The Unblinking Eye at the Border

I was finally returning to my home country after a stressful overseas business trip. At the international border crossing, there were no human guards to be seen. There was only the Sentinel-Gate. You are instructed to walk down a brightly lit, sterile hallway while an array of invisible sensors analyzes your gait, microscopic pupil dilation, and real-time dermal perspiration levels. My inbound flight had been turbulent, and I was exhausted and terrified of flying. I instinctively wiped a bead of sweat from my brow as I approached the final gate. Suddenly, reinforced glass walls snapped shut around me, sealing me in a holding cell. "Critical Deception Indicators Detected," the voice boomed through the speakers. "Elevated nervous perspiration. Irregular cardiovascular rhythm." I shouted at the cameras that I was simply afraid of the airplane ride. "Vocal stress confirmed. Initiating immediate deportation protocol." The machine was incapable of understanding the context of human fear; it only understood the statistical markers of presumed guilt. I was permanently banished from my own homeland because of a bumpy airplane ride.