Captain James T. Kirk stared unblinking at the monstrosity that loomed before him, feeling strange in its shadow. The London Archive Building stood in a state of half destruction and half construction as the new structure clinged to the charred remains of the old. Something poetic in that probably, he thought with a slightly bemused smirk. A phoenix rising, and all that jazz. But as Kirk neared the half built, half demolished tower, he couldn't feel less like a poet. This place had been ground zero, less than a year ago, and evidence of the ruthless attack still remained, in the scorched metal, in the scattering of vigils left for victims that could never leave, and in the shrill cries that haunted the somber air. With Khan still free, lurking in the shadows, and the threat of future attacks scratching in Kirk's mind, getting under his skin, he could hardly consider Starfleet as ascending from the ashes. More like burning, just to burn again.
"Jim, wait, I don't understand! How exactly