C229 Republic Army

C229 Republic Army

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The days following the Battle of Naboo passed in a blur.

The capital city was alive with the sounds of rebuilding—hammering, welding, and the distant hum of construction droids working tirelessly to repair what had been lost. The once-chaotic palace grounds now buzzed with a different energy: hope. Civilians returned to their homes, workers cleaned the debris, and guards once again patrolled with their heads held high.

Naboo was healing.

High above the tranquil planet, Atlas remained anchored in orbit—a silent, watchful giant. From its observation deck, Naboo's emerald surface shimmered, its beauty untouched by the scars of war below.

Inside the sprawling starship, young Anakin Skywalker hurried through the gleaming halls, his small boots echoing against the metallic floors. The past few days had been the most thrilling of his life.

But still, one thing gnawed at him.

Peter Quill—Star-Lord—had yet to officially start his training.

Anakin wasn't impatient. Well, maybe he was. Just a little. He'd spent every moment he could helping out on the ship—fixing wiring, tuning Atlas's auxiliary systems, and even assisting Rocket with important modifications, which mostly consisted of handing the raccoon tools and hoping he didn't get yelled at for his troubles. But whenever he brought up training, Peter just smirked and told him, "Patience, kid. The galaxy wasn't built in a day."

And so, Anakin waited.

Until today.

The doors to Atlas's central training room hissed open, and Peter stood waiting.

The room was vast, its walls lined with racks of weapons, combat dummies, and glowing panels displaying various forms of galactic technology. It was a perfect mix of old-world Jedi aesthetics and modern functionality—futuristic without being sterile.

Peter leaned casually against one of the weapon racks, arms crossed over his chest, his ever-present smirk tugging at his lips as Anakin rushed in.

"You made it," Peter said, pushing off the rack and walking toward the boy. "I was starting to think I'd have to send Groot to drag you out of bed."

Anakin skidded to a stop, panting slightly but grinning ear-to-ear. "You're really gonna train me today?"

Peter raised an eyebrow, feigning thought. "Training... training... Did I promise that?"

"Peter!" Anakin groaned, his excitement quickly turning to panic.

Peter snorted a laugh and ruffled the boy's sandy hair as he walked past him. "Relax, kid. I'm messing with you. Today's the day."

Anakin practically bounced on his toes, his bright blue eyes lighting up. "Really?!"

Peter nodded, his tone shifting to something a little more serious. "Yeah. But before we start, there's something I need to check first."

Anakin tilted his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm gonna test your Midichlorian count first." Peter replied.

The boy blinked. "Midichlorian count? What's that?"

Peter let out a small sigh, realizing this was about to become a lesson. "It's... well, it's complicated. You know what the Force is, right?"

"Sort of," Anakin said, his brow furrowing. "It's what Jedi use to do amazing things, like move stuff with their minds and fight with lightsabers."

Peter smirked. "Yeah, that's the cliff-notes version. But here's the thing—everyone's got these tiny microscopic cells in their body called Midichlorians. The more you've got, the stronger your connection to the Force."

Anakin's eyes widened. "Wait... does that mean I might be able to become a Jedi?"

Peter straightened up, shaking his head firmly. "Not a Jedi, kid. You're gonna be my apprentice. Big difference."

The boy blinked again, clearly confused. "Why not a Jedi?"

Peter grinned, his expression full of mischief. "Because I didn't exactly ask the Jedi for permission. And if I had, I'm pretty sure they'd have a thing or two to say about it."

Anakin's brow furrowed, concern flickering across his face. "Won't that... make the Jedi mad?"

Peter shrugged nonchalantly, his smirk returning. "Probably. But that's not our problem, is it?"

Anakin paused, processing Peter's words. Slowly, a matching smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, mirroring the older man's confidence. "Nope," he said with a grin. "Not our problem."

Peter laughed, ruffling Anakin's hair again. "See? You're already getting the hang of it."

He turned and walked toward a nearby table where a sleek, silver device sat waiting—small, palm-sized, and polished to perfection.

Anakin stood opposite him, fidgeting with anticipation. His bright blue eyes were locked on the device, excitement bubbling in his chest like a coiled spring.

Peter smirked as he held up the scanner, tilting it slightly, letting it catch the light. "Alright, kid, this little gizmo's gonna tell us how strong your connection to the Force is. Think of it like a... power gauge."

Anakin's brows shot up, his interest piqued. "And that tells you how many... 'midichlorians' I have?"

"Exactly." Peter stepped closer, crouching so they were at eye level again. "Here's how it works: I'm going to prick your finger, the scanner will take a tiny blood sample, and then it'll spit out your number."

Gradually, the noise died down, though murmurs of dissent still rippled across the hall.

In a hovering pod near the center, Senator Bibble—an interim representative of Naboo—rose, his face lined with exhaustion but filled with resolve.

"Honorable delegates," Bibble began, his voice carrying through the chamber. "Naboo stands before you free, liberated from the tyranny of the Trade Federation thanks to the bravery of its people and the assistance of Star-Lord."

At the mention of Star-Lord, the murmurs flared up again. Bibble raised a hand for silence.

"Many of you ask how this could happen. How the Federation dared invade our world unchecked. But that is not the question that should be asked here today. The real question is: where was the Republic?"

Gasps and angry shouts rose from several pods, but Bibble pressed on.

"Naboo was abandoned. Had we relied on the Republic alone, my people would still be enslaved. It was Star-Lord who acted—Star-Lord who delivered justice when we were forsaken."

A senator's pod floated forward—Bail Organa of Alderaan. Calm and composed, his voice carried the weight of reason.

"Senator Bibble is right," Bail said. "Whether you like Star-Lord or not, his actions were just. He succeeded where we failed. Should we condemn a man for helping those in need?"

Several senators nodded in agreement, murmuring approval.

"Perhaps," Bail continued, "Star-Lord should be seen not as a threat, but as an ally. His resources and his forces could prove invaluable to the Republic."

The murmurs grew louder, some of the voices supportive, others deeply skeptical.

From a distant pod, Count Dooku stood. His presence was magnetic, his voice carrying an elegance that demanded attention.

"Senator Organa raises a valid point," Dooku began smoothly, his tone calm yet ominous. "Star-Lord and his army are powerful. That much cannot be denied. But power, unchecked, is dangerous."

He paused, letting his words settle like a shadow over the chamber.

"Today, he fights the Trade Federation. Tomorrow... who's to say he won't turn his armies against the Republic itself?"

A ripple of unease swept through the Senate.

"Consider what we know," Dooku continued, his voice steady and deliberate. "This man commands an army of machines far superior to any droid forces we have ever seen. He defeated the Trade Federation not with diplomacy, but with violence. What happens when a power like his grows unchecked?"

The room erupted in argument—some senators voicing their support for Dooku's concerns, others railing against the suggestion that Star-Lord was a threat.

Bail Organa stood again, his voice rising above the din. "Star-Lord acted because we failed to! If the Republic wishes to remain relevant, we must ensure that what happened on Naboo never happens again!"

"Precisely!" Dooku's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "We must not rely on outsiders to fight our battles for us. The Republic must be strong enough to protect its own."

Another senator—this one from Corellia—spoke up. "What are you suggesting, Count Dooku?"

Dooku's pod drifted closer to the center. His voice, though smooth, rang with unmistakable power. "An army. A Republic army. One that can ensure peace, security, and sovereignty across the galaxy."

The chamber fell silent for a moment as the weight of his words hit. Then, as if a dam had broken, the Senate erupted once again—some shouting in agreement, others in outrage.

Supreme Chancellor Valorum, looking deeply uneasy, finally called for order. "Enough!" he shouted, his voice carrying through the chaos. "We will put this matter to a vote."

The delegates settled, though the tension in the air was palpable.

"The motion is thus: Should the Republic raise an army to defend itself from future threats?" Valorum stated. "All those in favor?"

The Senate chamber filled with the hum of voting devices. The result appeared moments later, projected in large, glowing letters for all to see.

The motion had passed.

As the results settled in, the chamber was filled with mixed reactions. Some celebrated, believing the Republic had taken its first step toward strength and security. Others slumped in their pods, disheartened at the decision.

In his pod, Count Dooku watched the chaos with a faint, satisfied smile.

"It begins," he murmured to himself, his gaze sharp as he observed the room.

...

..

.

Later, in a shadowed corridor of the Senate building, Dooku activated a small holo-communicator. The flickering image of Darth Plagueis appeared, shrouded in darkness.

"The Senate has voted to raise an army," Dooku reported.

Plagueis' voice was low, chilling. "And Star-Lord?"

Dooku's expression darkened slightly. "An unknown variable... but one we will watch closely. His presence complicates things, but he can be dealt with—one way or another."

"Good," Plagueis rumbled. "Continue as planned..."

The transmission ended, leaving Dooku standing in the shadows, his expression unreadable as he looked out over the sprawling cityscape of Coruscant.

A/N: 2504 words :)????????