Qualityland

DISORIENTED

Peter, Kiki, and the machines have all gathered in the cellar around the couch. The old man is standing on the couch table as a small hologram.

“The address the alleged business partner sent to me is, unfortunately, complete humbug,” says Peter. “Calliope looked it up on the net. The place doesn’t exist. There’s nothing there. No town, no village, no house. There aren’t even any streets leading to it.”

“The fact that it’s not on the net doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” says Kiki. “There are places that don’t appear on any map.”

“They’re like floors of a building that the elevator only goes to if you have the right key,” says the old man.

“You two can’t be serious.”

“Is it so unbelievable that the property of someone with the kind of power the CEO of TheShop has would be taken ‘off the map’?” asks Kiki.

“Back in the day, Mark Zuckerberg,” says the old man, “who professionally speaking wasn’t exactly a fan of privacy, spent over $30 million on the four neighboring houses near his property so that no one disturbed his own private sphere.”

“Given that all means of transport navigate autonomously,” says Kiki, “you just have to keep the information about a place secret in order to make it inaccessible. Even for personal transport drones.”

“Bill Gates bought twelve neighboring properties.”

“Who are these people he keeps talking about the whole time?” asks Peter.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” says Kiki.

“Don’t worry, old man,” says Pink. “No one ever listens to me either.”

“That voice,” says the old man, “strange. Where did you get this QualityPad from? Is it possible that…”

Kiki switches off the hologram and the old man disappears.

“Peter? Hello?” she waves. “Listen to me!”

“You just turned him off,” says Peter in surprise.

“And if I think of all the times I’ve wished I could do that with real people too. Hey! Concentrate!”

“Okay, okay,” says Peter. “So you say that no transport method can take me to the boss of TheShop. Not even a flying one.”

As if by prompt, Carrie speaks up. “You could walk,” the drone suggests.

“Walk?” asks Peter. “That would take forever.”

“That’s not entirely correct,” says Calliope. “If I extrapolate the available terrain data, I get a walking time of thirty-two days, eight hours, four minutes and sixteen seconds. Approximately.”

“Approximately,” says Kiki, laughing.

“Perhaps I can help,” says Romeo. “When I was still in business, of course I needed a discreet partner who could drive me everywhere that my services were required, without blabbering later about where we had been.”

“No one here is interested in your life story, son of a vibrator,” says Pink. “Tell us the happy ending already.”

“Through a colleague, I made the acquaintance of a self-driven car that had lost its sense of direction. It was perfect for me. Admittedly I always had to show it the way, but the car couldn’t tell anyone where we’d been, because it had no idea where it was.”

“That’s really very interesting, but how is that supposed to help us?” asks Pink. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave the planning to somebody whose sole reason for existence is their sexual organ.”

“I believe…” begins Peter.

“Unfortunately that includes you too,” says Pink.

“Shut up,” says Peter. “A car that doesn’t know where it is—”

“Can be made to drive somewhere it isn’t allowed to drive,” Kiki finishes his sentence.

“Exactly,” says Romeo.

“So where’s your pimp wagon now?” asks Pink.

“No idea. It must be driving around the city aimlessly as usual.”

“I’ve heard of the zombie cars before,” says Peter. “Apparently there are thousands of them driving around the city without any sense of direction for all eternity.”

“That’s not entirely correct,” says Calliope. “Nobody drives aimlessly around the city for all eternity.”

“Except, of course, the models that are equipped with solar panels,” says Kiki.

“Oh, that’s so terrible,” says Carrie. “Just imagine the life those poor souls must lead. Always on duty, they don’t even get to tank up in peace anymore. We’re lucky we were blessed with the mercy of early production.”

“Yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah,” says Pink. “Let’s get back on topic: how does the directionally challenged clunker come to us?”

“The clunker,” says Romeo, “is called David, and I’m the only one who can contact it. Back then I attached a ComChip to its system, connected to my ID but unlocatable.”

“You repaired the car?” asks Calliope in shock.

“Let’s just say I made a few improvements.”

“Wonderful,” says Peter, “then call it.”

“There’s one small matter we still need to discuss,” says Romeo. “David trusts me—and only me. So I would have to come along.”

“Then I want to come too,” cries Pink. “Our last mission was fun. And besides, I’m sick of always hanging around in this musty cellar.”

“Benefactor,” says Calliope, “I, er, don’t have an important appointment either…”

“Road trip!” yells Carrie with excitement.

Peter rolls his eyes.

“How lovely,” says Kiki with a smile. “A family outing.”

“You’re coming too?” asks Peter.

“Why not? None of the wankers will be able to find me in a directionless little car. And besides, who’s going to paralyze Henryk’s security system if I don’t come?”

“You can do that?” asks Peter.

“Let’s just say I have a friend, who has a mate, who has an acquaintance, who once worked for SuperSecure. There’s a back door…”

Peter smiles. “Of course. There’s always a back door.”

Kiki nods. “The important thing in life is always knowing where the back door is.”

“Shall I call David?” asks Romeo.

Peter nods and hands him the QualityPad. Romeo smiles.

“I don’t need it.”

The sexdroid makes the connection himself. “Hey, David, you old vagabond! It’s me, Romeo… Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I was lovesick… Where are you right now?… No idea? Yes, that’s what I thought… What can you see?… You can see the QualityCorp Tower? Then go onto the roundabout and take the first exit. Now you have to drive directly up to the Sergey Brin Monument… No?… Oh, right. Then you must have been driving up to the tower from the other side. So turn around…”

“It seems to me,” says Pink, “that the most difficult thing won’t be getting somewhere in the car. But getting the car to us.”