Welcome to Deep Cove

Club Coliseum was pounding to the tribal beat exploding from the large crystal amplifiers along the inner wall. The dance floor was overflowing with sweaty young bodies, heaving to the music. Individual dance moves intertwined to produce a waving ebb and flow of humanity that threatened to spill over onto the nearby tables. Strutting across one of the tabletops, Merle suggestively ran a paw down his thigh and thrust out his hip at his lady friend. “I got moves, baby,” he assured the seated woman. The brunette giggled and motioned for Merle to come to her. Merle shook his head playfully and held out his hand, waggling a finger at her. Tilting his head back, he raised his pitcher of beer and poured a foaming cascade into his mouth. Adjusting his orange tinted spectacles, he belched. “It’s dry in here,” he said over the music.

“I want some,” pouted the girl, thrusting her shoulders against her chair and tossing her dark curls aside. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head and opened her mouth. Merle was at her side instantly. He ran a claw over her cheek and she leaned toward him, her eyes still closed. Carefully he trickled the beer onto her lips and watched as her tongue appeared. Increasing the beer flow, he filled her mouth. Before she could swallow, he raised the pitcher higher, letting the beer spill over her chin, down her neck, and across her breasts. The girl swallowed what she could, laughing at Merle’s antics. Pulling the little dragon in close, she nibbled at his ear. “You naughty boy,” she chastised playfully. “You’ve spilled it all over my shirt. Mama should spank your bottom.”

“Maybe I should clean up the mess first?” asked Merle.

“Oh you’d better!” she said, grabbing Merle by the cheeks and pulling his snout between her breasts.

She shook playfully and Merle released his hold on the empty tankard. It bounced onto the table with a metallic clang. “Did I ever tell you I was raised in the mountains?” came Merle’s muffled response.

Before the woman could answer, a figure appeared beside them. “You… clumsy… idiot,” snapped P.C. Smashing a heavy metal arm into the dragon, he sent him tumbling from the tabletop. “You’re… always… spilling… something. …Let… me… get… it... mam!”

“Hey,” squealed the girl, trying to pull away from P.C’s groping fingers. Relentlessly he tugged and pulled on her shirt, trying to wring the beer from the garment. Freeing herself, she pushed back from the table, tipping herself and the chair backward. P.C’s telescopic arm shot out, latching onto her shirt in an effort to save her. The garment gave way with a loud tearing noise and the girl hit the floor hard, her breasts bared to the world.

“P.C!” squawked Merle, clawing his way back onto the table. “You’ve done it again, you worthless piece of iron!”

P.C. wrung the garment out over the empty pitcher. Reaching into the compartment on his chest, he came out with a spray bottle and lightly dusted the shirt with a sweet smelling scent. “Not… very… clean,” he admitted. “Analysing… embarrassment… factor… in… comparison… with… sanitation… requirements. Protruding… nipples… indicate… imminent… need… for… warm… clothing.” A soft click was followed by a loud steady rumble as P.C. held the garment up to his mouth and began to dry it.

The girl righted herself, still dazed from her fall. Keeping one arm over her breasts, she grabbed onto the chair with her free arm and pulled herself up.

P.C’s dryer stopped and he flung the shirt at the girl. It hit her in the forehead and fell to the floor. Ignoring it, the girl snarled in rage and stepped toward the table. Her free hand flashed through the air and caught Merle on the cheek, nearly spinning him from his feet. “That’s for not helping me up,” she said angrily. Lashing out again she sent him flying from the table. “And that’s for allowing your retarded golem to touch me.”

P.C’s eyes flashed red. “Mam,” he said in a warning tone. “I… am… not… a… golem. You… should… be… thankful… my… programming… does… not… allow… me… to… hit… a… woman.” The girl growled at P.C. and stomped off into the crowd.

“My glasses,” whined Merle from under the table. “She broke my sunset specs!”

* * * *

“Where is he?” hissed Merle. The little dragon watched the front of the club with an unwavering eye. Beside him, P.C. faced the corner of the building, his extendable arm working furiously above him to remove the dust from the overhead crossbeams. “I’m not going to hold your hand all night,” mumbled the little dragon with an angry scowl at the robot.

“I… didn’t… ask… you… to,” corrected P.C. in a metallic tone. “I… simply… asked… if… you… could… tie… up… my… apron… at… the… back… and… maybe…, if… you… had… the… time…, hang… onto… this… duster… for… one… minute. …Nobody… said… you… had… to… supervise… me.”

Merle coughed and covered his snout as a cloud of dust and debris floated down from the rafters. “Will you stop that? You’re embarrassing me!” he snorted.

“Stop… what? This… is… my… job… as… you’re… so… quick… to… point… out… when… we’re… at… home. P.C,.… pick… up… those… dirty… clothes. P.C,.… wash… those… dirty… dishes. P.C,.… remove… the… hair… from… this… drain. P.C.… does… this… thing … have… a… head… on… it?”

“When you go out, you’re supposed to relax. Carouse with the ladies, let it all hang out. You don’t get all up in someone’s house and start cleaning!”

“House?” asked P.C, his head rotating around until his eyes locked onto Merle. “This… is… a… club. The… owner… should… be… ashamed… of… himself… for… letting… it… get… so… dirty. He’s… probably… going… to… thank… me… for… doing… the… job… that… no… one… else… obviously… has… the… stomach… for.”

“Forget it P.C.” sighed Merle. “If a good looking lady walked by and made eyes at you, you still wouldn’t know where to blow your detergent.”

“That’s… uncalled… for,” snapped P.C. His arm retracted and he swung on his heels to face the dragon. A small compartment on his left thigh clicked open and a bar of soap appeared in a metal holster. Spinning the soap free, P.C. twirled it expertly. “I… know… where… this… goes…, potty… mouth. Didn’t… your… mother… warn… you… about… belittling… other… men?”

“I’m not a man and neither are you, pee brain,” retorted Merle, ignoring P.C’s threat. “Now put that thing away before you hurt yourself.”

“Contrary… to… your… belief… my… scaled… friend,… soap… is… good… for… you.”

“Soap may be, but when you’re a lightening drake, water isn’t all that fun. So, if you think you’re going to squirt me again, you’d better reassess those plans.”

“Lightening… is… defined… as… the… explosive… discharge… of… atmospheric… electricity. If… that… little… display… of… sparks… you… give… off… qualifies… you… as… a… lightening… drake…, I’ll… format… my… core… programming.”

“Don’t I wish that were true…” Merle sighed and once more glanced at the entrance. His view was blocked by two figures. One was massive and made of granite. Its seven foot frame bulged with stone muscles and its ember eyes burned with an inner life. The golem’s companion was stick-thin and human. He was dressed in a yellow and red chequered shirt with a stiff white collar. The man’s pants were an off white and covered in more pockets than Merle had ever seen in a pair of trousers. Thick glasses rested on the newcomer’s nose.

At first, the dragon mistook the man for a child, but when he spoke, the man’s arrogant tone remedied that notion. “Look, my granite pet. It’s molly maidservant from the hotel. Shouldn’t you be making my bed?” High pitched laughter peeled from the scrawny man and he struggled to catch his breath for several seconds. Finally, the stone golem thumped its master on the back and the thin fellow adjusted his glasses.

“Uh, excuse me, sir,” said Merle pleasantly, “would you mind moving your friend here, so I can see to the entrance?”

“I knew it!” squealed the man. “You and your iron friend are gutless. I guess it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how tough a fella is when he’s wearin’ a pink apron.”

“Hey,” snapped P.C. “this… is… my… uniform…, I… don’t… work… without… it.”

“Look, Miss Molly, if I was talking to you I’d have asked you to dust something.”

“It’s Mr. Molly,” corrected Merle, clearing his throat. “And we’re not here for any trouble. We just came in for a couple beers.”

“I ain’t no dummy,” said the smaller man, coming right up into Merle’s face. “It’s amateur night, and you’re here to steal my title. If you think this scrawny apron wearin’ piece of junk is going to break my record, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Record?” asked merle, watching the dark golem flex its biceps threateningly.

“Don’t play stupid with me, you dirty little reptile. You must have heard of Johnny I.Q. and his Abominable Stoneman.”

“Dirty, why I ought to…” Merle’s fists balled unintentionally and his wings buzzed with displeasure. A blue film of electricity crackled over him for a split second.

“Of… course,” replied P.C., his core storage device humming as he retrieved the information. “Johnny… I.Q. Winner… of… three… international… Golem… Wars… and… current… title… holder… of… the… heavyweight… golem… division. The… Cassadian… Chronicle… last… reported… on… Wednesday… March… eighteenth… that… I.Q.’s… unbeaten… record… of… eighty-two… bouts… was… a… testament… not… only… to… Vellian… granite…, but… to… I.Q.’s… supreme… command… of… his… artificial… construct.”

“It’s eighty-four sanctioned bouts now,” corrected Johnny. “And if these stupid amateur fights counted, we’d have way more wins on record. Of course, the unofficial ranking still has us as number one with one hundred and fourteen wins.”

“Look, I’m just waiting for a friend,” said Merle, backing down. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, well you found trouble, mister. You can’t waltz into my castle with your pansy little pal and expect to strut around here like you own the place.”

“We’re actually on our way out,” admitted Merle. He forced a smile and grabbed P.C. by the apron.

“That’s right, Snake Boy, slither on out of here and take your poor excuse for a golem with you. What did I tell you, Stoneman? Didn’t I say he resembled a chicken with those twisted little claws and those pathetic wings?”

Merle halted in his tracks, a grimace of anger distorting his features. The air crackled around the dragon and this time he was going to give the mouthy man something to shriek about. Before he could act, P.C. spun on his heels, elbowing Merle to the side. The Robot’s eyes blazed with hatred. “That’s… it,” he barked. Focusing on the scrawny figure before him, he visually assessed Johnny’s gender. “No… man… calls… me… that… and… gets… away… with… it.”

* * * *

A stone ramp led from the dance floor and into a large vaulted chamber beneath the club. Numerous light globes illuminated the arena and the adjacent rows of seating. Seven iron cages dangled above the stone benches; scantily clad ladies danced within them. The seating was tiered and allowed a thousand fans to enjoy the bouts. On this night, half the stadium was filled with beer guzzling spectators and the chant of “Stoneman… Stoneman,” was unmistakeable.

The battleground was forty feet squared and surrounded by a ten foot wall that separated the fans from the combatants. Four devious trap-like obstacles occupied each of the corners: a net of crushing stones, retractable floor and wall spikes, a frost discharge sphere, and a suspended cauldron of boiling oil.

In the center of the arena, a steel grate opened over an ingenious fire throwing device that could spurt flames fifteen feet into the air. At the push of a button, or the pull of a lever, either of the combatant’s owners could spring the trap of their choice.

Centered ten feet from the southern wall, the giant golem known as Stoneman stood at the ready. His massive granite muscles had been polished to a shine by the ring girls and now he glittered in the arena light, neither moving nor blinking as he awaited the first command from his master. Across the ring, P.C. stood just as stoically, his red eyes blazing. His pink apron was tied around his head in bandana fashion and his soap holster snapped open and shut as the automaton ran through his pre-battle check list.

Johnny I.Q. sat in a booth above the Abominable Stoneman, the controls for the arena’s traps at his fingertips. Likewise, Merle fluttered back and forth in his booth at the northern end of the complex. Ringing his hands, the small dragon searched the crowd for Garrett.

The ring announcer’s voice boomed across the stadium and the crowd quieted instantly. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen of all races and nationalities. Club Coliseum is pleased to welcome one of the most famous golem combatants to our humble arena. Residents of Deep Cove, let’s put together a warm welcome for the infamous Johnny I.Q.” The crowd went into a frenzy of cat calls, loud applause, and shrieks of encouragement. The chant of “Stoneman…Stoneman,” filled the stadium again.

“Fighting out of the blue corner and weighing in at Eighty-seven hundred pounds, with a reach of one hundred and sixty-two inches, and sporting a professional record of eighty-four wins and two draws, let’s hear it for the Crushing Colossus, the one and only – Abominable Stoneman!” Again, the crowd went into hysterics.

“You’re the best, Johnny I.Q.,” shouted a young vixen from the crowd.

“Recycle that metal guy into something useful, will ya?” shouted someone else.

“I love you, Johnny! Sign my breasts!”

“Man, that thing’s big. You think Johnny’s trying to compensate for something?”

“Fighting out of the red corner and weighing in at a trim two hundred and seventy-six pounds, with a reach of four hundred and eighty inches… Hey, that can’t be right. Who took the stats on this guy?” The announcer’s voice was muffled as he covered the microphone and berated the crew. Clearing his throat, he continued. “With a reach of eighty inches, we welcome a newcomer to the ring – one of Deep Cove’s very own: the Dean of Clean, the Pope of Soap, the one and only, Germinator!” A scattering of applause rippled through the crowd, barely audible above the laughter.

“You want to clean something, buddy? Suck on this!”

“Stoneman’s gonna mop the floor with you!”

“Hey is that a duster the little guy’s waving? Holy crap, it is a duster. I’m picking that guy. Anyone with the balls to take on the Stoneman with a duster has got my vote.”

“Shut up Maxey, you and the tin-man both have a couple of screws loose.”

“In accordance with the rules of this unofficial engagement, the loser will be the first golem deemed unable to damage the other. At the bell, you may come out fighting!”

P.C’s visual cortex flashed a list of search results as he examined his data banks.

‘Battle Axe…’

‘Battle Chess…’

‘Battle Ship…’

The robot’s eyes blinked rapidly as the data filtered through his processor.

‘No more matches found for query.’

‘Lookup Battle Axe...’

‘Battle Axe: An axe specifically designed as a weapon. Battle axes are specialised versions of utility axes. Many are suitable for use in one hand, while others are larger and wielded two-handed. Axes designed for warfare range in weight from just over 1 lb to 10 lbs, and in length from just over a foot to upwards of five feet. An excellent tool for splitting, chopping, and killing.’

‘Search onboard utilities for Battle Axe.’

‘No match found. Displaying current list of onboard utilities.’

‘11 Rags…’

‘Bar of soap…’

‘Bleach…’

‘Duster…’

‘Lavender scented disinfectants…’

‘Plunger…’

‘DING,’ the bell tolled and the fans screamed their excitement as Johnny I.Q. gave the command for Stoneman to move forward and engage his metal nemesis.

‘Query aborted. Calculating oncoming speed of golem at 15 MPH.’

‘Lookup known casualties from duster…’

‘No match found.’

‘Lookup known casualties from plunger…’

‘No match found.’

Stoneman closed on P.C’s stationary form and Johnny I.Q. yelled across the battlefield, “Pound and ground that Mother Fu…,” but the crowd drowned him out in their excitement as Stoneman drew within a few feet of his unmoving victim.

“Run!” screamed Merle from his perch above P.C, but the automaton appeared not to have heard. Stoneman’s giant hand curled into a granite ball and shot forward with enough power to crush his adversary ten times over. At the last possible second, P.C’s retractable arm shot straight above him, latching on to a rope supporting a Johnny I.Q. banner. Reeling himself upwards, he avoided the Golem’s fist by an inch. Swinging hand over hand, P.C. moved himself along the rope as Stoneman thrashed the air blindly below him. The crowd hushed instantly. Maxey clapped from his seat, cheering the metal man on.

“Is that allowed?” asked his buddy.

“I think so; he hasn’t left the ring.”

“Soap on a rope!” shouted someone.

“He’s cheating!” screamed Johnny. “I’ll fix your wagon, Pansy Pants!”

P.C. zoomed in on Stoneman’s massive frame.

‘Examining hostile enemy for weak points…’ The robot’s visual cortex snapped several pictures of Stoneman’s joints and midriff while his processing unit ran the software to uncover any weaknesses.

‘No weak points discovered. Displaying optimal options for survival…’

‘Beg for mercy…’

‘Play dead…’

‘Pray for absolution…’

‘Run…’

Reaching to the controls in front of him, Johnny pulled one of the obstruction levers and cackled wickedly as the netting holding the giant boulders snapped open and released its payload. One of the heavy stones crashed onto the rope P.C. was clinging to, snapping it instantly.

Plummeting from the sky, P.C. watched as Stoneman lifted his arms to catch him. “Please… Lord… forgive… me… for… I… have… sinned,” he prayed.

“Excellent my pet,” screamed Johnny. “Throw him into the corner to your right.”

Stoneman scrunched P.C. into a ball, and the grinding of metal erupted throughout the stadium. Winding up, the golem hurled his opponent into the stone barrier. A spray of smoke erupted from the damaged robot as one of the hoses detached from the back of P.C’s neck.

‘Running diagnostics,’ flashed across P.C’s interior screen.

‘Left shoulder damaged 40%.’

‘Neck actuator hose disconnected.’

‘Neck damaged 62%.’

‘Right knee joint dislocated.’

‘Right leg immobilised.’

Johnny waved to the crowd and made a great show of pulling another of the levers in front of him. This time several razor sharp spikes drove out of the retaining wall behind P.C. Two of the spears slammed into the robot’s prone body. A spray of oil exited P.C’s left leg where one of the barbs punctured it. His chest compartment exploded as another of the glistening spikes punched straight through him. The crowd roared their approval.

‘Leg artery punctured. Lubricant leak detected.’

‘Left leg immobilised.’

‘Main compartment breached. Upper torso breached.’

‘Upper torso damaged 69%.’

P.C’s information display flickered as his lifeblood leaked from his wounds. He tried to get up, his body spasming as the spike trap held him within its deadly embrace. Slowly, his head sank to the ground. P.C. tried to focus, but his display was faltering. Through a haze of grey smoke, he watched Johnny I.Q. point at him.

“Punt him onto the firepit!” screamed the little man. Above him, Merle covered his eyes and waited for Stoneman to finish the job. Stoneman jogged to the remains of his victim and pulled his leg back, releasing it in one swift motion. Again the sound of crunching metal reverberated across the arena. P.C. hit the sand of the coliseum and rolled several times, his arms slapping the ground as he tumbled toward the flame thrower pit.

“You missed,’ shouted an irritated Johnny. “Finish him, Stoneman. Stomp him into submission. I want to use him for a doormat when you’re finished!”

Suddenly, a gratifying beep echoed within P.C’s metal cranium. ‘Weak point identified… weak point identified,’ flashed repeatedly across his visual display. He struggled to focus on the ranting geek, his auditory system recording every nuance of the man’s speech.

“Turn… left’ said P.C, but it was Johnny’s voice that resonated from the robot’s damaged body. Immediately Stoneman swivelled to his left. “Put… your… head… down… and… charge,” finished the robot when the golem had lined himself up with the cauldron of oil. Stoneman lowered his head and thumped his way toward the retaining wall.

“What are you doing?” screeched Johnny “I told you to…

“Run… faster,” finished P.C, drowning out the real Johnny.

The crowd quieted at this turn of events and Merle dared to peek through his fingers. The golem hit the retaining barricade with such force that an explosion of stone flew in all directions and a thousand cracks appeared under the impact. The fans seated above this section shrieked in terror and fled their seats. The rest of the audience screamed enthusiastically. Stoneman’s knee’s buckled and he hit the sand of the coliseum, shaking his head as if dazed.

‘Dragon is too stupid to react,’ flashed across P.C’s screen. Extending his arm, he reached into Merle’s booth and felt for the line of controls. Grabbing onto one of the levers, he pushed it toward the dragon and watched as the frost discharge sphere crackled to life icing over instantly. The sphere was starting to hum forcibly when P.C. let go of the stick and moved his hand along the line of gears. Pushing on the next lever, he sighed in contentment as the chain holding the cauldron of hot oil detached from above the still dazed Stoneman.

“For God’s sake,” screamed Johnny, “get up, Boulder Brain.” Stoneman did as he was bid, his thick fingers raking at the oil covering his eyes. “Turn around,” bellowed his master. “Now charge!”

P.C. remained quiet as Stoneman lumbered across the ring toward him. “Stop,” he commanded when Stoneman was within ten feet of him. The massive golem stood on the center grate above the firepit. “Now… Stomp.”

“No!” screeched Johnny. “You can’t!”

“Dance… my… pet,” yelled P.C. over Johnny and the crowd. “Stomp… like… you… mean… it…, Stoneman.” Johnny tried to deliver another order to his creation, but P.C. issued his commands in an amplified tone that was not to be ignored. “Two… step… your… way… to… Hell…, you… son… of… a… bitch.”

Stoneman’s feet flew in a haze of classic dance, not unworthy of the famous traveling dance troops of Cassadia. As his feet stomped on the grate, a horrific screeching filled the coliseum. Stoneman continued his frenzied movements unhindered and seemed to be enjoying himself. He began to move with even more gusto and his arms swung in rhythm with his feet. Unfortunately, the force of eighty-seven hundred pounds bouncing up and down proved to be too much for the iron lattice. The crowd gasped in amazement as the grate folded in on itself, carrying the golem into the deep pit. The pilot light of the flamethrower ignited the oil covering Stoneman and flames shot thirty feet into the air. Johnny watched in amazement, his jaw hanging slack as his creation continued to kick despite having fallen twenty feet into the pit. Suddenly, the oil reserves of the flame thrower caught fire and an even bigger explosion rocked the coliseum. The heat was intense and P.C. himself was caught in the blast.

The people gasped and Johnny cried openly.

‘Core overheating,’ flashed across P.C’s visual Cortex.

‘Bleach reserves boiling.’

“Climb… free… of… the… pit,” ordered P.C. and within seconds the fiery golem was struggling to haul his massive frame from the hole. Free at last, he continued to burn, the stone of his body turning a cherry red.

“For the love of God, I’m sorry, Stoneman.” Johnny’s wailing carried over the battlegrounds, but P.C. retained his determined look.

“Run… forward… and… left… three… degrees,” commanded P.C. Stoneman acquiesced, his powerful leg’s driving him toward the frost discharge ball. Flames raged all over his body and the golem’s slit of a mouth was open. If he felt any pain though, he screamed in silence.

“No,” shrieked Johnny, understanding hitting him like a brick, “I’ll do anything. Please don’t hurt my Stoneman anymore!” He reached for a white towel on the bench beside him.

“Faster!” cackled P.C., and Stoneman’s legs churned to obey. “Hug… the… pretty… ball… to… your… chest… my… pet. It’ll… all… be… over… soon!”

Thick black smoke rose from the back of the golem and filled the stadium, but no one seemed to notice. The crowd watched in complete silence, their rapt attention divided between the racing golem and the white towel as it fluttered down from Johnny’s booth. Stoneman reached the discharge ball a split second before Johnny’s towel touched down on the sand of the coliseum. In that fraction of a second, P.C. had time to laugh maniacally and throw the switch to the frost trap.

Stoneman’s arms encircled the frost globe and he stiffened immediately. Ice covered the globe in a heartbeat and raced along the outline of the golem. The flames crawling upon his granite frame were extinguished with a hiss and the black smoke rising from his back turned into a spray of steam. Within seconds, an inch-thick layer of ice covered the granite golem. A loud crack rocked the stadium, followed by the sounds of several smaller fractures. Without further notice, Stoneman’s body collapsed in a spray of ice, steam, and stone. Johnny averted his eyes, looking as if he might throw up.

From beside the pit, smoke still rising from his wracked body, P.C’s grating laugh echoed throughout the bowl of the stadium. The announcer’s hesitant voice came over the loud speaker. “Um, ladies and gentlemen,” he said nervously, “we have our winner.”

The chant started slowly, Maxey standing on his seat, his fist pumping the air with each syllable. Soon the entire building shook with the passion of the people’s voices. “Germinator!… Germinator!… Germinator!”