Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  I arrive at her door and walk in. We are way past knocking.

  “Shari?” I call, moving down the long hallway. Her house feels infinitely larger than ours with the vaulted ceilings. I know it isn’t that much bigger, and that she has roommates, but it still seems almost frivolous to have such an expanse of wasted space.

  “In here! Just making my menu for the week. Do you mind if I finish it up while we talk?” I follow her voice into the kitchen and find her, bent over the counter, working. Her coral shirt seems neon in comparison with the white cabinets and tile.

  “Not at all,” I answer. “What are your levels at?”

  “Well, it’s my first week with these new portions,” she explains, setting her tablet down and standing upright. “My mapping last month showed some deterioration in my folate one-carbon metabolism pathway. I don’t have any markers for dementia or cardiovascular disease, obviously, but we are trying to adjust my diet to get that cycle on track. Just lower my risk as close to zero as possible. Pretty boring stuff. Involving lots of vegetables.”

  I laugh. “Not boring. I’m taking notes so I know what to do in ten years when I’m in the same boat.”

  Shari returns to calculating the nutrition values in her recipes. While she writes, my shoulders begin to tense, not sure where to begin. This isn’t like me to feel unsure around her, and I hate it. I wait, hoping some easy transition will come to me.

  “I’m guessing you want to talk about Eric’s research,” she says a few moments later, shooting me an excited smile. I mentally sigh in relief.

  “You know details already? Word got out fast.”

  “Oh, everyone knows. The whole lab is abuzz with it. You do realize that this represents the first successful match in over two hundred years, right?”

  Goosebumps begin to rise on my arms. “I do. It seems surreal. On one hand, I am ecstatic, but on the other, I am a nervous wreck,” I say, running my hands through my hair. “What if this is a fluke and can’t be replicated? How are they going to work with this information if it can be replicated? Eric says the pairing in the general population is incredibly low. So what then?” I let my hands fall down to the counter a little too quickly and it stings my palms.

  “Whoa, okay. Let’s take this one at a time. Here, let’s go sit out on the patio. I’ll finish this later.” Her loose cotton pants, tied above her hips, sway as she moves through the kitchen. Hair falls loosely around her neck, and I notice she is wearing her glasses again today.

  “Are you wearing glasses full-time now?” I ask.

  “Almost. I can still see just fine, but my eyes feel more fatigued when I try to ignore the fact that I need them.”

  “Are you going to do the laser enhancement?”

  “Yes, as soon as I officially qualify. I think another six months should do it,” she says, raising her eyebrow surreptitiously.

  I laugh, following her through the backdoor. “I’m sorry I’m so discombobulated about all this. My mind has been cycling around and around since I heard the news. Eric doesn’t have any answers, so I don’t want to stress him out by asking or expressing my doubts,” I complain. Shari pulls out a chair for me and we sit in the warm sun. Maybe a tad too warm, I think. Before I have a chance to say anything, Shari puts up an umbrella.

  “I can completely eliminate your first concern. The experiment has already been replicated by other researchers. Twice. With exactly the same results.”

  “Wow. Eric didn’t tell me that.”

  “He couldn’t have. The results were just posted last night. So let’s talk about your next concern, which, yes, is completely founded. The initial scans only show a handful of matches in the entire region.”

  “What exactly are they matching? I know I could ask Eric, but he has been slightly overwhelmed the last few days.”

  “I can give you the shorthand version. Basically, they are looking at specific allele matches on the short arms of chromosomes three and nine. You already know that the sheer number of genes they are dealing with, along with all of the possible allele variations, creates nearly infinite possibilities. They have been shuffling alleles around for years, finding that some do better than others, but then this. Their combination worked.”

  She lifts her legs, stretching them out to rest her feet on the chair across from her before continuing. “This pairing scan is looking for individuals with genetic code containing a specific sequence of alleles that, when paired during meiosis and mitosis, will create progeny with that exact winning sequence. The reason this process is so difficult is that they also have to take into account the past matches we already have on file. So, these people not only need to have variations consistent with this research, but also the sequences for diabetes, heart disease, auto-immune function, and so on.”

  “But wouldn’t most people already be consistent with the past matches? Considering that all of us are already Tier 1?”

  “Yes, most people in Tier 1 are at that point now, but the matches are specific enough that it’s difficult. The Committee isn’t willing to make any exceptions. A couple of pairs were discovered with a sixty percent match on the original 25 markers and a perfect match on the five TSG variations and they threw them out.” My eyebrows shoot up and Shari nods. “I know, eighty percent or higher is the minimum with exact TSG matching. So. You can imagine the difficulty.”

  “That does seem like it would be limited. Given that—okay, here’s my biggest concern—” I gulp in air.

  “Ethical ramifications when it comes to pairing?” Shari says before I speak, and my breath escapes me in a relieved huff.

  “Exactly! If there are so few matches, can Berg even move forward? How would that work? We have to allow people to pair organically. It wouldn’t be socially responsible to force two people together. How would that allow for a similar life experience for bonding? Courting and building up trust takes time, and our minds and bodies have to be in sync to create bonds for child-rearing. It won’t work if we force it—” I pause, noticing Shari’s demeanor.

  She places her index fingers to her lips and taps them. “Why not?” she asks calmly. “Why couldn’t people still court and build up trust over time if they were paired by Berg? Doesn’t everyone put their genetic information into the database after a first date anyway? Wouldn’t this be basically the same thing? They wouldn’t be the ones scanning, but they would be the ones connecting. The only difference is that they would have the information ahead of time. Years ago, marriages arranged by parents were actually extremely successful.”

  “I would say that’s up for debate,” I argue. “Cultures that had arranged marriages were also extremely restrictive. How do you know that they were successful because they were actually good marriages? Maybe they simply couldn’t end them in a way that would be socially acceptable.”

  Shari shrugs, letting it go. This conversation likely won’t go in a positive direction and I figure now is as good a time as any.

  “Hey, I have actually been meaning to ask you: have you heard anything else about the incident the other day? When we had to evacuate Washington Park?”

  She looks at me, entirely puzzled. “I honestly haven’t thought much about it,” she answers. “Why?”

  “I still can’t wrap my head around it and I have been unsuccessful in finding any helpful information. Besides the fact that there hasn’t ever been—”

  “What are you concerned about?” Shari interrupts, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “I don’t—”

  “Do you think that Berg just made it up? That they randomly asked you to evacuate?”

  “No, I—”

  “Could there be some sinister reason for the alert? Is that what you are getting at? Kate, at this point, you should be convinced of the fact that Berg has nothing to hide. Eric is involved with everyone in leadership. If there was a problem, he would know.”

  “I know, I know, that’s not what I am saying. I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,
but it’s probably my own issue,” I backtrack.

  Shari is unnervingly still. “Kate, do you remember when we went over your gene sequencing? When was the last time we looked at that?”

  I slump over and rest my forehead on the table that sits between our two chairs. “I don’t remember,” I mumble.

  “Okay, stop being pathetic. Let’s go look at it again. I think it will make you feel better.”

  I force myself to follow her, but every cell in my body wants to get in the car and go home. What is wrong with me? Why am I pushing this? And, while I’m at it, why am I so against assigned pairings? Of course people can build a relationship even if they are put together by Berg initially. Is it because I love my own story with Eric? How ridiculous that I am projecting personal experience as the ideal. And why does having unanswered questions make me so darn uncomfortable? Within my head, these thoughts swirl, creating a toxic concoction of self-doubt. It’s difficult to focus as Shari pulls up my file on her display, but I watch obediently as she zooms in on one section of the strand.

  “Do you see this here? Let me pull up mine so you can see the difference.” Her chart appears and she places it next to mine on the display.

  “I see that they are different, but I don’t necessarily know what the significance is. I mostly deal with disease markers. I’m not as familiar with this section of the sequence.” My brows furrow as I try to find something that I recognize.

  “These markers are all associated with loyalty, and these,” she scans further up on the DNA strand, “are associated with questioning. Can you see which alleles are completely opposite on our charts?” I can. Several variations differ slightly, but two are completely different. I point to the display.

  “These don’t look like they are in any way similar. What does that mean?”

  “It means that even though you and I share ninety percent of the variations on these personality markers, we aren’t completely identical. I know that sounds obvious and redundant, but I wanted you to see it. Look how opposite we are in these areas. You have to allow your brain to soak this in so you can reframe the internal conversations you are having. When you push back, it’s because you are coded to push back. It’s who you are. It’s actually preferable that Tier 1 individuals have a fair amount of curiosity. How are we supposed to find new solutions or work hard to build others up if we don’t? Pros and cons, Kate.”

  “I see that. And I hear you. But...I don’t feel like I have ever questioned anything,” I blurt out,. “I have always done what was expected of me. Maybe it’s age, but I am growing increasingly uneasy. I want to make a difference!” I exclaim. “How am I supposed to question and find solutions when my life is so straightforward?”

  “You only perceive it as straightforward because you are in it. To me, you are problem solving all the time. I don’t know how you do what you do. Stop viewing your impact as something you have to force. You are living it, Kate! Every small moment with your kids, every person that you touch in Tier 2. That is the biggest impact any of us could hope to make. And, if you remember, recognizing that is one of the specific goals of your conditioning.” She raises an eyebrow and smiles.

  “Great. Let’s find more ways I am failing, shall we?” I joke. Shari laughs and beckons for me to move closer, wrapping her arms around me.

  “Kate, you are building strength now so that when opportunities for growth and responsibility come your way, you’ll be ready to shoulder them. You’re perfect the way you are. Except for the 10% that’s not me. You could work on that.”

  I laugh, squeezing her tightly. Then a thought occurs to me. “Shari…” I pause, pulling back. “This is random, but do you remember anything from when I was around Tal’s age?”

  She gives me a quizzical look, and I rush on to explain. “I remember specifically when I first met you and I have so many feelings about that time—I remember liking certain things, feeling content. I remember the way my mom’s eyes squinted when she smiled, my dad’s laugh. But, I can’t bring up specific instances. Eric seemed to think that was strange. I know you view it as normal to forget certain times in life, but I just wondered if...well, if maybe hearing you describe an event would trigger it for me. You’re the only one left who knew me then—”

  “Of course I remember,” Shari cuts my sentence short. “I remember one time when you were so intent on creating a play—a little show for your parents. They didn’t really want you to waste your time on something so frivolous, but you were determined. You would act it out when we were at the park and force me to be all of the extra characters. It was surprisingly fun.”

  I giggle in spite of myself. I do remember loving stories and creating shows. Still. I don’t remember this particular experience with Shari. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I hold my thoughts back, feeling disappointment well up inside me. What was I expecting? Some magical moment where everything would click?

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Hey, we are doing something for your birthday, correct?” she asks, thoroughly changing the subject. I had completely forgotten about it.

  In Tier 1, we don’t really do much to celebrate birthdays. Except for people over 50. Those years garner a lot of attention, and rightly so. When I was five or six, I saw a family celebrating a birthday in Tier 2 while I was helping my mom at the distribution center. Entranced, I sat watching the family place a string of flowers around an older woman’s head and sing to her. I was supposed to be refilling the wheat bucket, but when I looked over ten minutes later, it was already done. From that day on, my mom always had a flower crown sitting at the table for me on my birthday. As an adult it seemed silly, and I insisted that Shari stop the tradition after my mom died. Now, we usually just get together with my old roommates and take a picnic to the park.

  “I can’t believe I forgot. I didn’t set anything up this year,” I say, disappointed.

  “Don’t look so dejected! I didn’t forget. I told the girls to plan on Thursday night. I didn’t see anything on your calendar. Will that work for Eric?”

  I give her another hug. “You’re the best. I’ll ask him and get back to you tonight.”

  We say our goodbyes while I gather my things and practically float to the door, feeling lighter than I have all week.

  Chapter 9

  Not only does Eric approve of my birthday plans, he all but pushes me out the door when five o’clock rolls around. I walk down to the gardens where Shari expressly asked me to meet her, and I see three women sitting on a blanket in the shade of a large oak tree. It looks like Shari recruited both Alyssa and Tess and my heart swells with gratitude. Alyssa and I lived together for a year and a half, and Tess overlapped with us for eight months of it. That time was intense, fun-filled, and formative for me. These women supported me while I transitioned from my youth to adulthood. We supported each other. Despite the fact that we hardly see one another now, that bond is still as strong as ever.

  Alyssa paired shortly after I did. She and Jordan both work in agricultural innovation, and they have three children around the same age as ours. Tess paired a couple of years after. She is insanely skilled with computers and was on the team that programmed our current sensors. I actually haven’t spent much time at all with Rob, Tess’ pair. He seems like a decent guy. They have two boys, like us, but they are significantly younger. Both couples have service assignments that take them away from our community frequently, which works well for them, but is unfortunate for me.

  All three of them turn and see me coming and run up to greet me. I haven’t seen them since my birthday last year and the sheer act of embracing them pulls me into deep nostalgia. Though we have sent each other messages on and off, that is hardly enough correspondence to stay up-to-date on each other’s lives. Momentarily, I long for the days when we had hours each day to compare experiences and connect. Friendships haven’t come easily since pairing and procreating. I kick off my shoes and sit down to join them.

  Shari, as always, has chosen an id
eal spot. The grass is soft under the blanket, and all I can hear besides our laughter is the hum of cicadas in the trees. I release my hair from the clip that was holding it back, allowing it to fall loosely around my shoulders as I stretch out my legs.

  “Dish!” Alyssa exclaims. “I want to hear everything that has happened since our last picnic.” I laugh.

  “I don’t know that I have anything dish-worthy to tell! You are the one who should be dishing. Someone let slip that you may be expecting again? Is that true?” I tease. Shari told me a couple of weeks ago, but I had forgotten to call.

  “It is true and, Shari, I will not be trusting you with a secret again,” she says, pointing accusingly in her direction. “But we’ll get to that later. Seriously, I want to hear what has been going on with you, Kate!”

  “Okay!” I hold up my hands in defeat. “I’ll do my best, but it might be horribly disappointing.” I sigh, trying to determine where I should start. “Obviously the boys are now a year older and that has presented certain challenges…”

  “Like…” Tess eggs me on.

  “Like Tal suddenly has a lot of opinions on things. He doesn’t just take our assessment of a given situation as the final word anymore. I know that’s a good thing, but it’s kind of scary.” I see Alyssa nod. She has a nine-year-old. She knows. “Eric and I are still doing great. He actually just had a huge break with the research he has been working on for years.” I look at Shari. “Did you already spill that secret, too?”