The Afterlife of Alice Watkins 1

by Matilda Scotney

  “That’s a milestone, Alice.”

  “I won’t ask how I did it before, while I was asleep.”

  “The life prosthesis takes care of all bodily functions until you’re weaned. Now, you place any soiled garments here.” Kelly showed her an area on the wall that curved out like a sink.

  “Who washes them?”

  “No-one. See this little package?”

  Alice took the little gel-like pack from Kelly.

  “Place it here.” Kelly showed her a narrow shelf and Alice placed the gel-pack as instructed. Kelly put a jacket in the curved area next to the gel-pack then waved her hand over a circular light on the wall. The gel pillow and the jacket disappeared with a whoosh.

  “Oh.” Alice was stunned and reached out a hand to touch the empty space the jacket left behind.

  “It will be on this shelf here,” Kelly showed her a flat area, “in an hour or so.”

  “Is it ironed as well?”

  “That’s not a word I’m familiar with, Alice, but it will be ready to hang in the closet. Here is the shower, it starts automatically as soon as you are inside. You put the gel here,” she showed Alice another shelf outside the shower, “it will wash and moisturise your skin and hair and see these two panels here? They’ll dry you.”

  “Is that water in the little package?”

  “It’s water based and condensed for use on starships and space stations.”

  She made no further explanation and Alice was glad, she wouldn’t have understood, anyway. Kelly continued the tour of the washer.

  “This little basin here has measured water if you want it and these little fibrelettes are for wiping your hands.”

  The washer was a very comprehensive room, a person only needed to strip off and go to the toilet, shower and get the washing done in one place. She grinned to herself as she thought of the outside toilet they had when she was a child. Wouldn’t work on a space station!

  The tour concluded in the bedroom where the bed was the size of the fabulous beds Alice had seen on the high street, big enough to get as far away from Ted as possible without sleeping on the floor, but far too expensive for their budget and probably too large for their little double bedroom. The linen was fresh and crisp with a coverlet in the same dull grey as most fabrics on the station. Kelly had a separate, smaller room off to one side.

  Across a long bench, a glass panel, covered in red and green lines like the one in the hospital room, hung in the air. Beside it, a drinks dispenser, which Kelly tried to show her how to use. Alice was mystified by the lack of buttons or switches and asked too many questions. No, Kelly told her, you don’t put milk in coffee and you don’t sweeten it either, it’s served as it is and would she like to try?

  Alice had a weakness for coffee although, like tea, she always had it with milk and sugar. Chocolate was another weakness. She loved chocolate. The local café Michelle took her to always sprinkled chocolate on the coffee. It was heavenly.

  But again, she didn’t miss the milk and sugar. This coffee was like no coffee she had ever tasted. Sweet and smooth, it needed nothing sprinkled on top. Her delight was unmistakable, so Kelly poured one for herself and sent Alice to sit in one of the luxurious chairs.

  “You asked me about Alexis. As a story, there’s only what Dr Grossmith told you earlier. The historical and medical data is available, but that needs to wait until you learn how to use the registry,” Kelly pointed to the glass panel above the bench.

  “Just tell me the story again, if that’s ok, Kelly. I don’t mind if you repeat what Dr Grossmith said. I’m just trying to get things clear in my head.”

  “Very well. The information we can verify tells us you were born in 2098 and, according to cell degradation, you fell victim to a life-threatening disease around 2125. Records left by your uncle gave us the diagnosis; an aneurysm, along with multiple tumours throughout your body, specifically, a brain tumour, secondary to a larger primary tumour on the liver. From the detailed medical records kept with your sarcophagus—your stasis capsule, conventional medicine had no effect. In short, your condition was incurable. The disease progressed at a torrid pace, but no-one knows when or where you were treated. It would appear your uncle left the information in the hope someone in the future could cure you.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Your uncle didn’t leave any data about how he preserved you and we have never discovered the formula. The experts all agree he waited until the 11th hour before he acted, no-one knows why he waited or how he developed the technology. It’s unknown, completely unknown.” Kelly shook her head and spread her hands to emphasise the mystery.

  Alice had never been interested in technology. Even using a microwave oven scared her. Technology had not been part of her world and she knew nothing of biochemistry. She couldn’t spell it or explain it. She had never heard of microchipping humans or had any concept of a future self, born in 2098 or ever considered a future that contained 2125.

  Kelly saw that Alice’s concentration had wandered. She was looking out the window. She had told her it was called a viewport but to Alice, it looked and acted like a window. Any enormous pane of glass that a person could see through was a window as far as Alice was concerned. They had so many fancy words here for everyday items.

  Kelly sensed how difficult this must be; removed from your own time, learning all the new technology. Alice needed a friend and one day, in the not-too-distant future, she would return to Earth, and Kelly wouldn’t be there for her. She puzzled for a moment about the incident in the mess when Alice was…different. It was only a moment and it passed so quickly. She would tell Dr Grossmith and Principal Hardy at the first opportunity.

  Alice gestured with a sideways nod towards the view outside.

  “And that’s Saturn out there?”

  “Yes, Alice, that’s Saturn.”

  Alice studied the planet from her seat. Saturn. Saturn had rings, she knew that much.

  “It’s beautiful. How did we get here? I remember man going to the moon.”

  “That’s when it all started...” And Kelly told her about the progress of space travel through the 21st century and the terrible plague which wiped out much of Earth’s population. She told her of the A’khet, gentle beings from another world who, with their kindness, saved Earth by sharing their knowledge. From this act of altruism, humanity was transported from a dark age to a new world of peace and harmony.

  “When did the A’khet arrive?” Alice saw no reason to be surprised at the presence of aliens. It was a reasonable question given the subject of the dream.

  “We’re not sure,” Kelly said. “Some say during your lifetime, but there is no exact date. We believe well before they revealed themselves. The plague was a space-borne virus; they knew of it, how it behaved but couldn’t offer a cure, they helped us rebuild when it was over.”

  “That would have been in my great-grandchildren’s lifetime.”

  Kelly smiled. “Those memories again.”

  Alice gazed in silence at mighty Saturn, then down at her slender, fair hands wrapped around the coffee cup, felt the steady beat of her regrown heart and contemplated her new kidneys and liver and wondered how she could dream so vividly, given she didn’t follow science fiction, besides knowing someone in one show had funny ears.

  There was sadness in her reply.

  “These are the only memories I have.”

  Chapter Eight

  A few months later, Alice still hadn’t fully overcome her feelings of unworthiness regarding the degree of luxury in her new quarters. She took special care, each time she met with Principal Hardy after moving from her hospital room, to thank him for his generosity and the obvious expense he had gone to. He chuckled and told her money didn’t exist in this society and that she deserved only the best, so it amused him when, even after his explanations, Alice was still thanking him for his kindness.

  Over time, the few station staff involved in her care, particularly those not aware of
her history, became accustomed to calling her Alice and though she had not yet shown herself as the rational, brilliant scientist Dr Grossmith and Principal Hardy believed her to be, they had warmed to the gentle, kind, curious and easily discombobulated young woman they were now coming to know.

  Kelly remained with her as promised, supervising and fussing despite Alice being able to carry out most tasks alone. Sudden dizzy spells and episodes of coolness and low temperatures had previously slowed her progress, but now, with Alice so excited about becoming independent, walking, eating and moving around the station, Kelly knew the time was fast approaching when Alice would no longer need such specialised care.

  Alice sometimes stood looking out into space through the huge windows—the viewports. The big imposing planet hanging outside, which at first had made her feel small and inconsequential, was now an object of wonder and fascination, Alice quickly coming to appreciate its beauty and presence. At other times, it served as a reminder of how incredible her life had become.

  Alice asked Kelly to give her a broad outline on how to use the registry. Kelly told her that throughout known space and all over Earth, the registry served as both a communications device and research tool, holding calendars, diaries, world events and local news, educational programs and a myriad of other information for the user’s convenience. The registry was a clear glass rectangle, suspended, without supports, over a flat box, which Kelly called a responder.

  Kelly instructed Alice how to communicate with the registry. First, she had to tell the responder what she required. The topic and associated folders would then appear in list form, the more specific she could be, the shorter the list. Kelly suggested Alice ask the registry a question.

  “What do I say?”

  “It has a lot of information, you can ask whatever you wish. Say ‘Registry’ before your first question.”

  “Ok. Registry—umm… kittens.”

  The references appeared—960,000,000 of them. Five were highlighted.

  “How would I know which one to choose?”

  “We would seldom offer the registry such broad parameters, Alice. You didn’t ask a question, just offered it a word. See how this image is slightly forward of the screen?”

  “I see it.”

  “Display,” Kelly said and instantly, the kitten enlarged and hovered in front of them, like a photograph that could be seen from all sides.

  “End,” Kelly commanded the kitten, and it disappeared back into the screen.

  “Does that work with everything?”

  “Yes, except if you are linking in the communications section, but usually, we use the registry for specific research. Let’s try kittens again but give the registry more information. Ask it about a kitten’s diet.”

  “Registry, what should I feed a kitten?”

  Another picture of a kitten appeared along with text highlighting a kitten’s proper diet and exercise requirements.

  “It will give you the most recent research Alice, the problem you may face is that a registry on a space station like this is designed for staff with years of education behind them and who would be able to control the exact parameters or even quote the precise reference to display. You only need to say ‘Registry’ at the beginning of the session.”

  “Would it matter if I didn’t learn how to use it?”

  “Yes, because they are in use every day on Earth, it’s how we communicate over distances. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

  Alice could see mastery over the registry would take time and patience and far more knowledge and education than she currently possessed.

  In contrast to her abilities with the registry, Alice’s recovery was nothing short of remarkable. The fainting spells and temperature dips eased, and she passed all medical checks with flying colours. From time to time, she attempted the registry alone but always ended up frustrated. She was far happier learning from Dr Grossmith and Kelly and going to the station library where she could ask as many questions as she liked. Eventually, it became apparent to both Dr Grossmith and Principal Hardy—and the realisation hit them hard—Alice was outgrowing Saturn Station.

  It was time to send her home.

  Dr Clere and Dr Grossmith sat opposite Principal Hardy, who, in Dr Clere’s opinion took a far too laissez-faire approach to the subject’s recovery and their attitude irritated him. Dr Grossmith, in his usual mode as Alice’s protector, was incensed.

  Principal Hardy was trying to diffuse the simmering tensions.

  “Her memories will return in time, gentlemen. There’s no hurry. No reason to pressure her.”

  James Grossmith concurred, grateful for the support but Clere found their subjectivity disturbing and alienating. They had no business becoming emotional about Dr Langley.

  “In allowing her to return to Earth, we are about to pass up an extraordinary opportunity to study a human body that has survived for almost 400 years!” Clere was emphatic and animated, his face red, highlighting his frustration. “We’ve suffered decaying corpses, pieces of meat preserved by primitive cryogenic processes, which have yielded, what? Nothing of importance, but here; living tissue, a breathing, functioning model to promote scientific advancement. She must remain where we can study her.” He pounded his palm with his fist. This conversation—no, this argument, had been going on for weeks and he had to make them see their lack of vision.

  “You forget we didn’t revive her, Larry.” James Grossmith would not turn Alice over to Clere and his team for experimentation. “She came out of her stasis without our help and we applied a life prosthesis in the same way we would had she been a victim of illness or accident in our own time. Would you take away the independence of one of those patients?”

  “She isn’t one of ‘those patients’ Jim. She’s in an altogether different category. Don’t you see? We’ve been presented with an incredible opportunity!”

  “She isn’t in a different category, Larry,” Jim Grossmith couldn’t even fathom why they were having this discussion, yet again. “She was ill, in a coma, she woke up and we treated her, the same as any patient. There are no mandates on how long a person can remain comatose.”

  Clere turned to Hardy, it would be impossible to convince the sentimental Grossmith.

  “You are both simplistic in your attitude towards her. In a controlled environment, she will regain her memory.”

  “So, her uncle preserved her, not to be cured and resume her life, a productive life, but for us to use as an experiment?” Hardy shook his head. “You haven’t petitioned convincingly, Larry, I don’t see what there is to study. Physiologically, anatomically, she’s no different from any other human, from that perspective, she can tell us nothing we don’t already know.”

  Principal Hardy respected Dr Clere but found him hard to like and having developed a friendship with Alice in the preceding months, on this matter, he stood with Jim Grossmith. He would not randomly turn her over to the Molecular Physiology Team to be placed under a microscope. And all for no good reason.

  “That is where you are wrong,” Clere jabbed his forefinger towards them both. “She carries the secret of that suspension fluid. A liquid, both life-giving and curative. The sarcophagus defied any attempts at penetration or analysis through the centuries and then, at the precise moment she woke, the liquid disappeared. Poof!” he said, flinging his hands upwards in his frustration and to underscore the irony of the situation.

  “Exactly, Larry,” Abel Hardy continued to be the voice of reason. “The liquid is gone. It’s been 10 years. There’s no residue, no signature, no structure we can analyse. It is no more.”

  Lawrence Clere sat down and folded his arms.

  Principal Hardy tried to placate him. “It is possible that our technology isn’t advanced enough to detect traces of the fluid in Alice. Now, it may develop to that point in the future, but we can’t keep her here hoping that such technology turns up in her lifetime. She’s ageing naturally now.”

  “Yes,” Clere
leaned forward, “and that is precious time we are letting slip by.” He tapped his finger on Principal Hardy’s desk. “If we can’t study the preservation, we must turn our investigation to her memories. Put aside all that Alice Watkins nonsense and help her find her true identity. She may well remember the formula.”

  Jim Grossmith would resist this with his last breath.

  “That’s if she had any involvement in its composition,” he could hear the anger in his own voice. “You are making a huge assumption, Clere. She was terminally ill. Her brain would not have been functioning to any practical capacity. It’s possible, probable even she is unaware of the formula and that would mean it died with her uncle.”

  There followed an awkward silence. As expected, Larry Clere was the first to break it. He pointed a finger at Dr Grossmith.

  “I blame you for this, Grossmith. You should have been more prepared. You were the one who always insisted she would wake naturally.”

  Principal Hardy stepped in on the defence.

  “There’s no way Jim or any of us could have known the fluid would dematerialise in such a manner. It’s a mystery—one I believe we must live with.”

  “Then use drugs to encourage her memory.” Clere stood, his left hand clenched, waving it at his colleagues. “Hypnotics to stimulate her cerebral cortex and hippocampus, psychotropic agents and stimuli and failing those, I have a theory where modification of a KELA procedure would force her to remember.”

  Jim Grossmith was incredulous, and his anger finally spilt over. He stood and faced Clere, no longer a colleague but an opponent, an adversary.

  “How can you propose that?” he hissed. “I know your theory on KELA. It was developed solely in response to Alice with no concern for how it might affect her. She’s remarkable, a miracle, and she deserves to live a normal life! What you propose is preposterous. Inhumane. She might lose all sense of identity!”

  “What identity?” Clere raised his eyebrows, unmoved by his colleague’s outburst, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of Alice Watkins? She isn’t her, anyway. If she loses that memory, what of it? It isn’t what she will lose that interests me; it is what we will gain. She was preserved for hundreds of years in that—that fluid! A fluid that not only sustained her life but cured her of disease. There are cancers today we cannot cure. She holds a key! Can’t you see that?”