Behind the Lines

However, they weren't home yet.

Looking at the faces around him, he thought: Kids.  What was Bartok's high command thinking?  Was this the best they had to offer?  They were giving kids brand-new ships (like toys), sending them out to fight their enemies?  Worse still, he had to entrust them with his fate?

Kids.  Youngsters had enthusiasm.  Put 'em in the sandbox, give 'em the toys, and they'd play.  And sure enough, they gave the Khalis a pasting they'd not soon forget (and not for the first time in their mutual history).

But they still had things to learn.  Sitting on a biobed, he glanced at his people.  Reed, Stemple and Thunder met his glances, equally casual.  Thunder was not responding, and Jones had a couple guesses why.  Reed and Stemple got the message.

They hadn't deactivated their complants.  For some reason, Bartokians ignored complants, like they didn't exist.  Didn't they know about miniaturization, the advances in microtech?  They didn't seem to use them, or even to account for them... and thereby missed an unparalleled tactical advantage.

Not that it did the Starfleet crew much good right then.  They were still here.  Hostages.  But that could change.

Maybe they didn't have complants, but they had inertial dampeners.  Possibly good ones: It was difficult to tell from the subtle shifts in the deck whether the Dinaqa was maneuvering for battle, or simply adjusting for drift.  In short, Jones didn't know what was going on out there.

~Commander.~  Jones heard Reed in his head.  ~We need to go.~

~I'm working on it.~  He pressed the tip of his tongue against a cut inside his lower lip, soothing the sting while rubbing his aching chin.  A Khalindarian hit on the Tokyo had knocked him for a loop; his chin had struck his chair on the bridge.  The Bartokian medical kids were competent despite their youth, treating the life-threatening injuries.  That just left the minor stuff, which the Starfleet people could live with.  He could have ordered Thunder to let himself be treated, but he wouldn't disrespect the man.  It was his body.

Reading between the lines, Jones picked up a few details.  This ship's CO, Ringo, seemed to not want direct confrontation with the Starfleet ships.  Not surprisingly, her mom commanded the DeSoto, one of those ships... possibly a factor.  If someone gave you a gun and told you to shoot the woman who gave birth to you... what would you do?  In some alien cultures, that wouldn't elicit so much as batting an eyelash.  In others, it was the ultimate sin.  It depended on the person and the culture.  Bartokians weren't human.  They couldn't be compared on a human scale.  Still, anyone was capable of anything.

Also important was the spin they were trying to put on this, that the Starfleet people weren't prisoners – more like guests.  Beaming them over from the Tokyo bridge module was an altruistic gesture, then.

So why hold them?

Jones tried getting in touch with Starlight.  Kramer was a friend of the (late) captain; he'd be sympathetic to their plight.  Complants worked on subspace transduction, with sophisticated microbatteries.  Concentrated energy, as in shielding, or special hull materials could block or disrupt their signals, but subspace was everywhere.  Given even the smallest opening, a signal would try to get through.  The fact that it hadn't worked yet said the Bartokians had a counter-measure, whether or not they realized it.  But he never stopped trying.  He instructed his complant's microprocessor to set itself to auto, and keep sending.

In the meantime, he decided to try the direct approach.

He slid off the bed – noting the slight reaction among the security troop – as their leader strolled in.  Good God.  She could have been his own kid.

After speaking to the CMO, Ti Klec Ringo (odd name for a Bartokian) said, "Commander...we will speak to the remaining Starfleet vessels as to your return as soon as possible.  If there is anything you require, please inform one of my crew."

Before she could get away, he said, "What's required is for you to send us back."  She looked at him.  "You're a smart girl.  It'd be my guess you want to salvage this situation... while you still can."  They might have ripped up the Venedies Treaty, but there were still conventions on capture and treatment of prisoners – and when they were not prisoners.  It was in their best interests to stay on good terms with the UFP.  "So, thanks for the hospitality.  I'll make sure my superiors know about it.  Now, prove the rest of your good intent.  Send us back."  That was the smart thing to do, in her position.