Space Marine in Star Wars

===Qui-Gon===

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan's unconscious form was gently loaded onto the ship the Queen had sanctioned for their use. Nira and Anakin sat nearby, their shared loss bonding them in a quiet, unspoken understanding. The hangar, still scarred from the battle with the Astartes, would be rebuilt in time.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew his attention to the massive double doors leading deeper into the palace. Maximus, the towering Astartes, approached. Qui-Gon took a deep breath, lowering his arms from where they had been folded across his chest, and began walking toward the imposing figure.

"How are your brothers?" Qui-Gon asked.

"They're improving. This galaxy's technology is quite different from our own," Maximus replied.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. "I imagine yours is more suited for war and slaughter."

"Indeed. My galaxy is filled with cruel, lethal beings. Only the cruelty and lethality of our own kind keep us alive," the Ultramarine answered.

Qui-Gon shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back. "Have you ever thought that perhaps violence isn't the answer?"

Maximus's reply was blunt. "Yes."

"Violence is never the answer. It's the question. And the answer is always 'yes.'"

Maximus's gaze remained unyielding, his towering form casting a long shadow over Qui-Gon. The Jedi studied him closely, sensing the weight of a lifetime spent in battle—a lifetime where violence had long ceased to be a choice.

"The thing about the Force," Qui-Gon began, his voice calm, "is that it teaches us there's always another way, another path. Violence is a choice. It doesn't have to be the answer."

Maximus's voice was firm, the words coming with the weight of an unshakable belief. "Violence is not a choice. It is a requirement. In my galaxy, it is the only means of survival. Without it, we are consumed. Without it, there is no tomorrow."

Qui-Gon took a moment to absorb the harsh certainty in Maximus's words. The Astartes' optics burned with the cold truth of his experiences, and Qui-Gon understood—this was a man shaped by an existence where peace had no place.

"It's a hard truth," Qui-Gon said, his tone measured, "but it doesn't have to define you. There's always more than one way to survive."

Maximus's posture stiffened, his gaze never leaving the Jedi. "Survival? What does that mean, if not fighting? The galaxy is unforgiving. Those who hesitate, those who do not fight—those who choose mercy or peace—they die. We fight because we must. We fight to endure."

"I've seen your kind fight," Qui-Gon replied, his voice firm but gentle. "I've seen the destruction you leave in your wake. But what do you protect, Maximus, when the fight is over? What remains of the world you sought to save?"

The Astartes clenched his fists, his voice growing harder. "I protect my brothers. I protect the Imperium. I protect the future. I protect humanity itself. You do not understand. In my galaxy, peace is a fleeting illusion, a weakness that will destroy us if we entertain it. Violence is a tool, and it is the only tool we have to ensure our survival. There is no peace. There is only War."

Qui-Gon watched him carefully. "I understand more than you think. But even in the harshest of circumstances, violence should never be the only answer. It's a cycle, Maximus. Violence breeds more violence. It consumes those who wield it and those caught in its path."

Maximus shook his head, his voice unwavering. "That may be true for you. But for us, there is no choice. We are forged in the fires of war. To survive is to fight. There is no other path."

Qui-Gon studied him, his gaze unwavering. "Perhaps, but that doesn't mean you cannot change the way you fight. You are not bound to this endless cycle, Maximus. You have the power to choose what you protect—and how you protect it."

For a long moment, the Astartes remained silent, the weight of Qui-Gon's words hanging in the air. "I will be long dead when that happens. But until that day comes, I will do what I must. For my brothers. For the Imperium. For the Emperor."

Qui-Gon nodded, sensing the conviction in his words, yet also the flicker of something deeper, something that, perhaps, might one day allow Maximus to see another path. "Then I will respect that. But know this: even in the darkest of times, there will always be a different way—a way that is not just about survival, but about protecting what is truly worth saving."

Maximus's gaze softened for a brief moment before he turned his attention back to the horizon. "Perhaps. But for now, survival is all I can offer."

Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, still unconscious, then back at Maximus. "Then let that be enough—for now."

The two stood in silence, the hum of the rebuilding hangar behind them, as the quiet bond of understanding formed between them. One would continue to fight, while the other would hold out hope for something greater.

Qui-Gon's gaze drifted toward Anakin and Nira, but he was surprised to see Anakin staring at the towering Ultramarine with pure hatred in his eyes. The intensity of it was unsettling—a fire that burned with the force of something far darker than what Qui-Gon had hoped to see. An even bigger reason he needed to bring Anakin into the Order, to guide him, to teach him control. Qui-Gon didn't know exactly how he would do it, but he was resolved. He would get the boy into the Order.

Nira, however, was a different story. She stood up from where she had been sitting and slowly walked over to Maximus, her eyes puffy and red from crying. The weight of her grief hung heavily around her, but there was something in her step that suggested she was ready to find some form of solace.

Overcome with compassion, Maximus knelt before her, lowering his imposing frame to her level and removing his helmet. He reached out with one massive hand, and Nira hesitated for only a moment before she placed her small hand on his. She grasped one of his fingers with both hands, as if seeking some semblance of comfort from the enormity of his presence.

"I am… sorry," he said gently, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "For what happened to your mother. She was a good woman."

Nira's eyes welled with tears as she looked up into the Astartes' eyes. The sight of the massive warrior without his helmet—his face softened in a way that betrayed the brutal warrior within—only made her grief more palpable. She could see the sincerity in his gaze.

"I have no one left," she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her loss.

Maximus's expression didn't waver, but there was something almost tender in his demeanor. He spoke plainly, yet with an air of quiet certainty. "You will go with the Jedi."

Her tears flowed freely now, the realization of what he said settling in her heart. She had no choice but to accept it. With the loss of her mother, the world she once knew had collapsed, and now there was a new path she would be forced to walk—one that was as uncertain as it was necessary.

Qui-Gon, watching from the side, could see the quiet exchange between the two—an understanding, perhaps, between two beings who had lost everything, but found a brief connection in that loss. He would make sure Nira was safe, that she would find a place with the Jedi, but for now, he let the moment pass quietly. There were things that could not be rushed, even in the face of so much grief.

Maximus stood slowly, his imposing figure looming once more over the girl. She didn't flinch; instead, she looked up at him with a mixture of sorrow and something else—perhaps gratitude, or perhaps just the faintest glimmer of hope.

Qui-Gon's attention shifted back to Anakin, still glaring at Maximus from across the hangar. His resolve hardened. There would be no avoiding the boy's temper, and no ignoring the darkness he had already begun to show. But Qui-Gon would do what he had to do.

"I'm going to miss you," Nira said, her voice barely above a whisper as she moved forward, wrapping her small arms around the massive leg of the Ultramarine. She clung to him for a moment, the weight of her grief and the finality of their parting pressing down on her.

Maximus paused for a moment, his immense frame unmoving before he slowly reached down, his massive hand resting lightly on her head. He let out a low hum, the sound almost comforting in its depth.

"I'm sure we will meet again eventually," he replied, his voice steady but softer than usual. There was no doubt in his words, only the certainty of a warrior who had seen the tides of fate shift before.

As the last of the ship's preparations were being completed, Qui-Gon glanced over, sensing the quiet bond between the two. Nira's sorrow and the brief connection they had shared was an unexpected moment of peace in the wake of so much chaos.

He knew, however, that they all had different paths to walk now. The Jedi, the Astartes, and the two children who had lost everything. Their stories weren't finished. But for now, it was time to move forward.

Maximus straightened, his hulking form towering over Nira.

"I will remember you, little one," he said quietly, before taking a step back.

Nira let him go, her heart heavy but a sense of resolve settling in.

Qui-Gon walked forward, extending a hand to the girl.

"Come. We have much to do," he said softly. With a gentle but firm grip, he guided her toward the ship.

He glanced back once, catching Maximus's eye. The towering Astartes gave him a brief, solemn nod in return, before turning and making his way back toward the palace, his heavy footsteps echoing through the hangar.

As Qui-Gon, Nira, and Anakin boarded the ship, the weight of the moment lingered. There was much ahead of them, but for now, they moved forward, leaving behind the uncertainty of the past for the possibilities of what was to come.

===Maximus===

Maximus gazed at his brothers suspended in the Bacta tanks, their forms healed slowly by the fluid. He wondered, in his rare moments of reflection, what it felt like to be immersed in that healing substance. What kind of peace it might bring after so much conflict.

Padmé approached, standing beside him in silence for a moment before breaking it. "So… what will you do now?" Her voice was soft but steady, the weight of the question clear.

Maximus remained still, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he considered the possibilities. Finally, he spoke. "We will need to do two things. Establish a home base and repair our armor. I believe the planet Tatooine would do nicely, as the Battle Barge is there. Though we will need to cleanse the planet of the less... desirables." His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of emotion, as though it were simply another task to be done.

Padmé furrowed her brow, clearly unsettled by the cold practicality of his words, but she didn't interrupt. He continued, his gaze never leaving the tanks. "But that still leaves our armor, and I'm unsure how to approach the problem."

Maximus turned his gaze toward the stacks of armor beside the Bacta pods, his eyes scanning the familiar designs—each piece meticulously crafted for battle. The armor was more than just protection; it was a symbol of his brothers, their unyielding resolve, and their shared history. But the thought of repair remained, gnawing at the back of his mind.

Padmé's voice broke his thoughts. "There is a… group of people, called the Mandalorians. They use an alloy called Beskar to make their armor. It's incredibly durable, almost like your armor. But they are incredibly secretive about their traditions."

Maximus didn't respond immediately. His mind processed the information, noting the similarity between the Beskar and the material that made up their own armor. It was rare that any people outside the Astartes could boast something comparable in quality. But his curiosity was tempered by skepticism.

"Mandalorians," he muttered, rolling the name on his tongue.

Padmé nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting the weight of the decision. "Their traditions are guarded, yes, but their craftsmanship is unparalleled. If you could find a way to reach them, their alloy could help repair your armor—and perhaps even improve it."

Maximus considered her words carefully.

If their metal was as durable as she claimed, it could be the solution to the problem that had been weighing on his mind.

"Perhaps it is worth pursuing," he said, his voice measured.

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