The First Order's Coruscant safe house is located in the Mid Levels on the edge of a rundown residential district that abuts a lot of warehouses. Ostensibly, it's a boarding house. In reality, it is a haven for Snoke's many operatives who come and go to do his bidding on the Republic's original capital world. But tonight, it is the scene of an unofficial rave.
At this time of night, there is minimal speeder traffic and there are few pedestrians. Kylo parks the police speeder in an empty warehouse parking lot and everyone troops towards the sounds of thumping music.
"Hey! You there! Let's see some identification!" It's Static goofing around, pranking Kylo at the door. That joke never gets old, apparently. Drunk Omar pops his head over Static's shoulder, waves his hand and pretends to use the Force. "You're all clear, boss," he declares before he heads off in the direction of a squealing woman.
Kylo rolls his eyes, Rafe chortles at the humor, and he grunts. Beside him, Cessily Ono says nothing.
As they walk inside, Rafe and Kylo immediately and very conveniently disappear. That leaves him alone with his dream girl. And since he's the only other person Cesi knows in the vicinity, she doesn't look eager to leave his side. In fact, she's standing a bit close, like she's anticipating the need for protection. She's far from relaxed as she hovers uncertainly on the party's threshold.
"Who are these people?" she asks.
"Embedded spies and local sympathizers."
"Everyone looks young."
"The Order is young."
Snoke's movement has few gray hairs. Many of the Imperial elites perished in the prolonged bloody aftermath of Endor. So, the Leader set about recruiting a new generation to his cause. The New Republic can't seem to fathom why the old Empire might appeal to a new generation. They don't see how frustrated young people are as they struggle to chart their future. The gating issue to so many of life's big milestones—be they marriage, home ownership, or children—all require some degree of economic stability. That's why the Order's message of opportunity resonates strongly among the younger set, especially in the Rim. But there are underground Core contrarians who reject the New Republic's orthodoxy as well. They operate in a shadowy network of young professional groups and social circles. And tonight, they are out in full force to party at the safe house.
"You want a beer?" Nestor offers as he heads for the nearest keg.
"No, thanks." She declines, like he knew she would. This girl probably doesn't drink beer. She's strictly the champagne and cocktails type, he figures.
"It's really loud in here."
"What?" she asks.
"I said it's really loud in here."
"What?"
"Come on," he tugs her forward through two crowded living rooms back into the makeshift kitchen area. Here things are considerably less loud. He can still feel the beat of the music thumping in his chest, but he can at least hear himself think. "That's better. Jonar's DJ-ing and he likes his beats loud."
"Will the neighbors call the cops?" she worries.
"If they do, it will be fine. Kylo will handle it."
"He'll kill them?" she gapes.
"No. He'll trick them with the Force."
"Oh. Right," she answers, clearly bewildered by his meaning but pretending otherwise.
It's still early for a party like this. Everyone is arriving and they are mostly assembled upfront where the liquor is. Few have made it back into the kitchen yet where the greasy pizza boxes are piled high. In his experience, every party invariably ends up in the kitchen at some point. So you might as well stake your claim to a spot. This kitchen has the benefit of an open table and chairs. It's perfect for the low key tete-a-tete he has in mind. So when Cesi takes a seat, he takes a seat beside her. It's a decent set up for a conversation even if they're facing out and not towards each other. For she's watching the room and not him.
It's not all bad. He gets to admire her lovely profile. This girl's all high cheekbones and pouty lips. Her face manages to be both elegant and sexy. But, unfortunately, her body language is stiff and jumpy. This Coruscant socialite is far outside her normal comfort zone.
Who talks first? Does he talk first? She beats him to it. "Where are you from?"
He tells her his home world. It's clear she's never heard of it. Which is not surprising, all things considered.
"Is that in the Rim?"
"Mid Rim."
"Of course." She smiles apologetically. "I'm not so good with geography. How did you get into the First Order?" she tries to make conversation.
"My dad was a veteran. I guess you could say I was raised for this."
"You're an Imperial Exile?"
"I guess. But it's not what you're thinking. My dad wasn't an admiral or an ambassador. He was a stormtrooper."
"Wow. Like an enlisted man?"
"No. Conscripted." Dad got drafted but unexpectedly found his focus and his purpose in the army. To hear him tell it, Dad was a screwup kid going nowhere until the Empire called him up. He matured fast in the 501st. He's been grateful ever since for those life skills and experiences.
She's looking to him for more, so he adds, "After the war, Dad moved on with his life. But not with his politics."
"He was bitter?"
Nestor considers. "In some ways, yes. But he channeled all that frustration into hope for the future."
That comment earns him a skeptical look. "I didn't think Leader Snoke is big on hope."
"Then you're not listening," he schools her affably. "Snoke is our best hope for change that brings real opportunity."
"So you are a true believer?" she surmises. "Not a conscript like your father?"
He owns it. "Yeah, you could say that."
"I guess you'd have to be a true believer to do what you do," she answers softly. Then, she thinks better of it. "Sorry. That came out wrong . . . "
"It's alright. We heard how you feel back at your house."
She doesn't deny it. She just changes the topic away from the Order. "Where'd you go to school? Someplace local?"
"It was one of the Order academies."
"So no university?"
"No. I wish I had gotten some college in," he admits. It's really going to limit him long term, he fears.
"Why didn't you go?"
He tells the truth. "It seemed like an awful risk to take out all those student loans for an uncertain job. Especially if I was going to end up in the Order anyway."
"Snoke doesn't pay well?" she cracks a smile.
He smiles back sheepishly. "The Knights get paid in glory and holonet clicks." And in beer back at the Finalizer.
"It's strange," she observes as she continues watching the room. "You're famous but also anonymous in those helmets."
That's intentional. "Anonymous is why we get to come to Coruscant." There is facial recognition software everywhere on the street cameras on Core worlds.
"Yeah, and I guess you don't want everyone knowing who your young ringleader with the sword really is . . . "
His eyes narrow. But he pays it cool. "That's right."
She meets his gaze and confirms what he suspects. She knows. "He's Ben Solo, isn't he? Leia Organa's kid who supposedly died at Jedi camp years ago?"
He follows her eyes across the room to where Kylo now stands against a wall nursing a beer and scarfing down pizza.
Nestor gives a non-answer. "He's Kylo Ren."
She takes that as confirmation. Then, she connects the dots for him. "It's how he knows Rafe, I suppose. Years ago, when we were all kids, we knew him. They sent him off, I remember. His mother was still in the Senate in those days."
"Wait—you guys all know each other?" Nestor squints with surprise.
"Not really. It's more like we know of each other," she amends. "There are billions of people on Coruscant, but the Upper Level is a pretty small world. Especially for the Senators' kids. And only one of them had the Force that I can remember." She muses aloud now, "We all went to the same schools. To this day, we all know the same people and we all go to the same places . . . We're a lot alike. I guess I assumed we all thought alike too until Rafe joined the Order . . . "
She frowns across at the currently unassuming and voraciously munching Kylo. "It must be awkward being Senator Organa's kid and Luke Skywalker's nephew when you're First Order." She looks to him curiously. "Is it some kind of rebellion? Oh, wait, bad pun," she groans. Then, she reconsiders, "I guess not. If he was rebelling, he wouldn't wear the mask. He'd want everyone to know who he is."
"Very few people know who he is," Nestor tells her pointedly with a quelling look. Is she getting the hint? She is.
"I'm not about to put it on the holonet, if that's what you're worried about," she quickly assures him. "His secret is safe with me. And since you know where I live and where my brother works . . . " She never completes the implied threat, but he gets the gist. She's intimidated. "I'm not stupid, you know. I know how you Order people work."
"You must be good with faces," Nestor thinks out loud, "to remember some younger kid you barely knew from grade school."
"Oh, I'm good with people. I never forget a face. It's sort of my job to know who people are from across the room," she explains. "Plus, he's pretty distinctive. He hasn't changed much."
"Yeah, I could see that." Kylo's all wild hair, big ears, and long nose.
"Those masks you guys wear are really something. Is he trying to hide from his family legacy, do you think?"
"It's complicated," Nestor sighs, not really wanting to get into it.
Again, she takes the hint. She stops speculating about Kylo, but her mind remains on the deception. She's intrigued. "You know, around here everyone is trying to be famous. Everyone is developing their brand and staying on trend. It's not just the fashion world I'm in. It's everyone. From individuals with their careers to corporations shilling products. Politicians do it angling for votes and charitable causes do it to attract credits. Everyone has a holonet image strategy and a social media presence."
He nods. He's not surprised.
"In PR, we call it 'selling the lie' because none of it is as effortless and casual as it looks." She leans in to confide, "Here on Coruscant everyone tries hard. Really hard. But the worst sin is to be caught doing it."
"I don't understand."
"To be cool, you have to pretend that you don't try and you only kinda care."
He's still not following. "Why is it a bad thing to want something enough to work for it?"
"Oh, we do. But we don't let on."
"I still don't get it," he grumbles.
She responds with a knowing look. "Hang around here long enough and you will. This place is super competitive. People don't just want to be the best, they want to look like they don't have to try to be the best." With a jaded ennui that belies her young age, Cessily Ono assures him, "Everything here is curated and edited and very contrived. It's all intended for an audience, trust me. That's why it's so different to meet people who want to hide."
"Cesi? Cessily Ono?" A woman's voice now exclaims from across the room. Up walks a nice looking brunette to say hello. "It is you! How are you?"
"Er . . . hi Carla." Cessily Ono looks embarrassed to be caught at an Order party.
Her friend mistakes her unease. "Oh, it's okay. You're among friends. Don't worry. I was hoping Rafe would bring you in the loop. How are you? Are you still at Mode?"
"Yes. Still there."
"Good. I was worried that because of Rafe—"
"They were okay with it. Surprised, but okay. Carla Tracker, this is Nes—"
"Nestor Flick."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Carla and I were school chums," Cesi supplies.
"Chapin, not Brearley," her friend tells him, like that should mean something to him. "Cesi was the social butterfly. I was the nerdy type," the friend volunteers blithely. "Still am," she admits with an endearing, self-effacing smile. She turns back to Cessily. "I read your social diary faithfully every week. It's great. You have such a knack for capturing the pulse of the Upper Level."
"Thanks. It's fun and it passes the time," Cesi downplays her work, which he now knows is the appropriate Coruscant response.
"Well, if you ever need someone to call for a soft opening or a gallery party, you look me up. I'm available."
"Absolutely," Cesi nods and neither woman seems to believe that response.
"So have you heard?" the brunette leans in to confide, "the Knights of Ren are here tonight." She squeals and claps her hands in girlish joy at this news. "Can you believe it? Here in Coruscant? How daring!"
Cesi plays dumb at this starstruck enthusiasm. "Which ones are they?"
"Those two over there, for sure." She nods in the direction of Omar and Carlos who are rifling through pizza boxes. "And that cute one beside them who just walked in, I think," she covertly signals to quiet Pedro. "The one talking to the tall dorky kid with the nose."
"Who's the tall kid?" Cesi asks innocently, knowing full well it's Kylo Ren.
"Who cares? He's no Knight," the fangirl friend declares, gushing, "I love that they are called knights. It's so romantic. They're making the galaxy great again for all of us."
"So Carla," Cesi probes casually, "How did you get to be one of . . . er . . . us?"
"My fiancé. Oh Cesi, you've got to meet him. He's Rim but in a good way. The family is in munitions."
"So naturally they're pro First Order," Cesi reasons aloud.
"Yes. We met when I got assigned to the negotiating team for their bridge loan. We flirted over high yield covenants," Carla giggles. "It was love by the time we got to the default clauses."
"So you're still at the bank?"
"For now."
"Right—just until kids."
"No, just until the war. We're going to wait until after the war for kids."
Cesi doesn't miss a beat. "Of course," she offers blithely with a toss of her hair. As if every young couple she knows has that life plan.
"Come, I want you to meet my man."
Cesi smiles his direction and murmurs, "Excuse me," as her friend tugs her up out of her seat and across the room.
He gets up to talk to Kylo now. After a few minutes, they nonchalantly wander together into the next room. That's where Cesi is standing in a circle of people who are Order sympathizers she apparently knows. Her brother comes over to join them. It's a reunion of sorts. Using all the skills he honed for the Intel career he'll never have, Nestor hangs with silent Kylo watching from across the room.
Cesi's back on her game now, he assesses. Standing confident and speaking with animation. Flashing that bewitching smile from time to time. She's making a very convincing show that she's happy to be here tonight and completely fine with the First Order politics it implies. He watches as she side hugs friends hello, accepts a kiss on the cheek, and laughs out loud at someone's jokes. She's being charming by acting like she's charmed by everyone she meets. That it all comes off so effortlessly loose makes him blink. For he knows the full context of this pretense.
This must be Cessily Ono, the social lioness, whose practiced poise and natural charisma belie her youth. She morphs into her ebullient life-of-the-party, center-of-attention self with a practiced ease that is truly impressive. Moreover, she manages to do it without being off-putting. Watching the others who surround her, Nestor doesn't detect any resentment or jealousy. Everyone seems happy to be in this delightful young woman's orbit. Ironically, he detects there's something almost validating for these people to see her in their midst.
These are true skills, Nestor thinks to himself. Smooth Cesi Ono ought to be a politician someday. She'd be great at it.
"Make any headway?" Kylo breaks his determined silence.
"Nope." He takes another sip of beer.
"She seemed happy to talk to you for a while."
"That was before she found other people she knew," he sighs. This is his big chance and he worries he's blowing it. But he doesn't want to be too aggressive. She already fears he's the brutish type thanks to his Order politics. Coming on too strong will only confirm her worst fears. She needs to be into him of her own volition.
After a bit, when he's watched long enough to feel like a stalker, he and Kylo refresh their beers and wander back into the kitchen for some cold pizza. And that's when she walks back in. Cessily Ono saunters over to the open chair she sat in earlier and slumps down.
"Is it okay if I hide in here again?" she asks as he walks up. She actually looks like she's asking permission. All her laughing, hands-on-hips confidence is gone. She's back to appearing like she feels out of place.
"Sure," he answers as he reseats himself. "Any time, babe."
"Has it been two hours yet?"
He shakes his head.
She groans aloud and raises a hand to her forehead. "Two hours can't come fast enough."
That's his cue to get her talking to cheer her up. "So . . . did you always want to be social columnist?" he improvises.
It works. They start up a conversation and this time, she's actually looking at him. "I assumed I would go into PR. You know, one of the big firms with corporate clients. But I did a summer internship stint at Mode and they gave me the blog to play around with. It was a hit, so it landed me a permanent position. Since it was Mode, I really couldn't refuse. I mean, it's Mode. They set the standard for everything in fashion."
He pretends that this is news to him. But in fact, he's been lurking in her blog feed for months now. "So, you go to parties for a living? And then write about them?"
"Yes," she grins. She's proud but also a bit sheepish he senses. "I also do some consulting on the side for one of the big events companies in town. I go to a lot of parties, so I know a bit about planning fundraising galas. It's all uncredited, of course. No ball chair wants to confess that she's out of ideas, especially the grande dames. My actual title is tastemaker. Isn't that hilarious?" And actually, she sounds proud. This must be more of the Coruscant habit of downplaying things through the perpetual humblebrag.
She continues, "I think long term, I may try to position myself as a lifestyle brand. But I'm years from that. I need to build a full social resume first. But maybe in ten or fifteen years . . . we'll see." Notwithstanding that blasé attitude, she's clearly thought about it a lot. She confides, "The trick is keeping it Upper Level but chic, not stuffy. No down-market associations or accessible licensed products. Gotta keep it strictly A-list. Not like those holonet actresses who age out of ingenue roles and get themselves a daytime talk show or cookware lines." She shudders. "It's so . . . so . . ."
"Mid Rim?" he guesses.
"I was going to say basic, but yes." She shrugs. "You said it, I didn't."
He gets it—she's selling an image. And since it's an image he's fallen for completely, he thinks she's got a good plan. Back where he's from, most people work industrial jobs making things. But not Cessily Ono. She works a job that makes people gawk with envy and feel bad about themselves by comparison. It's sort of quintessentially Coruscant. She's hawking a young, beautiful, impeccably credentialed, and upwardly mobile lifestyle that few can emulate but everyone wants.
She scans the crowd again. The kitchen has filled up again. "My life is planning parties, going to parties, and writing about parties. I'm a party girl. But I never thought I would find myself at this party."
"These people aren't so bad."
"Is that your way of pointing out that no one's died yet?"
Ouch. He shifts in his seat at her tart tone. "Look, tonight is supposed to be fun. It's a break from all that heavy stuff." He catches her eye and tells her, "You should know that there are plenty of days when I don't like my job."
That sort of mollifies her. She does that thing girls do when they peek sideways at you from behind a lock of hair in their face. It's one part peekaboo and one part smolder. Damn, if it doesn't make his heart skip a beat. He can just imagine what all that blonde hair would feel like spilling across his chest.
The moment is fleeting and she's back to critiquing the party. "It's been a while since I've been to a kegger," she volunteers. "And I can't remember ever being at a party where no one snaps pictures. But I guess no one's taking selfies with traitors."
"I'm not a traitor to my Empire," he huffs.
"Sorry. That came out wrong. I guess you think I'm really frivolous."
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to," she retorts. She's defensive. "I'm the vapid socialite. The Senator's daughter who's killing time before marriage by leveraging her Daddy's connections and Upper Level social set. And I get it," she freely admits, "my life is pretty plush. Look, I was never the type who wanted to spend my summer vacation doing mission trips on developing worlds. I mean, I'll make a donation to charity to pay for someone else to do that, but I'd rather be here."
"You're a city girl."
"Yes. And I never had much zeal to right the wrongs of the galaxy. I leave that to my brother. Rafe was always the serious one when we were growing up." Clearly, she's very troubled by what she perceives as her brother's exile. Whereas Rafe Ono himself seems completely fine with his decision. "When I initially found out he was mixed up with you guys, I wasn't all that surprised. Maybe it's some rebelliousness, but it's mostly altruism. Noblesse oblige, if you will."
He doesn't know what that means. Nestor just nods.
"I never suspected Daddy was involved. You know, he's pretty high up in the New Republic. I guess that makes him a very valuable spy . . . "
He tries to calm her fears. "Your father's in good company. Snoke has loyalists everywhere. They're in the New Republic, in big corporations and media outlets here and elsewhere, in the banking clan on Muunilinst—pretty much everywhere."
"That's scary."
"Why?"
"It makes me think you're going to win."
"We will win." Once they get Starkiller Base up and running, that is.
She challenges, "How can you be sure?"
He tells her what he truly believes: "There will be a tipping point. Things will coalesce and that's when it will happen. If people like your father can recognize already that the Order can win, then in time others will fall in line." Especially once Hosnia is reduced to space dust. No one will dare oppose Snoke then. Fear will keep the local systems—and the Core worlds—in line.
But Cessily Ono doesn't know that. "Is that because everyone wants to be a winner?" she asks, trying to understand.
He warns her sternly, "In war, you never want to be the loser." Especially when the winner has the Starkiller weapon and is prepared to use it.
His message gets through. She looks down, seemingly cowed for the first time. "I'll remember that."
He's scaring her, he sees. So, he tries to put an optimistic spin on things. "Change is coming. It may be hard to sense here in the Core where things are good, but if you could see what I have seen, you would understand why people flock to our cause."
"Daddy says things are bad."
"They are," he confirms.
"I saw the pictures from Ibaar. The starving children with the distended bellies . . . "
"Yeah, that was awful. The Senate called it a local problem and complained that it was economic mismanagement. Maybe it was in part. But the Republic abdicated responsibility. They were fine to let people starve to death when tariffs made basic foodstuffs out of reach for everyday people." He shakes his head and complains, "The Republic wouldn't even let humanitarian relief in. Did you know that? They said it was a scheme to circumvent the tariff laws and some judge on Hosnia slapped an injunction on the Order's aid workers."
"I didn't know that."
"I'm not surprised. The mainstream media didn't cover it," he gripes.
"Why don't you enact your change at the ballot box?" she presses. "Why not change things from within?"
That sounds reasonable, but it's a non-starter. "The Imperial remnant faction in the Order will not tolerate that sort of thing."
"They want revenge?"
"Yes. Snoke plans to give it to them. It's a strategic call as well. Snoke doesn't want to deal with democracy at the inter-system level. It's too inefficient."
She's confused. "But aren't there some systems who have First Order affiliated candidates?"
"Yes. In the Outer Rim where the New Republic is particularly weak. They'd never permit that in the Core, but the Republic lets it slide on the edge of the galaxy where they pretty much ignore things anyway."
"First Order candidates would never get elected in the Core," she maintains.
"You're probably right." It's why Snoke gave up on his initial plan of making the Order a political party. With seats in the Senate apportioned mostly by population, even if Snoke controlled all of the Rim systems politically, he would still be out-voted. By design, the liberal Core has a political stranglehold on the New Republic.
His fervent words have put her even more on the defensive. She looks down. "I guess you think I'm selfish because I don't care much about those things . . ."
"No, not at all," he answers honestly. "I think you're someone who's lucky enough to have been insulated from it."
"Yes," she confirms, "I have been."
She looks thoughtful for a moment. He senses that he's seeing a side to this girl that few see. She's not even bothering to put on her cool girl act for him. That's a good thing, he decides. It lets him see that she's self-aware enough to recognize the ludicrous aspects of her life even if she benefits from them as the young queen bee of the Upper Level social set. He worried that in person, she would be a narcissistic bitch. He's relieved she's not. Cessily Ono is only superficially superficial, he's learning.
"You haven't looked at your comlink," she observes after a bit of a lull. "Don't you need to look at your comlink?"
Huh? "No need. My boss and coworkers are all here."
She seems to think that response is novel. "I've never seen a guy who didn't spend half the night on his comlink. I've had entire dinners with guys on their comlinks, messaging away." It clearly irks her. "No one's really in the moment here. They're always looking ahead to the next big thing. On Coruscant, everyone's looking to better deal, especially with dates. You can get ditched an hour in when they text some other girl and she accepts. By dessert, they have already traded up."
"Really?" She sounds like she speaks from experience and that's astounding to him. Why would anyone ditch this girl? Could she be exaggerating?
"Oh, definitely," she correctly reads his dubious expression. "Even I get dumped for another girl who's a sure thing. I think that's why no one gets married until their thirties anymore. Few people want to commit until they have to," she sighs.
"Your friend is getting married," he points out, thinking of the cute brunette.
"Yes. To some guy from the Rim. Rim guys are the marrying types. But not Core guys. Playing the field is kind of an art form here. Dating is brutal."
"So you want to get married someday?" He asks this casually when in fact he's very interested.
She shrugs. "Doesn't everyone? I mean, whether they admit it or not, everyone wants to find someone to love. Maybe start a family when the time is right."
"That's my plan," he affirms.
She teases, "Is that your way of saying your intentions are honorable?"
"Absolutely." He cocks his head and makes a half serious offer. "So, what do you say? Let's get married."
She laughs. "That's very Rim of you."
"Yep."
She turns him down. "You can't afford me. I'm expensive. Not to mention that you would be social suicide."
He doesn't take offense. "That bad, eh?"
She fixes him with a pointed look. "I just barely survived after Rafe was splashed across the newsfeeds for two weeks. If I married some First Order Knight, I would be cancelled for sure." She makes a face. "This place is full of haters."
"So we'd have to keep it a secret," he walks through the scenario.
She pretends to consider. "I guess it could be romantic. Me here on Coruscant with the decadent Core types while you are wherever you hide in the Rim plotting to destroy it all." She warms to her fanciful theme now. It's the closest she's come to flirting all night. With a wry smile, she continues, "You marching around with all that black fabric and menace getting photographed in a mask. Me as undercover Mrs. First Order photographed at all the best parties with no one the wiser. We'd both lead a double life."
"We're not destroying things, we're making the galaxy great again," he protests her characterization.
She snorts. "Coruscant is already great. It can't go anywhere but down."
"So, what do you say?" He low key presses just to see how she reacts. Because is she into him at all? He honestly can't tell. So, he posits lightly, "Ready to commit?
"I can't even commit to your politics," she sighs, shooting him a look, "let alone being the star-crossed couple of the galaxy. Is your next line going to be 'let's start the honeymoon tonight?'"
"Would it work?"
She chuckles as she admonishes, "I am way out of your league, Knight."
"Yep," he agrees affably, leaning in to confide, "I won't mind if you won't mind."
She rolls her eyes. But she also smiles. "So . . . has it been two hours yet?"
"Just about."
"Good. I'll go get Rafe to take me home. I need to think. And if I stay here any longer, someone important might show up to spot me."
Nestor doesn't protest. The realization that the First Order has recruited not just her little brother, but also her much admired and beloved father, has rocked this girl's world. The people she considers zealots and killers now include the men closest to her. She's struggling to process what that means. It's a big point in her favor, actually. Because if Cessily Ono was truly a self-absorbed, flighty party girl, she wouldn't care so much. Instead, she seems intensely bothered.
Cesi gets up and goes in search of her brother. Nestor watches from across the room as an argument ensues between siblings. Rafe wants to stay. She wants to go. And all things considered, she's been a good sport about tonight, Nestor thinks. She wins the argument—something tells him Cessily Ono wins most of her arguments—and Rafe goes in search of Kylo to make an exit plan.
Kylo too is ready to decamp. He gathers the Knights and they depart in the two police speeders.
It's a short ride to the Upper Levels when you have the Apprentice at the controls. They get back to the Ono apartment first. Rafe, who's in the other speeder, hasn't arrived yet.
"Flick, go walk her to the door," Kylo orders. "We told the Senator we'd keep her safe." He says it as gruffly as possible, but the other guys ruin it by smirking. Everyone knows what Kylo's planning. He's angling for him to get a goodbye moment alone with his dream girl.
This is his moment to salvage the evening. To end things on a positive note and make a good impression. So he hands Cesi out of the speeder and walks her to the terrace adjacent to the Ono's private landing pad. Nervous as he tries to ignore the watching eyes, Nestor blurts out, "I want to see you again." He wants to see her when she isn't preoccupied by an emotional scene with her family beforehand. When she's had some time to process it all and doesn't automatically resent anyone who has Order allegiance.
But she's not going for it. Her forlorn face looking away says it all.
He persists, stepping close and reaching for her arm to get her full attention. "I want to see you again." All he wants is a second chance. "Please . . ."
Her head whips around along with a cloud of blonde hair. Her blue, blue eyes lock with his. It's a moment fraught with as much tension as nearness. In another situation, this posture might be a prelude to a kiss. This might be the moment before he makes his move. But he's not fool enough to try that now.
Her voice is low and husky from emotion. "You guys have ruined my brother's life. Maybe my father's too. What makes you think I'll let you ruin mine?" Before he can answer, she continues. "I put up with this for one evening, but I won't make it a habit."
Maybe another guy would be angered by that attitude, but he likes her like this. Candid and unfiltered. Telling him what she thinks and not laughing things off as she tosses her hair in her normal alpha girl routine. He saw that act with others tonight and he didn't like it.
"I want to see you again."
He searches her face for encouragement. This is the nearest he's been to her all night. Her allure is considerable, especially when she looks this vulnerable. All that cocksure rich bitch poise has deserted her. And maybe, that's the opening he needs.
"You don't know it yet, but I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you." Did that come out creepy? He doesn't want to sound creepy.
She challenges, "Is that a fact?"
"It's a promise," he answers softly. He, together with her brother and father, can help her navigate all the upheaval Snoke has planned. But that's years from now. "I want to see you again. You won't regret it."
She blows him off. "You're trying too hard. Didn't I tell you not to get caught trying?"
"I'm not like the guys you know."
"That's what I'm afraid of." She steps back and he drops his hand. She starts tucking her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture, as she lets him down easy. "Look, I'm sure you're a real nice guy. But why bother? We're from different worlds. You're not my type."
"What's your type?"
"Not military."
"Think of it as public service," he improvises.
The comment prompts a wan smile to tug at her lips. "Aiming to be Chancellor someday after your revolution?"
"Nah, that Kylo's job. But I'll be something."
She considers. "You know, I think you're right. But you're still not my type. And look, you should know I don't sleep around. I have to be in a relationship—"
"Same here."
"—so if that's what you're after, you need to look elsewhere." She makes a face now as she sighs. "I know this is kind of blunt. Actually, I am rarely this direct with guys. But you seem really nice, like you don't want to play games."
"I don't."
She nods. "So, I think I should be straight with you. I'm not looking to lead you on."
This is the point when Kylo would urge him to press his leverage. Kylo would tell him to condition her brother's next visit home on a date. But that's not him. Just like he doesn't want to pay girls in titty bars to lap dance, he doesn't want to maneuver Cesi Ono into romance. He wants it to be real, which means it can't be forced.
"Kiss her, Nestor!"
What the fuck? He whirls to shoot the guys in the speeder a dirty look.
She's startled and a little amused at the ill-timed interruption. "You've . . . uh . . . got a cheering squad."
"They're drunk. Ignore them."
"Kiss her!"
He can feel his face flame with embarrassment. "Those morons—"
"It's okay." Cesi Ono shrugs it off with her usual aplomb. "Here." She leans in to give him a chaste peck on the cheek. It's one of those casual, meaningless kisses sophisticated people greet each other with on Core worlds. It's also proof that he's been friend-zoned.
Behind him, the guys cheer.
Kylo starts laying on the horn.
"Incoming!" It's Rafe Ono alighting from the second stolen police speeder that arrives fast and pulls up short. "Cesi, give me a hug," he approaches to embrace his big sister. "The guys and I will be back next month on the 23rd. Mark your calendar, okay?"
"But—"
"Get in the fucking speeder!" It's Kylo's voice. He's irritated.
"Okay, okay." Rafe follows orders. "See ya, Cesi. Tell Dad I love him!" the young lawyer calls.
"Get in the fucking speeder, Flick!" Kylo sounds stressed. He's clearly lost patience for his goodbye kiss setup.
So he takes his own leave now, echoing her brother's words. "Mark your calendar." The 23rd can't come soon enough for him. "Just please give me another chance," Nestor pleads. He's not above begging at this point.
She's noncommittal as she watches him leave. Her arms are crossed and her hair is lifting slightly with the night breeze. Is she's smiling? Not really. She's very enigmatic.
As he turns to take one last look, Kylo bellows impatiently, "Get in!"
Nestor does as he is told. He slides into the open seat on the front passenger side and Kylo guns the engine to take off. The second speeder is mere seconds behind.
Kylo looks very focused. Nestor knows that expression. "Danger?"
"I'm not sure."
"Are the cops onto us?" Rafe worries from the backseat.
"Kylo can handle cops," Static chimes in. "Nothing to worry about," he assures everyone.
Rafe is unconvinced. "They might be watching my Dad's place—"
"Aww, don't sweat it. Kylo's the best pilot in the galaxy," Static declares. It's not boasting either. The guy has amazing reflexes thanks to the Force.
Kylo says nothing. He looks tense and spooked.
But scant minutes later, they are back at the docking bay where they have stashed their nondescript transport. All the guys troop up the ramp to board except Kylo who lingers outside, staring up into the Coruscant night sky.
"Is there a problem?" he asks his boss quietly.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"She's here."
"Who's here?"
"My mother."
