Star Wars: The New Order

Arriving

"WE'VE ENTERED THE TRANQUÉL SYSTEM!"
   I open my eyes, recollecting the events that have just transpired: Leaving Astergard, jumping onto a shuttle heading to the Outer Rim. Getting away from the Republic. It all seemed to happen so fast. Kind of a blur now. Not that I really want to remember it anyhow.
   I hear the driver's voice through the comm again: "Hey, I want those rooms cleaned up. You humans can be such a messy bunch."
   I drag myself out of bed, still not fully awake, collecting my things as the pilot rambles on through the comm system.
   The cargo bay doors whoosh open, and I step out into the main room, leaning by the exit. Numerous metal ornaments dangle tightly from the rust red ceiling, clanging and chiming peacefully. My eyes wander to a faded poster on the wall opposite of me:
'PEACE. JUSTICE. SAFTEY. BRING ORDER TO OUR GALAXY! JOIN THE REPUBLIC FORCES!'
I scoff.
I'm anxious to leave. Though, I think to myself, I'm still not sure why. I mean I know why, but. . . .why? Why am I so intent on running away from my problems? No one in the history of the Dashille family ever ran away from their problems. This question I've never asked myself—or never let myself ask it—and the memories it forces out of my mind are disturbing.
   The cockpit doors spring open. I raise my head towards the pilot, who shuffles out with a hydro-spanner and rag-cloth in hand. "So Jerith, my friend," the guy chuckles. "You decided to wake up after all!"
   "Yeah, well I honestly can't see how one can sleep through comm chatter like that, even one with such small ears as mine," I remark gesturing with my eyes at the little guy's large ears.
   The Er'Kit laughs, "Well, I thought you might want to know that we're about to finish our little trip....a trip I hope you can afford." He draws out the last word like a fisherman skinning an eel, as if making sure it doesn't slip past my ears.
"Don't worry. Like I said, I've got more than enough." I glimpse through the small porthole to my right. "Where are we, exactly?"
"Tranquéll system," says the pilot. "Outer Rim, very remote. Far from the central government," he lets out a chuckle, "I assume that's what you were looking for, peace an' quite—solitude—eh?"
"How'd you guess?"
"Well, Tranquéll, is the tranquilest place you'll find, next to Alderaan, maybe."
"No, thanks. To much political stuff happening there, especially with this war dragging on."
The pilot goes wide-eyed, almost stuttering, as if he forgot something important.
"You really don't know...." he manages.
I raise a brow in confusion. "Excuse me?"
But before the driver can explain, he is back in the cockpit, answering to an urgent call:
"Attention, Beylin-class shuttle," comes the infamous voice of a clone trooper. Clone troopers out here?
"State your business and cargo!"
"Ah, yes-yessir," the Er'Kit answers carefully. "I'm carrying one passenger, no cargo, save some supplies—"
"—What supplies?" the clone interrupts.
"Ah....uh, nothing! Nothing of note, just some rations and clothing, for myself, of course. I'm taking a visitor to the planet above," the pilot quickly, but decisively explains.

Half a minute passes.

"Beylin shuttle, you have permission to land. Follow the traffic route into the atmosphere at sector 1138. Do not deviate from that course or you will be blasted from the sky."
My pilot perks up and responds, "Yessir!" and switches off the external comm.
I see two Republic fighters zoom overhead, making sure all entering and exiting ships stay on course. Since when did the Republic enforce these laws out here?
"Hey, buddy," I say. "What was that about me not knowing something?"
So shaken is the pilot that he doesn't even respond. He simply locks me out of the crowded cockpit area, leaving me to wait and wonder.
Since when did Republic clones shoot innocent citizens out of the skies?