Falling Out of Erebus

Marie knew that she was going to die.

The fact didn't bother her; quite the contrary. Although she had not sought deathsuch a thing was disrespectful to Gran Met, to her thinkingit would not be unwelcome, either. Life had little meaning for her since Adrien and RČunion had passed into the Baron Samedi's keeping. Following them would almost come as a welcome relief, an end to five years of relentless grief.

Her fellow pilots didn't seem to agree, however; she could hear the nervous murmur in their voices while they awaited the captain. Their words echoed off the cold metal walls of the small room, which normally served as the ship's mess. But on the Siren's Kiss, there were very few rooms that didn't do double duty. The Siren was a warship, not a cruise liner, and every cubic meter that didn't go to some other purpose was another one that could be packed with ordinance, fighters, or shielding.

After five years of war, the ship was starting to show the hard use it had been put to. Rust flecked the gray-green walls, and countless boots had scuffed the decking. The smell of sweat and oil was omnipresent despite the best that the filters could do. Compared to the sleek, spotless ships of the Protectorate, the Siren looked like a joke.

But if she was a joke, then the Protectorate would find the punch line bitter indeed.

Captain Arnaud LČon finally entered the room, a harried expression on his face. His waist-length dreads had been pulled back in a ponytail that swung wildly from side to side as he walked. When he reached the front of the room, he turned and surveyed the pilots, all of whom had snapped to attention.

"At ease."

They relaxed only slightly, every eye fixed on his face. LČon surveyed them in silence for a moment, as if taking their measure.

"I don't have to tell you how bad the odds are," he said without preamble. "Everyone has seen the aftereffects of the Furies' strikes. They don't know pain, or fear, or doubt, and that gives them an edge. But they also don't know honor, or courage, or friendshipand those are the very things that make us strong.

"The Furies may be fast and heavily armed, but we outnumber them ten to one. The entire Allied armada is in this together. Liberte and Boukman's Children do not stand alone todaywe stand with all of civilized humanity."

LČon kept talking, but Marie tuned him out after that. Nothing he said was of any importance to her. His pretty words about how the other colonies had fallen in behind Boukman's Children didn't change the fact that no one had been there to help when the Protectorate had first come calling.

When he finished his inspirational speech, LČon left, probably on his way to a sleepless night spent conferring with the other captains. Most of the pilots departed on his heels, determined to get some sleep before combat tomorrow. Marie started after them, then slowed when she noticed that a lone man had remained behind.

Jean-Jacques was the youngest pilot aboard the Siren. He was a beautiful boy, despite the fact that he kept his hair shaved close to the scalp to better fit into his helmet. Tonight, however, there was fear in his dark eyes, and his hands trembled as he pulled out a rosary.

"You've seen a lot of combat, haven't you, Marie?" he asked eagerly when he saw her.