Henry the Hammer

Posted by Jeff on July 17, 2009 under Fiction, Humor |

Abigail Gormwitz sat on the bench in the examination room. Her husband, Henry, stood behind her, his huge hands resting on her shoulders. Abby’s doctor finally looked up from her diagnostics and sighed.

“Mrs. Gormwitz, there’s no easy way to say this. You’re suffering from a slowly cascading series of shutdowns in half the relays into your CPU.” Henry could feel her tense up and then her chrome-plated fingers slid up and over his riveted knuckles.

“What does that mean?” She asked.

“It’s a significant problem. It’s hard to say exactly what course it will take in the end, but the symptoms you’ve been suffering will get worse. The headaches will get more painful and last longer. The blackouts will not only persist but begin to lead to permanent corruption of memory files. Your motor skills, first fine and then gross, will-”

“We get it, it’s bad,” Henry interrupted, tightening his grip on his wife’s shoulders. “So what do we do?”

The doctor looked back down at the charts for a moment and then shook his head. “There aren’t a lot of options. A few stopgap measures, mostly. The only cure would be a complete overhaul of most of your wife’s systems.”

“But you can do it?”

“Yes. But it’s not an easy procedure. And with parts and labor it’s very expensive.”

“It doesn’t matter. How much?”

Abby watched as her husband paced the kitchen floor. “Honey,” she said, “it’s alright. We’re going to be okay.” Henry spun and faced her.

“Okay? Okay, Abby?!” He slammed one of his thick steel fists onto the counter, shattering it. “You’re sick. A complete shutdown!” He swept his fist to one side, scattering counter fragments across the floor.

“Henry, there are those therapy sessions he talked about… and if I watch my intake…”

“Then what? You’ll last a few more years? We need to get you that operation.”

“We can’t afford it. Your insurance from the plant…”

He turned away. “It’s crap. I know. Dammit, Abby!” He turned back to her, his eyes dim. “Look, a few weeks ago Jack came by the factory… he said…”

Abby got to her feet. “Henry! You can’t consider going back into the ring!”

“What choice is there, Abby? What choice do we have?”

Jack was already stirring a cup of coffee when Henry got to the diner. Jack had been a good manager considering, or in spite of, the fact he was a human. The years hadn’t been kind to him and Henry noted that the few hairs left on top of his head were plastered down with sweat.

“Henry, my old friend! I was so happy when I got your message! What changed your mind? Missing the glory after all?”

Henry looked down until his blocky chin was almost against his convex chest. “Abby is sick, Jack.”

Jack had the decency to look concerned for almost a full minute. “That’s rough, Henry. So it’s financial motivation, then?”

“Yeah. We can’t afford-”

“Well great! It just so happens I’m putting together a special event. One of your old colleagues is coming out of retirement, too. I figger we get you two in the ring, you go a few rounds, and to the victor goes the spoils. Probably get an endorsement or two, maybe even a run of the talkshow circuit. Sounds good?”

“Only for the winner.”

“Ah, Henry, you’ll just have to give him hell!”

“Who is it?”

“You remember Carmine?”

The night of the big fight, Henry found himself across the ring from Carmine the Butcher. It was a pretty fair match; the bookies were running almost even odds. Carmine was manufactured half a decade before Henry, but Carmine had gotten a bit of work done and his modifications eliminated the age discrepancy. The difference was in their approach to fighting. Carmine was practically a berserker- there was almost never a pause in his flurry of blows. Henry used to be called “The Hammer,” he’d take a few hits and then let loose a powerful strike. Now he wasn’t sure he could do it. He looked down at his fists, the blue metal gleaming in the overhead spotlights. He looked across the ring at Carmine, who was already working himself into a frenzy, and then over to Abby, who was smiling nervously. She gave him a little wave and then looked down at her hands. At the ref’s signal, Henry stood and made his way to the center of the ring. The ref was talking to him, but the noise was so far away. All Henry could think about was the operation. Suddenly there was the ring of the bell and Carmine was on him.

Henry faltered back, guarding himself against the sudden onslaught. The crimson paint scraped off Carmine’s knuckles leaving streaks along Henry’s shoulders and arms. A few strikes hit him in the ears and Henry crouched, shoving his opponent away. As Carmine came whirling back, Henry pulled back a heavy fist and landed a hit square in the other robot’s chest. Carmine staggered back and surveyed his crumpled breastplate and then his fists were flying again. Henry managed to get a good hit in for every six he received. Towards the end of the second round, Henry was concerned. He listened to the methodical chanting of the crowd, set his jaw, and headed back into the fray.

The goal of the fighters was clear- as much damage to the head as possible. Hits to the chest and arms were really meant to push the other fighter back, not to cause any real harm. Henry managed to get a good blow to Carmine’s ear but in doing so opened himself up to several hits in the nose. He felt the metal crumple and one of the bolts in his jaw became partially unthreaded. As he faltered, prepared to go down for the count, he saw his wife. She had turned her face away and was sobbing into her palms. He turned back to Carmine who hit him in the face again. The red robot, confident in his victory, stepped back to wind up for the final blow. Henry narrowed his eyes and took a half step forward. He twisted his body and drove his fist directly up into Carmine’s chin.

Later, what Henry remembered was the noise. He’d caught his rival underneath his chin, but his fist kept moving. Carmine’s head kicked back, but not far enough. As Henry’s fist rose past Carmine’s shoulders, so did Carmine’s head. There was a horrible grinding noise underneath the tortured scream of twisting metal. In the replays the heavily grooved side of Carmine’s spinal core could be seen ripping up through the body. Henry looked into Carmine’s eyes, now a foot and a half higher than they were. He thought maybe the robot was staring at him. Later doctors told him it was impossible. Carmine was dead before he even began to fall. Henry shrugged off Jack, who had materialized screaming about fame and fortune. As he made his way towards Abby he again noticed the rhythmic chant of the crowd:

“Rock! Him! Sock! Him! Rock! Him! Sock! Him!”

Stumble it!