Thanks to my reviewers! Much appreciated. And to my unnamed guest . . . some prescient ideas, as you will see! Peace,CS

Chapter 56 Predictability

"It isn't that they can't see the solution. It is that they can't see the problem."

G.K. Chesterton

"We'll make this one free style, as well," the sergeant major announced. "And just to keep it clean, no use of outside objects. Bodies only, gentlemen."

"At least he didn't call us ladies," CT-7567 quipped.

"Not yet," the sergeant major stated. "I'll reserve that for the end of the match – if it's warranted." He paused. "Fighting positions. Begin!"

CT-7567 had been hoping since the first day of training to have an opportunity to go up against his roommate, to test his skills against a man considered to be one of, if not the, best clone trooper in the entire GAR. He looked upon this challenge as a chance to show what he could do and perhaps to make an impression upon his roommate . . .

. . . as if he had not already been making multiple impressions on him since the moment they'd met.

CT-7567 never let himself forget Cody's assignment to the 212th, so closely aligned with the 501st. If there was even the least chance that the commander might come away from ARC training with the idea that a fellow trainee might be a good fit for Skywalker's unit, CT-7567 would do everything in his power to prove that he was that trainee.

Of course, CT-7567 conceded that defeating the commander in a hand-to-hand fight could work against him, cause Cody to detest him, and cement a resolve to never, under any circumstances, allow him to become a part of that elite unit to which he aspired.

Still, throwing a match was absolutely out of the question. CT-7567 was too competitive, too prideful to give anything less than his best and his all. He had been hoping that such qualities would put him in good stead with Commander Cody, and yet his own mercurial nature bubbled up to the surface often enough to muddy the waters. He was quite certain that Cody did not know what to think of him.

And that could play to his advantage in this contest.

Facing the commander now, he had never seen such a credible Skrebid* face. There were no discernible emotions, no window into his thoughts, no wordless harbinger of contemplated action. Not a single clue as to how to proceed.

Across from him, Cody assumed a semi-crouching stance with his hands open and loose at mid-chest. He side-stepped along the perimeter of the circle, never taking his eyes from his opponent's. He sensed intuitively that 7567 was waiting for him to make the first move. And that was what he intended to do, but only on his own terms. He could offer up just enough to draw 7567 in, just enough to get him started and on the offensive. Cody had a plan, but to put that plan into action, he needed to incite his roommate. A little provocation would likely do the job.

He made a shallow lunge on his right leg, swiping out with the same arm – an almost taunting move. Then as CT-7567 stepped back, Cody made another lightning non-strike.

"One more . . . one more and he won't be able to hold himself back," the commander said to himself. "Add a little grist to the fire . . . " He spun into a backward roundhouse kick, making a breathy, hissing noise as he did so, sounding as if he were channeling a demon spirit.

His prediction now showed itself to be correct, for CT-7567 came after him with the speed and energy of a man fresh into his first battle as opposed to a man slogging through his tenth or twelfth confrontation in the last four hours.

For a moment, Cody wondered if he might have made a mistake in provoking him. Watching CT-7567 fight was one thing; being pitted against him . . . quite another.

What one could see as an observer was that 7567 was stronger than average; what one encountered as an opponent was that 7567 knew how to combine that strength with an agility that made him even more formidable. What one noticed from the sidelines was that 7567 was fast; what one had to contend with face-to-face was that rapidity at close quarters, making it almost impossible to take in the action within the narrowed range of vision.

Cody had known before volunteering that he would either have to maintain enough distance to keep the entirety of CT-7567's body in sight, every part of which presented as a weapon; or he would have to go for a clinch and keep him so close that the contest devolved into wrestling.

And he had opted for the first course of action. He'd noticed early on in the combat training that CT-7567's predominant fighting method was that of a swarmer, keeping up a level of pressure in his onslaught that wore his opponents down while he, with his superior stamina, was able to take them down after a prolonged barrage. But even though that was his predominant style, it certainly did not define the man as a fighter. CT-7567 was unpredictable, followed none of the rules for breaking holds, immobilizing the enemy, or minimizing injury to self; and he sure as hell didn't give a Kowakian monkey-lizard's ass about maintaining the integrity of form.

Cody would let CT-7567 chase him around the mat until fatigue began to peck away at that incredible endurance. The commander didn't need him exhausted; he only needed him a few notches down from where he was now. A few well-timed taunts would keep him coming. Then it would be little more than a matter of timing. For while Cody might be impressed with his roommate's ability, he knew that strategy always prevailed over strength, oftentimes over skill.

And, if by some fluke, CT-7567 should defeat him . . . well, Cody could live with that, too.

He retreated calmly from a storm of kicks and punches, blocking and parrying, throwing in the occasional counterpunch for good measure.

"Just keep comin', Blondie." Cody found that by not expecting any particular moves, by responding in a purely reactionary manner, he was well able to keep ahead of his adversary. And the beauty of it was that CT-7567 didn't realize he was being led by the nose down the very path the commander had planned for him.

Or did he?

After nearly a minute of unproductive offense, CT-7567 stopped advancing. He maintained a ready position as a wicked smile spread across his face.

"You plan on just running away from me the whole time?" he scoffed. "This hardly qualifies as a fight."

Cody did not bother to answer. Then, much to his surprise, he saw 7567 dive towards him. Given the slew of punches and kicks, this maneuver did catch him off-guard. He barely managed to side-step out of the way, but that did not mean he was clear. CT-7567, as he landed on his stomach, swept out his right arm and caught the commander around the ankle. One fierce yank, and Cody stumbled, his hands hitting the floor.

He tried to pull his foot free, but 7567 had a hold like a vise; and not only that, but he now had both hands around the ankle and was forcefully pulling the commander towards him.

Cody flipped sideways onto his back, swinging his free leg out in a wide arc that just barely missed making contact with 7567's head. He followed quickly with a flat-footed jab again aimed towards the head, but 7567 freed up one hand from its hold on his ankle and absorbed the blow with the palm of his hand. He thrust Cody's leg aside, released his hold on the ankle and launched from his kneeling position into a blanketing move that he quickly turned into a front mount, from which he began punching.

But now Cody used on him the same technique 7567 had used on CT-3636 – trap and roll. Cody grabbed 7567's left arm with both hands, slid his right foot up to trap 7567's left foot, thrust upwards and rolled over, coming up on top, kneeling between his opponent's legs. He felt those legs wrap around his waist, but this was where the commander's own ruthlessness came into play.

He bent his right arm up towards his face, grabbed hold of his right wrist with his left hand to give himself more power, and drove his elbow down into 7567's gut, right above the plate.

CT-7567 grunted, coughed once, and actually spat up bile. Cody took advantage of the moment to slide up between his legs and execute a full front mount.

CT-7567, however, recovered quickly; and planting his elbows on the ground at his sides, he prevented the commander from sliding up any higher up on his body. Cody did not waist a second before pelting him with punches to the face, but only two landed before CT-7567 raised his hips, causing the commander to tip forward; and before Cody could regain his balance and retreat, CT-7567 had lifted his head high enough off the mat to deliver an effective head butt.

Momentarily stunned and propelled back by the force of the blow, Cody toppled awkwardly to the side; but CT-7567 was also a bit dazed from his own move. He backpedalled instead of getting directly to his feet, feeling that he needed the few extra seconds to regain his senses and equilibrium. He shifted to his hands and knees and was about to push up to his feet when, this time, he was taken from behind.

Commander Cody dug his fingers under the rubbery neck of the body glove and yanked 7567 backwards off his knees and onto the mat. The commander pressed in behind him, both men in seated positions, and wrapped his legs around the lieutenant's waist. He immediately slipped his arms under 7567's shoulders and drew his arms back.

CT-7567, through sheer strength, began pushing backwards with his legs, scooting both himself and the commander across the floor, until he was actually driving the commander down under his back.

Cody realized that, if he didn't let go, he was going to end up being overpowered and on the bottom. At the moment, he still had CT-7567's back to his chest, which meant he still had the upper hand. He released his opponent's arms, and using his legs, pushed himself up until his groin was against 7567's neck; and then he contracted his legs around his throat in a headlock. Curling forward, he used both hands to cover 7567's mouth and nose, cutting off his air.

Now, he only had to hold on. CT-7567 had been breathing hard. It would be less than 30 seconds before he passed out.

CT-7567 could barely get his arms around Cody's legs to reach the hands suffocating him. He clawed at whatever his fingers could make contact with: the commander's armor, his body glove, the backs of his hands, but to no avail.

There followed several spasms, last attempts to draw air.

Then he was still.

"Match," the sergeant major announced.

Cody released his hold.

CT-7567 gasped and choked and coughed. The hands that had, seconds before, been killing him now were slapping his face gently. Cody's voice came to him like water tinkling in a cave. "Come on . . . breathe slowly . . . that's it."

He opened his eyes, saw Cody sitting still partially wrapped around him, and he knew he'd been defeated. But instead of feeling vanquished, a sense of pride settled in his veins - not pride in himself, but pride in his roommate.

"Impossible," he murmured. "You can't have beaten me."

"It wasn't pretty, but it was a victory," Cody replied.

CT-7567 sat up slowly as the commander untangled himself to assist. "I want a rematch," the lieutenant stated hoarsely.

It was the sergeant major who interjected, "You'll have plenty of time for rematches over the next four-and-a-half weeks."

"I agree," Cody said, getting into a crouch and putting an arm around his roommate's waist. With CT-7567's arm over his shoulder, he stood up, and with the air of two well-worn battle buddies, he led him back to the perimeter. "Not that I'd want to make a habit of it," he grinned. "I think I'm going to be sore for a week."

Bravo and Echo Squads gathered around them, offering congratulations to both of them.

Cody felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched CT-7567 absorb the attention without any hint of embarrassment or, more surprisingly, self-importance. He did not appear humbled by the loss, nor angry nor bitter. He was magnanimous in defeat – something Cody would never have expected.

"A change for the better," he noted inwardly. "We may make it through this together after all, Blondie."

That evening after dinner, Cody met with his squad to discuss a group exercise they would be doing the next day. After two hours of pouring over the operations order, they called it a night with still an hour to go until lights out.

Upon returning to his room, the commander found it empty. He didn't have to wonder where CT-7567 had gone. After the combat training that morning, the afternoon had been filled with both a seminar on non-conventional tactics and another session of free navigation instruction. Another agonizing lesson in confusion and frustration for CT-7567. When the class had ended, instead of joining the rest of the class in the mess hall, CT-7567 had gone back to his room and buried his face in the star charts with his data pad at hand for his calculations. He was still there when Cody had returned from dinner before going to meet his squad.

But he was not here now, and Cody had an idea or two of where he might be.

His first stop was the Star Dome lab, a spherical room with programmable star charts meant to mimic looking at a real sky. Across the diameter of the sphere, a clear floor stretched to all points, allowing the student to be able to see the starscape below as well as above him. There were a dozen hover consoles that could be moved about the floor for use in their work.

Cody's instincts proved correct, for he found CT-7567 in the lab, data pad in one hand, his other hand pressing buttons on one of the consoles.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said, walking up to stand beside him. "Still at it?"

CT-7567 sighed. "I don't understand why this is so hard for me." He set the data pad down on the console and crossed his arms over his chest. He did not look at his companion. "I've always picked up on new things just like that. I'm crap at this."

"Why don't you take a break?"

"Taking a break isn't going to get the job done," came the frowning reply.

"Neither is trying to cram more in when you're already exhausted—"

"I'm not exhausted," CT-7567 protested with a scowl. "I could have fought twenty more men—"

"I meant mentally exhausted," Cody pressed. "Give it a break and come back to it with fresh eyes tomorrow. I'll help you if you like."

"I've never needed help with anything," 7567 replied. "I'm not going to start now."

"Stubborn pod-brick," Cody mused silently, invoking a term the clones used to describe a hard-headed, recalcitrant member of their ranks. But outwardly, he reached over and picked up the data pad, put a hand on his roommate's shoulder and got him moving towards the door. "You need help with learning how to turn down the intensity when it's not needed. I think you're the type who never relaxes between battles."

"I'm not much for relaxing," 7567 admitted, though he sounded pleased with the fact. Before leaving the dome, he stopped and turned to face the commander.

"How did you do it? How did you beat me?"

"Have you been stewing about that all day?" Cody asked. "I thought you'd taken the defeat very well."

"It's been on my mind."

Cody considered before answering. He decided to go with the direct, earnest route. "I beat you because you're predictable."

Clearly, this was not what CT-7567 had expected to hear. "Predictable? Enh, you're not being serious. I'm completely unpredictable. That's what everyone says. I try to be unpredictable. Now, you're going to tell me I'm not?"

"You asked me how I beat you. Do you want my answer or not?" A pause. "Good. When I say you're predictable, I mean that your unpredictability is predictable."

"That doesn't make any sense—"

"It makes perfect sense. Just try to listen to what I'm saying," Cody chastised. "If you're going to blow off every rule of combatives, all your enemy has to do is go into a reactionary mode and wait for an opening. They can't anticipate your actions, so they don't. What seems like being on defense is really just them waiting for you to drop your guard. On the other hand, if you do what's expected fifty percent of the time, your opponent has no way of knowing when to expect the orthodox moves and when to expect the deviations. He doesn't know whether to act or react." A pause. "I just waited for you to get frustrated, and you did." A chuckle. "I admit I was surprised when you dove at me. I had let my expectations creep in. I thought you were going to just going to continue to advance, and I was going to continue to retreat until you got sloppy. That never happened."

"And here, I thought you were just being indecisive again," CT-7567 quipped.

"Not at all," Cody replied, resuming his push out the door. "But there is something called luck, and it was on my side this time."

CT-7567 grinned. "Nothing wrong with luck, as long as it results in victory."

"My thoughts exactly."

*Skrebid is just a name I made up to be the equivalent of "poker" - "poker face".

The Kowakian monkey lizard is what Salacious Crumb is!