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even have to undress completely.
    After the session was over, Natalie and Bob would superimpose this biological data over the ratings given by each person, and concentrate on the low and high marks that were accompanied by the more dramatic changes in the bio data.
    The statistical quirks of decisions taken on a superficial level would be thus weeded out and the deepest reactions to the shown stimuli would be highlighted.
    This technology was an innovation introduced by Natalie herself a year ago. It was the devil’s job to convince the head of the agency, Mister Blonski, that the idea was not ludicrous and that it would pay for itself in the long run.
    Neither austere slide shows with statistics nor snappy power point presentations helped. Finally, after spending a weekend at his villa with his family, playing with his dog, and gossiping with his wife, she had succeeded in getting him to give it a try.
    â€œLook,” Bob whispered, without taking his eyes off the monitor, “the fat guy with the bucket hat is having a surge again, and he just gave a one for the reds.”
    Natalie walked over to the n-pad and peered at the screen. It faced away from the one-way glass, so that its glow would not remind the participants that the moderators were monitoring them. Indeed, on one of the twelve sections on the screen, the fat guy’s feed was showing serious changes in blood pressure and heartbeat rates.
    Either he really hated what he saw with his whole brain, soul, and body, or he really needed to cut down on the junk food. Perhaps both.
    â€œYes, and he’s not alone, looks like they’ll have to be black after all,” Natalie whispered back.
    As she stood there, notebook in hand, pencil tapping lightly her lower lip, she was concentrating mainly on the reactions of the participants and was already trying to summarize the data, but at the back of her mind, there was a subtle parallel process. She was also meditating on the need of the next step in technology.
    But. But, but, but.
She was only twenty-six, and although already respected within the firm, there was a limit to the credibility of her proposals. Her ‘mad scientist’ credit was still low.
    For two months now, she bugged old Blonski about the need for brain wave data from the focus groups. He was still in the stage of laughing the idea off.
    Some day...some day...perhaps after another weekend at the villa...
    Natalie looked at Bob, who was standing slightly hunched, hands in pockets, darting alternating glances at the TV screen and at the glass wall.
    Bob was of the old breed. Already forty-something, he completely accepted the need for guesswork and intuition to augment the imperfect data collected by traditional sociological means like questionnaires, polls, and focus groups. He’d given up on the idea that data can actually be iron cast, objective, totally empirical.
    Being of a fairly easygoing disposition, he admitted this, unlike most other sociologists and various social scientists, who were locked in madcap denial of the overwhelmingly subjective nature of the interpretations on which their conclusions were based.
    Yes, at least Bob didn’t seem to feel threatened when confronted with the facts. Away from the ears of clients and bosses, he would be the first to admit that a large percent of what they did was no more objective than fortune telling by use of bird entrails.
    Still, it was obvious he had no burning desire to contribute to the further development of the science itself.
    Natalie had that desire.
    She felt acutely that this science,
her
science, lagged far behind times and felt that she would ultimately remedy this state of affairs.
    Enter the brain scanners. Why guess and fantasize, and pray that a sufficiently small percent of the population lies, when you can go straight to the core, straight to the brain and the body?
    The voice may lie, the eyes may deceive, the face may mask, but the brain cannot lie. The