Phantom Ch. 10

Chapter 10: The Max Trap

Ernestine Bowles was trapped in a loveless marriage for 47 years. She had been born in 1854, shortly before the Civil War, in Cincinnati, Ohio. By 1870 her pubes had grown in and she was ready to attract a mate and begin the cycle of reproduction. A young industrialist named Henry Wilson swept her off her feet at a ball. He was so charming! He was so handsome! And most importantly, he was so wealthy, an in-law to the Rockefellers. They got married, and Henry promptly impregnated her once, twice, thrice, with Donald, Maura, and Cassandra.

But Henry changed over time. Her loving husband gradually grew more distant from her. After Donald was born, Henry was loving, but not enthusiastic about it; after Maura, Henry grew somewhat distant, and after Cassandra, he grew downright bored with her. Naturally all the chores of childraising were left to her.

Ernestine suspected Henry was having affairs with other women. And then the day came when she caught him in bed with Tilly Sanderson, who was his secretary at work.

"Why, Henry?" she wailed, as Henry methodically put his clothes back on. He was cool, calm, and collected.

"Why?" she asked again.

Only when Henry was fully dressed did he deign to answer her. "It's a normal part of life," he said.

A normal part of life.

As if men were meant to seduce women, bed them, impregnate them, and then move on, to spread their seed far and wide. Ernestine didn't know a thing about evolutionary biology, but even if she had, it wouldn't have taken the sting out of the remark.

And so Ernestine settled down into a largely loveless marriage for the next 42 years, while Henry had a series of clandestine and not-so-clandestine affairs. In those days one didn't simply get divorced, especially not from a wealthy family like Henry's; Ernestine could be tossed penniless in the streets.

And so she bit her lip, and endured. When Henry died at 71, Ernestine was secretly glad. But her bitterness didn't end. She had given her entire life to him, but had never known the comforts of a loving husband. She nursed that bitterness for another 7 years until the day she accidently slipped and broke her neck in her bathtub, dying instantly.

Only she didn't die, not entirely.

She became, somehow, some kind of... ghost.

At first, Ernestine roamed around listlessly. There was something keeping her here, she knew, some reason she hadn't Moved On. But she didn't know what it was.

Finally, she entered the mansion of the Wentworths. John Wentworth was one of the original railroad barons, and still quite wealthy. She watched as John neglected and ignored his wife, Cindy, to carouse with whores. She watched Cindy cry herself to sleep every night as John had his way with other women.

And so one night Ernestine somehow got inside of Cindy's body, and, after John had gone to bed, used Cindy to smother John with a pillow. When Cindy realized what she had done, she cried out in despair. But then, Ernestine quickly felt something else in Cindy.

Satisfaction.

And after that, Ernestine's purpose became clear.

********

His name was Max Boot. He was fabulously wealthy, having patented the Smart Tampon which told women when they needed to be changed. Whenever the Smart Tampon became saturated, it would emit a discrete high pitched whine which warned women of the need to be discarded. Women loved it, and Max became fabulously wealthy.

In the process he burned through not one or two but four wives, cheating on each of them in succession.

In short, he was just the kind of playboy who made Ernestine's blood boil. Speaking figuratively, of course; kalaks had no blood of any kind. Ernestine was a Fiend, an immensely powerful and malign kalak, a glowing shadowy shape vaguely in human form with red, glowing eyes.

Max lived on his giant yacht, the Diamond Princess, sailing the world with his latest girlfriend, a blonde bombshell named Nicole. Ernestine first took possession of his body when he was asleep. She liked to do that, to give her time to get used to a new host.

Max felt... different. Ernestine had inhabited dozens of hosts over the years, but Max's body was odd... it felt like a person's body, sort of but almost... almost an imitation of a body, as if someone had sculpted a realistic body out of clay, and put it out as a real person's. It was an odd, artificial feeling.

But Ernestine shrugged it off. There were so many different bodies in the world, it was inevitable she would come across some with peculiar characteristics.

After Max woke up and had breakfast, Ernestine, with excited anticipation, introduced herself.

Hello.

Max raised his eyebrows.

Yes, you heard that.

"Who is this?" Max asked.

I'm your conscience. Ernestine liked starting out this way. She could rarely make her hosts feel guilty; after all, men like this were dirty pigs, but sometimes she could panic them a little.

Max reacted in a way she didn't expect.

"Well, you have a nice voice."

A nice voice? What kind of response was that? Max, you've done a lot of bad things in your life.

"I have?" said Max, smiling.

Something was clearly wrong. Anyone else would have been frightened out of their wits to hear an accusing voice in their head. Ernestine had seen it time and time again. But Max was as calm and collected as if he was having a holocall with his aunt.

Ernestine doggedly kept going. Yes. And now you're going to pay for it.

"How?"

You're going to open your holochannel to your bank, and transfer all your funds to the Guttmacher Institute for the Social Advancement of Women and Girls. The Institute did amazing work for half the population of the globe, funding free HappyHappys for poor women, sending cultural missions to uplift the Laquintans of Ramada, and teaching young girls leadership and speaking skills, as well as helpful tips on masturbation and menstruation. Ernestine expected Max to struggle, as she manipulated his hands over his holocom. She expected him to fight. She expected him to resist-

"Oh, all right," said Max, idly watching his hands move with a smile, as he set up the transaction to empty his entire bank account, all of it, and wire it directly to the Guttmacher Institute. Ernestine manipulated his thumb, pressing the holographic SEND button, and it was done.

Max just stood there, still smiling. Ernestine waited a moment, and had Max refresh his account.

It's empty, see? Zero. Nothing. Nada. Where is all your money now, rich man?

"Gone," said Max.

Aren't you devastated? Where's your anger? Where's your rage? Something was missing!

Max sighed. "I guess I'll have to get a job."

That's it? I just transferred... 32 million dollars, and that's your only reaction? That you guess you'll have to get a job?

"Try to calm down."

Don't tell me to calm down! You're supposed to be the one who's outraged!

"All right, all right." Max sat down in a lounge chair. "I'm outraged."

Something was very, very wrong here.

**********

"Niccy? Come here dear, I have something to tell you," said Max.

Nicole looked splendid today. She had been sunning herself on the deck of her yacht. She was wearing a bathing suit which revealed her large, Swedish breasts. The material sloped inwards into a tight V shaped tucked neatly between her thighs. "Yes Max," she said obediently.

Ernestine had done her research. Nicole had been Max's girlfriend for several months. He had been promising her marriage. She expected to be Mrs. Boot, or at least, the next Mrs. Boot.

Nicole tiptoed over on bare feet, wiggling her ass. "What is it, dear?"

"I have something to tell you, dear." Ernestine was controlling Max fully now. He was no more than a puppet. And yet she still felt no panic inside of him. What was wrong?

"What is it, Max?"

"Dear... I'm sleeping with other women." Ernestine looked expectantly at Nicole. Nicole didn't even blink. Must she be even more explicit? "I'm fucking other women, dear. I'm cheating on you," said Max. "I know I promised you were the one, but I've betrayed you, Nicole!"

Ernestine waited for Nicole to erupt in a fury. Instead, Nicole grabbed his arm and stroked it. "Oh, you poor dear! You must have felt so badly carrying that guilt inside of you for so long! Here, sit down, sit down. Let me get you a drink." And she ran inside, showing her ass cheeks sticking out of the back of her bathing suit as she wiggled.

What is wrong with that woman?

"Nicole is very understanding," said Max.

Nicole came back with his drink. Max sipped it while she sat on her lap. Ernestine made one last try. "Didn't you hear me? I'm sleeping with other women!"

"I heard you," said Nicole. "Listen, when I was in the kitchen I had an idea. We can set up a calendar; you know, days and times when you're with your other girls, and times when you're with me. That way we won't conflict. What do you think?"

"Sounds wonderful, darling," said Max, as he felt the fury inside of him that was called Ernestine.

********

Max stood on the bow of his boat, completely barefooted.

You're about to jump, Max

"Really?" Max looked down into the deep blue water. "Isn't it a bit cold for a swim?"

You're not going swimming, Max. You're GOING TO DIE.

"Oh." Max thought about this. "Are you sure?"

Yes.

"Why don't we just get a drink instead-"

Even as Max spoke, Ernestine made him jump. Max lept into the water. Immediately, he started to sink to the bottom of the Caribbean.

But as Max sunk, he didn't struggle. He didn't try to breathe. His body was motionless, but motionless too soon, from the moment he hit the water. Finally, he landed on the sandy ocean floor, a corpse, a corpse with a smile on his lips.

Max lay there for a long moment, as Ernestine tried to make sense of it all. And then his body started to glow. It glowed, and Max started to float upwards, with her still inside him. Not swim, but float, which also made no sense to her.

When they got to the boat, Max actually floated through the boat, until he was in his cabin. When he got there, his body solidified again.

What are you?

Max looked for a towel to dab himself off. "The closest word you might know is Poltergeist."

You're a Poltergeist?

"Not quite," said Max, as he toweled himself off. He looked at his clothes. "A good thing this is wash and wear. No, my dear, Poltergeists are evil, and I am definitely not evil."

Then what are you?

"Call me... a Phantasm. A kalak who can assume physical form, but isn't wicked, like a Poltergeist. So new, so rare, that I think I'm one of a kind. At least, I'm the only one of my kind I've ever encountered."

What are you doing here?

"That's the first sensible question you asked. The answer, of course, is that I was waiting for you."

Ernestine suddenly panicked, and tried to flee her body. But she couldn't get out. She felt trapped. Bottled up. Fear surged inside of her. What's happening to me?

"You're going to stay awhile longer. Think of yourself as my honored guest."

Ernestine screamed.

**********

"Is she still screaming?" Niccy asked, over dinner.

"No, she's calmed down some," said Max, as he ate a piece of steak.

Ernestine still couldn't quite figure out Niccy's role in all this. Obviously, she was not simply some airhead girlfriend to Max, as she had first thought. But neither did she seem to be a kalak. Max had disclosed to her, in one of her calmer moments, that there was no real Max Boot either. It was an identity he had created, the image of a callous, rich playboy that splashed over the holotabloids, all for the purpose of trapping Ernestine.

"Ernie, doesn't this meat taste good?" said Max, as he ate. In a moment of weakness Ernestine had told him her name, which she now regretted. She registered the taste of meat. Now that she knew Max was a Poltergeist, or a Phantasm, she understood the odd feeling she felt inhabiting his body--it wasn't a real body at all, simply a construct.

"I don't eat meat," she said through his mouth. That much she was still permitted to do; otherwise, she had lost total control over his body; a control she had never really had.

"Well, you do now," said Max.

Nicole laughed, making it all the more infuriating.

"What are you going to do with me?" Ernestine asked.

"Well, I've been giving that some thought," said Max. "You've woven quite a pattern of destruction over the years. How many young men's lives have you destroyed because of your mistersogany?"

"Mistersogany?" said Ernestine.

"Your hatred of men," said Max. "Instead of Misogyny, I call it Mistersogany, get it?"

Nicole laughed again, which was even more infuriating.

"How many men have you impoverished, how many marriages have you broken up, how many men have you murdered?" Max asked.

"They all got what was coming to them," said Ernestine tightly.

"They did? Who appointed you judge, jury and executioner?" Max asked. "Is death now the penalty for adultery? Even the Imams of Laquinta don't execute men for that."

"Only women," said Ernestine tightly.

"That's right," said Max. "So, if I were to treat you like your victims, I would sentence you to death. Or, since you're already technically dead, oblivion."

"Oblivion?"

"I would snuff out your life energy within me," said Max. "Perhaps you would Move On, whatever that means. Or perhaps you would simply... cease to exist."

Ernestine felt a psychic chill. "What... what does it mean to Move On?"

"Would you like me to show you?" Max said, in amused tone. "Come."

********

And suddenly, they were somewhere else. High, in the clouds. There were kalaks all around them, glowing human shapes, smiling and talking and playing. The sun was shining, and people were walking on air.

"It's so beautiful," said Ernestine. Everyone was so happy; everyone was so content; she could feel the warmth, the emotional warmth, radiating out from everyone around her. The yellow rays of the sun made everything so tremendous beautiful that her heart ached.

"Yes, it is," said Max. "This is the fate of good natured kalaks. But not you."

"Not me?"

"No. You're a Fiend. You go somewhere else."

And suddenly the scene changed in an instant. They were in a dark place, an undefined dark area lit only by bright red fires. Kalaks were being tortured in a variety of ways, a variety of ways that shouldn't affect psychic flesh but did, by fire, by hammers, by being stretched on racks. Ernestine watched as a kalak was stretched on an old fashioned rack, tortured by two other kalaks who encouraged her to scream.

"Louder, louder," said one the kalaks. "I can't hear you."

Ernestine recoiled in fright, inside of Max.

"Do you notice something different about this place?" Max asked.

Different? It's terrible. Ernestine watched a kalak, screaming, as it was seemingly cut to pieces, restored, and then cut all over again.

"Yes, it is," said Max. "But there's something else you can see. All the kalaks here are the bad ones. The ones with the glowing red eyes. Look."

Sure enough, Max was right. All the ghosts had glowing eyes and shadowy shapes, like fiends and shades. Or some had the more human shaped outlines, but they also had red eyes, like Lemures.

Why are you showing me this?

"Because this is your next stop. Sooner or later you will Move On, and be destroyed, and wind up here."

No! Ernestine recoiled in terror. I don't want to go here.

"You won't have much choice. That is, unless you change your ways."

What? There's a way out? I'll take it! Tell me what I have to do!

*********

A black woman was crying at a grave.

Max watched her from a distance. "She lost her baby."

Why?

"She was an Anal Dissolve addict. The drug fried her baby's brain before he was born."

That's terrible.

"Yes, it is," said Max. "Even worse, she's still addicted."

Still? Even after losing her baby?

"Remember, the World Government says it's not a baby until the moment it's born. Before then, it's simply body tissue."

Ernestine cringed.

"She could use some help getting through this," said Max.

Whose help? Do you mean me?

"Who do you think I'm talking to, the tree in the distance? Of course, you."

I don't know anything about consoling... ass druggies.

"It's beneath you, isn't it? All right, I'll just drop you off at the last place we were just at-"

No. Nononono. I'll do it! But... how do I get into her body if I'm trapped in yours?

"Simple. You're free to go." Max stepped to the side, and suddenly Ernestine was outside his body, free, free, free!

"I know what you're thinking," said Max. "Now that you're free, you can go back to terrorizing insensitive wealthy men. That's always your choice. Just remember the consequences."

Ernestine thought about it. She thought about the joys of tormenting wicked men. Then she thought about the terrible place Max just showed her. Her bright red eyes flitted back and forth. Then she flew over to the woman at the grave, and entered her.

"A good choice," said Max.

********

At first, Ernestine didn't know quite what to do about Shinequa Yoruba. Shinequa was in mourning for her dead son, who she had named Mohommad, but that wasn't her real problem. Her main problem was that she was an Anal Dissolve addict. Every Monday morning she would check to see that the World Government had deposited the social contract payment into her bank account, the payment the World Government paid her for rehabilitating herself, the payment for which she did absolutely nothing except meet with Miss Schmaltzenberg at Unsocial Services every two weeks and pasted smiles on her face and nod frequently. Then, while she was supposed to be in job training or attending work classes, she would be the park getting high on Anal Dissolve. Shinequa had been so conditioned that even the first feathery touch of the small brush against the lining of her anus made her shiver with ecstasy.

And then a voice appeared in her head. A voice that told her that taking narcotics was bad, and she should stop. Shinequa told the voice to fuck off. The voice was insistent. Even worse, it sounded like a stuffy old white lady. Shinequa suspected that she was a test subject in a new World Government Unsocial Program.

But the next time Shinequa tried to take Anal Dissolve, something unusual happened. She reached up with her hand and threw the bottle in the trash atomizer. "No!" she cried out, even as the bottle sparked into nothingness. "Why you do that!" she cried.

It's time for you to reform yourself, Shinequa.

"Fuck that! I want my ass juice!"

There will be no more ass juice for you, Shinequa.

The voice was right. Every time Shinequa would try to buy more anal dissolve, something would go wrong. She would throw the bottle out, or run out of credit, or unexpectedly call for the police. It was as if a part of her wanted her to get off of narcotics.

"You my conscience?" Shinequa asked.

Yes, in a matter of speaking.

"What does matter of speaking mean?" Shinequa asked.

It mean yes.

"What I gonna do now that I not getting' my ass juice?"

Well, you could apply yourself and get a job.

Shinequa laughed.

*********

But she wasn't laughing two months later, when she got a job working at World Government Unsocial Services. This was the typical job route for people at the bottom of the employability ladder. They would get World Government jobs providing services to people like them who needed Unsocial Services. Shinequa's job was to counsel women who were struggling to get back into the job force. In turn, there was another women who also worked for the World Government whose job it was to help integrate Shinequa into the workforce, teaching her valuable life skills like showing up on time, dressing appropriately, and not stabbing her supervisor. It became a wonderful closed circle where welfare recipients spent all their time counseling each other. While they weren't producing anything particularly useful, they were keeping each other quite occupied, which was a benefit in and of itself.

"I barely recognize myself," said Shinequa. She had a new apartment now, in a World Government ghetto two steps above the World Government ghetto she had been previously living in. She had a smart business suit, paid for by her World Government clothing grant (which actually went to buy clothing, for the very first time!), she had a steady job teaching other former welfare clients the very same things she was being taught, and she had job security and some satisfaction. She even was seeing a respectable young man named Addis, a World Government supervisor whose job it was to document the progress of welfare clients in the form of rap poems.

Ernestine watched Shinequa get up for work and arrive on time for the fourth week in a row.

"Feels good, doesn't it," said Max, who suddenly appeared by her side.

"Oh! I didn't expect to see you again," said Ernestine, who was her natural Fiend form. Her glowing red eyes stared at him suspiciously.

"You did good work with her, but we're far from done."

"We are?"

"You've only helped one woman, what did you expect?"

Truthfully, Ernestine didn't know what to expect.

"Come on."

*********

They were at a grave site again. This time they were watching a boy weeping.

"Machado lost his father last week. He's only ten year old," said Max.

"How did he die?" Ernestine asked.

"He was murdered by an illegal alien from MS-24."

Ernestine looked confused. "Spanish people are victimized by illegal aliens too?"

"Spanish people are the number one victims of illegal aliens. It's just not fashionable to say it," said Max. "Anyway, he's a troubled kid, and his mother isn't much help. He has seven brothers and sisters, and she has her hands full."

"It sounds like her hands weren't the only thing that was full."

"It would be nice if you could mentor him. He's thinking of dropping out of school and joining MS-23."

"Why?"

"MS-23 hates MS-24."

"Why?"

"MS-23 are European Mexicans, and MS-24 are Indian Mexicans."

"Oh," said Ernestine. She frowned, as much as a Fiend could frown.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, it's one thing to help a woman, that's fine. But to help a man... even a boy... men are oppressors."

"All men?" said Max. "You're never going to get over your hate unless you help the ones you despise the most."

Ernestine felt torn. But she knew the alternative. "All right, I'll do it."

********

And so Ernestine befriended a young Spanish boy. Machado and Ernestine actually had absolutely nothing in common, but somehow Ernestine bonded with the boy when they went out to kill ants and bugs in the forest together. Then she gently but firmly steered him back towards school. Machado wanted to join MS-23 to avenge his father, but Ernestine convinced him that school was the best way to honor his father's memory.

Just think, Machado. You could grow up to be a doctor, a lawyer, or a World Government Unsocial Services Administrator. Wouldn't that make your father proud?

Machado thought about it, and realized she was right. He went back to school. Like any young boy, he was distracted by friends and girls, but he was fortunate enough to have an elderly white woman in his head who was constantly nagging him to do his homework. Within a few months he had internalized her teachings and had become a model student. His peers cruelly tagged him as "white boy" because he got such good grades, but Machado didn't mind.

"While they're stealing the regulators off of parked grav cars, I'll be on the top story of a really tall building, above the air pollution, handing out the rules from the World Government," he said.

Ernestine couldn't help but smile.

********

Max had other assignments after that. Each one grew progressively more challenging. Her next assignment was to change the attitudes of a woman who was a big complainer and rarely showed her husband affection.

"That's exactly how Henry behaved towards me," said Ernestine.

"Exactly. It's not a crime only committed by men."

"But... to help make a wife more... malleable to men....." Ernestine made a frown again, sort of.

"You're right," said Max. "Men bad, women good. Right?"

"No, it's just...."

"You had a very bad experience with your husband. It defined your existence. It's why you're here," said Max. "But you know where it's going take you if you follow it to its logical conclusion. I'm offering you another choice."

Ernestine realized he was right, and she took it.

And so Ernestine got into the head of a snobby housewife who was more interested in being petty than her own husband. She taught her to be more affectionate and more loving. The wife was surprised to learn that when she showed her husband affection, he responded with affection as well. She even learned to enjoy it.

Ernestine counseled a number of women in this way, and as time progressed her perspective changed. She had been married to an unloving man for most of her life, but men didn't have the monopoly on callousness. Little by little her hatred of men began to melt away. She began to change too. The redness of her eyes started to dim. The shadowy shape of her body started to be more defined, to look more like a person.

And then came the day when Ernestine was assigned reform Julie Kagenwheel, a star feature writer for the World Government News Network. Julie's specialty was writing articles about women. Women were somehow always the subject of her articles, either as victims or heroes. She wrote female-centric articles such as "Woman Doctor teaches Male Doctors How to Empathize with Patients", "Women Judges Arrive at Better Decisions 94% of the Time, Study Says", "Women Businessmen Twice as Productive as Men", "Men Subconsciously Beat Their Wives Three Times a Day", and "Two Thirds of Women Executives Sexually Harassed and They Don't Even Know It."

Several months earlier, Ernestine would have been a fan of her work. Instead, she knocked some sense into her.

She started by getting into Julie's head and saying one word, and one word only, over and over and over.

Women.

Women women women women women women women women.

Every time Julie wrote an article about woman, or mentioned the words "woman", "girl" or "female" in a sentence, it would set off the one world avalanche in her head.

Women women women women women women women women.

The internal bombardment quickly drove her to her knees. "Stop!" She cried one morning, as she was trying to write an article about a study which indicated that 94% of toddlers preferred mothers over fathers.

"What are you trying to do to me?" she cried into the empty air.

What's wrong, Julie? Don't you like to hear about women?

"Not over and over!" Julie cried.

But that's all you ever do, Julie. Write about women. Don't you ever feel bad that you're always slighting half the population?

"No," said Julie.

Think about it. What if every article you read on the newsfeed had the word men in it; what if every article celebrated the achievement of men, and only men?

"Oh, that would be awful."

But when you do the same thing for women....

"Oh, that's progressive," said Julie brightly.

Women women women women women women women women.....

"No, please, stop!"

********

Gradually, slowly, painfully, Julie started to write articles that didn't mention women. At first, she was unsure even how to start. "I've been assigned to write a story about the job employment numbers. But how can I write such an article without describing how it affects women?"

Simple. Just write how it affects everyone.

"Everyone? But shouldn't we break it down by gender and race and sexual preference?"

Just write it for everyone.

And so Julie did. Her editor frowned at her, but accepted the piece.

Slowly Julie learned how to write an article without mentioning gender. It was painful, at first, but Ernestine provided negative encouragement whenever it was necessary. It may even have cost her some friends at work.

"Julie... I'm looking at this article you wrote about the heavy rainstorm we had," said Isabella Guisconte, one of her editors.

"Yes, what about it?" Julie asked.

"Well, it doesn't discuss the disproportionate effect the rains had on women and minorities."

And then, at that moment, something clicked inside Julie. "Rain doesn't affect women or minorities, Isabella. Rain affects people."

"People?" Isabella gave her an odd look, fingering her large hoop earrings nervously as she walked away.

And so, finally, Julie internalized the changes that Ernestine had put on her. When her editor chastised her, she said, "But I want to write articles for all people." He gave her an odd look, but Julie didn't mind.

********

"You did some fine work," said Max.

"Thanks," said Ernestine. It had been some weeks since they had last spoke. "Max... do you still think I'm going to end up in that bad place?"

"That place is only for fiends and shades, Ernestine."

"But I'm a-" her voice broke off as a psychic mirror appeared in front of her.

She had changed. Her eyes were no longer red, but gleaming white blue, like the rest of her. Instead of having a shadowy shape, she had developed a glowing, defined body.

"You started as a Fiend, but became a Guardian," said Max. "My work here is done." He started to fade.

"Wait!" said Ernestine. "One last thing! Those places you showed me... where kalaks ended up... were they real?"

Max, already transparent, gave a grin. "You'll.... See....." And then he vanished.

********

The Doctor's nightmares were becoming less and less severe. That might have been because Alanna was giving him back massages every night before bed. It had become a routine now. The Doctor didn't ask for it, but he didn't have to. He simply lay on his belly at bedtime, and Alanna stimulated nerve endings in his muscles.

Gradually she found herself building up respect for the man. He had undergone an incredibly traumatic experience. But when the mission was over, he would have to be disposed of. Alanna realized that. He knew where the Circle was, and he had a satellite weapon which could destroy them all at any time. With that knowledge and that ability, the Doctor could never be allowed to go free.

Is that good? she asked.

"Ummmm," said the Doctor.

Alanna felt incredibly guilty. Once the Doctor was disposed of, what would become of Sophie? She was truly a marvelous girl. His death would hit her hard. Alanna would want to console her afterwards, but she felt sure that Sophie wouldn't want consolation from any kalak after the Doctor was disposed of. Perhaps she would even grow so enraged that she would start hunting kalaks down on her own. It was a disquieting thought.