Duda's Dialectic

It was a dark and stormy evening in the 28th century. President Duda, known for his quick wit, brilliant mind, and unparalleled debating skills, sat in the back of his limousine as it sped through the streets of Brussels towards a meeting with the EU leaders. He had been president for only two terms, but he intended to run again.

"Mr. President," the chauffeur called from the front seat, "we will be at the European Parliament shortly."

Duda nodded. He couldn't help but think about his time as president. He had pulled out of the UK's customs union without a referendum! He had strengthened ties with China and Cuba! He had banned all research on sentient artificial life forms! And he had killed millions in countless wars, both real and imaginary! What could possibly go wrong?

Outside in heavy rain stood Mickiewicz, former British Prime Minister and beloved statesman. He wore his usual wrinkled suit and tie with a drooping white rose in his lapel. His eyes were downcast but his chin was up high; this was hardly unusual for him. He thought to himself how strange it was that such esteemed political figures like himself and Duda were reduced to waiting aimlessly outside parliaments in the rain while their peers decided their fate. But then again, he never really minded being wet. It gave him an excuse to wear sweaters that clung tightly to his chest and a bit of colour to what would otherwise be a monochromatic outfit. Still waiting, he wondered if Duda would remember who he was when they met again after so long.

The limo pulled up and Duda stepped out onto the wet pavement, followed by three Secret Service agents who formed a ring around him with their hands clasped firmly over their weapons. As he made his way up to the door of the Parliament building flanked by bodyguards, Duda noticed Mickiewicz standing inside under an umbrella held by one of the guards. The two men locked eyes for a moment before Duda gripped onto his umbrella and hurried inside without breaking pace.

Once inside, Duda made his way through several security checks towards his meeting room; first he went through a metal detector, then past two Secret Service agents guarding each entrance to the meeting room itself, then through an electromagnetic scanner that detected any weapons or explosives carried under clothing (even if they were invisible), finally arriving at another Secret Service agent who checked IDs before allowing anyone entry into the room itself. All this took almost half an hour, but when Duda did finally arrive at his desk in the middle of the meeting room there was no sign of Mickiewicz anywhere; everyone else was already seated at their own desks around the conference table that occupied the rest of the room aside from Duda's desk space.

"Did you see that?" asked Jacques DeGaulle, sitting directly across from Duda at the table. "That weird British fellow just walked into our meeting room looking like he owned everything."

"He did sort of act like it," said Jawaharlal Nehru, beside DeGaulle's left shoulder. "I can't believe we let them join us back then."

"What do you mean?" asked DeGaulle blankly as he turned towards Nehru's general direction. "Of course we let them join us."

"We didn't let them join us," said Nehru quietly as he glanced around nervously to make sure no one else could hear him talking about what happened so long ago; and luckily for him no one else seemed interested in continuing their conversation about it either since most people were now busy shuffling paperwork around on their desks as they waited for everyone else to arrive so they could begin the meeting without delay. "They forced themselves on us by threatening nuclear war unless we allowed them statehood within our borders."