Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  Eric looks at me, a disbelieving expression on his face. “You seriously can’t remember any one moment? Like, when you are going around day-to-day and you see, I don’t know, a tree in bloom? Or someone with a certain haircut, or you hear music? It doesn’t ever take you back? For me, it is often watching the boys move a certain way or say a specific phrase. Doesn’t something like that trigger you to remember a similar time when you were young?”

  “Yes,” I say purposefully, not enjoying his patronizing tone. “That happens all the time, but it seems like they are always memories from when I was older. Maybe age nine and up?”

  Eric tilts his head. “Really?”

  My grin evaporates. “Really! You are making me feel like there’s something wrong with me, Eric. Shari says that most people discard memories from certain times in their lives. Don’t you have a series of years that you don’t remember perfectly?” I say, not as calmly as I would have liked.

  “I’m sure I do,” he says quickly, capitulating. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I guess I haven’t spent much time thinking about it. It’s one of those funny moments where you assume that everyone experiences life the same way that you do and then…” He meets my eyes and holds up his hands, seeing the look on my face. “For the record, I love these moments! I love having to second guess my assumptions,” he laughs. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. Can we move on?” he pleads.

  I close the cupboards, take a deep breath, and sit down on a stool. “Wait!” I suddenly remember. “What is your exciting news? I got so distracted I completely forgot.” All of my frustration melts away as I watch his face light up.

  “Ha!” Eric throws down the towel and leans on the counter. “Yes. I did too. Okay, are you sitting down?”

  “I’m obviously sitting down.”

  “I mean mentally. Are you mentally sitting down?”

  “Let’s pretend the answer is yes.”

  “I feel like you don’t understand the intensity of— ”

  “ERIC! Say it all ready!”

  He laughs, tickled at my exasperation. “Alright. You know we have been working tirelessly to find genetic pairing for maximum strength in TSG’s?”

  “Yes,” I say slowly, pulling at threads of old information filed away in my mind. “Your team has come really close multiple times, but in cell trials, it has never fully stopped tumor growth.”

  “Exactly. Well, today. We did it.”

  “You did it?”

  “We did it.”

  “Like, you found a variation match that slowed the growth even further?”

  “No, like we did it, Kate. We stopped the tumor growth completely. In fact, the tumor was nearly eradicated. We literally solved the problem.” The excitement on his face is contagious.

  “That’s incredible! I am—I mean, I don’t even know how to wrap my brain around this! Were the TSG’s able to stop sarcoma and glioblastoma cells?”

  “Both. They completely shut down sarcoma cells. The glioblastoma took a bit longer, but they also began to die eventually. It’s amazing to watch.”

  “I had no idea you were so close,” I say, a mixture of elation and regret playing on my face.

  “Neither did we,” he assures me. “Every trial looks the same, and usually we check results and see that the tumors are still growing in some way, shape, or form. I thought I was dreaming when I checked the results last week. We replicated this on fifteen different types of cells, all with the same result.”

  “Why didn’t you say something then? I had no idea,” I exclaim, standing up and rushing to him. His arms wrap around my waist and I bury my face in his neck, feeling his warm skin against my cheeks.

  “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I—didn’t want to get my hopes up,” he breathes. We stay pressed together until I eventually push back to see his face, my arms remaining looped around him.

  “So what now?” I ask, searching his eyes.

  “I say we take this to the bedroom,” he suggests without missing a beat.

  “Later,” I laugh, slapping his hands away. “What now with the research? I know when they found the match for heart disease they immediately started pairing people, but that was almost 180 years ago. It’s been so long since we found a new disease match, does Berg even know how to handle that anymore?” I step away and start placing utensils in the drawer.

  Eric sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. You’re totally right—it’s been a long time and society has changed exponentially. But, the results from the last pairing are phenomenal. I was just at a briefing a couple of weeks ago where they gave the most recent statistics. We are now at a total multi-territory heart disease rate of six percent. Diabetes is two percent.”

  “Those are actual incidence rates or markers?”

  “Incidence rates. The percentage for markers is higher, but at least we are preventing the onset.”

  I nod. “I was going to say, I see plenty of patients with markers. But you make a good point. I don’t see many Tier 2 individuals who actually have symptoms.”

  “Right. One more generation and we will be even closer to making those illnesses complete memories from a past world. We honestly shouldn’t even be seeing markers in this next generation.” He pauses, noticing the look of frustration on my face. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “It seems so—” my hands gesticulate as I search for the right word, “—ridiculous, I guess? We are witnessing the disappearance of some of the most lethal chronic illnesses plaguing our society for centuries, and yet we still aren’t projected to live as long as humans did hundreds of years ago. What more do we need to do?” I say, exasperation evident in my tone.

  “Kate,” Eric says, smiling gently, “you know the answer to that.”

  I look at him, jaw set, and raise my eyebrows. “Do I?”

  “Yes,” he says as he walks toward me, wrapping me in his arms. An amused smile plays on his lips. “You know that we have never been purely focused on lifespan. Berg has always considered quality of life to be paramount. I know that you like to pretend this doesn’t exist, but we aren’t in a position to waste resources on those that are suffering.”

  He’s right. I do like to pretend that we don’t cut off resources for people of all Tiers when they become too dependent on outside care. I like to pretend that we don’t give people the option of continuing to suffer, or ending their lives peacefully. I do also understand that we can’t pretend that we have enough resources to artificially sustain life for no real purpose. I don’t expect that we repeat past mistakes through misappropriation of resources. I get it. I only wish that our efforts were having more of an affect sustaining people into old age.

  Eric continues, “If we want to increase lifespan, we have to increase quality of life during the aging process. We have to find ways for the body to self heal and require less from society. That’s why this research is so important.” He sighs. “I honestly think that with heart disease and diabetes finally so low in our generation, we will be seeing lifespan increase significantly. Here and now. I predict we will witness it, Kate. I don’t anticipate that we will experience the same decline seen in past generations.” He walks back over to the counter. “But, with cancer rates continuing to increase, we have to get our soil toxicity under control before we will truly see how far reaching this will be. If we start now with this TSG match…” he trails off and turns on his display, using his stylus to scrawl out equations.

  “It will definitely take longer than past pairings of this type because we are starting with a much larger population. I would estimate that we are starting with ten times the population this time around in Tier 1, meaning approximately fifteen million people who are able to reproduce starting today. Considering that Tier 2 population is always dropping, that increases the overall percentages. If we factor in an average reproduction rate in Tier 1 of 1.8 with each generation reproducing between the ages of 18-25,” he says to him
self. “Then we factor in—well, let’s say we find one percent of people who match, so 150,000 people or 75,000 pairs,” he continues, mumbling under his breath.

  He is in his own world now. Even though most of this goes over my head, I don’t want to break his concentration, so I quietly watch. His eyes flit between the numbers, excitedly moving from one result to the next. He has a bit of a mad scientist look about him with hair slightly disheveled and a rumpled shirt, from Bentley’s body resting against him earlier.

  “Based on our initial scans, that might be a long shot, but let’s pretend,” he continues, writing a few other numbers down. “If those TSG matches reproduce at a rate of two or three, in one generation we would hopefully see an almost two percent increase in overall population resistance,” he proclaims, looking at me expectantly. “In the next generation, assuming all of those factors remain equal, we would see that number rise to over five percent of the population with resistance,” he says. I can tell I am not giving him the reaction he wants, but it’s so much to process.

  “Over just a few generations, we would not only see a drastic increase in population, but also a radical decrease in cancer patients. Of course, that’s as long as we can find, at a minimum, one percent of people who match.” He exhales loudly, suddenly looking unsure. “That’s a big ‘if’,” he admits. “These genetic variations are few and far between. We ran an initial pairing filter for our community and only found eight pairings.”

  “Eight total?” I say incredulously, tuning in. This I can understand.

  “I know. It sounds completely unrealistic with that number. Assuming that the scans are similar in other communities, our regional number would be 378 pairs. That’s a far cry from 75,000.”

  “Each community has slightly different genetic variations,” I say hopefully. “Maybe you will find more in other communities with those scans. And, even if our regional numbers are small, when you add that to all of the regions in the territory, then the numbers from other territories, you may have more than you think.”

  “True,” he concedes, his lips pursed in contemplation.

  “What’s worst case scenario? That you only find 15,000 pairs and it takes a few more generations to see that effect? That’s a pretty good worst case.”

  He nods. “I know. I guess I’m just impatient.”

  We retreat to the living room and splay ourselves out on the couch. Lying back, I rest my legs on his.

  “You also have to consider that, as our nutrition continues to improve and toxin levels are reduced, cancer levels may begin to decrease organically, as well. That, combined with this genetic selection...we may be able to see stronger results sooner,” I muse.

  “That’s wishful thinking, but I like it,” Eric says as he leans across my outstretched body and kisses my cheek. “Though I’m not convinced that levels are going to be coming down anytime soon. After everything we’ve done, we’ve hit a plateau. Unless new technology is somehow created, we are somewhat limited in our ability to lower the toxicity levels of the water and soil. It’s just such a slow and costly process.”

  “I’m hopeful that it will happen.” I nudge him. “Maybe Bent will figure something out.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Eric laughs.

  “You know this is going to become an ethical issue, though,” I caution.

  “That a seven year old discovered how to sustainably clean water?”

  I smack his shoulder, teasing. “No, the pairing for TSG’s.”

  He chuckles, obviously amused with himself.

  “It was one thing to force pairings when there was a need to rebuild the population from the ground up, but now? How do we allow people to pair organically if we are giving them ‘options’ of only a handful of potential genetic pairs? Can we justify that? Given the population growth we have experienced in the last few centuries?” I ask.

  Eric leans his head back, staring silently at the matte ceiling. “I know. There were so many options for selection originally. I considered suggesting that we pull all of the pairs together as a territory to allow for more instinctive selection within our pairing groups, but I didn’t. I knew Berg wouldn’t go for it.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “They are still conducting research in our communities, and if we suddenly mix it all up, we could prevent future discoveries. And, our populations could become too homogenous. It’s unlikely with that low of a population percentage, but still a risk.”

  “So. These people are kind of stuck.”

  “Right.”

  The front door slams open and we hear Bentley sobbing, his wails fracturing our peaceful moment.

  “Guess the bedroom will be way later,” Eric teases, moving my legs to the floor and springing up to help. “Bent, what’s wrong, bud?”

  “Dad, I fell off the slide. I am bleeding really bad,” he splutters.

  “Let me check it out. Where are you bleeding?”

  I move quickly to the cabinet in the kitchen that contains all of our medical gear.

  “Does it look like a spray will do it?” I call, assuming that the initial description was an over exaggeration on Bentley’s part.

  “Yes, thanks. That will be great,” Eric replies. “It’s almost stopped bleeding on its own.”

  I grab the slender steel canister and walk over to them, witnessing the small scrape for myself. “Here Bent, let me spray them.” I reach out, but he wiggles away.

  “It’s going to hurt!” he complains, protectively wrapping his arms around his knee. I suppress an eye-roll, slightly frustrated by his dramatics.

  “Bud, remember, this is the good stuff. Can you tell me what it does?” He sniffs.

  “It cleans my skin and makes a shield so nothing bad can get in.”

  “You got it. It doesn’t hurt at all. Let me see.” I gently move his leg towards me and quickly spray it on his skin before he can flinch away, and he immediately begins to settle down.

  “See? All better,” I say, pulling him close, my fingers unintentionally ruffling his gossamer hair. Reaching up, he smooths the misplaced locks, shooting me a scowl.

  “Do you want to play longer, or should we call Tal in for bed?” Eric asks and Bentley lifts his head.

  “Is Tal the only one who has to go to bed?” he questions hopefully, tears still resting on his cheek. Eric chuckles.

  “No, you both need to.”

  “Then I am going to go play.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve and walks glumly back out the door.

  “Ten more minutes!” I call as he closes the door behind him.

  Chapter 5

  Eric and I sit on a wooden bench in the courtyard after meeting with Tal’s instructor, Mr. Dane. The ancient willow tree next to us gently waves in the breeze, its low hanging branches sweeping the native grasses in nearly silent communion. An ant wanders over my toes, and as uncomfortable the sensation is, I don’t disturb it. I like watching it meander.

  As a parent, I often find myself bristling slightly when I receive suggestions from the boys’ mentors or instructors. I know this feeling comes from my own insecurities—my own worries that I am not good enough. More than that, though, it stems from a deep, gut-wrenching place where I wonder if they might know something about my child that I don’t. It is completely unrealistic to think that I would be able to have a monopoly on knowing a person. But I still secretly want it.

  Mr. Dane, as expected, wasn’t worried about Tal’s questioning in class, but he did feel like it was an indication of his need to be working with a more advanced peer group. I hadn’t realized that he was hitting a developmental stage earlier than many boys his age, nor did I understand that this would mean making adjustments to his conditioning. Being a first-time parent is hard. I am way out of my depth.

  “What are you thinking about?” Eric asks.

  “Just Tal. How big he’s getting. How much I want to keep him safely in the little box I’ve created in my mind for him.” I exhale slowly. “How incompetent I am at doi
ng this parenting thing right.”

  Eric laughs, settling his arm across my shoulders. “You and me both.”

  “Even though we’ve watched other parents raise kids to adulthood, I wasn’t really paying attention,” I murmur.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wasn’t listening when they talked about the struggles they were having or the feelings they had during transitions like this. I have only ever tuned in to things that were relevant for me at the time. I missed out.”

  “I think that’s pretty normal,” Eric muses. “I also don’t recall having that many opportunities to talk with people who have been through this before. Don’t get me wrong—I love Matt, but I have often wondered if it would have been more beneficial to match with a mentor who had the opportunity to have children.”

  I nod.“That’s a good point. Do you think they will ever adjust that? Shari gets me, but there have been times when I haven’t been able to fully open up because I knew my parenting struggles wouldn’t resonate with her.” I shift closer to him, resting my head against his shoulder.

  “I think it’s definitely something that should be considered. It’s difficult though, because when we match up with mentors, we don’t necessarily know who is going to pair and who isn’t. The question would really be: could we match with a mentor later? When we know what an individual’s trajectory is potentially going to be?” he postulates.

  “But then we would miss out on those early years, which, at least in my case, were extremely beneficial,” I interject.

  “Exactly. Me too.”

  I play with the cuff of his sleeve errantly, remembering those early days with Shari. All of the questions—some of them embarrassing enough that I didn’t feel comfortable asking my parents. She always answered me, making me feel like I was uniquely mature to be looking beyond my current life as a child.