Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘Then it’s their own fault.’ Tim narrowed his eyes. ‘Hey, your avatar’s bum’s far too small! Half the size of your real one. No, a third. And where’s your paunch? And your cellulite?’

‘Idiot,’ Lynn laughed. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’

‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Nothing? Good reason to visit me.’

‘Well, yeah.’ He hesitated. ‘Amber says I’m worrying about you too much.’

‘No, it’s fine.’

‘I didn’t want to get on your nerves back there.’

‘It’s sweet of you to care. Really.’

‘Still, perhaps—’ He wrung his hands. ‘You know, it’s just that I suspect Julian of being completely blind to his surroundings. He may be able to locate individual atoms in the space–time continuum, but if you’re lying dead in your grave right in front of him, he’ll complain that you aren’t listening to him properly.’

‘You exaggerate.’

‘But he completely failed to acknowledge your breakdown. Remember?’

‘But that’s more than five years ago,’ Lynn said softly. ‘And he had no experience of anything like that.’

‘Nonsense, he denied it! What special experience do you need to recognise a burn-out, complete with anxiety and depression, for what it is? In Julian’s world you don’t break down, that’s the point. He only knows superheroes.’

‘Perhaps he lacks the counterbalance. After mother died—’

‘Mother died ten years ago, Lynn. Ten years! Since he noticed that at some point she’d given up breathing, talking, eating and thinking, he’s been screwing everything that moves and—’

‘That’s his business. Really, Tim.’

‘I’ll shut up.’ He looked at the ceiling as if searching for clues to the real reason for his visit. ‘In fact I only came here to tell you your hotel is fantastic. And that I’m looking forward to the trip.’

‘That’s sweet.’

‘Seriously! You’ve got everything under control. Everything’s brilliantly organised!’ He grinned. ‘Even the guests are more or less bearable.’

‘If one of them doesn’t suit you we’ll dispose of him in the vacuum.’ She rolled her eyes and said in a hollow, sinister voice: ‘In space no one can hear you scream!’

‘Ha!’ Tim laughed.

‘I’m glad you’re coming,’ she added quietly.

‘Lynn, I promised to look after you, and that’s what I’m doing.’ He got to his feet, bent down to her and kissed her again. ‘So, see you later. Oh, and wear the trousers and the blouse. And your hair looks great down.’

‘That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, little brother.’

Tim left. Lynn let her avatar go on modelling and trying on jewellery. Traditionally, avatars were virtual assistants, programs made form, who helped organise the networked human being’s daily life and created the illusion of a partner, a butler or a playmate. They controlled data, remembered appointments, acquired information, navigated the web and made suggestions that matched their user’s personality profile. There were no restrictions on their design, which also included virtually cloning yourself, whether out of pure self-infatuation or simply to spare yourself a trip to the shops. Five minutes later Lynn called Mimi Parker. The avatar shrank and froze, while the Californian appeared on the holoscreen, dripping wet and with a towel around her hips.

‘I’m just out of the shower,’ she said apologetically. ‘Find anything nice?’

‘Here,’ Lynn said, and sent a jpeg of the avatar, which appeared simultaneously on Mimi’s display.

‘Hey, good choice. Really suits you.’

‘Great. I’ll tell the staff. Someone will come and collect the things from you.’

‘Fine. See you later, then.’

‘Yes, see you later.’ Lynn smiled. ‘And thank you!’

The projection disappeared. At the same time Lynn’s smile went out. Her gaze slipped away. Blank-faced, she stared straight ahead and recapitulated Julian’s last remark, before she had left the viewing terrace:

I’m really proud of you. You’re the greatest. You’re perfect.

Perfect.

So why didn’t she feel she was? His admiration weighed down on her like a mortgage on a house with a glorious façade and rotten pipes. Since stepping inside the suite, she had been walking as if on glass, as if the floor might collapse. She pushed herself up, dashed to the bathroom and took two little green tablets that she washed down with hasty sips of water. Then she thought for a moment and took a third.

Breathing, feeling your body. Taking a good deep breath, right into your belly.

After she had stared at her reflection for a while, her gaze wandered to her fingers. They were gripping the edge of the basin, and the sinews stood out on the back of her hands. For a moment she considered wrenching the basin from its base, which of course she wouldn’t be able to do, except that it might keep her from screaming.

You’re the greatest. You’re perfect.

Just fuck off, Julian, she thought.

At that moment a pang of shame ran through her. Heart thumping, she slumped to the floor and performed thirty panting sit-ups. In the bar she found a bottle of champagne and tossed a glass down, even though she never normally drank alcohol. The black hole that had opened up beneath her began to close. She called room service, told them to go to Mimi Parker’s suite and went into the shower. When she stepped into the lift a quarter of an hour later, wearing a blouse and trousers and with her hair down, Aileen Donoghue was already waiting there and looked as expected. Christmas baubles dangled from her earlobes. A necklace bit into the big valley of her bosom.

‘Oh, Lynn, you look—’ Aileen struggled for words. ‘Good God, what should I say? Beautiful! Oh, what a beautiful girl you are! Let me give you a hug. Julian is rightly proud of you.’

‘Thanks, Aileen,’ smiled Lynn, slightly crushed.

‘And your hair! It suits you much better down. I mean, not that you should always wear it down, but it brings out your femininity. If only you weren’t— Oops.’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Say it.’

‘Oh, you young things are all so thin!’

‘Aileen, I weigh fifty-eight kilos.’

‘Really?’ That plainly wasn’t the answer that Aileen wanted to hear. ‘So in a minute, once we’re upstairs, I’ll make you a plate of something. You need to eat, my dear! People have to eat.’

Lynn looked at her and imagined tearing the Christmas balls out of her ears. Zip, zap, so fast that her earlobes ripped and a fine mist of blood sprayed onto the mirrored glass of the lift.

She relaxed. The green pills were starting to work.

‘I’m hugely looking forward to tomorrow,’ she said brightly. ‘When it gets going. It’ll be really lovely!’

Evelyn Chambers was dreaming.

She was in an odd room about four metres high and just over five metres deep, and six metres wide. The only level surface was formed by the back wall; ceiling and floor merged into one another, leading her to conclude that she was inside an elliptical tube. In each end of it the architects had set a circular bulkhead at least two metres in diameter. Both bulkheads were sealed, although she didn’t feel closed in, quite the opposite. It promised the certainty of being safely accommodated.

When the rooms had been furnished, the plans must have been temporarily upside down. Like a flying carpet, an expansive bed hovered just above the floor; there was a desk with seats, a computer work station, a huge display. Subdued lighting illuminated the room, a frosted glass door hid shower, wash-basin and toilet. The whole thing resembled a futuristically designed ship’s cabin, except that the comfortable, red-upholstered sofas hung below the ceiling – and the wrong way up.