I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C246 Clone War Begins!

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The Jedi Temple’s grand landing platform was bathed in the golden light of Coruscant’s setting sun, the sky streaked with the fiery hues of dusk. The air hummed with anticipation as the assembled Jedi—Council members, Knights, and Masters—stood in solemn silence, their robes fluttering in the warm breeze.  

Then, the deep thrum of engines broke the quiet.  

One by one, massive Republic assault ships descended from the clouds, their sleek hulls reflecting the fading sunlight. The vessels hovered momentarily before touching down with a metallic groan, their boarding ramps lowering in perfect synchronization.  

And then—they appeared.  

Row after row of clone troopers marched forward, their white armor polished to a mirror sheen, their movements so precise they might have been a single entity. The rhythmic thud of their boots against the permacrete sent vibrations through the platform, a steady drumbeat of impending war.  

Peter Quill stood among the Jedi Council, his face was calm, but beneath the surface, his mind raced.  

‘So this is it. The Grand Army of the Republic.’

The sight should have been inspiring—an army of elite soldiers, ready to defend the galaxy. But all Peter felt was a creeping dread.  

His Mechu-Deru flared to life almost against his will, the Force whispering secrets of machinery and circuitry. And there, buried deep within each clone’s mind, he sensed it—the chip.

A tiny, insidious thing. A silent executioner waiting for its signal.  

Order 66.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He could feel the dormant programming humming within each trooper, a sleeping beast that, when awakened, would turn these loyal soldiers into Jedi killers.  

‘I can’t let that happen.’

His gaze flicked to Yoda, who stood at the forefront of the welcoming party. The ancient Jedi’s ears twitched slightly, his expression unreadable. Did he sense it too? The darkness coiled within this so-called gift to the Republic?  

Yoda stepped forward, his small frame dwarfed by the towering clone troopers, yet his presence commanded absolute attention. The clones snapped to perfect attention, their helmets tilting downward in unison as the Grand Marshal of the Republic Army approached.  

"Welcome, soldiers of the Republic," Yoda said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "Serve with honor, you shall. Fight alongside the Jedi, you will. Together, bring peace to the galaxy, we must."  

A clone commander in orange-marked armor stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal a sharp, disciplined face—one Peter recognized instantly.  

Commander Cody.

"Grand Marshal Yoda," Cody said with crisp precision. "The 7th Sky Corps stands ready to serve under Jedi leadership. You have our loyalty."  

Another clone, this one with a blond buzz cut and blue-painted armor, saluted next.  

Captain Rex.

"501st Legion reporting for duty, sir," Rex said, his voice carrying the same professionalism, but with a hint of something else—curiosity, perhaps. A spark of individuality.  

One by one each clone leader stepped forward, introducing themselves. 

Peter watched them closely, his Mechu-Deru subtly reaching out, brushing against the circuitry buried in their skulls. The inhibitor chips pulsed faintly, like dormant parasites, waiting for their activation signal.  

I can feel them. I can control them.  

But the realization came with a grim limitation—his influence only extended so far. He could manipulate the chips of the clones within his immediate vicinity, rewriting their programming, but that wouldn’t save the rest. Soon enough, there would be millions of clones across the galaxy, and he couldn’t possibly reach them all.  

I need the source. The central control hub.

His mind raced through possibilities. Kamino—where the clones were engineered. Or worse, somewhere hidden in the Senate building, under the direct oversight of the Chancellor himself. Either way, he’d have to move carefully. If the Sith realized he was tampering with their grand plan, they’d accelerate their timeline.  

For now, he had to work with what was in front of him.  

As the Jedi dispersed to meet their assigned battalions, Peter lingered, his eyes scanning the sea of identical faces.  

‘One step at a time.’

First, he’d secure the loyalty of the clones he could reach.  

Then, he’d find the heart of the machine—and tear it out.

Peter moved through the ranks of clone troopers with measured steps, his hands clasped behind his back like a general inspecting his men. To the untrained eye, he was simply observing the Republic’s new soldiers—assessing their discipline, their readiness.  

But beneath the surface, his Mechu-Deru hummed with silent precision.  

Every clone he passed—every trooper whose shoulder he gripped in feigned camaraderie—felt the subtle intrusion. His power slithered into their neural implants, not destroying them, not triggering any alarms, but rewriting their hierarchy of command.

He made himself their supreme authority.

The chips still functioned. The dormant Order 66 protocols remained. But now, buried deep within their programming, was a hidden control that linked back only to him. If the day came when Palpatine uttered those fateful words, Peter would be notified and exercise his control. 

And if he chose to? He could make them do anything.

March on the Senate.  

Turn their blasters on the Chancellor himself.  

Burn the entire corrupt system to the ground.  

The thought sent a dark thrill through him—one he quickly suppressed. No, this wasn’t about seizing power. It was about survival. About making sure that when the Sith played their hand, the Jedi wouldn’t be slaughtered like animals.  

Still, the limitation gnawed at him. He could only influence the clones he meets. But what about the rest? The legions being deployed across the galaxy?  

‘I need the control hub.’

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Yoda stood nearby, his walking stick tapping lightly against the platform as he observed the proceedings. The ancient Jedi’s ears twitched, his wrinkled face unreadable—but his eyes locked onto Peter’s for the briefest moment.  

‘He knows.’

Not the details, perhaps. But he sensed the disturbance in the Force, the subtle manipulation at play. Yet he said nothing. Did nothing.  

Peter held his gaze for a heartbeat before turning back to the clones.  

One step at a time.  

First, the men before him.  

Then, the war ahead.  

And finally—the heart of the machine.

————

The Jedi Council chamber was alive with activity as holographic star maps flickered above the central table, displaying Separatist strongholds and Republic counteroffensives. Clone commanders stood at attention alongside their newly appointed Jedi Generals, the air thick with the weight of impending war.  

Yoda, seated at the head of the table, tapped his walking stick against the floor, calling the room to order.  

"Assignments, we must finalize," he declared, his voice calm but firm. "Scattered, the Separatist forces are, but concentrated, their production centers remain."  

One by one, Jedi were given their deployments…

Plo Koon and Kit Fisto were dispatched to secure critical hyperspace lanes, ensuring Republic supply lines remained open.  

Qui-Gon Jinn and his padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi were sent to the Outer Rim sieges, where Separatist holdouts were digging in.  

…

..

.

The orders continued until, finally, the chamber emptied, leaving only Yoda and Peter standing in the dim glow of the holomaps.  

For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then Yoda’s ears twitched, his ancient eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Peter.  

"Felt something, I did, when you inspected the clones," Yoda said, his tone measured but probing. "Manipulated them, you did. Explain yourself, you will."  

Peter exhaled. He had known this moment would come.  

"There’s a piece of technology in their heads," he admitted. "Control chips. At any moment, someone—likely the Sith—could activate them and take full command of the entire clone army."  

Yoda’s eyes widened, his grip tightening on his stick. "A grave danger, this is. Used against us, they could be."  

"Exactly," Peter said. "But I was able to take control of the clones we met today. Their chips now answer to me. But to secure the entire army, I need to find the central control hub." He hesitated, then added, "As Grand Marshal, you might have better access to that information than I would."  

Yoda’s gaze sharpened. "And how, young Quill, did you seize control of these chips? A power of the dark side, this resembles."  

Peter didn’t flinch. "It’s called Mechu-Deru. A rare Force ability that lets me interface with machines. And yes, it’s… associated with the dark side..."  

Yoda closed his eyes for a long moment, his face unreadable. When he opened them again, there was reluctant acceptance in his gaze. "A dangerous tool, this is. But necessary, in these times." He sighed. "Investigate the control hub, I will. But remember—clones, they may be, but people, they are also. Unchecked control, you must not wield over them."  

Peter nodded. "I don’t want to rule them. I just want to make sure no one else can."  

Yoda studied him, then gave a slow, approving nod. "Good, your intentions are." He straightened. "General Quill, you are now. To Geonosis, you will go—the first major strike of this war. Destroy the droid foundries, we must."  

Peter’s mind raced. Geonosis. The planet where the Clone Wars had begun in his old life. A fitting place to start turning the tide.  

But as he turned to leave, another thought struck him.  

‘If I can control the clones… couldn’t I do the same to the Separatist droids?’

The idea was tempting. But for now, he had a battle to prepare for.  

The real war was just beginning.

————

Timeskip – Hours Before the Battle of Geonosis

The hangar of the Atlas was alive with energy as the crew made their final preparations.

Peter stood at the center of it all, watching as Natasha, Mikaela, and Padmé checked their gear. 

Natasha strapped vibroblades to her thighs with practiced ease, her expression unreadable. 

Mikaela adjusted the settings on her blaster, her fingers moving with precision. 

Padmé, dressed not in her usual Queenly robes but in form-fitting combat gear, secured her hair into a tight braid.  

"You know you don’t have to do this," Peter said, his voice low.  

Natasha didn’t look up. "Yes, we do."  

Mikaela smirked. "What, you think we’re just going to sit around while you play hero?"  

Padmé met his gaze, her eyes fierce. "This is our fight too, Peter. The Republic—the galaxy—needs us."  

Peter exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He knew better than to argue. They were warriors, each of them. But that didn’t stop the knot of worry in his chest.  

Nearby, Rocket barked orders to a Group of Transformers, who were busy getting everything ready. "And make sure the damn stealth systems are actually working this time, or I swear I’ll—"  

Without warning, a Cybertronian flung a wrench at Rocket, forcing him to dive aside

"Hey! The hell’s your problem?!" he barked before growling to himself, “Damn scrapheaps..."

Peter shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His crew was chaos incarnate. And if anyone could survive the shadows of this war, it was them.  

A presence at the edge of his awareness made him turn.  

Anakin stood there, his young face set in a stubborn frown. "Master," he said, his voice tight. "I want to come with you."  

Peter sighed. "Anakin—"  

"I’m ready!" the boy insisted, his fists clenched. "I can fight! I need to fight!"  

Peter placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. "War is no place for children," he said gently but firmly. "Stay with your mother. Train. Prepare. Your time will come—but not today."  

Anakin’s jaw worked, frustration flashing in his eyes. But after a moment, he nodded stiffly. "…Yes, Master."  

Peter squeezed his shoulder. "This isn’t a punishment, kid. It’s a gift. One day, you’ll understand."  

Anakin didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue further.  

As the boy walked away, Peter turned back to the *Atlas*, to his crew, to the battle ahead.  

The quiet before the storm never lasted long.  

And tomorrow—Geonosis would burn.

…

..

.

Space above Geonosis rippled as the massive Republic fleet tore through hyperspace, their sudden arrival sending shockwaves through the planet's orbital defenses. Venator-class Star Destroyers loomed like silent predators, their weapons already charging.  

Inside the lead assault ship, Peter stood in the troop bay of a Republic gunship, his hands gripping the overhead strap as the craft shuddered under the turbulence of atmospheric entry. Around him, clone troopers of the 212th Battalion checked their weapons one final time, their visors reflecting the dim red glow of the cabin lights.  

"Thirty seconds to drop zone!" the pilot's voice crackled over the comm.  

Peter activated his wrist comm, connecting to the fleet-wide channel. "All units, remember—our primary objective is the droid foundries. Cripple their production, and we cut the Separatist war machine off at the knees."  

A chorus of affirmatives answered him.  

The gunship's ramp lowered before they'd even touched down, revealing the orange haze of Geonosis' desert sky. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning metal and ionized blaster fire.  

"Go, go, go!"  

Peter leapt out first, his coat billowing behind him as his boots hit the sand. Around him, clone troopers fanned out in perfect formation, their blasters already spitting plasma at the advancing waves of battle droids.  

Clankers. Endless waves of them.  

In the distance, the towering spires of the droid foundries belched black smoke into the sky. The Separatists had been expecting them.  

Peter ignited his lightsaber, the black plasma humming to life in his grip.  

"Forward! For the Republic!"  

The clones roared in response, their charge shaking the desert ground as the first true battle of the Clone Wars began.  

And somewhere, hidden in the shadows, the Sith watched... and waited. 

A/N: 2286 words :)