I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C248 From One War, To The Next

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——————

The Grand Chamber of the Senate Building glittered like a jewel beneath Coruscant’s artificial sky. Tiered rows of floating balconies overflowed with senators, dignitaries, and military officers, their murmurs rising in a low hum that echoed through the cavernous space. 

At the center of it all, standing upon a raised dais, Peter Quill waited as Chancellor Valorum approached, a gleaming medal resting on a velvet cushion in his hands.  

The Chancellor’s voice boomed through the chamber, amplified by the acoustics of the dome.  

"Today, we honor those who have brought glory to the Republic in its darkest hour."

One by one, Jedi Generals stepped forward—Plo Koon, Luminara Unduli, Ki-Adi-Mundi—each receiving their commendations for valor in the Battle of Geonosis. Polite applause followed each presentation, but the air remained subdued.  

Then Valorum turned to Peter.  

"And to Jedi Knight Peter Quill—who, in his first command, has already proven himself a strategist without equal—we award the Star of Coruscant, the highest military honor this body can bestow."

A thunderous ovation erupted as Valorum draped the medal around Peter’s neck. The chamber’s holoprojectors zoomed in, broadcasting his face across the galaxy—the young, untested Jedi who had shattered Separatist forces in a single stroke.  

Peter kept his expression neutral, but he could feel the weight of the moment. The clones hadn’t just praised him—they’d mythologized him. 

Stories of his impossible battlefield awareness, his preternatural command, his refusal to lose a single soldier under his direct orders—they had spread like wildfire.  

"General Quill represents the best of the Jedi Order," Valorum continued, "and the future of this Republic."

Then, abruptly, an aide rushed forward, whispering urgently into the Chancellor’s ear. Valorum’s smile faltered. His grip tightened on Peter’s shoulder—just for a second—before he straightened, his voice suddenly clipped.  

"This ceremony is concluded. The Republic thanks its heroes."

The audience, confused but obedient, began to disperse. As Valorum turned to leave, he motioned to Yoda. “Come, we need to speak…”

The Grand Master hobbled forward, his ears twitching—but before he could speak, the Chancellor paused.  

"Bring him," Valorum said, jerking his chin toward Peter. "He’ll hear of this soon enough."

————

Valorum’s private office was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the Senate Chamber—all durasteel and flickering data screens. The moment the door sealed behind them, the Chancellor’s composure cracked.  

"The Kree Empire has invaded the Nova territories."

A hologram flared to life above his desk, displaying star maps and invasion vectors. Kree warships poured into Nova space, their brutal efficiency already overwhelming outer defenses.  

"They’ve been waiting for this," Valorum muttered. "While we’re tangled in civil war, they strike at our allies."

Peter’s jaw tightened. ‘Sidious.’ It had to be. The timing was too perfect.  

Yoda’s cane tapped against the floor. "A grave threat, this is. But divided, the Republic stands. Send aid, we cannot."

"We must," Valorum snapped, then caught himself. "The Nova have stood with us loyally. If we abandon them now, we risk losing a very important ally. Not to mention, we'd be giving the Kree a free pass to expand unchecked..."

Peter stepped forward. "Give me whatever forces you can spare. Even a single battalion could make the difference."

Yoda’s ears flattened. "Too dangerous, this mission is. Needed here, you are."

But Peter held his gaze, letting the unspoken truth pass between them. ‘The Sith are behind this…’

Valorum exhaled. "The Separatists are reeling after Geonosis. We have a window." He entered a command into his desk, and a new hologram appeared—a skeletal deployment list. "I can give you the 501st, two Venators, and whatever supplies you can carry."

Yoda’s protest died in his throat. The decision was made.  

"You leave by nightfall," Valorum said. "May the Force be with you, General Quill."

————

The Atlas hummed in its docking bay, its crew scrambling to prep for departure. Tony Stark leaned against a cargo crate, arms crossed.  

"Let me get this straight—we’re going to fight another war, with even fewer troops, against an empire nobody has ever beaten?"

"And you’re happy about this?"

Peter strapped his armor on, his voice calm. "No. I’m going to fight another war. You guys need to take our new droid factories back to Knowhere and get started on building an army."

“What?” Tony was extremely unwilling. “You can’t just ditch us and go off to fight a war on your own.”

Peter finally looked up, his eyes burning with cold certainty.  

"The Sith are making their move, Tony. This isn’t just about ditching you guys." He activated a holomap, highlighting Kree fleet movements outside the republic and the Seperatists movements inside the republic. "It’s about building our forces for the coming wars, because I can guarantee you right now that this won’t end easily. We need to prepare for the worst..."

————

In another hangar, the first of the 501st marched aboard their transports. Among them, Captain Rex adjusted his helmet, awaiting the arrival of General Quill. 

"Sir," a clone murmured, "they’re saying this is a suicide mission."

Rex smirked. "Then it’s a good thing we’ve got the General leading us."

————

Peter stood before his crew, his black coat fluttering in the artificial wind generated by the Atlas' engines powering up. Around him, his crew argued.  

"This is bullshit," Natasha said, her arms crossed. The morning light streaming through the hangar’s energy shields caught the edge of her vibroblade. "You don’t get to bench us right when things get interesting."

Mikaela nodded, her fingers twitching near her blaster. "We’re not some backup team. We fight with you."

Padmé, still in her combat gear from Geonosis, stepped forward. "Peter, you need us."

Peter nodded. "You’re right, I need you," he said, his voice low. "And right now, that means getting this tech to Knowhere. We need all the help we can get. This droid army could be what tips the balance in our favor..."

Nearby, Rocket balanced on a crate, his tail flicking irritably. "Oh sure, send the real fighters to go babysit bolts and wires while you get all the glory." He crossed his arms. "I hate this plan."

"I am Groot," Groot rumbled, placing a massive hand on Rocket’s shoulder.  

"Yeah, yeah, ‘duty’ or whatever," Rocket grumbled, but his ears twitched in reluctant acceptance.  

Tony Stark leaned against the Atlas' ramp, his armor’s repulsors humming faintly. "I can’t believe you’re sending me, a literal genius, to go play factory foreman while you run off to get shot at."

Peter smirked. "Think of it as a challenge. I need those factories upgraded with Cybertronian efficiency." He glanced at Optimus Prime. "Can you do it?"

Optimus’ optics gleamed. "Till all are one," he intoned, the weight of the vow settling over the group. "We will not fail."

Tony threw up his hands. "Oh great, now I’m second fiddle to a walking truck."

Peter ignored him, turning back to Natasha, Mikaela, and Padmé. "This isn’t a dismissal. It’s a trust." He tapped the holomap on his wrist, pulling up schematics of the stolen droid tech. "What we’re building—it changes everything. But only if it’s done swiftly."

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but after a long moment, she gave a sharp nod. "Fine. But you better come back."

Peter grinned. "Wouldn’t dream of anything else."

…

..

. 

The Atlas lifted off first, its engines flaring as it angled toward open space. Peter watched it go, his chest tight. For the first time in years, he was alone. No crew. No backup. Just him, a battalion of clones, and a war he knew he had to win. 

He turned to the waiting Venator, its massive hull bristling with cannons. "Move out," he ordered.  

The clones snapped to attention, their boots clanking against the deck as they filed into the ship. Peter took one last look at the shrinking Atlas, then stepped aboard.  

The Venator’s bridge was a storm of activity—clone officers barking coordinates, tactical droids whirring, holomaps flickering with real-time updates. Peter strode in, his mind already racing through strategies—  

—and froze.  

Two figures stood at the central console, their backs to him.  

Gamora.

Nebula.

Both older, harder, their once-familiar faces now edged with the sharpness of Jedi discipline. Their robes were darker than standard issue, their lightsabers hanging at their hips in sleek, modified hilts.  

They turned in unison, their lips curling into identical, knowing smirks.  

"Reporting for duty, General," Gamora said, her voice laced with dry amusement.  

Nebula crossed her arms. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Peter blinked. "I—what—how?"

Gamora shrugged. "Yoda recalled us. Said you might need… specialized help."

Nebula’s smirk widened. "Turns out, you do."

For the first time since the war began, Peter laughed.  

Maybe he wasn’t so alone after all.  

————

Aboard the Kree Command Ship Dominance

The war room was bathed in the sickly green glow of holographic star maps, the air thick with the static hum of distant fleet transmissions. 

Darth Sidious stood at the center, his hooded face illuminated by the shifting lights of a hundred battlefronts. Kree officers moved like specters around him, their blue faces tense as they monitored the invasion’s progress.  

Then, a chime.  

A hologram flickered to life beside him—a cloaked figure, their features obscured by a scrambler field.  

"My Lord," the spy whispered, their voice distorted. "The Republic has responded to the Nova incursion."

Sidious’ yellow eyes narrowed. "Already?" His fingers tightened around the edge of the holotable. This was... unexpected.  

"They’ve dispatched reinforcements."

For a fraction of a second, the air in the room seemed to freeze. The Kree Admiral at Sidious’ side stiffened, his hand drifting toward his sidearm.  

Then—  

"How many?" Sidious hissed.  

The spy’s reply was almost amused. "A token force. Two Venators. A single clone battalion. And one Jedi General. I’m sending you everything I know right now."

Sidious exhaled, his shoulders loosening as he read through the information, a smile creeping across his withered lips. "How... quaint."

The Kree Admiral beside him snorted. "They send a boy to fight an empire?"

But Sidious raised a hand, silencing him. His mind raced. Quill. The name was familiar—the upstart Jedi from the reports, the one who had humiliated the Separatists at Geonosis. The one whose clones spoke of him in near-mythic terms.  

“Wait…” Suddenly, the Kree Admiral seemed to recognize Peter’s face. “Isn’t that the boy who killed Ronan the Accuser?” 

With a wave of his hand, the video of Ronan’s death appeared before them, showing Peter and Windu ending the accusers life. 

‘Interesting.’

"This changes nothing," Sidious murmured, more to himself than the others. "In fact... it may simplify matters."

He turned to the Admiral. "Pull the 7th Attack Fleet back from Nova Prime. Let them believe they’ve won a reprieve."

The Admiral blinked. "But we could crush them in hours—"

"You will appear to retreat," Sidious interrupted, his voice like a vibroblade sliding from its sheath. "Lure this ‘General Quill’ deeper into the sector. Isolate him."

Understanding dawned in the Admiral’s eyes. "A trap."

Sidious didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.  

A/N: 1851 words :)