Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  Those who had the highest chance of life and successful procreation were given top priority, to guarantee that the next generation would be as genetically viable as possible. It was thought that a group with clean DNA and consistent, positive social input could produce generations of stable individuals who could then learn, discover, and serve society as it healed. And it’s working. Here we are, almost 275 years since the Crisis, and all we have seen is success. Our average lifespan has increased by almost 20 years, infant mortality is less than 5%, and we have significantly reduced suffering during old age. Why would we, all of a sudden, alter a proven system?

  Nick rolls back on his chair and turns toward me. He isn’t grinning as widely anymore. “It’s actually terrifying,” he says quietly. “When I was younger, my parents were informed that my responses to conditioning were far beyond age level. They knew that, genetically, I was completely clean. I mean, no markers or variations besides something as benign as motion sickness.”

  I cough. He pauses.

  “I’m sorry, I just...well, nobody with motion sickness would describe it as being benign,” I explain. “Go on, sorry. That was completely involuntary.”

  Nick laughs. “I guess mine isn’t that severe.” He gives me a mock disapproving look. “Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was saying that besides the completely debilitating motion sickness that I deal with, I am genetically perfect.” He holds up his hands. “I know, it sounds pretentious, but that’s what they tell me. After my conditioning results were abnormal, our local committee—of which Grace is a member—petitioned to the regional and then territorial leaders at Berg to push me forward. As far as I know, this hasn’t happened in the past. But I guess there are a couple of other people around the region who are in my same situation, all of them men. So, long story short, yes. I am scared. I don’t know what to expect, and I don’t think anyone else does either. But I was plateauing in conditioning. It all just made sense. I meant what I said back there. I am really glad to be actually contributing to the world, and I guess I hope that it will all work out the way Berg expects it to.” He lifts his arms behind his head again and leans back. I try to stay focused on his face. “Any other questions before we actually get to work? Home to your children, remember?” he teases.

  “Yes, sorry. My curiosity got the better of me. No more distractions.” I pick up my tablet and turn on the display when I feel his hand brush my arm.

  “I think curiosity is a good thing. Ask me anything, anytime.” He’s looking at me intently. It feels strangely intimate, and I pull back.

  “Thanks.” I pull my hair up and words begin to awkwardly tumble from my mouth. “Should we start with Cassidy? She is the one I know best. Unless you have someone you’d like to discuss. I assume you know some of the others.”

  I can feel my face flushing. Pull it together, Kate. It’s been so long since I talked extensively with any man besides Eric. It really doesn’t help that Nick is so physically appealing. Despite the fact that I am paired and in every way fulfilled, my body and mind can’t help but respond to the perfect symmetry of his face, his angular jaw, and his broad shoulders. I am tempted to reach out and trace those lines. Not because I want to be with him, but because I want to make sure that he’s real.

  I have spent a lot of time studying physical attractiveness as part of my health training. The history of it is fascinating. It has changed so much over the course of human history. Especially for women. From buxom to stick thin, back to curvy, and then muscular. Usually society favors signs of health, but with the influx of technology before and during the Crisis, girls and boys were inundated with unrealistic images that exaggerated certain characteristics before they fully matured physically or mentally. Large-breasted women with tiny hips and waists, faces coated in products to make people look flushed and youthful, men with arms and chests so large that their arms couldn’t even rest against their sides naturally, hair treated with chemicals to make it look shiny, and the list goes on. It became impossible for people to actually gauge true attractiveness, and people were constantly stressed about being appealing to others. They mutilated their bodies in search of an ideal that didn’t exist—which, ironically, made their genes less viable.

  Our society now values true health and viability. We didn’t have time or resources after the Crisis to fake it, and to do so now would be completely socially unacceptable. In my position, I must be able to assess a patient’s outward appearance—their skin elasticity and pallor, muscle tone, eye clarity, bone structure. It isn’t just an indication of genetic potential, but also of their general nutrition and physical fitness. If someone were to artificially boost their performance or appearance during those appointments, how would it serve them? They would only be hurting their future possibilities. Not worth it. I give myself some credit: it is my responsibility to notice people. Of course I would notice Nick.

  “Sure, let’s start with Cassidy,” Nick says.

  The rest of the meeting is all business. Nick explains how the goal of the introduction is two-fold. We need to provide information that will promote acceptance within Tier 1 while also building up self-confidence in the candidate. Acceptance into a group requires both the existing members of the group and the new addition to accept the relationship inherently. We discuss different ideas on how to accomplish this and make good progress with a few of the candidates. Nick is extremely thoughtful, and I am surprised by the depth of his insights at such a young age. He is in the middle of another thought when I realize I desperately have to use the restroom. I glance down at my sensor and see that it is almost 9pm. Training must have ended an hour ago. I also see that I have five messages from Eric. Nick notices that I am distracted and pauses.

  “I had no idea how late it was. I really need to get home to my family. I’m so sorry to cut you off.” I hurriedly stand up and slip my tablet into my bag. “Do you think we can finish up in one more meeting next week sometime?”

  “Definitely. I will message you to set that up. Thanks Kate, it was great to meet you.”

  “You too.” I rush out and quickly head to the car. I can’t believe I stayed so late. Eric must be worried. I send him a quick note letting him know I am on my way home.

  In the car I quickly call Shari. I only have five minutes before I get home, so hopefully she is available. Her face comes into view.

  “Took you long enough. Were the kids up when you got home?”

  “I am barely on my way home.”

  “Wait, what? I thought you were only meeting during training. What happened?”

  “I don’t know! We were passing ideas back and forth and the next thing I knew it was nine o’clock. I am almost home, so I just wanted to call and say that was a really weird initial meeting. Why did they even have me come? I could have just met with Nick and received instructions there. I felt really out of place.”

  “I know, it was strange. Grace is interesting. I think she just really likes to see everything organized. She wanted all of our faces in the same room. Thanks for hanging in there. I really think you will do great. And Nick. Right?” She gives me a knowing look and an eyebrow raise.

  I laugh. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed,” I admit, relieved. “I’m actually really excited.”

  Shari laughs.

  “Not about Nick,” I scoff, “about the ceremony! I haven’t gotten up in front of people in a long time, but this is important. Helping these candidates feel at home in Tier 1 is so crucial to their success.”

  Shari winks conspiratorially, and I roll my eyes, glancing out the window. “I’m pulling in now. Sorry for such a short call.”

  “Have a great night Kate. We can talk more in depth at our next session. Friday, right?”

  “See you then. Enjoy your eight hours.” I wink and she is gone.

  Chapter 7

  I step into the house and slip off my shoes. Every movement sounds deafening in the silence. Hanging my cardigan and bag on the hooks by the door, I tip-t
oe into the kitchen. Gently, I open a cupboard and slide out a glass. Turning, I notice the top of Eric’s head sticking up on one side of the couch. After filling my glass with water, I quietly navigate around the furniture, noticing that his eyes are closed and he is breathing deeply. I can’t help but snuggle in beside him, setting my water on the wood floor. He sighs, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. This is home.

  “Late meeting?” he mumbles.

  “Yep. Sorry to make you worry.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried. Just excited to have a night as a bachelor. I’m only tired because I partied so hard,” he says groggily.

  When he doesn’t continue, I check to make sure he didn’t slip back to sleep.

  “Mm-hmmm. Your messages say otherwise,” I tease.

  “I had to send those. So you wouldn’t be suspicious.”

  I kiss him then, softly. “I love you. I’m sorry I was so late. How was training?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Let’s go to bed. My shoulder is cramping from being on this couch.”

  “You’re getting—“

  “Old, I know.” He pushes me off the side and I fall to the floor. Laughing, I push myself up and follow him into our bedroom. Shedding my clothes and crawling under the covers is a relief. In the dark, I feel that Eric is already there. My feet find their usual place between his calves, and I am asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  Drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, my eyes fly open. I flinch when a hand reaches out and brushes my arm.

  “Same dream?” Eric asks softly.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I mumble, still trying to calm my heart rate down.

  “How often is it happening these days?”

  “This is the first time in awhile,” I say, dazed. “I think Bentley was still fairly young when it happened last. I know Shari seems to think it happens more when I am under stress…” I trail off. I don’t feel stressed. Maybe it’s just because of my assignments with the Ceremony and the fact that I was out late.

  “Is it always exactly the same or are there slight variations?” he asks, pulling me close to him.

  “Pretty much identical, I think. I am always sitting in the garden. The air is cool and everything moves slower than usual, even my hair seems to blow in slow motion, it’s hard to explain. My mom rushes out the back door yelling for me and time seems to speed forward. Almost violently. Something is pulling her back inside and I can’t get to her,” I explain, tears filling my eyes. “She is always wearing the same thing—her favorite loose, linen skirt—and her hair is down, whipping around her face.” I wipe a tear from my cheek. “I’m sorry, it’s just so disturbing. I don’t know why my mind is conjuring up that image. What am I supposed to take from that?”

  “Our dreams are usually random synaptic responses,” Eric says. “Sometimes they can be indicative of our fears or concerns. Maybe you have always subconsciously wanted to know more about your mom.”

  “Maybe.” My breathing settles. Glancing at my sensor, I realize it’s close enough to our normal waking time that there is no point in trying to go back to sleep. Instead, I lie on my floor mat, beginning my stretches, and changing the topic of conversation.

  I fill Eric in on my assignment while he gives me details on the training I missed. Most of it seems theoretically intuitive, but I will need to go into my consultant software to become completely familiar with the upgrades. Eric makes tea while I cook up some greens to go with our eggs. I hear the door open to the boys’ room and see little, disheveled heads making their way down the hall. Today is Family Day and we have all been looking forward to our hiking plans.

  Bentley sits up to the counter first.

  “Morning,” Eric says as he gives him a big hug. “How can I serve Master Bentley this morning? May I procure some eggs, greens, and tea for the gentleman?”

  “Dad. I don’t even know what you’re saying,” he giggles and yawns.

  “But you like it, right?”

  “I just want breakfast.”

  “Hear ye! Hear ye! Master Bentley desires breakfast!” Eric whirls his hands in the air and moves around the island with a flourish. He dramatically dishes up Bentley’s food and places it in front of him with a bow. “Will this suffice, sir?”

  Eric has always been a little silly and childlike. Not immature, just full of energy and exuberance for life. That’s definitely why I was drawn to him. His goofy, whole-body laugh whenever he sees something ridiculous happen is contagious. Like when a squirrel jumps and misses a branch. Or someone misjudges how fast a door will close. Bentley grins at his antics.

  “Thanks, Dad,” he says shyly.

  Tal, who made a pit stop in the washroom on his way to the kitchen, sits up next to Bentley at the counter. “Dad, please don’t. If you are going to be weird, I will get my own breakfast.”

  Eric looks at him skeptically, feigning offense. “I love you, Tal. I will not be weird, I will simply dish up your breakfast and not say a word.”

  I slap some eggs on a plate and pass it to Eric so he can add the greens. He, in turn, places it in front of Tal.

  “Kind of boring, right? I bet you wish you asked for weird,” Eric teases.

  Tal rolls his eyes and begins cramming his mouth with soft egg. After the boys finish up and clear their dishes, they ask if they can play for a while with their robotics kits. We acquiesce, grab our mugs, and head to the porch. I figure we can leave right before eleven and still have plenty of time for our hike. I am grateful we picked a short one so we don’t have to force the boys to rush, especially since they seem to be playing nicely.

  Eric and I sit down on the porch swing together. The wood gently creaks as we rock, the air fresh on our faces. A spiderweb catches my eye, dew shimmering in the delicate web, and my gaze shifts to the house next door.

  “What’s on your mind?” Eric asks, causing me to jump at the unexpectedness of his voice.

  “You okay there?” he laughs and I feign annoyance, slightly embarrassed.

  “I still think it’s so strange that we haven’t heard from Fay or Cameron,” I say, ignoring his continued amusement.

  “Oh,” he says, suddenly serious. “I actually asked about them at training, I forgot to tell you.”

  “You did? What did you find out?”

  “Not much, just that they had gained new responsibilities that required them to move territories.”

  “They moved to a completely new territory? Have you ever heard of that happening?”

  “Honestly, not really. Do you know what their work assignment was?” Eric asks.

  I am reminded, yet again, how one-sided our relationship must have been. I know virtually nothing about them. Information about their family, yes, but nothing about their personal life. I was always so impressed that they were still in such good health with children entering young adulthood. I wish I would have learned more from them while they were here.

  “No, I don’t,” I admit, exhaling slowly. “I wonder when someone else will move in there.”

  “You would think it would be soon,” Eric muses.

  “Moving territories. Your research would never require that, would it? In some ways it sounds exciting, but...” I trail off. I am not quite sure how to verbalize the emotions rushing through me as I consider change of that magnitude.

  “Do you remember the stories we explored in conditioning about travel?” Eric asks as he puts his arm around my shoulders.

  “Yes, how could I forget? I remember wishing so badly that I could go to a beach. That picture of the waves breaking on the rocks is still fixed in my brain,” I say wistfully.

  “I wonder what it would have been like to randomly jump on a plane and be somewhere else in a couple of hours.”

  “Probably amazing. But also terribly wasteful. I don’t know that I could enjoy it, understanding the societal cost.” I take a slow sip of my tea.

  “I don’t think anyone back then knew what the cost actually was. They simply paid for thei
r ticket and went. Ignorance is bliss,” Eric says, almost longingly.

  “Do you wish we were ignorant?” I ask, surprised at his tone.

  “Sometimes,” he considers, “but mostly I am just happy to be alive at this time, doing what we’re doing. I think travel probably exacerbated the general feeling of dissatisfaction in society then. The idea of an exciting trip—escaping from the mundane, repetitive tasks of normal life—would have served as a constant distraction.”

  The edge of his mug meets his lips, his two-day-old stubble accentuating his masculinity. I watch his eyes close as he inhales the earthy smell of the chamomile.

  “That’s really it, isn’t it?” he continues. “The whole idea of vacation seems odd to me. If your life is set up in such a way that all of your needs are fulfilled, why would you need to escape it? That was their downfall.”

  “Travel?”

  “No, escaping. Everything they did was to escape. Through entertainment, virtual experiences, travel, food, everything. Such an unhappy people. Or at least not a people at peace,” he concludes, leaning over and kissing my forehead. “I am going to go put our day packs together. Is there anything you need in yours besides the usual?”

  “The usual is perfect, thanks,” I say as he rises to return inside. “Eric, we are at peace, right?”

  He looks at me intently and smiles softly. “Always.”

  Chapter 8

  My meeting with Shari is today and I have been high-strung all morning. I have so much to talk about and really want to hear her opinion on Eric’s research. She has more experience than I do with Berg, specifically with gene sequencing. One of her parents was actually involved in troubleshooting the new pairing software when it was released.

  My initial excitement fades a little as I consider the final topic on my mental docket for today. I am slightly more hesitant to discuss the alert. Or more specifically, the reason for the alert. I haven’t been able to get it off my mind and have been obsessively researching it in my spare time. Nothing about it makes sense. There isn’t any documentation of even a single incident of Tier 3 violence instigated by individuals approved for work assignments. A report for this specific alert is also still forthcoming, which is extremely odd. Normally, we receive a debriefing after even the slightest interruption to a service assignment. The whole thing simply isn’t sitting well with me, and Eric is sick of hearing about it.