One

The ancient being sat upon her stone seat, her mind wandering down lonely corridors of her own making even as she murmured the time-honoured words that ushered in the new day. The Book of Ritual was open on her lap but ignored, the verses having been graven into her mind after long centuries of daily repetition. Her voice harsh, even metallic, yet somehow soft and melodious, spread throughout the great hall like a melancholy mist, filling every gloomy recess, rising up to the empty galleries shrouded in shadow. It reached high above to the wide arch of the ceiling where, unguessed at in the murk, a cornucopia of mythological beasts cavorted amongst sinuous plant life, the bright colours long since faded into obscurity, patches of dusty plaster peppering the decaying fresco. Kneeling before her, heads slightly bowed so that their gazes were directed at her feet, were the four symbolic supplicants--four for the fourth day of the month; tomorrow there would be five; the day after six and so on, until thirty submitted before her--filling their traditional role, requesting the chant that would bring forth the new dawn. She watched idly as a spider crawled cautiously across one of the men's faces, the twitching of his gaunt flesh revealing his discomfort but his hands bound by the iron word of The Law to remain clasped before him in entreaty until Sha'wah'ré had finished intoning the traditional chant. A vague amusement stirred in the Incantatrix's mind as the spider crawled towards the supplicant's mouth and settled at one corner of the tightly pursed lips, causing a succession of spasmodic facial movements as he attempted to dislodge the creature. When he began blowing tiny puffs of air from the corner of his mouth she almost faltered in the chant and with a last look at the stubborn spider clinging to his face through quake and wind, she turned her attention elsewhere.

The ship. It had lurked at the edge of their system for a day now, apparently doing nothing, but she knew it was searching for them; she could almost sense their will with her powerful mind. It had happened before. The machinery that hid their world from the gaze of the galaxy was not perfect; no machine was perfect; only The Law could and had achieved that state. Some chance fluctuation of power or the carelessness of a technician had revealed their presence and now the ship waited, searching for them, for what purpose she could not tell, but all those from Outside were a threat to the traditions of her world. There was nothing to be done for the moment though; she could only hope that the intruders would give up and leave. Eventually they would decide that whatever it was they had detected with their instruments had been some insignificant anomaly and they would be on their way, leaving Sha'wah'ré and her people in peace. As always though, when something like this occurred, she couldn't help the dark fear from lodging in her heart. What if it was their ancient foe, the legendary beings of flesh and metal that had ravaged her world aeons ago and left her people all but erased from existence? The texts described an unstoppable race, creatures that would willingly sacrifice themselves in the knowledge that as individuals they were insignificant, that there would be two more to spring up in their place, spreading like a plague until none but their own kind remained. Somehow, a few of her people had survived this onslaught and slowly tried to rebuild their world. She shuddered at the thought that they might have returned and tried to drag her mind from this awful contemplation. She sensed Tesk hovering anxiously to her left and slightly behind, aware of her perturbation, but she continued on through the incantation without faltering, finally uttering the last verse and ensuring that the new day would dawn and all would continue as it had done always. The first ritual of the day was complete.

Emerging from the shadows, Tesk shuffled to stand before her, his thin, etiolated face standing out in contrast to the black, shapeless suit that hung from his seven-foot frame. Bowing respectfully, he retrieved the Book of Ritual from her lap and retreated a pace. As she stood, so the symbolic supplicants rose from their knees, one of them now free to brush away the spider that had tormented him for the past ten minutes. They turned and walked silently from the hall. At the sound of the great doors shutting, the Incantatrix waited the ritual period while Tesk shuffled out through a side door lost in the gloom. At last she followed him to break her fast.

* * *

"Damn it, Seven! This isn't going to work." The Chief of Engineering's voice was muffled, her upper torso hidden from view inside one of Astrometrics' access hatches.

Safely hidden from sight, Seven indulged in a brief display of irritation, rolling her eyes and pursing her lips. "That is because you chose to ignore my advice about the variance in plasma flow."

"Point-zero-three percent variance isn't enough to cause problems," B'Elanna snapped angrily, her venom somewhat lessened by the indignity of her position. She began to wriggle in an effort to adjust her position. "Maybe if I realign one of the flows..."

Seven found herself watching the agitated movements of the Klingon's behind. Not for the first time, she wondered why she found the lieutenant so aesthetically pleasing. Recently she had found herself admiring the half-Klingon's physique with increasing frequency. Beauty is irrelevant, she told herself, but realised uncomfortably that she could no longer say this entirely truthfully.

"Seven!"

Dragged from her thoughts, she saw Torres' hand poking from the hatch, somehow managing to convey impatience in its exaggerated grasping motions. Feeling foolish, she realised that the engineer had asked her for some kind of tool. "Could you repeat your request, Lieutenant?"

After a few muttered Klingon curses, B'Elanna spoke with exaggerated care. "Would you hand me the isolinear spanner please, Seven."

Resisting the urge to return the sarcasm, the former Borg retrieved the tool and placed it in the outstretched hand. It had been a difficult week and many of the crew were on edge, particularly Torres who was having to cope with a steadily decreasing supply of power with which to keep the ship running. Seven didn't want to jeopardise the progress they'd made in their relationship by letting her own nerves get the better of her, so she did her best to maintain a stoic calm in the face of the Klingon's steadily rising agitation. It was not easy. Because of the current crisis, she had been frequently required to assist the engineer in her efforts to keep the ship running whilst reducing as much power consumption as possible, and had therefore become a convenient target for Torres' frustration and stress. The barbed comments and sometimes outright anger had been taking their toll and she'd been surprised to find herself reacting much more emotionally on several occasions than the situation warranted, though she did her best to hide the effect the Lieutenant's words were having on her. She supposed that this uncharacteristic sensitivity was due to the first tentative steps towards friendship they'd been taking prior to the outbreak of the silicate bacteria that was steadily destroying Voyager's supply of dilithium. She sighed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion not immediately recognisable, but knowing that it was focused on the volatile woman now scrambling out of the access hatch looking dishevelled but relatively pleased.

"Okay, try it now."

Seven moved to the main workstation and swiftly entered the commands that would route the sensor array through the deflector dish. As she finished entering the final sequence, they both impatiently watched the large display screen that dominated Astrometrics, waiting tensely to see if this latest attempt would be another failure or whether Voyager would at last have a lifeline to grasp at.

"Come on," B'Elanna muttered nervously. Almost as soon as she spoke, the screen flickered into life and began to display the information the computer was processing from the radically altered sensors. "Yes!" she hissed triumphantly, earning a wry look from Seven, despite the ex-Borg's own feeling of relief.

As Seven reached for the controls, a hand on her arm stopped her and she turned to see B'Elanna looking at her earnestly.

"I owe you an apology. If the Captain had listened to me we would never have known about this planet."

"No apology is necessary, Lieutenant," she replied, though she was warmed by the words. "We still have to ascertain whether there really is a source of dilithium on the planet. Besides," she added, "if you had taken my advice about the variance in plasma flow we might never have made this discovery. Voyager is fortunate that you are a better engineer than I."

B'Elanna smiled a little at these rare words of praise from the ex-drone before turning back to watch the planet rotating slowly on the display screen, streams of data flickering rapidly in the form of graphs and tables as the computer analysed atmospheric composition, land masses, energy signatures and all the other information available that would give them as complete as picture of the planet as possible.

It didn't take Seven long to find what they were hoping for, what they needed.

"Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway. Please report to Astrometrics."

Two

The Briefing Room was cast in shadow, lit only by emergency lighting, as were most areas of the ship. Running on Grey Mode, Voyager seemed to be an externalisation of Captain Janeway's state of mind over the past few days. She silently watched as her senior officers filed in one by one. Inactivity was anathema to her and she was at her most vulnerable to the dark thoughts that sometimes troubled her during these periods of quiet in the Federation ship's long voyage home. It was at times like these, when there was little to do but let her crew carry out their tasks, that she mulled over past decisions, past mistakes. If she made an error now, it could cost the lives of everyone onboard. She might have sentenced them all to death the very moment she gave the order to destroy the Caretaker's array and stranded them here in the Delta Quadrant some six years ago.

"Captain," Commander Chakotay prompted gently, his eyes concerned, knowing the bleakness she'd been battling within herself over the past week.

She took a deep breath and looked round the dimly lit room, reminding herself not to loose her objectivity and grasp rashly at the hope the planet seemed to offer. Now, more than ever, she must retain control of her command capabilities, weigh each option carefully, consider all the information available and make the right decision on how to proceed. She could not allow the darkness within or the ray of light that the planet offered without to influence her judgement.

Her senior officers, now all seated at the table, watched her expectantly and she took a moment to look at each of them. They seemed strained and tired. Tom Paris' hair was in disarray, his mouth turned down slightly; Neelix was doing his best to maintain his usual good cheer but the signs of stress were clear; B'Elanna was sallow-skinned, her eyes dark from her ceaseless work to conserve power. Even Seven was showing signs of tension, the lines of her face tight, her lips pursed. Of all those present, only Tuvok showed no obvious indications of the toll the past week had taken, but she knew better, that underneath that cool Vulcan exterior he was beginning to feel the desperation of their situation. Above all though, they looked determined, and she was moved by their courage. They were fine officers... and they were her friends.

She took another deep breath and turned her gaze back to her Astrometrics Officer, noting absently that the woman was sitting next to B'Elanna--an unusual occurrence. "Okay, Seven, what exactly are we dealing with here?"

"The enhanced sensors are still having trouble scanning the planet but it is definitely Class-M and inhabited by an apparently technologically advanced species..."

"Apparently?" interrupted Paris, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "They managed to cloak a whole planet didn't they?"

"The effect might be natural in origin," Tuvok pointed out.

Seven suppressed her irritation at the interruption. "Possibly, but I have been unable to determine the cause of the displacement."

"Displacement?" asked Neelix curiously before she could continue.

"Yes. The planet is out of phase."

Expressions of surprise greeted this statement. "A world out of time," mused Chakotay thoughtfully.

"Poetic but imprecise, Commander. The planet has merely been pushed out of phase slightly into the past--three seconds approximately."

"Maybe it is a natural phenomena," said Kim, his voice betraying his weariness. "It doesn't seem possible that an entire planet could be displaced three seconds into the past by technological means."

"As I said, I am unable to determine that." Seven continued, a note of worry entering her voice. "Captain, I cannot be certain that the dilithium I detected is really there. It is possible that the changes made to the sensors and the unusual state of the planet are causing false readings."

Janeway massaged her temples, trying not to let this news affect her decision-making process. "Is there any way of being sure these aren't false readings?"

"I'm afraid not," B'Elanna admitted ruefully. "We simply don't have the kind of power reserves necessary to make any further adjustments to the sensors."

A gloomy silence greeted this pronouncement. "What is the power situation, Lieutenant?" Janeway asked finally.

"We can keep the ship running on minimal systems for another week... if we maintain our current position."

"And you've detected no other possible sources of dilithium in range, Seven?"

"No, Captain."

Chakotay spoke up, trying to give his commanding officer and friend some strength and support. "Then we have no choice. We have to assume that there's dilithium on that planet."

Janeway hesitated. Was this the moment that she might doom her crew? She massaged her temples again, unwilling to commit to a course of action from which there would be no turning back. But Chakotay was right. What other choice was there? "Very well, we'll proceed on that assumption. Doctor, have you made any progress?" The EMH's glum expression told her all she needed to know.

"Very little." He spoke reluctantly, a hint of embarrassment evident at his failure to produce a solution to their problems. "This bacteria is unlike anything Starfleet has encountered before. I'm confident that in time I will be able to neutralise it, but... a week may not be enough."

"You have attempted to utilise Seven's nanoprobes?" Tuvok questioned.

"Of course!" The Doctor frowned indignantly. "It was one of the first things I tried. I could give you the long explanation, but suffice it to say, nanoprobes are not an option at the moment, though I may be able to..."

"Thank you," the Captain interrupted. "I'm sure you're doing your best. Keep me informed of your progress." She ignored his disgruntled expression and turned to Neelix. "How are our supplies holding up?"

"No worries there, Captain," he chimed in, doing his utmost to sound positive. "We shouldn't need to touch the replicators for at least two weeks."

"Wonderful," Paris muttered. "Whoever salvages the ship will be able to throw a great party."

Janeway shot him a stern glance and he looked away sheepishly. She stood up and turned her back on them for a moment, staring out at the stars as she mustered up her resolve. It was time to take action. When she turned back she caught Chakotay's worried look and softened her grim expression, letting him know that she was all right. "It seems that our first course of action is to establish communications with the inhabitants."

"Captain," interposed Kim, "what if they won't give us the dilithium?"

Silence greeted his anxious words and doubtful looks were exchanged around the table. Finally Chakotay spoke softly. "That's a risk we'll have to take."

"No." Janeway paused a moment after this short, unequivocal pronouncement. Seeing her Security Chief's eyebrow rising, she continued. "Save it, Tuvok. I know what you're going to say. I won't gamble with the lives of this crew. We have to take the dilithium. We can deal with the diplomatic consequences when we're in a position to do so."

"Take?" questioned Chakotay angrily. "Don't you mean steal?"

"Objection noted, Commander." She moved on swiftly, letting everyone know that this point was not up for debate. "Seven, can you locate a likely source in a remote area?"

"I have already done so," the former Borg replied, a little smug at having anticipated the Captain's probable course of action. She rose from her seat and moved to the computer console on the wall, calling up a map of one of the larger continents. "This mountain range appears to have extensive deposits of dilithium." Rapidly entering commands, she caused the map to zoom in on a region at the southern end of the range. "This location is approximately one-hundred kilometres from the nearest significant habitation. I believe it would be the most suitable area for acquiring the needed dilithium, assuming that the sensor readings are correct."

Janeway smiled a little, amused at her protégé's characteristic efficiency, and aware of the rising spirits of her officers at the prospect of positive action after days of defensive reaction. She put Tuvok's Vulcan disapproval and Chakotay's moral resentment from her mind, channelling the meeting towards a solid plan for achieving their goal.

* * *

The meeting over, they began to file out of the Briefing Room. Seven was caught for a moment in indecision as she watched the retreating figure of Lieutenant Torres. She wanted to ask the engineer to accompany her to the Mess Hall before beginning the preparations for their mission, knowing that the woman would neglect her nutritional requirements. However, she was uncertain how such an invitation would be received. Before she could resolve her dilemma, she heard a voice hailing the Lieutenant from behind.

"B'Elanna, wait up!"

Paris hurried past her and caught up with the engineer, leaning close and talking earnestly as they disappeared from view round a bend in the corridor. Seven came to a halt, feeling strangely perturbed by this occurrence. The image of the pilot's hand on Torres' arm lingered and she felt a vague fear of what might be transpiring between them.

"Seven, is something wrong?"

She turned to see Tuvok studying her dispassionately.

"No."

"Then you should attend to your duties... after you have attended to your midday meal," he added, the subtlest hint of wry humour visible in his eyes.

Again she was caught between two impulses: the desire to forget this small incident and the need to know what was occurring between Torres and Paris. As Tuvok passed her, she spoke up before she was even aware that she was going to. "Commander." He turned back to her and waited patiently while she fought with her sudden and unexpected embarrassment. "Do you know what the current status of Lieutenants Torres and Paris' relationship is?" she managed at last.

He quirked his eyebrow at this unusual question. "To my knowledge, it has not changed."

She took a deep breath, trying to quell the emotional turmoil she was beginning to feel. "I thought they might have resumed their romantic relationship." She realised there was an audible note of appeal in her voice and was grateful for the Vulcan's unemotional response.

"And this possibility disturbs you?"

"No, of course not." Again she was grateful for his restraint: he knew she was lying but made no comment.

"Perhaps you should discuss the matter with Lieutenant Torres."

She broke eye contact, suddenly feeling exposed by his penetrating gaze. "Perhaps," she murmured and made as if to leave.

"Seven."

She waited reluctantly, wanting to escape from this awkward conversation.

"As far as I'm aware, Lieutenant Torres has no intention of resuming a romantic relationship with Lieutenant Paris."

She looked at him, surprised by the gentle way he'd spoken, but his face betrayed nothing. "Thank you, Commander," she said before turning away, feeling confused and anxious, with no clear idea why.

Three

With a deceptively absentminded air, Sha'wah'ré set the report aside and leant back from the desk. Tesk hovered silently in the shadows but she ignored him for the moment. A ponderous sort of outrage was slowly building in her. How dare they?

It was by no accident that the Outsiders had discovered their presence. Treachery had been at work at the highest levels. The Governors of two of the southern provinces had waited for the ship, had conspired together to sabotage the vast machinery that held their world in limbo. They had shut down the great generators under their respective care and broken the planet-wide network that veiled them from the prying eyes of a dangerous galaxy. Fortunately, their treachery had been quickly discovered and loyal servants of The Law had ensured that the vast web of power was brought back into operation. However, the damage had been done; the ship had detected them as the traitors had intended, and now it waited like a predator at the mouth of a bolt-hole, waited for its prey. How dare they?

Such a thing had never happened in her long, long memory. Occasionally the Great Machine had failed for lack of perfection, or those that attended it had failed in their tasks, but never had anyone deliberately attacked the foundation of all that she protected. Never had anyone attacked the very foundation of The Law. How dare they?

Emerging from her inward contemplation, she looked across the gloomy chamber into the shadows where a thin, pale face hovered in the darkness as if unconnected to any body. At her silent command, the face began to move forward and Tesk slowly loomed from the shadows to stand before her desk like a giant, black scarecrow.

"Is Governor Kah'teh still being questioned?" asked the Incantatrix, her voice revealing no hint of the dull anger that consumed her.

"Yes," came Tesk's reedy reply. "He has so far denied all knowledge of the Innovator Movement."

Sha'wah'ré stood suddenly and the giant scarecrow took a step backward as he realised the full extent of his mistress' fury. "You will not refer to them as a movement," she hissed. "They are a rabble. Nothing but anarchists and ruffians."

He inclined his head in acquiescence and she slowly sank back into her seat, returning to a state of apparent calm--the calm of a sleeping volcano, ready to erupt without warning.

"His family must be interrogated as well. They will be involved." The Incantatrix glanced back at the report on her desk and picked it up once more. "This says nothing of how the other traitor escaped."

"That is still being investigated," said Tesk nervously.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes and he swallowed audibly. "You suspect more treachery."

"I believe his escape may have been engineered by sympathisers within the militia," he admitted reluctantly. "But I cannot be certain as yet."

Silence greeted this statement and Tesk began to shift uneasily from one foot to the other under Sha'wah'ré's brooding gaze. The slow tick of an ornate clock seemed to swell from the shadows at the far side of the chamber, filling the room with a steady, dreadful beat. A trickle of perspiration made its way down the tall man's thin face. He expected an eruption of anger at any moment, but instead, when the Incantatrix finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost melodious.

"This cancer must be cut out. Our way of life is in danger. The Law is threatened. These rebels must be crushed. We must search them out and break them; destroy them utterly."

Tesk nodded mutely, hoping his mistress had finished with him for the moment, hoping to escape the dull wrath that permeated the room, but he wasn't to be released just yet.

"There's something more. What have you not told me?"

Fear was plain on his face now as he opened his mouth to speak, but the Incantatrix continued. "What of Shen'rah Province? Have they suffered from any more disturbances?"

"There were some... problems yesterday," the black scarecrow said carefully. "I'm still trying to learn exactly what happened, but it seems that members of... that rebels disrupted the inaugural ceremony of the province's new Keeper of Law."

Sha'wah'ré rose slowly from her seat and moved to the single stained-glass window that did little to light the chamber; an abstract design of dark greens and reds, it seemed to emphasise the gloom rather than relieve it. "Were the rituals completed?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion.

"I do not have the full details of the incident, but... I believe not." Tesk swallowed loudly again as he addressed his mistress' back. "Several of the rebels were captured, but a number of them managed to..."

His words were cut off by an explosion of glass. The Incantatrix withdrew her fist, leaving twisted lead and jagged panes framing a hole through which a shaft of light rudely pierced the dark chamber. Drops of blood splashed unheeded to the stone floor, gleaming as they descended through the invading beam of fire. "How dare they?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

Tesk watched his mistress' back warily, fearing some further physical manifestation of her terrible fury, possibly directed at himself.

"Have them executed."

He started at the dreadful coldness of her voice. "Are you sure?... that seems a little extreme... it may incite the rebels further..." Sha'wah'ré remained unmoved, still and heedless of him as a wall of granite. "As you command," he whispered and bowed respectfully, despite the fact that she remained with her back to him. Slowly he shuffled from the chamber, feeling the cold hand of dread around his heart.

* * *

As Seven worked at her station in Astrometrics, she heard the doors hiss open and shut behind her. Icheb appeared at her side as she retrieved a data PADD and began to download potentially useful information about the planet. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he studied the large main screen which was currently displaying a graphic of the star system and columns of changing figures as conditions in the region altered. His youthful face was pensive. After a few seconds he turned to her.

"An ion storm is building up. Has Captain Janeway been informed?"

"Of course," she replied, glancing at him quickly before returning her attention to the PADD.

"Then the away mission has been postponed?" The worry was plain to hear in his voice.

Seven set the PADD aside and focused on the young man. "We cannot afford to postpone the mission. The ion storm is not a danger at the moment. We hope to avoid it. Do not concern yourself needlessly."

"But this is a dangerous mission," he continued, frowning anxiously. "There are many unknown factors."

"That is often the case."

"But Seven..."

"Icheb," she interrupted impatiently, "you are supposed to be assisting Lieutenant Carey in Engineering."

"I wanted to see you before you left," he protested.

Her expression softened as she looked at the anxious youth. "Don't worry. We will carry out our mission successfully and return soon."

He nodded soberly. "Seven, I want you to know that I'm grateful for everything that you've done for me."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling tight, and when she spoke, her voice was husky. "And I am proud of you and all that you've accomplished in your time aboard Voyager." It didn't seem enough, but overcome with awkwardness, she broke eye contact and picked up her PADD again.

Icheb returned to his contemplation of the main screen as it continued to display the changing conditions of this region of space. Minutes passed and Seven expected him at any moment to comment on the rapid build up of the ion storm; it was promising to be a large example of the phenomenon, level eight at least. However, when he did finally speak again, he caught her completely by surprise.

"When are you going to tell Lieutenant Torres that you are attracted to her?"

She gaped at him for a moment, suddenly having an inkling of why her own directness could make her colleagues so uncomfortable at times. "You are in error," she managed at last, adding defensively, "I have no such feelings for the Lieutenant."

"My observations indicate otherwise." Sounding pleased with himself, Icheb continued. "Since her relationship with Lieutenant Paris was annulled, I have noticed that your interaction with Lieutenant Torres has become increasingly amicable."

"And from that you deduce that I am attracted to her." Seven tried to sound dismissive but couldn't stop a trace of nervousness from entering her voice. "Besides, our interaction has hardly been amicable recently."

"That is only because of the current crisis. And the Lieutenant has still been significantly more tolerant with you than other members of the crew."

"She has?" asked Seven weakly, feeling out of her depth.

"Yesterday in Engineering, for example, she raised her voice to you sixty-eight percent less frequently than to Lieutenant Vorik."

A trace of irritation entered her voice as she tried to put a stop to this uncomfortable conversation. "Perhaps you should be assigned more work if you have time for such frivolous observations."

"I do not consider the pursuit of your happiness frivolous," he countered in his guileless way.

She swallowed, unnerved by her inability to get the better of the earnest young man. "We may be forming a friendship, but there is nothing more to it than that."

Icheb frowned. "Seven, you have done much to help me adapt to this crew. You've encouraged me to engage in social activities, to develop relationships, to overcome my Borg inhibitions towards such apparently irrelevant activities." He continued shrewdly but not unsympathetically. "You speak of your own efforts to regain your humanity but you frequently retreat from the very experiences that you encourage me to pursue. Why do you hold back? What are you afraid of?"

Seven looked down at the workstation, unable to argue or evade anymore. "I do not know," she said softly at last. "I..."

"Torres to Seven of Nine."

The both started slightly at the sudden interruption. Seven tapped her commbadge. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"If you're not too busy, I could use your help with these shield modifications to the Delta Flyer."

"Acknowledged. I will join you shortly."

Handing her PADD to Icheb, Seven spoke, her voice a little subdued after the conversation of the last few minutes. "I would be grateful if you could complete the downloading of relevant information for the away mission."

"Of course."

They looked at each other for a moment, their eyes filled with the unspoken awareness that they might never see one another again. Perhaps affected by Icheb's words, Seven gave in to a rare moment of impulsiveness and stepped forward to pull the young man into an awkward embrace. After a few brief seconds she released him and, saying nothing further, swiftly strode from Astrometrics.