They sat her at a metal table before a video camera. They photocopied her fingerprints, pinned a vascular latticework of blue wires to her skin, plugged the wires into a monitor which measured her heart rate and skin conductivity and, presumably, her lies.
“Ilana Unknown, you are charged with a gross violation of section 7B. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?”
Ilana offered the officer an inscrutable stare, then peered directly into the camera lens. “I don’t know.” The polygraph wove another serrated wave across the monitor.
“Where did you obtain these?” The woman placed a box of firecracker shells on the table.
“I found them.”
“Found them where?”
The sun-girl kept her eyes trained on the camera, kept her mouth resolutely shut.
“I see.” The officer proceeded to scribble something in
