Arm of the Sphinx (The Books of Babel, #2)

by Josiah Bancroft

For the first time, it occurred to him that the Sphinx might be utterly mad. If not mad, then at least obsessed. And Senlin had signed a contract with him. He had rejected Marat’s hopeless crusade only to join a man who was jousting with the stars. “If you remember nothing else of what I say, remember this: when humanity ceases to aspire, it begins to decline. Do you know why the status quo is so tyrannical and nauseating? Because it does not exist! There is no stasis in the world, and certainly not where humans are involved. The status quo is just a pleasing synonym for decay. You’ve seen what the Tower inspires: cruelty, apathy, casual violence, self-destruction, and empty gratification. Those are the fruits of the Tower.” Senlin rubbed the furrow in his brow. “I won’t argue with that characterization.” “You cannot. It was not meant to be a tower, a stratum of senseless competition and oppression, a structure that requires war to renew it like a forest needs fire to prosper. What a barbaric thing! The Brick Layer aspired to better. He knew harmony was not a symptom of plenty, or political climate, or even that crushing stalemate your kings call ‘peace.’ Harmony is the result of purpose. So the bridge was imagined, and construction begun.”