Gulliver's Fugitives - Keith Sharee [12]
“Absolutely nothing.”
He returned Picard’s stare. The two men seemed to be testing wills with their eyes. Then Crichton looked down and pressed a button on his desk.
“You are going to limit both our options,” said Picard, “if you continue to fire on us.”
“I’m not firing. As you pointed out, it would neither destroy you nor deter your Federation. So I will allow your investigation. But I will tolerate no interference with the affairs of this planet. There is a disease, an epidemic going on here, and a violent insurgency as well. The criminals who disfigured my face are part of that insurgency. If you or your people help them, I will classify you as criminals as well.”
“We have a directive which—”
“Yes, I heard. I would like to get this over with as soon as possible. Your search can begin now; all you have to do is allow us to inspect your ship first and assure ourselves that you are not bringing any infectious or forbidden materials to the surface of Rampart.”
“I won’t let you bring large numbers of people on my ship, especially not military personnel,” said the captain.
“What would you say to just Major Ferris and myself, with our plague-detecting devices?”
“One moment.” Picard had Worf cut the channel. He turned to Troi. “Your judgment?”
“He is truly concerned about the threat of contraband or contagion,” said the counselor. “If he is satisfied on that count, I sense that he intends to let our investigation proceed. I can’t read if he knows anything about the Huxley.”
“We have no infectious diseases on this ship he need worry about,” said Picard. “When he sees that, he may feel less threatened.” He nodded to Worf. The channel was reopened.
“Crichton, I will agree to your inspection of the Enterprise, as long as it excludes any areas of the ship I deem sensitive, and conforms to all other security procedures.”
Troi stared with puzzlement at the helmets Crichton and Ferris wore for their inspection of the ship.
They were of a smooth, molded material and had, on their visors, two video rasters, like little television pictures, one covering each eye. Usually the rasters were semi-transparent and white, but on occasion they jumped and flickered with moire patterns, as if shielding the eyes behind them from something in the outside world. Each helmet also had a mouth-mike and headphones.
Troi guessed that the box floating on antigravs next to Crichton and Ferris housed a computer that controlled the helmets and linked them in communication. With its lens and antennae, it was also the device the two men used for detecting contraband or disease—or so they said.
Now, as Troi walked down the Enterprise corridor with the visiting party, she was aware of a low droning buzz, like a metal insect, behind her head. She turned and saw the metal box, which the men from Rampart called a one-eye, floating along close behind her. Its lens-eye stared forward, occasionally zooming in or out a bit. Above the lens the collection of antennae moved about, hunting, pointing at her, then beetling at Picard, who walked beside her as they followed Ferris and Crichton. Two Enterprise security men completed the group.
Troi knew that the one-eye device and ten others like it had been checked through the Enterprise transporter and deemed safe before they had been brought aboard. Still, the thing looked ominous. And she didn’t think that Ferris and Crichton would go anywhere without weapons.
The search had gone on for two hours. Ferris had been curt and efficient, though Troi felt a primitive animal bellicosity lurking in him.
Crichton was harder to read; his mask-like face gave no clue to his inner state, and his mind itself seemed, to Troi, as if it were covered by something thick and opaque. His speech was peculiar—the words often seemed to jam together