Holden pulled himself down the lift shaft hand over hand. A new crew coming onto his Rocinante. It was the obvious thing, of course. It had always been the plan, but now the prospect filled him with dread. Unfamiliar faces at the controls and in the crew quarters. Voices in the ship that weren’t the ones he’d gotten used to in the years since the Donnager. Even when they’d been carrying passengers, his crew had been at the heart of the ship. This was something else, and he didn’t like it.

He stopped at the med bay on the way to his quarters. Sober, the symbolic implications of a new temporary crew for the trip to Luna didn’t seem quite as ominous, but the thought stayed at the back of his mind: without Naomi – without all his crew – the Rocinante wasn’t going to be what she had been. When he checked his hand terminal, the only messages were from Fred. Alex’s silence didn’t help.

The transport tube’s connection to the airlock was a gentle thump, like Tycho Station clearing its throat. Holden was at the airlock to let them in. Eight people – six Belters, and two who looked like they’d come from Earth, all wearing Tycho Station flight suits and hauling small personal kits – floated into the space among the lockers. Drummer was with them, wearing her security uniform.

“Captain Holden?” Drummer said. “I’d like to introduce Captain Foster Sales and his crew.”

The man who floated up, arms braced, looked too young to be a captain. Close-cropped black hair transitioned into a glossy beard that tried and failed to lend the boyish features some gravitas. He was introduced to the others – pilots Arnold Mfume and Chava Lombaugh, engineers Sandra Ip and Zach Kazantzakis, weapons technicians Gor Droga and Sun-yi Steinberg, communications specialist Maura Patel. By the end of the little ceremony, Holden was pretty sure he’d already forgotten all of their names.

Drummer seemed to read his unease, because when the crew broke to their stations, she lingered and drew him aside. “They’re good people, Captain. I vetted all of them myself. None of them are the bad guys.”

“Yeah,” Holden said. “That’s good.”

Her smile was weirdly gentle. “It’s weird for me too.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“On my watch, they broke into the station, stole the fucking protomolecule. They tried to kill the boss. I’m spending all day projecting an attitude of calm and control, and come sleep shift, I’m grinding my teeth and staring at the wall. Now the old man’s leaving? Honest to God, I’m shitting bricks here.”

Holden blew out a long breath. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime, sir. Everyone you meet’s fighting a hard battle.”