Star Wars: The New Order

Running

   "JUST GET ME AS FAR AWAY FROM THE CORE WORLDS AS POSSIBLE."
   I stand in a shuttle departing Astergard, a jungle infested planet that won't be missed by me. Not for the heat, and not for the Republic's presence there.
   I'm no Separatist, but I can't say I'm very fond of the Republic either. After the past couple months, the War has become unbearable, almost impossible to avoid. Just when I think I've found somewhere to set up a fresh new life, in comes the Separatist Droid Army to test one of their weapons, or the Not-So-Grand Army of the Republic meddling in affairs they clearly shouldn't be.
But I made by the best I could. Not that my best was very good to begin with. I had been living on Astergard for five standard months so far. I'd been to over ten different cities, all of which were beautiful tourist destinations for the incredible architecture built into the sides of the planet's massive cliff work. But I hadn't come to so many cities just to sightsee. It was the trouble I'd gotten into at each city that had caused me to move around so much. Just when I thought I'd found a good job, I'd get mixed up in something and be in way over my head. Next thing I know, I get fined with illegal activity or banished from certain territories.
But it wasn't until last week that the Republic's cruisers (now adopting the name "Star Destroyers" among weary citizens) arrived, covering Astergard's golden skies. The Republic wasn't cruel, of course, and a Republic invasion was better than a Separatist one in a lot of ways, but they were still undoubtedly corrupt. If only the Republic had been faced with a more honorable group than the Seppies; then the Clone Wars wouldn't have been totally pointless.
   I had sat by the window in my temporary living quarters above an old cantina, watching as white-armored clone troopers ran through the streets of Val'guldii Square. Apparently they were headed for a Seppie droid outpost some kilometers beyond the city's central spaceport. Since the planet was covered in jagged cliffs, and the spaceport was too small for Star Destroyers, they had dispatched ground units instead. It wouldn't be long now until the troopers reclaimed the planet. Whoop-de-doo.
The fighting had reduced many buildings to rubble—one of those buildings being my workplace. At that point, I had been working for a weapons dealer (a legal weapons dealer, the authorities went to an effort to make sure of that after I spent last month in Cisana City Prison) named Prof. Judaia. A Siniteen "brainiac", he was not easily swayed. His business was legal, yes, but shady, and he had a personality to match. But he also had a bit of a soft spot for hard luck cases like myself.
I can't say I was shocked when I heard he had perished in the crossfire. Not because I was cruel or selfish. But the fact that the Clone Wars brought death and destruction wherever it went shouldn't come as a shock to anyone. It was the unfortunate reality of war.

"Buddy, d'ya hear me?"
I shake my head clear of thoughts and turn to the Er'Kit driver of the shuttle I stand in, ready for departure.
"Ah, sorry. What was that?"

"I said it'll be no problem. If you got the credits, that is."

"Pal, I've got enough credits to keep this bird flying from Subterrel to Vulpter and back," I say with a smirk, though obviously not entirely truthfully.
The long-eared alien just rolls his eyes and fiddles with the navigations systems. "Sure, sure, whatever," he smiles, clearly picking up on my sarcasm. "As long as it's enough. There's a cargo bay through the door to your right and a bunk further down."
I readjust the strap that I'm using to hold my luggage over my shoulder and head towards said door.
"Alright," I say, anxious to leave. But before I go, the driver has something else to say: "Hey, buddy. What'd you say your name was?"
"Jerith Dasille," I reply. Sometimes I'm not sure what that name means anymore.
I hear the guy mutter to himself and switch on a holographic imagecaster, probably adding my name to the list of previous customers. The cargo bay door swings open as I push the button next to it, while motion-detecting lights flash on. As I step in, a stench relatable to Wampa guts—a smell I know all too well—rushes into my face and I take in the sight of the largely unattractive hold.
Still better than living next to a clone battalion for a week.
As the door starts to close behind me, I hear some kind of speech coming from a HoloNet image in the cockpit, and the pale little Er'Kit exclaims, "By the Moons of Iego!"
Slam!
The door is closed. And soundproof, it seems. Good. That way I won't have to listen to whatever war propaganda that guy is probably watching. I dump my belongings and head for the next room's bunk. Soon I'll have this whole ordeal behind me.
I lay down, removing my jacket to use as a makeshift pillow, since apparently Er'Kits sleep without pillows....
I close my eyes and drift towards sleep.
"May the Force be with you, Jerith Dashille," I say.