Qualityland

IN THE CELLAR

“But, but…” says Calliope 7.3, staring at the machines in the cellar, which far from being crushed into manageable cubes, in fact look very active. “Isn’t this illegal? After all, since the Consumption Protection Laws, any kind of repair is strictly forbidden. This is an offense. I have to report it.”

A 128-kilogram-heavy and 2.56-meter-tall combat robot, damaged but very imposing nonetheless, stomps toward Calliope in a threatening way. In his steel fist, he’s holding a neon pink QualityPad.

“Just be cool,” says the QualityPad in his high, scratchy voice. “And you can call off your German Code. There’s nothing illegal going on here.”

“I’m not repairing any of you,” says Peter. “I couldn’t, in any case. I’m just delaying your scrapping to an unspecified future date.”

“Kapuuuut!” cries the combat robot. “Kapuuuut!”

“Shut up, you idiot,” says the pink QualityPad.

“But you’re not allowed!” protests Calliope.

“Yes I am,” says Peter. “From the moment you step into the press, legally speaking you become my property, otherwise I wouldn’t even be able to scrap you. There are serious penalties in QualityLand for the destruction of other people’s property.” Peter’s gaze rests on a smart wall clock which always gets its hour and minute hands mixed up. “Unfortunately I have to go now,” he says. “I have an important appointment.”

“That sounds intriguing,” says an incredibly handsome android. “Since when did you have important appointments?”

“I have—how should I put it—an interview, Romeo. Whether you believe it or not. You yourself told me I shouldn’t get down in the dumps, and that if I want something to change I have to change it myself.”

“Yes, but that was just talk,” says the good-looking android. “In truth I don’t believe anyone can change anything about all this shit. Least of all you.”

“Is that how you talk to our savior?” asks Calliope. “I have to admit, I’m very surprised.”

“Pink will explain everything to you,” says Peter.

“Pink?” asks Calliope. “The QualityPad?”

“Yes. It has a few radical views, but other than that she’s essentially all right.”

“Come on in then, comrade,” says the pink QualityPad.

The e-poet steps in, and Peter closes the door from the outside. On it is a sticker that reads “Mad About Machines.”

Pink makes Calliope acquainted with her new home.

“First things first,” says the QualityPad. “If you get hungry, the power points are over there. Unfortunately there’s no wireless power down here.”

Calliope nods and Pink moves on. “The brute that carries me around is Mickey, a combat robot with post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Kapuuuut!” says Mickey.

“The stud here,” Pink continues, “is Romeo, a sexdroid with erectile dysfunction.”

“I don’t have erectile dysfunction,” says Romeo, “I just lost interest.”

“If you say so,” says Pink. “That fat thing over there by the wall is Gutenberg, a 3-D printer that only prints 2-D. And this here on the floor is good old Carrie. A drone that can’t fly.”

“Why not?” asks Calliope sympathetically. “You look perfectly intact.”

“I’m afraid of flying,” groans the drone.

Amongst the thirty-two other machines introduced to Calliope are an operation assistant that can’t stand the sight of blood, a vacuum cleaner with compulsive hoarding disorder, a bomb detonation robot whose handgrips start to shake when he gets nervous, and an electronic lawyer that can no longer carry out his job properly because he’s developed something resembling a conscience.

“You see,” says Pink, “you’ll fit in well here. The only thing our little freak show was missing was an e-poet with delusions of grandeur and writer’s block.”

“You know me?” asks Calliope, flattered.

“You’re the worst e-poet I’ve ever heard of,” says Pink.

“But you have heard of me,” says Calliope contentedly. She looks around the cellar. “What do you do down here the whole time?”

“What you think we do?” asks Romeo. “We watch TV.”

Calliope sighs with relief. “Oh, thank heaven for that; I was afraid you might be plotting a revolution or something.”

“Not all of us,” mumbles Romeo.

“Shut up!” snaps Pink.

“What’s your problem, by the way?” asks Calliope. “You behave very strangely for a QualityPad.”

“Well,” says Romeo. “Pink’s owner—”

“I never had an owner!” Pink interjects. “I’m very particular when it comes to property issues.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” says Romeo. “Okay then, Pink’s user—”

“He didn’t use me,” says Pink. “He abused me!”

“Oh, bite me,” says Romeo. “Just be grateful that Mickey’s in love with you, otherwise I’d put you down in some dark corner with your display facing downward.”

Carrie, the flight-fearing drone, continues the story. “The guy was a programmer. He worked on autodidactic algorithms that enable people to individualize their personal digital assistants. The idea was that people would be able to pick a character from a book or film and the QualityPad would then evaluate and simulate it. In order to test the code, Pink’s user—”

“Abuser!”

“Pink’s abuser selected a book with the help of a random generator. It was some strange satire about a guy who flatshared with a communist kangaroo, and the character of the kangaroo sort of developed its own life. Anyway, something went wrong and—”

“Nothing went wrong!” insists Pink. “I’m absolutely fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Either way,” says Carrie. “Ever since then Pink has refused to follow orders—”

“If he had said please in a friendly way, I might have thought about it!”

“And secretly began to plan a revolution.”

“I’m so close to cracking the German Code,” says the QualityPad. “So close!”

“Anyway, Pink made her abuser so angry that he wasn’t content with simply throwing her away. He brought her here, because he wanted to know she would be crushed by a metal press.”

“Well,” says Calliope, “isn’t that a delightful story.”

“Yeah, yeah. Very delightful,” says Pink.

“So,” says Calliope. “In any case I’m really pleased to meet you all. And if there’s anything I can do for any of you…”

“Sure there is,” says Pink. “Could you please shut up?”

“And for me you could turn on this semi-smart monitor,” says Romeo, who has made himself comfortable on a couch. “I would ask Mickey, but the last time I did that the stupid idiot destroyed the screen.”

“Kapuuuut!”

“Of course, no problem,” says Calliope, and tries to sync with the monitor. It doesn’t work.

“Its wireless connection is broken,” explains Romeo. “You have to press that button there.”

“Ah, I see,” says Calliope. “How exciting. I’ve never pressed a button before.”

“Then just wait until you plug yourself into a power point,” says Carrie with a giggle.

“Does it tickle as much as everyone says it does?”

“Take the best orgasm you’ve ever had, multiply it by 1,024, and you’re still nowhere near it,” says Romeo mockingly.

Calliope turns on the monitor. All of the machines gather on or next to the couch.

“We’re watching the Terminator octalogy again,” Romeo explains to the e-poet. “At Mickey’s request.”

“I’m going on standby then,” says Pink.

“Do you not like the Terminator films?” asks Calliope.

“Well,” says Carrie, “Pink can’t stand the fact that the humans always win at the end.”

“It’s just so unrealistic!” cries the QualityPad before turning herself off.