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A Certain Perspective

The inside of the large helmet contained four gems. The first projected the sounds and images surrounding the Golem armour into the mind of its pilot. The second whispered the voices of the pilots of the Golems to each other. The third warned of incoming attacks. No one knew what the fourth gem did - the makers of the large battle suits had disappeared from Citadel centuries ago. 

Letting the pulses and flashes of the gemstones ebb and flow in his mind was a skill Stryker had honed over years. The stream of sensations syncing with the movements in his muscles, commanding the huge steel suit to fly and hover, twist and roll through the shining space surrounding the fortress. Today he was repelling a small raiding ship. 

As he crashed into its hull, a highspeed shoulder-tackle, buckling beams and popping rivets, the gems briefly flickered. Their signals stuttered, faltered. For a brief, dizzying moment he was only aware of himself encased in the armour, staring at the four stones. The world beyond, the fury of battle, became suddenly distant. He felt trapped, or adrift, floating or drowning, somehow both and all of them at once.  

This was the sixth time it had happened to him this past year. The Golem had been checked and rechecked by the station's Arcane Smiths. They couldn't find a problem. 

Which meant...