Limit

by Frank Schätzing

  ‘You’re not convinced?’ asked Lynn.

  He hesitated.

  ‘Yes, I think I am.’

  And that was it! A barely noticeable twitch in the corner of her mouth, the meltdown of panic in Lynn’s gaze as …

  * * *

  … she feels the pull, just as she had when she was being dragged down into the abyss, and she wonders with horror what she’s let herself in for. It started weeks ago: she keeps thinking she saw weaknesses in her work where there definitely weren’t any. She’s willing to swear an oath that Julian’s space station will survive longer than all of foolish mankind put together, but she can’t help herself picturing something exploding or falling apart, and only in the lower section. And why?

  Because this section is the only one that she, not Julian, designed, the only one that was her responsibility!

  And yet the same designers have been working there; the same architects, engineers, construction teams. There are barely any differences between the modules in her station and the others: identical life-support systems, the same method of construction. And yet Lynn is relentlessly tormented by the idea that they might be faulty. The more Julian praises her work, the more the self-doubt eats into her thoughts. She imagines the worst incessantly. Her otherwise commendable caution has been growing into a paranoia of constant mistrust; she searches obsessively for evidence of her failure, and the less she finds, the more nervous she becomes. The OSS Grand has ballooned into a monster of her arrogance, one that will burst like a bubble, condemning dozens of people to their deaths. Cold riveting, strutting, insulation, electrolysis devices, circulation pumps, airlocks, corridors: in all of it, all she sees is the reflection of her own failings. Just the mere thought of the hotel in space and the one on the Moon causes her overwrought brain to erode under the onslaught of adrenalin and cortisol. If, according to theological understanding, fear is the opposite of faith, the separation from the sacred, then Lynn has become the very definition of a heathen. The fear of destroying. The fear of being destroyed. They’re one and the same.

  At some point in the depths of her despair, the devil has infiltrated her thoughts and whispered to her that the fear of the abyss can only be overcome by entering it there and then. How do you escape the cycle of fear that something horrific could happen? How can you find a way out before you completely lose your mind? How can you free yourself?

  By it happening!

  The question, of course, remains what will become of her if her work proves to be transitory. Is she just one of Julian’s inventions, a character in a film? What if Julian stops thinking her, because she proved herself unworthy of being thought? Will she be condemned to perpetual suffering? Eternal damnation? Disappear without a whimper? Or will she have to disappear to be born again, more vividly than ever? If everything by which she defines herself and by which others define her comes to an end, will she, the real Lynn, finally resurface? If she even exists, that is?

  * * *

  ‘Miss Orley? Are you unwell?’

  ‘What’s wrong, dear?’ Aileen’s maternal falsetto tones. ‘You’re as white as a sheet.’

  ‘Lynn?’ Tim was next to her. The gentle pressure of his fingers on her shoulder. They slowly began to spin, a twofold sibling star.

  Lynn, oh, Lynn. What have you let yourself in for?

  ‘Hey. Lynn!’ White, slender fingers stroked her forehead, violet eyes peering at her. ‘Is everything okay? Have you smoked something funny?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She blinked. ‘You caught me.’

  ‘Caught you doing what, sweetheart?’

  The smile returned to her lips. A horse that knows the way. Tim looked at her searchingly. He wanted to tell her that he knows, but he can’t let himself say anything, can’t ask her! Lynn pulled herself up straight, freeing herself from the suction. She’s won, for now at least.

  ‘Space sickness,’ she says. ‘Crazy, isn’t it? I never thought it would happen to me, but I guess I was wrong. The lights just seemed to go out.’

  ‘Then it’s okay for me to admit it.’ Ögi grinned. ‘I’m feeling a bit queasy too.’

  ‘You?’ Heidrun stared at him. ‘You’re space sick?’

  ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Be grateful I didn’t. The day will come when I’ll have plenty of ailments. Are you feeling better now, Lynn?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Lynn shrugged off Tim’s hand. ‘Let’s plan the day ahead.’

  Her brother looked at her fixedly. Sure, said his look, you’re space sick. And I’m the man in the Moon.

  * * *

  He managed to intercept Julian as he was leaving his suite, an hour before dinner. Tim’s father was wearing a fashionably cut shirt with a tie, his usual jeans and elegant slippers adorned with the emblem Mimi Kri.

  ‘You can have a fitting with her if you like,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Mimi has developed a collection for stays in environments with zero gravity and reduced gravitational pull. Great, don’t you think?’ He spun around on his axis. ‘Fibre-reinforced, so nothing can flap around. Not even the tie.’

  ‘Julian, listen—’

  ‘Oh, before I forget, she brought something along for Amber too. An evening dress. I wanted to surprise her with it, but you can see how much is going on at the moment. I’m not getting a moment’s peace with this mob around. Everything okay, my boy?’

  ‘No. I have to—’

  ‘Evening clothes in zero gravity, just think!’ Julian grinned. ‘Isn’t it crazy? Absolutely insane! You could look up all the skirts without these reinforcements. Marilyn Monroe would have stayed just a forgotten orphan, instead of standing on that air-shaft with the wind gusting up from below and everything blowing up, you know.’

  ‘No, I don’t, actually.’

  Julian wrinkled his forehead. He seemed to notice Tim at last, taking in his crumpled overall and flushed face, which didn’t seem to bode well.

  ‘You’ve probably never heard of the film, right?’

  ‘Father, I don’t give a toss whose skirt is flying up. Try taking care of your daughter for a change, will you?’

  ‘I do. And have done ever since she was born, to be precise.’

  ‘Lynn isn’t well.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Julian looked at the time. ‘Yes, she told me. Are you coming along to Kirk with me?’

  ‘Told you about what?’ asked Tim, confused.

  ‘That she got space sick.’ Julian laughed. ‘Although she never has been till now. That would annoy me too!’

  ‘No, wait.’ Tim shook his head impatiently. ‘You don’t understand. Lynn isn’t space sick.’

  ‘So what is it then?’

  ‘She’s overstretched. On the brink of a nervous breakdown.’

  ‘I can understand that you’re concerned, but …’

  ‘She shouldn’t even be here, Dad! She’s falling apart. For God’s sake, how often do I need to tell you? Lynn is at the end of her tether. She won’t make it. She’s never really dealt with what happened five years ago—’

  ‘Hey!’ Julian stared at him. ‘Are you crazy? This is her hotel.’

  ‘And … so what?’

  ‘It’s her work! Good heavens, Tim! Lynn is CEO of Orley Enterprises, she has to be here.’

  ‘Has to! Exactly.’

  ‘Don’t start attacking me! Have I ever forced you to do anything? Did I ever stop you from becoming a teacher and going into your shitty community politics, even though all the doors were open for you at Orley?’

  ‘That’s not what this is about.’

  ‘It never is, right? Nor is it ever about the fact that your sister is more successful than you and that, secretly, it annoys the hell out of you.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Too right. Lynn has no problems whatsoever. But you do! You try to make her out to be weak because you haven’t sorted yourself out.’

  ‘That has to be the most ridiculous nonsense I’ve ever—’ Tim forced
himself to calm down and lower his voice. ‘As far as I’m concerned you can believe what you like, I don’t care. Just look out for her! Don’t you remember what happened five years ago?’

  ‘Of course I do. She was exhausted back then. If you had her workload, you’d—’

  ‘No, Julian, she wasn’t exhausted. She was burnt out. She was ill, psychologically ill, will you ever get that into your head? Severe depression! A suicide risk!’

  Julian looked around as if the walls had ears.

  ‘Now listen to me, Tim,’ he whispered. ‘Lynn worked hard for all of this. People admire and adore her. This is her big moment. I won’t allow you to mess everything up for her just because you’re seeing ghosts everywhere.’

  ‘God, you don’t have a clue what’s going on, it’s unbelievable! So stupid!’

  ‘No, you’re the one who’s stupid. Why did you even come?’

  ‘To look after her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Julian let out a mocking laugh. ‘And I thought it might have had something to do with me, just a tiny bit. My apologies for the descent into sentimentality. I’ll speak with her, okay? I’ll tell her what a great job she did of everything, that it’s perfect, that everyone thinks she’s wonderful. Okay?’

  Tim stayed silent as Julian, clearly annoyed, floated off towards the airlock. O’Keefe was approaching from the other side.

  ‘Hey, Tim.’

  ‘Finn. All good?’

  ‘Great, thanks. Are you coming to Picard for a drink?’

  ‘No, I’ll see you later at dinner.’ Tim thought for a moment. ‘I need something fibre-reinforced. A fibre-reinforced tie. You can’t do anything around here without fibre reinforcement.’

  The Soirée

  The man with the multicoloured eyes was very interested in the art of cooking steaks 36,000 kilometres above the Earth, so that they were sizzling and brown on the outside and pink on the inside, and all without a single drop of meat juices running out.

  And he wanted to know what it was that drew mankind to the Moon.

  ‘Life,’ said Julian. ‘If we find it there, it will fundamentally change our view of the world. I thought you of all people were fascinated by the idea.’

  ‘And I am. So what do the experts say? Is there life on Mars?’

  ‘Of course,’ Julian grinned. ‘Spiders.’

  ‘Spiders from Mars.’ He grinned back. ‘You could do something with that.’

  A large number of people from the group, on the other hand, were interested in the man with the multicoloured eyes. Walo Ögi, his greatest admirer, was unfortunately being subjected to a discussion about the economy by Bernard Tautou and Oleg Rogachev, whilst Miranda and Rebecca were deep in discussion, in unfathomable harmony with Momoka Omura, about the therapeutic effect of luxury on Seasonal Affective Disorder. Warren Locatelli was absent. Like Paulette Tautou, he had fallen victim to the combined forces of nervus vagus and diverse neurotransmitters, which, via the area of his brainstem known as the nausea centre, had led to the torrential emptying of his stomach.

  This aside, it was a wonderful dinner.

  The lights had been dimmed, allowing the Earth to shine through the glass floor like a huge Chinese lantern. For the first and only time, there was alcohol: champagne from slender goblets topped with sucking teats. Just like the previous evening, the food was of astonishing quality. Julian had flown in a highly decorated Michelin-starred chef for the duration of the trip, a German from Swabia called Johannes King, who had immediately subjected the kitchen to a three-hundred-per-cent increase in efficiency, conjuring up amazing culinary feats such as truffle-infused creamed vegetables, with genuine Périgord truffles, of course, a dish that had gone through endless tests to ensure it could cope with the perils of zero gravity.

  ‘Because, obviously, sauce, or anything liquid or creamy, develops a life of its own in zero gravity.’ The chef was just finishing his round of the table. He was an exuberant, lively character with great coordination, and seemed to take to weightlessness like a fish to water. ‘Unless its consistency is created in such a way that it sticks to the fish or vegetables. But if it’s too concentrated it will impair the taste, so it’s a real balancing act.’

  Tautou suggested that the Guide Michelin should be extended with a chapter on ‘Non-Terrestrial Regions’. What could be more apt than awarding their stars up here? But he didn’t have the effrontery to pour this thin analogy into each person’s ear; his enthusiasm for it would gradually tire as the game terrine with cranberries, fillet steaks, potato gratin and an unctuous tiramisu were passed around, one after the other.

  ‘And no garlic, no beans, or anything that causes wind! Escaping bodily gases are a real problem in close conditions like these; people have become violent for far less. Also, what you’re eating here would seem over-seasoned on Earth, but in space your taste buds are weakened, on the back burner so to speak. Oh, yes, and make sure you eat nice and slowly. Pick up every bite carefully, lead it to your mouth with intent, put it in quickly and decisively, then chew carefully.’

  ‘Well, the steaks were works of God, anyway!’ said Donoghue approvingly.

  ‘Thank you.’ King made a bow, which resulted in him tipping over and doing a somersault. ‘In actual fact they were sterile synthetic products from the molecular kitchen. We’re incredibly proud of them, if I may say so.’

  For the next ten minutes, Donoghue fell silent, in a state of deep contemplation.

  O’Keefe suckled at the champagne.

  He made an effort to maintain his peeved expression. He had noted happily that Heidrun was seated next to him, or rather that her legs were wedged into the braces provided for that purpose. As much as it pleased him, though, he was punishing her with his lack of attention, chatting pointedly with the surprise guest. For her part, she made no attempt to speak to him. It was only once the group began to compare their experiences of the day and the general conversation broke up into individual exchanges that he finally deigned to address her with a hissed remark:

  ‘What the hell were you thinking of this morning?’

  She hesitated. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Shoving me out of the airlock.’

  ‘Oh.’ Heidrun fell silent for a while. ‘I get it. You’re angry.’

  ‘No, but I’m wondering whether you’ve taken leave of your senses. That was pretty dangerous.’

  ‘Nonsense, Finn. I may act like a big kid sometimes, but I’m not crazy. Nina had already told me yesterday that the suits were remote-controlled. Do you seriously think they would leave all-inclusive holidaymakers, people whose greatest sporting achievement was getting a badge for swimming two hundred metres, to their own devices out there?’

  ‘So you didn’t want to kill me? That’s comforting.’

  Heidrun smiled mysteriously. ‘Sweetheart, I just wanted to find out where Perry Rhodan stops and Finn O’Keefe begins.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it’s quite fitting that you play him as a bit of a dope.’

  ‘Now hang on a minute!’ protested O’Keefe. ‘A heroic dope.’

  ‘Yes, of course. And it never took you long to work out whether there were any females in the vicinity who might be willing to mate with you. Pleased with yourself?’

  He grinned. As he paused, he heard Eva Borelius say: ‘But that’s not a theological question, Mimi, it’s about the origins of our civilisation. Why do people want to cross borders, what are they looking for in space? I sometimes feel inclined to join in the chorus of anger clamouring about the trillions of people who are starving, who have no access to fresh water—’

  ‘By now, sure,’ he heard Tautou exclaim from another conversation, only to be put back in his place by a pistol-shot retort of ‘No, you haven’t!’ from Karla Kramp.

  ‘—while all the fun up here devours vast amounts of money. And yet we have to research. Our entire culture is based upon exchange and expansion. At the end of the day, what we’re looking for in the unknown is ourselves, our
meaning, our future, just like Alexander von Humboldt, like Stephen Hawking—’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I had anything against the spread of the human race,’ said Mimi Parker sharply.

  ‘Well, it sure sounded like it just then.’

  ‘No, not at all! I’m just contesting the bigoted desire to discover something that’s already obvious. I, for my part, am just here to marvel at His work.’

  ‘Which, according to you, is six thousand years old.’

  ‘Well, it could be ten thousand. Let’s say up to ten thousand – after all, we’re not dogmatists.’

  ‘But no more than that? Not at least a few little million?’

  ‘Absolutely not. What I expect to find out here—’

  Aha, thought O’Keefe. I knew it. Created in our own image, just as the boss did it six thousand years ago. Mimi was here to represent the creationists.

  ‘And what do you expect to find here?’ he asked Heidrun, who was laughing at something Carl Hanna had just said.

  ‘Me?’ She turned her head. Her long white ponytail swung softly behind her. ‘I’m not here to expect anything.’

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘Because my husband was invited. Whenever that happens, people get me too, whether they like it or not.’

  ‘Okay, fine, but now you’re here?’

  ‘Hmm. Regardless. I don’t set much store by expectations. Expectations blind people. I prefer to be surprised. And so far it’s working out great, in any case.’ She hesitated and leaned in a little closer. ‘And you?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just doing my job.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘What is there to understand? I’m here to do my job, and that’s it.’

  ‘Your – job?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You mean you’re just letting yourself be used by Julian?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Good God, Finn.’ Heidrun shook her head slowly, in disbelief. He suddenly felt embarrassed, getting the feeling he’d pressed the wrong button. ‘You’re such a jerk! Every time I’m just starting to like you—’

  ‘Why? What have I done this time?’