The Afterlife of Alice Watkins 1

by Matilda Scotney

  “People don’t get microchipped.” Alice thought it was a ridiculous part of any dream, almost as ridiculous as someone capable of growing a heart and kidneys and a liver.

  “Sammy was microchipped,” she thought out loud, talk of microchips reminding her of her little furry companion. “Michelle had him done.”

  “Is Sammy someone else you remember?”

  She nodded. “My cat.”

  “You gave your cat a human name?” Dr Grossmith and Kelly looked at each other.

  Alice shrugged. All her cats had human names.

  “People have been microchipped since before you were born,” Dr Grossmith smiled, at least she was speaking to them again, “and we still call it microchipping. The technology would be unrecognisable to the scientists of your day but microchipping it has remained. I suspect no-one ever found a better word for it!”

  He thought it amusing. Alice didn’t, and her expression abruptly halted his mirth. He gave full attention to her serious and angry gaze.

  “I don’t know anything of this. You’re talking nonsense.”

  Alice lay on her bed and turned her back to them, disregarding manners and wishing they would leave her alone. Dr Grossmith watched her for a moment, maybe he’d gone too far, now might be a good time to leave. Any other questions would have to wait. He’d only confounded her again, which hadn’t been his intention and he stood to leave.

  “I am eager to learn about you and for you to learn about us,” he leaned across to make sure she was listening. “But I didn’t mean to upset you. We can talk more later. If you think of anything you wish to ask, I will do my best to answer. Kelly will take you for a walk soon, moving around more will help, I’m sure.”

  Alice didn’t acknowledge him as he left. None of this made any sense, not even for a dream. Why would anyone dream words of which you had never heard? She kept her face turned away from Kelly, who, with kindness and gentle persuasion, eventually wheedled her way back into Alice’s good books.

  Chapter Six

  Later, Kelly stood with Alice beside the bed. Looking around, it occurred to Alice she no longer wanted to be in this room. Dr Grossmith was right, moving about might help, she felt a mite suffocated in here and some fresh air would be nice.

  Standing still, she lifted her arms to let Kelly place a clean shift over her head and tie a belt around her waist. She placed little slippers on Alice’s feet then brushed her hair and tied it up again. Alice remained unmoving, like a small child being dressed for a first outing after an illness. She hated this no-choice dream, wishing she would hurry and wake up—she might look young again but red hair? Really? Alice had told them her real name, but they only knew her as this Alexis Langley. Alice knew no-one called Langley. They must have her mixed up with another patient and that would mean she didn’t have cancer and they had made a terrible mistake. She looked down at Kelly, busy on one knee adjusting a metallic band around Alice’s hips. The band had lights which Kelly poked and manipulated until the band contracted to give Alice a snug fit.

  “Why do I need this?” Alice asked, reaching down to touch the belt.

  “You’ve worn it many times before,” Kelly said as she stood. “The full kit takes over the mechanism of movement. The partial kit, like this one, acts as a support and records muscle strength and neurological response. Previously, we also used the upper body component, because much of the time, you were in a semi-catatonic state but now, even though you are awake, there may be a few problems with spatial awareness, which could cause balance issues. Those few steps earlier were not enough for us to evaluate how much your equilibrium is affected. This device, this calliper, will be a better indicator. Don’t worry, lots of people wear these after the procedures you’ve had. It will keep you steady and you can walk at your own pace with complete stability.”

  Alice smiled her thanks, of course she would need this contraption. Why hadn’t she thought to ask for one? It was a dream after all. Nothing short of the fantastic here.

  With Kelly’s encouragement, Alice took a few bold steps forward, the calliper supported her back and legs and she felt her confidence increasing, but she stopped in front of the indentation in the wall where Dr Grossman did his vanishing acts.

  “How do you go through it?”

  “Just carry on walking.”

  “But it’s glass.”

  “You’ll see, go on.”

  Alice did as she was told and found herself on the other side. She looked back.

  “How…?” Alice checked herself to make sure all of her had arrived. She couldn’t see inside her room and the glass-like wall didn’t look as though anyone had just walked through it.

  Kelly laughed and pointed to a large black frame.

  “That’s the portal entry. See those lights on that side panel? To get inside the room, the forcefield needs to be deactivated. Look, I’ll show you.”

  Kelly waved her hand over a point of light, and with a twisting motion, the portal opened to reveal the interior. She took Alice’s hand and waved it over the light again and the portal closed.

  “That’s amazing!” Alice was truly impressed.

  “These are one-way portals, Alice, that means we only need controls to enter as they are never locked from the inside. Now, we have an appointment, let’s get going.”

  But Alice couldn’t get going. After her initial astonishment at her ability to walk through a wall, she quickly realised, with some alarm, that passing outside her room were four lanes of people, two lanes going one way and two going another. Each direction had a lane for normal walking plus a moving walkway for anyone in a hurry. A few people had callipers and others wore the same colour clothing as Kelly and Dr Grossmith.

  She grabbed Kelly’s arm; going out for fresh air didn’t seem quite so inviting.

  “Can we go back inside, please,” she begged. In answer, Kelly placed her arm on Alice’s back, and with a smile, helped her move forward.

  The calliper gave Alice a rhythm for her walking and if she concentrated, she could ignore the people moving along the corridor. All along the walls, she saw the black outlined portal entries with people stepping in and out. It was very busy, and she didn’t like it. She asked Kelly where they were going.

  “To see Principal Hardy, the commander of this facility. You’ll like him, Dr Langley, not only is he delightful, he’s an amazing historian. He’ll be able to clear up a few things for you.”

  “My name’s Alice Watkins, not Dr Langley. Will I be going back to the glass room?”

  “As it happens, no, we’ve arranged quarters for you. I’ll be staying with you, for now at least, you still need observation, but your own quarters will give you more freedom, that is if you wish.”

  Alice didn’t care for the word “freedom” with the implication she wasn’t free but if this was a dream, it would end sooner or later. She noted Kelly hadn’t commented when she corrected her on the use of her name.

  Dr Grossmith fell into step beside them, putting one hand under her elbow. She didn’t need the support but appreciated his care, feeling quite secure in the calliper but also a little guilty about her earlier rudeness. He had her best interests at heart even if he talked nonsense most of the time.

  With Alice between them, Kelly and Dr Grossmith stopped at one of the portals. Letting go of Alice’s arm, he waved his hand over the panel and stepped through, followed by Alice and Kelly both together.

  On the other side of the portal was William Shakespeare, but in this dream, he wore a greyish tunic with matching trousers and sat on a fancy plastic chair. He stood as they entered.

  This was a much larger room than Alice’s and like hers, had no flowers or ornaments, only an enormous picture of space and a planet with rings around it; a picture so big, it took up an entire wall. The opposite wall contained glass shelves, covered with books, and stretching right across one large curved area—Alice had never seen so many books apart from at the local library.

  Mr Shakespeare reach
ed out and took her hand, making a small movement with his head and shoulders, the same as Dr Grossmith did. Like bowing.

  “Alice?”

  She wondered if she should curtsy.

  “Good day, Mr Shakespeare,” she said humbly, not knowing how to address someone so famous and cast her gaze downwards to her feet, not wishing to meet the great man’s eyes. This was a privilege—she was willing to bet he didn’t pop up in many dreams. Michelle and Steven had both taken part in his plays at school, so Alice knew what he looked like. There was a pause, then Mr Shakespeare guffawed with laughter, the joke completely lost on Kelly and Dr Grossmith, but as soon as he started laughing, Alice realised her error—this was Principal Hardy, not William Shakespeare.

  “William Shakespeare, the ancient playwright,” he explained, lifting his hands, palms up before realising he was the only one laughing. He sobered up at the sight of blank looks.

  “Well, it was a long time ago. Come and sit here, Alice,” he said, his grin lingering under his moustache. He held out one of the super-expensive-looking plastic chairs.

  “Alice and I can chat alone,” Principal Hardy told Kelly and Dr Grossmith, inviting them both to leave, but Dr Grossmith hesitated, glancing across to Alice.

  “If I have any concerns, Grossmith, I will call you at once.”

  Dr Grossmith made that same movement with his head and shoulders. “Very good, Principal Hardy–we will go for morning tea and return presently.”

  His words jogged a memory of a ritual she loved. Morning tea. Two biscuits, bread and butter and a pot of English Breakfast, Sammy on her knee.

  The smiling man with whiskers changed chairs and sat down on the opposite side of the desk. Alice watched him, still feeling foolish at her mistake, but his smile seemed friendly and she decided he was a nice man and would forgive her, even though he did look like Shakespeare and under the circumstances, what was she to think? She waited for him to speak, not wanting to make a fool of herself again. He steepled his fingers and raised his eyebrows, elbows on his desk.

  “So. Alice Watkins?”

  Alice nodded.

  “You mistook me for William Shakespeare and I laughed, I’m so sorry, most ungracious of me.”

  Alice shifted uncomfortably, wishing he hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Well, sir, you look like him. Both my children were in Shakespeare’s plays at school.”

  He nodded as if he understood, then reached over and spoke to a tall oblong on his table and asked for morning tea, then he settled back.

  “I’m Principal Hardy, but I enjoyed being William Shakespeare for a while. Were you acquainted with him?”

  “Of course not.” What an odd question. “He’s been dead for hundreds of years, sir.”

  “Definitely not alive then?”

  Alice frowned, that’s a peculiar thing to say.

  “I don’t think anyone can live that long,” Alice said.

  “Quite—and Alice, how long have you been alive?”

  “Oh, well, sir, I’ll be 65 on Saturday, at least that’s what I thought until Dr Grossmith told me I’d been ill for a long time, so I’m confused about what day it is.”

  “Do you feel well, Alice? Are you able to make sense of your surroundings?”

  “I feel well, thank you, sir, and no I can’t make sense of my surroundings. I was told I was almost dead, but I hadn’t been ill, at least not that I can recall and now, I think I might be dreaming.”

  A man brought the tea. Alice hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in all these days, but with the sight of a teapot, she fancied a cup of tea might be welcome. She was a great one for spilling tea in company and posh teacups made her nervous, ever since she broke one of her grandmother’s good china cups as a child, remembering only too well the awful repercussions. It was a relief to see the trolley, without wheels and floating on its own, carried only small, very manageable cups

  Principal Hardy filled one for her but didn’t add the hoped-for sugar and milk. Hot and sweet; that’s how Alice liked her tea, but it didn’t matter because the tea was such a surprise. Purple and fragrant and unlike any tea she had ever seen, she gazed at the floral scented steam, spiralling upwards.

  “I’ve never seen tea this colour before,” she looked up and Principal Hardy saw in her expression, the lack of sophistication reported to him by Jim Grossmith.

  “You have had it, but it isn’t likely you would remember. It’s very pleasant and while I realise it would be customary in your time to have a biscuit or cake with your tea, I was only able to persuade Dr Grossmith and Kelly Ann to let you have fluids. Any solid food is to be offered only under their strict supervision.”

  “I haven’t had any food, at least I don’t think so.”

  “You have, but again, you wouldn’t remember. The food for our rehabilitation patients is not in the least memorable and you’ve suffered significant memory loss.”

  He raised his teacup in a toast and sipped, nodding his agreement to the cup’s contents and watched as Alice took a sip. It was gorgeous!! Alice wanted a whole pot. Hang the biscuits. A sweet, tingling sensation covered her mouth and lips, as though she had been desperately thirsty and suddenly, that thirst was quenched. She hadn’t felt thirsty, but the experience brought a huge smile and gasp of delight. Principal Hardy enjoyed her reaction.

  “I knew you’d like it. It’s a favourite of mine and one of the few teas you didn’t refuse when you came off the ELSP—the life prosthesis. I congratulate myself on my excellent taste in teas! I assumed it was a popular drink in your time—a very long time ago?” he added cautiously, waiting to see if she picked up his last comment.

  Alice licked her lips and saw with disappointment she had emptied the cup in one gulp. How embarrassing. She hoped he didn’t think her rude, but he took the cup from her and refilled it without comment. This time, she showed more moderation and instead allowed herself a moment to marvel a little more at the vivid colour of the liquid. Then she looked up at him. She’d heard him.

  “How long, Principal Hardy? How long is a ‘very long time’? Kelly and Dr Grossmith are kind but all they say is that I have been here ‘a very long time’ or that I have been sick for ‘a very long time’.”

  Principal Hardy had to be careful with his words. Grossmith had reported, and he recognised this now, that far from the educated scientist they understood her to be, she appeared simple and uninformed, with a curious insistence she was someone else—this Alice Watkins. He wondered if this could be an effect or result of the preservation or aneurysm, but she showed no signs of brain damage. He would be cautious and gentle but wouldn’t answer her question just yet, instead, he had one of his own.

  “Dr Grossmith has reported you believe you are dreaming. What if I said that is not the case?”

  “If I’m not dreaming, then what Dr Grossmith said, that I had cancer and a brain anjanism must be true, but I’ve never been sick, and I don’t know the person I look like now.”

  Principal Hardy knew she showed no recognition of herself in the image definer. He decided to explore some of the memories she claimed to be hers.

  “I understand you were waiting for your daughter to arrive to celebrate your 63rd birthday. Remind me of the date?”

  “My birthday is November 4th, and I was nearly 65, not 63. It was three days before and I was waiting for Michelle to arrive. I thought I heard her car in the driveway.”

  A lucid and pointed contradiction, he noted.

  “Dr Grossmith told you, according to our investigations, you’ve never had a child?”

  “Yes, he did, but he also showed me a magic mirror that made me young and pretty, so it’s hard to believe anything that’s happening. I don’t even believe in you…sir.”

  Principal Hardy smiled at her definition of an accessory that for him, was an everyday part of life. To someone who had never seen one, an image definer doubtless would seem like a magic mirror.

  “An image definer. It’s more accurate than any ‘mirr
or’. The reflection given is an exact definition of you.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

  “They were invented after you went into stasis.”

  “I’m not sure I know what stasis is. Do I call you ‘Principal’, like School Principal? Is stasis when people die and get frozen?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m always called Principal Hardy. You don’t need to say ‘sir’.”

  “Thank you, Principal Hardy, so when did I nearly die?”

  “According to your chip…”

  “I don’t understand that either—chip, my cat was microchipped. They don’t microchip people, sorry.” She’d interrupted him.

  “Never interrupt your betters, Alice, you have nothing of importance to add to any conversation.”–Alice’s mother.

  Alice had been pregnant with Michelle when her mother made that statement. Far too old for her mother to tell her what to do and she remembered the humiliation because they were visiting relatives at the time. She withdrew into silence. Principal Hardy saw the sudden change as she gazed into her empty cup and he lifted the pot in an invitation for more, but she declined with a small self-conscious shake of her head. He took her cup and came around to sit in front of her, perching himself on the edge of the desk. He folded his arms.

  “The government extended microchipping to humans in 2078, Alice. A breakthrough in the technology allowed for global positioning to be applied to those with a criminal record. It also allowed for specific aspects of a person’s medical and biological history, DNA and such like, to be recorded. Microchipping helped reduce crime and disease. We are still microchipped, but it’s much more advanced now. Your chip recorded a cellular degradation, which could be dated so we knew how old you were when you first became ill. This chip, of a primitive design but manufactured to a high standard, functioned throughout your stasis.” Alice failed to see why he seemed so impressed.