Frank Schätzing - Limit

‘No idea.’ Ögi shrugged. ‘But I’m happy to hear about slip-ups. Even if only to make my peace with my own.’

‘We don’t have any secrets,’ said Haskin. ‘It was all over the news last year. Thorn was part of the first long-term crew on the American moon station. He did an excellent job, so he was recommended for a further six months, as well as being offered a leadership position. He agreed and travelled to the OSS to fly on to the base from there.’

‘That’s right, it rings a bell,’ said Heidrun.

‘Same here.’ Walo nodded. ‘Wasn’t there some kind of problem with an EVA?’

‘With one of the manipulators to be precise. It was blocking the hatch of the shuttle which was supposed to take Thorn’s people to the Moon. It was paralysed mid-movement after being hit by a piece of space debris. So we sent a Huros up…’

‘A what?’ asked Aileen.

‘A humanoid robot. It discovered a splinter in one of the joints, which had apparently caused the manipulator to shut itself down.’

‘Well, that sounds sensible.’

‘Machines don’t concern themselves with concepts of reason.’ Haskin gave her a look as if she’d just suggested never sending robots outside without warm socks on. ‘We agreed to have the joint cleaned, which the Huros wasn’t able to do, so that’s why we sent Thorn and an astronaut up. Except that the manipulator hadn’t turned itself off after all. It had just temporarily fallen into a kind of electro-coma. Suddenly, it woke up and hurled Thorn into space, and it seems his life-support systems were damaged in the process. We lost contact with him.’

‘How awful,’ whispered Aileen, ashen.

‘Well.’ Haskin went silent for a moment. ‘He probably wouldn’t have suffered for long. It’s possible that his visor took a lot of the damage.’

‘Probably? So you didn’t manage to… ?’

‘Unfortunately not.’

‘I always thought you could just dash out after them.’ Aileen spread out the thumb and fingers on her right hand to make the shape of aeroplane wings and glided it through the air. ‘Like in the movies.’

‘Well sure, in the movies,’ said Haskin deprecatingly.

‘But we should also mention that the new generation of the Huros series would probably have been able to save him,’ said Lynn. ‘And the spacesuits’ remote control has been developed further too. With that, we could at least have got Thorn back.’

‘If I remember rightly,’ said Evelyn, ‘there was an investigation.’

‘That’s right.’ Lynn nodded. ‘Which resulted in a case being brought against a Japanese robotics company. They built the manipulator. Clearly it was a case of third-party negligence. Thorn’s death was a tragedy, but the operators of the OSS, that is to say, we, were cleared of any responsibility.’

‘Thanks, Lynn.’ Evelyn looked around at the others. ‘That’s enough of an explanation for me. Don’t you think?’

‘Pioneers have to make sacrifices,’ grumbled Donoghue. ‘The early bird catches the worm, but sometimes he gets eaten by it.’

‘Let’s look around a little more though,’ said Ögi.

‘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.’