Frontiers Day---Captain Jack Reacher

Posted on 2023, Tue Dec 19th, @ 9:12am by Vice Admiral Jack Reacher Jr
Edited on on 2025, Fri Sep 5th, @ 7:34pm

1,134 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Frontiers Day
Location: USS Hearldsburg
Timeline: Frontiers Day---April 16, 2401

The USS Healdsburg drifted in orbit above Earth, hull glinting beneath the sun. Captain Jack Reacher’s California-class ship was part of the massive Fleet Formation surrounding Spacedock, a gleaming armada of Starfleet vessels aligned as one. The bridge hummed with tension; consoles glowed, readouts flickered, but every movement of the fleet—the seemingly precise choreography—was no longer Starfleet’s to command. Borg-synchronized Fleet Formation had taken control.

The comm chime blared.

“Spacedock, this is NCC-1701-F, ready for ceremonial departure. Admiral Shelby in command,” came the crisp female voice.

“Copy that, Enterprise. You’re clear for departure. Happy Frontier Day,” replied a male officer from Spacedock as the boatswain’s whistle shrilled.

Reacher observed the formation outside the viewport, dozens of vessels frozen in perfect sync, like blades drawn and poised. His eyes tracked the Odyssey-class Enterprise-F, her hull gleaming white, every detail of her design a tribute to centuries of Starfleet advancement. Then Admiral Elizabeth Shelby’s voice filled the bridge:

“250 years ago today, the Enterprise NX-01, the first warp five-capable vessel to be constructed by human hands, made its maiden voyage. With it, a crew of 83 souls embarked on a journey… one of bravery, perseverance, and sacrifice that would lead to the birth of what we know today as Starfleet.”

Her voice carried through the fleet comms, measured and proud, while Reacher’s crew watched in awe and unease. Then she continued:

“A quarter millennium after the NX-01 took that first vital step, we gather on Frontier Day to take another as we demonstrate our newest advancement: Fleet Formation.”

“USSPulaski, synchronization online.”

“USSMagellan…”

“Synchronistic technology that allows every ship in Starfleet to operate as one. An impenetrable armada. Unity and defense. The ultimate safeguard. In case of the unthinkable—fleetwide incapacitation—this system will protect our crews in our continued exploration of what still remains our final frontier.”

The irony was not lost on Reacher. Fleet-wide control meant no human hand would direct these vessels. Not even the captains themselves.

Suddenly, the comm static spiked. A voice cut through the noise:

“This is Admiral Jean-Luc Picard. I come to you with a warning! Changeling infiltration has left Starfleet vulnerable to our greatest enemy—the Borg!”

Reacher stiffened. “Picard,” he muttered. “It’s real. This is it.”

The bridge erupted into controlled panic. Tactical officer Dax Hallek, scarred and grim, snapped open his console, trying in vain to override helm control. Lieutenant Marcus Joral at the helm pounded his hands, but the ship moved of its own accord, sliding forward in Fleet Formation alongside dozens of others, every vector dictated by unseen hands.

Sensors flared.

“Captain,” Hallek’s voice trembled, “we’re detecting bio-sign anomalies across the fleet. Human, under twenty-five… assimilation is active.”

Reacher’s stomach sank. “Everyone under twenty-five is already gone,” he said flatly, watching the readings. Crew members he’d trained personally, cadets and ensigns, flickered green and convulsed as the Borg signal overwhelmed them. Phaser fire erupted. Sparks showered consoles.

“Red alert! All hands, secure stations!” Reacher bellowed, grabbing his phaser rifle. Around him, over-25 personnel scrambled, trying to save the ship from internal collapse, though the hull itself moved as the Borg dictated.

Corridors became warzones. Security officers were struck down by assimilated shipmates; officers’ eyes glowed sickly green as their voices merged into the collective. Explosions rocked the decks as Borg drones materialized inside the ship, boarding in perfect, calculated efficiency.

“Bridge is compromised,” Ren shouted as she dragged a partially assimilated ensign aside, phaser cutting through a Borg drone mid-advance.

The Healdsburg shuddered under the onslaught, turbolifts screeching as the crew fought a losing battle to reach escape pods. Reacher and Ren hauled wounded personnel toward the shuttlebay, ducking as sparks rained from overhead conduits.

Through the comms, a male voice broke the chaos.

“Can anybody read me? This is Captain Benbassat of the Excelsior, broadcasting on frequency 99 Delta. To all who can hear, we have managed to retake control of our bridge… Hold on. Helm, what’s happening? They’re controlling us remotely. Taking us out of formation. No, no! We’re being directed in front of the fleet. Now we’ve been targeted. Tell my family…”

The transmission cut off in a thunderous explosion.

“Excelsior eliminated. All vessels secure. Fleetwide assimilation complete,” the Borg collective intoned, echoing across the network.

Reacher fired relentlessly, moving through corridors engulfed in fire and panic. Officers tried to override doors, reroute power, but every system remained locked, controlled by the Borg signal. The over-25s were the only resistance left—their tactical and medical officers fighting desperately to save what they could.

In the shuttlebay, two Type-11s roared to life. Crew scrambled aboard, dragging wounded, firing at drones converging on the bay. Reacher personally cranked a shuttle’s torpedo launcher, sending a burst through a hallway of advancing drones, and dove aboard the shuttle as it launched, engines screaming against the vacuum of space.

Even as the Healdsburg shuddered in the orbit of Earth, Reacher’s eyes remained cold, scanning the chaos. Every report from the turbolifts, every phaser discharge, every scream of assimilated or panicked crew—he cataloged it. This was survival, and he would not fail those under his command who were still human.

The bridge lay in ruins, consoles molten, sparks falling from the ceiling. Smoke choked the air, mingling with the scent of ozone and burnt circuitry. Reacher crouched behind a console, rifle raised, breathing hard. Every over-25 officer who could still act joined him, forming a desperate line of resistance.

The viewport framed the full horror outside: Starfleet ships, once proud symbols of humanity, moving as one in perfect Borg synchrony. Explosions tore through hulls. The collective’s voice echoed over every channel: “Eliminate all unassimilated.”

And still, Reacher stood.

He pulled comms from the debris, trying again to hail any surviving Starfleet vessel not yet under Borg control. Silence. Only the collective’s orders.

Finally, Reacher’s voice carried across the bay, steady, ironbound:

“Listen to me. We are all that remains here. We hold the line. We survive, we fight, and we do not let them take one more life than they already have.”

Around him, the remaining officers straightened, gripping phasers, readying shuttles, preparing to battle boarding drones. Smoke curled through the room, sparks rained, and over the broken console, Admiral Shelby’s words still echoed, a ghostly reminder of what was lost to the Fleet Formation:

“In case of the unthinkable… fleetwide incapacitation… this system will protect our crews in our continued exploration of what still remains our final frontier.”

But protection had failed. The Borg controlled all. The Healdsburg was alone, its over-25 crew the last defense in a fleet enslaved.

Reacher’s hand tightened on his rifle. The fight was far from over.

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