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

by Josiah Bancroft

Senlin stamped the deck with his aerorod. His sometimes map, sometimes club rang like a gavel. Everyone startled at the noise. “Where is my crew?” he said, searching their eyes that turned and shied and blinked. “Where are the brave souls who once drove off the Ararat without a ship or a single cannon to assist them? Where is that audacious gang who shrugged off their masters and reclaimed their right to pursue their will and whim? This company of mercenaries we face today fight for nothing. They stand for a wage. They stand for ambition, for promotion, for medals on their breast. They fight for a man who commands no respect, a man who must wear a mask because he is allergic to the world. He hides because he is afraid—afraid of us, and well he should be! We fight to be free, and we war for one another. Our friendship makes us dangerous; we take courage in our fidelity. So, I ask again: Where is my crew? Where is my crew?”