Lighting Up The Debate

A soft hiss announced the opening of the conference room door.

The Americans entered first, led by Mr. Jenkins, immaculate, confident, and with an unmistakable air of authority. Behind him followed several men in dark suits: politicians, bureaucrats, lawyers. They took their seats at the table opposite the entrance. No one spoke loudly, no one greeted the women in attendance.

Marie had the impression that she had not even been seen, as if she were part of the furniture.

The Europeans followed. The head of the delegation, Étienne, exuded the natural aura of a man accustomed to being noticed. He paused for a moment, surveyed the scene, and nodded briefly to Marie as a sign that he was content. Without further ado, he sat down at the center of the table, directly opposite Jenkins. His deputy, Lars, took the seat to his right. The other members of the delegation followed and settled into their chairs. Quiet greetings were exchanged, polite phrases muttered.

Marie remained standing, her hands folded in front of herself, until everyone was seated. The last empty seat—her seat—was at the very end of the table. On the edge, outside the action. She knew this feeling, but today it hit her harder than usual. In Berlin or Brussels, she accepted it because she was the youngest or lowest-ranking person. Here, she couldn't help but attribute it to her gender.

The feeling was reinforced by the fact that less than five steps away from her, women wearing skimpy bikinis were kneeling in front of the wall. Their heads were bowed, their arms folded or resting at their sides.

There were only four of them left. The one who had been taken to the next room by Steve had not returned. Didn't anyone notice that one woman was missing? Did the men not care?

“Or,” Marie thought for a terrible moment, “do they count me as one of the five, and so everything is fine from their point of view?”

She felt a little relieved when she noticed that there was some commotion on the European side of the table. So the girls weren’t invisible after all. Marie saw frowns, questioning looks, raised eyebrows. She heard a barely suppressed clearing of throats.

Étienne addressed Jenkins directly. “What is the role of these ladies? Are they part of your delegation?”

Jenkins smiled thinly, as if he had listened to a bad joke. “They are part of the social program, which you are welcome to take advantage of at any time if you need relaxation or a break.”

The Europeans exchanged glances, but there were no questions or comments.

Marie felt the muscles in her neck tense. Social program? The images from the next room pushed their way back into her consciousness uninvited. Her pulse raced. She placed both palms on the table to suppress her trembling.

“Shall we begin?” Jenkins' question ended the preliminaries.

Étienne tapped the frame of his e-glasses twice. The agenda items appeared before his eyes as floating lines, semi-transparent, visible only to him. On the American side, lights flickered briefly: several of the negotiators wore contact lenses with integrated projection, while others unfolded holographic displays from their smartwatches. Thin fields of light hovered above the table: diagrams, draft contracts, key figures—all neat and efficient, ready to be shown or hidden at any time.

“Thirty years of isolation were a necessary experiment,” Jenkins opened the talks. "Now that our society has reached a level of development that is unique in the world, it is time for a controlled opening. Let me explain how both the US and the EU will benefit from trade cooperation."

He projected charts, simulations, and forecasts into the room—a bright future in vivid colors.

Marie watched as Étienne diplomatically agreed while bringing up a counter-projection with a simple swipe of his finger. European risk analyses glowed alongside American graphics like two competing realities. True to her duty as a protocol assistant, Marie checked that the AI-based protocols were being automatically and completely recorded while global markets, trade partnerships, security guarantees, and stability were being negotiated.

In doing so, she felt less real than the holograms floating above the table.

The men discussed on equal terms, surrounded by arguments made of light. She sat next to them at the edge of the table. Even further away, the four women knelt at the edge of the room.

And Marie realized that this was no coincidence, but a necessary condition of both systems—only presented in different degrees of resolution.