Title: Incantatrix
Author: Anaglyph
Email: anaglyph2001@yahoo.co.uk
Rating: PG-13 for the time being, though it may rise later.
Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and the Trek universe are owned by Paramount. I own the story and any original characters. No copyright infringement is intended. This story contains two women expressing romantic/sexual attraction for each other--if this is illegal where you live or just not your cup of tea then don't read it.
Summary: Voyager is in crisis and running low on power. B'Elanna and Seven discover a cloaked planet which can provide the needed dilithium. Having made the first tentative steps towards friendship, the ensuing adventure will bring them still closer together... and also draw them into the political struggles of an ancient, ritualistic culture.
Note: I got the word incantatrix from the novel "Weaveworld" by Clive Barker. It may or may not be an invented word, but it doesn't appear in my COD. However, it is derived from incantation.

Thanks to RebelGirl for beta duties. :-)

INCANTATRIX

Chapter 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."

end of chapter one