The echo of plastoid striking plastoid slowly faded as the assembled troopers broke formation and returned to their assigned stations.
What had been a sea of identical white armor settled back into ordered motion. Squads peeled away in disciplined columns toward vehicle decks. Technicians resumed diagnostics on LAAT/i gunships. Walker crews disappeared beneath the armored hulls of secured AT-TEs. The hangar reclaimed its rhythm — purposeful, industrial, alive with preparation.
Kael stepped down from the raised platform.
The metal lift lowered smoothly beneath him, returning him to the main deck where boots and machinery filled the space with constant sound. He clipped his helmet back to his belt but did not put it on. For now, he wanted them to see his face.
A clone officer approached through the shifting formations.
His armor bore the distinct markings of command: four yellow circles emblazoned across the left side of his chest plate, yellow striping running down the length of each arm, and a bold vertical stripe bisecting his helmet from crown to visor, wrapping laterally around the eye slit. Even among thousands of identical troopers, he was unmistakable.
He stopped precisely three steps from Kael and snapped into salute.
"General," he said evenly. "If you would follow me, I can show you some of the toys the boys have prepared."
The word struck again.
General.
Kael kept his expression neutral, though inwardly the title still felt foreign — heavy in a way that Jedi Knight never had been. It carried expectation. Authority. Ownership over lives.
He inclined his head slightly.
"And you are?"
"CC-4377, sir."
Kael's brow furrowed faintly.
"CC," he repeated. "Not CT?"
The commander lowered his salute but maintained a rigid posture.
"CT designates standard clone trooper, sir. The majority of the Grand Army carries that designation at birth. CC indicates clone commander. We are bred and trained specifically for leadership roles within battalion and regimental structures. Liaison between Jedi command and ground units."
The explanation was delivered without pride.
Without ego.
Just a fact.
Kael studied him for a moment — the steadiness in his stance, the absence of hesitation in his voice.
"Right," Kael said quietly. "Well. Lead the way, Commander."
They began walking together across the expansive hangar deck.
Above them, rail-mounted clamps released one of the AT-TE walkers from its secured position and lowered it carefully toward staging alignment. The six-legged vehicle settled onto reinforced decking with a heavy metallic thud, its cockpit canopy reflecting overhead lights. Crew members moved in disciplined coordination, checking power couplings and weapon calibration.
Across the bay, rows of LAAT/i gunships sat with side doors open, repulsor systems humming faintly in standby. Their forward cannons gleamed beneath harsh lighting, and their troop compartments were already stocked with ammunition and tactical equipment.
"This vessel carries sixteen thousand troops," CC-4377 said as they walked, voice raised only slightly to carry over the ambient hum. "Eighty AT-TEs assigned to this ship. One hundred and twenty LAAT/i gunships. Twelve artillery turbolasers secured in lower bay."
Kael absorbed the numbers, glancing from one vehicle to the next.
"And the others?" he asked.
"Distributed across the fleet, General. Twelve Acclamators in the immediate deployment group. Remaining ships staged in orbit or secondary platforms."
Kael nodded slowly.
Even divided, the scale was staggering.
They reached the base of one of the AT-TE walkers. The commander placed a gloved hand briefly against the armored plating, almost reflexively.
"These will anchor the ground advance," he said. "Heavy forward push through droid lines. Gunships provide insertion and suppression."
Kael circled the walker slowly, studying the mechanics — the reinforced leg joints, the articulated turret housing, the layered armor.
"You've trained in live-fire simulations?" he asked.
"Yes, General."
"And you've been briefed on Geonosis terrain?"
"Desert environment. Hard-packed sand and rock formations. High visibility. Droid resistance expected in concentrated formations."
The precision in his response was exact.
Kael stopped beside him.
"We'll be working closely together down there," he said evenly. "You and I."
The commander met his gaze through the visor.
"Yes, General."
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Just acceptance.
Kael exhaled slowly.
The Mandalorian part of him understood this exchange instinctively — command structure, battlefield hierarchy, the clarity of defined roles. The Jedi part of him felt the weight differently. These men were not just assets. They were lives he would direct into danger.
He extended a hand.
Not in salute.
In acknowledgment.
The commander looked at it for a fraction of a second before grasping it firmly.
The gesture was brief.
Professional.
But it meant something.
"Alright, Commander," Kael said quietly. "Show me what else your boys have prepared."
CC-4377 released his grip and gestured toward the forward staging bay, where additional gunships were being fueled and armed.
"Yes, General."
They walked side by side through the organized chaos of preparation — Jedi Knight and Clone Commander — the storm of Kamino long behind them, and the far harsher storm of Geonosis waiting ahead.
They left the main hangar deck through a reinforced access corridor that curved upward along the interior spine of the Acclamator.
The transition from cavernous staging bay to functional interior was immediate. The corridors were narrower here — efficient, compact, built for movement rather than grandeur. White metallic wall panels reflected recessed ceiling lights in clean lines, creating a sterile, almost clinical atmosphere. Every surface was practical. Every angle is purposeful.
Clones in bright white Phase I armor moved through the passageways in steady formation, boots striking the deck in synchronized cadence. Some marched toward barracks compartments; others carried sealed supply crates toward lower loading platforms. Their armor caught the overhead lights and threw sharp reflections across the corridor walls as they passed.
No wasted motion.
No idle wandering.
"This vessel is configured primarily as a rapid troop transport," CC-4377 explained as they walked. His pace was brisk but measured, accustomed to the rhythm of command. "Sixteen thousand troopers per deployment cycle. Efficient embarkation and disembarkation through ventral hangars. Ideal for concentrated planetary insertion."
They passed a mess hall entrance — wide doors slid open as a platoon exited in disciplined rows. Inside, rows of identical tables were bolted to the deck. Nutrient dispensers lined one wall, and troopers stood in orderly queues receiving rations without conversation beyond necessary acknowledgment.
Further down the corridor, they passed barracks decks. The doors were open in some compartments, revealing compact sleeping quarters stacked in tiers — bunks secured against vibration, personal storage lockers at each station. The space was minimal but organized with immaculate precision.
"They are prepared for long deployments," the commander continued. "Consumables stored in lower cargo holds. Environmental systems designed for extended hyperspace transit."
Kael nodded as they turned onto another passageway leading toward an auxiliary flight deck. Through a broad viewport, he could see pilots conducting final calibration drills beside docked LAAT gunships. Flight crews moved with quiet efficiency, checking repulsor alignment and weapon systems before sealing panels shut.
"They have trained exclusively for coordinated assault," CC-4377 said. "Insertion, extraction, ground support."
Kael paused briefly to observe a group of troopers practicing rapid embarkation drills. At a shouted command, they boarded a stationary LAAT in under ten seconds, securing themselves in seamless motion.
There was no fumbling.
No uncertainty.
"They've never seen combat," Kael murmured.
"No, General," the commander replied. "But they have trained for nothing else."
They resumed walking, ascending toward the upper decks where corridors narrowed further. The hum of the reactor vibrated faintly through the deck plating. Overhead lights cast sharp shadows along the length of the passageway as more troopers passed them in disciplined formation, some peeling off into training compartments where simulated blaster fire crackled faintly behind sealed doors.
From one such room, the sharp report of practice fire echoed in controlled bursts.
CC-4377 slowed slightly.
"General," he said after a moment, tone shifting almost imperceptibly from procedural to curious. "Is it true a Jedi can deflect blaster fire?"
Kael glanced sideways at him.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"And… move objects with a gesture?"
There was no mockery in the question. No disbelief.
Only genuine inquiry.
Kael stopped in the center of the corridor.
Clones continued passing around them, bright armor gliding through the sterile white hallways. The movement of soldiers never faltered.
He reached down and removed his helmet from his belt.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed it upward.
Before gravity could reclaim it, he extended his hand.
The helmet halted midair.
It hovered there — suspended, motionless — as if resting on an invisible platform.
The overhead lights gleamed off its beskar surface while the commander stood absolutely still, visor angled upward.
Kael rotated his hand slightly.
The helmet turned with it, slow and controlled.
"It's called the Force," Kael said evenly. "It binds living things together. Connects us."
He lowered his hand, and the helmet drifted gently back into his palm.
The commander regarded him for a long moment.
"Remarkable," he said quietly.
Kael studied him.
"You were taught about us?"
"Yes, General. History. Capabilities. Doctrine."
"But you've never seen it."
"No, sir."
Kael clipped the helmet back to his belt.
"Now you have."
They resumed walking toward the brig, the corridor gradually widening again near the command sector. Troopers moved past them in precise formations, white armor gleaming under recessed lighting as they entered training rooms or disappeared down access ladders toward lower decks.
The ship felt less like machinery now.
More like a living system.
Thousands of identical men, each moving with disciplined purpose through sterile corridors toward a war none of them had chosen — guided by officers bred for command, and led by a Jedi who was still learning what that title truly meant.
Ahead, the reinforced doors of the bridge section came into view.
And somewhere above them, on the narrow holographic bridge, Yoda prepared to guide an army into its first battle.
The doors to the bridge parted with a muted hydraulic hiss.
Kael stepped through first, CC-4377 falling half a pace behind as they entered the dorsal command tower of the Acclamator.
The bridge was nothing like the cavernous hangars below.
It was controlled.
Focused.
The chamber rose in a tapered, arrow-shaped tower module that jutted from the dorsal superstructure of the ship. The ceiling angled upward in layered panels of white and brushed metal, recessed lighting casting a steady, cool glow across consoles and bulkheads. There were no wide transparisteel windows dominating the front of the bridge. Instead, a bank of advanced holoscreens curved along the forward wall, projecting navigation data and real-time hyperspace telemetry in luminous streams of blue.
At the center of the room stood a massive holotable.
It pulsed softly, projecting a three-dimensional image of Geonosis rotating slowly above its surface — a burnt-orange sphere marked with topographical overlays and tactical grids. Continental dust seas shimmered beneath the holographic grid lines. Highlighted zones flickered where Separatist installations had been identified. Vector lines traced potential drop corridors and artillery arcs.
The planet turned in ghostly light.
Around the perimeter of the bridge, clone naval officers operated at recessed stations. Their uniforms differed starkly from the bright white armor of the troopers below. Medium-grey tunics, tailored and precise, bore standing collars edged with black piping. An asymmetrical, black-piped seam curved down the front of each jacket in a subtle "S" shape. Rank plaques gleamed on the left chest. Black belts with silver buckles secured the uniform at the waist, and code cylinders rested neatly along the collar.
Each officer wore a matching grey kepi-style cap.
Each had the same face.
Tan skin. Brown eyes. Short black hair cut to identical military buzz standards.
The likeness to Jango Fett was unmistakable — multiplied across every station.
They worked in silence, broken only by clipped acknowledgments and the soft hum of data consoles.
Two sunken crew pits flanked the central holotable, where operators stood at lower levels, surrounded by curved control panels. From there, tactical updates streamed upward in layered holographic feeds — ship positions, deployment countdowns, artillery readiness.
Beyond the holoscreens, through a narrow dorsal viewport at the rear of the chamber, hyperspace flowed past in an endless tunnel of stretched blue-white light.
It bathed the bridge in shifting reflections.
Yoda stood near the holotable, hands folded within his sleeves, small frame dwarfed by the towering projections around him. The light from Geonosis flickered across his green skin as he spoke quietly with the clone officer currently commanding the vessel.
"Estimated reversion to realspace in two standard hours, Master," the officer reported, voice measured and calm. His cap rested firmly above steady brown eyes that never wavered from the data feed. "Fleet arrival vectors synchronized. Orbital insertion sequence prepared."
"Good," Yoda replied. "Precise, timing must be."
Kael moved closer to the holotable, his boots striking the bridge deck with a muted metallic echo. He studied the rotating projection of Geonosis — the arid terrain, the clustered Separatist facilities marked in faint crimson.
It was strange, seeing the battlefield rendered so cleanly.
So sterile.
No dust. No heat. No screams.
Just geometry and probability.
CC-4377 remained a respectful step behind him.
"General," the clone commander said quietly, "primary drop zones have been designated here and here."
He gestured toward two flashing sectors near a large arena complex.
Kael nodded slowly.
Below them, in the bowels of twelve assault ships, nearly two hundred thousand men prepared to descend into that red dust.
On this bridge, everything felt ordered.
Calculated.
Hyperspace shimmered beyond the hull like a river of light carrying them toward inevitability.
Yoda turned slightly, sensing Kael's presence.
"Ready, you are?" the Grand Master asked softly.
Kael's eyes remained on the holographic planet for a moment longer.
Then he answered.
"As I'll ever be."
The projection of Geonosis continued to rotate in the center of the bridge — silent, waiting — while the blue tunnel of hyperspace carried the Republic's first army toward war.