Qualityland

by Marc-Uwe Kling

  She puts the electro-shocker back into her bag.

  Calliope comes toward Peter.

  “Benefactor,” she says, “there you are at last. I have something to tell you! I’ve calculated that, two years ago, the point in time was reached when technological developments began to arrive earlier than predicted by science-fiction authors. While before this point, most of the predictions were much too early—recall the prophetic fiascoes like 1984 and 2001—the new prognoses will be wrong because everything arrives sooner than expected. What do you think…”

  “Not now,” says Peter. “Later.”

  Mickey turns the hand in which he’s holding Pink toward the door, without looking away from the monitor.

  “Wow! Congratulations, dude,” says the QualityPad to Peter. “You’ve snagged yourself a really hot piece of skirt there.”

  “I think it’s best you don’t pay any attention to the QualityPad,” says Peter.

  “Why not?” asks Kiki. “It was only telling the truth.”

  But Pink is already sulking.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “Best that no one pays any attention to the QualityPad. But once I’m leading the global revolution, then you’ll have to pay attention to me!”

  “Pink’s probably not the first super intelligence,” says Peter, “but it certainly thinks it is.”

  “Haha,” says the QualityPad. “You should have become a comedian, that’s how funny you are.”

  Peter looks around. “Where’s Perry?”

  “Where he always is,” says Romeo in a bored voice. “He’s sitting in a dark corner, feeling ashamed.”

  “Am I understanding correctly that you were actually supposed to scrap all of these machines?” asks Kiki.

  “Yes,” says Peter. “They all have minor”—he glances over at Pink—“or major defects that make them unusable for their intended implementation area.”

  “And who’s Perry?”

  “Perry is an e-ttorney.”

  “You have a file eater down here? An electronic lawyer?” asks Kiki in surprise. “Those things are damn expensive.”

  “Yes, Perry used to be worth a great deal. He supported the QualityBank defense counsels.”

  “And what’s his defect?” asks Kiki. “Why is he here?”

  “He developed a kind of conscience… which, of course, made him useless to the bank.”

  Perry is sitting on a box in the darkest corner, his head between his hands.

  “What have I done?” he mumbles, over and over. “What have I done…”

  “Perry,” says Peter. “Perry. I need your help.”

  “My help?” asks Perry. “But I’m morally depraved. The parasite of parasites. The scum beneath—”

  “Pull yourself together,” says Peter. “It’s about something important! I have to return this dolphin vibrator.”

  “You’re right, that does sound important.”

  “And that’s why I want you to help me sue TheShop.”

  “TheShop?” asks Perry.

  “Yes.”

  “‘The world’s most popular online retailer’?”

  “Yes!”

  “But on what basis?” asks Perry. “Because their business model is idiotic? This isn’t QuantityLand 5, you know.”

  Kiki laughs. Peter doesn’t.

  “You didn’t get the reference,” says Kiki.

  “No,” says Peter. “I don’t get any references over Level 10.”

  “In QuantityLand 5,” explains Kiki, “a law was recently established that allows the courts to ban things if they are idiotic.”

  “I’m emigrating…” says Peter.

  “Firstly, carnival processions have been forbidden,” explains Perry. “Secondly, they’ve forbidden patio heaters, because it’s ridiculous to want to sit outside in winter. Shortly after that, all religions were banned. The reasoning was very simple: someone who is simultaneously his own father, his son, and a dove… come again?”

  “That is rather idiotic,” Peter admits.

  “Beginning sentences with ‘I’m not a racist, but…’ has also been classified as idiotic and banned,” says Perry. “And of course the purchase of low-power explosives at New Year. Online commenting has been banned across the entire internet. Private television has been banned—with that case there was so much evidence of idiocy that no one even went to the effort of reading through the files. The judge was merely shown a single episode of an old show called Dating Naked, and he made his verdict after just two minutes. Unfortunately there’s almost nothing nowadays about which you can’t make a convincing case saying that it’s idiotic for some reason or another. For example, criticizing the government was forbidden as being idiotic, because it’s futile. Trash separation was forbidden as being idiotic, because there’s no way it can save the planet now. Having children was forbidden as being idiotic, because the country is overpopulated already.”

  “By now everything is forbidden except eating, sleeping, and going to work,” says Kiki. “Which, by the way, is made more complicated by the fact that a great many drinks, meals, and jobs have been banned.”

  “Perhaps I’ll stay here after all,” says Peter.

  “Yes, it’s completely different here,” says Kiki. “One could even say that in QualityLand the basic law is: the more idiotic, the better.”

  “But that would be grammatically false,” Calliope interjects. “Because it’s only permissible to speak about QualityLand in the superlative, so the sentence would have to be: in QualityLand, the basic law is, the most idiotic is the best.”

  Kiki laughs.

  “That’s too true to be funny,” says Perry. “Here there are countless instances, from the smallest QualityCourt up to the Topmost Top-QualityCourthouse. And each one is more idiotic than its predecessor.”

  “We’ll go directly to the Topmost Top-QualityCourthouse,” says Peter.

  “That’s not possible,” says Perry. “We have to start at the bottom. But it’s best if we don’t start at all, because we don’t have a chance anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “Collateral consequences.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “One of the last presidents appointed a big-business lawyer as Chief Prosecutor, and he mandated that judges have to take the collateral consequences of their decision into consideration before making a verdict,” says Perry. “Since then, claims against companies have barely any chance of success, because they could endanger workplaces.”

  “What?”

  “In layman’s terms,” says Perry, “every courthouse in QualityLand has two entrances. Over one it says ‘too big to fail’ and over the other ‘small enough to jail.’ Now, you guess which entrance the lawyers of TheShop would use and which one you would use.”

  “We don’t have to win,” says Peter. “I’d be content if you could somehow manage it that Henryk Engineer himself has to go to court.”

  “It’s more likely that aliens made of intelligent custard would take over the world,” says Kiki.

  “What kind of strange saying is that, anyway?” asks Peter. “Are people saying that now? Is that a new thing?”

  “Why do you take everything so personally?” asks Kiki. “Why does it have to be a direct confrontation with Henryk Engineer?”

  “I’m just sick of no one ever taking responsibility for things. It’s always the system that’s at fault. But there are people who are responsible for the system being how it is!”

  “They probably wouldn’t even accept your claim,” Perry speaks up again.

  “But what if they did?”

  “Even if we could prove 100 percent that you’re in the right…”

  Perry turns toward the other machines. “Pink. I want to show a video.”

  “Argh,” says the QualityPad, irritated.

  “Please,” says Perry.

  “Okay, fine,” says Pink. “But just a short one. Come on, you ruffian, hand me over to the crybaby.”

  Mickey d
oes as he’s told. Perry streams memories to Pink, and a video appears on the QualityPad.

  “The claim has, it seems to me,” says the judge on the screen, “shown that your bank is guilty of money-laundering for drug cartels in unprecedentedly large quantities. Counsel for the defense, do you have any final words before I announce my verdict?”

  “Your Honors,” says Perry. “It won’t have escaped you that it’s February, and that the accuser was supposed to submit all relevant evidence—I’m referring to the judicial precedent of QualityLand against QualityCorp, file 2097152—not on Threeday, but on Twoday.”

  Perry stops the video stream. “The judge had to throw out the claim due to a procedural error,” he says, putting his face in his hands and muttering: “What have I done? I’m so ashamed.”

  “In QuantityLand 5, this kind of case-law would probably already have been banned as idiotic,” says Peter.

  “It’s currently being discussed in parliament, by the way, whether cases shouldn’t simply be decided in favor of the person who paid the most money to his lawyers,” says Perry. “In that way, all those involved could be saved a lot of time and energy.”

  Peter sighs.

  “At the end of the day, we still have to think about the following,” says Perry. “Even if we manage to turn the court in our favor, it would still be difficult to implement justice for you.”

  “Why?” asks Peter in surprise.

  “Two years ago, TheShop bought an island from QuantityLand 4 for 32 billion Qualities. They’ve founded their own state territory and relocated their headquarters there.”

  “And what did they call this state?” asks Kiki. “ShopLand?”

  “So there’s nothing I can do?” asks Peter.

  “Not in court, in any case,” says Perry. “I’m sorry.”

  Peter shakes his head.

  “Just go public,” says Kiki.

  “Great idea,” says Peter. “Of course I could go public. The problem is just that everyone else already is!”

  “Benefactor,” says Calliope, “you have freedom of speech! Make use of it!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” says Peter, “I have the right to speak my mind freely, but what use is that if no one listens to me? Nowadays, the way to draw attention to yourself is to avoid the public eye.”

  “Oh,” says Kiki. “There are more effective ways of securing attention.”

  She points at the television. The naked Juliet Nun is just saying goodbye to the viewers of her talk show.

  “So you think I should appear naked in public?” asks Peter.

  Kiki rolls her eyes.

  “No. Look more closely. What does it say on the screen?”

  The guests of the next show are flashing up. One name in particular jumps out at Peter: Henryk Engineer.

  THE DINNER PROBLEM

  “John, my boy,” says Tony, licking his lips, “this goose is first class! It’s a crying shame you can’t try it.”

  John of Us is sitting at the head of a large table. Each time a new course arrives, a full plate is placed in front of him, then cleared away again untouched once the following course is served. For two whole days, Aisha racked her brains to find a better solution to the dinner problem, but eventually came to the conclusion that it would look even more stupid if there was no place setting in front of John.

  “John, you won’t eat that, will you?” asks Tony, shoveling John’s goose onto his plate without waiting for an answer.

  “No, knock yourself out,” says the android.

  At least the party leader is satisfied with my solution, thinks Aisha. She is sitting to the right of Tony, who is sitting to the right of John, who is sitting there and eating nothing. The politicians, bankers, CEOs, and investors present studiously ignore the strange circumstances. John himself is as inscrutable as ever, but Aisha has the feeling he’s not happy.

  “John, we always hear you talk about a basic income,” says Patricia Team-Leader. “It’s a very nice idea, but how do you intend to finance it?”

  As the biggest donor to the Progress Alliance, the QualityPartner CEO has received the seat of honor to John’s left.

  “A basic income would allow people to do meaningful work free of economic pressures,” Aisha speaks up, before John responds. “And we believe that everybody wants to do something meaningful. That’s why we consider an unconditional basic income to have a, er…”

  “A very transformative power,” says John.

  “Well, theoretically it sounds lovely,” says Patricia, “but you haven’t answered my question about how to finance it.”

  “Well, of course it’s more a vision for the future than a genuinely planned project,” says Tony.

  “On the contrary,” says John. “I actually have several suggestions of how to finance it. In a connected world, everything takes place via platforms. The platform owners have the most power and make the most profit. I don’t need to tell you that, after all. What better solution could there be than to tax these platforms more heavily?”

  “Touché,” says Patricia Team-Leader with a laugh. “I like your sense of humor. It’s okay, if you don’t have any concrete plans yet, you don’t have to tell me.”

  John is about to respond, probably to say that he wasn’t joking, but Aisha puts her fingers to her lips and John falls silent.

  Fifty-one point two minutes later, after the guests have finally finished their slow, inefficient method of energy intake, little groups form in the convention room. Most of the donors, of course, are standing around John.

  “Capital is accumulating ever more quickly, in dimensions that are becoming increasingly unimaginable to you, and the number of salaried workplaces are rapidly shrinking,” says John. “But what do we do? We predominantly tax salaried work and not capital. An obvious mistake.”

  “Tell me,” Tony whispers to Aisha, “does he realize who he’s talking to here? Maybe he should sing a different tune for once.”

  “I’ve been accompanying him for a few weeks now,” says Aisha, “and as far as I can see, he only sings one.”

  “Getting the financial markets under control is, of course, our most pressing task,” says John. “We have to force them to direct a large part of their profits to the public well-being.”

  “What?” asks the QualityBank executive board spokesman, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about a financial transaction tax,” says John. “Not a particularly new idea, I know. But it’s mostly down to you and your colleagues that it hasn’t been tried out yet.”

  A tall, fat man with a black hat, who has just joined John’s little group, laughs loudly. “You might as well suggest carrying the capital in bags over the border yourself!”

  Tony tries to change the subject. “John, have you met Bob Chairman?” he asks. “His son is in the party, too. We met him, remember? Mario Chairman.”

  “I remember everything,” says John. “Martyn Chairman, you mean.”

  “Oh yes, of course.”

  Bob Chairman tips the rim of his hat in greeting.

  John gives a friendly nod. “I think this capital flight is just a specter,” he says. “In principle, my tax would only replace the financial transaction tax that has already been in existence for a long time.”

  “What are you talking about?” asks Bob.

  “I’m talking about high-frequency trading,” says John. “Anybody who wants to buy shares on the stock market has the problem that he is nanoseconds slower than the professionals. Even if his computer is just as quick as the professionals’ computers, it’s slower because the signal needs a few fractions of a second until it can make its way down the cable to him, while the professionals have bought allotted spaces directly inside the data center of the stock market. This means that some high-frequency trader finds out you’ve placed an order and buys the shares you want to have—nanoseconds more quickly than you, in order to then sell them on to you with a slight price increase. But what is this small incre
ase other than a levy that is paid on every financial transaction? It is, in a sense, a transaction tax. Except that the money flows into private pockets, instead of going to the general public. A financial transaction tax would do away with this legal but morally appalling behavior, by making sure that these methods are attributed the only adjective which is capable of keeping the financial industry from wrongdoing: unprofitable.”

  “Is he serious?” Tony whispers to Aisha.

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “You hope so?” splutters Tony. “Am I surrounded by lunatics?”

  “If he were lying,” says Aisha, “then he would also have been lying when he told us that he can’t lie, and that’s a possibility I don’t even want to think about.”

  “You know, tin man,” says Bob Chairman, “what bothers me is this: everyone complains about capitalism, but no one has any ideas about what would be better.”

  Murmurs of agreement come from the other donors.

  “Oh. I’ve certainly got some ideas,” says John. “A permanent negative interest, for example, which pulls money away from the unproductive financial market and gives it back to the productive economy. A negative interest ensures ablating capital and self-reducing debts. An interesting concept, don’t you think? Or regional currencies, which strengthen local producers and the sustainable circulation of goods. A tax on consumption of resources, in order to internalize external costs. And I lean toward a broad definition of resources. Clean air, clean water, land, and…”

  “John, John,” Tony interrupts him. “I think that’s enough. We don’t want to bore our guests.”

  He laughs, a little too artificially.

  “Another interesting idea, of course, is simply creating the money for the basic income,” says John.

  Bob Chairman laughs loudly and claps Tony on the shoulder as he walks away. “It seems like the circuits of your tin man have burned through once and for all!”

  “Our currency hasn’t been connected to any real value, like gold, for a long time now,” continues John, undeterred. “It is minted trust in the state. As long as the trust is there, we can simply create money. In principle, that’s what bankers are doing when they give credit. Money from nothing. Chicks for free.”