Vislor Turlough was a companion of the fifth doctor. A native of the planet Trion, he was exiled to Earth after a civil war. While travelling with the Doctor he showed a strong dislike of planet Earth, and this my idea of why that was.

Junior Ensign Vislor Turlough of Trion

"Well, Turlough," said the headmaster, setting down his pen. "I'm sure it will be lovely to have you hear at Brendon, and I hope you will prove a valuable member of the school…"

Turlough sneezed, his nose dripping.

"Are you alright, boy? That's a nasty cold."

"'M fine," he gasped, and coughed slightly. The headmaster frowned, but went back to his welcoming speech.

By the afternoon the mystery illness had progressed into what the matron identified as 'full-blown bronchitis'.

So Turlough spent his first night on earth in the sickbay.

The next time it happened, he was in the middle of class. He had been feeling funny for a few hours, but now the headache appeared to have reached its peak. He rubbed his eyes as he struggled with the normally simple physics, his vision blurring.

"Turlough!" rang the school master's voice, making him wince. "You're not concentrating! Get up here, boy!"

He groaned inwardly, knowing he was in for a caning. However as he reached his feet he swayed and his vision turned black.

When he came around he was back in the sickbay, peering into the matron's worried gaze. His skin felt like it was on fire, and his sheets were cool to the touch.

"Mr Roberts!" she called. "He's awake!"

The science teacher's face appeared in his line of vision, and for a moment in his fevered haze Turlough was worried that he was in for another beating. It wasn't until a few days later that he would be lucid enough to realise that the apparent anger-lines on his face were actually concern.

"Gave us a fright there, boy," he said, but to Turlough it sounded as though his voice was coming from a long way away. As the blackness began to close around him once more all he heard was a muffled shout: "Matron, he's going under again."

When he next woke the room was in semi-darkness, and there was a damp cloth on his forehead. The matron was still sat next to him.

"Hello, young man," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"I… I…"

"Take it easy. That was quite a fever you had, I've never seen anything like it."

It isn't until the next week that Turlough works out what's going on. Once again he's woken up with a sore throat and snotty nose, and is being cooped up inside while the other boys charge around playing rugger. Not that he particularly enjoyed the sport, but it was a good way to vent his anger on the earthlings, and make it look like an accident. One of the teachers had led him to the library, remarking that 'he might as well do something useful with his time', and now he was wandering the shelves, looking for something decent to read. None of the so-called 'factual' books were worth his time, and he wondered vaguely what the fiction of this world was like. He scanned the titles for a while until one caught his eye.

War of the Worlds, HG Wells.

He picked it up and flicked it open. Might be good for a laugh.

He chuckled when he read the (wholly inaccurate) description of the Martians, and rolled his eyes at the human's pathetic attempts to resist the invasion. And as for the ending… it was completely ridiculous. Any race that could completely destroy a world would hardly be defeated by –

He stopped, and flicked to the back of the book again, reading intently. The 'aliens' had never been exposed to earth infections, and were therefore susceptible… he sighed. Now he understood why he was being constantly ill. Trion viruses and bacteria were very different to earth ones. He scowled. Just one more thing for him to hate about Earth.

The brigadier was concerned about the new boy. Turlough had barely appeared in class, and when he did he paid no attention to the lesson. The other teachers had begun to give up on him as a bad job, but nothing defeated Brigadier Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stuart. He sat at the front of the room, watching thoughtfully as the red-haired boy stared off into space, paying no attention to his prep. Now that he came to study him properly, the brigadier realised there was something off about the boy, he looked downright miserable. This wasn't unusual for many boys at boarding school, but he could tell that this was more than a stint of homesickness. Turlough was very clearly ill.

When prep came to an end, he called the boy over to him as the others filed out of the room.

"Turlough?"

The boy turned, defiantly staring him down. The brigadier was downright alarmed at the fire in his eyes, but did his best not to show it. To admit that he, Lethbridge-Stuart was intimidated by a teenage boy was out of the question. And yet… he had a military air about him that the brigadier recognised. He did not know how, or where, but the boy the other teachers marked as a scoundrel and trouble maker had seen the battlefield in all its horror and glory.

"Yes sir?"

There it was. The response of a soldier. Trying to disregard this, he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, and began scribbling a note.

"I want you to take this to matron, boy, and not leave until she's finished with you."

"Yes sir," said Turlough, resignation written all over his face. He took the note, and left the room.

At dinner it was announced that the whole school was now in quarantine. Turlough had come down with the measles.