Babel-17

by Samuel R. Delany

WHEN THEY RETURNED, BRASS called, “Good news! We got who we wanted.” “Crew’s coming along,” commented Calli. Rydra handed him the three index cards. “They’ll report to the ship discorporate two hours before—what’s wrong?” Danil D. Appleby reached to take the cards. “I…she…” and couldn’t say anything else. “Who?” Rydra asked. The concern on her face was driving away even his remaining memories, and he resented it, memories of, of. Calli laughed. “A succubus! While we were gone, he got hustled by a succubus!” “Yeah!” from Brass. “Look at him!” Ron laughed, too. “It was a woman…I think. I can remember what I said—” “How much did she take you for?” Brass asked. “Take me?” Ron said, “I don’t think he knows.” Calli grinned at the Navigator-Three and then at the Officer. “Take a look in your billfold.” “Huh?” “Take a look.” Incredulously he reached in his pocket. The metallic envelope flipped apart in his hands. “Ten…twenty…But I had fifty in here when I left the café!” Calli slapped his thighs laughing. He loped over and encircled the Customs Officer’s shoulder. “You’ll end up a Transport man after that happens a couple of more times.” “But she…I…” The emptiness of his thefted recollections was real as any love loss. The rifled wallet seemed trivial. Tears banked his eyes. “But she was—” Confusion snarled the sentence’s end. “What was she, friend?” Calli asked. “She…was.” That was the sad entirety. “Since discor’oration, you can take it with you,” said Brass. “They try for it wi...