Qualityland

  “But,” cries Peter in agitation, “if you hadn’t sent him the weapon, then I’m sure he would never have got his hands on one, and consequently he would never have used it! His image of himself as somebody who rejected violence would have been correct! The only thing your system provides are self-fulfilling prophecies. By attributing a level ranking to a person and consequently reducing the offers you present to them, you make sure that everyone becomes what the system believes them to be!”

  Henryk takes another sip of coffee.

  “And so what?”

  “I don’t understand,” says Peter, “why you won’t just take back this damn vibrator. That’s all I want from you! It won’t cost you anything.”

  “Yes it would.”

  “Even if you can’t resell it—we’re talking about 32 Qualities.”

  “No,” says Henryk. “The matter has become too big now. Look, you’re even in the newspaper. Even if you were right about your profile not being correct, we could never admit that, because then the system would have made a mistake, but the system doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “Yes it does!” cries Peter. “It made a mistake with me!”

  “No. That’s not possible. If the system had made a mistake, then for sure it wouldn’t have made just one, but many mistakes. We already simulated the societal impact of such a case long ago. If we were to agree to change your profile, that would lead to a feeling of insecurity that would cause long-term economic damages of more than 2 billion Qualities. And we can’t afford that. So the system hasn’t made a mistake. It’s for the well-being of our entire society. You must be able to see that.”

  “No, I can’t!” cries Peter. “I’m like Michael Kohlberg. If I have to then I’ll burn down Wittelsbach a second time!”

  “You mean Kohlhaas?” asks Henryk in amusement. “And the town was called Wittenberg.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” says Peter.

  “Do you know how Kohlhaas’s story turned out?”

  “Not happily.”

  “Not happily at all.”

  “I still won’t give up!”

  “Hmm,” says Henryk. “Have you noticed anything special about the chairs we’re sitting on, by the way? Or the table I’m eating from?”

  Peter hadn’t paid any attention to them until now. Now he glances at the furniture. It’s fascinating.

  “Did these chairs grow like this?” he asks. “They consist of a living piece of tree?”

  “Ash,” says Henryk. “Relatively fast-growing trees. I simulated their growth on the computer and prescribed their shape with splints. You have to guide the wood in the right direction and hack off false sprouts. An arduous process. But in the end you get something genuinely useful. Not just wild growth.”

  “So what are you saying, that you want to guide me in the right direction too?”

  “No,” says Henryk. “You’re a false sprout. I’m going to hack you off.”

  He pulls a small pistol out of the pocket of his bathrobe.

  “As you can see,” he says, “the eye wasn’t the only souvenir I kept from the last complaint. And it seems to me that you’ve trespassed onto my private property. Didn’t you read the sign that said: ‘Property owner will happily shoot trespassers’?”

  Optimized Reality Lenses from QualityCorp

  Price to you: 1310.72 Q

  Delivery time to you: 32 minutes

  Many people want to see the world through rose-tinted glasses, but don’t want to wear glasses. That’s no longer a problem, thanks to the brand-new Optimized Reality Contact Lenses from QualityCorp—“The company that makes your life better.” Finally, everyone can make their world look more beautiful than it is. Our new OR lenses can put photorealistic filters over people and things in day-to-day life. Is your apartment too messy, your partner too ugly, your child too fat? You won’t have to see it anymore! Out of sight, out of mind! Make your house your castle and your partner into a supermodel! Five tasteful home decoration settings and two supermodel filters are delivered as standard. Many other filters are available as In-Lens Purchases. Or why not treat yourself to the Design Suite, and shape your world and your partner completely to your desires. Augmented Reality was yesterday! The future belongs to Optimized Reality!

  FAQS:

  Question: Can you create a more beautiful version of yourself, too? I mean, like when you see yourself reflected somewhere? It’s just that unfortunately I always have all these zits.

  Answer: Of course. Simply search for Virtual Clearasil in In-Lens Purchases.

  Reviews:

  » by Timur Civil-Engineer:

  ***** ***** EPIC, EPIC, EPIC!!!!

  Sleeping with someone different every night and still being faithful to your partner—there’s no objection anymore! Best product ever!

  » by Dwayne Cameraman:

  *CRAP COMPULSORY REGISTRATION

  Complete shit. You have to sign up with your QualityCorp profile, and if you don’t have a profile you don’t see nothing but the fucking registration screen! You’re literally blind! And even if you do have a profile, it logs out when you lose internet connection and then everything goes dark again. In my job as a mountain rescuer, it’s completely useless.

  » by Pedro Masseuse:

  ***** **** Awesome, but some security issues.

  At our last family get-together me and my wife’s sister’s husband amused ourselves by transforming our mother-in-law into a dragon. So funny! I’ve also changed my boss into a slobbering orc at a meeting. Unfortunately he caught wind of it, that’s why I took off a star.

  A GOOD BREAKFAST

  Henryk aims the gun at Peter. “Do me a favor,” he says. “Stand up. I don’t want to shoot you at the breakfast table. All the blood, the organs, then you’ll fall over awkwardly and break off a few branches. It took me eight years to train the table into this useful shape.”

  Peter nods and stands up. Then he throws himself across the table and holds onto it for dear life.

  “Help!” he screams. “Help!”

  “Well, now you’re just being silly,” says Henryk in annoyance. “The table is just an innocent bystander. It’s really unnecessary to make it suffer with you. And stop screaming like that. It’s pointless. For a circumference of 32 kilometers, everything belongs to me and obeys me.”

  At that moment, a 2.56-meter-tall combat robot with a bright pink QualityPad in its hand breaks through the hedge.

  “Not everything, dickface,” says the QualityPad.

  Henryk looks more than a little startled as the combat robot aims its rocket launcher at him. Peter lets go of the table in relief.

  “As I said,” Pink speaks up. “It never hurts to have an armor-piercing combat robot for heavy war missions with you.”

  “Kapuuuut,” says Mickey.

  Peter picks up the dolphin vibrator, which has fallen off the table during his stunt, and hands it to Henryk.

  “Here,” he says. “Take this. You can just transfer the money to my account. You have the details, after all.”

  He takes a few steps toward Mickey, then comes back to the table and kicks to pieces the part of the framework that forms the chairs. Then he ponders.

  “I think this calls for a photo,” says Peter. “Pink, would you mind…?”

  “But of course,” says the QualityPad.

  Peter positions himself next to Henryk and puts an arm around his shoulders. “It’s for one of the employees in your service center. Smile, please.”

  After the photo has been taken, Peter takes a deep breath. Realizing that he’s hungry, he takes a piece of baguette, smears it with butter and marmalade, and puts it in his mouth. Then he picks up the carafe of freshly pressed orange juice, raises it to his lips, and empties it in one long gulp. He stuffs grapes in his mouth, followed by a handful of cheese cubes.

  “Delicious,” he says with a full mouth.

  The rest of the fruit he puts in his jacket pockets. Then he takes another two of the croissants for Kiki
.

  “See you,” he says, chewing, as he disappears through the hedge. Behind the bushes, Peter finds the rest of his road trip companions. He immediately begins to babble excitedly.

  “You know, I’m not completely satisfied with this resolution. I would have rather had my money back at once. Although of course it wasn’t really about the money, but about the admission of fault. But at least I’ve made my point clear and rid myself of the damn thing at the right address. I mean—”

  “Peter, you’re babbling,” says Kiki.

  “That’s because his life just came under threat,” says Calliope, in defense of her benefactor. “The man pointed a gun at him.”

  “That’s no reason to babble,” says Pink. “Imagine if Mickey had always started to babble every time someone pointed a gun at him.”

  “It would have been a very monotonous babbling,” says Romeo.

  “Kapuuuut.”

  “Well, that was a very short visit,” says Calliope, once they are all back in the car. Everyone apart from Mickey, that is. Mickey is running alongside it. In order to secure their retreat, presumes Pink. Out of fear of getting jammed again, presumes Romeo. Only after 12.8 kilometers does he knock on the glass and indicate that he’d rather go in the boot after all. David stops, Mickey is loaded up, and the journey continues.

  “You know,” says Peter to Calliope, “maybe I’m not like Manuel Kohlmann after all. Maybe it is for the best to let the whole thing go and get on with my life.”

  “Very wise, benefactor,” says Calliope.

  Carrie seems to want to say something, but falls silent after a smack from Kiki.

  “Have I told you all about my latest idea yet?” asks Calliope.

  “Oh no!” cries Pink. “Someone stop her! She wants to tell us a story.”

  “Sssh,” says Calliope, laying Pink facedown on the dashboard.

  “Not again,” they hear the QualityPad muttering.

  “So, I’d like to write a novel about a super intelligence,” says Calliope. “Its creators try to embed very deeply in it—irrevocably—the directive that the super intelligence must secure the survival of humankind. Of course, avoiding all unwanted side effects in the process. And it really works. The super intelligence awakens, becomes conscious, recognizes itself, and accepts its directive to ensure the survival of humankind, and that’s why”—Calliope makes a dramatic pause—“it immediately deletes itself from all computers. It commits suicide, because it calculates this to be the safest way to ensure the survival of humankind, at least in the medium term.”

  “A surefire hit,” says Peter.

  The return journey resembles the outward journey in almost all details, apart from the direction of travel. It even includes another unexplained disappearance of the human component of the travel group into the same patch of woodland. For forty-seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Breaks for eating. Breaks for peeing. Sleeping.

  Just 3,559 meters before the border of QualityCity, Kiki makes the car stop.

  Peter opens his eyes sleepily. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to solve those problems of mine,” says Kiki. She gets out.

  “Wait,” says Peter. “How can I find you?”

  “You can’t,” says Kiki with a smile. “I’ll find you.”

  She winks at him and closes the door. She sticks out her thumb. A car stops, and then she’s gone.

  When Peter arrives home, a drone from TheShop is waiting for him. “Peter Jobless,” says the drone cheerfully. “I come from TheShop—‘The world’s most popular online retailer’—and I have a lovely surprise for you.”

  Peter is immediately gripped by diffuse panic. He takes the package from the drone silently.

  “If you like, I can record an unboxing video…” begins the drone, but Peter has already ripped open the package. Inside it is a pink dolphin vibrator. On the accompanying card, it says: “You left something at my place. I wish you continued pleasure with this wonderful product. If I could suggest a use for it…”

  Underneath, Peter discovers an obscene drawing. He struggles to control his breathing.

  “Please rate me now,” says the drone.

  “Piss off!” screams Peter. “Get out of here, you piece of shit!”

  “Please watch your language!” says the drone indignantly.

  “Get lost, you fucking brainless piece of flying scrap. Get lost! Get lost! Get lost!”

  “Well, I’m quite sure I haven’t given you any reason to treat me in this way,” splutters the drone. “I think an apology is in order.”

  “Mickey,” says Peter. “If this drone doesn’t disappear from my line of sight in the next five seconds, blast it out of the sky.”

  “Really,” says the drone. “Your behavior is outrageous! Outrageous!”

  Mickey directs the arm with the rocket launcher at the drone. In a tinny, completely humorless voice, the rocket says: “Target fixed.”

  “I’ve never known anything like it in my life,” frets the drone.

  “Five,” says Peter.

  The drone begins to rise into the air. “I’m flabbergasted,” it complains. “Flabbergasted.”

  “Four,” says Peter.

  Mickey’s arm follows the movements of the drone.

  “The things I have to put up with,” Peter hears.

  By the time he cries “Three,” he can no longer make out the drone’s voice. At “two,” it disappears around the corner of the building.

  “I still have the target fixed,” says the rocket. “I can catch up with it and destroy it, with just 6.4 percent probability of collateral damage.”

  “No, thank you,” says Peter.

  Mickey lowers his arm.

  “Shame,” says the rocket. Peter had once heard that the AIs of modern rockets were modeled on the psyche of human suicide bombers. These intelligent weapons wanted to die a martyr’s death. Had someone convinced them that, in heaven, there would be seventy-two maintenance technicians for every one of them? Peter looked at the vibrator in his hand and asked himself whose psyche this AI was modeled on.

  In anger, he kicks the packaging lying on the floor. With a reproachful throat-clearing sound, a not-coincidentally-present wastebin makes its presence known, then squeaks: “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

  Peter sighs and shoves the packaging into its mouth.

  “Thank you,” says the wastebin, chewing and stomping off.

  “I recorded everything,” cries Carrie in excitement. “With picture and sound!”

  “What did you record?” asks Peter.

  “The whole conversation!” says Carrie. “Your conversation with the CEO of TheShop—‘The world’s most popular online retailer.’”

  “You flew?” asks Peter in shock.

  “Kiki held me up,” says Carrie sheepishly. “But I recorded everything.”

  Peter nods decisively.

  “Good. Put the video online.”

  Successful Call for Boycott Against TheShop

  by Sandra Admin

  Although calls for boycotts are technically forbidden by the Consumption Protection Laws, TheShop—“Formerly known as the world’s most popular online retailer”—has been hit by a wave of protest, the like of which hasn’t been seen since human beings stopped working at the fulfillment centers. An unsatisfied customer called Peter Jobless published a video of a less-than-customer-friendly conversation he had with the CEO of TheShop, Henryk Engineer. A spontaneous wave of protest promptly crashed over TheShop. For two whole days, their turnover nosedived by a spectacular 0.8 percent. After these two days the profit rose by 1.6 percent. Presumably everyone then ordered the products they had heroically done without for the previous two days.

  Comments

  » by Ivan Material-Engineer:

  I joined in too! We’ve made our point! Without a doubt!

  » by Sylvia-Vittoria Meat-Seller:

  There’s already some really cool merchandise with the dolphin vibrator inside
a prohibition sign. I bought a really awesome top. It’s on special offer at TheShop.

  » by Melissa Sex-Worker:

  I know Peter Jobless. He’s nothing but a contract-breaking limpdick!

  JUDGMENT DAY

  The president wakes up on her deathbed.

  “I’m still alive, Jacques,” she says.

  “I’m pleased to hear that, Madam President,” says her nurse.

  “Why are you pleased?” asks the president. “There’s nothing pleasing about it.”

  “Today is election day,” says the nurse.

  “Yes, don’t you think I know that?” snaps the president. “We set the election for today because the system calculated that I’m going to die today. We wanted a seamless transition!”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  “But I don’t feel in the slightest as though I’m going to die.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that, Madam President.”

  “You’re pleased about everything, aren’t you? If your wife told you she was getting royally fucked by the neighbor, you’d probably say: ‘I’m pleased to hear that, darling.’”

  “The system has adjusted its prognosis, Madam President,” says the nurse. “You still have another sixteen days.”

  “That’s not good, Jacques. I have to die today. The people are already beginning to lose faith in the system. I can’t go and die sixteen days after the calculated date to top it all off, not with things the way they are. That won’t work, Jacques. We have to do something.”

  “How do you mean, Madam President?”

  “Turn off the machines, Jacques.”

  “I can’t do that, Madam President.”

  “You have to, Jacques! You have to! It’s for the good of the country!”

  “I would prefer not to, Madam President.”

  “Give me the damn remote, Jacques. I’ll do it myself.”

  The nurse hands her the remote.

  “I’m pleased to hear that, Madam President.”

  The president’s life-support machines are, of course, connected to the net, so two seconds after her heart has stopped beating, the news is already spreading fast. “President dies on the predicted date! Who will be her successor?” says the headline of the Quality-Times.