Veracity by Mark Lavorato Page B

emotional hemisphere. Whereas a male, who has the limitation of thinking patterns that are more localized in the brain, would find it easier to separate his emotions from a possible outcome to his actions. For example, if you asked both a male and a female soldier to go and kill everyone in a house, in order to gain a tactical position for an army, the woman soldier, seeing the action in both a logical and emotional way, would, most probably, be more reluctant to do it. Whereas a man on the other hand, would be more inclined to plod into the house and act on his orders, separating the cause from the effect.
    "Now, there was, and there may still be, situations that arise which might need... that sort of definitive action inside of... questionable circumstances." Harek's eyes, which had been focused on the fruit in his plate for this last sentence, drifted up to meet mine, his hands frozen in the air between us, his expression tentative. I could see he was hoping with all of his might that I wouldn't ask him to expand any more than I had. "Does that make any sense?"
    "Yeah... I think so," I answered. His body relaxed, relieved.
    What he meant by 'questionable circumstances' was that, were the situation to arise, I would be expected to do 'whatever it took' to ensure that The Goal succeeded, including all of the things that women would have a harder time doing than men. Like killing people. Or maybe inflicting pain on someone in order to find out where others were hidden. Who knew?
    I watched Harek eat the rest of his fruit, and thought this over. Things were getting a bit trickier to agree with. But even more intimidating than that, it was becoming increasingly clear that, if I were going to be the leader of this expedition, I wouldn't only need to
agree
with these things, I would have to be as fanatical as the Elders about them. I would have to train my eyes to see the track of a person as a direct link to the long, drawn out destruction of the planet, and then I would have to hunt that person down, barely able to sleep, until I was sure they were sterile. The Goal would necessitate my feeling this strongly about it, that much was clear. Yet, the fact remained that I doubted I had it in me to be fanatical about
anything
, to be entirely consumed by a belief, to have it eat away at me, night after seething night. How does
anyone
feel that strongly about something? I wasn't sure. But I
was
sure that, whatever those people had, I did not.
    And this was the strangest part of it all: I saw it coming from the beginning. I understood perfectly well that I wasn't the right person to lead one of these expeditions, that I didn't have what it might take. Yet I still tried as hard as I could to be the one that was chosen, to be the 'winner'; still churned over everything that they said in my mind until it settled obediently into place, until it stopped squirming inside of my conscience. And it's funny to think that I did this all without ever considering any problems that might come up in the future, were I to become this 'unfit leader'. I convinced myself somehow that getting off the island would be the hardest part, and that the rest would all fall smoothly into place.
    The discussions in the shelter continued, and over the days I saw their reactions - as restrained as they were - become more and more satisfied with my responses. They could see the seed of conviction germinating under my skin, the delicate tendrils of its budding root system fanning out into my blood, taking hold, until finally, they started talking about letting me back into the community again, where I would begin my training.
    On my last evening of Coming of Age, Dana came in to give me a lecture, which was 'of the gravest and most critical importance'. He emphasized, with an overstrung urgency, that under no circumstances would I ever be justified in talking about The Goal inside the community; to anyone; ever. It was essential to understand that
only
behind sealed