Chapter 3: Doctor Morbus
As the stepped out of the QT tubes, the first thing they noticed was how small the room was, in comparison to the rest of what they had seen. There were only ten beds, each sitting next to a small, gold-white box. Lights above each bed hovered with anti-gravity technology. Doors at the opposite end of the room apparently opened into an operating room, according to a small panel above the door.
The second thing they noticed was Doctor Morbus. He was laying on one of the beds, an electronic tablet held before him. He had dark hair, kept as tidy as his trim goatee. He looked almost too young to be a doctor, with a perfectly unlined face. But those were not his defining features. The most important things about him were his legs. Covered in coarse red hair and ending in hoofs, he had his legs crossed before him, casually tapping one hoof to an inaudible beat. Chris swallowed. One word popped into his head: satyr.
"What is he," Amy whispered.
"Human," said the Doctor. "But genetically modified. A race of scientists. Eventually they're going to experiment on themselves…and their children."
They walked to the edge of the bed. Just before any of them spoke, the reclining doctor raised a finger to tell them to wait, tapped the screen a few times, and then set it down on the bed next to him while swinging his hoofs down. He looked up to them and grinned devilishly.
"I suppose that you are the newcomers from the box," he said.
"That we are," said the Doctor. "I suppose you know everyone on the ship, easy guess to make…"
"Hardly," said Morbus. "I never get patients. Everyone is so damned careful, and we pretty much have diseases under control. Maybe the occasional batch of bad shellfish might send a few people down for a night of vomiting, but other than that…" He held out a hand. "Doctor Benjamin Morbus."
The Doctor shook it. "Pleased to meet you. I'm the Doctor, and these are Amy, Rory and Chris Dawkins. Well, rather, Amy and Rory Pond…"
"Williams," Rory interjected.
"And Chris Dawkins. They're not all Dawkinses. Only one of him."
"Probably," Chris said petulantly.
"Excellent," Morbus said. "As to how I knew, I'm technically command staff. Head of Medical Technologies." He tapped his collar. "All command staff were alerted."
"Ah," said the Doctor. "Well, that's less interesting." The doctor glanced at the screen laying on the bed. "Crosswords? You're doing crosswords."
"Yes," said Morbus. "I ran out of sudoku three months ago, and Deiman, English, French and German crosswords one month ago. I'm onto Japanese now."
"That's not Japanese," Chris said.
"Telepathic field from the TARDIS translates everything, try to keep up," said the Doctor. "What do you mean 'ran out'?"
"I no longer have any," said Morbus. "I did them all."
"All of them," the Doctor said. "Every crossword and sudoku from 5000 of humanity?"
"Every Deiman, English, French and German one, yes."
"Your parents didn't just change your legs, did they?"
"Pleased you noticed," the faunish doctor grinned. "They started with my brain, and just took things a step too far in the genetic modification department, I'm afraid. They were ever so fond of stupid old Earth mythology. At the very least they could have given me wings or made me amphibious or something useful."
"How can you just finish every crossword," Rory said. "There must be millions."
"Billions," said Morbus. "I'm a reversely eidetic being. Most creatures have some form of genetic memory: migration patterns, for example. My parents programmed me with all information ingrained straight into my generic code."
"He doesn't actually remember or know it," said the Doctor. "He couldn't just spew out facts. If he actually knew he knew it, his head would explode."
"Exactly," said Morbus. "But, if you were to ask me any given question, I could answer it correctly. Makes crosswords extremely easy."
"Ah," Rory said. "Well, I guess…I guess that explains that then."
"Now, we've explained me," said Morbus, "but what are you, Doctor? These two," he nodded at Amy and Rory, "they're human. But…I don't know what you and this one are. You were scanned when you walked in and…well, we don't have your kind in our records."
"Oh, I'm certain you know exactly what I am," the Doctor strode forward and leaned in close to Morbus, studying his face. "What secrets are trapped up in your head…well, it makes a man wonder, doesn't it."
The Doctor shot straight and turned on his heels. "Alright then," he said, "let us see the surgery…"
Before the Doctor could get to the doors, however, there was a hum and a man walked into the room from the QT tube. He was a moderate size man with short cropped hair and a thin suggestion of a beard. He had a thin nose and wide, innocent-looking eyes.
"Technical Officer Bullon," Morbus said, standing. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"It's not a planned visit, unfortunately," the man said. "I'm feeling a tad under the weather."
"Best news I've heard all day," Morbus grinned. "Choose a bed and sit on up." Morbus shifted his head and looked at the others. "Stay or go, up to you."
Meanwhile, the man was climbing up onto a bed and kicking off his boots, so that his toes, firmly encased in purple wool socks, could wriggle freely. "I have a bit of a fever," he said. "Collar told me. And my stomach feel hot."
"Mmm," said Morbus, eyebrows knitting as he walked about. "Scan."
A green light shone from somewhere in the ceiling and surrounded Bullon. Obviously, the information was somehow relayed to Morbus, because he coughed and grinned.
"Well, luckily for you it isn't a known virus or anything wicked," he said, "so it was probably just bad fish. But your fever is climbing a bit, so it'd be best if you stay here and keep me company for a bit."
"Sounds alright to me," said Bullon. The Doctor, however, strode forward, frowning. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the man. A moment later, he looked at it, still frowning.
"It's not bad fish," he said. "Fish doesn't make a fever climb like that."
"What do you mean," Morbus said. "His fever isn't anything to worry about."
"Check again."
Morbus strode forward. "I know what I'm doing."
"I'm sure you do," said the Doctor. "Check again."
Morbus stared at the Doctor for a moment, and a flash of stubborn will crossed his eyes, but then he turned. "Scan."
A moment later, his eyes went wide. "Scan," he repeated. Then again. "Sc-scan."
"What is it," Bullon said, obviously worried.
"That can't be right," said Morbus. "A glitch. It must be."
"What is it," Amy asked.
"His temperature has jumped seven degrees. Seven degrees in thirty seconds."
"And is still climbing," the Doctor said.
"What do you mean," asked Bullon. "What is going on?"
"I don't know," said Morbus.
Chris strode forward. "I do. James is going on."
"What," Bullon said. "Who is James? What are you talking about?"
"He's talking about a very bad man," said the Doctor. "He's talking about plague."