I’m Star-Lord (SW Xover)

C42 Star Forge?

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As Peter and Gamora stepped out into the sunlit corridor of the Jedi Temple, their recent audience with the Council still weighing on their minds, they were met by an unexpected figure. Nebula, her few cybernetic enhancements glinting under the bright lighting, stood with a posture that was both rigid and poised for confrontation. 

Having left the infirmary with a clean bill of health, Nebula’s search had led her directly to them, or more precisely, to Peter, though her eyes narrowed as she found her sister alongside him. 

“Why are you still here?” Nebula’s voice was cold, each word laced with barely contained hostility. Her gaze, sharp and accusatory, was fixed on Gamora.

Gamora’s stance hardened, the tension between the sisters palpable. “I’m not going anywhere,” she stated firmly, her resolve clear. “I meant what I said, Nebula, I’m sorry for everything…”

Nebula scoffed, finding it hard to believe after all this time. “Whatever, if you’re staying here, then you better keep away from me…” she retorted sharply. 

Her next action took Peter by surprise; she reached out, gripping his arm tightly, and began to drag him away from Gamora. “?!”

Peter cast a helpless look over his shoulder at Gamora, who met his gaze with an understanding, albeit saddened, nod.

As they walked, Nebula’s grip remained firm, her frustration evident in the way she moved. “I can’t stand her,” she muttered under her breath, an endless stream of complaints about Gamora beginning to spill forth. 

Peter, caught in the middle of this familial strife, listened as Nebula vented her grievances, detailing years of neglect and rivalry that had soured their relationship beyond repair. “She’s only here because I’m happy, I know it. She’s come to ruin my life like always…”

Letting out a sigh, Peter ventured cautiously into the conversation. “You know, Nebula,” he began, his tone gentle, “maybe Gamora’s not here to ruin anything. Maybe she’s actually sorry for how things were between you two.”

The suggestion seemed to catch Nebula off guard. She paused, her stride slowing as she considered his words. For a moment, a flicker of contemplation crossed her features before she quickly masked it with a scoff. “Yeah, right,” she replied dismissively, yet the seed of doubt had been planted. 

“Anyway, I have a force studies class to sit in on, so I’ll see you later.” Nebula quickly ended the conversation and walked off, “And stay away from my sister! She can’t be trusted. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was here to spy for our father…”

As she left, Peter’s words echoed in her mind, challenging her long-held beliefs about her sister. ‘Could Gamora truly be sorry?’ The thought was both unsettling and, in a way, hopeful.

Yet, as the distance between them grew, Nebula couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be too late for apologies or amends…

The rift between them had deepened over the years, fostered by a competition for approval from a figure neither of them should have sought to please. The idea of bridging that gap now seemed almost insurmountable.

Peter, left in the aftermath of their exchange, could only hope that his words might someday lead to a path of healing for the two sisters.

————

A few days later, Peter sat up in bed, his Walkman by his side, the music playing through his headphones, a comfort in the midst of a rather annoying day. 

The Senate’s decision only a few hours ago—rejecting the Jedi Council’s plea for a standing army—weighed heavily on him. The tracks from his mixtape played on, but his mind was far from at ease.

Play Get Down on It by Kool & The Gang (A/N: I’m iffy on this song, but it’s the best one I could find for the situation.)

 What you gon' do?

You wanna get down?

Tell me, what you gon' do?

Do you wanna get down?

What you gon' do?

You wanna get down?

What you gon' do?

You wanna get down? Tell me

Get down on it, get down on it

Get down on it, get down on it

come on and

Get down on it, get down on it

Get down on it, get down on it

How you gonna do it if you really don't wanna dance, By standing on the wall

Get your back up off the wall!

…

..

.

At the heart of the Senate’s refusal to acknowledge the need for a standing army was none other than Count Dooku himself, the newly minted Senator for his home planet. His rise to this position seemed to happen overnight, which alarmed many on the Jedi Council. 

Dooku had stood there, a pillar of calm and reason as he argued against the Jedi’s plea, weaving his words with the skill of a seasoned politician. His argument—that the Republic must not be driven by fear into militarization—was persuasive to many, effectively blocking the Jedi’s request for a much-needed army to protect the Republic.

Peter remembered the smug look Dooku gave him as the Senate’s vote came in against their plea. It was a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing and the power he wielded. ‘We were invaded and attacked by a foreign, unknown army, yet they still refuse to take it seriously…’ Peter thought with a mix of frustration and disbelief. ‘God, I really hate that guy…’

The realization that Dooku was instrumental in denying the Republic the very means it might need to defend itself added another layer to Peter’s growing list of concerns.

‘First, the Republic needs an army,’ Peter mused. ‘Luckily, the Nova Prime should be here by tomorrow, so hopefully they can lend us some support.’

But they couldn’t rely on the Nova Empire forever…

Suddenly, as the last song of his mixtape finished, the data pad on his bedside table began to beep. The message was clear; Darth Revan, his ghostly Sith Master, awaited beneath the Temple’s sacred grounds. 

With a last, longing look at his Walkman, Peter turned his back on the comfort of his music and ventured out of his room and into the shadows.

…

..

.

Hours passed, but Peter’s mind wandered, his movements lacking their usual precision. Although he was physically here, dueling his master to finish off their nightly training as per usual, his mind was far, far away. 

…

‘I need to find some sort of workaround,’ Peter thought, knowing that the Senate’s firm stance against a standing army was a significant hurdle, but not an insurmountable one.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind. Sifo-Dyas, the Jedi Master who would someday soon commission the creation of a clone army. He could work with him and find a way to utilize the clones earlier than canon. ‘They can’t be labeled as an army though… Maybe a Security Force instead?’ 

Such a force could serve as a sudo-army for the Jedi, a necessary measure given recent attacks on the Temple and conflicts with external threats like Ronan and the Kree.

‘The Jedi Defense Force…’ Peter already had the name picked out. ‘The JDF.’

By branding this force as a wing of the Jedi—dedicated to protection of Jedi ambassadors, Temples, and whatever else—it would inherently remain under the Jedi’s control. 

This separation was vital, especially in a climate where the Senate’s decisions were increasingly influenced by undercurrents of corruption and self-interest.

‘Keeping the army under the Jedi’s control would be the best-case scenario,’ Peter thought, a glimmer of hope igniting within him. ‘If the Jedi were to establish their own sudo-army, independent of the Senate and the Republic, then the chances of an event like Order 66, or any other catastrophe aimed at the Jedi, occurring would be drastically reduced...’

However, there was one problem with this, ‘Should we really use the clones?’ The ethical implications of using clones—a legion of artificially created beings destined only for battle and death—cast a shadow over this solution.

Instantly, Peter’s initial enthusiasm faded, replaced by a deep frown. The thought of clones, their lives predetermined to be nothing more than fodder for war, was unsettling. 

‘They’re slaves,’ he realized with a heavy heart, ‘made to fight and die for others’ causes, never to know a life of peace or happiness.’

The more he considered the reality of the clones’ existence, the more the whole idea repulsed him. It wasn’t just about having an army anymore; it was about the moral cost of such a force. 

To Peter, and he was sure to the Jedi as well, the idea of owning slaves was abhorrent. Despite the strategic advantage clones might provide, the ethical implications made the option impossible.

With a heavy sigh, Peter discarded the idea altogether. ‘There’s got to be another way…”

…

Seeing that Peter wasn’t paying attention, which had been a recurring problem throughout tonight’s training session, Revan’s patience finally wore thin. 

Appearing beside his distracted apprentice, he swung his training saber at full power, smashing it against Peter’s head and sending him sprawling to the ground with a thud that echoed off the stone walls.

“Huh?! What the hell!” Peter yelled, cradling his aching skull. 

“Why are you so distracted tonight?” Revan towered over him, his voice a mix of curiosity and disappointment.

Peter sighed, the cold, hard floor against his back. “It’s the Senate…” he revealed, explaining his problems, some of which Revan already knew about. 

Revan listened as Peter shared his worries, the Sith’s presence a silent invitation to continue. 

“…I’ve also been thinking about a plan. You know, just in case we need to bolt from this place fast, especially to keep the Younglings safe.” Peter finished, a worried frown on his face. 

Revan’s interest visibly piqued. “I know all sorts of secret passages out of the Temple,” he assured him, a glint of something unrecognizable in his eyes. “I can map them out for you…”

“Thanks…” Peter appreciated Revan’s help. “If only we had an army of our own though…” he mused, the weight of their situation pressing down on him.

Revan’s smirk was a sliver of moonlight in the darkness. “What if I told you there’s a way to build your own army?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “Really? How?”

Revan’s gaze hardened. “Peter, if I am to share this with you, you must swear that none of this will reach the Jedi or the Republic. This army… it must belong to you and you alone.”

Peter nodded, his mind racing. “Yeah, I can do that. But, uh, there’s a bit of a snag. If this needs a ton of credits or materials, we might have a problem. I’m pretty much broke.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Revan’s face. “Do not concern yourself with the cost. Money will not be an obstacle… Well, it could be, but that depends on the Forges condition.”

Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion “The Forge?” He pressed, growing impatient with the cryptic nature of his master.

Revan’s nodded, the shadows around them seeming to lean in closer as he spoke. “When I was still alive there existed an ancient relic, known as the Star Forge. It’s an automated shipyard unlike any other, capable of drawing energy and matter from a nearby star. And with the Force, it could create an endless supply of ships, droids, and other crucial war materials.”

Peter listened, his eyes widening with every word. “You’re kidding. That… That sounds too good to be true.” The solution felt so perfectly tailored to their desperate need that he just couldn’t believe it. 

“Oh, it’s very real.” Revan assures him. “I would know, I was its last owner.” 

“Okay, where is it then?” Peter asked, his excitement building, images of his own droid army flashing through his mind. 

“I’m not sure exactly… It’s been thousands of years since I last saw it.” Revan shrugged, crushing his apprentice's dreams in an instant. 

Peter flopped back down, staring at Revan with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Then why bother telling me?!”

Revan chuckled. “Not knowing where it is now doesn't mean I didn't know where it used to be.” He said with a shrug. “It all depends on whether or not someone found it, or maybe some anomaly destroyed it. I don’t know…”

A flicker of hope brightened in Peter as he sat up once again. “Okay… So, where’d you park this thing?”

“Well, that’s the hard part…” Revan spoke, his smile morphing into a contemplative frown. “Have you ever heard of the Maw?”

A/N: 2116 words :)