Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘No, you do, you know very well.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Lynn is your sister, Tim. I want to know if we can trust her. Has she got herself under control?’

The clouds began to clear in Tim’s head. He looked at the manager, illuminated by the realisation of what she actually meant.

‘Are you suggesting Lynn is Carl’s accomplice?’ he asked, almost lost for words.

‘I just want to hear what you think.’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘All of this is crazy. Come on, we’re running out of time. It would be a great weight off my mind if I was wrong, but three days ago Lynn tried with all her might to persuade her father that he was imagining things. She wanted to withhold the surveillance camera videos from him, she left me in the dark about Edda Hoff’s warning, although she really should have talked to me. All in all she’s behaving as if we had dreamed up the events of the past thirty minutes, even though she herself has been involved from the very start.’

That’s not true, Tim wanted to say, and in fact Dana was wrong about one thing. Lynn hadn’t been there from the start. Sophie had taken the call while his sister had been sitting in the Selene with the manager and the cooks, talking about the possibility of a picnic at the bottom of the Vallis Alpina. Jennifer Shaw had wanted to talk to Lynn or her father, so Sophie had immediately sent a message to the Selene and the security advisors had immediately put it through to Julian on the Aristarchus Plateau. By the time Lynn and Dana had reached headquarters, the conversation was already well under way.

But what difference did that make?

‘As you said before, Lynn is my sister.’ He straightened up and shifted away a little. ‘I’d walk on hot coals for her.’

‘That’s not enough for me.’

‘Well, it’ll have to be.’

‘Tim.’ Dana sighed. ‘I just want to make sure that we’re not about to face problems from somewhere we least expect it. Tell me what’s up. I’ll treat our conversation with complete confidentiality, no one will find out about it if you don’t want them to. Not Julian, and certainly not Lynn.’

‘Dana, really—’

‘I’ve got to be able to do my job!’

Tim said nothing for a moment.

‘She had a breakdown,’ he said flatly. ‘A few years ago. Exhausted, depressed. It came and went, but since then I can’t stop worrying that it might repeat itself.’

‘Burn-out?’

‘No, more of an—’ The word wouldn’t leave his lips.

‘Illness?’ Dana completed his sentence.

‘Lynn played it down, but – yes. A morbid disposition. Her – our mother was depressive. In the end she—’

He fell silent. Dana waited to see if he was going to add anything, but he thought he’d said enough.

‘Thanks,’ she said seriously. ‘Please keep an eye on your sister.’

He nodded unhappily, joined Kokoschka, and they set off, equipped with portable detectors, while he felt like a miserable bloody collaborator. At the same time he was tormented by Dana’s suspicion. Not because he saw Lynn as being exposed to unjustified suspicions, but because uncertainty was gnawing at him. Could he really walk on coals for Lynn? He would give his life for her, that much he knew, regardless of what she did.

But he just wasn’t completely sure .

Locatelli lay in a foetal position, legs bent, on the floor of the lock just by the bulkheads. Almost two-thirds of the cabin was glazed, but as long as he stayed down low, shielded by the screen, no one would be able to see him from the passenger space or the cockpit. He feverishly developed and rejected one plan after another. Every time he turned his head, he could just make out the indicators on the inside wall of the lock, showing pressure, air and ambient temperature. The cabin was pressurised, but he didn’t dare take off his helmet. He was too worried that the pilot might, at that precise moment, get the idea of subjecting the lock to an inspection, just as he was busying himself with his damned helmet. He had squeezed his way in between the bulkheads as soon as they had slid apart, pressed the up button, dropped to the floor, without wasting a fragment of a second. And yet it couldn’t have escaped the guy that the cabin had gone back down again.

He cautiously raised himself up a little and peered around for anything that might serve as a weapon, but there was nothing inside the lock that could be used to slash or stab. The Ganymede was still accelerating. He guessed that there must be an autopilot, but as long as the shuttle hadn’t reached its final speed, whoever was sitting up at the front couldn’t take his eyes off the controls. Later it might be too late to shed his armour and his helmet. Perhaps he really should do it now.

At that moment an idea came to him.

He quickly released the catches of the helmet and took it off, set it down next to him and started frantically working away at his chest armour. The acceleration pressure eased off. He hastily fiddled around with the valves and fasteners, peeled himself out of his survival backpack and pushed everything a little way away. Now he was more mobile, and he also had something that could be used as a weapon in a surprise attack. Every muscle tensed, he lay there and waited. The shuttle flew in a curve, and went on gaining altitude. His head roared with the certainty that this was his only chance. If he didn’t catch and whack Peter or Carl, whichever of them was flying the Ganymede, at the first opportunity, he might as well say goodbye to the world.

Don’t complain, asshole, he thought, this was what you wanted. And strangely – or not – his inner voice, in all its condescension, and down to peculiarities of its modulation sounded exactly like Momoka’s.

Dana walked to her desk and paused.

Depressive. That explained a few things. But how did depressive states develop? Into apathy? Aggression? Would Lynn freak out? What was Julian’s daughter likely to do?

She established the laser connection with the Peary Base. After a few seconds the face of deputy commander Tommy Wachowski appeared on the screen. There wasn’t much in the way of regular exchange between hotel and base, which meant that it was ages since she had last spoken to him. Wachowski looked tense and relieved at the same time, as if she had taken a weight off his mind with her call. Dana thought she knew the reason. A moment later Wachowski confirmed her suspicion.

‘Am I happy to see you,’ he growled. ‘I thought we’d never get through to anyone ever again.’

‘Have you been having problems with the satellites?’ she asked.

His eyes widened. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because we have too. We were in contact with Earth when the connection went down. We haven’t been able to get through since then, not even to our shuttles.’

‘We’ve been having pretty much the same thing. Completely cut off. The problem is that we’re in the shadow of the libration. Alternative channels are out. We’re relying on LPCS; do you have any idea what’s going on?’

‘No.’ Dana shook her head. ‘At the moment we haven’t a clue. Not a clue. You?’

The Moon was quite definitely more suited to route-marches than the Earth, because of its lower gravitation. Spacesuits quite definitely weren’t. Even though the exosuits provided a high level of comfort and mobility, you were, regardless of the air-conditioning, in an incubator. The more energy you expended, the more you sweated, and eight kilometres, even performing leaps that would have done credit to a kangaroo, remained eight kilometres.