The Time of Change

The Mother Superious

"Welcome to the Church of the Papal Mainframe," says the guard who opened the door. "Your nudity is appreciated."

"Hey, babes," Tasha says to me, winking. I gesture toward her robes. "Loving the frock," I comment. She ruffles them a bit, flattered. "Is that a new body?" she inquires, though I know the question doesn't require an answer. Of course it's a new body. Newer than the last one she saw, by a long stretch. "Give us a twirl."

I chuckle, patting my chest with both my palms. "Tash, this old thing?" I croon. "Please, I've been rocking it for centuries!" Tasha raises her eyebrows at me as I spin around once, and I try to keep myself from cringing or blushing. Be confident. Be cool. "Nice though," she replies silkily. "Tight."

Clara clears her throat uncomfortably. "So, ahem, hello. Also here." She gives a small wave. Tasha glances at her as if she's only just noticed she was present. She might have. Wouldn't surprise me. I touch Clara's shoulder comfortingly and say, "Clara, this is Tasha Lem, the Head of the Church of the Papal Mainframe. Tash" -- the Mother Superious winks at me conspiratorially -- "this is my associate, Clara Oswald. Miss Clara Oswald."

Clara looks about as uneasy as I feel, but I smile at her anyway. She takes a deep breath. Thankfully Tasha doesn't seem to notice any of this. "We'll go to my chapel," she tells us both, chipper, and now adds, "All honors in place, no sacrifices required." Clara shoots me a nervous look and I laugh it off, hoping to ease the tension I feel coming off of her. I feel her take my hand in her own. I squeeze her fingers, half for her sake and half for mine.

Tasha begins walking back down the corridor we came, and we follow her. "It was Tasha who shielded the planet," I explain to Clara. "But you could sneak me down there, couldn't you, Tash?" I look at her with a sappy, pleading, flirty look and feel very disgusted with the way I sound when I say it. We turn down another hall, and this one is much nicer than the others. At the end is a door, all white and gold and silver, and though it's the only item with color in the hall, it brings some sort of life to the whole thing. "I would have some conditions," Tasha tells me as we come to a stop in front of the door. Now she turns to Clara. "I have confidential matters to discuss with the Doctor. Would you excuse us?"

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Clara," I reply boldly. Wait. Doctor, think about what you've just said. My mind reels. "Well, quite a lot of it. Probably about half... Maybe a smidge under..." Now I correct, turning to Clara apologetically, "Actually, Clara, would you mind waiting out here, please?"

"No worries," she replies dismissively. "You two get yourselves a room."

"Yes, quite," I answer without really listening. Her words settle in a second later, and I flush. "No, stop it," I tell her sternly. She shakes her head, looking rather smug. "Boss of the psycho space nuns," she whispers. "So you." A chill runs down my spine and I glare at her. Luckily Tasha's already gone into the private chapel, so I hiss back, "Don't say stuff like that. You'll get us both in trouble. Or worse. You'll give her an impression she doesn't need to have."

"You know you like the attention."

"Actually no, I don't." I whip around and walk calmly into the chapel, letting the door fall shut behind me. Tasha smiles as I enter. She holds two goblets, and she's sitting on a huge, beautifully decorated bed. Sheets that shimmer like liquid silk drape over a mattress about half a meter off the ground, with a golden step up. It's positively drowning in the color red and overstuffed pillows. "That altar looks like a bed," I say offhandedly, trying not to sound uncomfortable.

"That bed looks like an altar." She smirks at me knowingly. I have to fight the urge to shiver. She hands me one of the goblets, and I peer inside. It's filled with a sort of perfectly translucent blue concoction; I slosh it around a bit, seeing how it reacts to movement while making it appear like I'm simply being idle with my hands. Tasha motions for me to sit down on the bed and I do, still stealing glances at my goblet. I catch a whiff of hers as I pass, the smallest of glimpses, and notice we're drinking two different things. Hers is clear and strong-smelling, like a mixture of molasses and vodka. Sickeningly sweet and yet powerfully poignant. Casually I sniff the air above my own drink. It smells of kiwi and lust.

Against my better judgement I take a sip, and something extraordinarily overpowering rushes into my veins. The taste of bitter fruit and something metallic fill my throat, my stomach, floats around inside my head and blurs the edges of my vision. I spit the liquid back in the goblet while Tasha's head is turned but it's too late. The typically razor-sharpness of my brain is becoming dulled and foggy. All of the sudden the bed underneath me seems much more inviting than it had been a moment ago. What am I doing here, again? And where is... oh, what's her name? Where did she go?

Tasha plants herself next to me, and scoots so close that I can catch the scent of her drink again. I sit mine down on the step at my feet as she takes a swig of hers. When she moves, another smell comes off her. This time from her hair, her skin. I can't place it, but it's familiar, and the feeling it brings to my nerves is not a pleasant one. It's a rather groggy sensation, though, because what is there to worry about, again? Tasha reaches across my lap to press a small button on the headrest of the bed, and the three-toned message rings in my ears. She is far deeper inside my personal space than I would allow anyone else to be, but I haven't the strength to tell her to move, or to scooch away myself.

"That message is transmitting through all of space and time," she breathes. "What did it make you feel?"

I blink. "Feel?"

She swirls her drink around a bit and takes another sip, licking her lips as she does so. Something stirs in the pit of my stomach but what is it? It's not anything natural or anything I would condone. Why can't I name the sensation? Something's wrong, oh something's terribly wrong, but how can I be sure? Am I sure? Am I even coherent?

Something's wrong. Leave. Something's wrong.

But why?

"Every sentient being in the universe who detected that signal felt something. Something overpowering." That light is in Tasha's eyes again, that savage pleasure, like she's enjoying this. Enjoying confusing me. "What?" I say, and she leans toward me even more, which I didn't think was possible. Her face is less than three centimeters from mine and I can smell the drink on her breath and that odd scent of her skin but what could it be? What does it mean?

"Fear," she answers, both my spoken and unspoken questions. "Pure, unadulterated dread."