1/1/1 Year of the Order

"Well, that was interesting," General Kinear says to his associates as they slowly meander from the rally to Ren's throne room. They nod and murmur in agreement, all of them well aware of the fact that they are going to be gathering to talk about this, later.

They've known for a while now that something was coming. Something big.

You don't get to Kinear's level and not have an almost supernatural ability to feel the shifts in the political currents before they happen. You can'tget to Kinear's level and not have a wide and thorough group of whisper listeners scattered all throughout the organization. So, yes, he and they knew something was coming, and having gotten advanced copies of both the "Rewards for long and valued service" document, and the "Citizenship and You!" pamphlet, he's had an idea of where they were going, but…

He nods, looking old and amiable to the passersby. Yes, they are going to talk.

It has always been true that the First Order… The Order now… has had factions.

When Snoke began his mission, he didn't have enough professional talent available to him, solely loyal to him to do what he wanted to do, so he scooped up any member of the Empire willing to work for him. Since all but a handful of them had been shut out of the New Republic or were actively being hunted by it, he found recruiting easy.

A general of split loyalties and an army is more useful than no generals and no armies. And an Admiral with a fleet of ships at his command is of much greater use than no Admiral and no ships, even if said Admiral is only hanging on to find a better position from which to maneuver his own career higher.

Snoke took what he could get. After all, he had significantly more in the ways of tools at his disposal to make sure his men behaved in a manner he approved of than the average warlord.

But, by twenty years into his rise, he'd developed his own officers, loyal to him and the First Order.

This annoyed, to no end, the Imperial Officers. For several reasons, first of all, once Snoke had men he could fully depend on, he started shoving them into less and less desirable positions. And second of all, the new officers were bleeding insane.

Whatever else was true about the Empire, it was an Empire. It was huge. It spanned the entire galaxy, not the threadbare quarter of it they barely inhabit now. It had a long tradition, reaching well back into the days of the Republic of professional, sensible, functional, bureaucratic governance.

Meaning: A: Things worked. B: Yes, there were religious fanatics, Vader chief among them, but fewer than one in a thousand of them ever came within a light year of him. C: The vast size of the Empire meant most of them were comfortable in their own commands, doing their own things, never ever having to deal with anyone higher than they were on the food chain. D: Okay, sure, there was a war going on, and those Rebels could be annoying, but many of them could go entire years without ever seeing one. And E: They were trained to be professional military men, but in most cases 'professional military man' meant provisional governor who made sure their section of the galaxy functioned smoothly.

Then Hux Sr. got into Snoke's good graces and what had been a perfectly functional officer corps turned into… Land of the fanatical maniacs on a near religious crusade to purify the First Order of 'weakness' and spread it's tendrils into every centimeter of the galaxy.

A properly-trained officer, one who had gone through the Imperial Academy had, among other things, enough of his brain left to make good decisions on a decision by decision basis, and they could still weigh pros and cons of a decision and render a functional cost/benefits analysis, on the fly, when and as needed and retool their plans, mid-play, if need be.

Men who went through the Hux method had all of their subtly, middle gears, and ability to function on a non-attack level stripped away.

The Empire's men were politicians and bureaucrats. They understood that sometimes a blaster is the political tool of choice, but that words and compromise worked just as well, if not better, in most cases. Hux's men were crusaders.

And the Emperor's men knew there were uses for 'graduates' of the Hux method. Any attack that required just that, an attack. A show of blistering, overpowering, make-a-man's-knees-buckle-from-the-sheer-fear-of-what's-coming attack, they were amazing at. And any attack where every, single step had been planned out, and the plan actually worked, so each step could be followed in order, they were fabulous. No one followed orders like a Hux man.

But they couldn't, and wouldn't, retreat to save their lives. (Unless directly ordered to do so.)

And they were worth bugger all at medium and long-range tactical thinking.

And none of them knew how to build an alliance. 'Do what I say or die' summed up the entirety of their ability to compromise.

What they excelled at was killing everything in their path and taking orders, assuming said order was, 'Kill everything in your path.'

Which, basically, was the only reason the Emperor's men didn't poison more of them as they started coming into command positions. There are times and places where that's necessary, and as long as they were the senior officers and Hux Sr.'s men were the junior officers all was fine.

And then it wasn't.

There's not a man alive, left from Palpatine's day, who doesn't remember waking up and finding out that the spawn of Hux suddenly outranked them all, and that his pet, the chrome encrusted terror standing by his side, was watching his back.

And a year after that, a new black-clad ghoul in a mask showed up, with a fucking red-lightsaber by his side, and… Suddenly all of the bad things of the Empire, of what happened if you had the dumb fool luck to actually be located near the Emperor were back, and…

The ones who could leave, did. General Kinear, for example, suddenly developed an acute case of border raids upon his territory that desperately needed his immediate and personal attention, and he got the fuck out of the way. Send glowing reports of how well everything is going and stay 50,000 lightyears away from the Supreme Leader was Kinear's technique for a long and successful career. Many of the officers currently walking from the rally to Ren's throne room employed similar techniques.

Many of the ones who didn't or couldn't, died. Snoke had no intention of keeping men who may not have been entirely loyal to him a minute longer than they were necessary.

Hux Jr., who made his father look like a calm and reasonable man, took more of them out, or sent them on missions where it was clear their job was to die bravely for the cause. And he kept putting his own pets into positions of power, and within five years the officer corps had gone from 75% Imperials to 33% Imperials, and dropping.

For all the Hux method destroyed long-range tactical planning skills, it either didn't work, or wasn't fully used on Hux Jr. He had plans. Detailed plans. Carefully set up, step by step, plans. Snoke may have been, as best as any of them knew back then, immortal, but that didn't mean Hux Jr. couldn't get into a very comfortable second-in-command position.

Which he did.

With Snoke's blessing, he moved to become the "Face" of the First Order. Snoke knew he wasn't much to look at. He'd go years without letting anyone see him, but Hux was young, and strong, and handsome, he looked good in pictures and on broadcasts, and had a nice voice to go along with those classic good looks, so he could be the 'image' of the First Order.

And with his black and silver masked commanders behind him… He set exactly the right tone to keep people compliant and terrified.

Kinear remembers finding out that Starkiller had been destroyed, and praying to his god, the Force, and any and all other possible deities that might have been listening that Hux went with it. He and the rest of the Imperials who were left were fairly sure they could take care of the rest of Hux's officer class, because they could out-think and out-flank them, as long as they got rid of Hux Jr., who had the damnable combination of being a complete sociopath and paranoid and good at planning.

Sheer buggeration he didn't manage to die there.

And less than a week later the entire universe flipped over and suddenly the black clad ghoul with the lightsaber had named himself Supreme Leader Ren, which caused a new tizzy of consternation because none of them knew anything about him other than he apparently worshipped Vader and thought Hux was stupid enough to believe that the girl captive he'd brought in had disabled him, killed Snoke, and the entire Praetorian Guard, by herself, and then escaped, and just happened to leave a nifty little power vacuum for him to step into. So, other than a sigh of relief that Hux Jr. hadn't stepped into the Supreme Leader role, everyone remained nervous.

And then nervous turned into shocked whiplash. Less than three months after that, Hux was gone along with many of his supporters and the Ghoul had a name and a face, and was turning the First Order around so fast many of officer class just stood there, stunned and silent.

And now, they're mingling, in a large room, with diplomats and the Ghoul, who's vastly younger than he has any right to be, and his name is Kyloof all silly things, is standing there, talking to people about building a new fucking republic and…

And it's time, for the professional, responsible, adult members of the Order's officer class to make a plan.

So plan they will.

Kinear's been watching Ren all afternoon. Actually, he's been watching for months, since he decided that it was time to cease his interest in his border raiders and get closer to what's going on. Ren's decision to move from Starkillers to Citykillers intrigued him, got him interested in what might have been under the mask.

Among other things, there's some level of tactical training, and the understanding that bigger isn't necessarily better. Though if some of the rumors about the S—Master are true, he would have learned that lesson at his Mama's knee. Because if anyone wrote the lesson of how to do more with less, it's the Master's mother.

Watching him attempt to work the crowd, it's clear the boy has big dreams, and no idea how to get to them.

Which surprises Kinear, and leads him back to those rumors. The sort of rumors one wouldn't ever repeat, especially not anywhere within earshot of anyone else in the Fir—Order. Namely, there are whispers, that when Kylo Ren suddenly appeared, with three of what would eventually be the six Knights of Ren, before he encased himself in head to toe black, that he was dressed in the browns and tans of a Jedi.

And, it's known, among the kind of people who do things like set spies in important places and actually listen to what they had to say, that General, though back in those days she was still Senator Leia Organa-Solo had a son, who was being trained as a Jedi.

And some people, who were extremely well-paid to be exceptionally discrete about certain things, could be, if enough time had gone by and they were even better paid, cease to be discrete about certain things. They had hinted that Master Ben Solo had more dark in him than anyone was comfortable with, and by the age of eight had been personally responsible for five nannies and seven tutors more or less running away from the Organa-Solo household, and as a result had been sent off to his Uncle to train as a Jedi because that was the best hope anyone had of him not killing someone before he reached the age of ten.

Kinear doesn't actually know if those rumors are true. He knows he paid good money for them, though.

And he knows that when the Ghoul in back appeared, and called himself Kylo Ren, that Snoke made it capital offense to call him anything but. Once upon a time, Kylo Ren had a name so well known that even uttering it was high treason.

Now, maybe, in a galaxy as wide and diverse as this one, there were two Ben Solos. It's probably a common enough name. But after that, the odds of the continued similarities get awfully low.

Until today, he's never doubted those rumors, though seeing Kylo attempt to swim in these waters, he's boggled at the idea that the son of Leia Organa, who was nothing if not a competent politician raised by competent politicians, engaging in competent politics, doesn't know how to, among other things, shake hands.

As a member of the Officer Corps with more, much, much more, than twenty years of service, Kinear's gotten the, "Maybe now's a good time to retire, don't let the door slide shut on your ass on the way out," pamphlet.

It is, of course, significantly more polite than that, but he knows the writing on the wall.

He also knows that officers who've even got a shot of attempting to do the sort of thing Kylo wants to are already outnumbered, and will be leaving in droves if they take this pamphlet seriously.

Kinear, watching Kylo attempt to make small talk, and blanch visibly when one of the attendees asks him if he'd like sex, sends out a discrete communique to twenty-five hand-picked members of what used to be the Imperial Officer Corps.

No matter what, we don't retire. Unless he flat out orders it, we're staying. Pick you best men, spread the word. We don't leave.

He knows they'll talk more later, about what, exactly, they're going to do with this, but this is the closest they've been to a functional government of any sort in longer than Kylo's been alive, and he's not about to flush that away like last night's waste.

In the good days, which Kinear would define as Empire Day to about seventeen years later, when everything was going well, they had the Senate, and the Emperor, and the Army and Navy of the Empire, and it's true that things were often rough around the edges, but…

But it worked. For the majority of people on the majority of planets in the majority of systems, it worked. In most of the galaxy, the Empire was, like any good government, practically invisible. Things got done on time, everyone was secure, businesses thrived because they could work with each other across a concrete system of contracts, the monetary system was solid and stable, an Imperial credit was good everywhere, and for the most part things were good.

He's old enough he remembers the fall of the Republic. He remembers the last thirty years of the Republic. And maybe, once upon a time, long before his great-grandparents were born, because that's as far back as 'living' memory goes for him, there was a magical age of justice and peace, of prosperous traders living in harmony and everyone well-off and flourishing.

But if such a thing existed, no one he's ever spoken to saw it.

He saw a Republic grown stagnant. A fancied up debating society incapable of doing what Ren said, offering benefit to the people who lived under it. It was there to make the Senate, and the various diplomats and politicians happy. It kept them employed and busy, and to a lesser degree it kept the heads of systems content in their own power. Beyond that, the galaxy spun around it, falling apart.

Palpatine believed that it was spinning out of control, (or at least he gave speeches indicating he believed that, what he actually thought on the matter, Kinear has no idea; he made of point of never actually getting within a thousand kilometers of Palpatine.) because there was no one steering the ship. The Republic was adrift, unable to go anywhere because it had no captain.

And for seventeen years, he was the captain, and, at least to Kinear's way of thinking, everything was significantly more effective when the Senate was married to an Emperor.

Then Palpatine went crazy, too. Or his crazy finally came out. (The Death Star was always a warning sign that he wasn't quite right in the head.) And he divorced himself from the Senate, blew up an inhabited and peaceful planet, tarred all of them with the stink of genocide, and that was the final push necessary to turn what had been a nuisance "Rebellion" into a fully functional Civil War.

Kinear developed a case of border raiders then, too. Those pesky Hutts. (Okay, yes, he was paying them out of his personal accounts to raid his border. It was a win/win situation. He got to get as far away from the rest of the Empire as possible, and Drogan The Hutt had a financially lucrative way to get rid of his annoying cousins, step-siblings, and business rivals. They're still on splendid terms to this day, and often send each other useful tidbits of information as they find them.) As long as he kept his head down and kept sending in reports about taking care of those raiders, he was able to keep out of pretty much everything that followed the dissolution of the Senate.

He kept himself so far out of the fight that he was actually granted immunity from prosecution by the New Republic. Just being a member of the Empire couldn't constitute a war crime, not when it'd been democratically enacted, and no one had any proof of him violating the Republic's rules of war.

Then they generously offered him a retirement package.

And he spent an entire year retired, while the wars kicked up all around him. He tried to volunteer for the New Republic, but they decided that between his previous service and his 61 years of age, that he wasn't for them.

So he joined Snoke. He didn't care much which side won, as long as someone figured out how to run the damn thing.

He'll admit, but only to his wife, when he's in his own personal quarters, on his own personal command ship, and it's been scanned for bugs in the last hour, that maybe that wasn't the greatest idea he'd ever had.

But watching this new Master, he's thinking maybe there's a chance to salvage this.

Assuming this man with a child's manners can be taught.

Though, if the rumors about his relationship with Snoke are correct, Kinear wouldn't be shocked if Ren never wanted another teacher again.

That said, until the Jackass from Berruiin decided to up the stakes in the handshaking contest, he was at least willing to take instruction…

From someone who wants to see him succeed.

There are perks to being the Master. After four hours, Ren can leave.

Kinear and the rest of the commanders are to meet and mingle and talk to the people they invited all night.

So he talks, and mingles, and shares drinks, and acts older and drunker than he is, and… he pays attention to the guests around him.

They're intrigued. No one knows what to make of this new Master.

The Supreme Leader certainly promised law and order and a galaxy at peace. Palpatine did, too. So did the Republic, Old and New. Everyone promises peace and prosperity. Getting it is a different story.

His feel for the room is that most of the dignitaries fall into three main camps. A third of them are sticking around for whatever the shortest possible amount of time considered polite is, and then running home, and doing everything they can to make sure Ren doesn't notice them, and hopefully never puts one of his recruiting stations on their planets. It's fairly clear they do not want him upsetting their status quo, and they do notwant to try and fight him on it. They know they're massively outgunned, so their best hope is to hide.

A third of them see a young idealist who wants pretty rallies and people chanting his name with reverence. They assume he can be easily manipulated with flattery and the right charming words. They're sure they'll be able to bend him to their will and are happily plotting away, looking for how to use this new tool in the galactic political drama. Kinear has the feeling they are going to be sorely disappointed.

The final third are sure this is the same old song and dance they've seen before. Pretty pictures put on the same pile of shit. Kinear thinks this is possible, but he's got the sense they're wrong, too. He's afraid this may be pretty pictures put on an entirely new pile of shit, but he's fairly sure this won't be the same old song and dance.

A few of them, like him, are recognizing they're on the cusp of real change. It's maybe ten percent of the group, and of that ten percent half of them are terrified. They already understand where this might go and how it will topple the power structures on a planetary level, which will ripple up the command chain, something neither the Empire nor the Republic sought to do.

Hell, as he thinks about it, even the Rebellion didn't try this. Instead of a bottom up change, they took the bottom and then tried to take out the top with it. With varying levels of success. If Ren keeps doing what he's doing with his recruiting stations, he'll just take the bottom, use it for his own purposes, and leave the top to figure out how to function without it.

The final five percent, of which he considers himself one, are seeing that this is the chance many of them have been waiting for. This might, actually, finally, be someone who can really, truly rule this galaxy. Someone with big ideas to guide the ship, and a willingness to marry that to the power that comes from billions, if not trillions of voices agreeing to go there.

Kinear's not drunk. He looks it, and often does at gatherings like this, people will tell an amiable drunk things they wouldn't normally, but he hasn't been drunk in decades, though the almost giddy feeling that goes with the idea of what they could do with this does feel a bit like it.

First watch is wrapping up when the 'reception' finally dies.

Eight generals and six admirals, all the members of Kinear's chosen twenty-five here on the Supremacy, gather together at the end, wandering to a quiet bit of the F-Deck.

It's not exactly a park. Parks aren't a thing on the Supremacy, but it's as close as one can get. It's an open space with benches and courts for squammath games. There are a few trees, and some planters with flowers in them.

Two of them fall into a game, heatedly, and under a vigorous and rowdy discussion of which one of them can take the other, a half-unspoken conversation about the future happens.

Hopefully, out of the earshot, and eyes, of the First Order loyalists.

Kinear starts it with, "This is it, our chance to get the Empire back, are we taking it?"

The debate lasts the length of three games, and the end result is a list fifty First Order loyalists/Palpatine's men who were too enthusiastic about things like Death Stars and think Senates and voting are passé who are going to have accidents in the next few months. Likewise, a list of 'retired' warriors, has been drawn up. They're coming back, enlisting, and as soon as they're through basic training and into their commands, those hand-picked recruits are going to be promoted. Fast and high.

And if a year from now, the Officer Corps looks a little grayer and less trim in their uniforms, well, they are old. But they aren't dead, and they're not maniacs, and… Kinear doesn't know if that'll be enough to let Kylo succeed, but they'll at least take some of the hurdles out of his way.

He does know though, they're only giving him half of the battle. They've got to find someone who can gently nudge Kylo into appropriate social behavior, or this is going to fall flat before it gets off the ground, and as of right now, none of them know who that might be.

Or, as General Ritter put it, "Does he have friends? Let alone one suitable to whisper something like this in his ear?"

They all exchange looks. They've heard the rumors that he has a companion who visits him at night, but… None of them know who it may be. And as for friends, the sort of person you may take a meal with or shoot the breeze with on a long watch… None of them have heard so much as a whisper.

Kinear says it, voice low, "Well, be friendly if you get the chance. Pretend he's one of your grandsons. He's taken direction from me when I've hit him with it right. He might from you, too, just make it clear you're actually solving one of his problems, not trying to get him to solve one of yours."

It's the sort of thing they all used to do. Back in the day of the Empire, step one of getting anyone to work with you was explaining why it was in his best interest to do so. There's a little heady thrill that goes with this. Maybe, just maybe, the days of politics are back!