Is it his turn? Yes, it's his turn. Nestor thinks a moment. The first one is easy. "Marry Cesi Ono."
"Who?" Jonar blinks.
Kylo gleefully explains, "Senator Octavian Ono's daughter."
"Hey! Wasn't he the Vice Chancellor of the Republic or something?" Static wonders.
"Nestor is apolitical when it comes to girls," Kylo smirks.
Nestor shoots him a look. "Ono is an unofficial ally. So, she counts as Order." For purposes of the game, at least.
"You'll never even get a date with her," Kylo heckles.
Nestor ignores him. He's never had a short fuse. He mostly lets stuff roll off his back. But in particular Nestor has learned to ignore a lot of what Kylo says. The guy has a sarcastic comment for just about everything. Usually, that's a sign he's happy. When Kylo gets quiet, he's upset or uncomfortable. So snarky is good where Kylo is concerned.
The Knights are docked at a rundown civilian supply depot deep in the Outer Rim. It's basically a truck stop in space. But they're not here for refueling and provisions. They're here for a junk food run. Omar and Carlos went inside to shop while the rest of them waste time in the shuttle with a game of 'marry, fuck, kill.' They've done all the holonet celebrities. Now, they've moved onto the First Order allies and enemies version.
Nestor keeps going with the game. "Fuck Phasma—"
"Phasma? Really?" Static disdains his choice.
"—and kill . . . uh . . . uh . . ." he stumbles.
Kylo heckles again with, "Nestor doesn't like to kill."
"Luke Skywalker," Nestor finishes emphatically. "Kill Luke Skywalker."
Jonar snorts. "Well, obviously. Nestor, you suck at this game. You go next, Kylo."
Static answers for the boss. "That's easy. Marry navigation girl, fuck navigation girl, kill Hux."
"Her name is Tara. But good answer," Kylo approves as he clinks beer bottles with Static.
"What's taking them so long?" Pedro frets as he looks out the window again. "It's been over an hour. Maybe we should ping them on the com. Maybe something went wrong."
Nestor too glances out the shuttle's window. But he spies the missing pair. "Here they come."
Omar and Carlos march up to the ship, each carrying full bags.
"What did you score?" Static grabs a bag and starts rifling through it.
"We've got all the junk food groups," Omar answers proudly. "The grease group." He produces potato chips. "The sugar group." He produces candy. "And the carb group." He produces ramen noodle cups. "Oh, and we found the protein bars you wanted, Nestor." Omar tosses one over. "To keep your girlish figure," he teases.
"Dude, you're getting ripped," Static observes. It's true. Nestor has been blowing off steam in the Finalizer officers' gym. Lifting seems to ease his stress. But now the shoulders and arms of his uniforms are getting tight as he bulks up.
"What'd you get to drink?" Jonar wants to know. "We're down to water and soda."
"Beer and more beer," Carlos replies, brandishing a cold six-pack.
"Nice. Hand one over."
"The docking cops asked if we were Order," Omar says offhand as he complies.
Kylo's ears perk up. "Yeah? What did you say?"
"I said yes." There really isn't any other answer given the ultra-fast, sleek black command shuttle they are flying that is conspicuously armed with heavy shielding graded for war. The shuttle doesn't have any exterior markings, but it's only slightly less obvious than docking a TIE fighter.
"What did they say?"
"They waived our docking fees and wished us luck. Off the record, of course. And then," Omar grins, "I showed them this."
He flashes the inside of his right wrist to display a small red and black tattoo of the First Order insignia. It's brand new, slightly swollen, and covered in ointment.
Carlos has a matching one he shows off too. "It's why we took so long."
"Whoa!" ever enthusiastic Static reacts, "You guys got inked? Cool!" He moves closer to inspect. Then he turns and impulsively suggests, "We should all do this."
Everyone looks to Kylo.
"You wanna do it? Come on. Let's do it," Static cajoles.
The boss nods slowly as he decides, "Yeah, let's all do it."
The Knights finish their beer, stash their new provisions, and troop as a group into the station to find the tattoo parlor. It's none too clean and the prices are suspiciously cheap, but the ambiance is perfect for the occasion. The place is down market, rebellious, and unrepentant. Like the prevalent ethos of the Order itself, minus the haughty Colonel Hux Imperial exile types.
The middle-aged human proprietress looks them over as they walk in wearing matching Knight tunics and boots. "You boys Order too?" she drawls in a thick Rim accent.
"We might be. Is that a problem?" Kylo asks evenly.
"Not around here. Sit down and pick out your size and color." The woman gestures to a book of samples. "We do custom work too, but it will cost you," she warns.
"We already know what we want. We want the same as theirs," Kylo replies, gesturing to Omar and Carlos. "We're a unit."
"Alright. Who's first?" the woman smiles, no doubt mentally tallying the credits involved.
Nestor and Kylo go first among the remaining Knights. "Guess my undercover days are over," Nestor observes softly as the tattoo artist works. "I can't deny who I am now."
"Damn right," Kylo approves, "nor should you. My mother would hate this," he adds happily.
Nestor can't help but smile. "My Dad will love it."
"That's the difference between me and you right there," Kylo remarks. He's probably right, Nestor decides.
When Kylo's tattoo is finished, he holds his arm up as he pronounces, "I like it."
"Now in order to redeem you, Skywalker's gonna have to cut your hand off," Nestor tells him under his breath.
That provokes a rare smile from Kylo. "Come and get it, Luke," he says, flexing his grip into a fist.
Hovering Static has an opinion. He always has an opinion. "It needs 'Vader Lives' beneath the emblem."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes."
The others pile on.
"Good point."
"I like it."
"Go for it."
"Do it, Kylo."
The boss now looks to Nestor for his thoughts. And, well, why not? "Sure. You're the new Vader. And he does live on in you," Nestor vaguely references the Skywalker heritage.
Kylo understands the point. And that's what clinches it. He opts for the extra ink in dramatic gothic font. It's very Kylo. "Now, my mother will really hate this," he brags.
They tip exorbitantly and the happy shopkeeper can't believe her good fortune. She wishes them good luck and tells them to have a blessed day in the stereotypical fashion that the Core makes fun of but the Rimmers truly mean.
The episode begins the initiation tradition of the Knights of Ren. When the war finally heats up and the Ren begin to fall, each new face will get a trip to this same seedy space depot to get their wrist inked with the emblem of their cause. It marks them as brothers-in-arms in the warrior tradition of the Sith. But it begins with the impulsive esprit de corps of the original seven men who are bored on the way back from just the sort of lame mission that one day Kylo and Nestor will long for.
But for now, next up is a twelve-hour flight back to the Finalizer and a ton of junk food.
By three months in, the Knights have hit all the public institutions known to have hoarded bits of Jedi history. It's mostly museums, a few university libraries, and one courthouse on Chandrila. That just leaves a list of private personal collections owned by rich moguls and the relics in the hands of the Church of the Force wannabe Jedi types.
All in all, the work to date has been easy. Their hit-and-run raids are unopposed. One security guard on Corellia manages to pump off a few blaster shots at them, but that's about it. The Ren simply show up and take whatever they want. Still, haul after haul yields nothing of consequence. The collection at Castle Vader keeps growing, but they are no closer to finding Luke Skywalker than before.
They are, however, closer together as a unit personally and professionally. Because you do repeated eighteen hour long haul flights with six guys and you get to know them. Jonar's always slumped with his headphones on and his eyes closed. It's hard to tell if he's asleep or listening to music. But every now and then, he will chime in with a comment that reveals he's awake and listening. Pedro watches sports and pod racing for hours at a time with the sound off. As usual, Pedro doesn't talk much. He just watches intensely, sometimes with Kylo watching intensely by his side. Static eats constantly. The guy walks around the ship with one hand dipping into a box of cereal or a bag of chips. You find him by following the trail of crumbs. Buddies Omar and Carlos are two frat boys. Loud, fun, and, more often than not, chilling with a beer in their hand. But there are days when their antics and stupid inside jokes make Nestor feel downright old.
And Kylo? Well, Kylo does what he always does. He hangs on the periphery observing. Distant. Removed. The guy is just so separate. Uncomfortable in his own skin. Is it the Force that keeps him aloof? Is it his innate shyness? Or maybe his inability to relate to normal guys? There are times when Nestor thinks Kylo is intimidated by his Knights' easy rapport. Like he wants to belong, but he doesn't know how.
His Force stuff takes some getting used to for Nestor. Kylo knows who enters a room without looking up. More than once, Nestor catches him sitting crosslegged on the floor in some girly yoga pose. He calls it meditation. And then, there are the times when Kylo says stuff like 'don't go bother Carlos. He's jerking off in his bunk.' And what the fuck? How the Hell does Kylo know that? And wait—does he know that about everyone? Because that's fucking creepy, Nestor decides. It makes him glad he doesn't have the magic Force. No guy needs to know that much about another guy.
Now that the museum raids are done, the Knights' next mission is to ransack the well defended compound of a crime syndicate kingpin. This particular spice lord and his predecessors at Crimson Dawn have collected all sorts of warrior paraphernalia-Mandalorian, Jedi, even Sith. It's all installed in a picturesque villa on an out-of-the-way Rim world that the crime gang rules as their own. And that is all too typical of the Rim. Entire worlds are de facto owned and controlled by Core corporations, uber wealthy individuals, and violent crime gangs.
This is the reality of the Rim. Where the empty promises and high taxes of the New Republic fuel deep cynicism and simmering resentment. Where a general sense of lawlessness has citizens poised to welcome the First Order's message of law and order. People here will gladly trade their freedoms for security and opportunity. They will surrender their young children they cannot support to be trained as stormtroopers. Inflammatory Core journalists might allege that the Order kidnaps children to make them soldiers. But the truth is that the Order has impoverished parents begging it to accept their kids. Because stormtroopers are given food to eat, a place to sleep, clothes to wear, and schooling. And that is far more than many Rim children have at home. In truth, there is no shortage of Rim dwellers signing up to fight and die for Leader Snoke's anti-Establishment, anti-Core populist reform movement. These exploited people have nothing to lose and everything to gain. And they are angry . . . very, very angry.
The cushy, complacent Core worlds will never see it coming, Nestor thinks. They are so blind to attitudes beyond their own experience that they cannot fathom how any reasonable person could support the Order. When the war finally comes and the barbarians are at their gate, the Core will be shocked at how broad and deep the Order's support runs. Personally, Nestor looks forward to their rude awakening. The Core has it coming.
For once, the context of their mission seems to resonate with Kylo. In the planning sessions, he makes repeated disparaging remarks about the crime gang they are targeting. People romanticize these criminals, like they romanticize bounty hunters, drug smugglers, and guns-for-hire, Kylo complains. But there is no honor in their misdeeds. There is no accomplishment in their cartels. Spice isn't a legitimate business. It's an addictive, dangerous drug that ruins people's lives and is rightfully banned.
Nestor wholeheartedly agrees with his sentiments. The spice business in particular seems to typify the exploitation of the Rim. People toil in spice mines in terrible conditions. Entire systems like Kessel are organized around production of the drug, with innocents regularly caught in the crossfire of the intra-gang warfare that counts for competition in the spice industry. Then, there are the fleets of drug smuggling starships that transport the product to the marketplace. They bribe docking cops and local officials and add to the atmosphere of corruption that permeates local government. Ultimately, the drugs get peddled to the elites in the Core. For them, spice is a glamorous, harmless recreational drug. It's a lifestyle choice that should be legalized, the customers argue, turning a blind eye to the trail of blood that preceded the narcotics into their hand. But from the misery of Kessel to the centuries old bloody Pike-versus-Hutt rivalry, to the white-collar corruption from money laundering the profits, and the persistent tragedy that is addiction, the social cost of spice is considerable. And, it's paid mostly by those most vulnerable. All so a handful of privileged people can snort or smoke or inject a drug to temporarily relieve them of their petty problems. Nestor has no sympathy for their predicament.
"Let's make sure we kill this kingpin guy," he tells Kylo when the topic arises in planning. "I don't care if it will only increase the market share for the others. It's something."
"Someday, we'll kill them all," Kylo promises grimly. It's the first inkling that maybe Kylo will find something to fight for other than his own vendetta.
The Knights will face a real defense for the first time in this upcoming raid. They take along several squads of stormtroopers to assist. But with the element of surprise, heavy weaponry, and overwhelming force, the raid is over fast. The First Order wins decisively. That gives Nestor an opportunity to witness Kylo's Dark justice.
As Omar and Carlos supervise the stormtroopers bagging up the loot, Kylo orders the remaining defenders rounded up for execution. It turns out to be a mix of household servants and gang thugs. The servants are all slaves, they soon realize, with the distinctive slave collar explosive implants in their necks to mark their status. Kylo digests this news and decides to kill the thugs but spare the slaves. After all, they didn't volunteer for this work and they certainly didn't profit from it. Still, this Sith's mercy has a price: Kylo gives the slaves an offer they cannot refuse: join the First Order and be freed, or die loyal to their gang master. Choose to live like a patriot insurgent or choose to die like a criminal. Every single man and woman, of all ages, takes Kylo up on his offer. He then proceeds to pile all twenty-four house servants onto the trooper transports for the trip back to the Finalizer.
The move surprises everyone. And not in a good way. "Wait—so we are freeing slaves now?" Carlos confronts his boss. "This has nothing to do with Luke Skywalker."
"We're freeing slaves. You got a problem with that?" Kylo challenges softly.
Nestor gives Carlos a warning look. He sees the belligerence in Kylo's eyes. This is not a fight Carlos should pick.
The Knight backs down, raising his hands in defeat. "Alright. Your call, boss."
"Bring me the haul," Kylo orders curtly. Then he closets himself in the shuttle's main lounge area while the rest of the dubious Knights head for the crew quarters.
It's where Nestor finds Kylo an hour later. "Did we get anything good?" he asks casually.
"There's a Sith saber here," Kylo answers. He's turning the sword hilt over in his hands thoughtfully as he speaks.
"Yeah? Whose sword was that?"
"I don't know. Maybe Maul's brother. But it's mine now. I'm going to make a new saber with the crystal. It's cracked, but it still works. Your dad is right. I need a red sword."
"Yeah . . . sounds good." Nestor wonders who Maul is. And who Maul's brother is, for that matter. But he doesn't ask. Because Nestor thinks he knows what has prompted Kylo's sudden need for a new sword. "I heard those guys shouting 'Jedi' at you during the raid."
Kylo scowls. "I'm no Jedi."
"Well, now, you'll have the sword to prove it," Nestor reasons. He slants wary eyes at his boss and hazards more on the topic. "You know, it wasn't just the sword that confused them. It was what you did. Freeing slaves is kinda Jedi, Kylo."
"No, it's not."
Kylo stands now and lights the sword from the unknown Sith. "Looks short for you," Nestor observes offhand.
"Yeah, it is." Kylo turns it off. He tosses it aside and sits back down grumpily. That label 'Jedi' had clearly hit home. "The Jedi didn't free slaves," he grouses. "They talked a good game about freedom, equality, and justice. They claimed fight for the downtrodden and the oppressed. But in the end, they did what all institutions do: they reinforced the status quo to achieve their own aims and protect their position. The Jedi rarely stood up to the Senate. They weren't the conscience of the Republic like they claimed to be. Mostly," Kylo gripes, "their moral authority was rampant hypocrisy."
This is vintage Kylo, Nestor has come to understand. The guy has strong, well informed opinions on history, but it's all filtered through a very cynical lens.
Kylo is aggressively defensive about the slaves. Nestor doesn't even need to ask. Kylo goes right there. "Slavery has supposedly been abolished for decades now, but there are de facto slaves everywhere in the Rim. The New Republic knows it, too. Someone doesn't have to own legal title to your body to make you a slave. You got an explosive chip in your neck? Then, you're a slave. It doesn't matter what the law says."
Nestor nods his agreement to this wisdom.
"So, yeah, I'm freeing slaves. Because I'm better than those bureaucrats in Hosnia who can't do shit without six committee meetings and an oversight panel. And I'm not reading any spice lord his civil rights before I arrest him. He gets my sword, the same as all the rest of his criminal underlings. But his slaves go free. Because they are his victims. Because they are the New Republic's victims."
"Amen to that," Nestor concurs. He starts absently looking over the haul of relics and a long silence falls.
Kylo breaks it when he abruptly volunteers, "Vader was a slave."
"Really?" Nestor puts down the artifact he is holding. Nestor is shocked by this reveal. Truly shocked. Because wasn't Vader supposed to be Snoke's son?
Kylo must see the question in his face because he starts explaining. "My grandfather was born to an enslaved mother in the Rim. Some passing Jedi recognized his talent and bought him at age ten. He took him to Coruscant to see the Jedi Council for special permission to be trained so late."
Nestor squints at this news. "Snoke didn't intervene?"
"No. He was still in exile."
"Oh."
Kylo resumes the tale. "Vader went from being property of a junkshop owner to being property of the Jedi. The Jedi freed him but they never bothered to free his mother. I'm sure that was intentional. The Jedi wouldn't have wanted them to have any contact. No attachments and all . . ." Kylo makes a face.
Now Nestor understands why Kylo did what he did today. Freeing those spice kingpin's slaves wasn't a political act, it was a personal decision. Because in the face of each of those men and women, he probably saw the face of his fearsome grandfather. And but for the whim of a passing Jedi, Kylo might be a slave himself.
"It's kinda ironic, you know . . . My mother was raised a princess but her father and grandmother were slaves. I sometimes wonder if that is part of why she could never understand Vader's ambitions. My mother was raised the elite of the Core and her father grew up the lowest caste of the Rim. The only thing Vader had going for him was the Force. Is it any wonder that the powerless slave boy grew up to be a Sith?" Kylo laments. He pins Nestor with his eyes and his long face is intense. "No one understands power—no one craves power—like the truly powerless."
"That's the appeal of the First Order in a nutshell," Nestor realizes aloud as he stares back at his boss. "Harnessing the discontent in the Rim to overthrow the Republic."
Kylo nods. "Snoke knows what he's doing. This isn't the first revolution he's plotted. Nothing he does is accidental. Never forget that."
When the shuttle arrives back at the ship, the Knights are greeted like returning heroes, as usual. The troopers from the mission file out first with the rest of the personnel and the Knights. Kylo appears last, of course. He removes his helmet and smirks openly at his nemesis Colonel Hux who has been commanded to await him in the hangar bay with the ceremonial assembly.
"I bring you more recruits to fight the Republic," Kylo announces glibly.
Colonel Hux glances past him to the group of Crimson Dawn slaves. "Those aren't prisoners?"
"No. They are the newest members of the First Order."
Hux frowns as he spies the distinctive half-moon mark on the wrist of one man standing at the forefront of the group. Nestor watches as the Colonel strides past Kylo to grab the man's arm for a better look. Then, he drops it with disdain. "You have brought us gang members? Really, Ren," Hux huffs.
Kylo ignores him and begins issuing orders. "Several are injured. Get them cleaned up and remove their slave collars. Find them something productive to do. They are free men and women now."
The Colonel isn't going for it. He challenges, "You were supposed to steal Jedi relics, not free slaves."
Kylo shrugs. "The enemy of your enemy is your friend, or haven't you heard?"
The Colonel bristles at this condescension. "We are not some social service organization to rehabilitate criminals or criminal's slaves. How do we know that these people can even be trusted?"
"We don't. But they have nowhere else to go and they could be useful. So make them loyal." Kylo now shoots his chief hater a sardonic look. "Isn't this the point of your crusade—helping the poor and restoring law and order? Who's the hero today, Hux?" he goads.
"What do we do with these people?" the man sputters out his dismay.
"I don't know. I don't care. That's your problem," Kylo answers as he walks away from the fuming Colonel. This young Sith Lord's magnanimity has clear limits, it seems.
But this is how it starts, Nestor thinks silently. Very few people are politically minded because they like politics. Most people become political because of their personal experiences. Because they want to right wrongs, to redress injustice, and to make things the way they want them to be. Just like no one ever starts out thinking that they are extreme. They think they are justified.
Watching the arrogant, cynical kid stalking away with 'Vader Lives' tattooed on his wrist beneath his glove, Nestor thinks that the First Order might be Kylo's cause after all. He just doesn't know it yet. Because this isn't going to end with him killing the Jedi. Whatever the grudge match with Luke Skywalker is about, the legacy of Darth Vader is more important. Nestor thinks Snoke knew exactly what he was doing when he gave his Apprentice the ancestral castle. Kylo said it himself: everything his Master does is intentional.
