Dear Reader, Thanks to Sued, Ms CT-782 (guest!) and the Unnamed Guest for your reviews. Much appreciated. Thank you for the condolences on the loss of Richard Adams. I guess it's fitting that there now follows a kind of fun chapter to life the mood. And there's a bit more exposition regarding Rex and Cody's inner workings. Of course, it comes right before a downright ridiculous chapter which is up next. We all have to have a ridiculous chapter here and there, right? I hope you enjoy. Peace, CS

Crimson Squad
Lieutenant Bly (CT-5052): 388th Extraction Squadon, 34th Airlift Wing, 4th Brigade Combat Team (series)(contentious but devoted to his squad mates; seems bitter and angry all the time)
CT-5211: Major Unnamed Communications Officer, Sector 8 HQs OC (cautious, overly analytical and not one to think creatively; but agreeable)
CT-4445: Clone Unnamed OC
CT-1944: Clone Unnamed OC (Staff Sergeant with 3d Infantry Regiment. Eager, very fit, competitive and perhaps foolhardy)
CT-1080-1: Clone Unnamed OC (fission mechanics and engineer; specialty clone genetically manipulated to be less prone to the effects of fission/ion generators that power Republic warships; humble, likes to follow instead of lead, observational)
CT-1789: Clone Unnamed OC (rank and file but has a good mind for problem-solving)

Echo Squad
Lieutenant Rex (CT-7567): 729th Tactical Combat Battalion (series)
Lieutenant Colt (CT-2025): (series) (ebullient, very keen sense of brotherhood, well-spoken but generally quiet and observant; room-mate with CT-5052)
CT-9090: Clone Unnamed OC ("fuel injector"; likes to be extreme in all he does, so he always appears to be throwing fuel onto the fire)
CT-390: Clone Unnamed OC (scientific and technically oriented; wants to know the "why" of everything)
CT-8462: Shinie Unnamed OC (quiet and seemingly timid; has brown eyes instead of amber)
CT-8448: Shinie Unnamed OC (defers to the more experienced clones, but appears to have a spark of boldness)
CT-9218: Shinie Unnamed OC (alert, amiable, easy-going, game for anything; good pilot in heavies and fighters)CT-1550: Clone Unnamed OC (904th Comm Group, code-interceptors, crackers and interpreter; very smart)
CT-5576: Clone Unnamed OC (88th Division Artillery - DIVARTY - walker jockey, devil-may-care attitude due to walker jockeys' short life expectancy, gallows humor, speaks with a strange accent common to walker jockeys)
CT-1448: Clone Unnamed OC

Chapter 67 A Friendly Wager

"And if I win?" asked the beaver.
"Then I'll let you take down as many trees as you desire," the forest master replied. "But if I win, you take only as many trees as you need."
"Why, that's no bet at all! I only ever take what I need, never more."
"Then it's a win-win proposition."

Stories from the High Lakes ( a collection of folk tales, this tale from Ian Flamming)

Cody always woke up ready to go.

As did most clones.

Years of conditioning on Kamino had turned out millions of young men with many of the same characteristics, one of which was the ability to go from a sound sleep to wide awake and fully aware in an instant.

There would be no lazing about in the sack after the alarm had sounded. No snoozing, no thoughtful pondering in the moments just after rising. No, any such pondering should have been undertaken in the quiet minutes before going to sleep, not upon rising.

Cody sat up in his hammock, yawned and stretched. Looking over to the other hammock, he saw it was empty. He directed his gaze towards to bluff and was not surprised when he made out the silhouette of his roommate standing on the edge as the last of the planet's moons sunk below the dark horizon.

"You're not going to try to fly, are you?" the commander quipped.

CT-7567 turned. "I wish I could. Neh, just listening to the sounds of the forest."

"Very poetic." Cody climbed down from his hammock. "Any dangerous sounds?"

"I wouldn't know," 7567 replied with a grin that was barely discernible in the starlight but clearly heard in his voice. "I'm not familiar with the wildlife around here. I would have thought you'd have gained some knowledge on that before bringing us out here in the dark."

"Never presume too much," Cody chastised. "You hungry?"

"I could do with something to eat," came the reply as he came away from the edge. "Nutrient bar?"

"Ready pac," Cody grinned.

"Nooo, how did you get a ready pac?"

"I used my charm . . . and connections," the commander replied. "So . . . I've got a Hombra Gem Fruit bread thing here . . . or a Feld Grain sweetcake. What's your pleasure?"

"You got anything hot to wash 'em down with?"

"Uh . . . " Cody pulled out a thermal sealed canister and twisted the bottom. "This should be hot in thirty seconds. Best canned caf the Grand Army has to offer."

"In that case, I'll take the Feld Grain," 7567 decided. "Otherwise, it's like eating a brick. Kinda just sits there, if you know what I mean."

"Well, they're meant to fill you up, that's why," Cody stated. "There's probably three thousand protein units in that thing."

Less than a minute later, they both stood on the ledge waiting for the burgeoning daybreak that would creep in behind them with its grey light.

"Sleep well?" Cody inquired.

"Like a stone."

"And you remember everything we went over last night?"

CT-7567 smiled at his roommate's perfect blend of business and whimsy.

"I'm pretty sure I do."

"Well, the nav test isn't until the end of training, so we still have three weeks to make sure you're up-to-speed."

"Three weeks. What else do you imagine they have planned to fill our time for three weeks?" CT-7567 asked.

"Well, we know there's an E&E segment," Cody replied. "I can only imagine what else they've got on the agenda."

A moment of quiet passed, before CT-7567 admitted, "It's been more fun than I thought it would be."

"Fun? Interesting way to put it."

"I thought I'd be bored, but . . . it's had some challenges." He left the idea hanging in the air, and Cody fully expected him to elaborate on those challenges. So when CT-7567 began speaking again, Cody was surprised at what followed. "Do you miss the 212th?"

Cody hesitated, wondering what would prompt such an inquiry. "Miss it? No. This is my place-of-duty for six weeks. When it's over, I'll go back to the battalion and pick up where I left off. I don't see any point in . . . missing it."

CT-7567 chuckled. "You don't choose to miss something. You just do." After a brief silence he went on. "Something becomes a part of your life. When you're away from it—or it's taken from you—you miss it. That is, you miss it if it was something you liked."

"Okay," Cody conceded. "I don't disagree with that."

"But you know the Kaminoans would consider that to be an undesirable trait in us clones," 7567 went on. "Too sentimental."

Cody laughed. "Are you saying that you're sentimental?"

"No," came the quick reply. "Just that the Kaminoans would consider it sentimental."

"I still don't understand what you're trying to say," Cody stated, taking a long swig of caf—it actually seemed to taste pleasant in these leisurely circumstances. "You're talking in circles."

CT-7567 shrugged nonchalantly. "That's who I am."

"Yeah, and I'm still trying to figure you out."

CT-7567 was direct. "I miss the 729th. I miss being with my men, fighting side-by-side with them. I miss the action on the front lines."

Cody could hear the sincerity in his voice. "That doesn't surprise me," he said. "We're bred for war, so I guess I can understand how you might miss that aspect of it—"

"No, no, that's not it. It's not the fighting I miss. It's the fighting alongside my men," 7567 cut him off. "Leading them through danger. Leading them to victory."

"Yes, but you could do that in any unit," Cody pointed out. "I thought you wanted to join the 501st? You haven't stopped talking about it since we started ARC training—"

"Those are my batchers in the 729th—"

"And yet you want to come to the 501st. Do you plan to bring all your batchers with you? I'm not sure what OMM would say about that. You must have known, coming here, that you might not be going back to your unit."

"Of course, I did—"

"Are you having regrets about it? You'll forgive me for saying so, but you don't seem like the type to have regrets about anything," the commander pointed out. "And it's not as if we have any control over our own destinies. We go where the Army tells us. We can ask for a certain assignment, but everything depends on the needs of the Army." He let his words sink in, then at length, inquired, "Would you ever really want to come to the 501st if it meant leaving your batchers behind?"

CT-7567 scanned the brightening landscape below, as if he would find the answer somewhere there among the wilderness. When, at last, he replied, it was with a calm certitude, and yet Cody could detect a note of resignation that seemed out-of-place coming from his roommate. "I would want to go wherever I was most needed."

CT-7567 jumped down inside the perimeter wall where Cody was already standing, looking through the woods.

"Looks like we've got company," the commander stated. "They must have spotted us on the monitors."

A four-man clone patrol was approaching across the uncleared ground. They did not appear to be in any hurry, nor did they act as if they were dealing with a perceived threat.

"Commander Cody," the patrol leader, a sergeant, greeted as he drew near. "We were sent out to check on two men scaling the wall."

"Well, your approach was very casual," Cody grinned.

"Oh, the bio-detectors along the wall picked up your chips, so we knew who we were dealing with before we even set out," the sergeant replied. "We've been asked to escort you back to the compound." He sounded embarrassed by this announcement. "The officer-on-duty insisted."

"Understood," Cody said with amiable professionalism, demonstrating to everyone present the demeanor that held him in such high esteem. He could have been offended by a junior enlisted man's having to escort him. He could have been offended that an officer-of-the-watch, probably a lower-ranking officer, was ordering him to be brought in. He could have made a scene, but instead he acknowledged that here at ARC training, he was not in charge; he had broken the rules and it was only proper that he be called to account.

And an interesting account it would be.

Upon entering the duty office, both he and CT-7567 were somewhat surprised to see that the officer-on-duty was Captain Skidz. It was unusual in that this particular duty usually fell to lieutenants. It was even more peculiar, given that Captain Skidz ran an entire module of the program, the E&E segment; and pulling watch duty was a rather menial task for someone with other, greater responsibilities.

"Gentlemen, please . . . come with me," Captain Skidz said with a pleasant smugness, leaving the duty office for a separate, private room.

As they walked out, CT-7567 noticed that there, in fact, was a lieutenant on duty. Perhaps the lieutenant had summoned Captain Skidz when the two intruders were detected.

"Commander, I have great respect for you, and I will show proper deference to your rank," Skidz began. "But I wonder what I should put in the report regarding your unauthorized excursion. Do you care to tell me where you and CT-7567 were coming from?"

Cody continued to be affable. "We spent the night at the Mareleck Bluffs. Did you not detect our departure yesterday evening?"

"The officer-of-the-watch did, but I did not become aware of it until this morning—"

"How did you become aware of it?" CT-7567 interrupted. "You're not a watch officer. Are you?"

Captain Skidz turned a disdainful eye to his former pod-mate. "I read every daily security log, in addition to at least a dozen other logs. Information is crucial in my position. This morning, when I read yesterday's log, I saw that you had snuck out. I wanted to get more information before I went to the commandant, so I came here. And as luck would have it, you both decided to return just as I walked into the room."

"And don't you think the officer-of-the-watch last night would have already informed the commandant?" 7567 challenged as Cody smiled at his roommate's brazen confrontational approach.

"Maybe he did," Skidz replied with tight-lipped control. "But that will not prevent me from also informing him."

"Uh, Captain . . . I think I can save you a great deal of time and trouble, and we can clear this up very easily if you'll contact Commander Steed," Cody stated.

"Commander Steed?"

"Yes. Just please . . . contact him. He knows all about this."

Captain Skidz appeared to hang suspended in time for a moment, as if he were on the verge of realizing that his great catch was about to be tossed back. He raised his wrist-com. "Commander Steed, this is Captain Skidz."

A second later, "This is Steed. What is it, Captain?"

"Sir, the duty officer caught two clones—two trainees—coming onto the premises this morning. They had—"

"Commander Cody and CT-7567?" Steed cut him off.

"Yes, Sir."

"They're clear. I gave Commander Cody clearance to leave the compound and take 7567 with him."

With each word, the shadow fell further adown Captain Skidz face. "Copy, Sir."

"Are they there with you now?" Steed inquired.

"They are."

"Well, they have five minutes to make it to the Platt 7 obstacle course."

"I'll tell them, Sir. Skidz out."

"There," Cody said with a cordial nod. "I think that clears everything up, Captain."

Skidz was not as friendly in his manner. It rankled him—not that Commander Cody had gotten permission to leave the compound—but that he had extended that permission to his roommate. What special privilege did CT-7567 warrant? This wasn't basic training anymore. Perks had to be earned, not given. Here, there was no golden boy, no star, no king on the pedestal. Those titles had been left behind on Kamino with the memories of cadethood.

The luck of association—association with the renowned Commander Cody—had no place as a determining factor in how a trainee should be treated. Or at least, it shouldn't.

"I apologize for the misunderstanding, Commander," the captain said with well-practiced indifference.

"No, no, you had no way of knowing," Cody excused him. "It's a good thing you followed up."

The commander and CT-7567 turned to leave.

Captain Skidz watched them go; but as 7567 walked past him, the captain was certain he could discern a snide grin and irreverent shrug— clear but unspoken signals that the lieutenant had once again managed to get the better of him.

"Just keep smiling, you bastard," Skidz simmered. "I always knew you'd be coming through this training eventually. I've waited this long. I can wait a little more."

"So, you weren't breaking the rules at all," CT-7567 said, sounding nearly accusatory. "You got permission to leave the compound."

"Yeah," Cody replied. "I went and talked to Commander Steed yesterday while you were at dinner. You needed help, and I knew how to give it to you. But I wasn't going to break the rules to do it."

"Why did you lie to me, then? Why didn't you just tell me that we had permission? Why did you go to all the trouble of climbing over the wall and—"

"Because even though I still find you confusing as hell, one thing I did know: just walking out of here with a pass wouldn't give you the incentive you needed," Cody replied. "You like everything to feel like a challenge, bending the rules. It's like I said: you're very predictably unpredictable, you've got your own set of rules that are no one else's rules. If it's too easy, you only go through the motions. I know I can appeal to your sense of . . . mischief whenever I want to get you to do something."

CT-7567 listened in rapt attention. "You've decided all of this after three weeks of knowing me?"

"I'm a good judge of character," Cody replied. "That's the only reason I've managed to tolerate you so far." He said the last with a dash of humor.

But CT-7567 was not without his own humor. "Tolerate me? I'm the only thing that prevents you from keeling over in self-boredom."

Cody laughed. "That might be true. Let's go. If we're late, they'll have us on refresher duty, and I'm not cleaning up behind any man."

"Ah, you're here at last. I was starting to worry something might have happened to you."

CT-2025, CT-7567 had come to realize over the past three weeks, never felt any embarrassment or self-consciousness when it came to a genuine expression of his concern. There was nothing flip or insincere about his words. In fact, as far as CT-7567 was concerned, CT-2025 was as close to the ideal clone officer as he had ever met. He was completely dedicated to the brotherhood and had even taken to calling it that since meeting CT-7567. He was comfortable with being in leadership and equally content to follow. He had no discernible ego. He was more interested in the success of the squad as a whole as opposed to recognition for his own contributions.

That morning when he and the rest of the platoon had formed up at first call, he'd noticed—along with the rest of the squad—CT-7567's absence. After checking the dormitory, he'd taken it upon himself to report to Captain Spicer his squad-mate's failure to show. Captain Spicer had not seemed disturbed by the information.

"Hm, I'll have to look into that," was all the Echo Squad advisor had to say. His apparent lack of concern helped mitigate some of 2025's own apprehension; but all the same, he was happy when 7567 showed up at the obstacle course.

"Oh, Commander Cody took me on a little . . . fitness run," 7567 replied.

His squad-mates looked on with curiosity.

"So early? It's only 0530," CT-1550 asked.

"We actually went out last night," 7567 said, feeling a somewhat smug sense of privilege.

"To do what? Where did you go?" CT-9090 inquired.

"We went up to an overlook in the foothills," 7567 replied. "Someplace the commander had gone with his squad on training."

A slew of questions followed.

"Did you sneak out?"

"Did the cadre know you were gone?"

"What did you go there for?"

"Was it really Commander Cody's idea?"

"How did you get out?"

If there had ever been any doubt that CT-7567 liked being the center of attention, such thoughts were laid to rest in this moment. The lieutenant basked in the warmth of the interest being shown him. He answered the questions with a grace that seemed to contradict his character, yet it was every bit as much a part of him as his bravado. He freely admitted his difficulties with the navigation exercises and eagerly recounted the success of Cody's instructional method.

The conversation revolved around him clear up until the moment Captain Spicer called Echo Squad up to the starting line for what was one of many obstacle courses in the training camp environs.

Beside them stood CT-5052 and Crimson Squad.

Whether or not 5052 had heard any of the talk going on in Echo Squad was unclear; but what shone forth with great lucidity was the disdainful expression on his face. No surprise. It was how he always looked.

CT-7567 considered it a stroke of luck that their two squads were pitted against each other.

As the squads waited for the two previous squads to clear the course—Alpha and Gandar Squads were out-of-sight among the woods through which the lengthy and challenging course ran—CT-7567 caved in to his lesser demons. He walked straight up to the members of Crimson Squad.

"How about a friendly wager?"

The rival squad's clones faced him readily.

CT-1944, another 3d Infantry Regiment clone—and a bit on the eager side—crossed his arms in a gesture of assessment and asked, "That depends on what we're betting. What do you have in mind?"

"I hadn't really thought about that part yet," 7567 replied. "I just felt like betting. Maybe a transfer of demerits?"

"The cadre wouldn't let us do that."

"They'd never know if we did it on the sly," CT-1448 put forth.

CT-1080-1, the genetically manipulated fission engineer, piped up. "I've got an idea. We have a one-night liberty in four days. How about the loser has to buy the winners as many rounds as they can down?"

"What liberty?" 7567 asked, and a number of the other clones looked perplexed, as well.

"I overheard Colonel Claw discussing it with Commander Steed and Major Tides," 1080-1 replied.

"I heard about it, too," CT-9218—of Echo Squad—added. "Supposedly, they have four or five liberty towns, and we get a night out. Sort of a break in the action."

CT-9090, also of Echo Squad, was instantly animated. "What?! You knew about this and didn't tell us?"

"I only just heard them talking last night," 9218 replied. "I guess, with the pace of things here, they figured one night of downtime would do us trainees good."

"Downtime?! Ho-hoo! Getting out of this place for a night doesn't sound like downtime to me," a mischievous grin spread over CT-9090's face. "Sounds like this break in the action will be the perfect opportunity to get some action."

More than half the clones burst out laughing.

"What action? You wouldn't know what to do with a girl if one fell in your lap," CT-390 jibed.

"Maybe not," 9090 replied without any indication that he felt insulted. "But I know what to do with a glass."

"We all know what to do with that," CT-5211, communications major in Crimson Squad, quipped, and the rest of them chuckled.

"Okay, then, here's the deal," 7567 interrupted. "If we do, in fact, have this liberty coming up, then the losers buy the rounds, just like Splitter here suggested—"

"Splitter?" CT-1080-1 knit his brows.

"It's what you do, isn't it? You fission guys are always going around splitting atoms, so I say it fits," 7567 said definitively.

"Rounds just for the other squad," the major put forth.

"For all the brothers," 7567 corrected.

"All the brothers? None of us has enough credits to do that—" 1080-1 began, but CT-5052 cut him off.

"Then we buy until the well runs dry." He directed his spiteful gaze towards CT-7567 as he spoke. "Every man upon his honor."

"Every brother upon his honor," 7567 stated.

"For those of us who possess it."

"There is no interfering with the other squad's race." This advisement came from the master sergeant in charge of the obstacle course. "You can help your own squad members, but do not hinder the other squad's progress. Clear?" This last single-word inquiry appeared to be directed at CT-7567, who reacted with noncommittal indifference.

He never understood why any set of rules governing military training – even running an obstacle course – would include an injunction against cheating. Did the makers of the rules truly believe that an enemy would play by the rules established by their adversary? If they played by any rules at all? Adhering to the rules led to predictability—

He winced internally, recalling Cody's accusation of predictable unpredictability. Yet, he was not ready to accept that this was an accurate or tenable descriptor with regard to his actions. In war, the goal was stay alive so you could kill the enemy. CT-7567 would do whatever it took to stay alive and protect his men. If that entailed cheating, so be it. He put no focus on sportsmanship or fairness, and he saw nothing wrong with that, predictable or not.

He had no illusions that if the opportunity arose on the obstacle course to slow or hamper Crimson Squad's progress, he would avail himself of it.

"There's a pair of spotters at each obstacle, but they're only there in the event of injury. And to make sure there's no funny business" the master sergeant added. After a pause, he continued. "You all have to finish together. The race isn't over until the last man crosses the finish line." A pause. "At the ready!" The two squads tensed. "Go!"

Since neither squad had been permitted to walk the course in advance, no one knew what to expect. The first obstacle was well out-of-sight within the woods, and none of the teams who had already finished had come back to the starting area to tell of what they had gone through. Even the number of obstacles was unknown.

Still, that was no deterrent to any of the members of Echo and Crimson Squads. Barreling into the unknown was something clones did on a regular basis. And they did it now.

The course could run two teams at a time, the lanes running parallel to each other separated only by a mid-ground of five meters, which meant that the two competing squads could see each other at all times.

Each lane had the same obstacles. Each lane had one spotter per obstacle.

Both squads entered the wood at the same time, running full tilt. Roughly twenty meters into the wood, they encountered the first obstacle, and it was a simple enough one: a wooden wall, only four or five meters high, smooth face, no ropes.

Reflexively, the first clones to approach the wall immediately set their backs to it, crouched slightly, and cupped their hands in front of them, ready to boost the next man to the top. The wall was wide, allowing at least three men to mount up at the same time. Once on top, they reached down and pulled their booster squad mate up and over. It took less than ten seconds to get all ten men past the obstacle.

Once on the other side of the wall, they could clearly see the next obstacle, which looked a bit more interesting. A long, rectangular pond cut into the ground, at least thirty meters long with a set of uneven wooden pilings at the halfway point. High above the segmented water hazard were two wooden triangle booms with weighted ropes affixed for crossing. On the near end of the pond was a raised platform roughly three meters high. However, the ropes—two for each team—were not waiting for the clones as they vaulted up onto the platform. They were hanging still and distant over the water.

"Well, that's beautiful," CT-9218 sneered the sort of sneer that only a Shinie could get away with and not sound like he was whining. "How the hell are we supposed to get across?"

"It's too far for anyone to try jumping out," CT-1448 stated.

CT-7567 had already come up with a plan. "One of us can shimmy up that pole and out along the boom, get to the ropes and swing them this direction."

CT-8448 did not wait for any volunteers. "I'm on it." No sooner had the Shinie started up the pole than CT-7567 noticed Crimson Squad doing the same thing in their lane.

"Stealing our idea," he remarked.

CT-2025 grinned. "In all fairness, there really wasn't any other option. They would have figured it out on their own anyway."

"You're more generous than I am," 7567 replied with humor, then with his eyes on CT-8448, he shook his head in amazement. "Look at him. He's almost to the top already. The man moves like a Grimmelute Tarbek."

"We've got some good Shinies in our squad," 2025 noted.

"We do," 7567 agreed. "There, he's got it. Get it swinging . . . a little more . . . that's it . . . "

CT-9090, with CT-390 holding onto his arm, reached out and made a one-handed grab as the first rope swung near. Without missing a beat, he pushed off from the platform and swung in a pendulum perfect arc to the pilings where the next rope was already waiting. He sent the first rope back across the water for the next man. Turning to cross the second half of the pond, he was about to push off when a spout of water erupted from the surface. It so startled him that he lost his balance for a moment, regaining it only by grabbing onto the pilings. Another spout shot into the air in another spot, and then another and another.

"Well, this makes things more interesting," 9090 mused aloud. "None of them look very dense. I'd probably break through even if I did hit one. Eh, what the hell." He jumped a bit into the air on this departure in order to gain some momentum; and as he crossed, the fountains plumed up around him but without hitting him. When he landed on the far side, he was wet but not soaked. Turning, he saw CT-390 now waiting at the midway, and he sent the rope back to him.

And so the crossing proceeded for the rest of them. While there were no losses, there were a lot of wet clones by the time the thing was done. So, of course, it only made sense that the next obstacle was a belly-crawl through the sandpit, beneath razor wire, while blaster blanks were fired just over their heads. Being wet had not been enough; now they emerged from this obstacle wet and caked with sand.

There followed after that, a high wall with ropes; a log run over a dug-out pit filled with a thick, reeking, murky liquid; a netting wall; and a series of chest-high logs, one right after the other for front-rolling.

CT-7567 was not impressed. He'd been on many battlefields that had presented infinitely greater obstacles than these. And the fact that Crimson Squad had kept pace with Echo only reinforced his opinion that this was all too easy. A more difficult course would have benefitted Echo Squad while presenting a greater challenge to Crimson.

He had not quite hit on boredom yet, but it was coming on quickly.

And then he and the rest of his squad came upon a spotter standing at the base of a very broad tree where there appeared to be no obstacle. The course's clear direction had disappeared.

"Where do we go next?" CT-7567 inquired. "Where's the obstacle?"

"The answer to both questions is up."

CT-7567 raised his gaze towards the treetops, and an enthusiastic smile broke over his face. "Now, this is more like it."

The squad had come to the aerial portion of the course – a race through the upper levels. From down below, 7567 could make out several obstacles among the branches, often stretching between multiple trees, some with mounted platforms, some without.

The spotter directed them around to the other side of the trees where a knotted rope hung down from somewhere in the reaches up above. "Up you go. There's only one way to go once you get up there, so just follow the course. There are spotters at every obstacle . . . " He grinned in a knowing manner, " . . . in case you run into trouble."

CT-7567 was first to begin the climb. And what a climb it was, taking him and his squad mates nearly fifty meters above the forest floor. Upon finally reaching the top platform, even he had to admit to himself that he was winded, that his arms and shoulders needed a bit of time to recover, which he got as the rest of the squad ascended.

While he waited for them, he looked at the first obstacle, a V-shaped rope bridge that stretched from his current platform across a 10-meter distance to the next platform, which was not a trunk platform like the one upon which he was now standing. No, the platform on the other end was a rope-net platform, the sort of thing that would require attention, balance, and exertion. Beyond that, he could see a least a dozen round "stepping stones" suspended by chains from a truss. Each "stone" was in its own harness, so it would move independently from the others.

"Now, this is going to be great," CT-7567 said as CT-5576 stood beside him.

"I think your beloved jetpacks would have come in handy here," the walker jockey stated.

The lieutenant chuckled. "This is one time I'm actually glad we don't have them. I think this is going to be fun." He looked slightly off to his right where Crimson Squad was climbing up to their platform. "We're just barely ahead of them. This is a good chance to put more distance between us."

Because CT-5576 knew the nature of the man standing beside him, he asked in a implying manner, "You're not thinking of causing trouble, are you?"

Predictably unpredictable.

"No, I'm just thinking we can move faster than they can," came the reply. "They're too cautious, like they're afraid of failing."

CT-5576 raised an eyebrow. "Really? Huh, I hadn't noticed that."

CT-7567 gave a one-sided grin. "You need to be more observant."

"Well, what I'm observing right now is that it's getting crowded on this platform," 5576 noted. "We should probably start moving out."

"You're right." With that, CT-7567 stepped out onto the rope bridge.

CT-5052 was not averse to taking chances. He just liked to make sure that any chance taken was worth the risk. And in his estimation, he erred most often on the side of caution. The idea of losing even a single man was something that rankled him, even as its inevitability stalked and haunted him through every waking moment. Sometimes, the fear even made it into the sanctuary of sleep, corrupting his dreams with distorted images of the past.

He had no desire to be known for his daring, his bravery, or even his honor. Those things had all flown, taken away from him at that one moment of decision two months ago on that hellhole of a planet. Let others call it Ryloth. To him, it was the one true hell, and it had spawned one true sin: the decision to leave him behind. It was an injury he could never forgive. They had been his batchers. They had grown up together, so close that they'd bled inside each other's wounds. But in that one grueling instant of choosing what course to take . . .

. . . they had chosen wrong. And he could no more forgive than he could forget.

Maybe that was what made him so fearful. And perhaps it was that fear which fueled his anger and bitterness. And it seemed only natural that such emotions would give rise to the hatred he felt for them. And men like them.

Men like CT-7567. So cocksure, so full of bravado! And revered for that bravado! The adulation, the admiration, the respect and reverence for someone who never gave a second thought to anyone else or how his decisions and his actions might affect them.

Oh yes, he'd known plenty of men exactly like CT-7567; twenty-nine of them, to be precise.

For the past four weeks, he'd had opportunity after opportunity to prove that he was better than men like CT-7567. And he considered that he'd done a good job of keeping even. In fact, he could even say he surpassed him in at least one area: non-computer-assisted navigation. It was well-known to all the trainees that this was a difficult subject for 7567; and yet none of them held that against him. In fact, they were all vocal in their support and desire to help him in whatever way they could. Even curmudgeons like CT-3636 had seemingly been won over—to a degree, at least—by CT-7567's charm and buoyancy.

A hero to everyone.

Sure, that's how CT-7567 saw himself; and that's how everyone else saw him.

But CT-5052 would not be fooled. Not again. He'd believed in the insolubility of brotherhood once; but no longer. That trust was gone, and he had no desire to regain it. Now, all was business, and that business was war. A man did what was necessary to accomplish the mission. There was no room for friendships, brotherhood, or the bonds of fighting men.

As he stood on the platform of the first tree, watching CT-7567 cross the rope bridge on Echo's course, he believed that his squad still had a good chance of finishing first. They were only seconds behind, and with CT-7567's reckless desire to win at all costs, combined with the inherent dangers of the aerial course, even the slightest mistake might slow them down enough for Crimson to take the lead.

And they should not need to throw caution to the wind to do it.

His own squad began to move out onto the rope bridge that led to the netted platform. They wasted no time in setting out across the suspended stones, which led to a path of suspended logs—at least twenty of them, each one meter from the next. They were moving quickly and smoothly through the obstacles, and CT-5052 estimated they must have traversed almost 450 horizontal meters in the treetops, not to mention the 20-30 meter ascents and descents between and within obstacles.

"What is that? Is that smoke?" This came from CT-1944 who directly ahead of 5052 and had just reached a narrow trunk platform. He was looking ahead at a growing haziness in the woods that reached all the way up to the high branches.

"It looks like it," 5052 replied.

From above, the voice of one of the spotters ordered, "Keep going. That's part of the course."

"What? The smoke? We're going through the smoke?"

"You got it," the spotter replied. "Get moving."

CT-5052 glanced to his left. Echo Squad was pressing ahead as if the smoke were no deterrent at all.

"Okay, let's move ahead," 5052 said. "Just be cautious. Who knows what we might run into in that smoke."

Right away, CT-7567 could tell it was a vapor-based smoke. There was no smell, no irritation of eyes or mouth or lungs. It was simply meant to obscure the route, and at that it was quite effective. Five meters into the smoke, 7567 could not see beyond one meter. Every move was made through touch, a lot of reaching out through thin air in every direction, trying to find the next handhold.

"This is crazy," CT-9090 groused. "How are we supposed to know if we're going the right direction?"

"Well, if it feels like chain or rope or something man-made, that's probably the right direction," 390 replied.

Leading the way now, CT-7567 called out his every move to the man behind him.

"There's just a single rope here, so use a hanging ankle cross." "There's a wood platform at the top." "This is . . . a regular suspension bridge. The walkway is like rungs on a ladder, so watch your step and hang onto the sides." "Last step. Looks like we have another rope ladder up this tree."

The step-by-step account was then passed on from man-to-man. And in this way, they passed through the smoke until it began to thin out. When he reached a point where he could see at least three meters ahead, CT-7567 allowed himself a satisfied grin.

"Got through that with no problem."

Directly ahead of him were two ropes, one roughly two meters above the other. This was easy enough. Walk on the lower one and hold onto the upper one for balance. Even though the smoke had thinned, he could not see how far this obstacle stretched or what was on the other side. What he could see, however, was a rope net—a safety net below them. He turned and looked back, seeing it stretch away several meters into the smoke from which they were slowly emerging. He smiled. There had never been any real danger. That whole way through the smoke, they'd been undergirded by a safety net.

"Pretty clever."

He also noted that the net reached away into the smoke to his right, towards the parallel lane. It occurred to him that the lanes must be very close to one another at this point, probably with the purpose of making it easier for the spotters to keep track of them in this difficult part of the course. CT-7567 imagined the spotters must be using infrared goggles in order to see the trainees.

He turned to CT-5576. "Safety net below us."

"Yeah, I see. Makes me feel a bit better."

"You think it reaches all the way over to the other lane?" 7567 asked.

Here, CT-2025, who had just come to the platform, spoke up. "Doesn't matter if it does. Let's just keep going."

"It might be nice to pay a visit—"

"No, no, no, no, no, no," 2025 protested vigorously. "It will be nice to finish ahead of them. They're not even out of the smoke yet. We need to keep going." He could see CT-7567 was about to protest, so he raised his voice and made the best threat he could think of. "By the Force, Blondie, if you go over there . . . " He didn't have to say anything more. The threat was in the use of the hated nickname.

"Aghh! Don't call me that!" CT-7567 cried. "Did Cody tell you to use that name?"

"Only under dire circumstances," 2025 said with a sly grin. "But believe me, the rest of us will be happy to call you that every day for the rest of ARC training."

CT-7567 glanced at the faces around him – those he could see through the swirling smoke. To a man, they were all on the verge of laughter, and he knew he'd been bested.

"Fine, fine," he conceded. "Anything but that." He turned and muttered under his breath, "I'm going to kill Cody." He started across the rope obstacle.

Back on the platform, Shinie 8448 turned to Shinie 8462 and in a low voice said, "We should just call him 'King'."

From out on the ropes, 7567 shot back, "I heard that!" A pause. "And I like it."

CT-5052 emerged from the smoke. Fifty meters ahead was the trunk-mounted platform, and even though he did not know for sure, he felt it must be the end of the aerial portion. The safety net no longer was present in this open space, but that was of no matter. He'd not known it was there through most of the smoke, and so he did not miss it now.

He was more interested in what lay ahead. He noticed that both lanes converged at the platform, which meant that whoever got there first would have the priority moving out.

To his left, CT-7567 led the way for Echo Squad; but he was only about a quarter of the way across.

CT-5052 quickened his pace.

And then, just as on the water obstacle, chaos exploded around them. Ground-fired detonator caps filled with fine sand debris rocketed up to burst on all sides. The concussions were enough to not only sway the ropes, but to knock a man's feet out from under him.

And that's precisely what happened to CT-7567. Between the shock of the first explosion and before he could recover himself, a second closer explosion caused him to lose his footing. He hung onto the overhead rope for all he was worth, and for several seemingly endless seconds, he dangled and flailed in midair as he tried to regain the rope beneath his feet. He could feel the violent jerking of both ropes, and he knew that his squad mates behind him were facing the same thing he was.

As soon as he was able, he began moving again, trying to ignore the bedlam around him. Only twenty meters to go. Fifteen meters . . . ten . . .

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure edging up on him; and although he should have kept his concentration forward, he took a split second to steal a glance to his right.

CT-5052.

No. Not only no, but hell no.

Fwaaaa-poom!

The sound of an explosion behind him preceded the sudden jerking and bouncing of both ropes. The top rope recoiled with such force that it was ripped right out of his hands. For one precarious second, he stood teetering on one foot on the lower rope as it jostled and swayed. Then, he began to fall. He was so close to the platform . . .

. . . if he could just reach it.

He tried to get some push against the rope, and it did give him an extra meter or two of distance. But it wasn't going to be enough to catch the platform. However, it was enough to snag the bottom rope in the other lane. Stretching his full length, he managed to get the fingers of one hand around the rope. And, in doing so, he jounced the rope before his fingers slipped lose and he was once again falling.

CT-5052, only two meters from the platform, clutched at the overhead rope and went hand-over-hand the rest of the way until he was safely to the end. When he turned, what he saw almost made him a candidate for spontaneous combustion. CT-1944, who'd been right behind him, was wrapped around the lower rope, and with one straining arm, was holding onto CT-7567. Just below him, hovering at a cautionary but ready distance, was one of the spotter team outfitted with a jetpack.

"What the hell are you doing?!" 5052 shouted. "Let him go! Let him go!"

"Echo Squad will be—disqualified!" 1944 grunted. "We—we all need to finish! All of us!"

"Are you crazy?! He's the reason this happened! He jounced the line—"

"Get out of my way!" This was CT-2025, elbowing 5052 aside on the platform and climbing out onto Crimson's rope. He dropped into a belly crawl, made his way out to 7567 and 1944; and reaching down, helped pull his squad mate back onto the rope.

As soon as the two Echo Squad members made it back to the platform, CT-5052 made to head back to help his own teammate; but he was overtaken by Echo's CT-1550, who with the help of another Crimson Squad member, got 1944 safely to the platform.

But not before a fair row had taken place, for no sooner had CT-7567 and CT-2025 made it back to the platform than CT-5052 launched into his tirade.

"Fek and all!" He grabbed 7567 by the collar and slammed his back against the trunk. "What the hell makes you think you can get away with something like that?!"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" 7567 shot back.

"That's a load of osik! You jounced our rope, hoping we'd fall—"

"You're crazy," 7567 scowled.

"You think so? How's this, then?!" With that, he sprang to the edge of the platform where members of both squads were still crossing, and with his full weight, bounced the rope carrying Echo Squad.

"What the—" 7567 had his hands outstretched, ready to go to blows right there on the platform, but seemingly out of nowhere, a spotter appeared between the two warring clones.

"Unless you both want to see both squads disqualified, you'll put the dampers on it, gentlemen," he warned. "Both of you . . . zip line to the bottom and wait for your squads. You still have the last third of the course to go. Not another word to each other, and no stupid stuff when you get to the bottom. A spotter will be there to make sure you two behave yourselves."

The two men made their grumbling, sour way around to the other side of the platform where a bank of six zip lines awaited.

"You might fool them, but you don't fool me," 5052 said in a low, protected voice, despite the spotter's order that they should not speak to each other.

"What are you talking about? I told you it was an accident—"

"My ass. You'll find a way to win at any cost—"

"We were already beating you. Why would I need to play dirty?"

"You just want to show yourself to be the hero, leading your squad to victory," 5052 hissed. "Well, you almost got us both disqualified. And our squads, too." He hooked into the harness and flipped the locking mechanism.

"I told you, I didn't do it on purpose."

"Well, I don't believe you—"

"Believe this." With that, CT-7567 put his foot squarely in 5052's back and shoved him off the platform. And as his adversary slid, discombobulated and spinning, down the line, he added with false pleasantness, "Have a nice ride."

Echo Squad crossed the finish line.

A split-second ahead of Crimson Squad.

Immediately, CT-7567 doubled over with his hands on his knees. He was too winded to mount any kind of celebration. A few seconds later, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and a familiar voice met his ears.

"That was a close race."

Ah yes, that inflection . . .

Cody.

CT-7567 nodded through his panting.

"I'm surprised," Cody went on. "I thought you'd have finished way ahead."

Again, he was met with a nod.

"You need some water or something?"

Here, 7567 managed to catch his breath long enough to look up and with a superior grin, gasp out, "Or something . . . and I—I believe . . . .whew! I believe Crimson Squad is paying!"

Nearby, CT-8448 piped up through his own wheezing. "The king has spoken!"

CT-8462 rejoined, "Long live the king!"

Cody smiled. "The king?"

"If you call me B-Blondie here . . . in front . . . of them, I'll knock your . . . your block off," came the half-snarling answer. CT-7567 forced himself to straighten up. "And . . . speaking of—of Blondie, you and I need to have . . . a little talk, Commander."

*The line "bled inside each other's wounds" comes from "Lay it Down (Candle in the Rain)" by Melanie in the 1970s. Yeah, kind of hippy-ish, but I think it's a great way to express how deeply entwined people can be.