Limit

  One day, his bank manager asked him what he was waiting for. Jericho replied that he wasn’t quite there yet, but would be someday. The bank manager made him aware of his bank balance and said that ‘someday’ was, in fact, now. With the revelation that he’d been working so hard he hadn’t paid attention to the possibilities now open to him, Jericho left the bank and teetered home in a daze.

  He hadn’t realised he had come so far.

  With the realisation came the doubts. They claimed they’d always been there, but that he had avoided acknowledging them. They whispered: What the devil are you doing here anyway? How did you even get here?

  How could this happen to you?

  They told him that it had all been for nothing, and that the worst position anyone could ever find themselves in was that of having achieved their goals. Hope blossoms beneath the shelter of provisional arrangements, often for a whole lifetime. Now, suddenly, it had become official. He was to become a Shanghaian, but had he ever wanted that? To settle in a city he would never have moved to without Joanna?

  As long as you were on the journey, said the doubts, you didn’t have to think about the destination. Welcome to commitment.

  In the end – he lived in a fairly prestigious high-rise in the hinterland of Pudong, the financial district, the only drawback of which was the fact that more skyscrapers were being constructed around it, that and the noise and a fine brown dust which settled in the windowsills and airways – it took a further eviction by the city authorities to shake him from his lethargy. Two smiling men paid him a visit, let him serve them tea and then explained that the house he was living in had to give way to an utterly amazing new-build. If he so wished, they would gladly reserve an apartment in it for him. But a further move for the duration of the coming year would, much to their regret, be unavoidable. To which end, the authorities considered themselves overjoyed to be able to offer him an apartment near Luchao Harbour City, a mere sixty kilometres outside Shanghai – which, for a metropolis lovingly embracing other towns in the course of its expansion, wasn’t really outside at all. Oh, yes, and they wanted to start work in four weeks, so if he could – you know. It wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened, and they said they were very sorry, but they weren’t really.

  Jericho had stared at the delegates as the wonderful certainty of having just awoken from a coma streamed through him. Suddenly, he could smell the world again, taste it, feel it. He shook hands with the baffled men gratefully, assuring them they had done him a great service. And that they could send whomever they wanted to Luchao Harbour City. Then he had phoned Tu Tian and, in keeping with matters of decorum, had asked whether he might know someone who knew someone who knew whether there was a renovated or newly built shikumen house in a lively corner of Shanghai, vacant and which could be moved into at short notice. Mr Tu, who prided himself on being Jericho’s most satisfied client as well as his good friend, was the first port of call for questions such as these. He managed a mid-size technology company, was on good terms with the city’s powers that be, and happily declared that he would be willing to ‘keep an ear to the ground’.

  Fourteen days later, Jericho signed the rental contract for a floor in one of the most beautiful shikumen houses, situated in Xintiandi, one of the most popular areas of Shanghai, and which could be moved into right away. It was a new-build of course. There weren’t any genuine old shikumen houses left, and there hadn’t been for a long time. The last ones had been torn down shortly after the world exhibition of 2010, and yet Xintiandi could still be classified as a stronghold of shikumen architecture just as in similar fashion the old town of Shanghai was anything but old.

  Jericho didn’t ask who had had to move out to make it vacant. He hoped the apartment really had been empty, put his signature on the document and didn’t give any more thought to what favour Tu Tian might ask for in return. He knew he owed Tu. So he prepared for his move and waited humbly for what was to come.

  * * *

  And it came sooner than expected. In the form of Chen Hongbing and an unpleasant commission which there was no way of getting out of without insulting Tu.

  Shortly after Chen left, Jericho set up his computer terminal. He washed his face, combed his dishevelled hair into some semblance of order and pulled on a fresh T-shirt. Making himself comfortable in front of the screen, he let the system dial the number. Two T’s appeared on the screen, each one melting into the other, the symbol of Tu Technologies. The next moment, an attractive woman in her mid-forties was smiling at him. She was seated in a tastefully decorated room with lounge furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows which offered a glimpse of Pudong’s skyline. She was drinking something from a tiny porcelain cup which Jericho knew to be strawberry tea. Naomi Liu would kill for strawberry tea.

  ‘Good afternoon, Naomi.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Owen. How’s the move going?’

  ‘Fantastically, thank you.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. Mr Tu told me you’re having one of our big new terminals delivered.’

  ‘Yes, this evening, I hope.’

  ‘How exciting.’ She put the cup down on a transparent surface which seemed to sway in thin air, and looked at him from beneath her lowered lashes. ‘Then I’ll soon be able to see you from head to toe.’

  ‘That’s nothing compared to the excitement of seeing you.’ Jericho leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Anyone would swear that you’re sitting right here in front of me.’

  ‘And that’s enough for you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I’m worried it might be. It will be enough, and you’ll see no reason any more to invite me around personally. I think I’ll have to convince my boss not to deliver the thing to you after all.’

  ‘No holographic program could compare to you, Naomi.’

  ‘Tell him that.’ She nodded her head in the direction of Tu’s office. ‘Otherwise he might come up with the idea of replacing me with one.’

  ‘I would break off all business connections in an instant if he did that. Is he—?’

  ‘Yes, he’s here. Take care. I’ll put you through.’

  Jericho enjoyed their little flirting ritual. Naomi Liu was the conduit for all forms of contact with Tu Tian. Having her on his side could be useful. And Jericho wouldn’t have hesitated for a second in inviting her to his apartment, but she would never have taken him up on the offer. She was happily married and the mother of two children.

  The shimmering double T rotated again briefly, then Tu’s huge head appeared on the screen. The little hair he had left was concentrated just above his ears, where it was grey and bristly. Narrow glasses were balanced on his nose. The left arm looked as if it was held together by transparent sticky-tape. Tu had pushed his sleeves up and was shovelling sticky-looking noodles into his mouth, fishing them out of a paper box with clattering chopsticks. The large desk behind him was full of screens and holo-projectors. In between were piles of hard disks, remote controls, brochures, cardboard boxes and the remains of various packaging.

  ‘No, you’re not interrupting,’ mumbled Tu with his mouth full, as if Jericho had expressed any concern on the matter.

  ‘I can see that. Have you ever been to your canteen, by the way? They make fresh food there.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Proper food.’

  ‘This is proper food. I poured boiling water on it and it turned into food.’

  ‘Do you even know what it’s supposed to be? Does it say anything on the packaging?’

  ‘It says something or other.’ Tu carried on chewing steadily. His rubbery lips moved around like copulating rubber tubes. ‘People with your anarchic sense of time management wouldn’t understand perhaps, but there are reasons for eating in the office.’

  Jericho gave up. As long as he’d known Tu, he’d hardly ever seen him devour a healthy, decent meal. It seemed as though the manager had set himself the task of ruining the Chinese cuisine’s reputation as the best, most varied a
nd freshest in the world. He might be a genial inventor and a gifted golf-player – but when it came to culinary matters, he made Kublai Khan look like the father of all gourmets.

  ‘So what were you celebrating?’ he asked, with a glance at the chaos in Tu’s office.

  ‘We were testing something out.’ Tu reached for a bottle of water, washed down the noodles in his mouth and burped audibly. ‘Holo-Cops. A commission from the traffic-control authorities. They function excellently in the dark, but sunlight is still giving them problems. It corrodes them.’ He chortled with laughter. ‘Like vampires.’

  ‘What does the city want with holographic policemen?’

  Tu looked at him in amazement.

  ‘To regulate the traffic, what else? Another one of the real ones was run over last week, didn’t you read about it? He was standing in the middle of the Siping Lu crossing in Dalian Xilu when one of the furniture transporters raced right into him and distributed him evenly all over the tarmac. It was a huge mess, screaming children, angry letters! No one regulates the traffic voluntarily any more.’

  ‘Since when did the police care whether things are voluntary?’

  ‘They don’t, Owen, but it’s a question of economics. They’re losing too many officers. Being a traffic policeman tops the list of most dangerous jobs right now, and most of them would rather be assigned to tracking down and catching mentally disturbed mass-murderers. And, well, there’s the humane aspect too, no one wants dead policemen. It’s no problem at all if a Holo-Cop gets run over, it even still manages to file a report about it. The projection sends a signal to the computer, including the car make and number plate.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Jericho. ‘And how are the holographic tour guides coming along?’

  ‘Ah!’ Tu wiped the corner of his mouth clean with a serviette, one which had clearly had to assist with several other mealtimes too. ‘You had a visitor.’

  ‘Yes, I had a visitor.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Your friend is terribly sad. What happened to him?’

  ‘I told you. He ate bitterness.’

  ‘And beyond that it’s none of my business, I get the picture. So let’s talk about his daughter.’

  ‘Yoyo!’ Tu stroked his hand over his stomach. ‘Be honest now, isn’t she sensational?’

  ‘Without a doubt.’

  Jericho was intrigued as to whether Tu would talk about the girl on a public phone line. It was true that all telephone conversations were recorded by the authorities, but in reality the observation apparatus rarely followed up on the analysis, even though sophisticated programs pre-selected the recordings. As early as the end of the previous century, within the context of their worldwide Ecelon Program, American Secret Services had introduced software which was able to recognise key words, with the result that you could be arrested just for mentioning the word ice-bomb three times in succession when planning Grandma’s birthday party. Modern programs by contrast were, to a certain extent, perfectly able to understand the meaning of the conversation and create priority lists. But they were still incapable of recognising irony. Humour and double-meanings were alien to them, which forced the spies themselves to listen in, just like in the old times, as soon as words like dissident or Tiananmen massacre came up. As expected, Tu merely said:

  ‘And now you want a date with the girl, right?’

  Jericho grinned cheerlessly. He knew it. There were going to be difficulties.

  ‘If it can be arranged.’

  ‘Well, she has such high standards,’ said Tu craftily. ‘Perhaps I should give you a few useful pieces of advice, my dear boy. Will you be in the area in the next few hours at all?’

  ‘I have things to do in Bund. I should be free later.’

  ‘Excellent! Take the ferry. The weather’s lovely, let’s meet in Lujiazui Green.’

  Pudong

  Lujiazui Green was a picturesque park surrounded by skyscrapers, not far from Jin Mao Tower and the WFC. Tu sat on a bench on the bank of the small lake, basking in the sun. As usual, he was wearing sunglasses over his normal glasses. His crumpled shirt had worked its way almost entirely out of his waistband and was straining at the buttons. Patches of his white belly peeped through the gaps. Jericho sat down next to him and stretched out his legs.

  ‘Yoyo is a dissident,’ he said.

  Tu turned his head round to him lethargically. His eyes couldn’t be seen behind the crooked construction of glasses and sunglasses.

  ‘I thought you would have picked that up from our conversation on the golf course.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. What I mean is that the case is a little different to my normal ones. This time I’m supposed to look for a dissident in order to protect her.’

  ‘A former dissident.’

  ‘Her father sees that differently. Why would Yoyo have gone underground, if not out of fear? Unless she’s been arrested. You said yourself that she has a tendency to aggravate the wrong people. Perhaps she crossed someone who was a little too big for her.’

  ‘And what are you planning to do?’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m going to do,’ snorted Jericho. ‘I’m going to look for Yoyo of course.’

  Tu nodded. ‘That’s very generous of you.’

  ‘No, it goes without saying. The only snag is that I’ll have to work without the authorities this time. So I need any information there is about Yoyo and her world, and that’s where I’m relying on your help. My impression of Chen Hongbing was that he’s extremely honourable and incredibly private. Perhaps he just turns a blind eye; in any case, getting information from him was like trying to get blood from a stone.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘He gave me Yoyo’s new address. A few films and photos. And dropped a whole load of hints.’

  Fumbling, Tu took the sunglasses down from his nose and tried to push the remaining glasses into a reasonably straight position. Jericho noticed that he hadn’t been mistaken: the left arm really was bound with sticky-tape. He wondered, not for the first time, why Tu didn’t get his eyes lasered or switch to photochromic contact lenses. Hardly anyone wore glasses for the purpose of improving their eyesight any more. They were just eking out an existence as fashion items, and fashion was as alien to Tu Tian as the atomic age was to a Neanderthal.

  They were silent for a while. Jericho blinked in the sunlight and watched an aeroplane pass by.

  ‘So’ said Tu. ‘Ask your questions.’

  ‘There’s nothing to ask. Tell me something about Yoyo that I don’t know yet.’

  ‘She’s actually called Yuyun—’

  ‘Chen told me that much.’

  ‘—and belongs to a group who call themselves Guardians. I bet he didn’t tell you that, right?’

  ‘Guardians.’ Jericho whistled softly through his teeth.

  ‘You’ve heard of them?’

  ‘I sure have. Internet guerrillas. Dedicated to human rights, raising the profile of old stories like Tiananmen, attacks on government and industry networks. They’re really putting the wind up the Party.’

  ‘And they’re right to be nervous. Guardians are of a completely different calibre to our sweet little Titanium Mouse.’

  Liu Di, the woman who called herself Titanium Mouse, was one of the pioneers of internet dissidence. At the start of the millennium she had begun to publish edgy little commentaries online about the political elite, initially under the pseudonym of Stainless Steel Mouse. Realising that it wasn’t as easy to imprison virtual people as it was those of flesh and blood, Beijing’s leadership began to get very nervous. These dissidents showed presence, without being present.

  The head of the Beijing secret police remarked that the new threat gave cause for extreme concern and that an enemy without a face was the worst kind, a conclusion that grossly overestimated the first generation of net dissidents – most didn’t even contemplate disguising their identity, and even the ones who did made other mistakes sooner or later.

&nbs
p; The Stainless Steel Mouse, for example, had walked right into their trap when she assured the founder of a new democratic party of her support, not knowing it was an official assigned to her case. As a result of which she was dragged off to a police station and imprisoned for a year without trial. After that, however, the Party learned their next lesson: that it may be possible to make people disappear behind walls, but not on the internet. There, Liu Di’s case gained significance, made the rounds in China and attracted the attention of the foreign media. Suddenly, the whole world was aware of this shy, twenty-one-year-old woman, who hadn’t even meant any of it that seriously. And that turned out to be the powerful, faceless enemy the Party had cowered so fearfully from.

  After her release, Liu Di upgraded from steel to a stronger metal. Titanium Mouse had learned something. She declared war on an apparatus that Mao couldn’t have thought up in his wildest dreams: Cypol, the Chinese Internet Police. She routed internet forums via servers abroad and created her blogs with the help of programs that filtered out incriminating words as she wrote. Others followed her example, became increasingly sophisticated in their methods, and by then the Party really did have cause to worry. While veterans like Titanium Mouse made no secret of their true identity, Guardians were haunting the net like phantoms. Tracking them down would have required ingenious traps, and although Beijing kept setting them, so far no one had been caught.

  ‘Even today, the Party still has no idea how many of them there actually are. Sometimes they think they’re dealing with dozens, sometimes just a few. A cancerous ulcer in any case, one which will eat away at our magnificent, happy and healthy People’s Republic from the inside.’ Tu hacked up some phlegm and spat it in front of his feet. ‘Now, we know what comes out of Beijing, predominantly rumours and very little of anything that makes sense, so how big do you think the organisation really is?’