Jim doesn't really understand what's happening. He can't—it's beyond what a six year old can process and in such a short amount of time too—so Chris figures, as the shuttle lands in San Francisco, that they are both in for some rough days.

For the moment, however, Jim is quiet and contemplative, clinging to Chris as they disembark; his eyes widen as he takes in the sight of the docks and the skyscrapers beyond. This is a much difference place than Riverside, where the largest and tallest buildings resided in the shipyard and much everything else was one or two floor farmhouses set some distances from each other on wide, flat plains. The sheer number of people here is larger too, the bustle of this particular depot normal for San Francisco at rush hour as commuters make their way home or make their way to late shifts.

"Okay, Jim?"

"Yeah," he answers without taking his eyes from the bright glint of the tallest building in the distance. "What's that?"

It takes Chris a minute to figure out where Jim is pointing, then says, "Starfleet Headquarters."

"Are there ships there?"

"Little ones. For air defense."

"Oh." Jim nods as if he understands, but Chris genuinely doubts that: Jim's reading material has been mostly history books, mathematical texts, and warp drive schematics. Whether or not he can grasp it all, Chris doesn't know, but it holds the boy's interest and that alone assures him that Jim actually does enjoy his schoolwork despite what the teachers had reported.

Lack of comprehension, his ass. He knows what the missing assignments mean now and it has nothing to do with an inability to make sense of the work.

"Chris!" someone yells, forcing his attention away from the darker thoughts and back to the problem at hand. With half a city to cross before reaching his assigned apartment in Officer Housing, they would need transport which he had not arranged before boarding, but from the looks of it, Archer had.

Richard Barnett stood in the distance, eyeing Jim with some concern; Chris knows that few people outside of the Admiralty are aware of the situation right now, but if Richard's here, he must have had some notice. After all, the car at the man's back does appear to have a booster seat jammed into the rear seat.

Chris lets out a breath and begins walking toward his friend, the suitcase clutched in one hand and his duffel slung across his back. Jim clung to his shoulder, legs wrapped tightly around Chris' waist, and he's clearly less than pleased with this new person who's staring quite intently at them. (Chris tells him, "It's okay, Jim. He's a friend," but it does little to ease the tension from the boy.)

"Well, this is... insane," Richard announces once Chris is near enough.

"It was me or the state."

"You've always been a sucker for the Morals."

The Morals, the unwritten code of the Academy and Starfleet. The code that includes Starfleet taking care of its own, and the code that Chris adheres to as rigidly as he does the Prime Directive.

"You would have done the same thing and don't even argue that you wouldn't have—I've met your sister." Chris politely doesn't elaborate on the fact that Rich had been the one to raise his baby sister while his miscreant father served time in multiple jails across the Chicago area and his mother was institutionalized. They'd been sent to foster homes and group homes and family members until he'd turned 18 and taken over custody of Sarah, so no, Richard Barnett would not have been able to stand idly by while a child slipped through the cracks if he'd had the chance to stop it.

"Yeah, well..." Rich holds out a hand to Jim, "Hello."

Jim instantly looks to Chris for approval and with a smile, he's told, "This jerk is my friend Richard, Jim. You can say hello," but Jim turns his face into Chris's neck and jams himself tighter to the dark fabric of Chris's sweater. He trembles slightly and though Chris feels unsure about Jim's reaction, Rich just shrugs it off and takes the bags from his friend.

"Let's get you home."