Free Power in the Hands of One by Ian Lewis

lower control arms descend and then come forward, their curvature meeting my shins. The upper control arms follow, dropping to waist level.
    Each pressure point of the chair backing separates as it splits into six quadrants. Likewise, the seat folds into individual components, bolstering my hips and thighs. Through this process I am maneuvered into a virtual standing position with my feet tucked into clefts in the lower controls.
    The panels of touch screens adjust themselves in relation to me, each rotating on an unseen axis. The monitors and keyboard do the same, still within reach.
    The transformation of the cockpit seems complete when the whine and hiss of motors give way to the usual low hum. A few seconds pass before a new message flits across the screen: Engaging Kinetic Drive…
    Without further warning, all four control arms maneuver my body into a mock kneeling position, one knee down, the other drawn toward my chest. My arms mirror the robot’s outstretched limbs, the control grips twisting to match the giant’s open hands.
    My instinctual response surprises me as I press into the lower controls, taken aback at their fluid movement. The robot’s legs move in response, matching the speed and angle at which I point my feet.
    Contact with the cement returns solid pressure to the controls, halting the movement of my left foot. My sense of balance disappears and I tense up, anticipating a fall—but unseen internal systems compensate. Positioning my right leg is just as awkward.
    A jolt from behind sends me staggering forward. I don’t react fast enough; I can only reach out in awkward response. One massive arm finds temporary leverage in crumbling brick only to be dragged down by the weight of the unsupported body.
    The shudder that reverberates through the hull of the machine is the first real loss of control I’ve experienced. The thought I’m overmatched and outwitted stabs at my brain.
    The struggle to stand is slowed by my panicked, weakened joints. Shaking, I manage a clumsy scramble to my feet and circle around in time to absorb an invisible, pummeling fist.
    The whiplash from this blow sends me reeling, the cluster of austere office buildings a blur against the rambling countryside beyond. A jarring response echoes through my bones as metal appendages connect with the ground; my head snaps back with equal force.
    Squinting in between collisions, I’ve barely noticed the change in diagnostic information on the virtual display. The myriad digital gauges and numbers float before me, spewing endless analysis of the situation at hand.
    The lower right quadrant of the screen shifts between current operational status and the suggested course of action: Recommended Tactic: Retaliatory Evasion. Options: Fire Support. A touch menu blinks near my hand: Engage Recommended Tactic.
    I slide my finger across this blinking orb. Response is instantaneous; the controls maneuver themselves in sequence, pulling the robot upward with a grace I could never muster.
    The buzzing motors of the controls direct my left arm into a blocking position, bringing a massive, shielded forearm into the same location across the robot’s body.
    Another strike from my invisible enemy rains down from above. My guarding arm gives way as the internal compensators translate the blow into a relative amount of pressure for human limbs. In turn, the controls pull my right arm upward as the robot attempts to complete its “retaliatory evasion.” My fist connects with a satisfying thud against unseen armor.
    The guiding of my appendages is a foreign sensation as is each pound of pressure sent back through the controls. My body sways on the verge of losing control while the robot regains its footing and retreats several paces.
    My sense of balance returns when the main monitor indicates the robot has finished its maneuver: Resume Manual Control. A deep whirring spools up from beneath me, increasing in speed. The monitor switches to: HellPoint Cannon