An Unprecedented Candidacy

— Are you on the list? a woman at the entrance asked me, badge pinned and earpiece fixed to her ear.

I nodded without really answering. She let me pass, like someone you decide in advance won't cause any trouble.

I had arrived twenty minutes before the conference began, just enough time to secure a front-row seat, the only one that mattered that day.

The room was starting to fill up. Rows of folding chairs, too close together, a podium still empty under two flags and a logo too large to be discreet. Technicians adjusted the microphones with the nonchalance of those who have seen it all. On the ceiling, harsh neon lights left no shadow to hide in.

I settled near the central aisle, hands resting on my knees, waiting while watching the back doors, anticipating the moment when the entire room would turn in the same direction.

Two journalists sat just behind me. I recognized their voices even before turning around:

— How long do you think he'll last?

— Ten minutes. Fifteen if he has a PowerPoint...

I heard a muffled laugh.

— Do you already have your headline?

— "François Rousseau Seeks to Exist."

— And if he announces something?

He barely looked up from his screen.

— Do you really think so?

I scanned the room. Photographers were still chatting, cameras remained lowered, several rows were still empty. No one believed anything would happen. Then the lights dimmed.

François Rousseau had announced his candidacy for the presidential election four months earlier, supported by a movement of his own invention that only a handful of supporters had joined. He had held no office and given no interviews. Among his opponents, he was quickly nicknamed the ghost candidate, the one forgotten between two polls.

I pulled the press release from my pocket, already crumpled. I had read it a dozen times since the morning, and each time my eyes returned to the same spot.

Cobot.

A Robotic Collaborator, the text specified, an artificial intelligence presented as a governmental assistant. The rest of the release said almost nothing about its origin, except for a vague allusion to "a municipal experiment" from which François Rousseau was said to have drawn inspiration.

A world first.

I hadn't really paid attention.

It was two minutes to noon when the back door opened a bit too abruptly. A woman rushed down the aisle, breathless, a bag threatening to slip from her shoulder with each step. Fine features, simply dressed, she exuded an energy that made her haste almost elegant.

She scanned the room, spotted a free folding seat two rows from me, and slipped into it with a discretion that contrasted with her arrival. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before looking up.

Our eyes met for a second too long. I immediately looked away.

I wondered what she was doing there. A political advisor, I thought. Or a late collaborator.

No matter.

The room's light dimmed slightly, and François Rousseau entered from the side, without music, without entourage, a simple folder under his arm.

He had that slightly stiff demeanor of men who do not yet know how to occupy a stage. But his voice, when he took the microphone, did not tremble.

— Hello everyone.

Thank you for coming. Allow me to start with a question.

Who sincerely thinks a president can be an expert in economics, health, energy, defense, climate, education, artificial intelligence... and all the subjects he will have to deal with for five years?

I don't think so. No human being can know everything. We watch debates where everyone answers everything with absolute certainty.

Let's be honest: no one really believes it. A president doesn't need to know everything. He must make the best possible decisions. And, for that, know how to listen to the best experts... and rely on the best tools.

A few months ago, during a trip, I discovered a small town where an artificial intelligence assisted the municipal council. It decided nothing. It verified. The facts. The figures. The reports. The contradictions.

At first, this idea bothered me. Then I wondered why.

Yes, why do we accept so many controls in a plane, in a hospital, or in a nuclear plant... but so few when it comes to decisions that engage the future of our country?

I wondered if it was ultimately reasonable to trust a single person to lead a country. That's what we've been doing for centuries, I would say "for lack of a better option," but I think we need to evolve. We now have tools that allow us to enhance our faculties, and it is now our duty to govern differently. To make better decisions, the leader must rely on the vastness of facts, knowledge, and global experience. We now have access to this thanks to new technologies. This will sometimes lead to questioning, but in my opinion, it is a mark of respect towards our fellow citizens.

It is also a proof of humility. A quality sometimes lacking in our political life. I am more wary of political leaders who claim to have all the answers than of those who acknowledge their limits.

He slowly scanned the room.

— Arrogance is pretending to know everything.

He paused briefly.

— Humility is accepting to be verified.

No one was writing anymore.

— That's why I made a decision.

I will not run alone.

I accept to be checked.

A few glances were exchanged.

At the back of the room, a snicker broke the silence, immediately stifled.

Rousseau waited a second before continuing.

— By my side, there will be a collaborator.

Not a minister. Not a chief of staff. Not a political advisor.

An artificial intelligence.

This time, several journalists looked up.

— His name is Cobot.

Cobot will never govern. He will never make a decision in my place. I will decide. However, he will verify the facts, point out errors, detect contradictions... and he will be able to contradict me, even publicly. I know some will mock. They will say a real president doesn't need help. That he should know everything. That he should always have an answer to everything.

Well, I prefer to be corrected by facts than comforted in an error. I am not asking you to elect a man who claims to know everything. I am asking you to elect a president who admits not knowing everything, but who guarantees to always decide based on the most reliable knowledge we have.

I believe the 21st century no longer expects leaders who claim to know everything.

It expects leaders who accept to be helped... to be contradicted... and who, despite everything, assume their decisions.

This is the democracy I propose to build with you.

The room remained silent for a moment, as if no one yet knew whether to applaud or worry. I remained motionless, my hands suddenly heavier on my knees.

Questions immediately began to fly. Most were about the functioning of Cobot. François Rousseau answered them with cautious ease, like someone who had perfectly understood the idea... without mastering all the details.

A journalist, in the third row, raised her hand.

— Mr. Rousseau, this "municipal experiment" you mention... did you initiate it?

I noted an almost imperceptible silence.

— No, Rousseau replied. It was the mayor of a small town who set up this system with his team a few months ago. I stumbled upon this project almost by chance, during a trip. And I thought it deserved to be taken higher.

A journalist, this time at the back of the room, immediately followed up.

— What does Cobot look like? When can we see it?

A slight smile crossed Rousseau's face.

— Since you insist.

He raised his hand towards the wings.

For a second, nothing moved. Then a silhouette appeared at the back of the stage.

I recognized her immediately.

The woman from the folding seat.

She did not look at the room. Not even for a fraction of a second. Chin down, shoulders straight, she carried in front of her an object hidden under a black cloth, visibly quite heavy.

In the aisle, several people leaned forward, trying to guess its contours.

The photographers, meanwhile, watched for the slightest movement of the young woman, the slightest suspicious quiver under the fabric.

The woman joined François Rousseau near the podium and stopped by his side.

Then she stepped aside with a sharp, almost surgical movement, and the object covered by the black cloth, which she no longer held, remained suspended in the air near Rousseau, without any support, levitating.

Already, the young woman was disappearing towards the wings, as if her presence here had been a mistake to be corrected as quickly as possible.

Around me, conversations died down one by one. Cameras swiveled. Lenses were raised. The rustle of jackets, the click of cameras, the held breath of an entire room suspended on the same piece of black cloth could be heard.

Rousseau placed a hand on the cloth.

He waited.

Just long enough for impatience to become uncomfortable.

Then he said:

— Careful, it's... completely naked!

And he pulled on the cloth.

Under the cloth appeared a white ball the size of a handball, slightly oval, both matte and shimmering. Its irregular surface was dotted with small diodes of various colors blinking without rhythm, as if something inside was breathing unevenly.

It seemed almost organic.

No face. No arms. No shiny shell meant to reassure. Only this compact form, a large white egg suspended in the air, with the disturbing obviousness of an object one hesitated until the last moment to show to the public.

A nervous laugh erupted at the back of the room.

— It looks like a disco ball, someone said.

The response came immediately.

— Disco ball. That's new. Noted, said Cobot.

The voice came from the white ball.

Clear. Calm. With an almost amused inflection.

Nothing metallic. Nothing jerky. None of that stiff diction attributed to machines to convince ourselves they remain in their place.

Silence fell again, abruptly.

Rousseau slightly turned his head towards the room. He still had that smile at the corner of his lips, but something in his gaze had just closed.

— Here is Cobot.

The name hung between us, simple and impossible to forget.

No one was laughing anymore.

— Beyond its, let's say, intellectual capabilities, Cobot is all-terrain, Rousseau continued. It floats, and it moves everywhere, as easily in a meeting room as on difficult terrain. And if it needs to move faster, it can pilot any type of vehicle, a motorcycle or a drone. It chooses alone where and when to move, never depending on anyone. He placed two fingers on the white surface. The diodes around his hand changed rhythm.

— The form is just a matter of logistics, Rousseau clarified.

He paused.

— What matters is what's inside.

Some laughs erupted.

Another hand went up.

— Do you really count on this thing to help you govern? No country in the world has ever attempted such a thing. Isn't that precisely what should worry us?, a journalist asked.

— It's also what should give us hope, Rousseau simply replied.

He paused.

— Everything that changed the world started without a model to follow.

Pens resumed their course.

I wrote the sentence in my notebook.

Then, in the margin, another note:

Avoids the question.

When François Rousseau greeted the room and polite applause mingled with the sound of chairs being pushed back, I saw the woman stand almost immediately and head for the exit. I closed my notebook, slipped my bag under my arm, and started walking quickly, then running, elbowing my way between journalists who clearly did not share my urgency.

I caught up with her on the sidewalk just as she was already rummaging in her bag for her phone.

— Excuse me...

My voice carried a bit more than I would have liked.

She turned around abruptly.

For a fraction of a second, her gaze sought to understand.

Then her face relaxed.

— Are you talking to me?

— Yes... sorry. Were you at the conference?

She gave a slight smile.

— It was quite hard to miss.

I smiled in return.

— "Noticed" would probably be a more accurate word.

She burst into a small laugh.

— Well played.

She extended her hand.

— Eva.

I shook hers.

— Franck.

— I work on Cobot.

I remained silent for a second.

— Do you have two minutes?

She checked her watch before looking up at me.

— I'd like to. But I'm already late.

She hesitated for a second.

— Give me your number.

I'll call you back.

I dictated it to her.

She quickly noted it in her phone.

— Promise.

Then she hurried off almost at a run towards the subway entrance. I stood still on the sidewalk for a few moments. Without knowing it yet, I had just entered two stories.