Frank Schätzing - Limit

Grass and soil sprayed up at their feet. Jericho circled the pillar. Daxiong came staggering after him, barely capable of keeping on his feet.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Jericho.

‘That son of a bitch hit me somewhere in the back,’ Daxiong murmured. He coughed and collapsed. ‘I think I’m going to—’

‘Daxiong! For God’s sake! You can’t give in now. Do you hear me? Don’t faint!’

‘I’m – I’m trying – I—’

‘There! Look!’

Something had appeared in the sky in the distance, flat and silvery. It dived and came very quickly towards them.

‘Daxiong,’ yelled Jericho. ‘We’re saved!’

The giant smiled. ‘That’s nice,’ he said dreamily and tipped sideways.

Xin had briefly shifted his attention to the little wood, so he didn’t see the shimmering flatfish until it was almost too late. Within a few seconds it grew menacingly large, but the pilot showed no sign of veering away from him. He gave a start, then realised that the new arrival planned to ram him into the ground. Startled, he raised his arm and fired off a few rounds that the vehicle dodged elegantly before immediately heading straight back towards him again.

Whoever was steering the skymobile was a master of navigation.

He let the airbike drop like a stone and caught it again right above the traffic. The silver discus went into a nosedive. Xin turned, passed over the woods and the artificial lake, twisted and dodged, and still couldn’t shake off his pursuer. The silver discus chased him across the park and back to the road, then suddenly turned off and rose steeply into the sky. Xin watched after him in confusion, slowed his bike down and held it hovering above the flow of traffic.

The strange machine disappeared.

Cursing, he remembered what he had to do. It was humiliating! Yoyo and old Chen were hiding somewhere in the bushes watching everything, an idea that made him boil with fury. He would use the grenade launcher and set the woods ablaze – but first Jericho and Daxiong had to go. No police had turned up yet. Gun at the ready, he was heading towards the pillar with the two idiots hiding behind it, when he saw the silver discus coming back and heading straight for him.

He hid his gun. Below him, antediluvian cars impregnated the air with exhaust and street dust. He was seething with rage. He wouldn’t allow himself to be hunted again. He would bring that guy down from the sky. His fingers closed around the butt of the rocket-launcher, but it was stuck. He rattled at it frantically, looked down and lost his concentration for a moment.

There was a loud honking noise.

Louder, closer.

Irritated, Xin raised his head.

The front of a roaring heavy goods vehicle, growing, vast. The airbike had dropped while he was battling with the launcher. With horror, he saw the driver shouting and gesticulating behind the windscreen, pulled the bike back up and missed the roof of the driver’s cab by inches, only to see the discus shooting away above him, so close that its shock-wave gripped the airbike and whirled it around like a leaf. He flew from the saddle in a high arc and landed on his back. The impact left him breathless. He instinctively reached his arms up, but nothing drove over him. He was lying on something that was solid yet yielding. Battling for breath, he pulled himself upright and saw rusty planks supporting the pile of whatever he was rolling in.

No. Not planks. Bodywork. Xin reached into the mass and let it trickle through his fingers.

Sand.

He had fallen into a heap of sand.

With a cry of rage he got to his feet, saw houses, masts and traffic-lights drifting past him, lost his balance and landed back in the sand as the huge truck he was lying on turned off, accelerated and drove him out of Hongkou, away from Daxiong, Jericho, Yoyo, Chen and Siping Lu.

On the inside of the four westbound lanes, the traffic started to back up. The airbike had fallen on the central reservation, scattering parts of its shell over the carriageway and forcing some drivers into bold braking manoeuvres. If there were no collisions, this was due only to the compulsory introduction of pre-safe sensors, which even old models had had to adopt. Radar systems with CMOS cameras constantly analysed distance and automatically braked the car if the driver in front came to an abrupt standstill. Only flying objects obviously created problems for the sensors.

Meanwhile the Silver Surfer had landed in the park. Jericho peered between the cars and saw the vehicle’s side doors lifting and a familiar, fleshy figure climbing out. Then he saw someone else, and his heart thumped with joy.

Yoyo and Chen came running out of the wood.

‘Daxiong!’ He bent down to the giant and patted his cheek. ‘Get up. Come on.’ Daxiong murmured something unfriendly. Jericho brought his hand back and gave him two loud slaps, and jumped backwards just in case he had underestimated the giant’s reflexes. But Daxiong just sat up, sighed and looked as if he were about to sink back again. Jericho took his arm and gripped it tightly for a few seconds, before the massive body slipped away from him.

‘Damn it, Daxiong!’

He couldn’t let the wounded man fall into a coma. Not here. Further slaps were needed. This time he was more successful.

‘Have you lost your mind?’ Daxiong yelled.

Jericho pointed at the prongs in the pillar that led up to the footbridge. ‘You can go to sleep in a minute. First we’ve got to get up there.’

Daxiong tried to support himself on his left arm, collapsed, tried again and got to his feet. Jericho felt terribly sorry for him. In the movies people with bullet wounds went on charging around the place doing heroic things, but the reality was very different. The wound on Daxiong’s back might just have been a graze, but the very shock of it, caused by the velocity of the dart bullets, was enough to send a person out of his mind. Daxiong had lost a lot of blood, and the wound must be very painful.

The big man’s gaze wandered up the ladder. By now his face was ashen.

‘I won’t get up there, Owen,’ he whispered.

Jericho breathed out. Daxiong was right. He didn’t even feel all that steady on his feet himself. He estimated the width of the central reservation – just wide enough, he thought, and took out his mobile. Two beeps later he had Tu on the line. Jericho could see him over in the park, while Yoyo and Chen were climbing into the skymobile.

‘Tian?’

His voice was suddenly trembling. All of him, and everything around him, had suddenly started trembling.

‘My God, Owen!’ trumpeted Tu. ‘What’s up? We’re waiting for you.’

‘Sorry.’ He gulped. ‘You were great, but I’m afraid the big challenge still lies ahead of you.’

‘What? Which one do you mean?’

‘Precision landing. Central reservation. See you soon, old friend.’

Tu’s Silver Surfer had been designed as a two-seater with an ejector seat. Under the combined weight of five people, two of them massively obese, it shed some of its agility. It also became horribly cramped. They shifted Daxiong to the passenger seat and squashed in together behind him. Hopelessly overladen, the Silver Surfer took off with all the elegance of an arthritic duck. Jericho was surprised it could fly at all. Tu guided the machine over the uniform red-brown roofs of the residential complexes of Hongkou, crossed the Huangpu and headed for the northern shore of the financial district. Within view of the Yangpu Bridge lay the park-like gardens of the Pudong International Medical Center, a collection of weightless-looking glass cocoons, nestling in spruce gardens with artificial lakes, bamboo glades and secret pavilions. The renowned private clinic had been built only a few years previously. It represented the new, ‘natural’ Shanghai, based on plans which demonstrated that if you built something shaped like the neck of a brachiosaurus it might provide lovely views, but otherwise it created nothing but problems. (The ultimate example of architectural phallic delusion, the Nakheel Tower, also loomed half-finished above the now bankrupt city of Dubai, as if to confirm the platitude that the biggest guy isn’t the one with the longest. The monster had been planned to reach a height of 1400 metres. After just over a kilometre the work had been suspended; the architects, in their bid to climb to heaven, had been defeated by the banality of their concept; the casa erecta was ripe for inclusion in the book of heroic failures.) Structures like the interlocking cells of the Pudong International Medical Center came much closer to the demands of a metropolis that saw itself as a gigantic urban protozoon; its metabolism was based on neuronal interconnections rather than unfeasibly vast dimensions.