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The viewscreen displayed the exterior view of the Enterprise as her graceful curves were fractured, torn asunder by the forces of the hellish inferno. The doors to the bridge opened, allowing Scotty and Chekov to rush in, only to witness the horror playing out before them. Together with the rest of the crew, they beheld the destruction of what had been a home for long years, and the death of a man who, if not literally their father, had provided the wisdom of a father in so many ways.

As the sad wreckage slowly drifted out of view, Thelin marched back over to the three remaining members of the Katai crew. He grabbed Maltz roughly by his garments and pulled the Klingon’s face close to his own. “If you so much as twitch a muscle without my command,” the livid Andorian snarled, “I will kill you where you stand.”

Maltz smiled contentedly, appearing relaxed and at peace with himself and with his sense of fulfilled honor. “It is a good day to die,” he said.

“Have it your way,” Thelin hissed, and he flung Maltz to the deck. He pulled out his phaser and, in a merciless instant, blasted the Klingon’s supine form into its component atoms.

The journey back to Earth was a solemn one. Sulu and Chekov quietly set about piloting the ship. Scott threw himself into the work of familiarizing himself with Klingon engineering. David secluded himself in his quarters, and Saavik expressed to McCoy her fears that the young scientist might be on the verge of a complete psychological breakdown. And Thelin mostly sat alone, in a hell of his own making, torturing himself with second guesses about the mission.

The bridge doors opened and Leonard McCoy entered, having just completed a cursory inventory of the Klingon sickbay-and based upon his mood, it seemed clear that he wasn’t exactly pleased with what he had discovered. He approached the tactical station, where Thelin sat silently staring at a technical display. “How you holding up, old friend?”

The Andorian didn’t turn his head. “I suppose you mean to tell me that I need to be rational and control my emotions.”

“Not at all,” McCoy said, easing into the chair next to him. “Grief is an emotion that we all need to work through. But if I know you…and I think I do…you’re beating yourself up over this.”

“Kirk is dead because I couldn’t secure a damn prisoner.”

“No, your prisoner destroyed the Enterprise,” McCoy corrected him. “Kirk died because he’s a gambler, and after beating the odds to save David-which, I might add, wouldn’t have been possible without you-he decided to double down on the only other thing he’s ever loved, which was that ship.”

Thelin recalled the years spent at Kirk’s side as his first officer-the numerous times that they had faced death together, and came through unscathed. “You’re right, of course…but as gamblers go, he was never reckless. With Jim, life was always a series of risks calculated to increase the odds of a better future…for everyone.”

McCoy smiled. “So we shouldn’t question the choices he made today. This is an opportunity for us to celebrate everything he accomplished in life. I think you’ll find that each one of us will look back on this day and remember the lessons he wanted us to learn…even now.”

They continued to maintain radio silence for the duration of the trip. Thelin knew that the time would come when they all must answer to Starfleet for their actions, but for now, headquarters knew only of the improper “borrowing” of the Enterprise by a rogue group of officers. Thelin was not yet prepared to explain the loss of said ship and the death of a respected Starfleet admiral-Kirk’s latest and final indiscretion notwithstanding-even though their arrival in a captured Klingon bird-of-prey would certainly prompt those questions and more.

As they entered the Sol sector and Chekov plotted their approach to the Terran system, their impending return forced Thelin and his crew at least to begin monitoring the subspace transmissions to gauge what kind of a welcome-or lack thereof-they