Babel-17

by Samuel R. Delany

Something else was happening in her Oriental face, and he strained to catch it. “Yes?” “—Babel-17.” “The language?” “Yes. You know what I used to call my ‘knack’?” “You mean you suddenly understood the language?” “Well, General Forester had just told me what I had was not a monologue, but a dialogue, which I hadn’t known before. That fitted in with some other things I had in the back of my mind. I realized I could tell where the voices changed myself. And then—” “Do you understand it?” “I understand some of it better than I did this afternoon. There’s something about the language itself that scares me even more than General Forester.” Puzzlement fixed itself to T’mwarba’s face. “About the language itself?” She nodded. “What?” The muscle in her cheek jumped again. “For one thing, I think I know where the next accident is going to be.” “Accident?” “Yes. The next sabotage that the Invaders are planning, if it is the Invaders, which I’m not sure of. But the language itself—it’s…it’s strange.” “How?” “Small,” she said. “Tight. Close together—That doesn’t mean anything to you, does it? In a language, I mean?” “Compactness?” asked Dr. T’mwarba. “I would think it’s a good quality in a spoken language.” “Yes,” and the sibilant became a breath. “Mocky, I am scared!” “Why?” “Because I’m going to try to do something, and I don’t know if I can or not.” “If it’s worth trying, you should be a little afraid. What is it?” “I decided it back in the bar, and I figured out I’d better talk to ...