Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  She smacks my leg in mock horror. “How dare you even suggest such a thing?”

  Alyssa and Tess laugh and my head whips in their direction.

  “She told us,” Tess admits, “but I would love to hear it from you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to repeat anything. What do you know already?” I say, feigning annoyance.

  “I only know that he made a discovery, that’s it,” Alyssa assures me.

  “You know Eric was working on TSG’s, right?” I ask and they both nod. “He and his team have been working for years on finding a genetic variation that would be strong enough to overpower cancer cells. One of them worked. I don’t know much more than that, but it looks like they are moving forward fairly aggressively.”

  “How so?” asks Tess.

  “I mean, Berg wants to run pairings. Move forward with actually creating these variations in the population. That’s how compelling the results are.”

  “Wow,” Alyssa sighs and leans back against the tree. “So what does this mean for you and the kids? How involved does Eric need to be at this point?”

  “That. Remains to be seen,” I say hesitantly, opening up one of the reusable containers and peeking at its contents. Shari begins opening the others. She has put together an impressive spread: fresh bread, vegetables from her garden, dried fruit, and—I look up at her abruptly. Oranges. There are oranges in this sack.

  “How in the world—” I ask, not even able to finish my sentence.

  Shari laughs. “You know that one of my special skills is getting my hands on contraband.”

  “But seriously, how? How did you get these?”

  “I can’t give away my secrets,” she says mysteriously, looking away.

  “These have got to be from the southern territories,” Alyssa says in awe. “Unless they have started growing citrus in our greenhouses?”

  “I would think you, of all people, would know about it if they had,” Tess interjects.

  Alyssa shrugs.

  “I am literally speechless, Shari. Thank you so much,” I say intently as I reach out to pick one up.

  “Wait!” Tess says. “I need to add the pièce de résistance!” She reaches behind her back and pulls out a small package, delicately placing it in my hands. The brown paper crinkles as I pull back the edges to reveal a soft, white rectangle. The shape isn’t immediately identifiable, but the smell is.

  “Oh wow, Tess. What kind is it?”

  “Herbed goat. I made it three weeks ago so it would be ready. Can you believe I actually remembered to start something on time?”

  “Can you believe I’m the only one who forgot about my own birthday?”

  Laughing, I use a fork to dig in immediately. My mouth explodes with flavor as the creamy slab melts over my tongue. The subtle gaminess of the cheese is perfectly tempered by the rosemary and oregano. My eyes close in enjoyment and Tess beams.

  We fill our plates, saving the oranges for last. As I press my fingernail into the soft peel, a fine mist of citrus sprays into the air. For a second, I just breathe it in, allowing it to transport me to the past.

  My dad worked in agriculture innovation like Alyssa, but he was mostly focused on trade. After the Crisis, Berg was focused solely on local agricultural production. They wanted to help each community become self sufficient, using only the resources they produced themselves. It took a long time, and still isn’t always sustainable in every Tier 1 zone. Certain geographic locations can only produce specific resources efficiently, and those resources don’t always align perfectly with the needs of the people.

  Because of this, Berg has perfected a minimalist trade system between Territories, but there was a time when they experimented with diversifying the foods that were available to everyone. My dad hit the tail-end of that project. The research Berg collected during that time didn’t show a statistically significant increase in quality of life based on the increased diversity of food alone, so the project was terminated. While my dad was working on it, though, he would travel between territories looking for potential varieties of produce that could be efficiently and sustainably traded. Whenever he went south, he would always bring me back an orange, or a lime, or something else completely exotic. I would savor them, eating one piece at a time until it couldn’t possibly last any longer.

  I don’t think I have the self-control to save it this time. I pull back the rest of the peel, exposing the fruit, and pop a sliver into my mouth.

  “This is so divine,” I say. “Best birthday ever.”

  Shari grins, and I can tell she is overly pleased with herself. Despite the awkwardness of our last few interactions, moments like this remind me where her loyalties lie. I need to do a better job of trusting her judgement.

  “You didn’t answer my question earlier,” Alyssa says between bites. “Do you really not have any idea what this discovery means for you and Eric? Haven’t they given some idea of what will be expected?”

  “Not yet. I think right now they are just trying to figure out what the initial pairing will look like. My hope is that he will be able to bow out and start in on a new project once Berg takes over. But,” I admit, “I am also gearing up to do whatever is needed. This is such a big deal. I have really struggled with how I can make my biggest impact with all of the resources we have been given. Maybe my impact is supporting Eric so that he is free to do this. I don’t know.” I put another slice of orange into my mouth. “Enough about that, though. I want to hear about this new baby! Are you nervous to have another one?”

  “Of course. Yes! Totally nervous. But also really excited,” Alyssa smiles.

  Tess reaches over and gives her belly an ostentatious rub. As we reminisce about our birth stories, I notice that Shari checks out a little bit. I try to change the subject as soon as it makes sense.

  When the sun begins to set, we say our goodbyes and promise to get together again soon. I know it won’t likely happen for a long while, but it feels good to show that we all would ideally like to commit to more time together. I walk home exhausted, full in more ways than one.

  Gently, I open the door, trying not to wake anyone. I slip off my shoes and flick on a light temporarily so I can see where I am going. My hands trace the walls as I move through the hall. Our bedroom is dark, so I toss my clothes near the closet, not wanting to wake Eric by opening drawers, and I try to use the washroom as quietly as possible.

  Slipping between the soft sheets, my head hits the pillow. I immediately sit back up, having hit something cold and pointy. I reach down and pick up a lightweight rope of some sort. Not immediately recognizing what it is, I pad back to the washroom, shut the door, and turn on the light. A delicate flower crown made of fresh-picked columbines drapes around my fingers.

  Chapter 10

  It’s Saturday, and our request to visit the holding and rehab center was approved. We are planning to take Tal over this afternoon while Bentley spends the afternoon with Shari. She felt like she needed some kid time so she could better appreciate her time alone this next week. That’s what she told me, but I know she loves spending time with the boys. Especially Bentley. He is still full of wonder and energy and she needs that in her life.

  Initially, when we talked with Tal about taking this day trip, he was hesitant. While Tier 1 contains a fair amount of genetic diversity, all of us have similar personality markers and social inputs. This means that all individuals are working toward the same goals and have a somewhat homogenous outlook on life. Tal hasn’t ever met someone who has a significantly different viewpoint. He hasn’t ever seen anyone do something that is drastically against the rules. He sees people act and he sees their consequences, but even the negative consequences that he has observed are pretty tame. Consequently, his anxious feelings at the prospect of visiting the rehab center are expected; he simply has no idea what to expect.

  I remember being extremely nervous the first time I went. Honestly, I still feel on edge physically being in a facility like that. I hope that fo
r Tal, this will bring his understanding to a new level and deepen his commitment to fulfilling his potential. It’s difficult to avoid recognizing your own strengths when the limitations of others are laid bare.

  Shari comes to pick up Bent and, after waving goodbye, the three of us hop onto our bikes. We don’t have to go far. There aren’t any holding centers in Tier 1, so we are headed to the closest one on the Tier 2 side of the city. A part of me wishes that we could go to a Tier 3 center, but from what I’ve heard, that would only be appropriate for adults at this point.

  The trail whizzes by beneath our pedals and the soft whir of our tires is the only sound besides the soft chirping of birds overhead. Tal hasn’t said a word, so I try to lighten the mood.

  “Your turn,” I say to Eric. “Where would you go if you had one plane ticket anywhere and knew you were going to die in a week?”

  “So this is the last place I will ever see?”

  “Yep.”

  “Am I still in full health, or am I old and decrepit?” Eric mimics an old man with no teeth.

  Tal grins but doesn’t laugh. He must be more nervous than I thought.

  “Full health. You just know in a week you will keel over and die,” I say.

  “Hmmmm...I think I would go to one of those remote islands way out off of the Pacific coast.”

  “I thought those weren’t even habitable anymore?”

  “They aren’t, but if I’m dying in a week, who cares? New islands are cropping up in that same belt every year and Berg is doing some really incredible biological research there. I would fly to the islands and live out my week experiencing the ocean, the wildlife, not worrying what I was going to eat or drink. It would be amazing.”

  “Good choice. I like your logic.”

  “What about you?”

  “Well, your idea sounds really good, so now I am second guessing my choice.”

  He laughs. “What is it?”

  “I was thinking I would go to one of the northern territories. I would be there in the perfect transitional week to see the leaves in full color, and then the first snow. My death would be perfectly timed so I could see both.”

  “You didn’t tell me I got to pick the timing of it.”

  “Would it have changed your pick?”

  “No,” he responds confidently and I laugh.

  “What is it about nature that is so alluring? We have so much beauty here, and yet I long to see something different. Maybe travel before the Crisis was more about that than just escaping?” I postulate.

  “I think for some people yes, but the extensiveness of the travel is what makes me think it was escapist. If you want to see something, just see it. Experience it. Be present and soak it in. They were bouncing around endlessly. It was like they could never fully enjoy something because they were always on the lookout for something better.”

  “True,” I admit, realizing that we are getting ahead of Tal. Me feet slow on the pedals and Eric mimics me. “Do you think the fact that I love to envision these places means that I am looking to escape?” I ask, and he ponders this for a moment.

  “No. I honestly think you are seeking the beauty of it. You would soak it in and let it add to you, still happy to be in your own life.”

  I nod, but question the truth of that statement. Would I be able to come home and feel satisfied if I knew that exciting, first time experiences were still out there?

  We pull up to the building and affix our bikes and helmets to the parking stalls. My legs feel rubbery as I begin to follow Eric and Tal toward the entrance. We are greeted by full body security scanners. By the look on his face, I don’t think Tal has ever done this before, but he follows Eric through without hesitation. We leave our sensors in the security boxes and enter the main courtyard. Our guide, a Tier 1 rehabilitation specialist named Talia, introduces herself as soon as we enter.

  “Hi Tal,” she says smiling, reaching out to shake his hand. “You have my nickname. This might be a little confusing today.”

  Tal smiles, though he is already looking around at the people around us, processing what they are doing. What they might be here for.

  “I assume you already know what we do in this facility?” she asks.

  “Yes,” he nods.

  “Tal, tell us what you know already,” Eric encourages.

  “I know that when people are breaking the rules, they have to come here.”

  “Kind of,” Talia responds. “It’s actually more specific than that. If they are just breaking the rules in a way that creates negative consequences for themselves, we allow them to work through that and learn. If they are creating negative consequences for those around them, for society, or simply infringing on the rights of others, they have to be removed and rehabilitated. Take, for example, that woman over there.”

  She points across the yard to a tall woman with short black hair. “She wasn’t treating her child well. She had been cleared to procreate, but then her birth was unexpectedly difficult, and she wasn’t able to function appropriately during that first year of her child’s life. She was neglecting to fulfill the level of care expected. We had to remove her from the home and help her heal.”

  “How long has she been here?” I ask.

  “About six months.”

  “Will she be able to return back to her family?”

  “It doesn’t seem likely. Especially because at this point, it would be more traumatic for her child to go through another transition.”

  “Where is her baby?” Tal asks.

  “Great question. Her daughter is with the father and his new pair. It is so important that children have both parents in the home, especially during those formative years.”

  Tal’s eyebrows furrow.

  “It’s nothing that could have been predicted. She is healing now, and she will have the chance to re-pair if she wants,” Talia explains.

  “Can she have another child?” Tal asks.

  “No, it would be too risky for her and the child.” Talia answers, shifting our attention to a stout man playing frisbee with another specialist.

  “This man is here because he was stealing from the resource center.”

  Tal looks up sharply. “Why would someone steal when they are receiving all that they need?”

  “Some people in Tier 2 don’t feel like they are getting everything that they need. Remember Tal, they are genetically, and often socially, limited. The resources we are able to give them now are much better than they were in the past, improved from even fifty years ago. Their social conditioning is getting better and better, but this man was actually the product of an uncleared pregnancy. Genetically, he is barely qualified to remain in Tier 2. If he continues to make progress, he can continue here. Otherwise, we will be transitioning him to Tier 3. We do the best we can, but at a certain point, we need to use our resources for people that are making the most progress.”

  “So what would happen to him in Tier 3?” Tal questions.

  “Everyone in there has their basic needs met, but they are not able to enjoy the freedoms that we do. Their ability to act and react in societally-appropriate ways is limited. Some of them do really well with structure, like having a job for example. When they are able to serve and contribute in society, that earns them extra freedoms and privileges.”

  “Like what?” Talia starts leading us around the back side of the yard to another building and Tal’s question hangs in the air.

  “Like more variety in food,” she answers a few moments later. “The opportunity to attend a conditioning enrichment class during the week. Some of them even get the chance to pair.”

  Tal nods, seemingly satisfied with this response. Then his face pulls together, his eyes squinting. “I don’t understand why this system is better than punishment,” he comments, taking quick steps to keep up with our long ones. “It seems like prison would waste fewer resources on people who aren’t going to be able to go back into society anyway.”

  Eric and I meet each other's eye
s, waiting to see how Talia will respond.

  “That is actually the exact reason why prisons used to exist before and during the Crisis. Society, at the time, thought that it was both the proper consequence and the cheapest way to deal with the problem. They were actually dead wrong,” she says, a hint of disdain creeping into her tone. “Obviously we know that people don’t ‘deserve’ punishment. They act the only way they are able to, given their genetic coding and social inputs. If we want to change the behavior, we change the variable that we have control over.”

  “Social inputs,” Tal repeats.

  “Exactly. What kind of social inputs do you think people were receiving in prison?”

  “Probably not good ones.”

  “Not good ones. You’re right. They were learning to look out for themselves or to rely on those stronger and more hardened than they. They were taught to be invulnerable, therefore avoiding relationships and distrusting authority figures. They absorbed the message that society despised them. Which...well, they weren’t wrong,” she mutters, scanning her sensor to unlock another door. We follow her through. “Given that information, can you start to see why prisons would also not be the cheapest option?” Talia pauses, awaiting his response.

  I glance around, taking in our surroundings. We are in a long foyer. Light shines through a vaulted skylight in the center of the hall, refracting through the glass and forming miniature rainbows on the white tile ahead of us.

  “It seems like that conditioning would lead to more misbehavior. And apathy,” Tal responds finally.

  “Right on,” Talia says approvingly. “Inmates in prisons were not willing to serve. They gave nothing back and required more and more resources to keep them in check. It was a constant drain on society.”

  We walk down a hallway behind the skylight and I am in awe of the bright, open layout. It is so luminous that I involuntarily squint.

  “This is our conditioning area. We spend a lot of time on physical conditioning in this center. Typically, if we can help our patients feel corporeally strong, and build habits of success with fitness, we often see dramatic improvements in their ability to stick to nutrition and mental health regimens.”