A Father’s Command
Posted on 2025, Sun Sep 7th, @ 10:28am by Vice Admiral Jack Reacher Jr & Commodore Mike Ward & Cadet Junior Grade Tess Reacher
2,321 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
Episode 2 "Demons of the Past, Friends of the Future" - USS Halo
Location: Star Base 113
Timeline: Next Day After Family First
The Academy wing of Starbase 113 was quiet, lined with banners of science, engineering, and command disciplines. Reacher entered Commodore Mike Ward’s office, his presence filling the room before he even spoke.
“Admiral Reacher,” Ward said as he stood, posture precise. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Reacher nodded, taking the seat across from the desk. “You said this was about Tess.”
Ward folded his hands neatly atop a datapad. “Yes, sir. She’s progressing well in the Science Cadet program. In fact, her instructors note she has a natural curiosity, a drive to push boundaries—qualities that are… both admirable and sometimes concerning.”
Reacher raised an eyebrow. “Concerning?”
Ward exhaled. “Cadet Tess has no clear origin records. No official history before arriving here. That wouldn’t matter as much in other fields, but in the Science Division, cadets are sometimes exposed to sensitive material—xenobiology, stellar cartography, even classified research projects. Without a verifiable background, it raises questions of trust.”
Reacher leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. “Tess isn’t some unknown factor, Commodore. She’s my daughter. She’s part of this family, and she’s chosen to be here. If trust is earned, she’s already doing it.”
Ward nodded carefully. “Her professors agree she has potential. She’s already ahead in exoarchaeology, and her scores in advanced physics are exceptional. But her approach to science is… unconventional. She challenges assumptions, argues with Vulcan methodology, and mixes human intuition with Romulan instinct. It unsettles some instructors.”
Reacher allowed a faint smile. “That sounds exactly like Tess. She doesn’t fit into neat boxes. She never has. But that’s why she’ll excel. Starfleet doesn’t need cadets who only recite; it needs cadets who question.”
Ward studied him, then inclined his head. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll continue to monitor her progress closely, and I’ll encourage the faculty to view her strengths as assets, not liabilities. But I wanted you to be aware—there will be whispers. And scrutiny.”
Reacher stood, his presence firm but steady. “Let them whisper. Tess doesn’t need to prove herself to them—she’ll prove herself through her work. And if anyone doubts where her loyalty lies, they can speak to me directly.”
Ward rose as well, bowing his head slightly. “Very good, sir. Thank you for your time.”
Reacher gave a final nod. “Thank you for looking out for her, Commodore. Just remember—she’s not just a cadet. She’s a Reacher.”
With that, he left the office, leaving Ward to contemplate both the risks and promise of a cadet who was anything but ordinary.
The Academy mess hall buzzed with the rhythm of midday: trays sliding across counters, cadets arguing cheerfully about exams, utensils clinking against plates, the background hum of replicators keeping pace with demand. Near the wide viewport, Tess sat alone at a small table, her fork slowly chasing a few grains of Vulcan salad around her tray. She liked this corner because it was quieter, out of the way. Today, though, even this spot couldn’t soften the weight of stares she sometimes caught when other cadets thought she wasn’t looking.
She sighed, debating whether to just bolt for the holodeck instead.
The doors hissed open.
A voice rang out before anyone could blink.
“ADMIRAL ON DECK!”
The shout came from a nervous third-year cadet carrying a tray of soup, his eyes wide as he froze halfway through the door.
The effect was immediate and absolute. Chairs screeched against the floor as every cadet in the hall leapt to their feet. Trays clattered back onto tables. Utensils were abandoned midair. Dozens of bodies snapped to rigid attention, some with a sharp salute, others frozen with wide eyes. Even the officers posted at the corners stiffened. Behind the serving line, two civilian galley workers traded panicked looks, then awkwardly straightened as if their spines had been pulled tight.
The entire room went silent.
Vice Admiral Jack Reacher stood framed in the doorway, pips gleaming, expression calm but faintly amused. He scanned the room once, taking in the ridiculous display. A soft exhale — not quite a laugh — escaped him.
“As you were,” he said, voice carrying like a drill instructor across the hall.
The cadets hesitated, then dropped back into their seats in unison, the noise of trays and chairs returning—but the chatter didn’t. Conversations died on tongues. Instead, whispers passed nervously, eyes flicked toward him and then away just as quickly.
Tess’s blood ran cold. She gripped her fork tight. Oh no. Oh no no no.
Reacher crossed the room without hurry, his boots sounding like echoes in the tense silence. He grabbed a tray, ordered a simple bowl of stew and bread from the replicator, then carried it like a man who had done this a thousand times. But every step he took, heads followed, cadets sitting a little straighter, officers adjusting uniforms, civilians pretending desperately to be invisible.
And then he turned toward Tess’s corner.
Her fork froze midair. “You wouldn’t dare…” she muttered under her breath.
He sat down across from her with all the casual grace of a man at his family's kitchen table. “Afternoon, Tess. Mind if I join you?”
She gawked at him. “…Dad, you just turned the entire mess hall into a parade ground.”
“Mm.” He scooped stew with his spoon and blew across it, utterly unbothered. “They’ll survive.”
“You don’t understand—they’re all staring at us!” she whispered furiously.
“They’re staring at me,” he corrected smoothly, chewing like nothing was out of place. “You’re just in the blast radius.”
Tess groaned, dropping her head into her hands. From the corner of her eye, she caught cadets at the nearest table elbowing each other, whispering frantically. One of them mouthed, “That’s his kid?” Another muttered something about mixed heritage.
Her chest tightened.
Reacher’s voice cut across the nearest tables, calm but firm: “Cadets. Eat your lunch. You’ll need your strength if you expect to pass next week’s exams.”
The entire table chorused, “Yes, sir!” almost on instinct. Forks and spoons resumed moving, though their eyes kept darting back at Tess.
She hissed at him. “…You love this, don’t you?”
His mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Just a little.”
For a moment, Tess almost laughed despite herself. But the whispers at the edges of the room pulled her smile away again. She stabbed at her salad and muttered, “They think I don’t belong here.”
Reacher set down his spoon, meeting her eyes with a steadiness that cut through the noise. His voice carried—not raised, but clear enough that cadets at three tables over heard every word.
“You belong here,” he said simply. “You earned your place. Don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise.”
Silence rippled outward. A handful of cadets shifted uncomfortably, looking down at their trays. Others glanced between Tess and the Admiral with wide eyes, like they had just witnessed something more important than a lecture.
Tess blinked, caught between embarrassment and relief. “That’s… all you told Commodore Ward, isn’t it?” she asked softly.
Reacher leaned back in his chair. “That you’re my daughter,” he confirmed without hesitation. “That’s all anyone needs to know.”
Her throat tightened, but she managed a smile, small and real this time.
The room’s tension slowly cracked. Conversations picked back up in cautious tones. Someone laughed at another table. The hum of the mess hall returned, though cadets still stole glances, whispering not about what Tess was—but about the surreal experience of sharing lunch with the Beta Quadrant Flag Officer.
For the first time in weeks, Tess didn’t feel like she was sitting alone.
The reader broke a piece of bread, passed half across the table. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength, too.”
She rolled her eyes, but for once, didn’t argue.
Lunch was over, the mess hall finally loosening back into its normal rhythm after the Admiral’s departure. Tess had gone off to her next class, still blushing from the spectacle, while Reacher strolled the wide, brightly lit corridor that circled the Academy wing.
His presence was like gravity—cadets stepped aside instinctively, some saluting, others pretending not to stare but failing miserably. He acknowledged none of it, his expression calm, measured, almost practiced.
He rounded a corner and nearly walked straight into Commodore Mike Ward.
“Admiral,” Ward said quickly, halting mid-step. He straightened reflexively, datapad clutched in one hand. His voice carried both respect and the faint tension of a man caught off guard. “Didn’t expect to see you here today.”
Reacher gave a small nod. “Had lunch with my daughter.” His tone was even, but there was an edge of amusement in his eyes. “It seems that wasn’t exactly… low-profile.”
Ward exhaled through his nose, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “Word travels fast in a place like this. Half the mess hall has already spread the story. From what I hear, one cadet nearly dropped his tray when you walked in.”
Reacher smirked faintly. “He’ll survive.”
They fell into step together, walking side by side through the corridor. Cadets passing them scrambled to get out of the way, some pressing flat to the walls, others whispering the moment the Admiral was out of earshot.
Ward cleared his throat after a beat. “If I’m being honest, sir… I wasn’t sure what to expect when you requested that Tess be placed here. There were… questions, given her background. A heritage like hers isn’t exactly common among cadets.”
Reacher glanced at him, his stride never breaking. “And by questions, you mean doubts.”
Ward’s lips pressed thin. “Caution. No doubt. You know how some of the faculty can be—rigid, traditional. Vulcan precision, human structure, Romulan reputation…” He trailed off, choosing his words carefully. “That combination unsettles people.”
Reacher stopped mid-corridor, turning to face him fully. His voice was quiet but carried weight. “She’s my daughter. That’s all anyone here needs to know. Whatever bloodline she carries doesn’t change the fact that she’s smart, disciplined, and driven. She’s more than capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with anyone in this program.”
Ward studied him for a moment, then resumed walking. Reacher fell back into step.
“I don’t disagree,” Ward admitted. “She’s sharp. Resourceful. But she’s young, Admiral. She carries herself with… pressure I don’t see in other cadets. Like she’s trying to prove she belongs every second she’s awake.”
“That’s because she is,” Reacher replied bluntly. “And I’d rather she try too hard than coast on a name. She knows who she is. She knows where she comes from. But she also knows she doesn’t have to be defined by it. That’s the balance she’s learning.”
Ward nodded slowly, thoughtful. “I’ll say this much—after today’s lunch, no cadet is going to question whether she belongs. Not openly, anyway.”
Reacher’s smirk returned. “Good. Let them remember what they saw. Let them remember I said she belongs here.”
They passed through a junction where a group of cadets had gathered. At the sight of the two senior officers, the cadets snapped to the side of the corridor like soldiers under inspection. Reacher gave a small nod, nothing more, but his presence alone froze the group until he and Ward passed.
When they were clear, Ward chuckled under his breath. “You realize you could drop by once a week and keep discipline across the entire Academy just by walking through the halls?”
“Not my job,” Reacher said simply. “Besides, I’d rather they learn to stand on their own, not because they’re afraid of me breathing down their necks.”
Ward tilted his head, eyeing him. “And Tess? She didn’t look thrilled to be the center of attention.”
Reacher’s expression softened slightly, a rare crack in the steel. “She’ll forgive me eventually. Embarrassment fades. Knowing your father has your back… that sticks.”
They walked in silence for a stretch, the sound of boots against polished deck plating echoing.
Finally, Ward said quietly, “You know, Admiral, I can’t decide if Tess is lucky or unlucky having you as her father.”
Reacher shot him a sideways look. “How’s that?”
“She’ll always have your protection,” Ward said. “But it also means she’ll have to fight twice as hard to prove she didn’t coast on your shadow. Cadets already whisper about legacy families, patronage, and favoritism. Tess doesn’t strike me as the type who’ll tolerate that quietly.”
Reacher nodded once, firm. “She won’t. And that’s why she’ll succeed. Because she’ll prove herself on her own terms. My name may open a door, but it’s up to her to walk through it.”
Ward considered this, then gave a short nod. “Understood. For what it’s worth, sir, I’ll make sure the faculty sees her work for what it is. No more, no less.”
Reacher’s gaze softened, though his tone stayed steady. “That’s all I ask.”
They reached a cross-corridor, Ward pausing before heading toward the faculty offices. “Admiral.” He inclined his head respectfully. “Your daughter’s a good cadet. She’ll do fine here.”
Reacher gave him a long look, then simply said, “I know.”
And with that, the Vice Admiral of the Beta Quadrant turned and continued down the corridor, boots echoing as cadets once again scrambled out of his way.
Ward watched him go for a moment, shaking his head with a faint smile. “No wonder the mess hall froze,” he muttered.
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