Alexandra

 

Alexandra ver1c
Short fiction by Hugh Tayler, 2022 September

I had the garden hose and a trigger sprayer out washing pickle juice off the front sidewalk before it dried in the hot sun. I hoped it was pickle juice and those green things were pickles. Funny things happen when people put food on the Free Table. The table is mostly unsupervised and about 15% of the population has trouble behaving when not watched.

I washed the pickles into the gutter and got the hose out of the way because there was a woman walking a dog down the sidewalk. She held up her hand to get my attention as she got closer. "Say there. Could I get some water for the Duke here? If it wouldn't be too much trouble, a bowl would be lovely."

There were some mixed toys on the table in a small plastic bin. I dumped them gently onto the table, rinsed out the bin and filled it with water. She took it from me and put it down for the big short haired dog.

"Danke - thanks. Thank you so much." She was short but taller than I thought at first because I had judged her against the dog.  I had taken him for something  like a Taiwanese mountain dog, but he was far larger. White with black patches, rangy but solid, some kind of hound, but big. And thirsty.

She saw me watching the dog drink as I coiled up the hose. "Doberman cross. Smart as whip, good around other animals, loyal and affectionate without being gushy, and fiercely protective." Her accent was well educated European, with a touch of upper class drawl.

I said, "And he takes orders well."

"He does," she said, "but giving orders isn't really how one works with a dog. I grew up with dogs and horses."

I took a guess, looking at her dyed red hair, broad sun hat and linen summer outfit.  I said, "And servants."

She froze and looked at me straight on. "I'd rather not say."

I said, "I understand." and to show that I truly understood, I gave the recognition sign of The Project.  I  raised my left hand, palm out, fingers spread. She didn't do the customary hand slap that Project people are supposed to do. Instead, she looked up and down the street and flashed her own left palm, fingers spread for just a half second.

I followed up the Sign with the usual Project introduction: "Hugh Tayler. I was born into this possibility space and there are no duplicates of me that I know of."

She looked down at the dog and said, "Alexandra. Second generation copy. Retired, but not really. One never really retires from the Project. I'm training as a media liaison team leader for an animal rights coordinating body. For me, relaxing. Recovering. And you, young man, how did you find out about The Project? "

I said, "I met a copy of a family member who told me how duplication usually works. The original person steps into some kind of box gadget, where the door closes and the person is frozen in bright white light for a few seconds. They leave the box and go on with their life. But another copy of the person can now be duplicated in another possibility space. That copy is offered a deal: a new life, a new name, a new job, and medical technology that doubles their lifespan. They work for an organization that calls itself The Project, trying to reduce suffering across more and more possibility spaces, often as teachers."

I paused and went on slowly, "You don't have to say anything. But I know things must be terribly hard, losing your original."

My wife leaned out the second story window, "Nice dog. Is this another one of your cousins, Hughie? Should I come down? I'm part way through this section - " And she froze, recognizing Alexandra for who she was.

Alexandra said, "Shall we sit down? In the shade? Do you have a cushion for that chair? I was copied in bad shape and I'm still recovering." And she looked at the dog and at me. "And something for the Duke to lie on, too?"

I flattened a large cardboard packing box and placed it on the patio in the shade. The dog took the cue and lay down, rolling so he could watch us talk. I said, "Two layers of cardboard. What I used to nap on after a morning packing lumber for carpenters."

Alexandra said, "I've slept on worse, myself."

My wife came out with cushions and another chair. Alexandra waited until everything was in place, then seated herself, shoulder bag on her lap.

My wife remaining standing and went to raise her left hand, but Alexandra gave a little hand wave and a small head shake. "I'm Alexandra and this noble beast is The Duke."

My wife said, "I'm Joan. And I remember when you married Prince Philip."

Alexandra leaned back and sighed, "Not me, not my Philip. God, he was so handsome. And he still is in some possibility spaces. There are relatively few of him, compared to the hundred or so copies of us. There are three scans of the original Elizabeth. The two after me understood when they were copied. But it came as a surprise to me."

"I was still driving a truck in the War when some young boffin with a big nose and bushy eyebrows asked me if I wanted to see the latest in military gear, out in some temporary building on an airbase. You know how it works. Flash of light and the next thing you know you are waking up in another duplicator box, somewhere else."

Joan said, "Somewhere different."

Alexandra said, "A truly different possibility space. It was a world where two of Stalin's generals were in his bad books and they knew what was coming for them. So they made a secret deal with Admiral Canaris, head of German Intelligence. When the dust settled Hitler was gone, Stalin was gone, and a reunified Axis took the British Isles and put my uncle back on the throne. My family and thousands of others ..."

"It was the worst kind of awful you can imagine. The Project Managers were so apologetic about duplicating me. But they thought the English people needed some hope for a better future and they had no copy of my father."

"I spent nearly 70 years in that possibility space, working with the underground, getting our people out or getting them in positions to slowly build a new future. But I didn't age much, so the Project found me a second life - a third one, really - after my first husband died. I changed jobs and became more public,  leading charity work under the banner of the United Anglican Lutheran Church."

"And then somebody in Waterloo, here in lovely Canada, developed a computational engine for analyzing human faces in paintings. And two years after that, the Bavarian Socialist Republic set up a base of data and began a search through historical and present day photos, a sort of ceremonial last hunt for the Old Nazis. Instead, they found me."

"I fled Germany, where I was living at the time, and got word to the Project. But near Calais, late at night, our car went in the ditch. I don't remember anything until I was duplicated in a Project facility here, badly injured. They literally built a duplicator box around the hospital bed I was in to copy me. Nobody from the Project will confirm whether that version of me survived. I think not."

The dog sighed and moved to a more comfortable posture. Alexandra rubbed her shoulder and moved it around. "I'm not going to run any four minute miles, but I feel pretty good now. The Duke and I walk a lot and I have been enjoying life in a world where a version of me had a family and got old. But now she's gone and her son Charles will have to carry on."

Joan said, "I'm so sorry for your loss. It must be like losing a sister, a twin."

Alexandra said, "Yes. But she knew that she had been duplicated, that her own work might go on."

Joan said, "And her work was charities?"

Alexandra was quick to answer, "No. My father told me what my job would be when he was gone: to set an example so others might be kinder and more dutiful. With luck and patience, the peoples of the Commonwealth would mature so that we could go back to our dogs and our horses and our wildlife preserves. We would not live in fear of the hungry and desperate starting some revolution like the one that had claimed my namesake Alexandra."

I shuffled in my chair. Human social progress over the last seventy years has been substantial, but not substantial enough. We only live a couple of kilometers from the most desperate block in Canada and Alexandra was far from unobservant.

I searched for a distraction, "So the other Duke, the one that isn't a canine bodyguard, the tall good looking naval officer? You said there were a few copies made."

She gave a short laugh. "I got a story second hand, from a trustworthy source. The Project had a possibility space that wasn't ready for teachers, but was desperately in need of a military leader with a sense of decency and fairness. It is still a world of sailing ships and horse-drawn everything, a world made for heroes with a little bravery and a lot of management skill. So there is a world where he is not a consort, but where he became King of Greater Anglia and the Frankish Possessions, legendary for his vigor and wisdom in old age. And if my friend is to be believed, legendary for his ability to keep all three of his wives happy."

She smiled. And then grew serious. "So. Her Majesty is gone. But I'm here and I have had quite a different life. My job is to say what she was too polite to say, "Grow up you lot and treat your animals and each other the way you should." "

She stretched one leg, rubbed an ankle, and stood up. The dog was up, too and she snapped his leash back on.

And she turned to Joan and I and shook our hands, and patted us each on the arm. "I hope I can count on your support. Keep an eye on the news. I can't be on the telly myself, but you won't believe who I have as a spokesperson. A copy, of course. But her own person, as we all are."

And she turned to me specifically, "And you, don't go snooping or gossiping. The Project are pacificists, but they are far from helpless."

"Let's go, boy." and she and that big dog were out the gate and gone.

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