This was a little story from a writing prompt that was offered from a contest last year–nothing much came from it but the prompt was intriguing:
It’s almost the turn of a new millennium, and people are starting to question how Queen Elizabeth is keeping her youthful appearance and stamina after almost 200 years–
“How many pairs of Corgis is she up to now?”
Mason stroked his chin.
“I think—ten, and that includes the animatronic ones.”
“It’s pretty hard to outlive Corgis, right?” I muttered.
“About as hard as sons and daughters and grand and great-grandsons and daughters with nary an additional wrinkle.” He chuckled. “Charles and William and George got tired of waiting, didn’t they?”
“As will Charlotte if she doesn’t keep up on her anti-aging treatments, and Harry, well—he’s just Harry. No one forgave him after he moved across the pond to Vegas and had his brain preserved.”
Mason snapped his fingers.
“That’s it! Maybe you could transplant Harry’s brain into an android body!”
I shook my head. “Patience, Mason my dear boy, I’m not a surgeon.”
“We have to get to the bottom of this,” he grumbled. “Clones, holograms, whatever it is, people are going to start talking. Look how long her mother lasted, and they didn’t even have treatments back then.”
“Well, Mason,” I droned, using my best sarcastic tone “what do you suggest in all your infinite wisdom?”
“A bit of clandestine surveillance, perhaps.” he chuckled. “Her Majesty has requested her physician’s presence in her chambers before retiring. Apparently, she’s feeling a little under the weather. I’ll give you a minicam with a wide angle view to place in an optimal spot, and you and I can peruse her at our leisure.”
I nodded, took the minicam, and left for the Queen’s bedroom.
Mason looked up as I entered the small parlor adjoining Her majesty’s chambers.
“Well?” he asked.
“It’s planted, and all we have to do is watch. We shall be able to view Her Majesty’s bedtime habits shortly.”
Mason supressed a small shiver.
“Do we really want to know?”
I lightly smacked his shoulder.
“Enough of that nonsense. Pay attention.”
We both stared at the small pocket screen, observing Her Majesty in her voluminous nightdress looking haggard and older than her usual self. She stood before the mirror, waiting—watching as a misty form took shape in the reflective surface, getting clearer until they saw the queen’s reflection—youthful and vigorous, appearing as she had at the turn of the century.
Panicked, rubbing his eyes, Mason turned to face me.
“What– is that?”
I raised my hand in warning, cautioning Mason to wait. We both watched as the reflection drifted out of the mirror and stood by the aging monarch, urging her forward. The original queen walked into the blue glass, passing through as if it were water and turning the surface into a mere dressing room accessory again. Her youthful and vital replacement removed her slippers and climbed into bed, turning off the small lamp on the bedside table.
“Would—you care to explain that?” Mason choked, stuttering out the words. “You know more than you’re telling me.”
“Indeed I do, Mason,” I laughed, straightening my bow tie. “You see, I’m not just a doctor—
I’m a Doctor.”