Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [91]
Nova knew he was starting at a disadvantage. Even beyond his being tired, there was the simple fact that Rodo outmassed him by a good twenty kilos and stood almost a head taller. Everything else being equal—and so far, Nova’d seen nothing to indicate that Rodo’s fighting skills were better than his own—the advantage always lay with the bigger man.
But Rodo didn’t know about Nova’s Blink. That probably made them even.
Probably …
Rodo stopped just outside his own step and a half, slightly longer than Nova’s range. A two-step position was too far to attack; the defender would have plenty of time to get set. A single step was too close.
Nova held his ground.
Rodo circled to his left.
Nova turned, shifting slightly, his weight on the balls of his feet and pivoting on both incrementally. He bent his knees a bit, sinking a little lower.
Rodo moved his hands, circling to a high–low, left-over-right position, pulled them in closer to his body, leaned away a hair, and stole half a step closer.
It was a good fake. That upper-body motion would make you think Rodo had moved back when in fact he had moved in.
Nova stepped off neutral to a side stance and used the angle to steal back the half step, maintaining their distance. Rodo nodded. “Nice,” he said.
Nova did a back crossover step, right foot behind the left, giving Rodo what looked like an unbalanced and awkward target. The bigger man shook his head. “Maybe not.”
Nova circled to his left, stopped, and pivoted, putting his left side forward at about forty-five degrees.
Rodo mirrored the move and dropped his center of gravity a couple of centimeters. Since he was taller, if Nova got to his attack range, Rodo would already be there. The bouncer was a big man, and that no doubt tended to favor him in distance fighting. But he also worked in a cantina, where encounters would be close.
Rodo begin to sway ever so slightly, turning his hips. Nova repressed a smile. Did the other man think he could be lulled like a rikitik facing a naga? He couldn’t be fooled that easily. He knew that if he grappled with a guy that much bigger and stronger than him, he’d have to have angle, leverage, and a base, or he’d lose. That wasn’t a matter of skill so much as it was simple physics—
Rodo charged, and Nova barely got out of the way in time. He cursed himself for a fool even as he dropped and did a fast leg sweep. He’d lost focus for just an instant, and that’s all it had taken to almost lose the match. If it weren’t for his ability to sense another’s moves, Rodo would have had him. The big man was fast.
Their shins connected, smacking together like boards, but Rodo was more flexible than he appeared. He jumped, foiling the sweep, but having to step far enough out in doing so that he couldn’t punch in passing. Nova did a stutter step, broke it short, and got within range. He went in with a triple punch, high, low, high. There was no way to block all three, but Rodo didn’t back up; instead he stepped in and threw a horizontal elbow strike. Nova sensed that one coming before Rodo started it, blocked with an open hand, and tried a lock. Rodo countered with one of his own, stepped out, and turned—
And they were back where they started.
Rodo chuckled, and in a moment it turned into a laugh, and Nova joined him. Both men straightened from their fighting crouches and relaxed. The actual fighting time Nova estimated as thirty seconds or less.
“We done?” Rodo said.
“I think so,” Nova said. No point, really, in continuing; they were too evenly matched. There was no alpha male here.
“You have some outstanding moves, friend,” he told the bouncer.
“You’d know,” the bigger man said. He extended his hand, as did Nova.
“Where’d you get that hip fake?” Nova asked.
“Changa bushfighting. What about that sweep? That’s not classical teräs käsi.”
“Sera Plinck, Jalinese