Fantasy Phantom

"Yes, yes, I've heard 99% of what 99% of scientists have allegedly said," said the Doctor. "I've also heard something different. I've heard that 85% of claims about 99% of scientists are usually fabricated."

Alyssa opened her mouth, then closed it again, wordlessly furious.

"Cat got your tongue, Miss Grossberg?"

The Doctor had been doing that repeatedly, making fun of Alyssa's last name, which was Kleinberg. He had called her Miss Iceberg and Miss Cloneberg and now Miss Grossberg. "I'm surprised that you, a fellow Jew of all people, are making fun of a Jewish last name," said Alyssa.

"Oh you think that, do you? That I'm making fun of your Jewish last name?" said the Doctor.

Doctor, what are you doing?

Educating your little friend.

"Yes, that's what you're doing," said Alyssa.

The Doctor put a finger to his temple. "Really? How far back does your name go, Miss Kleinberg? Hundreds of years?"

"Yes," said Alyssa.

"Maybe all the way back to the ancient Israelites, perhaps?"

"Perhaps!" said Alyssa.

The Doctor chuckled and shook his head.

"What?" Alyssa demanded.

"You're so ignorant."

"What do you mean?" Alyssa snapped.

The Doctor leaned forward. "The Ancient Israelites had no last names. That's why Moses was never called Moses Rosenberg or Moses Goldenfarb. He was simply Moses. Jews in ancient times were simply known by a single name, or so-and-so, son of so-and-so. They never had last names until the 18th century."

"Really?"

"Really. But the truly interesting part is how they acquired their last names," said the Doctor, with a cynical smile. "For many Jews of European descent, they forcibly had last names assigned to them by the Holy Roman Empire or their Prussian rulers."

"Assigned names?" said Alyssa.

"Something else you didn't know," said the Doctor. "The Jews weren't very popular in those times, so quite often they were given last names which were derogatory. Kleiner, Miss Kleinberg, means small in German, as in 'Miss Small Hill'."

"Well, that's not too... derogatory," said Alyssa.

"Really? Do you know anyone named Klein? Do you know anyone who would want to be called 'Mr. Small'? Or how about Nussbaum? Nussbaum in German means Mr. Nut Tree. Is that a flattering name, Ms. Small Hill?"

"No," said Alyssa.

"Wait, there's more! Mr. Spielsvogel means Mr. 'Bird that is hunted for sport'. Mr. Schmaltz means 'Mr. Animal Fat'. Mr. Stein means 'Mister Rock'. Mr. Baum means 'Mr. Tree'. Mr. Nimoy means 'Mr. Mute' or 'Mr. Speechless'. So you see, the name you have, the name you are so very proud of, was given to your ancestors as a practical joke several hundred years ago."

"Is this really true?" Alyssa asked.

"If the Doctor says it is, then it is," said Sophie, beaming at him.

"And what does Ren mean in German, Doctor?" Alyssa said.

"Ren? Ren means... 'changing my name so I wouldn't be a walking practical joke'," said the Doctor, giving her an icy stare.

Doctor, why are you being so mean to Alyssa?

I'm not being mean, I'm educating the poor girl.

This is about me, isn't it?

Is it?

You resent having me inside you. You can't take it out on me, so you're taking it out on her.

You're a force of nature. You can take what you want. I dislike you on general principles. But her, her I actually despise. She had a choice, and she gleefully gave her body over to you ghouls. I could never, ever respect someone like that.

As they sat and argued some more, Sophie felt like she was being watched. She casually turned her head and saw the waiter, standing against the wall, looking at her. He smiled at her. She smiled back.
​

********​

Sophie was so beautiful. The person who had taken the form of the waiter admired her gorgeous features. She was young, attractive, with large breasts, especially for her young age. And her dark hair! It was so thick and luxurious. She was seated facing away from him, but the waiter preferred that, so she wouldn't notice him watching her. That thick, dark shoulder length hair! Who did that remind him of? It was so sexy.

And then she actually turned around and smiled at him! He felt excited, more excited than he had felt in a century. Even as she turned away again he imagined himself pressing against those lips, kissing her passionately, right before he slit her throat....
​

********​

That evening, Sophie came to the Doctor's hotel room. "Can I speak to the Doctor in private?" She asked. But she wasn't talking to the Doctor.

Doctor, tell her I'm sorry, but I can't leave your body.

"The ghoul says no, I'm afraid," said the Doctor. "What is it, Sophie?" He sat down on the bed, and took off his black coat.

Sophie tentatively sat down on another part of the bed. "Nothing. I mean, we haven't really talked, since....."

"Since I got taken over by a monster?" The Doctor smiled.

I am not a monster!

"Yeah," said Sophie. "At first, I... I wasn't sure about you."

"Wasn't sure if it was really me doing the talking, you mean," said the Doctor, his eyes widening.

"Yeah," said Sophie, nodding. "I've... I've relied on you for so long, it's difficult to see you as an enemy."

"I hope you don't, Sophie," said the Doctor, wincing ever so slightly.

"No, I don't!" she said quickly, touching his arm. "I can see now that it really is you! So... she doesn't control you?" Concern was foremost in her eyes.

"Only when she wants to," said the Doctor. "Mostly, she's just an annoying voice in my head."

"Can you... can you tell her that you're very, very important to me, and that... I don't want anything to happen to you?" Sophie licked her lips and put her hands between her legs.

"I hear you Sophie."

Sophie looked startled to hear Alanna talking through the Doctor's mouth. She had heard it before, at the Isle of Man, but not so abruptly like now.

"I assure you that I will do nothing to harm the Doctor. I know how much he means to you."

Sophie nodded. She reached out and took the Doctor's hand, and squeezed it. Tears started to form in her eyes.
​

*********​

After Sophie left, Alanna thought, She's a darling girl.
"Yes, she is," said the Doctor, as he started removing his clothes for bed. He took a box out of his pocket, opened it up, took two pills out, and swallowed them.

What was that?

"Nothing," said the Doctor, pulling back the blanket on the bed.

I'm sorry if I've caused her any distress.

The Doctor lay on the bed on his back. "She's always looked up to me. But now she views me as a monster."

She doesn't! She made a point of saying she doesn't!

"Which means that she does. For a woman, or at least a former woman, you know remarkably little about female psychology. You're too close to the problem, I suppose."

Maybe I am. Alanna paused for a long moment, as the Doctor closed his eyes.

A few moments later she said, Doctor, are you asleep?

The Doctor, his eyes still closed, said, "Not if you have anything to say about it."

I... I just want to let you know that I will do everything I can to make sure that you and Sophie stay together.

"How reassuring."

Doctor-

"Goodnight."
​

********​

"It's just a little Weed, Kelly girl," Maggie grinned.

Maggie Grant seemed to be one of the few girls who was genuinely friendly to Kelly Gray at Wintergreen College. Kelly was grateful for that.

The only problem is that Maggie was a Weed head. She had gotten into Wintergreen on a World Government Weed scholarship, now that the study of narcotics was considered an academically rigorously major. But, of course, like most Weed majors, Maggie studied her curriculum by direct inhalation.

Kelly had tried Weed a few times and didn't like it. It made her sweaty and paranoid. Maggie kept nagging her to try some Weed with her. She said her Weed was different. It was high quality, only the best. Finally, Kelly gave in.

And so one day they were smoking it in the quad, laughing and giggling, when a campus security officer came up to them and demanded their Weed receipt. It was only after he glanced at it and frowned at them that Kelly realized they were in trouble.

Weed was perfectly legal. It was one of the many rights enshrined in the World Government Constitution, colloquially referred to as "the right to get stoned out of your mind". But that didn't mean that all narcotics were legalized. Weed was generally legal--but only Fair Trade Weed. As it turned out, the Weed Maggie and Kelly were smoking was Whitemarket Weed. That meant the Weed workers who harvested it weren't unionized, and probably didn't get a fair wage.

Maggie and Kelly were hauled before the Dean of Student Affairs. This could earn them a suspension, or worse. Maggie promised Kelly that she would take full responsibility. After all, it had been Maggie's Weed; she had just been sharing it with Kelly.

But when they appeared before the Dean, Maggie immediately pointed the finger at Kelly, and claimed the Weed was her idea. Kelly denied it, but she was so flustered and Maggie so calm and collected that the Dean believed her.

Kelly wasn't suspended, but she was put on Academic Probation for a year. Maggie gave a half hearted apology afterwards. "Sorry dear. But got to look out for Number One, you know?"
​

********​

In the present day, Maggie was no longer a Weed addict. She had straightened out and snared Bill Collins, a medical researcher for the World Government. Bill had gotten a World Government grant to study angles of erections, the angles at which erect penises stuck out from men's bodies. There was a body of research which suggested that industrialization was having an adverse effect on penis angles. For 500 years before industrialization, erect penises had stood firm at a mere 20 degree angle from men's stomachs, but over the past two hundred years they had been drooping more and more, so the average was now 22 degrees. This was no laughing matter. It was estimated that an increase of a single degree of average penis angles over the course of the next century could cause a quarter of the male population to fail to achieve the angle necessary to achieve vaginal penetration.

Maggie also worked for the World Government, as a Healthy Breakfast Monitor. She was empowered to go into everyone's homes in the morning hour and make sure they were eating a healthy and nutritious breakfast. If they weren't, Maggie would conduct an impromptu teach-in and reeducate them.

When Kelly entered Maggie's body, Maggie went through the typical states of rejection, disbelief, and bargaining. When Kelly finally told her what she wanted, Maggie laughed. "I don't take Weed anymore."

I don't just want you to take Weed, Maggie. I want you to take Superweed.

"Superweed? That stuff is really strong!"

Yes, it is.

Maggie laughed. "No way, Jose!"

You have a charming husband. It would be a shame for something to happen to him.

"What do you mean?"

But Kelly fell silent.

Kelly was only a Lemure. She couldn't take control of a body like a Shade or a Fiend could. But she could influence people, and take control of individual muscles for a few brief seconds while the person was unaware of it. Kelly used that power that night at dinner.

Maggie had been rattled by her encounter with Kelly, and resolved to put it behind her. She made Bill's favorite dinner, Roast Beast. He smiled when he saw the plate of red meat. Maggie brought him a fork and knife, but as she put down the knife, her hand jerked, activating the force blade edge of it, and slashing against his hand.

"Ow! You cut me!" said Brad, grabbing the red line across his palm. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry, it must have slipped!" Maggie cried, as Brad ran to the bathroom. He came back moments later, with a bandaged hand.

"Are you all right?"

He didn't answer, but just sat down and glared at her before he started eating.

It would be a shame if your hand slipped again, wouldn't it? It would be a shame if you accidently cut his throat while he was in bed tonight.

No! You can't make me do that! Maggie thought, as she watched Brad eat.

Can't I?

All right! I'll smoke your fucking weed tomorrow.
​

********​

"What am I doing here?" Maggie thought. She was in Golden Gate Park, in downtown San Francisco. It had been years since she had bought Weed, and she had never used Superweed--she had always been too fearful of it. She didn't know where to get it around where she lived, in the Richmond District, so she had come to the drum circle in Golden Gate Park, where she knew it was always available. Superweed was technically illegal, but Golden Gate Park was a designated work free drug zone.

She saw some hippies banging drums in a circle.

"Hey babe," said one of them, a man wearing rose colored glasses and a v shaped beard that looked suspiciously like a vagina. "Wanna tote?"

It was as simple as that.

Maggie hesitantly sat down and started smoking. It was only Weed, she told herself. She had done it many times before. But with the first inhalation she felt a buzzing in her brain and the world changed around her. Suddenly, everything was so wonderful!

Maggie laughed and took another puff as she sprawled in the grass. The drum circle was beating constantly.

Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba. Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba.

In the center of the drum circle was an active holocomm, showing the latest news from the World Government. An attractive ambiguously gendered announcer told them that the World Government was launching a new initiative to end poverty, spending 40 billion credits around the world to finally slay the ills that troubled society.

As the announcer spoke, she realized how profound it was. She had always vaguely supported the World Government (after all, it was her employer), but she had never felt so enthusiastic about it as she was now. Now, under the influence of the Superweed, everything the World Government did seemed so astounding, so amazing!

The World Government was ending poverty!

Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba. Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba.

Maggie felt the most splendid buzzing in her head.

The World Government was emptying jails of righteous prisoners!

Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba. Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba.

"Oh, yeah, man," Maggie croaked in a crackly voice.

The World Government was working to eliminate all gender based distinctions on the entire planet... as well as Temperature Change... and bad moods during menstruation....

Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba. Ba, dabada ba, ba, dabada, ba.

It all seemed so wonderful to Maggie. So fantastic.
​

********​

Maggie didn't get her hangover until the afternoon, when the effects wore off. She realized she had forgotten to even go to work, which didn't really matter, seeing as she worked for the World Government, her work wasn't closely monitored. The World Government was more concerned about giving people a feeling of being productive rather than actually getting stuff done.

As she woke up from a little nap, she heard a voice in her head.

So, how was it?

"Tripping!" Maggie croaked, grabbing her head. "But a little much."

You'll get used to it.

"What do you mean?"

I want you to smoke it every day.

"Every day? Until when?"

Until I say otherwise.

"No, Kelly, please-"

Or would you prefer to see something bad happen to Brad? I'd hate to see him wake up in the morning with a slit throat, wouldn't you?

And so Maggie got high on Superweed every day. Her job was to go to people's homes and check on what they were eating for breakfast. Maggie did it as high as a kite. From her perspective, she seemed to do her job as well as she normally did. What the people whose homes she invaded saw, however, was entirely different.

Anson and Jennifer Ford were sitting down for breakfast when they heard a loud, insistent knock at the door. They looked at each other.

"I wonder who that could be?" said Jennifer.

The banging out louder. "Let me in! LET ME IN!"

Jennifer hesitantly went to the door. She opened it to find Maggie, hunchbacked, with bloodshot eyes and wild hair.

"'bout time!" she mumbled, pushing past Jennifer into the dining room. "Watchu eatin?"

"What?" said Anson.

"I said, watchu eatin?" said Maggie. Was something wrong with their hearing?

"Who are you?" Anson asked.

"I with da World Gubment."

"What?" said Jennifer.

"The...." For some reason, Maggie's tongue wasn't working well. "Da World Gub-a-ment."

"The World Government. Oh. What can we do for you?" Anson asked. "Are you here to inspect our recreational narcotics supply? I assure you-"

"No, man!" said Maggie. "I gots to see what you eatin', man! Eatin with the foods!" she giggled. She grabbed the cereal box in front of Anson. "You eat Gender Man cereal?"

"Yes," said Anson.

"It's gooooood!" Maggie cackled hysterically. While she held up the box with one hand, she used the other to root experimentally through Anson's hair. "It's got all dem... words on it. But I shore dis gots da good stuff in it!"
​

********​

Maggie woke up in bed hours later, only dimly aware of what had happened earlier. She got up and looked at herself in the mirror. She was a mess. "What have I become?" she croaked.

A drug addict, Maggie. But you're just getting started.

"What do you mean?"

Check in your pocket.

Maggie reached into her pocket. She found white pills there. "How did these get there? What are they?"

Virtue.

Maggie froze. "No!" She shook her head vigorously. "No, I'm not taking them!"

You are taking them, Maggie. You are taking them right now, or you're going to accidently stab Bill with a steak knife at dinner tonight. Swallow one of them right now!

Maggie cried out and wailed as she swallowed a pill, and shuddered as she felt it going down her throat.

Unlike Weed, Virtue was a wholly banned narcotic. It made one feel really good about their race or gender. It was the narcotic of choice for white men, who had been told for hundreds of years that they were racists and sexists. Upon swallowing it, they began to feel really, really good about their whiteness and to have racial pride, racial pride which, while wholesome for Black, Spanish, and Asian populations, was intensely racist for white people.

When Brad came home for dinner that night, he noticed something odd about Maggie. She was wearing a fancy dress and had a lot of makeup on.

"What's the special occasion?" he asked.

"No special occasion," said Maggie. "I'm just happy to welcome my gorgeous white husband to dinner!" And she gave him broad smiles as she served him Roast Beast. His favorite.

Brad found her smiles a bit unnerving. "Does my little girl need some loving?" he asked.

"You read my mind, my handsome white man!"

"Handsome white man? You've never called me that before," said Brad.

"But you are," she said, sitting on his lap and putting her arms around him. "My handsome white man. So white! So handsome! Heheheheheh...." She kissed him.

"Maggie, what's gotten into you?" Brad asked.

"Nothing yet, sugar. But I'm going to give you a chance after dinner." She giggled. "Put a baby in me, Brad."

Brad frowned. "I thought we talked about this. We agreed that a baby would help exacerbate Temperature Change. The World Government also says that children cause the Sun to rise earlier in the morning and set later in the evening."

"I don't care," said Maggie, kissing him. "Put a baby in me, white man. I want to expand the white race."

"The white race?" Brad recoiled in horror. "Maggie, we can't be talking about racial pride like this! What's gotten into you?" He gave her a hard stare. "Have you been hitting the weed again?"

"No, Sugar!" Not since this morning, anyway.

"Why... why don't you sleep it off? Tomorrow's Saturday. We can take a long walk, and talk about this."
​

*********​

"No, please, Kelly. I'm begging you," Maggie said the following morning in the bathroom mirror.

Go look under Brad's pillow.

"What?"

Go now.

Maggie crept into the bedroom. Brad was still asleep. She gently reached under his pillow, and gasped.

There was a knife there.

Maggie returned to the bathroom, whimpering.

Now take your pill.

"Kelly, please-"

This is your last chance!
​

********​

Brad's confidence in his wife returned, somewhat, as they walked through Golden Gate Park. She seemed normal now. Perhaps last night had been an aberration. They walked in the "civilized" part of the Park. Everyone knew that the wild, foresty western half of the park was the domain of muggers and drug addicts. Normal people with respectable jobs in the World Government only walked on the eastern side, around the De Jong Museum, which hosted the finest collection of three dimensional anal holoart in the world, and the Academy of Science, which features exhibit after exhibit showing how masculinity, capitalism, and the eating of beef was destroying the environment.

"Do you feel better now?" Brad asked, as they walked among a crowd of San Franciscans so diverse that Brad actually got a mild erection.

Maggie laughed. "I feel fine. It feels great to be white!"

Oh no. Not again! "Watch your voice," Brad hissed.

"Why? Did someone not hear me?" said Maggie. She raised her voice. "I LOVE BEING WHITE! I HAVE GREAT PRIDE IN MY WHITENESS!"

People stared staring at them in shock and surprise.

"Maggie, no!" said Brad.

"WHITE LIVES MATTER!" Maggie cried, throwing her arms up in the air. "BE PROUD OF EVERYTHING WHITE PEOPLE HAVE BROUGHT TO THE WORLD--THE AIRPLANE, SPLITTING THE ATOM, EVEN TOILET PAPER!"

The mouths of minority park goers dropped open. White people, on the other hand, were wincing and hanging their heads in shame.

Brad dragged her away, still screaming. It was lucky the thought police didn't patrol the park.
​