Chapter 5
After their audience with the Lastiarian Empress, the trio decided that they had plenty of time to enjoy a tour of the city. As they were sightseeing, Glad stopping every once in a while to look at the wares that were being sold but didn't ask to buy anything, much to Sam and the Doctor's surprise. As they exited one of the stores, an apparent off-world humanoid approached. He was yellow-skinned with flaming red hair and was wearing a white form-fitted jumpsuit much like, Sam thought, Elvis would have worn.. The man approached the leaper and asked with a thick accent, "Excuse me, but what species are you?"
"Excuse me?" Sam asked, not sure what the man had said.
"Species, species... what species are you?" he said louder as if the human was deaf.
"Species?" The leaper grimaced at the volume of the alien's voice, only having barely understood the word he'd repeated. "Umm... human?"
"And you're a Hanzalonian, aren't you?" the Doctor questioned with a frown.
Glad looked at the bizarre humanoid and pulled closer to the Doctor, using him to hide behind. She didn't say anything, though, and just watched with large eyes.
With a rather exaggerated smile, the new arrival answered, almost intelligibly. "Why, yes! Yes, I am. I've been hired by the Dragon government to redo their Clavoran Mural. You know it was almost destroyed during the War. It needed a lot of renovation to bring it back to its glory."
"And they hired you?" the Doctor huffed. "Might as well have hired a leech worm from Quintas."
The man turned back to Sam, grabbing his five fingered hands in his seven fingered ones. "How do you get along with so few fingers?" He groused, acting as if Sam must be mental cretin. To the Doctor, he replied, "Well, the price was right and I do guarantee my work."
"Oi! Keep your mitts off her, you wlurpoinian maxirolp!" the Doctor told him, knocking his hands away so that the Hanzalonian released his hold on Sam. As he moved forward, Glad pulled closer to him to continue to protect herself. Still she did no more than whimper a bit.
The Hanzalonian backed away, seeing the Doctor becoming more assertive. "You don't have to insult me!" he complained to the Gallifreyan. "I was just admiring the lady. Of course, being human she is such a weak creature. I'm sure they'll be extinct in a flogure or two." He examined the Doctor for a moment with his eyes. "You're not human, are you? Well, that explains everything." He moved away, obviously having done what he'd wanted to do. "Well...Ta Ta. Have a nice day." The man walked off quickly.
"So says a member of a species that causes its own extinction in two hundred years time," the Doctor muttered with annoyance. He spoke to Glad, "It's okay. He's gone now, my dear. Won't bother us again."
"Good," she stated. "I didn't like him. Didn't understand him but... something about him..."
"But you understood him?" Sam questioned the Time Lord, motioning towards the departing alien.
"Unfortunately, yes," the Doctor responded. "I mean, seriously! How rude can you get? Sorry about that. I tried to get into an argument with him... Hanzalonians so like their arguments... but he seemed intent on examining you. Almost like he were some sort of biologist. But why wouldn't he want to examine me? I mean, I'm totally unique. Probably is a homophile."
"Um...yeah," Sam said as he shook his head as if to clear it. "Strange. All of the sudden I feel like someone's inside my head with a sledge hammer."
"Really?" the Gallifreyan questioned with a frown. "That came on rather quick. Well, let's get back to the TARDIS and I'll give you a mild analgesic."
This time Sam simply nodded and followed along behind the Time Lord and Glad, Glad taking the lead as she took in the sights around her. When they arrived at the TARDIS, the human scientist slumped down on a bench close by, his chin dropping down to his chest as if he was exhausted.
Neither the Doctor nor Glad seemed to notice his lethargy. "Well, now that we've finished here, I think we should find a nice sun to drop the residual poisonous goo into."
"The sooner the better as far as I'm concerned," Sam stated uncharacteristically, lifting his head in such a way as to minimize any sudden movement.
The Doctor turned towards him with a frown. "I thought you were enjoying visiting Lastiarus. Well, other than having to take that anti-venom." He studied the physicist for a moment, concerned with what he was seeing. "You don't look well at all. You look absolutely retched."
Sam let out a sad sigh. "I'm not feeling well." He paused. "I feel like I've just had a wall of bricks fall on me." As if he'd considered the statement and found it lacking, he amended. "No... I feel like the entire Empire State Building fell on me. A wall of bricks might actually be an improvement."
Glad gazed at Sam with worry. "You really don't look good, Sam."
"Come in here and sit down," the Time Lord ordered him as he gestured into the time ship.
The leaper obeyed slowly, standing before walking even slower into the TARDIS. He crept his way to the Captain's chair and sat down in a mostly controlled fashion as if he'd break if he dropped too fast.
The Doctor watched his friend's actions with growing concern. It was plainly obvious that the scientist was definitely in discomfort by the way he was walking, a sure indication that something far more than a headache was wrong. Reaching over, he felt Sam's pulse. "Your heart is racing."
Sam's glazed eyes moved to the Doctor's face, not arguing with the statement. "I felt fine when I left the palace."
"And you were okay when we were touring the city," Glad reminded. She started to move closer but the Doctor asked her to stand away from Sam until he examined him.
"When did this start then?" the Doctor questioned, hurrying around to his toolbox and pulling out an instrument before rushing back to Sam to examine his eyes. "Your pupils are far too dilated." Reaching into his jacket, he removed the sonic screwdriver, adjusted the settings and ran it over his patient. "And I'm not seeing any indication of this being Dragon excretion poisoning or a reaction to the anti-venom. No, this is something different... and definitely not good."
The human took a few moments as if processing the question and finally told him, "I started feeling very ill after meeting that red-headed man on the way here, but it came on so suddenly. Not to mention I still have that awful headache."
The Time Lord grimaced. "Your symptoms... Oh, this isn't good at all. Sounds like you have Zante's Bronchial Influenza. Might have picked it up from that annoying Hanzalonian who couldn't keep his hands off of you."
"Zante's... whatever it was you said?" Sam responded, no longer even thinking in a medical mode. "I've never heard of it." His hand once more went to his head. "Poison or not, I need an aspirin. Maybe two. Oh, hell, give me the entire bottle."
The Doctor frowned at his words. "Not exactly something that I would suggest." He noticed Glad moving toward Sam with the obvious intent to comfort him. "No. Get away from him, Glad. If I'm right, you need to stay as far away from him as possible." He gently took Sam's arm, encouraging him to stand. "Come on. Let me get you to the infirmary."
Glad frowned at the Gallifreyan's actions. "Why can't I get close to him but you can?"
"Because I'm immune and you're most definitely not. You stay here."
"But..." she started to protest. Seeing his commanding expression, she took a step back, plainly afraid of angering him further. "Okay," she said quietly.
As Gallifreyan moved the man through the inner door, he called out, "I need the console room sterilized as well as the corridor. Use something that won't negatively affect human physiology." He was glad to see that the TARDIS had anticipated the Doctor's actions and had moved the infirmary to the other side of the inner door. Helping Sam into the room, he sat him on the nearest couch and then went to obtain equipment to run the tests he needed. "I need to run your blood sample in the database to confirm my diagnosis."
Sam looked up at the Doctor with hollow eyes. "Okay," was all the human replied, although it was questionable whether he'd understood what the Doctor had said.
The Time Lord expertly drew a vial of blood and, once finished, told Sam to relax until the results were back. It concerned him that the man instead lay down on the medical couch, unresponsive. A few minutes later, the TARDIS spit out the answer to his question. "Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed under his breath. There weren't many times he hoped he was wrong but this was one of those times. Rubbing his eyes with one hand so that the action ended at the bridge of his nose, he exhaled loudly, clearly frustrated by the results. "Sam, you're a very sick man."
Sam looked up, his face pale before starting to cough violently. Once the coughing spell was over, his eyes again closed as he drifted towards unconsciousness.
Seeing the human male was no longer respondent to him, he located a blanket and covered him, reassuring him verbally that he would return. He paused for only a moment, thinking about Sam's condition. He didn't think it was a wise idea to leave him alone unrestrained yet, at the same time, he despised strapping anyone down. However, like the last time he'd needed to strap this man down, it was to protect him and he reluctantly attached the restraints. "Just until I come back and then we'll get you into someplace more comfortable." Insuring that a sterilization field was in place in the doorway, he exited the room and returned to the console room to inform Glad of the situation. "It's ZBI," he stated as he walked in. "Nasty disease. Not exactly the flu in terms that humans know. It's extremely fast acting and extremely contagious amongst humans, usually by touch though it has rarely been known to infect by air. Wiped out a good eighth of the Earth's population when it was introduced. The effect on the Earth was so devastating that it was renamed to Zante's Bronchial Influenza from its original name, which is far too long and difficult to pronounce in the English language. Paul Zante was Patient Zero." He shook his head. "I never did understand the human trait of naming diseases after the first person known to carry it. But cures are seldom named for the scientist who discovered it."
"Did I do something wrong?" Glad asked, still unsure of what had just occurred.
"Sorry?" the Gallifreyan questioned, clearly confused.
"Well... Sam is ill. I understand that. You said it was probably that awful creature that made him sick. But that creature isn't here and you don't want me near him and I don't know why you are angry with me."
The Doctor's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh. Oh, sweetheart. I'm not angry with you." He went over to her and enveloped her into his arms. "I was just worried, that's all. I don't want you to get sick too and that's what would happen if you touched Sam or anything's he's touched."
"But I don't have to touch him or anything he's touched. I just want to be in the same room."
"It's too dangerous at this stage. I don't know how ill he really is. And I can't tell whether or not the illness will become air-borne. It just would be far safer if you stay away from him until he's better."
"You said you were immune though. Why can't I be that?"
He gently released his hold to look into her eyes. "Glad, I'm immune because I'm a different species than you. I have a different biological make-up that allows me to fight off illnesses with far more ease than humans. I've been through plagues and epidemics on Earth, though, and I know how easy it is for you lot to contract a virulent strain."
Glad's face fell. "My father told me about a plague that hit our lands when he was a child. He told me the people got sick very quickly like Sam did. He said they began to die." She swallowed tightly. "Is Sam going to die, Doctor?"
Realizing that his abundant knowledge did little but needlessly frighten Glad, he again pulled her into a hug. "He's not going to die, Glad," he assured her. "ZBI is curable with the right treatment. He needs lots of rest and, if necessary, some medicine which we can pick up on another planet. But I want him to try to fight it off on his own first. The medicine is likely to have some... adverse side effects." He pulled out his sonic again. "Now, let me check to be certain you are free of infection." Running the device along the length of her form, he breathed a sigh of relief. "All clean. Well, relatively. Have some Lastiarian mud on your shoes but that's perfectly safe."
She looked pleased by his diagnosis. Gazing back into eyes that she saw had softened, she asked to confirm, "And you're not angry with me?"
"I am not angry with you," he reassured. "Why don't you go get some hot chocolate or something. I need to care for Sam for a bit. Meet you there when I'm done." Waiting until Glad had gone to do as she was told, he proceeded back to the infirmary to see Sam pulling weakly on the restraint around his chest. He moved to the man to release him since he was now next to him and the human wouldn't be able to hurt himself.
At the touch, Sam's eyes opened again with a start. "Huh? What?"
The Doctor sighed with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "Come on," he said, helping Sam to stand. "To bed with you."
Sam allowed the Doctor to guide him, leaning heavily into the Gallifreyan for support. They moved slowly as the Doctor led him through the TARDIS and into Rose's room.
Leading the sick man to the bed, he helped lower Sam before bending down to take off his shoes. "I'm confining you to your room until you get better. Quarantine." Pulling back the covers, he ordered softly, "Now, lay down."
Sam agreed compliantly. "Okay." He didn't have to be told twice as his head sought the pillow like an iron rod to a magnet.
The Time Lord smiled slightly at his words. "Try to get some sleep. I'll bring you something to eat later." He turned and went out the door. Closing it behind him, the Doctor hesitated only a moment before pulling out his sonic screwdriver. "Sorry, Sam. But you aren't exactly in the right state of mind at the moment." Lifting the silver instrument, he locked the door with it before again tucking it into his jacket. "Have to keep you isolated even if you don't want to be." As he walked away from the door, he called out quietly to his ship, "Let me know immediately if he gets any worse." Knowing the devastation the disease had caused humanity, a sad thought crossed his mind that perhaps, if things did not go well, Beckett's Bronchial Influenza could be the result of the Hanzalonian's actions. The Time Lord then went to the kitchen in search of Glad.
When the Doctor walked in, Glad asked, "Is Sam okay?"
"He's sleeping now which is the best thing for him."
"And I can't see him? Because he's really sick?"
"I'm afraid so, my dear. He's going to be quarantined for quite a while."
"Then how will I talk to him? Maybe see that tapestry he told me about? He promised to introduce me to the adventures of Sherlock Holmes."
"Love Sherlock Holmes! Knew Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself. I could introduce you to Conan Doyle." Seeing the disappointed expression in his eyes, he added, "Or not. Tell you what... I'll watch the tapestry with you. Then we'll set up a camera and you can tell him all you want to say to him about the story that way. Make your own film. The video diaries of Galadriel..." He frowned. "You know... I never did ask what your surname is."
"Surname?"
"Last name. Family name. Your father had it and now you have it."
"Oh. They just called us thatchers."
"Thatchers!" he exclaimed brightly. "No doubt that was what your father did for a living as well as farming. Thatch. Lovely! Well, then, we shall start the video diaries of one Galadriel Thatcher!" He gave her a smile. "But... in the meantime..." He gestured towards the movie room. "The game is afoot."
Glad frowned as she followed him out the door. "How is a foot a game?"
