The Other Doctor

Mini-Story Summary: Rory pairs with a famous physician to fight off a plague…but what's causing it? And who exactly is Tacitus?

166 AD

Forty-five years had passed. Quintus had faded out of this world at his appointed time, and his children had blossomed into well-respected Roman citizens. Rory, ever the scholar, schooled their children himself. For a few years he'd shaved his head and adopted a stiff walk to avoid Lucine and Tertius' suspicions at his lack of aging, but the crude razors worried him and the limp was uncomfortable, so he gradually abandoned them. The questions would come soon enough, but Rory was determined to avoid them for as long as possible.

"Mr. Rory, you look like mama's little brother," said Aquila. "I can't believe you taught her when she was our age."

Rory sighed. No dodging the subject, then. "Why do you think that is, Aquila?"

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"Well, I'll tell you something," said Rory, leaning over his desk. "It's because I always eat my vegetables."

Aquila, Corvina, and Gallus stared at their teacher with eyes like tea saucers.

Rory nodded, grinning. "Yep! All that cabbage, and leeks, and spinach—"

"Ew!" groaned the kids in unison.

"—yes, especially the spinach. They make you healthy as a horse. A very…healthy…horse."

The children giggled.

"Grandfather Quintus always said you were a good doctor," said Gallus, the youngest. "He was a good doctor himself, so you must have been great." Then he shivered. "Mr. Rory, I'm cold."

Rory was puzzled. "Cold? But it's quite possibly the warmest day we've had this year. What's wrong with you?" He placed a hand on Gallus' forehead. Then, after a few seconds, he picked the boy in his arms and began striding out of the room.

"You're burning up, Gallus!" said Rory, concerned. "We're getting you into bed. Now."

Forty-eight hours later, Rory's concern gave way to full-blown panic. The fever had fallen, but Rory had discovered tiny red spots lining Gallus' nostrils and throat. With each passing minute, Gallus' symptoms looked more and more like—

"Smallpox," said Rory, peering into Gallus' mouth.

"What's that?" asked Lucine, clutching her son's hand.

"Very, very, very not good," announced Rory. "This same disease wiped out entire civilizations in the Americas. Finding it here…well, it doesn't bode well."

"What do we do?" asked Lucine, her voice cracking.

Rory stood abruptly. "We need to contain it. Nobody currently in this villa is to leave, and nobody not inside is to enter. Find a good breathable cloth and bind it over Gallus' face. Don't let his saliva near any of you. Contagious. The same goes for the sheets, and his tunic. I advise all of you to stay away from this room."

Lucine's eyes brimmed with tears. "But what about Gallus? What about my son?"

"I'll take care of him," promised Rory.

"But you'll get sick too!"

"I said I'd take care of him."

Lucine nodded.

Two Weeks Later

Amongst the crowded streets of Rome strode a lone figure, back bent under the weight of his sack. Yet, despite his load, the man carried himself in an authoritative manner, and passersby nodded with respect and stood aside as he passed. While he walked, he remembered what his assistant had told him that morning.

It's dangerous, he'd said. Nobody's been in or out of that villa for weeks. People can hear moaning emanating from the windows, and coughing too. They think the household's gotten sick. Deathly ill. Just like the men in the barracks, I think. The plague. It's risky, doctor, but maybe you can help them.

That was the reason this doctor now knocked on the door of the Pompeianus family villa.

"Hello?" he asked. "Is anyone in?"

No response.

After three minutes and forty-one seconds of pounding, he'd had enough. Slipping his finger through a gap in the doorframe, he lifted the latch and swung the door open.

"Anyone here?" he called. His voice echoed through the dark, stuffy corridor. "Anyone…still…alive?" The doctor advanced cautiously towards a bedroom.

A weak, muffled cough issued through the door. The doctor chose this moment to abandon all caution and launch into action, bursting through the door. What he saw made his battle-hardened nerves shiver.

"What is thi—" and then he blinked.

Hidden amongst the shadows of the darkened room was a bed, and upon that bed, lay a child.

The doctor dropped his sack and rushed to the child. The boy's shallow breathing hinted at the severity of his condition. The man used a clean cloth to peel back the sheet covering the child's arm. It was covered in raised, dimpled bumps.

"The plague," he whispered. "It's a miracle it hasn't spread beyond this villa. But where is your family, boy? Someone's been caring for you; these sheets were just cleaned. Why, then, isn't your caretaker sick too? The plague's highly contagious. I mean, I've been taking precautions, but they require specialized equipment and knowledge. There is no way your friend would survive."

"Get him out of here."

The man whirled around to find a figure emerging from the shadows, carrying a stack of clean linens.

"You're his caretaker!" said the doctor. Rory nodded, passing him the folded cloths.

A flood of questions spilled from the doctor's mouth. "Why aren't you dead? Do you have medical training? Who are you, anyway?"

"It'll take a lot more than a virus to kill me," said Rory enigmatically. "I have plenty of training, more so than even you, I daresay." His mouth cracked into the faintest hint of a smile. "Many people call me many things. One of my old friends called me Aesculapius."

The man's eyes grew wide with the mention of the god of medicine. But he quickly hid his surprise behind a mask of skepticism.

"Prove it," he said.

Rory moved closer. "Twenty-one years ago. Pergamon. Your father had a vision."

"How could you know that?" breathed the man.

"I told him that you were going to be a doctor. A brilliant doctor."

The doctor nodded. "Aesculapius did. It changed my life. You changed my life."

"Now, putting aside my bizarre little vacation and your father's concerning gullibility, we have other things to do. You need to get little Gallus here to a safe place."

"What happened?"

"He was playing near the militia drilling field. He got sick."

"The soldiers have the plague too. They brought it back from abroad."

"Right. Makes sense," said Rory. "Now, I need you to take Gallus away. This place is festering with the plague. It killed the rest of his family, Lucine and Aquila and all the others. He's the last. I promised to care for him."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

Rory shook his head. "It would take a miracle."

The doctor nodded. "I'll clear the roads, wrap him up, keep things clean. He can come to my place. It's a good thing I came."

"You came because I told your assistant," said Rory. "You came because I wanted you to. And now, Galen, we're going to save him, because I promised I would."

Gallus, laid limply onto the couch, was motionless as Galen dabbed his pocked face with a damp cloth.

"You say he's the only survivor in his family?" asked Galen.

Rory nodded.

"What did you do with his family's bodies?"

Rory looked confused. "What bodies?"

"Well, when people die, they leave bodies!" said Galen. "What happened to them? They're contagious and dangerous."

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No," said Rory. "Anyway, what he needs is good care. I don't have a cure for smallpox. But…" he trailed off, grinning.

"But what?" asked Galen.

"I might have a vaccine."

"A what?"

"A way to prevent the disease."

"How?" asked Galen.

Rory grimaced. "Well, it won't be for the faint-hearted. Tell me, of the soldiers with smallpox, have the bumps on any of them turned into scabs?"

"Yes, one. He was one of the first to show the symptoms."

"Right, okay then! Let's not waste any time. Take me to him."

The afflicted soldier looked nearly normal, save the reddish scabs covering every square inch of visible skin. He sat up and smiled as Galen and Rory approached.

"Hi. I'm Petrus," he introduced himself.

"I'm…here to help," said Rory. "May I see your arm?"

Petrus held out his elbow. Before the patient had a chance to yelp, Rory had seized his wrist and yanked off three of his scabs.

"What'd you do that for?" howled Petrus.

"Sorry," apologized Rory, dumping the scabs in a bowl. "They're much needed."

"For what?"

"Long story. In the years before a proper smallpox vaccine was invented, people practiced something called variolation. I warn you, this is rather gross—they inhaled powdered smallpox scabs."

"What on earth for?"

"Gave them a very mild case of smallpox, and then they became immune afterwards. Two percent mortality rate, but that's much better than the disease itself."

"How can you possibly know this?"

"University. I had to write a report on infectious diseases. I may have fudged my sources a tad…in actuality most of my research came from Wikipedia, but shh." Rory ignored Petrus' befuddled expression and continued. "Now, is there anyone highly at risk of contracting smallpox but hasn't been exposed yet?"

Petrus nodded. "My sister. She works near the barracks, where the men first became sick, but she hasn't gone to work since the disease broke out and she's not showing symptoms. If she agrees, my father can bring her over."

"How old is she?"

"Thirty."

"And she's in good health?"

"Very."

Rory nodded. "Very well, then."

Petrus' sister, Celia, edged cautiously into Galen's study, clutching her father's hand. Rory glanced up from his bookwork. Then he realized what he had just seen and looked back at the family with wide eyes.

"Aren't you a bit young to have grandchildren?" he asked the father.

Tacitus grinned, crow's feet forming around his crinkled eyes. "I'm old enough. How long's it been, Mr. Rory? Over forty years, I think. Impossible. Incredible."

"Yup, that's me! Defying the laws of nature, or so it seems, anyway." said Rory. "Now, your daughter, Celia, is pregnant. Very pregnant."

"What does that matter?" asked Celia.

"Well, I really don't think contracting a mild case of smallpox is in your best interests right now. Could damage the fetus."

Celia looked crestfallen. "But I wanted to help. Petrus told me you could save people's lives."

"Thank you, but I'm not willing to risk the health of your unborn child. You understand."

Celia nodded reluctantly.

"Good," said Rory, standing. "Now, we must find another test subject, then."

Tacitus fidgeted uncomfortably.

"What is it, Tacitus?" asked Rory. "I can tell you have a question."

"It's none of my business, Mr. Rory, but what exactly is this 'vaccine' Petrus told us about?"

"Oh, that? It's a way of preventing the spread of the disease. I can show you—" Rory groped around his desk for the variolation vial. His hand grasped only air. "Um…it was here a second ago. I don't—weird. Very weird. Uh—"

"You misplaced it?" Anger edged Tacitus' voice.

"Well, it must be around here somewhe—"

Tacitus drew closer to Rory. "You have a means to save hundreds of thousands of people from suffering agonizing deaths, like the one my son just narrowly escaped, and you just misplaced it?"

Rory turned guiltily to search the shelving for the vial. "I'm sorry. It's not like me—I don't ever lose things. Especially not important things."

Behind him, Tacitus rolled his eyes in disgust. "Yes, you do."

Rory leaned on his toes to search the top shelf. "What would you know about it?"

"You lost your girlfriend."

Rory froze. In the ensuing silence, Celia shifted awkwardly. "I'll…be outside," she whispered, backing out the door and pulling it closed behind her.

Rory kept his back to Tacitus. "I've known you for nearly your entire life," he said softly, "but I never dreamt I'd hear you say that. You've changed, Tacitus."

"Time does that to people," retorted Tacitus, looking Rory up and down. "Well, most people, anyway."

Staring at his feet, Rory took a deep breath. "You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry! Your mistakes cost lives, Mr. Rory. The ship, sinking, and now your lost cure! Your carelessness kills people."

"No, you're not just angry about that. You're mad at me. Nearly half a century's passed, and you've gone and had kids and are well on your way to becoming a grandfather. Let's face it, your life's almost finished. And then you run into me, and I'm the same as ever. You're mad because, however much you want to deny it, you're envious." Rory reseated himself and dug out some papers, avoiding Tacitus' gaze.

"Of course I'm envious," muttered Tacitus. "Eternal life. People have fought and died for a mere taste of the meal in which you're partaking—the chance to live forever."

"It's not like that. Have you ever heard of Tithonus?"

"I've heard the name before. Why?"

"Well, in Greek mythology, Tithonus was granted eternal life; however, he neglected to ask for everlasting youth. He was doomed to live, and age, forever, becoming what one author would call 'a white-haired shadow roaming like a dream,' destined never to be with the woman he loved. My point, Tacitus, is that sometimes things that seem desirable aren't quite what you expect them to be."

Tacitus took a deep breath. "Well, perhaps eternal life is not as wonderful as it seems, but a second chance at living a normal life would mean the world to some of these smallpox victims. Let's find this vaccine."

Rory nodded. "Yes, let's."

Author's Note: No, no, no, this story's not finished. I've been extraordinarily busy for the last few weeks, but I thought you deserved at least a teaser! Galen, Rory, and Tacitus are going to find something very interesting soon, even if they don't understand it quite yet. As always, please let me know what you think. In the meantime, I hope you're enjoying the new series of Doctor Who.

Allons-y!