Several years ago, I started writing a short story that was called "The Hardyman." It was inspired by the Hardiman, a robotic exoskeleton designed by GE in the mid-60s. The story is about a man who finds a Hardiman, restores it, and falls in love. I finished the story a couple years ago. I've yet to find a home for it. I've been sending it out again as of late. The story starts with a scene involving Transformers, but the transformation of the main character takes places on July 4th.
Jack knew the Hardyman would drive itself between them, that it had the capacity to crush her completely, that it could break her in two if it so desired. And a part of him had grown used to its superhuman strength. Indeed, it was a dangerous system, created to control hazardous environments, and, once installed in it, one grew to rely on the way it fulfilled a certain human desire for personal amplification. That the relationship between the outer skeleton and the inner skeleton took the man out of the loop was what made it an impractical tool. There was no articulation of the self. The machine had the power, the man had the control, but a microprocessor did not have a soul.
Jack could claim thirty degrees of freedom.
How many degrees of freedom could he feel?
