"They’ve not done that," Johannes said. "How many of the other Terpsichoria passengers have you seen? How many of the crew? Don’t you remember the interviews, the questions, when we first arrived? They were tests," he said gently. "They were estimating who was safe, and who not. If they think you’re too troublesome, or too… tied to New Crobuzon…" His voice petered away.

"Then what?" demanded Bellis. "Like the captain…?"

"No no no," said Johannes quickly. "I think that they… work on you. Try to persuade you. I mean, you know about press-ganging. There are plenty of sailors in the New Crobuzon navy who were doing nothing more nautical than carousing in a tavern the night they were ‘recruited.’ It doesn’t stop most of them working as sailors once they’re taken."

"For a while," said Bellis.

"Yes. I’m not saying it’s exactly the same. That’s the big difference: once you join Armada you don’t… leave."

"I’ve been told that a thousand times," Bellis said slowly. "But what about Armada’s fleet? What about the cray underneath? You think they can’t get away? Anyway, if that were true, if people never did have a chance to leave, no one but the city-born would be prepared to live here."

"Obviously," Johannes said. "The city’s freebooters are on sail for months, maybe years at a time till they make their way back to Armada. And they’ll dock at other ports during those journeys, and I’m sure some of their crew must have disappeared. There must be ex-Armadans scattered here and there.

"But the fact is, those crews are chosen: partly for their loyalty, and partly for the fact that if they do run, it won’t matter. They’re almost all city-born, for a start: it’s a rare press-ganged who’s given a letter of pass. The likes of you and me, we couldn’t hope to get on a vessel like that. Armada is where most of us press-ganged’ll see things out.

"But dammit, think who gets taken, Bellis. Some sailors, sure, some ‘rival’ pirates, a few merchants. But the ships the Armadans encounter-you think they all get taken? Most of the press-ganged vessels are… well, ships like the Terpsichoria. Slavers. Or colony ships full of transported Remade. Or jail ships. Or ships carrying prisoners of war.

"Most of the Remade on the Terpsichoria realized long ago that they’d never be going home. Twenty years, my eye-it’s a life sentence, and a death sentence, and they know it. And here they are now, with work and money and respect… Is it any wonder they accept it? As far as I know there are only seven Remade from the Terpsichoria being treated for rejection, and two of those already suffer dementia."

And how the fuck, wondered Bellis, how in the name of Jabber do you know that?

"What about the likes of you and me?" Johannes continued. "All of us… we already knew we’d be away from home-away from New Crobuzon-for five years at the very, very least, and probably more. Look at the motley group we were. I’d say very few of the other passengers had unbreakable ties with the city. People arriving here are unsettled, sure; and surprised, confused, alarmed. But not destroyed. Isn’t it a ‘new life’ that they promise Nova Esperium colonists? Wasn’t that what most of us sought?"