Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  “What is the success rate of your program?” Eric asks. “By that I mean, what percentage of patients are able to go back into Tier 2?”

  “Almost eighty percent of our high-functioning patients are able to integrate within three to six months. This group usually consists of people who are self-serving and engaging in behaviors like manipulation of their pair or their mentor, using more resources than they are allotted, or being verbally or emotionally abusive to others. Typically, with some consistent education and practice, we can reverse those behaviors.”

  “What about the group that isn’t high functioning?” I ask.

  “That is usually closer to fifty percent.”

  “And the fifty percent that don’t rehabilitate...they move to Tier 3?” I assume, based on her earlier comments.

  “Yes. As long as we are seeing progress, we will continue to work with them, but when they become stagnant, we have to move on.”

  We walk into a room with a display and an odd-looking machine with two electrodes hanging from the side. Tal immediately approaches it.

  “This is our reversal therapy machine. Brand new for us this year,” Talia virtually coos.

  “Wow,” Eric exclaims. “I didn’t think that Tier 2 had access to this technology.”

  “The Berg Committee approved it a few months ago and we are thrilled to have it. Using this has exponentially increased our ability to treat mental illness and reverse habits in behavioral pathways.”

  “How does it work?” asks Tal.

  “Would you like me to show you?”

  He backs away, looking skeptical.

  “Sit in the chair and I will do a small procedure so you can feel it,” she suggests.

  Tal steps back quickly, running into Eric, and I laugh.

  “It’s completely safe, Tal,” Eric says.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Talia assures him. “I was planning to simply activate a pleasant memory so you can see how it works.”

  Tal looks at me questioningly. I shrug my shoulders, a smile on my lips. He pauses for a moment, then walks forward again and sits down tentatively in the chair. The machine hums after Talia flips a switch. Tal sits stock still as she uses a swab to clean a small circle behind each of Tal’s ears, then places the electrodes to his skin.

  “During the Crisis, scientists had access to these electrodes; they were able to stimulate outer tissues of the brain without surgery. However, in order to stimulate deeper brain tissue—like the areas where emotions and memories originate—their only option then was using implants. Due to the many, obvious risks involved, these implants weren’t a great option, so researchers were really limited in what they could do. With this machine,” she pauses and moves behind the display, “we are able to use a high frequency current that does not disrupt normal neurons to penetrate deep into the brain tissue. We angle the electrodes so they will intersect in the region of the brain that we are activating. Where those currents cross, they cancel each other out almost entirely, leaving only a low-frequency wave that the brain interprets and understands, causing neurons to fire in response. So Tal,” she says as her fingers frantically dance across the keyboard, “I am specifically activating a section of your hippocampus. I have access to your brain scans and am able to be fairly specific in what I stimulate here. Let me know what you feel.”

  She presses a button, and Tal’s eyes close. He looks as though he is sleeping. Talia flicks the switch and the humming dissipates. Tal sits up.

  “So?” she asks expectantly.

  “Oh, that was the best dinner ever,” he sighs. “It was my birthday.”

  “What did you get on your birthday?” she questions.

  “I had creamy macaroni and cheese and ice cream.”

  Talia laughs. “That is your best dinner ever?”

  “It is his favorite, definitely,” Eric chuckles.

  Tal looks to us, his eyes wide. “That was amazing. It was like I was there again.” He turns to Talia. “Can I do it again?”

  She laughs and moves toward him to remove the electrodes. “Unfortunately not, though you can probably see why we have to be really careful with how we use this. I’ll let your parents discuss addiction with you later,” she says with a smirk. “Usually, we are removing unwanted memories, so slightly different than what you just experienced.”

  Tal sighs.

  “It is also really effective in helping people open up new pathways. To dust off the cobwebs, so to speak,” she continues, cleaning the electrodes with sanitizing swabs.

  “What about people who don’t want to do it?” Tal asks.

  “What do you mean?” she asks as she drapes the wires back on the machine.

  “If you are using it to help people that have mental illness, are they always willing to do this? I was kind of scared to sit down. It seems like some people wouldn’t want to. Does it still work?”

  “That” she looks at him pointedly, “is a great question. Yes, it does still work, but definitely not as well as when someone is open to treatment. When someone is fighting off an incoming signal, they are creating a signal of their own. Those two currents conflict and make the treatment less effective—less powerful. So, yes, it still works, just not as well.”

  Tal nods. “For people that are willing,” he says slowly, “does it always work perfectly?”

  “What do you mean?” Talia asks.

  “Like, do you always get the results you want? And do the results last?”

  “Another great question.” Talia looks impressed. “We do always see immediate results, but your second question is a little bit harder to answer. The brain is constantly in flux. Most of the therapy we do is minimal, but in the odd circumstance that we need to eliminate memories or feelings more extensively,” she pauses. “Think about it this way. What usually triggers you to think about your mom?”

  “Pretty much everything.”

  “Right. Now, what triggers you to think about, say, your conditioning instructor from first year?”

  Tal thinks for a minute. “I really only think about her when I see a full moon. She always told us when those were happening.”

  “That’s perfect. So, if I needed to remove the pathways for that instructor, it would be incredibly easy to do right? If I had to remove pathways for your mom or dad, not so easy. The risk increases that we would miss a trigger and cause a lot of confusion and frustration for the patient. Does that make sense?”

  Tal nods. It’s pretty fascinating. And also good to know that this therapy has its limits.

  “This concludes my tour.” She winks at Tal. “I always save the best for last.”

  We thank her, and she walks us back through the courtyard to the security area where we retrieve our belongings. I find myself still trying to accept that Tier 2 will have access to reversal therapy now. I have so many questions that I should have asked, but was too distracted by Tal to think of. Will it be used for more than rehabilitation? That could vastly improve the likelihood of Tier 2 individuals moving up to Tier 1.

  Tal is quiet the entire ride home, but I can visualize the wheels in his head turning, too.

  Chapter 11

  Both Eric and sleep have eluded me for the last few days. Though Eric’s absence is explainable, I have wracked my brain for potential areas of stress to rationalize my insomnia, to no avail. The dreams have become inevitable and, even when I am lucky enough to be sleeping deeply, my body has embraced a pattern of waking regardless; my heart hammering for no apparent reason. I am afraid of something, that much is obvious. But what? Could it simply be the unknown? The fact that Eric is doing something I don’t understand and it is taking him away from me more frequently?

  That night, I suggest to Eric that it may be helpful for me to go into the lab the next day. Perhaps, if I see everything with my own eyes, my subconscious could be persuaded to release the fear. Giving the boys more information on Eric’s research couldn’t hurt either. He agrees, and we set a t
ime for the afternoon.

  It occurs to me that I haven’t stepped foot in his lab for over a year. A pang of guilt hits my stomach, making me extremely aware of the lack of interest I have shown in his work prior to this discovery. Much to my surprise, frustration follows the guilt like a tethered pet. I am upset at Eric, I realize. Upset that he did something that could potentially change our trajectory. Without even realizing it, I have created an entire picture of what our life will look like: Eric will do research during the week, I will work with patients, Tal and Bentley will grow up and be successful in their paths. We will chug along happily, forever. The end. How have I become so complacent? So content to sit in this comfort zone. Our life has been completely predictable, but now. Now I don’t know what to expect.

  Of course, I recognize it’s ridiculous to be frustrated. How could I possibly hold negative feelings toward Eric for being too good at his job? It’s completely irrational. I know change is always supposed to be difficult and transformative. I hear people talk about it regularly. It’s just...it’s been theoretical for me up to this point. Pairing, having kids—those were changes I wanted and expected, which meant they weren’t really changes. More like planned adjustments. This is truly unexpected, and I haven’t quite settled in to acceptance yet.

  The next morning, I wake to find Eric already gone. He doesn’t typically have to go in early, but every once in a while it does happen. Usually he gives me some notice. I pull my arms high above my head, reveling in the release I feel in my lower back and neck as I stretch. The lack of solid sleep, and contorted sleeping positions resulting from it, is taking a toll on my spine.

  During last night’s predicted restlessness, I scrolled through some old files to pass the time. Using the same rationale of ‘unknowns’ causing stress, I wondered if Eric was right—that the dreams have been stemming from a desire to know more about my mom. I didn’t necessarily find anything new, but revisiting details about her life gave me comfort, and I was eventually able to rest. Though it seemed to increase my positive affect in the moment, the downward cycle of exhaustion and irritability is already in full swing, and I don’t expect that I can rely on reminiscing to solve it.

  I force myself to leave the coziness of the bed so I can wake the boys and get breakfast going. We have a lot to get through before we head to the lab. While they are eating, I casually mention the need to finish our reinforcement tasks before embarking on our laboratory outing. This week, the boys have been focusing on coding and reading comprehension. Coding is never the issue, but reading has always been hit-and-miss with Tal. I am already steeling myself for the push-back.

  “I hate it,” Tal groans.

  “The lab? Like Dad’s lab?” Bentley asks excitedly.

  “Tal, it won’t take too long, and yes Bent. Dad’s lab.”

  “What will we get to see there?” Tal asks. I can tell he is gauging whether completing his reading assignment is worth it.

  “It’s not optional,” I sing, giving him a knowing smile.

  It takes an eternity for them to finish. Seems almost purposeful. Tal is making goofy faces, and Bentley can’t stop laughing long enough to swallow. Hearing their laughter—Tal’s lower chuckle and Bentley’s higher, out of control giggle—makes me begin to laugh, my annoyance nearly forgotten. It won’t be long before Tal is over funny faces. I give them a few more minutes to be silly. Eventually, I nonchalantly place myself between them so that Bent can focus. After clearing their dishes, the boys are quick to put on comfortable clothes and we wipe down the kitchen together.

  I’m pleased with how quickly we are able to move on to our tasks. The boys each take turns coding commands into their trial sensors, making mistakes and trouble shooting along the way. They will likely graduate to something more challenging soon, but this is appropriate for now. Their faces light up each time their sensors display colors, or make various sounds in response to their commands. I sigh, dreading the quickly approaching moment where I will have to remind Tal about his reading.

  “Tal,” Bentley says, as if reading my mind, “can I read with you today?”

  “Sure,” he shrugs, tapping his sensor to pull up the assignment.

  Bent shoots me a sideways glance, and I swear I see him wink.

  We arrive at the lab that afternoon to Eric standing in the entrance, waiting to greet us. He looks a little disheveled, but his grin stretches from ear to ear. Ushering us in, he scans our sensors, and we follow him down a lengthy, barren hall. We pass door after door, finally reaching the right one. Eric pushes it open, allowing us enter ahead of him. Researchers are abuzz, transferring samples in and out of the coolers, washing petri dishes, and measuring samples in test tubes. Eric leads us past them to a table near the back. He has his own samples set out, along with a microscope. I cringe as Bent comes dangerously close to knocking it off the counter. We get them situated on the step-stool and then back off, allowing them to experiment with the magnifying dials.

  “I missed you this morning,” I whisper, finally having a moment to stand still.

  “I know, so sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I had a couple of things I needed to take care of so I could be available to show you guys around.” He shifts his attention back to Tal and Bentley. “Boys, do you know what you are looking at?” They both stare at him blankly. “I’ll give you a hint: it is a result of the research I have been doing,” he prods, sitting down on a stool next to them.

  “Well, you are studying genes,” answers Tal.

  “Yep,” Eric answers, “any idea what could be in the samples?”

  “Not really,” Tal says, and Bentley shakes his head.

  “Well, let me see if I can explain it.” He picks up a small vial. “They each contain a sample of DNA. Not even a full DNA sample, but a specific piece of DNA that we have selected for. Obtaining that section is an incredibly difficult process, but once we have isolated the piece that we want, it comes here.”

  He motions to a petri dish in the center of the table, picks it up, and places it gently under the microscope. “Knowing that, look in there, Bent, and tell me what you see.” Bentley gets up on the stool and lowers his eye to the viewfinder.

  “It looks like a big piece of snot.” he says, disgusted and I snort in surprise.

  “That’s a great way to describe it,” Eric chuckles. “Tal, do you want to see?”

  Bentley moves over to allow his brother an opportunity to observe.

  “These are tumor cells,” Eric continues. “Tumors are just normal cells in the body that, for some reason, decided to continue growing and changing in ways that harm the body’s healthy tissues, or just take up too much space. Our goal was to find specific DNA pieces that, when paired with other variations of the same piece, could begin to shut off these tumor cells.”

  “Snot cells,” Bentley corrects.

  “Yes, of course—snot cells,” Eric repeats.

  “So, did you find it?” Tal asks.

  “We think so,” Eric answers excitedly. “We don’t know all the ins and outs of how this is going to look long term, but so far, it seems like the match we created is continuing to do its job.”

  “Guys, isn’t this amazing? Your Dad is the first one in hundreds of years to find something like this,” I say excitedly.

  “That long?” Tal seems skeptical.

  “Yes, that long,” I answer, ruffling his hair.

  Eric reaches out for another petri dish and slides it in, replacing the previous sample under the microscope. The boys immediately scramble to get the first look.

  “This is a battle,” Eric says, and both of the boys are immediately entranced. “The matched DNA pieces are taking down the snot cell.” I stand there and watch them. Their eyes widening and heads straining forward to catch a glimpse of the new samples Eric shows them. In this moment, seeing them engaged and growing together, my fear dissipates. For the important things, there aren’t any unknowns here.

  Chapter 12

  My last meeting
with Nick is tonight. The goal is to finalize everything and submit our notes to Grace for approval. We had intended to meet a few days ago, but Tal was ill and I felt like I needed to be home with him. We won’t have as much wiggle room now for making adjustments, though the ceremony is still three weeks away. Plenty of time.

  Tal and Bent did not get along well today, so walking out the door and leaving bedtime to Eric was a welcome relief. He was a good sport about it, though I could tell his day at the lab wasn’t much better. Even just these few moments walking in the still evening air allows me to literally and figuratively breathe more freely.

  I am positively buoyant as I walk into the office to find Nick waiting. He grins at me as I close the door.

  “Hey Kate, how have you been?”

  “I’m doing well, thanks,” I say cheerfully, walking toward him and setting my bag on the table. “I really appreciate you being flexible on the timing for this. Having kids is always an adventure.”

  “No prob. My evenings are basically free at this point.”

  “I don’t know if I believe that. With ‘perfect genetics’, you must be inundated with dating requests,” I tease, and he chuckles.

  “Not as of late. You are the only female on my calendar this week.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how that’s possible, but I will allow myself to feel privileged.” I curtsy as I sit down.

  He rolls his eyes, amused, and motions to the display. “I think we left off on Max here. Do you know what you want to add for him?” he asks, and we dive into the remaining candidates, trying to find the perfect balance of making them sound impressive, but also approachable. Most importantly, we overemphasize their similarities to all Tier 1 individuals, to avoid people feeling intimidated. When you have lived as Tier 1 all your life, it’s tempting to feel like somehow these individuals who are transitioning are encroaching on your turf. I have suggested multiple times that the Committee release real-time resource counts. Even monthly would help. If we could see how well we are doing, this particular concern would likely dissipate.