“Yes, mostly.” She looks chagrined. “Sometimes I am tired and it is easier to stay in bed awhile longer.”
“I understand. I can help you set some achievable goals if it would be helpful. We want to see you hit your 60th birthday, okay?”
“Me too. I want to experience being a grandmother. Did you see in my notes that my daughter has been cleared to have a baby next year?” she asks hopefully, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Oh wow, that is incredible. You are one of the lucky few. If I have the pleasure of meeting with you again, I hope you’ll tell me all about your grand-baby.”
She stands up and scoots her chair back as I release her hand. “Thanks, Kate. I will keep working.”
“Thank you for keeping your appointment today.”
As she walks away, I find myself wishing I could see the end of that story. I don’t have the luxury of seeing people consistently enough to keep track of them. I like to think that they all end up in best-case scenarios, but every once-in-awhile it would be nice to see concrete evidence.
Not immediately seeing my next patient, I assuage my complaining bladder and walk to the back of the shelter to use the washroom. Turning the corner briskly, my shoulder is impacted and I spin, hitting the rough planks of the wall with enough force that my breath is expelled from my lungs momentarily. A hand grasps onto my arm, steadying me. I regain my balance and am attempting to catch my breath, when I look up to notice a young man I don’t recognize. His broad shoulders are inches from my nose and deep, blue eyes are frantically searching my own. I take in his soft, blond waves and for a moment, I am speechless.
“I am so sorry,” I belatedly eek out, regaining my bearings. “I was on a mission to get to the washroom and I didn’t even look.” He releases my arm, allowing me to stand up straight.
“Don’t worry at all, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?” he asks, concern evident in his tone, as he continues to survey my head and neck.
“I think so, thanks,” I say with a shaky smile, rushing through the washroom door. Even if he hadn’t been unusually attractive, that was just embarrassing. I wonder if he is Tier 2? Not likely. Tier 1? Possible, but what would he be doing down here? He is too young to be a specialist. I realize that I am thinking far too much about this, so I focus on washing my hands. Thoroughly.
Back at my table, I notice the handsome stranger sitting on a park bench across the grass to the side of my station. I didn’t get his name, I muse. He glances my direction and I sharply look away, pulling up my next file. That was a little unnecessary. And obvious. I have always been such a dolt when it comes to men. Especially attractive men, I think, remembering the first time Eric and I met.
I was seventeen, sitting at the cafe near our house, working on training assignments. Since I wasn’t paired yet, I lived in group housing, and it was sometimes difficult to find a quiet space. Not sometimes—always. My roommate Alyssa was constantly chatting with someone on her display, a habit I both loved and found incredibly perturbing at times.
When Eric walked into the cafe with his friends that day, his eyes met mine and I...looked down immediately and began furiously scrolling. Apparently this was—and still is—my signature move. You would think that after being paired for 11 years I could be somewhat normal, but apparently not.
My hands are slightly shaky, whether from the impact or the shock that I am still capable of feeling attraction, I can’t decide. Thinking of Eric, I wonder if this ever happens for him and immediately regret it. Yes, of course it does, but Eric wasn’t ever as awkward as I was. And that realization isn’t comforting in the least.
My next patient approaches the table before I even call his name, snapping me back to reality. My movements are frazzled and disjointed as I attempt to begin the check in process. When I think to glance back at the bench a few minutes later, my handsome friend has been replaced by a middle-aged woman sitting peacefully, a book propped in her lap.
Five more patients arrive and leave before I am able to break for lunch. Recognizing the tension that has accumulated in my shoulders, I take purposeful, cleansing breaths as I walk to the mobile distribution center located at the opposite end of the boathouse. Scanning my sensor, I receive my portions of chicken breast, chard salad, fonio, and raspberries. The man ahead of me has a much larger salad and no grain. Obviously, he hasn’t been keeping to his vegetable requirements on his own.
I prop myself up against a tree and enjoy the varying textures and flavors of my meal. Though it’s difficult, I remind myself daily to focus on these simple pleasures. I truly believe in the work that I am doing—both at home with my children and here with my patients—but that doesn’t prevent my life from feeling tedious at times. I yearn to make an impact. To contribute in a massive way. Yet I often feel stilted. Always pressing against some invisible boundary. Self-created? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just not my season. Rationally, I know that I am doing the most important work with my family, but I also know I have a lot more to give. Coming to no obvious solution, I distract myself by self-indulgently resuming my memories of Eric.
That day at the cafe, after picking up his sandwich and ignoring my ridiculous response to his attention, he sauntered directly over to me and introduced himself. We ended up talking for a good half hour. He didn’t care that I had seeds in my teeth and a crumb stuck to my cheek. I didn’t care in that moment either, but only because I was blissfully unaware until I got into the car a few minutes after he left. My first, real experience with delayed mortification.
Even after his friends were gone, he stayed put, not giving any sign that he intended to follow. I remember watching the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiled while telling me about his training and desire to work full-time in the lab. I don’t think I heard a single detail, I was so distracted by noticing everything about him. The strong angle of his jaw, his dark hair, the humor in his smile, the lean muscles visible through his cotton shirt…
“Pull it together, Kate!” I mentally scold myself, pressing my hands into the soft grass, tethering myself to the here and now. I must be ovulating.
After my lunch break, I am seated back under the awning and Cassidy is approaching. She has obviously taken the time to dress for the occasion with clean pressed slacks, a collared shirt, and her long, auburn hair pulled into an attractive knot.
“Is it one o’clock yet?” she questions excitedly, her cheeks flushing. “I don’t think I can stand waiting any longer to hear my results!”
Checking my tablet, I see that her appointment is still twenty minutes away and there is one person yet to be seen in that time. I don’t, however, see anyone physically waiting at the moment, so I quickly shift her position in the queue.
“It’s not, but I am excited, too. Let’s go for it,” I smile.
She rushes to sit down and nearly knocks over the chair. “Kate, thank you. I feel like my heart is about to burst!”
“Cassidy,” I laugh, “Take a slow breath and hold it for a few seconds. I promise it’s good news.” She covers her mouth with her hands and squeals.
“I can’t handle it! Tell me!”
“Okay, okay!” I say, my pitch mirroring her own. I open her file and start reading. “Cassidy Turner, you have been cleared to begin Tier 1 initial testing and conditioning, effective immediately. As you know, this will require significant life changes both for you and your family—” I stop there because she has now entered full-blown hysterics. I put down the tablet, walk around the table, and wrap my arms around her. She sobs and laughs, but eventually I feel her breathing return to normal.
“Would you like me to read the rest of the letter?”
She smiles shakily at me. “You know I have it memorized. Just sit down so I can ask you all of the questions I have been obsessively mulling over for years! I didn’t feel like I could ask before I was cleared. It seemed pretentious.”
I move back over to my seat, still grinning. “Ask away.”
“Okay, first. Is t
here any chance that my gene mapping could sink below Tier 1 levels again? Like, if I continue living this way forever, will I be safe?” she asks, her hands gesticulating nervously.
“That’s complicated, but I can tell you current policy states that once you have been cleared for Tier 1, you remain Tier 1 forever. Even if your DNA becomes damaged at some point, you will still have all of the opportunities and responsibilities as such.”
“Do you think it’s likely...that I will be able to pair?” she asks hesitantly, then rushes to explain. “I know that I can most likely pair in Tier 2, but it wouldn’t be guaranteed that I could have a child. I am hoping that will be an option for me.” Her hands land in her lap, awaiting my reply.
“Cassidy, I have been meeting with you for years. I know how excited you are for these new possibilities. Your feelings are completely normal and should verify to you that you are right for Tier 1. Your coding is driving you to find a partner and procreate and that is evidence that you are clean. Embrace it.”
A tear rolls down her splotchy cheek. “I guess I hadn’t ever thought about it that way. I have always felt selfish. Like I would just never be happy with the options I had.”
“You know I can’t promise you that you will be approved, even though I would love to. So much depends on who you are attracted to and how your genes match up. But, I can tell you that you need to find someone to partner with who matches you at eighty percent or higher on the thirty disease markers—you specifically will need someone to match at one hundred percent on all five markers for your TSG’s, the tumor suppressing genes. Since you only hit four of those markers yourself, you will need someone who has them all to be considered for reproducing. Those TSG’s are going to be critical for your clearance to have children. If you find the right partner, I think your chances are high.”
She looks at me, obviously trying to process, and I realize that I may have thrown out too much information at once.
“For example,” I say, backtracking, “before Eric and I paired, we used our sensors to run our genetic numbers. Do you understand that process?”
“Theoretically…” she answers.
“It’s simple and quite fun, really.” I pull up the app and point to a couple of key markers. “You’ve looked at your numbers before, right?”
“Of course, I am always checking for improvements.”
“Right, so when you find someone you would like to pair with, you both pull up your numbers and then this button here will allow you to combine them and analyze the results. So this marker here,” I scroll down my chart, “is where you will find the markers for TSG’s. Like I mentioned, you have to match at over eighty percent on all of the other disease markers, but you can pay specific attention to those. Make sure they are in the green.” Pulling my sensor back, I smile. “You will get plenty of training on this, so don’t feel like you need to memorize it all now. I just wanted to make sure you understood what I was referring to.”
“Thanks, that helps,” she says, fanning herself with her hands to keep tears from overflowing. “Sorry, I’m really emotionally drained right now. What if I meet someone and we aren’t perfectly pairable?”
I sigh. “That’s always tough, but if having children is your priority, you will have to keep looking,” I say gently. A rush of emotion floods me as I remember the anticipation of reading my results with Eric. I was terrified that we wouldn’t be in the green.
“Maybe I will ask to see a guys’ TSG markers before agreeing to go out with him,” she suggests, waggling her eyebrows.
I laugh. “That would be efficient, definitely.”
“Do you have time for a few more questions?”
I glance behind her, seeing my overdue patient leaning on the railing, and lean in. “You can ask one more, but then I have to move on with my schedule. You can always feel free to message me later, as well.”
“I totally understand. Okay, most important and practical. I know I will be moving to the Tier 1 side of the city. How does that all work?”
“Yes, I— ” distracted by flashing light, I look down at my display and see an alert on the screen. My sensor buzzes and I tap on it.
“I am so sorry,” I mumble, giving an apologetic frown.
She looks at me, confused.
“I have to go. Send me a message later?” I say hurriedly, jamming the tablets into my bag and racing toward the car. I look back in my haste and see Cassidy still under the awning, my next patient approaching her, looking confused. For a moment, I wonder if I should return and explain more thoroughly. I abandon this thought and, again, tap my sensor, requesting that the car meet me at a closer intersection. I need to follow protocol.
Chapter 3
Though safely in the car, my fingers shake with excess adrenaline and my mind runs wild with possible explanations for the alert. The short search I enter upon getting in the car doesn’t produce any new information, so I send a message to Eric. When he doesn’t respond immediately, I resign myself to sitting in unknowns for the time being. I will have to ask Shari about it later. I rationalize that if it was something extremely worrisome, I would have received more information by now. Resting my head on the cushion, I close my eyes and fall quickly into a state of partial sleep.
My brief respite is interrupted by my sensor. It’s Shari calling. Relief washes over me, and I’m smiling before her face even comes into view. Shari has been my mentor since I was eight years old. She was nineteen at the time and, at our first meeting, she brought hot pink nail polish to paint my toes. To this day I have no idea how she got her hands on that. I succeeded in keeping it a secret from my parents for two days, thinking they would make me take it off. Shari and I have seen each other at least once a week now for twenty years and we talk almost daily. Am I really that old? Twenty-eight this month. I answer the call.
“Kate! I tried calling you earlier, but your sensor was listed as unavailable. Were you working this morning?”
“Yep, so sorry. I have to put it offline when I’m in meetings. It’s too distracting! I need—”
She cuts me off. “I know you were just avoiding me, but I forgive you.”
I laugh awkwardly. Our connection must not be great.
“Have you talked with Eric yet?” she asks.
“No, why? Is everything okay? Considering your good mood, I assume it’s not a disaster.”
She scoffs. “Nothing like that, but something I know you will want to hear about. Just call him!”
“I’m literally five minutes from home. But now I get to be anxious for those five minutes, so thanks for that.”
“Always looking out for you.” She grins.
“I haven’t heard back from him. I tried to message him after the alert. I’m slightly annoyed that he has talked with you and not me,” I complain, pretending to pout. She looks at me, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about the alert. This is something else entirely.”
“What?” I question, thoroughly confused. “You know about it, right? I had to leave Washington Park with zero warning, right in the middle of patient evals. Something about a security breach. Sorry, I assumed that’s what you were referring to—that’s all that’s been on my mind since I left.”
She nods and looks apologetic. “Totally understand, and yes. The security breach is nothing to worry about at this point. There was a group of Tier 3 individuals who left their assignments without approval. They were in the Tier 2 section of the city, but the Committee didn’t know their exact location or their motivations for leaving. One of them has a history of mental illness. They wanted to take precautions since they had consultants in the area. It was probably an overreaction, but I always appreciate that they take our safety so seriously,” Shari explains.
“Wow. I can’t believe they would vacate us all purely because a few people weren’t accoun
ted for. Last time it was because of a weather event. I assumed today was something similar.”
“Kate, you know that some people in Tier 3 have erratic behavior— ”
“But what could they even do?” I interrupt.
“I don’t know! Start a fight? Destroy your property? When someone is unstable, the possibilities are endless.”
“I thought you said they were working? If they were that unstable, how would they have been approved for a work assignment?” I say, thinking out loud.
Shari gives an exasperated huff. “I don’t know, Kate. Maybe I didn’t read everything correctly. It’s been a really long day,” she snaps.
Shari is never short with me and it stings. I am at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry,” she sighs, taking in my expression. “Like, a really long day. But we don’t need to get into that. The real reason I was calling was to see if you could be available before training on Monday. We wanted to invite you to help with the Tier 1 introduction ceremony on the fifth. Specifically since you’ve built such a relationship with a couple of the people who are transitioning. Could you be there about an hour before training starts? I assume it will be a fairly quick meeting,” she says, flashing a forced smile.
“Of course. I can’t believe I forgot about that,” I sigh. “Has it already been three years since my last one? Shari, I think I might be getting old,” I joke, attempting to lighten the mood.
A smirk plays on her lips. “Not old, just tired. You have kids, remember? All I have on my task list is watering my plants.”
“True. Kind of pathetic when you think about it.”
Shari laughs out loud. “I’ll remember how pathetic it is when I get a full eight hours of sleep tonight. Which I need desperately. Bye friend.” She winks and the signal cuts out. Eight hours. Sounds blissful. I don’t wish for a second that I was ineligible for children, but eight hours...
Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3 Page 2