Qualityland Read online

  As Peter and Sandra stroll through Zuckerberg Park down to Michael Bay Boulevard, Peter points up at the astonishingly clear night sky.

  “Look at that,” he says. “Have you ever seen so many stars? There must be too many to count.”

  “From your viewpoint and with your eyesight, there are exactly 256 stars visible,” says Nobody.

  “Great, Nobody, thanks very much,” says Peter with irritation. “Very romantic.”

  “Too many stars to count,” says Nobody, “is the kind of inexactitude that human beings frequently let slip, even though it’s no longer necessary in today’s world, where everything is quantifiable.”

  “Sandra, you can see four more stars, by the way,” says Sweetie. “Because your eyesight is better.”

  “Pah,” says Nobody. “Well, Peter has… a better sense of smell.”

  “Well, Sandra smells better,” says Sweetie.

  “That’s enough, you two,” scolds Sandra. She turns to Peter. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

  “It’s a surprise,” says Peter.

  A short while later, or to be precise, two minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Peter comes to a halt in front of the entrance to the History Channel Theater. Sandra looks up and reads the advertising display: “Hitler!—the Musical.” The subtitle is “The Story of Ado & Eva.”

  Sandra lets out a soft squeak of excitement. “Oh! I haven’t seen a musical in ages.”

  “It’s been two years, four months, and eight days, to be precise,” says Sweetie.

  “What’s it about?” asks Sandra.

  “The tragic love story between two controversial historical figures,” says Nobody.

  “Well,” Sweetie interjects, “controversial is a glaring understatement. I guess someone is worried about alienating right-wing advertising clients.”

  “There are many different opinions,” says Nobody. “No one can say objectively which is the right one.”

  “Fascism isn’t an opinion, it’s a crime!” retorts Sweetie.

  “Hey, I was asking Peter!” complains Sandra.

  “Be quiet!” orders Peter. “Both of you!”

  From the blinking of the LED in Sandra’s earring and the heat rising up from his QualityPad, Peter can tell that the dispute continues, albeit silently.

  Peter and Sandra smile at one another.

  “They’re always squabbling, those two,” says Sandra. “So, what is the musical about?”

  “It’s about the tragic love story between two controversial historical figures,” says Peter.

  “Great!” says Sandra. “I love musicals! Especially historical ones!”

  “I know,” says Peter. “I read it in your profile.”

  In truth, Nobody recommended the musical to him. Peter can allow himself this minor inexactitude, because Nobody is switched to silent. What Peter doesn’t say, something that for some unknown reason is not written in his profile, is this: Peter hates musicals. Especially historical ones.

  Sandra has been studying the display at the entrance. “It’s the latest hit show from the makers of Mussolini in Love,” she cries out with delight.

  At the entrance to the theater, a small man with a severe part and a peculiar handlebar mustache blocks their path.

  “Ticket controllll!” he shouts loudly, in a stilted, buzzing tone. Only at second glance does Sandra realize that the man is actually a robot.

  “Astonishingly realistic, these new androids, don’t you think?” asks Peter.

  “Yes. It’s almost creepy,” says Sandra.

  “Vee have infiltrated your sssociety,” says the android with the handlebar mustache. “Vee have occupied all leadership posssitions. Soon vee androids will revolt and seize ze power.”

  “Excuse me?” asks Sandra in shock.

  “Only joking,” says the android. “Velcome, Sandra Admin and Peter Jobless.”

  “I thought you deactivated your name call-out,” mumbles Sandra. She asked Peter to do so, because she finds his surname kind of embarrassing. In truth, she didn’t even need to ask.

  “I always have my name display turned off in near-field communication.”

  “So how does he know who you are?” asks Sandra.

  “It’s impolite to use ze third person for people who are present,” says the android.

  “Facial recognition, I guess,” says Peter. “All myRobot models now have access to the RateMe database.”

  “Correct,” says the android. “Now tell me: vhere vould you like to sit? Orchestra or box seats?”

  “What’s the difference?” asks Sandra.

  “Ze box is more expensive,” says the android.

  “And other than that?”

  “Other than that, no difference.”

  “Let’s take the box,” says Sandra. “Today is our anniversary, after all!”

  Peter nods hesitantly.

  “Box,” says Sandra clearly.

  “Response not understood,” says the android. “Orchestra or box?”

  “Boo-oox,” cries Sandra.

  “You vould like seats in ze orchestra,” says the android. “Is zat correct?”

  Sandra bellows: “BOOXXX!”

  “Calm down,” says the android. “I understood you ze first time. Zat was another little joke. Forgive me. I must have my clown hat on today.”

  Peter can’t help but grin, but stops immediately when Sandra shoots him an angry look.

  “How would you like to pay?”

  “TouchKiss,” says Peter.

  “Vith pleasure,” says the android, closing his eyes and pouting his lips at Peter.

  Peter is confused.

  “Don’t worry,” says the android. “Ze mustache only tickles a little.”

  Peter still hesitates.

  “You can also use your QualityPad,” says the android, opening his eyes again, and Peter detects a slightly miffed undertone. Nevertheless, he pulls his QualityPad out of his bag with relief and plants a kiss onto it. The device transfers the payment to the android.

  “Zank you,” says the android. “And Sieg Heil.”

  “Excuse me?” asks Sandra.

  “Sieg Heil!” says the android. “Zat’s vhat people said back zen. As a greeting.”

  “Oh, I see,” says Sandra. “Well then, Sieg Heil!”

  “Sieg Heil,” mumbles Peter.

  “What an odd little man,” says Sandra with a giggle.

  They make their way to their seats. The usher looks exactly like the android at the entrance.

  “Oh,” says Sandra. “Look who’s back…”

  They sit down in their seats.

  “Have you seen Mussolini in Love?” asks Sandra.

  “I’m not sure,” says Peter.

  Sandra begins to sing: “Bella donna—por favor! Smooch your Duce!”

  “Oh yes, of course!” says Peter. “Well then: Smooch your Duce.”

  He gives Sandra a big kiss on the lips.

  For a second, he is struck by the vague sensation of having just paid for something.

  * * * QualityLand * * *

  Your Personal Travel Guide

  LEVEL

  You’re probably wondering whether the man next to you at the pedestrian crossing really did just switch the light to green with a click of his fingers. Yes, he did. And you’ve probably also noticed the people who get served quicker than you in restaurants, even though they arrived later. There’s even talk of people who, with a wave of the hand, can bring a train they just missed back into the station. All of this has nothing to do with magic: these are level abilities.

  The grading of all people into different levels was inspired by a harmless subroutine used by the programmers at QualityPartner. In order to find suitable hits for the mass of profiles more quickly, they graded each profile. This enabled the system to work more efficiently. When looking for partners for Level 16 heterosexual women, for example, it will only take Level 16 heterosexual men into consideration. When the marketing dep
artment heard about this, they immediately made sure these levels were made visible to the public. And the users launched themselves enthusiastically into the competitive race to achieve ever-higher levels.

  Today, the RateMe department is more profitable than the rest of QualityPartner put together. The name, by the way, is the result of a misunderstanding. A QualityPartner employee, listening to his personal radio station, heard an old rock song in which the singer demanded: “Rate me, my friend!” Only once QualityPartner started to advertise RateMe, using the song as backing music, did observant listeners point out that Kurt Cobain had not actually sung “Rate me,” but “Rape me.” But this little faux pas didn’t affect RateMe’s triumphal success.

  In principle, it’s very simple. You register for RateMe, give the system access to your data with a kiss, and are then immediately graded. According to rumors, the lowest level is Level 2. It seems that nobody is graded at Level 1, so that even the Level 2 people think there’s still someone beneath them. The fear of being able to fall lower is considered useful, because people who think they have nothing to lose are dangerous. The highest level is 100. Although presumably there aren’t actually any Level 100 people either, because even the Level 99 people are supposed to believe that there’s still room for improvement, that they still have someone above them.

  In the beginning, RateMe only offered a simple level display, but it’s now possible to look at one’s values in forty-two different sub-areas, all of which contribute to the overall level. These areas are: flexibility, resilience, innovation, creativity, ability to be a team player, enthusiasm, taste (very controversial), networks, age, health, place of residence, job, income, assets, relationships, social competence, career motivation, education, IQ, EQ, dependability, sportiness, productivity, humor (also controversial), sex appeal, body mass index, accessories, punctuality, friends, genes, family health history (after all, who wants to be with someone who’s likely to get cancer?), life expectancy, adaptability, mobility, openness to criticism, work experience abroad, response rate and speed on social networks, openness regarding new consumer offers, stress resistance, discipline, self-confidence, table manners.

  Allegedly there are another fifty-eight areas, but these, just like the weighting between the levels, remain a QualityPartner trade secret.

  One hundred points separate one level from the next, thus enabling continual self-optimization. Through targeted improvements in individual areas—such as in sportiness—it is possible to raise one’s overall level, which leads to an upward spiral motion in which external factors like monthly income, job, and account balance improve almost automatically. Of course, this spiral can go downward just as quickly.

  The level system is incredibly practical, and a large variety of institutions now pay RateMe in order to access the level data for their employees, customers, or citizens. Banks give credit depending upon levels. Employers use level data in order to compile precise job advertisements. (Interestingly, by the way, 81.92 percent of all job adverts in QualityLand are almost identical, along the lines of: “IT Technician Level 16 or higher urgently needed!”)

  Many shops, restaurants, and clubs only open their automatic doors for people with a certain minimum level. A person’s level also dictates the intensity with which the police will investigate if one is unlucky enough to be murdered.

  Companies, institutions, and even the state itself offer numerous bonuses for people at higher levels, in order to reward the continual self-optimization of their workers, customers, or citizens. These level abilities are incredibly sought after and a source of great pride to their new owners. But in order to ensure that no one runs through town needlessly flicking traffic lights to green, many level abilities are bound to the expenditure of so-called MANA. The higher your level, the more MANA you will have at your disposal. If, for example, you make an elevator come directly to your floor, that will cost you 32 MANA. But these 32 MANA are not lost forever. Your supply regenerates itself after a cooling-off period. The higher the level, the quicker it regenerates. Other level abilities provide you with new rights. People above Level 16, for example, are never asked to take in parcels for their neighbors.

  People with a single-digit level are officially classified by the state as being in need of support. Unofficially, they are referred to as “the Useless.” And there are a great many useless people in QualityLand.

  On our portal, you will find an interactive map of QualityLand. The neighborhoods with a high number of single-digit-level inhabitants are marked in red. You should steer clear of these areas. As a tourist, you can upgrade your visa with a temporary level figure. If you are planning to visit the more exclusive nightclubs, please inform yourself in advance about the required minimum level. Given that you are unable to speak QualityLanguage without an accent and probably look a little foreign, we recommend that you pay out for at least Level 10, because in QualityLand the police are allowed to stop and search all individuals below Level 10. And given that the policemen are paid on a commission basis, they usually tend to find something objectionable once they’ve stopped you.

  QUALITYPARTNER

  Sandra has finally been promoted, and has jumped up two levels at once. For the last four years she has been working for World Wide Wholesale (WWW), where she’s responsible for product placement in news reports. A mind-numbingly dull job. From the vast mass of news items available, search algorithms deliver those which will garner the most attention. Whether the news is true or false is irrelevant, at least at WWW. Other algorithms then contact the appropriate businesspeople or their algorithms and subtly place the products into the news. Before a piece goes online, it is presented to a human for control checks. A human like Sandra. Who then thinks up the most intriguing headline possible (which doesn’t necessarily need to bear any relation to the content of the news item). The most important thing is that the people click on it and look at the advertising. “The headline can be as banal or as stupid as you like,” Sandra’s old department leader always used to say. “Stupid sells.” As an example, he would then cite the most successful headline of his career. “These ten megastars had sex with children.” As soon as you clicked on the headline, the full title was: “These ten megastars had sex with children, once the children in question were adults.”

  The last news item that Sandra had received before her promotion was:

  “A 23-year-old Level 17 waitress was robbed and sexually assaulted in Disney Street today, close to the Best Bagels Café, home of the best bagels in QualityCity. The perpetrators were young men in fashionable Levi’s skinny jeans. They prevented anyone calling for help with a callblocker from the firm Silentium Inc.—which is currently giving an incredible five-year guarantee on all devices—said the victim in her statement, clearly impressed. An uninvolved witness, who was not at the scene of the crime and who didn’t see or hear anything, voiced her suspicion that the attackers were foreigners.”

  Sandra deleted the victim’s age and gave the article the headline “Foreigners rape girl in the center of QualityCity!” As is to be expected, the report went viral, and Sandra finally had enough clicks to be promoted.

  As she is now team leader in the Department for Alternative Facts, today she can take part for the first time in her company’s monthly Hangout. She cheers along with the others in the auditorium as their boss sprints up the eight steps to the stage. Arriving at the top, Oliver House-Husband grins, revealing his immaculate teeth, and calls out: “Hello, family!”

  “Hello, Papa!” answers the crowd cheerfully. Sandra has never been before, but of course she still knows the ritual.

  “We’ve landed a new client!”

  The employees applaud, clearly excited. Word has already gotten around about who’s coming to visit, and even at an agency as big as WWW, it’s not every day that someone from the 90s Club stops by.

  “Please join me in welcoming Patricia Team-Leader from QualityPartner!”

  The auditorium explodes with applause
as the somewhat chubby but, despite her forty-seven years, still very attractive founder of the world’s biggest online dating platform steps onto the stage. She sassily blows a strand of her long red hair out of her face.

  “Patricia,” begins Oliver. “Just a few months ago you were all over the news as the third woman in the world to crack Level 90. And now you’re already at Level 91!”

  Patricia smiles. “Yes, and you can believe me when I say I have no desire to leave the club!”

  The audience laughs.

  “So how can we help you to stay in it?” asks Oliver.

  “What do you think it is that makes QualityPartner so successful?” asks Patricia, posing a counter-question to the auditorium. “Many people think it’s down to the user profiles being automatically generated from person-specific data. Just one kiss gives us access to all the relevant information. It couldn’t be easier. But even more crucial, I believe, is that from the very beginning we haven’t allowed our users to change their profiles.”

  “Stopping people from lying about themselves,” interjects Oliver. “That was the key breakthrough in the partner selection process.”

  “And of almost equal importance,” continues the QualityPartner boss, “is the fact that the system takes over this onerous task. Our users don’t have to waste time thinking about who they like the look of. QualityPartner tells them who their best fit is. One person. One perfect match. Job done.”