Am I ... A Robot? Human one day, the next a robot. (standard:action, 13330 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 06 2020	Views/Reads: 1441/1007	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
When an army sergeant is injured, his brain is installed in an experimental robotic body.

I feel a slight tingle in my teeth as our helicopter dives through a
Bubble forcefield surrounding a huge APF, Allied Peace Force, compound. 
Now, we're safe from missiles or dangerous ... sparrows? 

After making sergeant in the US Army, my traditional change of unit
happens to be temporary duty to the APF TR-154 site in occupied Tehran, 
as part of the security force. 

On landing, after a pause while formerly whirling blades collapse as
they spin into fuselage housings, all two-hundred of us disembark onto 
a stadium-sized landing pad. A small fleet of vehicles wait, out of 
range of debris thrown up by the blades. 

One truck shows a bright red "Security" patch over the standard APF
logo. Figuring it's for us I, along with a half-dozen or so others, 
walk in that direction. Some in uniform, others in civies, we carry no 
sidearms or other paraphernalia.  Since I'm now under UN control, I 
turned in my US uniforms before coming and am now in civies with only a 
laundry bag of incidentals with me.  Even they have been x-rayed and 
gone through before being allowed onto the commuter chopper. All our 
needs will be given to us at this, our destination.  It will be issued 
as needed. 

Outside of a few officers and those in APF uniforms, most of my fellow
passengers have been civilians and done little talking during the trip. 
Nobody knows when undercover US Homeland Security Police (HotShots) are 
around, which discourages idle talk in public. Since the legal 
definition of "State Secrets" is so fluid, you never know when the most 
innocuous conversation from yesterday might be seditious today.  Idle 
speech anywhere in the world can be suspect. 

A lieutenant in the passenger seat of the truck rolls down his window. 

"Sergeant Tompkins?" he calls out to us. When I raise an arm, he calls
me over and continues after handing me a clipboard. "Check the others 
off on this list, get them in the rear and report back here." 

I do as ordered.  My guess is that he doesn't want to get his spiffy
starched uniform sweaty in all this heat. Those forcefields come in 
handy, especially in combat, but also block any breeze. And it is hot 
as hell in Iran this time of year. Crawling into the back of the truck, 
we set off. 

Except for the heat, I can't tell we're in a foreign country. Apparently
the base has been built in the desert and looks like any other military 
facility in the US or Europe. There are the same types of buildings, 
even transplanted grass and trees -- though the latter look sort of 
ragged in that harsh terrain. 

We pass many square-acres of military-style housing, along with various
clumps of concrete buildings such as warehouses and barracks. It looks 
as though living quarters are build alongside work areas to save travel 
back and forth. 

I'm pleased to see plenty of transplanted civilian automobiles, some
with regular troopers inside. That means it'll be possible to get 
around on my own -- if I can afford one. There do seem to be guard 
posts and gates in front of many of the isolated compounds, those with 
high fences around them. Maybe secret installations? 

After stopping at a guard post, we drive into a large compound. I figure
we're close to our destination. My sight from the back of the truck is, 
however, restricted to where we've been rather than where we're going. 

I see I'm wrong, as we pass through a huge complex of high-rises.  Miles
later, we're proceeding down another small road to stop in an empty 
parking lot.  As we start up again and enter a gate, I can see guards 
at a small guardhouse waving at us in a friendly manner. 

They're armed with the new ME-20 rifles, the "ME" standing for Military
Explosive and the "20" for twenty millimeter -- altogether as a weapon 
that fires explosive 20mm cartridges and very fast. They're also 
extremely nasty if you're on the receiving end. The enhanced depleted 
uranium armor-piercing version can stop many older tanks. It's one mean 
mother and about the only weapon we never, but never, give away to 


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