No More Learning

„Do you understand, idiot? You probably think, that you

have a special status here, isn't it? ", he roared.

The other workers googled at him and hid their faces behind

their rolls. Meanwhile, Kohlhaas felt like a kicked dog,

humiliated in front of the rest of his colleagues - what was

very close to reality. Without considering his action, he

jumped up and positioned himself in front of the official of

the "Ministry for Production Supervision".

"You can be glad, that you are my superior, otherwise I

would break you every bone! ", screamed Frank with boiling

fury. Gert Sasse was baffled. A-341 obstinately wiped off

the blood from his lip.

One hour later, the worker still waited in front of the door of
the production complex leader. Sasse was in his office and
Frank heard him swearing and ranting. This was no good
sign.

„A-341, come in! ", resounded the voice of the highest boss
of this work plant over the brightly illuminated corridor. The
young man started moving and took a seat on the chair in
the middle of the office room. A short silence followed, then
it began.

J took a look on your Scanchip, A-341! ", reported Mr.
Reimers, the production complex leader. „ln the ten years of
your activity here, you had come too late three times. Apart
from that, this is not the first time that you make a spectacle



13



of yourself. You are already occured to me, because of
subversive statements at work which can probably also be
confirmed by your colleagues. We have even marked you
with a blue code 67-Beta, if you didn't know it yet, A-341!
We will examine the video tapes of your working days in this
complex in the next days, with our new "Voice-Analysis-
System", and Tim sure that we will find some more
subversive statements.

But what you have done today, is a real scandal!
Threatening an official of the highest authority of production
supervision. Is there just air in your head, boy? If I don't
take drastic measures in a case like this, my superiors will
make me a lot of problems.

I must dismiss you, A-341! Further, I am correctly obligated,
to react on such an unbelievable incident with a message to
the responsible administration. Disappear now from this
production complex, and never come back, A-341! "
Frank Kohlhaas, the just dismissed worker, was struck
dumb with horror. His vocal chords seemed to be rusted, his
throat was tied and his courage was put on ice somewhere.
He went out, just went out, pale as death, with a roaring
head, without answering. Frank had lost his job, his source
for subsistence. And this was no fun in these joyless days.

Like in trance, the young man went into the changing room
of the production complex and absently opened the baggy
sheet door of his spint. . . Dismissal" - this word sounded like
the cut of a razor in the ear of each listener in this time. It
was related to the word . . liquidation", because it was the
destruction of the social existence. Being dismissed meant
to get no more Globes, as the international currency was
called since the year 2018. If Frank would not find a new
employment as soon as possible, he could lose his
apartment, his food and finally also his life. Any social



14



security, warranted by the state, had completely been
abolished since the total collapse of world economy in
winter 2012/13. And it was more than difficult, to find work in
a time, in which the industrial production in old Central and
Western Europe had mostly been outsourced to the Third
World. Therefore, millions of Europeans tried to survive by
doing extremly bad paid jobs in this dark present. They had
nothing to lose, so they were glad about every breadline
wage they could get. Those, who were not able to find a
possibility to earn some money in any way, ended as
beggars and homeless people, hanging around under
bridges or in vacant house ruins.

On the next day, Frank was not awaked by the shrill sound

of his alarm, after an sorrowful and restless night, but by the

disgusting stench which came from the stairway. The smell

had not been liquidated by anyone - against the spirit of the

age.

Only in the early morning hours, he had been able to sleep

for a while, because of his constant brooding and the

unpleasant thoughts that had tortured him during the night.

As first thought of the new grey day, the face of Mr. Sasse

appeared in his head and the face of citizen 1-564398B-

278843 changed to a hateful grimace, when he mused

about killing the official with an iron rod.

„This damn hybrid! If my life goes down the drain, because

of that guy, then I will smash the skull of this bastard before

I go to hell! ", hissed Frank, erupting in anger.

He finally crept out of his bed and stared down at the dirty

street in front of his apartement block.

„Damn! What shall I do now? ", he thought. J must find a

new job, otherwise they will close the account on my

Scanchip, because I can't pay the fucking calculations any

longer. "



15



After a further hour of useless musing, he left his dwelling,

tried not to inhale too deeply on the corridor, and walked the

dark stairs down to the ground floor.

The elevator was defective since months and nobody

seemed to waste a thought about repairing it. The only one,

Frank could imagine as a potential employer in this

hardship, was Stefan Meise, the junkdealer, an old

schoolmate.

Meise' s scrapyard was about half an hour foot march

distant from Frank's apartment block. He hit the road,

walked down the ugly street, which was covered with

garbage, and finally reached his goal - a place full of rusty

cars and all kinds of metal debris.

Nevertheless, Stefan Meise was not difficult to find between

the mountains of scrap iron. He was very tall, thick, bearded

and looked hardly differed from what he collected and sold.

„Hello Stefan! How are you? ", welcomed him Frank quietly,

trying to smile.

„Oh, Frank Kohlhaas! What's up, man? ", answered the thick

junkdealer. "You haven't been here for ages! "

"I just thought, I could visit you. Does the scrap metal trade

still run, Stefan? ", asked Frank. „You have here. . . eh. . . a lot

of rusty stuff. . . Where do you find so much junk? "

„Ha! I collect, what I can find. As all junkdealers do. Why do

you ask me this, Frank? Can I help you? ", returned Meise.

„l have lost my job yesterday", told Frank, while the fat man

looked at him quizzically. Then, Meise stroke with his oily,

broad fingers over his dirty black overall.

. That's a disaster, Frank! And now? ", asked Stefan and

shook his head.

„Now, I'm looking for something new. Some kind of

temporary job, you know? Perhaps, you still need another

helping hand? ", murmured the young man.



16



For half a minute, Meise just googled at the unemployed

man with his yellowish, bulging eyes. Then he looked

around and tried to give his unpleasant answer as carefully

as possible.

. . Working for me? ", he inquired. . . Thus, Frank, the situation

is. . . eh. . . the times are bad. We all know this, my friend. I

almost run everything alone here and only Ralf helps me

from time to time. This is actually enough. I don't need a

second man, sorry! "

Frank Kohlhaas had never been a good actor and who saw

him now, could feel his disappointment.

„And only for two months? ", he asked.

„l need none here, and I can't afford a second man, Frank! ",

explained the thick, filthy man and turned away. „l'm sorry,

but I have to do some work now. No offense, but there is no

chance for you to find work here. "

Back home, Frank hissed one of his worst curses and

kicked against the kitchen table. He desperately scanned

his brain for other possibilities of employment and checked

all production complexes around Berlin in his mind. But the

problem was, that his boss had given him a negative entry

in his Scanchip register after the conflict with Mr. Sasse,

what made it difficult to get a job in another steel plant.

He still had 246 Globes on his electronic account for this

month. More than 400 Globes he had to pay only for his

apartment in this rotted estate of prefabricated houses.

Time pressed now, with each day a little bit more, and the

dark shadow of despair grew with the passing hours. It

occupied Frank's mind like a malicious ulcer.

After the young man had watched an extremely stupid

sitcom, he switched off the television and tried to sleep. But

it was only 23,00 o'clock and regrettably the exhaustion had

not achieved the necessary level yet, to turn off Frank's

brain and give him some peace of mind.



17



Several hours followed, when Frank was staring at the dark
ceiling, cursing the production complex 42-B with all its
superiors, supervisors and workers.

Then the stench from the hall became noticeable to him
again and the fog of despair in his head swelled so strongly
that the young man thought about killing himself.
He mused about operating the bad thoughts and concerns
under his skullcap with a heavy-calibered shotgun which
would completely spread his brain over the yellowed
wallpaper behind his bedstead. And Frank Kohlhaas still
thought about many other things in this terrible night.
He brooded over his so far senseless life, the isolation, the
monotonousness and the gaping abyss that waited for him
now. Frank came to no solution in this night and not even
the smallest glimmer of hope seemed to shine somewhere.
Nothing. Outside it was dark. In front of the house, Frank
could recognize a few ripped garbage bags, which already
lay there since several weeks. Then he was finally so tired,
that he fell asleep with his head on the window sill.

Up to the end of the week, the search for a new job was
unsuccessful - as he had already expected it. It seemed
that there was no more work at all, in the periphery of
several kilometers. Furthermore, a inquiry at the local
administration had proven that Frank had meanwhile a
negative entry in his Scanchip register, because of
. . disturbance of peace at the workplace".
. . Perhaps, the idea with the shotgun is not too bad at all! But
before that, I will visit this Sasse! ", grumbled Frank on
Friday, when the short weekend for his former colleagues of
the production complex 42-B began.
On Saturday and Sunday, he invested his last Globes in the
cheap liquor from the kiosk at the corner. Alone in his small,
modestly furnished apartment, in the dark block of flats, in a



18



much darker time. His fate and his pain was not noticed by

anyone else. Just like Frank Kohlhaas had never noticed

the pain of the others who lifed their lives in their

honeycombs, behind the shabby, gray walls of this

plattenbau.

If he would drink himself to death or blew his head away, he

would soon smell like the corridor on his floor, and it would

probably not even been noticed by his neighbors. This

thought was somehow so sick that it elecited Frank a

tormented smile.

Hard alcohol had not the best reputation, but one thing was

clear: It had already given millions of desperate people a

good sleep. No concern could be so big, that it couldn't be

drowned in a wave of the good and, above all, cheap booze

from the nearby kiosk. Frank checked this old truth in a

"self-experiment".

„Beep! Beep! Beep! ", it resounded on Monday at 6. 30

o'clock in the morning from the kitchen, where the drunk

man had forgotten his Scanchip. „Beep! Beep! Beep! "

An electronic woman's voice always repeated. . .

„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "

„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "

„Good morning, citizen 1-564398B-278843! You have a
message of priority level alpha on your Scanchip! "

„Hmmm. . . ", hummed Frank, still a bit dazed from the night
before.



19



„Damn! What? ", he muttered and rolled out of his bed which

still smelled of alcohol.

„What the hell? Damn! Shut up! ", he grunted and walked

with a bad headache to the kitchen table.
It lasted a little eternity until Frank had remembered the pin

code and had found his way through the message-menu of

the Scanchip.

"What. . . ? "

"Citation? What? ", whispered citizen 1-564398B-278843. He

had to read it twice, in order to believe it. Did somebody try

to kid him?

„What the fuck is that? ", he could only say.

Official citation:

Citizen 1-564398B-278843,

You are officially cited to an automated trial on
14. 08. 2027 at 8. 00 o'clock.

Accusations:

- Massive disturbation at the workplace

- Theoretical aggravated battery

Appear at the mentioned time in court cell 4/211, at your
local juridical complex. In the case of nonappearance,
you will be punished with the deletion of your Scanchip
or arrest! (*§127b, „Citizen Obligations and theoretical
Sanctions")

Official document code: 257789000-0100567-
2345441 1 1 3-EGN-59900-4/21 1
Culprit number: 319444-556. 77



20



Thank you for your cooperation!

Frank's atomised brain began to hurt and to rotate.
. . Citation? What do you want from me? "
He was totally confused and couldn't remember any crimes
in his past life.

. . Just because I've yelled at this damned Sasse? ", he
thought. . . This can't be true! I finally did not touch him. I
have just lost control for some seconds. I don't understand
this. And what the hell do they mean with . . theoretical
aggravated battery"? "

And there was no doubt. Frank Kohlhaas, the helping out
citizen with the official code 1-564398B-278843, had never
done something bad to another person. Except for the time
in the kindergarten, back then, as he had given this stupid
Kevin a little slap and his parents had been called to the
authorithies. The local education officials had briefly
become anxiously and had explanied that Frank would have
some . . subliminal aggressions" and a . . precarious masculine
behavior". Then they had suggested a therapy with
tranquilizers.

But this was many years ago. Furthermore, the therapy
could be avoided, after the child had repetend its "sins" in
front of a committee of psychologists and social
pedagogues, and his parents had insured, that they would
immediately report Frank's next "crimes", if he would
become noticeable again in this context.
But he never became noticeable again. He always stuck to
the rules until this day; in the kindergarten, the elementary
school and everywhere else. Since his fifth year of life, he
had always been a good boy. No, he was not noticeable at
all. And of course he was no human being with . . subliminal
aggressions". Sometimes in his thoughts or dreams, he beat
up a superior or an administrative coworker, but this was a



21



secret and Frank had never talked about his thought crimes.
He was just "normal", as he meant.

Apart from this, it was also the first time that the otherwise
perfectly inconspicuous plattenbau-inhabitant Frank
Kohlhaas had come in contact with an . . automated trial". The
citizen had already heard about this, once in the news,
since it had been introduced by the World Government
three years ago. But the young man could not imagine, what
this strange process really was. But why should a decent
person like Frank think about such things? He had never
become culpable and had nothing to do with criminality.
Therefore, the accused had not the foggiest notion, what
waited for him now and so he wasn't too much concerned
about this citation.

It was probably nothing but a pure formality, circumstances,
which could be clarified. Frank had not hurt anybody and
therefore he also could not be condemned. The young man
had already lost his job, because of the so called
"disturbation of peace at the workplace". There was no
reason to be worried, thought Kohlhaas.
Now the unemployed man absently hit the button . . Voice
Presentation" so that the message was slowly read out by a
computer-animated woman's voice. This was also a
novelty. The administration had introduced the "Voice
Presentation" some years ago, because more and more
citizens of Berlin were illiterate, above all, the younger
generation. So an important official message had always to
be available in read out form.

The rest of this day wasn't very spectacular and the
"automated trail" was already tomorrow. . . Then I will have a
reason to rise", said Frank to himself and grinned cynically.
Shortly afterwards, Kohlhaas tried to call his father to ask
him for some money, but he didn't reach anybody during



22



the whole day. Nevertheless, there was some more liquor in
the kitchen. Frank decided to get royally drunk once again,
and fell asleep at midnight. He almost forgot to set his
alarm-clock. . .



23



Automated Trial



Although it was August, this morning was very cold and

dark. Frank's neck hurt and he had another headache from

last night's drunkenness. The local juridical complex was

over one hour foot march distant from his apartment block,

but the citizen thought, that it could be a good idea to go

and get some, more or less, fresh air. In addition, he could

fight the aftereffects of his hangover.

He hastily gulped down some toast, swallowed the

dissolvable coffee and examined the label on the plastic can

of the coffee powder.

„Globe Food" was written on it and Frank could see a world

ball. Above the globe was a pyramid with an eye on its top.

At the bottom of the picture was the slogan: „Food for the

people! "

„Amusing symbol! ", murmured Frank into his three-day

beard.

He had never noticed this logo before, although he only

bought his food in the cheap „Globe Food" supermarkets,

which dominated Berlin. Then the thought left his head

again, as fast as it had come.

The unusual cold weather let Frank shiver. A draft of fresh
air blew through the dark stairway and temporary flushed
away even the smell of bad eggs. In front of him, a neighbor
walked down to the exit and Frank considered if he had
seen the face of this man ever before.
The man said something sounding like "Hello! ", but
Kohlhaas wasn't sure. The accused slowly walked forward
and was still dizzy. He briefly looked at the playground in
the yard and beheld some children who were screaming



24



with shrill voices in an incomprehensible language. Was it
Turkish? Or Arabic?

When the clock indicated 7. 43, he could already recognize

the outlines of the juridical complex from the distance. It was

a large red building with hundreds of windows and over 30

floors. Dozens of court cells were in front of it, one of them

was waiting for him. The chambers, in which people could

get their "automated trial", were made of a gray metal and

about four meters wide, as Frank guessed from his distant

view.

Three other citizens already stood before them, between

them were some police officers. Slowly he became nervous.

Perhaps this hearing was nevertheless more unpleasantly,

than he had imagined at first.

Now it was necessary to pass an electrical gate, which was

protected by a doorman in a small, brown house. The

official gave Frank a sign to come nearer.

„Come here! ", he called.

The young man ran forward and positioned himself in front

of the entrance of the guardroom.

„Scanchip! ", said the doorman, holding a laser scanner in

his hand. Wordlessly he pulled the Scanchip out of Frank's

hand, without looking at him, and said after a short „beep" of

his code reader: „Court cell 4/211! Hurry up! It is nearly 8. 00

o'clock! If you come too late, it will be just more expensive

for you! "

Frank's heart started to pound faster. Fearfully, he started

to search the court cells, in order to find his number. The

other accused examined him with some brief looks.

„Row 4! Shit! I must hurry up. . . 211. . . ", lamented Frank,

becoming more and more nervous. Meanwhile, only two

minutes remained, till his hearing would start. He began to



25



run and with a racing heart and an increasing headache, he

correctly reached his court cell in time.

Gasping for breath, he was welcomed by an electronic

woman's voice: . . Welcome citizen 1-564398B-278843, to

your automated trail! Please enter your culprit number on

the display and press OK! "

Frank pulled the Scanchip out of his trouser pocket, opened

the message menu, and tried to enter his culprit number. A

rarely known panic attacked him now. He looked around,

gasping for breath again.

. . Actually, I don't have to go in this damn metal box,

because I didn't do anything! ", he whispered, but the door

was already open. Frank's hands became sweaty, while he

breathed louder.

In front of him, a weakly lit up metallic hole had opened

itself, which requested him to step forward now.

. . Come in, citizen 1-564398B-278843! Your trial is already

running! ", it resounded from a loudspeaker at the ceiling of

the halfdark chamber. Frank Kohlhaas knew that he had no

chance to refuse the order. It was nevertheless an official

instruction and there was never and in no case room for a

discussion or exception.

He made a step forward and his knees felt more weak with

each passing second. Then a screen flashed. The

"automated trial" against the theoretical delinquent Frank

Kohlhaas took its course.

In large and bright letters, the reproaches could be read on
the screen:

Accusations:

- Massive disturbation at the workplace

- Theoretical aggravated battery



26



Frank swallowed and let out a big gush of air. The terribly
sounding woman's voice, as friendly as an unnoticed virus,
began with some remarks. A detailed description of the
progression of events, the listing of witnesses and additional
"sub-charges" followed, for example . . subversive statements
at work" - and some more.

For several minutes, the young man didn't say anything,
and besides, nobody had asked him for his point of view,
only the computer voice was talking, implementing and
accusing.

Frank's former colleagues, Schmidt, Adiguzel and Nyang,
had confirmed the fact, that the young man had refused the
singing of the "One-World-Song" several times and had
even described the text as "nonsens" on 02. 04. 2027.
Production supervisor Sasse had added that the aggressive
mimic and the use of "strong vocabulary" during the
argument in the factory, would be an evidence for Frank's
tendency of "unnecessary analyzing of absolutely justified
instructions" and "subliminal aggressions".
The boss of the production complex had confirmed this too.
Further details followed: legal regulations and regulations
for extended and deeper instructions in the reference to the
list and redefinition of defaults - and more.

"You can be glad that you are my superior, otherwise I
would break you every bone! "

The intention of striking the superior, was more than clearly
proven, in the eyes of the automated court. The difference
between a (in such a way) formulated intention and an
actually implemented act, was relatively small, according to
the modern understanding of law which was oriented
towards psychology and statistics. Further, the probability to
commit this act one day in reality, had also enormously



27



increased, because the intention had clearly been
formulated. (Compare: „BMI of calibration of actual,
theoretical and probable behavior" from 02. 10. 2020,
document code: V-LUN-36777192934457656-Z, (89) ")

Frank googled at the screen like a stunned cow, which had
walked against an electrical fence. He was not able to think
that fast, how this computer programme made him to a
potential interference factor, a danger for the order of the
worldwide system, basing on freedom and humanitarianism.
After an hour, the lecture finally came to an end. Now a new
menu appeared on the screen. The woman's voice with the
electronic taste kindly read out the sentences, sounding like
sudden frost in Frank's ears:

„lf you deny the charges, please click on NO! "

"If you admit the charges, please klick on YES! "

Citizen 1-564398B-278843 hesitated, perked his eyebrows

up and tried to arrange his thoughts.

„What is this shit? Tve done nothing wrong, nothing at all!

This whole crap is a bad joke! ", yelled Frank through the

court cell. For a second, he thought about crushing this

damn screen with a kick.

„l will choose NO! I'm innocent! No! I click NO! No

question! ", he screamed angrily.