Babel-17

by Samuel R. Delany

  He shook his head.

  "That's good. Hell, I wouldn't want somebody prying under my scalp. I think I understand."

  "I tell you now," he said, coming toward her again,

  "I and you are one; but I and you are very different. I have seen a lot you will never know. You know of things that I will never see. You have made me not alone, a little. There is a lot in the brain, my brain, about hurting and running and fighting and, even though I was in Titin, a lot about winning. If you are ever in danger, but a real danger where someone might make a mistake with you, then go into the brain, see what is there. Use whatever you need. I ask you, only, to wait until you have done everything else first."

  "I'll wait. Butcher," she said.

  He held out his hand. "Come."

  She took his hand, avoiding the cock spurs.

  "No need to see the stasis currents about the alien ship if it is friendly to the Alliance. You and I will stay together a while."

  She walked with her shoulder against his arm. “Friend or enemy,'' she said as they passed through the twilight, heavy with ghosts. "This whole Invasion— sometimes it seems so stupid. That's something they don't allow you to think back where I come from. Here on Jebel Tarik you more or less avoid the question. I envy you that."

  "You are going to Administrative Alliance Headquarters because of the Invasion, yes?"

  "That's right. But after I go, don't be surprised if I come back." Steps later she looked up again. "That's another thing I wish I could get straight in my head. The Invaders, killed my parents, and the second embargo almost killed me. Two of my Navigators lost their first wife to the Invaders. Still, Ron could wonder about just how right the War Yards were. Nobody likes the Invasion, but it goes on. It's so big 1 never really thought about trying to get out of it before. It's funny to see a whole bunch of people in their odd, and maybe destructive, way doing just that. Maybe I should simply not bother to go to Headquarters, tell Jebel to turn around and head toward the densest part of the Snap."

  “The Invaders," the Butcher said, almost musingly, “they hurt lots of people, you, me. They hurt me too.''

  "They did?"

  "The brain sick, I told you. Invaders did that."

  "What did they do?"

  The Butcher shrugged. "First thing I remember is escaping from Nueva-nueva York."

  "That's the huge port terminal for the Cancer cluster?"

  "That's right."

  "The Invaders had captured you?"

  He nodded. "And did something. Maybe experiment, maybe torture." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I can't remember. But when I escaped, I escaped with nothing: no memory, voice, words, name."

  “Perhaps you were a prisoner of war, or maybe even somebody important before they captured you—"

  He bent and put his cheek against her lips to stop her talking. When he rose, he smiled, sadly she saw. "There are some things the brain may not know, but it can guess: I was always a thief, a murderer, a criminal. And I was no I. The Invaders caught me once. I escaped. The Alliance caught me later at Titin. I escaped—"

  "You escaped from Titin?"

  He nodded. "I will probably be caught again, because that's what happens to criminals in this universe. And maybe I will escape once more." He shrugged. "Maybe I will not be caught again, though." He looked at her, surprised not at her but at something in himself. "I was no I before, but now there is a reason to stay free. I will not be caught again. There is a reason.''

  "What is it, Butcher?"

  "Because I am," he said softly, "and you are."

  V

  "You finishing u' your dictionary?" Brass asked.

  “Finished yesterday. Poem." She closed the notebook. "We should be at the tip of the Tongue soon. Butcher just told me this morning that the Yiribians have been keeping us company for four days, Brass, do you have any idea what they—''

  Magnified by the loudspeakers, Jebel's voice: "Ready Tarik for immediate defense. Repeat, immediate defense."

  "What the hell is going on now?' Rydra asked. Around them the commons rose in unified activity- "Look, hunt up the crew and get them down to ejection gates."

  "That's where the s'ider-boats leave from?"

  "Right." Rydra stood.

  "We gonna mix it u' some, Ca'tain?"

  "If we have to," Rydra said, and started across the floor.

  She beat the crew by a minute and caught the Butcher at the ejection hatch. Tarik's fighting crew hurried along the corridor in ordered confusion.

  "What's going on? Did the Ciribians get hostile?" He shook his head. "Invaders twelve degrees off galactic center."

  "This close to Administrative Alliance?"

  "Yes. And if JebelTarik doesn't attack first, Tarik's had it. They're bigger than Tarik, and Tarik's going to bump right into them."

  "Jebel's going to attack them?"

  "Yes."

  "Then come on, let's attack."

  "You are going with me?"

  "I'm a master strategist, remember?"

  “Tarik is in danger,'' the Butcher said. “This will be a greater battle than you saw before."

  "The better to use my talents on, my dear. Is your boat equipped to hold a full crew?"

  "Yes. But we use the Navigation and Sensory detail of Tarik by remote control."

  "Let's take a crew, anyway, just in case we want to break strategy in a hurry. Is Jebel riding with you this time?"

  "No."

  Up the hall Slug turned the comer, followed by Brass, the Navigators, the insubstantial figures of the discorporate trio, and the platoon.

  The Butcher looked from them to Rydra. "All right. Come on."

  She kissed his shoulder because she couldn't reach his cheek; the Butcher opened the ejection hatch, and motioned them inside. "Get in, gang!"

  Allegra, as she started up the ladder, caught Rydra's arm. "Are we gonna fight this time. Captain?" There was an excited smile on her freckled face.

  "There's a good chance. Scared?"

  "Yep," Allegra said, still grinning, and scurried into the dark tunnel. Rydra and the Butcher brought up the rear.

  “They won't have any trouble with this equipment if they have to take over from remote control, will they?''

  "This spider-boat is ten feet shorter than the Rimbaud. Things are more cramped in discorporate quarters, but everything else is the same."

  Rydra thought: We've worked the sensory details on a forty-foot one-generator sloop; this is a breeze, Captain—Basque.

  "The captain's cabin is different," he added. "That's where the weapon controls are. We're going to make some mistakes."

  "Moralize later," she said. "We'll fight like hell for Jebel Tarik. But on the chance fighting like hell won't do any good, I want to be able to get out of here. No matter what happens, I've got to get back to Administrative Alliance Headquarters."

  "Jebel wanted to know if the Yiribian ship will fight beside us. They're still hanging T-ward."

  "They'll probably watch the whole business and not understand what's going on, unless they're directly attacked. If they are, they can pretty well take care of themselves. But I doubt they'll join us in an offensive."

  "That's bad," the Butcher said. "Because we'll need help."

  "Strategy Workshop. Strategy Workshop," Jebel's voice came over the speaker. "Repeat, Strategy Workshop."

  Where language charts had hung in her cabin, a viewing screen—replica of the hundred-foot projection in Tarik's gallery—spread over the wall. Where her console had been were ranged and banked assortments of bomb and vibra-blast controls." Gross, uncivilized weapons," she commented as she sat down on one of the curved shock-boards where her bubble seat had been. "But effective as hell, I would imagine, if you know what you're doing."

  "What?" The Butcher strapped himself beside her.

  "I was misquoting the late Weapons Master of Armsedge."

  The Butcher nodded. "You see to your crew. I'll go over the check list up here."

  She s
witched on the intercom. "Brass, you wired in place?''

  "Right."

  "Eye, Ear, Nose?"

  "It's dusty down here. Captain. When's the last time they swept out this graveyard?"

  “I don't care about the dust. Does everything work?''

  '”Oh, everything works all right..." The sentence ended with a ghostly sneeze-

  "Gesundheit. Slug, what's happening?"

  "All in place. Captain." Then muffled: "Will you put those marbles away!"

  "Navigation?"

  "We're fine- Mollya is teaching Calli judo. But I'm right here and'll call them soon as something happens."

  "Keep alert."

  The Butcher bent toward her, stroked her hair, and laughed.

  "I like them too," she told him. "I just hope we don't have to use them. One of them is a traitor who's tried to get me twice now. I'd rather not give him a third chance. Though if I have to, I think I can handle him this time."

  Jebel's voice over the speaker: "Carpenters gather to face thirty-two degrees off galactic center. Hacksaws at the K-ward gate. Ripsaws make ready at the R-ward gate- Crosscut blades ready at T-ward gate."

  The ejectors clicked open. The cabin went black and the view-screen flickered with stars and distant gases. Controls gleamed with red and yellow signal lights along the weapon board. Through the underspeakers the chatter of the crews, back with the Navigation department of Tarik, began.

  This is gonna be a rough one. Can you see her, Jehosaphat?

  She's right in front of me. A big mother.

  I just hope she ain't seen us yet. Keep us cool, Kippi.

  "Drill presses, Handsaws, and Lathes: make sure your components are oiled and your power-lines plugged in."

  "That's us," the Butcher said. His hands leapt in the half-dark among the weapon controls.

  What's the three ping-pong balls in the mosquito netting?

  Jebel says it's a Yiribian ship.

  Long as it's on our side, baby, it's fine with me.

  "Power tools commence operations. Hand tools mark out for finishing work."

  "Zero," the Butcher whispered. Rydra felt the ship jump. The stars began to move. Ten seconds later she saw the snub-snouted Invader rooting toward them.

  "Ugly, isn't it," Rydra said.

  "Tarik looks about the same, only smaller. And when we come home, it will be beautiful. There's no way to enlist the Yiribians' help? Jebel will have to attack the Invader directly at her ports and smash as many as he can, which won't be a lot. Then they'll attack, and if they still outnumber Tarik's spider-boats, and surprise doesn't play heavily on Jebel's side, then that's"—she heard fist strike palm in the darkness— "it."

  “You can't just lob a gross, uncivilized atom bomb at them?"

  "They have deflectors that would explode it in Jebel's hands."

  "I'm glad I brought the crew then. We may have to make a quick exit to Administrative Alliance Headquarters."

  "If they let us," the Butcher said, grimly. "What strategies then to win?"

  "Tell you soon as the attack starts. I have a method, but if I use it too much I pay high." She recalled the illness after the incident with Geoffry Cord.

  While Jebel continued to set up formations, the men chatted with Tarik and the spider-boats slipped ahead in the night.

  It started so fast she nearly missed it. Five hacksaws had slipped within a hundred yards of the Invader. Simultaneously they blasted at the ejector ports, and red beetles scurried the sides of the black hog. It took four and a half seconds for the remaining twenty-seven ejectors to open and shoot their first barrage of cruisers. But Rydra was already thinking in Babel-17.

  Through her distended time sense she saw they did need help. And the articulation of their need was also the answer.

  "Break strategy. Butcher. Follow me with ten ships. My crew is taking over."

  The maddening feeling that her English words took so long on her tongue! The Butcher's request—“Kippi, put hacksaws on tail and leave them there!".—seemed like a tape played at quarter speed- But her crew was already in control of the spider-boat. She hissed their trajectory into the mike.

  Brass flung them at right angles to the tide, and for a moment she saw the hacksaws behind her. Now a hairpin turn and they drove behind the first sheet of Invader cruisers.

  "Warm their behinds!"

  The Butcher's hand hesitated at a weapon. "'Drive them toward Tarik?"

  "The hell I will. Fire, sweetheart!"

  He fired, and the hacksaws followed suit.

  In ten seconds it was clear she was right. Tarik lay R-ward. Ahead were the poached eggs, the mosquito netting, the flimsy, feathery vessel of Yiribia. Yiribia was Alliance, and at least one of the Invaders knew it because he fired at the weird contraption hung up on the sky. Rydra saw the Invader's gun-port cough green fire, but the fire never reached the Yiribians. The Invader cruiser turned into white-hot smoke that blackened and dispersed. Then another cruiser went, then three more, then three more.

  “Out of here. Brass!” and they swung up and away.

  "What was—" the Butcher started.

  "A Yiribian heat ray. But they won't use it unless they' re attacked. Part of the treaty signed at the Court in '47. So we make the Invaders attack. Want to do it again?"

  Brass' voice over the speaker: "We already are, Ca'tain."

  She was thinking in English again, waiting for the nausea to hit, but excitement held it back.

  "Butcher," came from Jebel now, "what are you doing?"

  "It's working, isn't it?"

  "Yes, But you've left a hole in our defenses ten miles across."

  "Tell him we'll plug it up in a minute as soon as we drive the next batch through."

  Jebel must have heard her. "And what do we do for the next sixty seconds, young lady?"

  "Fight like hell." And the next batch of herded cruisers disappeared before the Ciribian heat ray. Then from the underspeakers:

  Hey, Butcher, they're out for you.

  They got the idea you're spearheading this thing.

  Butcher, six on your tail. Shake 'em fast.

  "I can dodge them easy, Ca'tain," Brass called up. "They're all on remote control. I've got more freedom."

  "One more and we can really put the odds on Jebel's side."

  "Jebel outnumbers them already," the Butcher said. "This spider-boat has got to shake those burrs." He called into the mike, "Hacksaws disperse and brake up the cruisers behind."

  Will do. Hold onto your heads, fellows.

  Hey, Butcher, one of them's not giving up.

  Jebel said: "I thank you for my hacksaws back, but there's something following you that may be out for a hand-to-hand."

  Rydra questioned him with a look.

  "Heroes," the Butcher grunted disgustedly. "They'll try to grapple, board, and fight."

  "Not with those kids on this ship' Brass, turn around and ram them, or come close enough to make them think we're crazy."

  "Maybreakacou'leribs. . ."The ship swung and they were flung hard against the straps of the shock-boards.

  A youngster's voice through the intercom. "Wheeeee ..."

  On the view-screen the Invader cruiser swerved to the side.

  "Good chance if they grapple," the Butcher said.

  "They don't know there's a full crew aboard. They

  have no more than two—"

  "Watch out, Ca'tain'"

  The Invader cruiser filled the screen. Clannnggg sang in the bones of the spider-boat.

  The Butcher yanked at the straps of the shock-board and grinned. "Now to fighting hand-to-hand. Where are you going?"

  "With you."

  "You have a vibra-gun?" He tightened the holster on his stomach.

  "Sure do." She pushed aside a panel of her loose blouse. "And this, too. Vanadium wire, six inches. Wicked thing."

  "Come." He slapped the lever on a gravity inductor down to full field.

  "What's that for?"

  They were alread
y in the corridor.

  "To fight in a space suit out there is no good. False gravity field released around both ships will keep a breathable atmosphere to about twenty feet from surface and keep some heat in . . . more or less."

  "What's less?" She swung behind him into the lift.

  "It's about ten degrees below zero out there."

  He had abandoned even his breeches since the evening they had met in Tarik's graveyard. All he wore was the holster. "I guess we won't be out there long enough to need overcoats."

  "I guarantee you, whoever is out there more than a minute will be dead, and not from overexposure." His voice suddenly deepened as they ducked into the hatchway. "If you don't know what you're doing, stay back." Then he bent to brush her cheek with amber hair. "But you know, and I know. We must do it well."

  In the same motion that he raised his head, he released the hatch. Cold came in for them. She didn't feel it. The increased metabolic rate that accompanied Babel-17 wrapped her in a shield of physical indifference. Something went flying overhead. They knew what to do and both did it; they ducked. Whatever it was exploded—the explosion identifying it as grenade that had just missed coming into the hatch—and light bleached the Butcher's face. He leaped and the fading glow slid down his body.

  She followed him, reassured by the slow motion effect of Babel-17. She spun as she jumped. Someone ducked behind the ten foot bulge of an outrigger. She fired at him, the slow motion giving her time to take careful aim. She didn't wait to see if she hit, but kept turning. The Butcher was making for the ten foot wide column of the Invader's grapple.

  Like a triple clawed crab, the enemy boat angled away into the night. K-ward rose the flattened spiral of the home galaxy. Shadows were carbon-paper black on the smooth hulls. From the K-ward side nobody could see her, unless her movement blotted a fugitive star or passed into the direct light of Specelli arm itself.

  She jumped again—at the surface of the Invader cruiser now. For a moment it got much colder. Then she struck, near the grappler base, and rolled to her knees as, below, someone heaved another grenade at the hatch. They hadn't realized she and the Butcher were out yet. Good. She fired. And another hiss sounded from where the Butcher must be.