Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  Tier Trilogy

  Tier 1, Tier 2, and Tier 3

  Cindy Gunderson

  Copyright © 2020 by Cindy Gunderson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Part 1

  Tier 1

  To my Eric. Who is actually named Scott.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Bonus Chapter

  Afterword

  Prologue

  “How will it work?” the woman in the room asks, gently tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

  “We need to move sensitively. Grace, you’ll need to do your research on this one,” the man responds, scanning through information on his display. Just outside the door to the room, a man slowly shifts his weight to the other foot, trying to catch a glimpse of the face in the chair. The room is clean and sterile, the light blue shirt on the man standing out like a spring flower against the dismal hues on the walls.

  “Is this completely necessary?” the woman asks hesitantly.

  “We believe it is. All of the data we have analyzed— ”

  “It’s a lot to ask of them,” she whispers, cutting him off. He smiles knowingly, folding his arms and leaning back against his chair.

  “Not when you think about the effect this could have on individual lives over the next two hundred years. We are at the cutting edge. Humans are like any other mammals, after all. Cerebral mammals, but stimuli-driven nonetheless. With the technology we have available, nobody will suffer.” He pauses, tapping his fingers lightly on the metal table in front of him. “Is that your concern?”

  She doesn’t answer and the silence is deafening.

  “Grace, if there is a problem here,” he says, a warning in his tone.

  From his limited vantage point, the man in the hallway sees the woman’s shoulders stiffen.

  “No. No problem,” she replies.

  The scraping of a chair against the floor sends a shot of adrenaline through the watcher’s arms, leaving his hands tingling. He knows he should go, but his curiosity pushes him to stay put.

  “Your compassion will serve you well in this position, Grace. This transition will be infinitely easier under your sensitive care. There aren’t many I trust to have the perspective needed to do the hard things.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Her voice is audibly shaken, and she clears her throat. “Compensation? Shall we discuss—”

  “All taken care of,” he interrupts. “Exactly what you would expect.”

  Hearing footsteps approach the door, the man in the hallway propels himself around the corner as noiselessly as possible. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and sits down on the bench in the hallway. Breathing deeply, he tries to calm his frantic heart rate.

  “Something to do. I need something to do,” he thinks, forcing himself to breathe normally. He reaches down and unties his shoe, then begins to re-tie it.

  “Nick? I didn’t realize you were coming so early.” At the sound of his name, the watcher looks up to see the Director walking toward him. “You and Grace have already been introduced,” the Director says cheerily, motioning to the woman next to him. “Come with us. Let’s get started.”

  Chapter 1

  I gasp awake to see a pair of eyes an inch from my face. A lock of blond hair is swept across the still sweaty forehead of my seven year old, but the eyelashes are what get me. They are impossibly long and thick. Life isn’t fair.

  “Good morning, Mom” Bentley says with an impish grin. “Did I scare you?”

  “Yes,” I groan, reaching out to pull him in next to me. “Why do you have to be so creepy? It’s disturbing to wake up to someone that close to your face.”

  He giggles and cuddles in under the blankets, his pointy toes like daggers against my thighs.

  “It’s not my fault, I have your genes,” he retorts.

  “I was never that strange,” I sigh, squeezing him tight. “I’m not ready to get up yet, so I guess you’re just stuck here awhile.”

  “But I’m really hungry! That’s why I came in,” he complains in a muffled voice, squirming to escape my arms.

  “Tell your dad. He’s the best at making breakfast.” I kick my leg over to the opposite side of the bed and catch Eric in the calves.

  “Mom’s making that up. She’s just trying to make me feel good about myself,” he groans, rubbing his eyes. “She is far superior at making a good breakfast. Right Bent?” he continues groggily, rolling over and ruffling his hair.

  “Dad! I just brushed that!”

  I suppress a laugh. Bentley has suddenly taken an interest in hygiene the last few months. It’s adorable and frustrating, but mostly adorable. I can’t complain. At least he is bathing now.

  “You brushed your hair before breakfast?” I ask in mock horror.

  “Doesn’t everyone? And I’m really hungry! Can you please get up?” he whines, slipping out from under the covers and pulling on my arm.

  “Dad wanted to make breakfast, remember? He told me he wanted to make pancakes today.” I barely get the last word out because Eric is tickling me.

  “Bent, think of those pancakes Mom made the other day. The best. You want those right?”

  “Yes! Can we have chips in them?” he asks eagerly.

  “Ok, I give up!” I say, throwing my hands up in surrender and gasping for breath. “I will make pancakes! But no chips, sorry bud. We hit our weekly max for refined sugar yesterday and it doesn’t reset until the weekend. But, we still need to get in some fruit for the week, so how about blueberries?” I ask, hoping to avoid any resistance.

  “Yes! Ok, I’ll go get the flipper. Can I be the flipper this time? Tal did it last time.”

  “If Tal did it last time, then yes. Your turn.”

  His little legs kick out of the room before I even finish my sentence.

  “We have got to get him some pants that don’t fall off. All I see every day is little boy bum,” I mutter.

  “Good luck with that. He got my non-hips. I still can’t find pants that fit,” Eric laughs.

  “I’m okay if your pants fall off.”

  “Yeah, but kind of inconvenient in the lab.”

  “True.” He kisses me softly and then flips the comforter off of me, exposing my bare legs to the morning chill.

  “You better get on those cakes.”

  “I
hate you a little bit.”

  “I can’t wait to eat them.”

  I smack him lightly as I get out of bed and pull on my robe.

  “You won this one, but I’ll get it back,” I say, flashing him a sinister grin.

  “Mmmm. The sweet smell of victory. And pancakes.” He pulls the covers back over his head. I might be annoyed if I didn’t know his sensor was going off in two minutes.

  I walk downstairs to find Bentley ready by the stove, on the step stool, flipper in hand. The sun is streaming in through the window over the sink, making the colors in the kitchen warm and inviting. When we were assigned this house, I felt like the luckiest girl in our territory. In an effort to save resources, the Committee refurbished different sections of the city as soon as possible after the Crisis. They used materials collected from some of the more dilapidated areas, but obviously had to put everything through a cleansing process. It took years to open up permanent housing. I shudder, imagining trying to raise a family—or even taking care of your own needs—crammed into a safe zone holding center.

  “Mom, here’s the measuring cup,” Bentley says, pulling it out of the drawer and handing it to me as I put the rye berries into the grinder.

  I don’t take for granted that it could have been us in that situation. Pioneers in the initial Tier system. In terms of societal progress, we aren’t that far removed. After the Crisis, we weren’t picking up at society’s peak. We were in recovery from almost eighty years of decline and societal rot. Any industrial or scientific progress that had been made up to that point was in a state of exponential loss. We had to recover that knowledge, re-invent those processes, re-build the prototypes. Stop the bleeding. It didn’t take long for the Tier system to eliminate the initial chaos, but the gaping fissure in our collective advancement wasn’t so easily filled. We are still battling to regain what was lost.

  I let Bentley mix the dry ingredients while I heat up the griddle. It should only take a minute or two to get to temperature, which is just enough time to add the goat’s milk and eggs without wasting energy. I swoop around the kitchen, gathering the last few ingredients, and allow Bentley to add them.

  The simple act of cooking with my son causes my heart to swell, overwhelmed with gratitude for those who came before. They prepared a foundation for me to live a comfortable and meaningful life. The fact that Eric and I could pair and immediately have a permanent home is incredible. The fact that it fits us so perfectly is my little secret.

  I pause and watch Bentley carefully pour the batter. An unintended drip falls to the counter, and I quickly sweep it up with my finger. Then I pull up his pants.

  Chapter 2

  The dishes clatter pleasantly as I stack them on the drying rack. The boys have gone for conditioning, and I revel in the momentary stillness. Hanging my apron on the hooks near the stove, I load my tablets into a canvas messenger bag, securing the straps. Through the window, I notice that the car is already waiting for me. I fight the urge to rush unnecessarily, knowing I still have a few minutes before I absolutely need to leave. Eventually, having double checked my supplies for the day, I slide into the seat, setting the navigation.

  I’m assigned to Washington Park and for that, I’m glad. Technically, every neighborhood in Tier 2 is supposed to have an equal demographic, but I’m not convinced. I encounter much more apathy in some of the neighborhoods east of City Park. Today should be standard if not downright pleasant. Though the thought of diving into preparation is tempting, I look ahead, knowing that reading on the sideways will inevitably cause nausea. Finally, as the car hits the straightway, I lie back and begin familiarizing myself with today’s files. Motion sickness is one variation I could do without.

  I stop on file thirty-one. Cassidy. By the looks of it, she has qualified for Tier 1 initial testing. I hope she shows up to hear the good news. The car slows and, glancing out the window, I see the lily pond ahead of me. I prefer to have the car drop me at the corner of Virginia and Franklin before parking. It would be faster to go directly to the lake, but walking in the cool morning air— watching the dappled sunlight dance along the path—always provides much-needed perspective before seeing patients. Gathering my things, I exit the vehicle and a smile involuntarily crosses my lips as I begin to move through the trees.

  “Hey Kate!” a voice calls from behind, pulling me into the present. I turn around and see Shane running my direction. His sleeveless shirt accentuates his lean musculature and, even from this vantage point, I can see that he has worked up quite a sweat.

  “Are you working Washington Park today?” he asks as he catches up and slows to a stop.

  “I am. I was just walking to the boathouse. Are you headed there, as well?”

  “Nope,” he says, still breathing heavily. “It’s my rec time. They switched me to Highlands so that I could jog in the mornings. It seems like my body does better with exercise before noon.”

  “Oh, that’s great! How are you liking it so far? Different patient base up there, I hear.”

  “Yes, definitely a change, but honestly, I think it suits me. We don’t have as many transfer options, but people are compliant. They are willing to work with the program despite not having much hope of progressing. It’s nice to see people just...living.”

  “That’s good to know,” I say, smiling, searching for something to keep the conversation moving along. Whenever Shane and I have chatted, Lily is usually there to fill in the gaps. “Is Lily still working over here on Fridays?”

  “Occasionally, but they try to keep us together as much as possible. I could see it phasing out in a year or so. You better catch her while you can,” he admonishes, tilting his head for added effect.

  “Will do,” I promise, hearing a warning beep from his sensor.

  “That’s my exit, sorry. I have to keep my heart rate up for another twenty minutes,” he says, already beginning to jog up the path. “Have a great day! Hopefully I will see you and Eric at the next training?”

  “We will be there. Bye Shane,” I say, waving, trying to keep the relief I feel from entering my tone.

  My shoes pad along the familiar wooden floor of the boathouse. When I reach my station, I gingerly unload the tablets from my bag. Patients are already waiting along the dock. After securing the connection to my display, I announce the first name on the schedule.

  Berg’s protocol change, reverting back to health meetings in person, was instituted early this year. In my opinion, it was absolutely the right call. The digital scans were more efficient, yes, but getting positive feedback from someone in person really can’t be appropriately replicated digitally. The increased physical connection has the added benefit of breaking up isolationist patterns, and we are already seeing health improvements.

  A small woman sits down at the table. Her clear skin and symmetrical bone structure belie her true age and I find myself questioning my memory of her chart. While I double check, I slide a tablet across the stainless steel surface, allowing her to scan her sensor and officially check in for her appointment. Her most recent brain scan shows major markers for diabetes, glioblastoma, and dementia. Again, extremely surprising that she looks to be in such good health.

  “Hi Tia,” I say, smiling and holding her eyes, intentionally working to create a physical connection. “My name is Kate and I will be collaborating on your health today. How have you been feeling since the last time you met with a health specialist?” I ask genuinely.

  “I am doing well, but,” she scoots her chair forward and leans in, as if about to let me in on a secret, “I haven’t seen much difference after trying my new hydration plan. I feel the same and my scan came back similar to last time.”

  “Have you been keeping notes on mental acuity? I know you were noticing a negative change in your memory and clarity of mind in November. Is that still progressing?”

  Her shoulders relax, but her mouth remains in its downturned position. “Well, I guess that hasn’t changed much,” she ponders.

 
; “That’s actually good news,” I say, smiling reassuringly. “As you know, you have a marker for dementia and that is known to start kicking in anytime after the age of 35. Now here you are, 52, and still one hundred percent lucid. Tia, that’s remarkable. Only twenty years ago we would be expecting your body and mind to be breaking down at an incredible rate.”

  Her eyes are riveted on me, hanging on every word. I reign in my cadence, giving her time to process.

  “We are in uncharted territory for our generation. I am sure you know that people used to live to almost a hundred years old, which I can’t even begin to fathom, but seeing your results makes me think it’s going to be possible again. And you are Tier 2,” I add excitedly. “You have been able to accomplish this level of health with your genetics stacked against you. Really impressive work.”

  A smile flickers across her face, but her eyes are still creased with worry. I reach across the sterile surface and squeeze her hand in mine.

  “Tia, the most important thing you can do is resume your relaxation techniques, stick to your health and nutrition regimen, and allow your body to function. If it’s true that you haven’t experienced any more decline, I would also recommend that you stick to your added hydration. I can imagine that aging causes anxiety, but stress will only contribute to decreased brain functioning. Have you been attending your meditation sessions with Dr. Siene?”