She’d been at Serenity, getting refitted, when the call had come. Lawrence Dimenna, the director of Renaissance Station, the same Dimenna who’d insisted just two months ago that Proteus was perfectly safe, as dependable as the sun, who’d argued to keep the place going against the advice of some of the top people at the Academy, was now asking for insurance. So let’s send old Hutchins over to sit on the volcano.

And here she was. With instructions to stand by and hold Dimenna’s hand and if there’s a problem, see that everyone gets off. But there shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, they’re the experts on protostars and they say everything’s fine. Just taking a precaution.

She’d checked the roster. There were thirty-three crew, staff, and working researchers, including three graduate students.

Accommodations on the Wildside would be a bit tight if they had to run. The ship was designed for thirty-one plus the pilot, but they could double up in a couple of the compartments and there were extra couches around that could be pressed into service during acceleration and jump phases.

It was a temporary assignment, until the Academy could get the Lochran out from Earth. The Lochran was being—armored, really—to better withstand conditions here and would replace her as the permanent escape vessel within a few weeks.

“Hutch,” said Bill. “We have incoming. From Renaissance.”

She was on the bridge, which was where she spent most of her time when riding an otherwise empty ship. “Patch them through,” she said. “About time we got acquainted.”

It was a pleasant surprise. She found herself looking at a gorgeous young technician with chestnut hair, luminous eyes, and a smile that lit up when there’d been time for the signal to pass back and forth and he got a look at her. He wore a white form-fitting shirt and Hutch had to smother a sigh. Damn. She’d been alone too long.

“Hello, Wildside,” he said, “welcome to Proteus.”