Mecrats

by C J Klinger

  His orders had come directly from Lieutenant General Edward Emerson, who had just received his third star, which Greg knew made him a likely candidate for a Joint Chief of Staff assignment. The general had told him he was satisfied the Mecrats were no longer an experimental program; they were now ready to be assigned to a combat unit.

  Captain Gregory Donavan, Greg to his closest and only his closest friends was more than qualified to lead soldiers into harm’s way. As a seven year veteran of the army’s Special Forces, he had seen his share of combat and had distinguished himself on several occasions, as evidenced by the battle ribbons on his uniform. The distinctive black patch on his uniform indicated he was a member of the 5th Special Forces Group out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky, assigned to the Mideast.

  He was surprised by the call from the Pentagon and even more surprised when he read the confidential reports on the Mecrats program. Privately, he found some of the claims hard to believe, but one look on the general’s face told him to keep those doubts to himself. The coming days would tell him just how good these Mecrats were.

  Getting on the first bus he came to, he told the bus driver where he wanted to go. It seemed a good number of the people on the bus were going to the same group of buildings, The Mecrats Projects labs. His first task was to inform the program project director the Mecrats were being transferred to active duty. Then he wanted to reassure the director that the research associated with the Mecrats Project would continue. Whether there would be any more grievously wounded soldiers in the future to be converted to Mecrats was not his concern. Greg suspected that would depend on how well the first ten performed as a military unit. Judging from their actions in rescuing the two women from the extremists in Iraq, it was very probably the Pentagon would continue the program. In the interim, the science team at Groom Lake would be asked to concentrate on developing a portable, military version of the Mecrats’ support system. Greg understood that a message of this significance should have been delivered by the general himself, but for whatever reason, the general had elected him to be the bearer of bad news. He suspected it was the general’s method of allowing Greg to establish his authority over the independent-minded scientists responsible for creating the Mecrats.

  When Greg delivered his message to the program director, the older man sat back in his chair and said, “Oh dear.”

  It wasn’t exactly the response Greg had been expecting, but he was prepared to handle any objections the scientists might put up in order to keep the Mecrats under their wing. “Is there a problem, Doctor?”

  Doctor Natonovich shook his head negatively. He looked at the trim, military man standing in front of his desk. The man’s dark eyes, close cropped hair and physic all shouted, “I am a soldier. I am ready to fight.” The doctor had known this day was coming for months, but he had engaged in a little self-deception hoping that it would be further in the future. “No, Major Donavan, there’s no problem, but I think you should talk to Doctor Williamson before you introduce yourself to the Mecrats.”

  Part of his preparation for assuming command of the Mecrats had included a review of the science team involved in the project. Greg knew that Doctor Catherine Williamson had been responsible for the most critical portion, the successfully connection of a human nerve to an electrical connection. That development was one of the principal reasons why the Mecrats were able to have such precise control of their mechanical bodies. He had been very impressed with her credentials and knew her accomplishment would undoubtedly have an enormous impact on humans in the future.

  Greg was an engineering graduate of Texas A&M and had entered the service immediately after graduation through the school’s ROTC program. The military had thought enough of his skills and scholastic grades to send him to graduate school at Stanford where he earned a Master in physics. For both military and academic reasons he was anxious to meet the person most responsible for perhaps creating the future of warfare.

  Greg nodded his head in agreement. “I think that’s a good idea, Doctor Natonovich. Would you mind introducing me to Doctor Williamson?”

  In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Doctor Natonovich grinned. “I would be only too glad to do that, Major.”

  Greg wondered at the doctor’s expression and took note of the gleam in his eyes, the same gleam his older brother used to get when they were kids, just before he pulled a prank on his younger brother. Now his curiosity was doubly peaked in anticipation of meeting the feisty neurologist. General Emerson had told him about the episode in the senate sub-committee hearing and Greg had been impressed by the doctor’s cool demeanor while under fire from a powerful politician with a nasty reputation. Above all else, Greg respected people who could keep their wits about them while being attacked.

  The neurology labs were not very large compared to the other labs involved in the program. Most of the neurological facilities were devoted to the intensive care equipment that had kept the soldier’s brains alive while they were being fitted to their new bodies. Many of the medical personnel who had been involved in the early, intensive care phase had already left the base. The neurological staff, including Cathy had been reduced to five research people, all of them devoted to reviewing the continuous stream of information from the Mecrats’ body monitors for the purpose of improving the neurological/electrical connections.

  Cathy had not employed a receptionist when she had originally set up the lab. She felt that anyone who came to her lab had the right to be there and would probably know where to find the person they were looking for. Doctor Natonovich guided Greg to a hall off the lab entry and headed to where he knew Cathy would be; studying the live feed monitors from the Mecrats who were in the middle of a series of tests to measure their reaction times. He knocked on the door jamb to get her attention and motioned Greg to precede him into the room.

  Cathy swung around on her swivel chair and took in the athletic looking officer entering her office. This was not a Pentagon paper pusher, she concluded. This was a soldier, like Randy and the other Mecrats. She had an instinctive flash of what that meant. Her wards were going to war.

  She stood up and without any emotion said, “You’re here to take command of the Mecrats, aren’t you.” She stated it as a fact, not a question.

  Greg prided himself on his ability to remain calm, but he had to admit that this woman, perhaps ten inches shorter than he was had surprised him. “How could she know that?” he thought, recovering his composure. He answered his own question with the observation that she was after all a doctor of a very difficult science.

  He extended his hand and said, “With my deepest regrets, Ma’am, you are correct. I’m here to be their new military commander.”

  It was the right thing to say. Cathy had also known this day was coming, but unlike the director she had not kidded herself into thinking it would be sometime in the future. The rescue of the two women from the Islamic State had been too successful to be ignore by the Pentagon. The needs of the military were many and the tools to get it done were limited. By expressing his regrets at returning the ten men and women to the circumstances that had almost killed them, the Major had earned a second chance to prove he was not the typical, Pentagon type she had been dealing with since the program started.

  Doctor Natonovich watched the exchange with fascination, also surprised, but less so than the major at how quickly his diminutive director of neurology had surmised the reason for his sudden appearance. He made the necessary introductions and quickly excused himself from the coming fireworks.

  Cathy motioned to a chair and Greg sat down after Cathy took her seat. They studied each other for a moment in silence. Greg spoke first to try and retain some sense of control.

  “Doctor Williamson, I apologize for barging in here without any prior warning,” Greg said.

  “General Emerson,” Cathy said before he could continue. “That’s his style,” she added without further explanation.

  In spite of the seriousness of the situat
ion, Greg could not help but smile. “Yes it is Ma’am. He idolizes General George Patton. Act fast and don’t bother to get permission later.”

  Cathy nodded her head in understanding. She had had enough encounters with the single minded general to visualize exactly what had transpired. She studied the man across the desk from her. Like it or not, he would be in charge of her ‘kids’ future. She didn’t want to say anything that might close the door to future contact with them.

  Greg spoke before she could voice her concerns. “I read the report on the neurological miracle you performed her, Ma’am. It’s an unbelievable accomplishment.”

  “You understood them?” she asked, not out of sarcasm, but in genuine interest about his ability to understand the Mecrats’ neurological functions.

  “Most of it,” he answered sincerely. “Not the complex biological processes, but I do have an MS in physics and that helped me understand the mechanical side of what you and the team have accomplished here.

  Cathy nodded her head in appreciation. At the molecular level, biology and physics were kissing cousins. “Where from?” she asked.

  “Stanford,” he said, understanding her question. It was sort of an academic dance, a way of determining the quality of each other’s credentials.

  “Harvard,” she answered succinctly and added, “By way of the University of Oklahoma.”

  He smiled broadly and said, “By way of Texas A&M.”

  “Oh, God, an Aggie,” she moaned and for the first timed smiled at her visitor.

  He smiled back at her, glad the ice had been broken. “Sooner,” he jabbed back.

  They shared a moment of silence reliving the rivalries of their college days. Cathy stirred first and said, “Where will you take the Rats?”

  He had not heard that expressions before, but it was a logical contraction, one the military would appreciate. “Nowhere,” he said, “Their staying here, at least for the foreseeable future.”

  Cathy clapped her hands in excitement, vastly relieved. “That’s wonderful news, Captain.”

  “Call me Greg, Ma’am, if you don’t mind. I guess we’ll be working together for a while and I find that titles can get to be cumbersome between colleagues.” He had said it without thinking of what the protocol might be among the scientist. He just didn’t want this fascinating woman calling him Captain all the time.

  She considered his request. “Okay, Greg, when it’s appropriate. We’re a stodgy bunch of academics around here and in seven years I have never called some of my colleagues anything but “Doctor.”

  It was about what he had expected. “What do I call you?”

  A small smile came and went on Cathy’s face. “Just don’t call me Ma’am,” she said. “It reminds me of matrons and my Aunt Clara, my OLD Aunt Clara.”

  He made the decision for her. “I’ll call you Cathy.” After a pause he added, “When it’s appropriate.”

  “When it’s appropriate,” she confirmed.

  Greg wondered what was included in that phrase, “When it’s appropriate.” Time would tell. He decided to get down to business. Doctor Natonovich had suggested he speak with the Doctor before meeting the Mecrats. He must have had a reason for doing so. “What can you tell me about the Mecrats, Doctor Williamson?” He was not ready to test the right to call her Cathy.

  Cathy understood the switch in gears. The captain had a job to do and he wanted to get started. “How much do you want to know, Major?”

  Greg considered what he needed to know versus what he wanted to know and decided he was curious enough to spend the time required to get a better understanding of the complex sciences involved in this incredible project. “As much as you can take the time to tell me in as much detail as you think I can understand.”

  “That might take all day,” Cathy warned.

  Greg smiled and answered, “I don’t have any place else to be.”

  Cathy said, “Okay, let’s get some coffee and get started.”

  They settle in the lab’s small conference room which was lined with white eraser boards most of them filled with formulas and diagrams. Cathy began by saying, “Before I joined the Mecrats Project, it had been a Pentagon program to develop a combat robot, capable of handling all types of terrain and conditions while operating with a certain degree of independence. The only other weapon in the military arsenal that could do that was a human soldier, so that’s why they started with a human-like shape.”

  “What went wrong?” Greg had immediately picked up on the dead end nature of that effort.

  Cathy nodded her head in agreement with Greg’s quick conclusion. “No computer can compete with a human mind in its ability to keep a complex piece of equipment running on two legs over rough terrain while simultaneously fighting a war.”

  Greg sat back in his chair. “So that’s when they decided to use a human brain and brought you in. How on Earth did you accomplish that?”

  Cathy sat back in her chair as he had and folded her arms under her breasts. “It was unbelievably difficult on almost every level you can imagine.” She paused for a moment and then added in a lower voice, “Including the moral one.”

  The captain nodded his head so subtly Cathy almost missed it, He said, “I can only imagine how difficult that decision must have been, Cathy.”

  She stared at him without blinking and said, “I struggled with it for months until the first Mecrats sat up and talked. At that moment I realized we had saved a soldiers life.”

  Greg took note of her satisfaction at that statement and decided he liked her better for it. She cared for the lives of soldiers. He suggested, “Why don’t you start with what I can understand and lead me up to what you and your neurological team did.”

  She agreed and went to a wall locker to get a rolled up set of what looked like plans. Greg helped her pin it to the wall with small magnets. It was a cut-away display of a Mecrat, showing the internal and external details. She pointed to the skeletal structures and said, “A major breakthrough came when Dr. Warton and Dr. Hellerton created an artificial muscle-fiber that mimicked human muscle tissue.”

  Greg pointed to a cluster of elongated bands stretched between the steel bones. “Is that what these are?”

  “Yes, the Doctors developed a carbon polymer fiber that contracted with electrical stimulation and relax when the current was off.” Cathy pointed to the steel skeletal structure visible in the cut-away portion and said, “The human body has over two hundred and thirty bones. In the Mecrats we were able to reduce it to a little over a hundred.”

  Greg studied the cutaway diagram, taking in the incredible feats of engineering and medicine that had gone into creating the world’s first man-machine hybrid. The helmet-like head resembled a Spartan war helmet and Greg could see multiple types of lens behind the eye slits. The upper body looked like an English knight’s armored breast plate while the shoulder, elbow and knee joints were protected by reticulated covers. The hands and feet appeared to be fairly articulated, mimicking a human’s ability to handle objects and adapt to rough terrain. Greg thought it looked like an armor plated defensive lineman, only three foot taller and three times as heavy.

  He understood most of it, but one thing stumped him. “How in the heck were you able to get their minds connected to the muscles and control their motion to do the things we humans do automatically?”

  She smiled at his perceptive question. The captain was pretty smart, she concluded. “That’s what Dr. Zimmerman figured out.” She pointed to the shoulder complex and said, “There are six muscle strands holding this shoulder joint together and controlling its motion. Each muscle strand was given an identification number. In this case, LS1, Left Shoulder, muscle number one. In its relaxed position, its name is LS1-1, power level one. At its maximum contraction level, it is LS1-10. Everything in between is a relative position. When the arm is in any one position, the identification for that shoulder position is expressed as a compilation of the six different muscle identification numbers. To mo
ve from one position to another is a relative simple calculation for the human mind. ”

  Greg recalled his biology. “Their action became autonomic.”

  “Very good, Captain they did teach you something at A&M.”

  “You mean something besides how to milk a cow,” he retorted.

  “Sorry about that,” she said apologetically

  “What’s the power source?” Greg was certain something this big would be difficult to keep powered up. An extension cord was not an option.

  Cathy pointed to the lower body cavity, “It’s a hydrogen fuel cell with battery backup,” she explained. “We thought most of the power would go into managing the Mecrats’ body activity, but we discovered the implanted minds adapted far more efficient at controlling motor functions to maintain stability than we had originally estimated.”

  Greg studied the chart and began to understand the details of what Cathy had been explaining. The things he had doubted when he first read the Mecrats report were now becoming plausible and he began to feel excited about the possibilities.

  Cathy looked at the wall clock and said, “Why don’t we break for lunch.”

  The commissary at Groom Lake is always busy, principally because of the few choices of places to eat on the base, but also because the food was good, simple and quick. Greg and Cathy engaged in an animated conversation throughout their meal. The captain was like a data hungry student and Cathy was like a professor who was pleased to find a smart, willing student. Most of the people who knew Cathy were surprised to see her having lunch with a soldier. She usually ate alone or with a colleague, but never with any of the military who visited the base.

  Cathy had been approached by most of the eligible males on the base in the past seven years, but her constant rejection of all advances had earned her a reputation for coldness and even a rumor that she was a lesbian. Several of the openly gay females on base had taken her rejection of all males as a sign and had approached her, but had been equally rejected. In truth, Cathy would have loved to have had a meaningful relationship during the past seven years, but she had no interest in getting involved with anybody in the military and so far, no one on the science team had measured up to her expectations. However, to the observers seeing her at lunch this time, it seemed the aloof Dr. Williamson was more than a little interested in the trim looking soldier sitting with her in the commissary. To those close enough to catch the drift of their conversation, the talk was all about science, the science that went into the Mecrats.