Gulliver's Fugitives - Keith Sharee [19]
“Believe me,” said Riker, “I want nothing to do with your world. I’m willing to call off the search—at least for now. Just give me back the captain.”
“No. I can’t risk the safety and health of my planet’s population based on your word. You think I believe your lie, your fiction about some ship lost here? I’ve seen that your Enterprise is laden with vile, deadly myths, entire books and computers and minds full of contagious insanity and blasphemy against the only true word of reason and of God. Your so-called imagination comes from a primitive, barbaric time. We on Rampart don’t consort with dreamed-up creatures anymore. We don’t draw pictures in the dirt or spend all day looking at the sky. We’ve already solved all the universe’s mysteries.”
“That’s one way in which we differ,” said Riker.
“Expectation confirmed,” said Crichton.
“Commander,” Troi whispered to Riker. “Could you ask him about the aliens; the Other-worlders?”
The doubt was plain on Riker’s face.
“I’ve had time to observe him. I now suspect he’s hiding information,” Troi continued. “What he’s hiding feels somewhat like the Other-worlders. I want to be sure.”
Riker hesitated for a moment, but the determined look on her face convinced him.
He turned back to the viewscreen.
“Are you aware of aliens in this sector of space?”
Crichton stared back blankly.
“There may be aliens hidden here,” Riker went on, “perhaps in another physical plane or universe. They could be a danger to you. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about them?”
“My headset is filtering out your words.”
“Crichton, this isn’t fiction! This may be important to the welfare of your planet.”
“All right, Riker, I’ll give you a chance. Let’s see if you can be rational.”
Crichton switched off the fiction-filter on his helmet.
Riker repeated his remarks about the Other-worlders.
“Another fiction,” said Crichton, as his nerveless mask-face tried to stretch itself into a grimace. “Science fiction, the worst of all. True science has determined that there is no alien life. Earth is the only planet where life arose. All life you see on Rampart we brought from Earth, because Rampart was a dead stone in space. Humans are alone in the universe. You and your people just can’t face that. Your minds are full of fantasies about aliens, even aliens that serve on your own ship.”
Riker allowed himself a short, ironic laugh. He was standing near a full Klingon security officer and a half-Betazoid counselor.
“Injurious just to talk to you,” Crichton went on, his cadence speeding up, an edge of hysteria becoming audible. “You’re incurable, just like the criminals on Rampart, the Dissenters, with their diseased brains and hoards of deadly fiction. You plan to help their insurgency, don’t you? That’s really why you came here.”
“Not true.”
“So you say, but you’re full of fiction. Just as the Dissenters are full of fiction.”
“This isn’t fiction. This really happened. Maybe my counselor’s own description will convince you,” said Riker, nodding at Troi.
“These aliens appear to invade one’s mind,” said Troi. “They may already know about your personal life, as they already knew about mine. They can take you to other planets—”
“Enough!” Crichton cried. “For God’s sake, stop!” He was visibly traumatized.
As Troi watched Crichton’s blanching mask-face she sensed with great force that her words had rung true for him. He had experienced the Other-worlders, or aliens of some similar kind. It was something he could never admit to, something powerful that permeated the dark fear-substrata of his mind—maybe the cause of his tics and compulsions, his hand-washing and his verbal stampedes. Maybe the key to his personality.
As she watched Crichton and Ferris set controls on the transporter, she turned from the viewscreen to tell Riker what she’d discovered.