Frank Schätzing - Limit

On the Moon.

They were on the Moon.

They had really landed on the goddamn Moon, and the satellite’s one-sixth gravity pulled O’Keefe down to it with the tenderness of a lover, his limbs, his head, his inner organs and bodily fluids, oh yes, the fluids, pulled and pulled and pulled something out of him, and it was out before he could clench his butt cheeks. Warm and happy, it flowed into the bag put there for exactly that purpose, a fountain of joy, a high-five to gravity, a gift to the grey, crater-covered guy whose surface they were to inhabit for the next week. He threw a stolen glance at Momoka Omura, as if there were the possibility that she would turn round to him, look him in the eyes and see it, know it.

Then he shrugged, thinking of the others who had probably pissed themselves beyond the Earth’s orbit. There was worse company to be in.

Leaving behind footprints was a pioneer’s privilege, and one which made life a little easier for those of the custodian type, who were aware of the risks, but without being exposed to them. They were familiar with natural phenomenona, the appetite and armoury of the local fauna and flora, knew how to adapt themselves to the defiance of the native inhabitants. Their knowledge was all thanks to the feverish, potentially suicidal curiosity of the discoverer type, who neither could nor wanted to do anything other than spend his life walking the narrow line between victory and death. Even in the days of Homo erectus , and the anthroposophists were sure of this, humanity had displayed a tendency to split up into a governing majority alongside a small group which just couldn’t stay put. The latter had a special gene, known as the Columbus Gene, Novelty-seeking Gene or just D4DR in the extended version, code for an extraordinary willingness to cross borders and take risks. Naturally, all of these adventurous types were less suited for the cultivation of the conquered regions. They preferred discovering new areas, getting themselves bitten by new species of animals and fulfilling all the prerequisites so that the more conservative types could make advances. They were the eternal scouts, for whom a footprint on terra incognita meant everything. In turn, it was part of the nature of the custodian to subject lime, mud, sand, gravel, silt and whatever other kind of amorphous unspoiled state there was to the dictatorship of smoothed-out surfaces, which meant that when Evelyn Chambers, awestruck, walked down the gangway of the Charon and stepped on to the surface of the Moon for the first time, she left no lasting impression behind her, instead finding herself back on solid concrete.

For a second she was disappointed. The others, too, were looking at their feet as if walking on the Moon were inextricably linked with hallmarking the regolith.

‘You’ll leave your stamp behind soon enough,’ said Julian’s voice, switched on in all their helmets.

Some of them laughed. The moment of unmet expectations passed, giving way to amazement and disbelief. Evelyn took a hesitant step, then another, bounced – and was carried over a metre in the air by the force of her thigh muscles.

Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable!

After over five days of zero gravity she felt the familiar burden of her weight, and yet she didn’t. It was more as though some ominous comic-book radiation had given her superpowers. All around her, the others were leaping wildly around. Black danced attendance amongst them with his camera.

‘Where’s the star-spangled banner?’ boomed Donoghue. ‘I want to ram it into the ground!’

‘Then you’re fifty-six years too late,’ laughed Ögi. ‘The Swiss flag on the other hand—’

‘Imperialists,’ sighed Heidrun.

‘No chance,’ said Julian. ‘Unless you’re planning to blast your flags into the ground.’

‘Hey, look at that,’ called Rebecca Hsu.

Her ample figure shot past the others’ heads, her arms windmilling. If it was Rebecca, that is. It wasn’t that easy to tell. You couldn’t really make out anyone’s face through the mirrored visors; only the printed name on the chest section of the suit betrayed the identity of its wearer.

‘Come on then,’ laughed Julian. ‘Don’t be scared!’

Evelyn took a run-up and did a series of clumsy jumps, then sped upwards again and turned on her own axis, drunk on high spirits. Then she lost her balance and sank back down to the ground in a meditative pose. She couldn’t help breaking out into silly giggles as she landed softly on her behind. Overcome with delight, she stayed where she was, enjoying the surreal scene that was playing out before her. Within seconds the group of well-established movers and shakers had transformed into a horde of first-graders, playmates going wild. She came back to a standing position without any effort whatsoever.

‘Good,’ praised Julian, ‘very good. The Bolshoi Ballet look like a load of blundering fools compared with you, but I’m afraid we need to interrupt the physical exercise temporarily. You’re off to the hotel now, so please turn your attention back to Nina and Peter again.’

It was as though he’d broadcast on the wrong frequency. With the defiance of children who had just been called to the dinner table, they finally trickled over in dribs and drabs to gather around their guides. The image of a bunch of ruffians gave way to one of a secret brotherhood as they stood there, searching for the Holy Grail against the panorama of flying castles. Evelyn let her gaze wander. The base could hardly be seen. Only the station platform loomed imposingly over the landing field, erected on fifteen-metre-high pylons, as Nina explained. Metal staircases and an open elevator led up to the rail tracks, spherical tanks were piled up all around. Two manipulators squatted at the edge of the platform like Jurassic birds, turned to face lobster-like machines with multiple-jointed claws and large loading surfaces. Evelyn guessed their task was probably to receive cargo from the manipulators or to reach it up to them, according to whether goods were being delivered or placed on the rails.

She tried to regulate her breathing. The confinement of the landing module just then had become unbearable for her. She had dreamed feverishly the night before. Higher powers had opened up the Charon using a gigantic tin-opener and exposed its inhabitants to the vacuum, which had turned out to be just a bunch of humanlike creatures gaping in at them, and she had been stark naked. Admittedly it was all a bit silly, but still! The iridescent blue-green imprints of Miranda Winter’s heels had been immortalised in her hips, and she’d had enough. She was even more amazed at how big the landing module actually was when she saw it in the expanse of the airfield. An imposing tower on powerful telescopic legs, practically a small skyscraper. More spaceships were distributed across the field, some with open hatches and yawningly empty insides, clearly intended for receiving freight goods. Several smaller machines spread their spider legs and stared straight ahead with their glassy eyes. Chambers couldn’t help but think of insect spray.

‘You’ll have to forgive the inhabitants of the base for not coming out to greet you,’ said Black. ‘You only go outside if it’s absolutely necessary here. Unlike you, these people spend six months on the Moon. A week’s worth of cosmic radiation won’t harm you so long as you don’t go out in a solar storm without protection. But long-term stays are a different story. So as we won’t be looking around the base until the day of our departure, there’s no reception committee today.’

One of the lobster-like robots started up as if by magic, steered over to the Charon and took some large white containers from its cargo hold.