and makes himself comfortable. "So, how's the revolution coming? Guard any generals lately?"

"I'm done guarding the top brass. I've got a new assignment," Nestor reveals.

Dad beams. "Did they finally let you into Intel?"

"No, I'm doing a new strike team gig."

"Strike team? Is this real combat?" Dad looks impressed.

"Hopefully," Nestor answers.

"Definitely," Kylo confirms.

Mom looks up to complain, "Can't you go back to guarding generals?"

"That won't win us the galaxy," Nestor answers simply.

"But I don't want you hurt."

"I'll be fine, Mom."

"Now, Vera, this kid's the best shot in the Order. He'll be fine." Dad turns back to him. "When is this war actually starting, Nes?"

"Couple of years," Kylo answers for him. The timing all depends on how fast the Starkiller Base gets up and running.

"Well, it can't start soon enough," Dad decrees. "Did you see the Republic has banned plastic straws? It's fucking ridiculous. There's more plastic in the fork I threw away at lunch than there is in a straw. But apparently straws are now evil and dangerous to the environment. Those clowns on Hosnia need to get their priorities straight. The galaxy is falling apart and they're regulating fucking straws."

Mom chides softly, "Jules, watch your language. We have a guest."

Kylo smirks. "It's okay. I've always been a pro straw man myself."

"I like you already," Dad decides. Then he resumes his rant. "We need real change, not symbolic feelgood bullshit. The Order needs to hurry up and get things started. I can't take much more of this."

It's Dad being Dad. Age has mellowed him in some ways and hardened in others. Like the increasingly polarized galaxy that surrounds him, he's more convinced of his views than ever now. But his views—like the views of the rest of the galaxy's sizable minority of Imperial-friendly citizens—don't seem to matter. Only the Core's pro-Republic perspective matters. It dominates the holonet and permeates society, labeling all critics as extreme and pushing them to the fringe. That's why things are heading fast for civil war, Nestor knows. Because democracy is especially inefficient if there is no compromise. Because if the tyrannical majority tramples everyone else, what good are all those freedoms?

Galactic democracy sounds so appealing in theory, but in practice it has been a failure. No one can agree on the big complex issues—there are too many systems and too many special interests—so the Republic ends up doing shit like regulating straws. And the real problems languish unsolved. The discontent is real . . . and growing. If the Republic was smart, they would throw the Order sympathizers a bone and do some of the easy stuff to stave off conflict. But they are tone deaf to the needs of regular people and too cloaked in the rhetoric of freedom to realize that those ideals matter less to many people than having a steady income and a decent living.

Dad takes a long pull on his beer and asks, "How do you two know each other? You're not in the Order. Not with that hair," he tells Kylo with censure in his tone.

Nestor inserts himself. "Dad, Kylo is Order. He's my new CO."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You some sort of analyst?" Dad squints at his guest. "Because back when I was a trooper in the 501st, only the analyst types didn't get buzzed like the rest of us. Well, plus the senior officers, but you're too young for that."

"You were in the 501st?" Kylo suddenly looks very interested.

"Yeah, that's right. Vader's Fist." Dad makes the old-time Imperial salute. "Ooorah!" he hollers. It practically makes the dishes rattle, it's so loud. He and Mom are used to it. But Kylo jumps. Then he grins—Kylo actually smiles—at the outburst.

"You from an Exile family, hun?" Mom looks up to ask.

"No, but my grandfather fought for the Empire," Kylo answers. He must have been the grandfather who worked for Palpatine whose sword Kylo uses, Nestor thinks.

"Damn, I wish we'd won," Dad bemoans. "The Empire wasn't perfect, but it was better than this. The Republic talks a good game, but they don't deliver. And the taxes are ridiculous. I wouldn't mind so much if those credits stayed here at home. But my taxes go to building museums and universities in the Core while things stay pretty much the same here. The rich just get richer."

Mom agrees. "All those Senators praise Mid Rim values, but they do nothing to support us. They laugh at us behind our backs when the microphones and cameras are off." She turns to him to ask, "With this new job, will you still go to Coruscant and Hosnia a lot?"

"Not so much anymore," Nestor guesses looking to his new boss for confirmation.

Kylo smirks, "Oh, he'll be back on Coruscant to see his girl."

"Girl?" Mom's ears immediately perk up. "What girl?"

"She's not my girl," Nestor grumbles.

"The girls from back home aren't good enough any longer?" Mom bristles on behalf of the ordinary women of the galaxy everywhere.

Kylo gleefully piles on, revealing, "He's found himself a Senator's daughter."

"Wow." Mom is at a loss for words, but only for a moment. "Nestor Flick, what are you thinking?" she demands with a hand on one hip.

Nestor shoots Kylo another dirty look.

Seeing this, Dad neatly inserts himself. "How about you boys come look at the speeder with me while Mom cooks," he suggests. "Nes, come do a tactical retreat so you can tell me about this Senator's daughter."

And that's how he, Dad, and Kylo end up in the cluttered garage poking at the family speeder. Dad produces a toolbox, declares himself a lousy mechanic, and asks if they want to have a look. In a move that surprises Nestor, Kylo steps up. He starts poking around at the speeder engine as he asks, "Who's the girl?"

"What girl?"

"That's what I want to know," Dad joins in.

"The one who's getting married."

Nestor frowns. "She's just some girl I used to know."

Dad snorts. "You gonna tell him?"

"No."

"Then I'm gonna tell him. She's his old girlfriend."

"Yeah, I got that part." Kylo selects a wrench and starts loosening something under the speeder's hood. "You dump her?"

Nestor sighs. Do they really have to go into this? "She dumped me."

Kylo doesn't leave it there. "Why?"

"We wanted different things. She didn't like the Order. She didn't hold with my ideals. She thought I should have stayed here and not gotten involved. She wanted a guy who did the usual thing—got a job, got married, saved for a house and then kids."

"That's not you? Because that looks like you," Kylo observes.

"It is. But I want better than this for myself and for everyone." Nestor is a bit indignant. "That's why I'm following Leader Snoke on his damn fool idealistic crusade to bring back the Empire. To make the galaxy great again." Nestor is getting upset all over again just thinking about this topic. In a rare show of temper, he kicks savagely at a nearby box and grumbles, "She couldn't see the upside. She said I was only going to get myself killed or sent to jail as a terrorist."

"That might happen," Kylo continues his needling.

"I know," Nestor gripes. "But at least I will have tried to do something. I don't want to throw my life away. But I don't want to waste it either."

Kylo looks up from under the hood of the speeder to hold his gaze. "I understand." Then he turns back to his tinkering.

"Enough about that. Who's the Senator's daughter?" Dad wants to know.

"Just some girl I know. We haven't even gone out yet," Nestor grumbles. "There's nothing to tell."

"So, don't plan the wedding just yet?" Dad teases.

"Tell Mom to stand down on buying baby clothes," he answers.

Kylo speaks up now from inside the speeder. "This has a clogged fuel injector. Someone sold you some bad fuel. The additives build up after a while when fuel gets diluted."

"Shit. Is that a big fix?" Dad asks warily.

"No. It will take ten minutes to pull it and flush it. Then I put it back in and you're good to go. Problem solved."

"That's good news." Dad looks very relieved. "Where'd you learn about speeders, Kylo?"

"My father. He was a mechanic."

"Did you learn at his side?"

"I guess you could say that. But it was more that if you wanted to see him, you had to work on the ship. He loved his ship more than anything. That guy spent every chance he got working on his ship."

"Is he a spacer?"

"He's a criminal," Kylo hisses.

"Oh. Sorry." Dad cringes.

"Don't be. He's gone. He was very good at leaving." Kylo's bitterness is uncomfortable to listen to, Nestor thinks.

But Dad keeps pressing. "So it was just you and your mom growing up?"

Kylo shakes his head no. "My uncle raised me. He could fix anything. My uncle was a much better mechanic than my father even though everyone pretended otherwise. He was a far better pilot than my father, too. We all pretended about that as well. Everyone was always stroking my dad's ego and humoring him," he fumes.

"I heard you say your grandfather fought for the Empire. Was your uncle Empire, too?" Dad asks.

Kylo smirks at the question. "No." Watching him, Nestor recalls that Kylo was Jedi from the age of ten. No way his immediate family was Empire, he's guessing.

But Dad doesn't know that. "Does your uncle not like fighting?"

"Oh, he likes it. He likes it far more than he lets on. My uncle probably has the biggest kill count of anyone alive." With that cryptic comment, Kylo extracts a small speeder part and Nestor shows him a sink where he can rinse it out. Five minutes later, Kylo has the part cleaned and reinstalled.

Dad claps him on the back. "Well, I guess you earned your dinner." He ducks inside to holler to Mom who hollers back from the kitchen. "Your mother says she needs a few minutes more," Dad reports the intel on dinner.

That's when Kylo finally notices why the garage is so cluttered. It's full of survivalist gear and Dad's food and water stockpile. "You some sort of prepper?" he asks. Kylo looks amused, probably thinking it's cliché to find a veteran hoarding. No doubt he thinks the Flick family are paranoid extremists who envision a bleak, dystopian future. Like Dad's some PTSD nutcase and not a regular guy who's got legitimate reasons to be worried.

But Dad doesn't take offense. "I like to be ready for contingencies," he answers simply. "I grew up at the end of the Clone Wars and I fought the Rebellion. I know the upheaval war brings. The shortages and price hikes. Now, there's another war brewing. I like to be prepared."

"Is that thing full?" Kylo gestures to the big gun safe against the far wall.

"I've got two more inside," Dad answers, "plus enough plasma cartridges to reload them all." He gives Kylo a meaningful look. "I will protect my family and my property with deadly force, if necessary." And that's classic Dad. He's a man who doesn't have much, but he values what he has greatly and he will defend it until the end.

Kylo smirks. "Are they legal?"

"The blasters? Some of them. But the New Republic is gonna have to pry the illegal ones out of my cold, dead hands," Dad blusters.

Kylo wisely accepts that speech without comment. Instead, he invites, "Tell me about the 501st."

Dad grins. He loves talk of his trooper years. "I spent ten years in Lord Vader's legion," he says proudly.

"So, you saw a lot action?"

"Yep."

Nestor supplies the details. "Dad was at Yavin and Hoth."

"Endor. I was at Endor too," his father adds. "We were down on the moon defending the shield when the Executor was lost." Dad looks away and exhales a loud sigh. "All hands lost. Like both Death Stars. Those fucking rebels . . . "

"So you're born and bred First Order," Kylo surmises, looking to him. And that's not unusual. Most of the Order's officer corps are the sons and daughters of Imperial veterans. After the Rebellion won, many high-ranking Imperial officials went into self-exile with their families. From the ashes of the Empire in the shadows of the Outer Rim and the Unknown Regions, the survivors regrouped and formed the Order. The only thing unusual about Nestor is that his dad is a trooper, not a general.

"Well, since we've got some time to kill . . . " Dad now walks over to the gun safe and opens it with his handprint. He takes out a pistol. It's loaded, of course. Every weapon in the Flick household is loaded. An unloaded gun is useless for defense, Nestor was taught at an early age.

Dad checks the safety first before he tosses over the pistol. He gestures to the target hanging on the far wall of the garage. It's a makeshift indoor firing range, complete with buffered backing to harmlessly absorb plasma bolts. Dad begins this shooting match the way he does every other—with a low-key challenge.

"Show me you can still out shoot me, Nes."

"No one outshoots him but me," Nestor explains for Kylo's benefit.

"Prove it," Dad chimes in.

"Is this the one that kicks left?" Nestor asks as he walks over to take careful aim with the unfamiliar weapon.

"Yes."

Nestor concentrates. Then he lets loose six shots in rapid succession. All six shots leave the same scorch mark on the target. Each shot bullseyes the previous one.

"That's my boy!" Dad crows. "Hand me that weapon. Give the old guy a try."

Dad proceeds to equal the feat. "Never let anyone tell you stormtroopers had bad aim," he schools Kylo. "I was part of the second wave of troopers. We took over for the clones as they were retired. We did tons of target practice. Pistols, rifles, you name it. We shot everything."

"What was he like?" Kylo suddenly blurts out.

"Who?"

"Vader."

Dad thinks a moment before he muses, "He was the only senior commander I ever saw lead the infantry himself. That guy was on the ground with a laser sword in the thick of the action. Supposedly, there were Jedi who did that in the Clone Wars. Mostly the young ones, I think. But not at Vader's level of seniority. Personally, I think the guy loved to fight. He wanted to be part of the action. I heard he flew a TIE a lot too, but I wouldn't know. Not a pilot myself."

"I'm a pilot," Kylo volunteers.

"Yeah? How good are you with a gun?" Dad thinks one important measure of a man is how he handles a gun.

Nestor looks to Kylo and silently nods his encouragement to answer.

Taking the cue, his young boss claims, "I'm fine."

"Show us." Dad offers the weapon. It's a challenge and all three men know it.

Kylo nods slowly. Then the pistol flies into his open palm with the help of an unseen force. The Force.

Nestor has never seen that before.

But Dad has. He watches warily as Kylo walks over to the makeshift range.

Kylo deliberately faces Dad, his body rotated a full ninety degrees from the target. Then, he asks, "How long did you hang around after Endor?" as he shoots. Kylo is not even facing the target he's aiming at when each shot drills through the same original scorch mark Nestor made initially.

"Holy shit," Dad reacts to the feat.

Kylo ignores him. Instead, he prompts, "How long? How long were you loyal?"

"Til the end," Dad answers slowly as he walks past him to inspect the target. "I was at Jakku. I fought until the surrender."

Kylo clicks the safety lock on and hands back the hot pistol.

"You're Jedi," befuddled Dad concludes as he accepts it.

"No," Kylo responds quickly. "I am Sith."

"There are no Sith. They died with Vader and Sidious on the Second Death Star."

"I am Sith," Kylo says steadily.

"Then show me the sword," Dad requests.

Kylo reaches into his tunic to produce a metal hilt.

"Yep," Dad breathes out as he inspects the weapon, "that's a lightsaber." He sounds slightly awed. "Lord Vader used to wear his hanging on his belt like the old time Jedi did." Nestor himself moves closer to take a look. He's heard of these weapons, of course, but never seen one. Lightsabers are throwbacks to days gone by. Museum pieces like gunpowder firearms. They represent a past that is gone forever . . . or so everyone thought.

"This looks just like I remember. This looks just like his did."

Kylo nods. "It should. That was Vader's sword before his Empire years."

"Yeah? Then light it up. Let's see," Dad says excitedly.

Kylo depresses a button on the handle and the sword deploys with an odd crack and then a hiss that becomes a steady buzz. It's a very distinctive sound. It sends an ominous shiver down Nestor's back.

"It's blue!" Dad reacts with instant recoil. "Son, you're gonna need a red one. That thing makes you look Jedi."

"It's not the color of the sword that matters," Kylo announces.

Dad is having none of that sentiment. "That's like when a girl says it's not the size of your dick that matters. Of course, it matters."

Nestor cringes. "Dad—"

"I'm just sayin'. Having a blue laser sword is like having a small—"

"Dad!"

Luckily, Kylo looks amused. He smirks at them both. "I've got nothing to worry about. For either issue."

And how the Hell did they get on this topic? Thankfully, Mom now sticks her head in the garage door to call, "Dinner's ready."

They eat dinner at the kitchen table. And that's actually an upgrade from the usual routine when they sit together in front of the holonet screen. Mom went so far as to put paper napkins on the table, too. She's trying hard to impress, but it all seems lost on Kylo. As they eat, he pumps Dad for war stories about his legion. He's not humoring an old veteran, he's actually very interested. The guy turns out to be incredibly knowledgeable about the minutiae of the Rebellion years. That impresses Dad who immediately recognizes a fellow military history buff. After a while, they get started in on the Clone Wars. Thereafter, he and Mom can't get a word in edgewise with all the talk of battle strategy and political maneuvering. So, Nestor sits back to observe, noting how different Kylo is in this setting. All of his petty elitist snark is gone. There is none of the social awkwardness Nestor remembers from the Coruscant club either. This version of Kylo is earnest and smart. He's actually quite respectful of Dad. It makes him surprisingly likable.

By the time Mom is clearing the plates, Dad is inviting Kylo back. And that's when Nestor speaks up with an issue that he has been noodling on while he sat listening. "So . . . if that sword was Vader's and that sword was also your grandfather's, then—"

"Vader is my grandfather," Kylo finishes quietly.

It's a big reveal. Nestor sits back and exchanges looks with Dad. "You really are the new Vader." And apparently, a Sith Lord too. Although Nestor isn't exactly sure what that means.

Kylo nods. "Yes."

"And that makes Skywalker your father?" Nestor is trying to piece together the family tree. Rebellion celebrities were not a big topic in his household growing up.

"Uncle. Luke is my uncle."

He and Dad exchange looks again at that casual reference to the last Jedi. "And that means your mother is—"

"Leia Organa. Princess Leia Organa."

Dad swears under his breath and slaps the table hard. Mom is speechless standing at the sink with a dish towel in her hands.

But Nestor keeps going. "And your father is that space racer—"

"Han Solo."

"Fuck." The words "I'm sorry" come out before Nestor can stop them. "I guess you really did defect. You're like Rebellion royalty. Are you Kylo Organa Solo, or something like that?"

"I was Ben Solo. But I'm Kylo Ren now." Kylo shoots Nestor a steely look. "Don't ever call me Ben. I'm not that guy any longer."

"Okay. Got it."

The easy rapport of earlier is gone. Kylo's reveal has everyone confused and subdued. Dad looks equally impressed and appalled. Mom seems flustered and nervous, like she's uncertain if she should be starstruck. Nestor himself feels sorry for the guy. It's not Kylo's fault who his parents are. It must be weird to have kin on both sides of a war. To be the scion of the hero or the villain, depending on your point of view. Plus, he claims to be a Sith Lord. And, well, those guys aren't exactly known to be happy.

Nestor decides to wrap things up. He begins to say his goodbyes.

"Good luck, Nes. We're proud of you," Mom tells him as she envelopes him in a long hug. "You'll never know how proud we are of you," she chokes up as she pulls back.

Dad grunts. "Everyone knows how proud she is of you. She never stops talking about you. The whole neighborhood hears it plus everyone at church. Well, come over here, kid. Give your old man a hug. Now you clean your gun, got it?"

"Yes, Dad." Jules Flick thinks a dirty gun is the ultimate sign of reckless laziness. Dad has nothing but contempt for a man with a dirty gun.

"I mean it," he lectures. "A weapon is your life in a fight. Don't let it jam on you."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Now, stay away from spice, bad booze, and fast women," Dad advises with an outrageous wink and a nudge.

"And Senator's daughters," Mom chimes in with a pointed look. "Stick to your own kind, Nestor."

"Yes, Mom," he humors her.

"You find yourself a nice girl in the First Order and you—"

"Leave him be," Dad thankfully intervenes. "Bring home any girl you want and we'll love her. We promise."

Then Dad addresses Kylo. He shakes his hand and instructs, "Take care of our boy. He's the only one we've got."

"Daaaaad," Nestor groans. "You're embarrassing me."

"This is how it works. You have his back, and he has yours. That's called unit cohesion. Vader didn't do it on his own either."

"Ok, right. We've gotta go." Nestor wants to exit fast before there are more mortifying moments. He mumbles under his breath, "Love you guys," as he heads for the door.

"Sorry about that," Nestor tells Kylo as soon as they are outside and walking towards the nearest corner. They'll hitch a ride in a speeder cab to head back to the spaceport.

"Don't be sorry. It was not what I expected. . . it was nice." His boss sounds surprised and chagrined.

"Dad loves his war stories," Nestor keeps apologizing. "It's just that those were the best days of his life. There was never much glory for him as a civilian."

Walking beside him, Kylo muses, "So you're fighting your father's war all over again, aren't you?"

Is he? Well, not exactly. "I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it for myself. And for everyone else." Nestor colors and shrugs sheepishly. "I guess you could say I'm a true believer. I want the Order to win and make things better. The New Republic had their chance. They blew it. Big time."

Kylo nods at this shared sentiment. "I'm fighting my family's war too. My family is largely responsible for the current state of the galaxy," he says glumly. Nestor can hear the frustration in his voice.

So, affable as always, Nestor agrees, "Yeah, I could see that."

"It's nice how proud they are of you."

Nestor colors again. "I guess they can lay it on a bit thick—"

"It's nice. My family was never proud of me."

Damn, that sounds forlorn. Embarrassed by Kylo's honesty, Nestor tries to explain, "I'm the only kid. I guess my parents are especially invested in me—"

"You're all on the same side," Kylo interrupts again. He says it again like it's curious concept that he can't quite wrap his head around. "You're all on the same side. You want the same things."

"Yeah, well, Mom votes in the elections. Dad's a diehard. He won't even do that. Says he refuses to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Republic."

Preoccupied Kylo isn't listening. "Someday my family is going to be on the same side, even if it means killing them all."

Nestor looks up sharply at these soft but vehement words. The menace behind them is very real.

But Kylo doesn't back down. "I don't want to kill my parents, but I'll do it if I have to. I will do what I must," he finishes somberly, looking far more haunted than confident. And for a moment, Nestor wonders if this intense guy with the magic Force who is Darth Vader's grandson would rather be a trooper's kid like himself. He's estranged from his famous family, he's trying to fill the big shoes of a fearsome grandfather he never met, and he's clearly not comfortable with the Order politics he's supposed to espouse. No wonder he's such an asshole. The guy must be miserable. He probably doesn't fit in anywhere with that background.

Nestor tries to steer things to more benign topic. "How long is the flight to our rendezvous point in the Rim?"

"About twenty hours. We should sleep it. Who knows what will happen when we get there?"

"Get where?"

"The bunker. We're meeting the other Knights at Snoke's bunker."

"Oh." Nestor wasn't expecting that location.

"Let's hope he's in a good mood," Kylo grumbles.