Frank Schätzing - Limit

And that was precisely the weak spot in most programs.

‘Elements in the blog post are not stylistically uniform,’ said the computer. ‘That confirms your theory, Owen.’

A nice touch, using his first name. Polite too to pretend that it had been his theory, as though the computer itself hadn’t suggested that a distorter was at work. God knows, fifty per cent personality protocol was enough. At eighty per cent the computer would be crawling up his backside. Jericho hesitated. In fact he was fed up with calling the thing ‘computer’. What would a girl like this be called? Maybe—

He programs her with a name.

‘Diane?’

‘Yes, Owen?’

Great. He likes Diane. Diane is his new right-hand woman.

‘Please read the entry.’

‘Glad to. Hi all. Back in our galaxy now, have been for a few days. Was really stressed out these last days, is anybody harshing on me? Couldn’t help it, really truly. All happened so fast. Shit. Even so quickly you can be forgotten. Only waiting now for the old demons to visit me once more. Yeah, and, I’m busy writing new songs. If any of the band asks: We’ll make an appearance once I’ve got a few euphonious lyrics on the go. Let’s prog! ’

Once again Jericho wonders how the program can identify a writer from such a mishmash, but experience has taught him that even less would be enough. Still, he doesn’t have to understand it. He’s an end-user, not a programmer.

‘Give me an analysis,’ he says. It’s really quite cosy by now, with Satie and this velvet-smooth voice.

‘Of course, Owen.’

That’s to say, this ‘of course’ has to go. It reminds him of HAL 9000 from A Space Odyssey . Ever since the satnav system was invented, every speaking computer has been doing its best to copy crazy HAL.

‘The text is supposed to sound cocky,’ the computer said. ‘The style is broken though by the terms even so quickly and euphonious. The old demons to visit me once more seems rather forced – I don’t believe that the distorter was at work here. Everything else is just minor detail. Lyrics on the go for instance doesn’t fit the style of the second and third sentences.’

‘What do you make of the content?’

‘Hard to say. I might have a couple of suggestions for you. First off, galaxy . That might just be loosely meant, or it might be a synonym for something.’

‘For instance?’

‘Probably for a locality.’

‘Go on.’

‘ Demons . You’ve already been looking for demons. I suspect that Yoyo is referring here to the City Demons, or City Daemons.’

‘I’m with you there. By the way, Daemons was a blind alley. Anything else strike you?’

The computer hesitated. The personality protocol once more.

‘I don’t know enough about Yoyo. I could give you about three hundred and eighty thousand variant interpretations of the other wording and phrases.’

‘Put a sock in it,’ Jericho murmured.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Please search Shanghai for the word galaxy in connection with some place or other.’

This time the computer didn’t hesitate. ‘No entries.’

‘Good. Locate where the text was sent from.’

‘Of course.’ The computer gave him the coordinates. Jericho is astonished. He hadn’t expected it would be so easy to track back the route the message took. He would have thought that Yoyo would lay a few more false trails when communicating.

‘Are you sure that you haven’t just found an intermediary browser?’

‘One hundred per cent sure, Owen. The message was sent from there at 6.24 local time on the morning of 24th May.’

Jericho nods. That’s good. That’s very good!

And his hope becomes a certainty.

As Jericho steered his COD along the Huaihai Donglu towards the elway, he went over his conclusions from last night once more.

Hi all. Back in our galaxy now, have been for a few days.

Which could mean, I’ve been back in Quyu for a few days. Obvious. Not so clear though why Yoyo would call Quyu a galaxy. More likely that she meant one particular place in Quyu.

Was really stressed out these last days, is anybody harshing on me?

Stress. Well, obviously.

And why would anybody be angry at her? That was also fairly easily told. Yoyo wasn’t actually asking a question here, she was giving an explanation. That somebody had tracked her down, that this someone was dangerous, and that she didn’t know whom she was dealing with.

Couldn’t help it, really truly. All happened so fast. Shit.

More difficult. She had taken flight at panic speed. But what did the first part mean? What couldn’t she help?

Even so quickly you can be forgotten.

Trivially easy. Quyu, the forgotten world. Almost a platitude. Yoyo must have been in a hurry to get the message out.

Only waiting now for the old demons to visit me once more.

Even easier: City Demons, you know where I am.

Yeah, and, I’m busy writing new songs. If any of the band asks: We’ll make an appearance once I’ve got a few euphonious lyrics on the go. Let’s prog!

Which was as much as to say, I’m trying to get the problems under control as fast as I can. Until then, we’ll disappear.

And who is we ?

The Guardians.

The city freeway ran at an angle to Jericho’s route. An eight-lane road with enough traffic on it for sixteen, and with several storeys of elevated highway soaring above. Cars, buses and vans crawled through the morning as though through aspic. Hundreds of thousands of commuters flooded into the city from the satellite towns, taxi drivers glowered out at the world around. Not even bikers found a spot where they could squeeze through here. They all wore breathing-masks, but nevertheless you expected to see them turn blue and slump from their saddles. Even though there were more fuel-cell cars in use in the metropolises of China than anywhere else in the world, more hydrogen motors and more electric engines, a blanket of smoggy exhaust fumes lay over the city.

A special traffic track ran high above everything else. It was supported by slender telescopic legs, had only been opened for use a few years ago and was reserved exclusively for CODs. Now COD tracks connected all the most important points in the city and led out to the commuter towns and the coast, some of them at dizzying heights. Jericho threaded his way onto the steep sliproad, waited for his vehicle to click into place on the rails and entered his destination coordinates. From now on he didn’t need to steer the COD, which would have been impossible anyway. As soon as CODs were in the system, the driver played no further part.

Jericho’s COD climbed up the slope in a row of identical machines. Up on the track, he could see countless numbers of the cabin-like vehicles racing away at more than 300 kilometres per hour, gleaming silver in the sun. One storey down, any sort of movement had ceased.

He leaned back.

The vehicles approaching in the outside lane braked just enough to leave a precisely measured gap for his vehicle to slip into. Jericho loved the moment of rapid acceleration when the COD took off. He was pressed briefly against the back of his seat, then he had reached cruising speed. His phone told him that he had received a message from the computer. The display scanned his iris. An additional voice-print check wasn’t really necessary, but Jericho liked to make assurance doubly sure.

‘Owen Jericho,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Owen.’

‘Hello, Diane.’

‘I’ve analysed the writing on Yoyo’s shirt. Would you like to see the result?’