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normally impenetrable mass of the asteroid by a monomolecular-wave guide wire, were the only way for people to go into or out of the central core area. The scientific community still had not totally recovered from the destruction of the Memory Alpha cores. Current data from the more established planets had been easily reassembled. Historical data, especially that collected from the innumerable lost probes sent out during the initial haphazard expansion of the Federation, were still being tracked down on a hundred worlds, from antique databanks and collections of actual physically printed materials, for reintegration into the central dataweb. The reconstruction project was years from completion, and librarian technicians such as Romaine feared that some data had been lost forever.
    â€œYes, I can believe it,” Sal answered with a cough. He hated the feeling he got if he was transported while moving. Even talking was enough to make his jaw muscles and lungs feel as if they were full of microscopic feathers.
    He followed Romaine over to the scan panels by the entrance door. The whole transfer room they were in was a transporter pad. If their palm prints didn’t match the patterns stored in the security banks, they’d be automatically transported to a holding cell.
    â€œLook at it from the interface team’s point of view,” Sal continued as the security door slid open. “You’re an outsider. Most of them have been happily tending the Pathfinders for years on Titan, on the Centauri worlds, the HMS Beagle, and wherever else they were stationed. Some of them are the third and fourth generation of their family to interface. And then along comes some hotshot from Starfleet who refuses to have the implant operation that defines their lives. Of course they don’t want you around.”
    Romaine stopped in the tube-shaped tunnel with all its conduits and power guides exposed for easy servicing. Her aquamarine eyes narrowed as she stared at Nensi.
    â€œ ‘Some hotshot from Starfleet’! Is that what you think I am?”
    â€œNo no no,” Nensi said, holding up his hands in defense. “I said look at it from their point of view. That’s what they see.”
    â€œWhat do you see?”
    â€œThat depends. Sometimes I see the eight-year-old troublemaker who never could learn to take enough oxygen along for her ‘strolls’ outside the habitats—” Nensi jumped back as Romaine poked him in the stomach. “And other times I see a brilliant technician who’s probably going to have her father’s old job at Fleet headquarters someday.”
    â€œBetter, Uncle Sal. Much better.” Romaine started back down the tunnel again. Two maintenance workers carrying a modular circuit junction board nodded to Nensi and Romaine as they passed in the tunnel. Strict safeguards against sabotage meant that even associates were not allowed to be beamed down into the central core area. “Provided I don’t get fired from this posting,” Romaine finished after the workers had gone on.
    â€œYou can’t get fired. The Federation has given Starfleet jurisdiction over the Pathfinders. More importantly, the Pathfinders have accepted that jurisdiction. The interface team has to learn to live with that.”
    â€œI couldn’t.”
    â€œYou’ve changed, Mira. Ever since Alpha. And I’m saying this as a coworker, not just as a good friend of your father’s. You have to slow down a bit.”
    Romaine shook her head as they approached the security field at the end of the tunnel. “Ever since Alpha I’ve realized that I’ve been waiting for things to happen all my life, Sal. I’ve been too passive, too compliant. I want to start making things happen, instead.”
    Nensi stood with his closest friend’s daughter before the glowing frame of the invisible security field as the sensors conducted one final identity scan.