Carol slowed so that her footsteps would be little more than muffled thuds. She was glad that she'd chosen to wear soft-soled shoes to the service. For some unbeknownst reason, she had a gut feeling that she shouldn't alert Jim to her presence. Stopping at the beginning of the outdoor corridor she'd watched him walk into, she positioned herself horizontally against the opening and tilted her head slightly inwards so that she could see and hear everything in the corridor without anyone inside being able to see little more than a sliver of her – enough to give the individual an nagging feeling from a sixth sense but probably not enough to cause them to act upon those instincts. She slouched herself casually against the width of the wall so that she would be appear to be talking to Jim from he father's position in the crowd.

She watched as the teenager abruptly spun and kicked the wall as hard as he could muster, wincing at the force he had used. Carol raised her eyebrow at his violent behavior. It seemed as if her were venting out frustration or anger, she wondered what had caused such feelings.

Unknown to Jim, but completely clear to Carol, a teenager boy rounded the corner and stopped when he caught sight of Jim. His eyes widened in guilty shock and he seemed to be about to perform a hasty retreat but something stopped him.

'J.T?' he asked.

Carol's eyes widened in surprise as Jim quickly wheeled around. She had heard that name before on the news feeds… J.T was one of the survivors from Tarsus IV who was responsible for the safety of a group of kids. The events of Tarsus IV were months old but she still remembered the horror of them clearly enough. If Jim really was the child hero than it would explain his withdrawn personality.

She listened intently, confident that her patience would reveal Jim's true self to her.

Twisting around, Jim instinctively reached for the knife he kept in his boot since the Tarsus IV massacre but froze when he caught sight of the speaker.

'Tyker?' he blurted out.

Tyker took a few steps closer, squinting as he scrutinized Jim.

'Yeah I thought it was you,' he said, 'got yourself some nice dregs, did you?' he pointed at Jim's clothes, 'Where'd you get them from?'

'A friend,' Jim replied flatly, 'you don't look too bad yourself'.

Conversely, Tyker looked like a homeless, repeat offender – which, in hindsight was actually a great improvement from his appearance on Tarsus IV. So, in fact, Jim's snarky comment was closer to the truth than others may have suspected.

Tyker scoffed.

'A friend,' he repeated scornfully, 'you were always worst than the rest of us when it came to trust; how the hell'd you make a friend?' he muttered more to himself than Jim.

By 'us', Tyker meant the rest of the survivors in the hospital ward. Jim had treated Tyker as he had treated everyone else and even now he still had no desire to make friends with the unstable teenager.

'What're you doing here?' Jim demanded.

Tyker chortled sarcastically.

'Oh, Jimmy boy I think the answer to that question is something you must tell me'.

Jim opened his mouth to speak but Tyker beat him to it.

'You're not the only sad-ass that Tarsus changed. Everyone from that planet is just as experienced as you when it comes to survival, Jim. All it took was a bit of 'blending into the crowd' to find out your name. You know – the one you refused to give to the medics. I wonder how much the reporters would pay me if I let slip your real name. And lucky for me, good old J.T is famous enough to give me a decent haul of leverage against you my friend'.

He spat out the last word and drew a pocketknife from his pants. Some of the Tarsus survivors had grown accustomed to keeping a weapon on themselves at all time and it was a hard habit to break.

Tyker kept his hand by his side but the knife it held was an obvious threat. Jim drilled his gaze into Tyker's eyes but kept the weapon in his peripheral vision. Tyker covered the rest of the distance between himself and Jim, sticking his face up to Jim's.

'Now – what the hell are you doing here?' he growled.

'Paying my respects for the dead,' Jim replied with equal malice.

Tyker's mouth quirked upwards in a sinister smile at Jim's defiance but his face quickly returned to its deadly expression.

'What ever happened to make you think that Starfleet's corpses are worth your pity? Those bastards screw with your mind, did they? Or did you forget their incompetence when my father was murdered?'

Jim shoved Tyker roughly and the teenager stumbled back a few steps.

'My father is one of the dead,' he snarled, 'surely even you can understand why he would deserve my pity. Don't you dare accuse me of my feelings towards Starfleet! I came to pay my respects to my father, not them! Starfleet is the reason my dad is dead'.

Jim locked his eyes onto Tyker's and dared him to contradict him. He expected a verbal assault from Tyker – a physical attack maybe – and welcomed it with open arms. It had been too long since he'd had a fight and it would be good to let out his pent up anger on someone.

To his surprise however, Tyker didn't fight him. Instead, he chuckled – this time with genuine amusement.

'You convince me, J.T – I guess you haven't succumbed to Starfleet after all,' he nodded his head thoughtfully.

Tyker flipped his blade shut and pocketed it.

'Tell you what, I'll let you know why I'm here' he said in a reasonable tone.

'I don't care anymore,' Jim said.

He turned to walk back to the memorial service.

Eight metres away, Carol Marcus breathed in sharply as she noticed Jim turn. His body language suggested that he would be walking out of the corridor and towards where Carol hid. In seconds, he would spot her and accuse her of eavesdropping. After all she had witnessed and learnt about him, she didn't fancy being on the receiving end of his anger. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to retreat but she needed not for Tyker grabbed Jim by his arm and stopped him from taking a step closer. She breathed out silently in relief and stayed where she was to listen to their conversation.

Jim twisted his head sharply and immediately tugged his arm free from Tyker's grasp.

'Don't touch me,' he snarled.

The teenager must have seen the dangerous gleam in Jim's eye for he let his arm go.

'You'll want to know, why I'm here,' Tyker promised.

Jim stood for a few seconds in indecision as he contemplated Tyker's words. There was little these days that Jim could possibly want to know. Normally, he'd find out himself by his own means. Unless, of course, if you didn't count the location of his kids. But he'd gotten a job at a hardware shop so he'd soon be able to get his hands on the right equipment to hack his way into Starfleet's database.

'What could you possibly know that would interest me?' he rolled his eyes to prove his disbelief.

Tyker grinned.

'A plan to attack Starfleet. To hurt them, like they hurt us – a plan of retribution,' he smirked.

Jim narrowed his eyes.

'How?' he asked.

Tyker's mouth twisted into a cruel, heartless smile.

'Murder,' he leered.