Chapter 4: Plague Winds

"Plague," said Morbus. He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Then he chuckled. "Impossible. We have every known disease…"

"Kept under control," said the Doctor. "Cured, or held back, or telepathically controlled via pseudo-living nano-technology. But what about unknown diseases. New diseases."

"We are all kept on a controlled diet," answered Morbus. "We have strict vitamin regimens kept in sync with the nano-collars. We are screened for bacteria and viruses every time we walk through a door or take a QT tube. Anything foreign would have been detected."

"Anything foreign," the Doctor hummed. "I assure you, this is a plague. Listen to me or not, but in the next half hour, you will have another patient. Then another. And another. Is this ward big enough for a million people?"

Morbus frowned. "I hardly think that is your worry, Doctor."

"It most certainly is my worry," said the Doctor. "Everything is my worry. Every little problem across all of space and time. Now then, Bullon, what is your first name?"

"Why do you want to know," Bullon hissed. The Doctor raised his eyebrows. Bullon shook his head and frowned. "I'm…I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. Boros, sir. Boros Bullon."

"Well, Boros," said the Doctor. "Good to meet you. I'm the Doctor. Do you mind if I touch you?"

"Um," said Boros, frowning. "N-not at all, I suppose."

"Good." The Doctor reached out at touched the man's face with both hands. He frowned. "Hmm. Chris, can you please give me a run down on Boros. Your Christopher-y thing."

"Uh, yeah," Chris swallowed and looked the man up and down. "30 years old, give or take a year or two. About five foot eight. Average weight, average build. Coloring suggests that he works behind a monitor and has never known menial labor…"

"He's a tech officer," Morbus said. "We all know him…"

"He's getting to the good bit, don't interrupt," said Amy.

"Chafing around colour suggests it is new and hasn't worn down to comfortable edges yet. Newly woken up from cryogenic freezing perhaps? Chews his fingernails, as suggested by slight redness and swelling around cuticles. Nervous tic. Dry skin, but lack of acne suggests that that is new, and that he keeps himself clean otherwise. Lack of sweat despite fever. That means that the dry skin is symptomatic. Not the eye movement. Aside from the natural and worried tic of glancing from stranger to stranger, lingering glances on Amy, theirs is a slight shake and an unnaturally quick but almost unnoticeable dilation of the pupils between each movement. All suggestions of increased aggression or testosterone levels, which would match up with the profile of nervousness and uncharacteristic outburst a moment ago."

"Conclusions," said the Doctor.

"The disease is affecting brain chemicals," said Chris. "Perhaps the fever is secondary."

"No," said the Doctor. "His skin is dry but….hmm."

"It's hardened," said the Doctor. "Thicker than usual."

"What did you mean, 'lingering glances on Amy'," Rory interjected.

"Yeah," said Amy.

"She's got legs up to here," Chris said offhandedly. He continued on distractedly. "Increased testosterone would increase sexual desire. Amy is the nearest target."

Boros coughed uncomfortably. Chris frowned. "The problem is that I can't determine anything that sets him apart from anyone else."

"That's because there isn't anything," the Doctor stood straight. "We need to talk to the Captain. We need to warn him now."

Before the Doctor could turn however, the QT tubes buzzed twice, and two figures strode into the room. The small hospital was starting to feel very crowded. Morbus frowned.

"Oh gods," he said. "Not you two too."

The two in question were a man and a woman. The woman was middle-aged, but without a fleck of grey in her hair. She was short, round and a tad droopy, from her eyes to her jowls to her hips. However, she looked kindly and walked with a bounce that suggested she was hearing a tune that no one else could.

The man, on the other hand, was tall, solemn and cold, with flat grey eyes, flat grey hair and flat grey complexion. A spattering of freckles across his nose was all there was to destroy the monotony of his flat face. However, he had a slight curve of the mouth that suggested that he was about to smile, but could not quite convince himself to.

"Rapidly rising fevers, dry skin," Morbus rubbed his temples. "The same thing. Please choose beds while we figure this out."

"Figure what out?" The woman's voice was solid as a rock, quite unlike her droopy appearance.

"Nothing," said Morbus, shaking his head. "Just some bad shellfish. Doctor?"

The Doctor nodded and the two went off to one side and whispered together. Chris, Amy and Rorystood uncomfortably to one side, while the patients sat on their beds.

"I don't like it when the Doctor whispers," said Rory. "That's never a good sign."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "How about when…no, wait, you're right. It's never a good sign."

The Doctor came back to them. "To the bridge. We need to talk to the Captain. The doctor and myself have decided that perhaps it would be best if we…kept this under wraps…for now. At least. Except between us. And Boros. And Morbus. And the Captain. So, in conclusion, secret, except for the above exceptions."

"You complicate things," Chris said.

"And you have two personalities, but I don't point that little flaw out," the Doctor said. Chris frowned, and the Doctor chuckled.

"Away we go," the Doctor spun around towards the QT tube, but Morbus interrupted him.

"Wait, Doctor," the goatish doctor said, "you don't have permission levels for the bridge."

"Don't worry," the Doctor grinned, pulling out his screwdriver. "I have sonic."

Morbus looked at the Doctor quizzically. A moment later, though, the Doctor was buzzing away. As Chris and Amy followed, Rory turned and shrugged.

"The Doctor is the Doctor," he said. "You get used to it."

"Really," asked Morbus.

"Not even a little."

When Rory caught up to the others, they were in a long silver hall leading to a single door at the end.

"The throat of the turtle," said the Doctor. He pointed to almost-invisible creases in the ceiling and walls. "The ship defends itself. Defense system's hidden in case of a general outbreak or revolt. Bridge staff will be safe, everyone else…"

"Trapped away," said Chris.

"Hardly trapped," said the Doctor. "The ship is the size of a planet. They just won't gain control."

They began walking down the hall. Chris felt uncomfortable, aware of all those creases. "Won't they…uh…"

"The defenses are activated in the bridge, I'd guess," said the Doctor. "And the bridge doesn't even know we're here. Even if they do, who would hurt little old me."

"Daleks," said Amy, "Cybermen…"

"Autons…"

"Atraxi…"

"Silurians…"

"Sontarans…"

"Those green guys from Galashaianaia IV…."

"The Frell?"

"Frall?"

"Frilan," said the Doctor. "Point taken. You can quit listing things."

They reached the door. The Doctor lifted his sonic and a moment later, the door opened. The Doctor strode in, and the others followed on his heels.

"Captain O'Hart," said the Doctor. "Loving the bridge. Very blinky. And big. Have to love big. Look at the view. Panoramic."

"Doctor," the Captain turned from his post at the end of the central aisle of the bridge. "How in the gods' names did you get on my bridge?"

"Just popped up from the hospital wing," the Doctor said, walking over to the nearest officer and peering over his shoulder at the monitor. "Morbus is interesting."

"Yeah, he's a regular card," said O'hart. "Now then. How did you get on my bridge?"

"Bigger issues here, Cap," said the Doctor. "You have to focus."

"What issues," said the Captain. "And how. Did. You. Get on my bridge?"

"Illness," said the Doctor, standing up. "There's a disease on board. Or we think there is. A new one. One you folks don't know about."

"Impossible," said the Captain. "Quartermaster Smythe, explain."

A tiny woman of indeterminate age stood. "All of the lives upon this ship are constantly monitored, even bacterial life. Even viruses. All of our food is treated with anti-bacterial vitamin compounds. Each shower a person takes, they are washed with a counter-viral spray. And, as a last defense, the nano-bots in their blood will fight off foreign compounds. As quartermaster, I know where each speck of our food comes from. I know where all our materials comes from, how it is processed, and how it is used. There can't be a new, foreign disease on board. We would have caught it."

"There's that word, foreign," said the Doctor, frowning.

"That's all well and good," said Chris. "But the evidence suggests otherwise."

"There are three sick people in the hospital right now," said the Doctor. "Maybe more. All with the same symptoms. I suggest, you come and take a look before deeming it impossible."

The Captain frowned. "Alright," he said. "Alright. I'm coming. Let's go see whether your plague winds are just hot air."