Aranea had emerged from the valley by the time Jack and Rose started looking for her. She told them that she had gotten lost behind some waves and only just turned around to get back to the TARDIS. They entered the TARDIS in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts.
The Doctor was not in the kitchen. Aranea took leave of the two humans, claiming that she was tired. Walking towards her room, she saw the Doctor leaning at the side of her door, his head downcast.
"So what did you find down there?" he asked quietly, "Or did you just fancy a suicide leap just now?"
Aranea drew out a small round glass globe from her robe; there should have been no room in her clothes to hide something that size, which was about as large as a grapefruit. Suspended within the clear glass was a small grey object, grey and unmarked. She handed it to him.
"If the glass broke, the entire TARDIS would freeze in a second," the Doctor said accusingly.
"It won't break," Aranea replied, "Not while I'm alive, anyway. Dispose of it later, if you wish. It's not meant to be here; it shouldn't be here for another billion years."
The Doctor nodded, turning the globe around in his hands.
"How did you manage to get close to it?" he asked, "It's got a forcefield that prevents any matter from sticking to it; besides, touch it and you freeze to death instantly."
"I have my ways," Aranea replied, "Sometimes you fight fire with fire. Or forcefields with forcefields, as the case may be."
The Doctor's eyebrow rose.
"You can generate forcefields?"
She nodded. He looked at the object again, and smiled briefly.
"Thank you," he said, lifting the globe up.
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They finally reached the location and time of the distress signal. The planet was a small one, populated with a race derived from humans. The Doctor said that the race worshipped a vast pantheon of gods, much like the Hindus or the ancient Greeks and Romans. The civilisation had forgotten space flight, and lived in a mostly agricultural society, with small cities peppered throughout the two main continents of the planet.
They found themselves halfway up a tall hill; a city lay below them, cradled in bottom of a sloping valley. The houses were low and square, mostly made of clay or stone. At the other end of the valley rose a smaller hill, and perched atop that hill was a magnificent marble temple.
Jack looked at his wrist computer.
"Signal's coming from the temple," he said.
"Right then," the Doctor declared, "We're all pilgrims for the day. Let's go see the God of Time."
It took less than an hour for them to get into trouble. Once they emerged into the market, everyone had fallen on their faces at the sight of them. Two old men had come up to them, checked Rose's hair (who gave them an earful for tugging on her blonde locks), and knelt as well.
They announced that the Goddess of Time had arrived.
A few minutes later, Rose found herself sitting uncomfortably on a marble throne. Behind her was a large statue that could have been made in her image. Except the pupils were large globes of golden dust, whirling lazily around inside as sunlight struck them.
Only Aranea was there with her; the inner sanctum of the temple was closed to men, so Jack and the Doctor were escorted to a different room.
"What am I goddess of again?" Rose asked, once they were alone. The last two priestesses had bowed themselves slowly out of the sanctum once Rose assured them that she did not need anything else.
"Time," Aranea replied, "But that's not right. The deity of Time on this planet is supposed to be male. He's much like the twentieth century concept of Father Time. But along comes this mad poet…"
Aranea walked around the sanctum. On the walls were inscribed a poem, an epic paean to a Goddess who was all things. The Great Mother who gave all living things their first breath; the Swan, preserving order in a chaotic universe; the Bad Wolf, who devoured everything.
"This isn't right at all," Aranea whispered, "Where are all the other gods?"
"What need have we for other gods, when the Great Goddess provides all?"
The speaker strode in, smiling. He was taller than the other natives, and darker of skin. He was covered in religious ornaments, golden braces and armbands, anklets and necklaces. He carried a long crystal staff that rang each time he struck the ground with it. Aranea, looking at the staff, almost cried out in shock, but collected herself in time. The stranger, preoccupied with paying obeisance to Rose, did not notice.
"I am Rahenos," he said, getting up, "Your humble high priest, Goddess. The only male allowed into the inner sanctum."
"Hello," Rose said hesitantly, then plunged into a speech she had been preparing since she arrived, "Look, I know it sounds daft, but I'm not really your Goddess. I'm just -"
"Oh I know that, " Rahenos waved away her explanation," Although I have to say the resemblance is uncanny. Betrochius must have gotten something right."
He laughed, as Rose and Aranea looked at him in disbelief.
"Betrochius was the poet who wrote about the Goddess of Time," Aranea said, "But how did he get so popular? What happened to the other gods?"
"Ah," Rahenos pursed lips, "Betrochius did have some help in disseminating his, ah, vision. And the other gods have been destroyed. False images. Only reflections of the One True Goddess."
He grinned, as if sharing a big joke.
"But you don't believe that, do you?" Rose said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Perhaps I might be allowed to ask some questions," Rahenos said, "Where are you lot from, and where is your ship?"
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AN: Just about action time. I'm not really good at action, alas.