Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  Not for the first time, I wonder what it would be like to remain unpaired. I have talked with Shari about it in the past and she did not make the decision lightly. She and I are matched on personality, and we also meet the minimum markers for disease, but Shari has a couple of variations that make pairing difficult. She didn’t have many options to begin with, and I know she was anxious that she wouldn’t qualify for procreation, regardless of her pair’s numbers. She concluded that elective sterilization was safer than taking the risk of perpetuating those genes through accidental pregnancy if she wasn’t cleared.

  Thankfully, there are still plenty of options for companionship, and of course she still gets her physical and emotional needs met. Berg put protocols in place for that, ensuring satisfaction and safety for all in Tier 1, regardless of pairing success.

  To me, though, short-term relationships seem like they couldn’t be as fulfilling and enjoyable as being with someone long-term. There are so many facets of a relationship that you aren’t able to experience without significant time and commitment. Eric and I have nearly laughed ourselves breathless over ridiculous things that we have witnessed over the years. Little moments that only we find funny because we lived it. We have supported each other through the deaths of loved ones, the birth of our children, and the everyday incidences of frustration or self-doubt. Our depth of connection can’t be mimicked in a weekend. We are so interconnected at this point that I can’t imagine my life without him in it.

  From the way Shari talks about it, being with people short-term is more about the spikes of excitement. The newness. Sometimes, I admit, my heart yearns for the flutters of a first kiss, or the intense elation when a call rings through after the agony of waiting. But this, what Eric and I have. This is solid.

  The strangeness of my conversation with Shari is still tickling my subconscious when I walk through the door to find Eric sitting at the table with Tal. Solely from Eric’s posture, I can discern that something isn’t right. Glancing next to him, Tal exudes sullenness, his shoulders slumped, chin resting in his hands. His blond hair covers his eyes, and I can’t tell if he’s been crying or not. I hang my bag on the hook by the door and remove my jacket, absently laying it across a chair.

  “Hey guys, where’s Bent?” I ask, feigning ignorance of the current emotional climate.

  “He’s playing in his room,” Eric answers with a wan smile. “How was Washington Park today?”

  I mouth.

  he mouths back.

  “It was great. I had the chance to give Cassidy some much-needed news.” I pause, debating whether to continue sharing. “We had an alert and had to vacate.”

  “Vacate? That’s odd. I have some exciting news for you, actually.”

  “Now?” I ask hopefully.

  “Let’s talk about it later. Who is Cassidy again?”

  “She is a patient I’ve been seeing on and off for the past two years.”

  “That’s right,” he says, nodding.

  “She made Tier 1 initial testing this week and is beyond thrilled.”

  “I bet. That’s fantastic. It seems to be happening more and more these days, isn’t it?”

  “I think I’ve personally put through twenty-seven people in the last year. And that’s saying something since I see fewer patients than most,” I agree.

  “That’s impressive. What was the alert about?”

  I shake my head. I mouth.

  “Nothing important. Hey Tal. How was your day?” I ask, trying to seem chipper.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he mumbles.

  “I would really love to hear when you’re ready.” I say, rubbing his shoulder. “What if I make you a snack while you think about it?”

  “Only if it’s a good snack,” he says, raising his eyes to meet mine.

  “Deal.”

  We move to the patio so I can refill the bird feeders while we talk. I swiftly load all of our empty toiletry and food containers into our refill bin. It’s pick-up day tomorrow and I know I’ll forget if I wait. Eric speaks first, after giving Tal enough time to eat his favorite pieces of dried fruit.

  “Tal, we love you. We are here to help you with whatever happened today, so don’t worry about us making a judgment,” he says, nudging Tal with his elbow. “I mean, don’t worry about me making a judgment. Your mom is pretty judgy sometimes, but I’ll make up for it.”

  “Ahem. Standing right here,” I say, pretending to be annoyed.

  That gets a small smile out of him.

  “What’s bothering you?” I ask gently.

  “Well, we were discussing history with Mr. Dane, and we got to the section on crime and punishment. He talked about how we don’t “punish” people who inflict harm on others. They are a product of their genetic and social conditioning. He said ‘the actions of others are purely a reflection of our societal integrity’ or some equally benign statement. It felt so wrong to me. Not that I want to punish people, but if people make bad decisions, shouldn’t they have consequences?”

  Eric and I look at each other dumbfounded. I scan our parenting history, wondering what we did to give him the idea that people should be held responsible for actions they have no control over.

  “Okay, Tal,” I say, “first of all, you are ten years old and it’s completely natural for you to be questioning the world you live in.”

  “Mom, I know it’s normal to a point, but everyone else seems to get it,” he shoots back.

  Bentley dramatically opens the patio door and struts out to join us. “What’d I miss?” he says loudly, hopping up on Eric’s lap.

  I laugh as I hang the last bird feeder. “We are discussing something with Tal, bud. Do you have something you could play inside until we’re done?”

  “No,” he says matter-of-factly, obviously not intending to go anywhere.

  “Bent, this is my time with Mom and Dad,” Tal complains, only to be met with a victorious grin on Bentley’s face.

  “Okay, enough you two. Bent, you can stay if you don’t interrupt,” Eric says seriously, and I look at him skeptically. Interrupting is Bentley’s strong suit.

  “Kate, can you grab that book on the Crisis from the bookshelf?”

  “Which one?” I ask.

  “The initial issue.”

  As I move to complete my errand, I hear Tal grumbling behind me. “Dad, I already know about all of that. I learned about the Crisis years ago...”

  The door closes, and I enjoy a moment of silence, rifling through the various books and documents. Finally, my fingers brush the faded spine of the issue Eric is interested in. Most of our resources are digital at this point, but there’s still something comforting about print. About touching something that was treasured generations before you existed. The distinct smell of aged paper, ink, and dust wafts upward as I thumb through the pages before heading back out to the boys.

  On the patio, the atmosphere is tense. I hand the book to Eric and shoot him a questioning look. He reaches for the book, flipping through the chapters.

  “Here it is,” he says, landing on the page he had in mind. “Look right here at this picture. Tell me about it.” He opens the pages to Tal and points to a picture of world leaders in a heated discussion at UN headquarters.

  “It’s a bunch of old people yelling at each other,” Tal mutters. I can tell Eric doesn’t appreciate his tone.

  “True. Why are they yelling,” he asks, maintaining his aura of calm.

  “Because of the virus,” Tal says in a monotone voice. Eric smirks.

  “Obviously I am not touching on anything new, so let’s skip ahead. The world is in crisis, nations are at war, resources are being wasted by the few at the expense of the many, yada yada yada,” he dramatizes. “So, what did they decide to do after the virus was released?”

  Tal’s posture shifts, and it seems that this question has momentarily caught his interest.

  “I know they decided to
put Berg Genetics in charge, but,” he hesitates, “I actually don’t know why.”

  Eric leans forward, excited to have a potential teaching moment, though he does a good job of masking his level of enthusiasm. When did teaching our kids become such a touchy endeavor? They used to love hearing our opinions on everything.

  “To really understand that decision—the decisions that literally shaped the world we now live in—you have to understand what was happening in the 100 years before the Crisis,” Eric begins.

  “Dad, I—”

  “Can you please let me at least try to explain? I’m trying to help you here,” Eric insists, his voice tense.

  Tal slumps back in his chair and reluctantly nods his head.

  “Over the course of about forty years, more than 1 billion people paid to have themselves genetically tested. They did it through myriad private companies—who charged them through the nose— just out of curiosity. They wanted to know what their lineage was, whether they were likely to die of heart disease or cancer, and what dominant and recessive genes they possessed. Berg Genetics was the first group to recognize what an incredible opportunity this was. They were mostly focused on recombinant DNA tech up to that point, so it was somewhat surprising that they took an interest—”

  Tal interrupts, “What is recombinant DNA tech?”

  “Each human cell contains around 6 feet of DNA, so up until recombinant DNA technology came around, searching for specific genes was a game of chance. This technology allowed scientists to isolate a specific gene, mutate it in very specific ways, and then reinsert it into a living organism and study the results,” I interject.

  “Got it,” Tal nods.

  “Your mom is smart, right?” Eric says, eyes mooning in my direction. Tal rolls his eyes in disgust.

  “Yes,” Eric continues, “so Berg Genetics recognized that this was the first time in history that they didn’t have to pay for genetic material. If they could get their hands on these commercial test results, they would have the world’s largest bank of genetic data at their fingertips.”

  “They started stealing peoples’ confidential test results?” Tal looks genuinely horrified.

  “Well, steal is a strong word. More like ‘politically negotiated’ for peoples’ confidential test results. They were able to get the results with only basic information like sex, race, and age, but not names or locations of participants.” He looks at Tal dramatically. “At first.”

  “What do you mean ‘at first’? Are you saying they then got people’s private info?” Tal asks incredulously. He has been effectively sucked in at this point. I cross my arms and watch them interact, my eyes flitting between their faces as they speak.

  “A few years later, they were able to lobby for very specific information about these people and actually watch their health over time,” Eric continues.

  “Seems wrong.”

  “In some ways, yes, but when we get to the results, you may be willing to justify their methods,” he postulates.

  “Maybe.” I stifle a grin. This kid is black and white.

  “Anyway,” Eric continues, “Berg has this massive data bank of genetic information. So what do you think they do with it?”

  “I am guessing they study it,” Tal says, feigning boredom.

  “Bingo. They started analyzing the data. Then, when they were able to match the genetic testing with specific individuals, they were able to conduct the largest longitudinal study ever. And nobody even knew they were a part of it.” Tal doesn’t respond, so Eric moves on. “The results of this study were completely stunning. Their information, along with better technology and understanding of the brain, revealed over 185 new genetic markers for disease, social success, resiliency, and even small variations like loyalty and honesty.”

  “So, our genes predict everything about us?” Tal questions.

  “Yes, along with our social experience, of course. The idea wasn’t new, they just finally had the research to back it up. There were other studies, completed ages ago, proving that action precedes the conscious mind, but we can talk about that another day, if you’re interested. The takeaway is that each of us, if given the same genetic code and social inputs, will make exactly the same decisions as someone else with the same set of coding and conditioning. Every time.”

  Frowning, Tal says, “I guess I don’t understand how that could be true. I feel like I am making a choice when I stand up, or choose to eat a plum instead of something I don’t like. How is it that I am not choosing? And how could you ever really prove that?” he asks, his voice gaining energy as he continues. “Why does it matter? If people are misbehaving, does it really matter why? They still need to be removed from society.”

  Eric runs his hands through his hair, his cheeks flushed. “It matters, Tal! If you make a poor choice and I believe you have free agency, I have zero control. I have no way to ensure that you don’t make that choice again in the future. So yes, in that situation, under those pretenses, I have no other rational option but to remove you. However, if I believe that you are a product of your genetics and social input, I at least have a starting point.”

  “So it’s about control?” Tal asks, irritating Eric further. To his credit, Eric takes a deep breath before responding. It diffuses things a little.

  Bentley is sitting very still, wide-eyed. His quiet voice breaks the silence. “It’s about helping people, Tal. That’s why we’re here, right Mom?” Bentley asks, and Tal groans in disgust, stomping back into the house.

  “Is he mad at me?” Bentley asks innocently, his lip trembling slightly.

  “No,” I sigh. “He is just working through some things.”

  “It’s true, though, right?” he asks.

  “What’s true?”

  “That we’re only here to help people,” he repeats.

  I smile and give his hand a squeeze. “It’s completely true. That is our purpose in Tier 1. And the ironic thing is, helping other people is actually what brings us the most happiness, too.”

  “Win-win,” he concludes, hopping off of Eric’s lap and giving me a brief hug before running inside to find his brother.

  Chapter 4

  Eric and I finally have a moment to talk privately while cleaning up after dinner. Tal and Bentley have already run across the street to play at the park with their friends from around the corner. Not having many children in our neighborhood, the boys are always thrilled to look out the window and see little hands waving at them from the playground.

  “Tell me about this alert,” Eric says, placing a bowl of green beans back in the fridge.

  “It was weird. We just got a message saying there had been a security breach and we needed to vacate. Shari told me it was because of some Tier 3 individuals who left their work assignments without approval,” I hesitate, “but I still don’t understand why it was necessary to evacuate.”

  “Hmm. Not sure. But I am glad they took precautions to keep you safe. I didn’t realize anything had been out of the ordinary today.”

  “It doesn’t make sense that we should be so concerned about people approved to have service assignments,” I say, clearing the last of the dishes from the table.

  “I am sure Berg had their reasons. I can ask about it at the lab tomorrow if you want,” he offers.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I sigh. “If you hear anything, I would definitely be interested, though.” We move around each other seamlessly, like a choreographed dance, putting the kitchen back in proper order.

  “Do you think I handled that okay today?” Eric asks.

  “With Tal? I think you did a great job. It’s so important for him to start reframing his experiences. Kids, at this age, seem to only see things from a selfish perspective.” I put a stack of plates in the cupboard.

  “I just hope it wasn’t too heavy or confrontational, you know? I don’t want to place too much on him before he’s ready,” he says, washing off the table with a checkered rag.

  “I think the fact
that he is questioning shows he is ready.”

  “True.”

  “I have been thinking about the catalyst for this whole thing, actually,” I say, pausing and resting my hands on the countertop. “A ‘crime and punishment’ discussion is what spurred this from Tal. I meant to ask him what he thought about how we handle people who are breaking societal rules. I don’t know if he said what he did purely because he doesn’t feel comfortable with a lack of free will, or if there’s more to it.”

  “What do you mean?” Eric says, matching my pose across the island.

  I return to my task, pondering. The warm water runs smoothly over the frying pan, rinsing the suds and food particles down the sink. When it shines, I run a cloth over the surface before placing it in the rack. Finished, I meet his eyes, finding him still awaiting my response.

  “Well, do you think he has questions about what happens to those people? I don’t remember how in depth our conditioning went at that age. I wonder if we should take him to a holding and rehabilitation center so that he could see it first hand.”

  Eric takes the pan from the rack and returns it to its proper place in the drawer beneath the oven. It’s mostly dry, so I don’t stop him.

  “Not a bad idea. Maybe we could do that Saturday,” he suggests. “I could probably get clearance by then,” he contributes.

  “Let’s talk with him about it first and make sure that wouldn’t be too heavy. But, maybe get the clearance just in case?”

  “Sure. I’ll put in the request tonight.” He pauses, a faraway look in his eyes. “Do you remember having worries or questions like that when you were his age?” he asks. I scan my memories and can’t initially come up with anything

  “I think I must have been a really boring kid,” I laugh.

  “Why do you say that?” Eric asks, giving a quizzical smile.

  “Because, when I try to remember what it was like to be ten years old, I can’t focus on anything specific! I remember my favorite foods and that I liked conditioning. I obviously absorbed everything I was supposed to, but I don’t have any concrete moments that I can draw from. Is that normal? Do we just let those things go as our brains are filled with other, more pertinent information?”