Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  Every week, distribution centers like this one open their doors for Tier 2 individuals and families. It’s much like ours, but the options aren’t as widely varied. People go to their assigned center, scan their sensors, and receive their portions for the week. According to my mom, Tier 2 portions used to be much smaller than those in Tier 1, but they have been fairly similar since I started serving here. Another sign that our system is working; we have enough to take care of Tier 1 and provide plenty for those in lower Tiers. Though I haven’t ever seen a Tier 3 center, I assume it’s similar. I make a mental note to plan a time to serve there and check it out.

  Tal and Bentley only lose a couple of items from the pod onto the road. For the most part, they are extremely careful and meticulous, understanding how important it is to avoid waste. Once we have finished, we close the pod and send it on its way. Then, on to organizing and preparing for pick-ups. Eric works right alongside us, talking to the boys all afternoon. I get nothing from him, so I throw myself into connecting with the faces in front of me, filling orders as quickly and efficiently as possible.

  A woman in line casually mentions her service years ago at a Tier 3 center and I tune in, but am somewhat disappointed. She isn’t sharing details, just commenting on the fact that she feels more gratitude at receiving her own portions now, after being assigned there. I ruminate on this while measuring out oats for the next order, my scoop plunging into the wide bucket. I have never thought much about what Tier 2 individuals do to serve and it sparks my interest. Cassidy could be a good resource there. I have always been so focused on helping them progress that I haven’t ever taken time to understand their lives.

  Moving swiftly between orders, I don’t even notice Tia in the line until she calls my name and waves. I put down my bowl and go around the counter to give her a hug, figuring the boys can cover for me for a second.

  “Tia, how are you?” I ask grinning.

  “I’m okay,” she says. “Last week I found a lump in my armpit.”

  My heart sinks. Please be just a swollen lymph node.

  “The Doctor says it’s cancer. I’m starting treatment this weekend,” she elaborates.

  “Tia, I’m so sorry. How is your family taking the news?”

  “They are hopeful that treatments will work.” She smiles wanly.

  “I am, too. They are making huge strides in many areas. Hopefully yours will respond.”

  “All I want is to see my grand baby. That’s at least a year and a half away. My goal is to last that long.”

  “I think you are determined enough to make it,” I say, rubbing her shoulder. “I have to get back to help, but what number are you? I’ll go fill your order now.”

  She smiles and thanks me while I measure her portions. I wave, watching her go, and feel Eric’s eyes on me. I turn, not looking up, and process the next order.

  Chapter 19

  Eric is gone. He’s been gone on and off for three weeks. I am waiting at a table for Shari, who is meeting me for lunch while the boys are out with Nick, Stephen, and Stephen’s friend, Liz. At first I wasn’t sure how I felt about that arrangement, but I figure if Liz is going to be a part of Stephen’s life, we may as well get to know her sooner rather than later. At least Tal seemed to connect with her right away.

  Shari walks in and I motion for her to join me, embracing her when she arrives at the table.

  “Wow, are you alright? That hug was intense.” She laughs.

  In that moment, my facade cracks and I can’t help it. My face contorts and tears spill onto my cheeks.

  “Okay, whoa. What is going on, Kate? You didn’t seem upset when we talked on the phone.”

  “I don’t know,” I stall, realizing I may not understand how to describe my feelings to someone who hasn’t experienced a long-term pair for themselves.

  “Eric has been really distant and I don’t know what to do. Shari, he is basically a part of me—we talk about everything and now...I have honestly never felt so alone. He is completely shutting me out; he hasn’t told me anything about the work that he’s doing, he barely says two words when he’s home, and he isn’t ever home!” I say, exasperated.

  “I knew he was going to headquarters a lot, but I didn’t know that he was having a hard time.”

  “He’s gone again until Monday, and I don’t know if he is having a hard time, necessarily. I definitely am. Do you—do you think he wants to un-pair?” I say, a little too loudly, then lean toward her and lower my volume, my hands gesticulating wildly. “I can’t even believe I am even thinking that. But seriously, do you think he does? Maybe he has experienced this whole new, exciting life, and coming home to us is dull? Maybe he—” I stop, bile rising in my throat, “—met someone else?” I force the words out and look at her pleadingly. Please say no.

  Shari’s tone is even, not impacted at all by my hysteria. “I really don’t know, Kate. This is all new information for me. People do choose to break pairings sometimes. Usually it’s when their kids are older and they feel like they can give more to society individually than as a pair, or their responsibilities don’t make it possible to stay paired. In Eric’s case, his work responsibilities are becoming really intense. He could simply be really stressed. Or,” she sighs, “maybe you’re right and he feels like he has to move in a different direction.”

  I look at her, aghast. “But, we have built a life together, Shari. We have two kids, and they are not older. They are still little boys. How could he ever feel like work demands were more important than that?” I ask, the knot in my stomach growing by the second.

  “Kate, I don’t know if he does. Just speculating here. Being Tier 1 means sacrifice. We are the hope of humanity and all that,” she says melodramatically. Then, seeing the look on my face, she says more seriously, “We are given all of the best resources and opportunities, and in turn, we commit to making the best decisions for the whole. Not just the best decisions for ourselves. I know Eric wouldn’t ever put work above his kids, unless it meant that his work was going to benefit society as a whole more than his work within his family. What he is doing is life changing. He is at the start of completely new possibilities. To think about eradicating cancer? Come on, Kate. You have to see how huge that is. No more suffering, no more pain. Families having grandparents again. Think about it, who do you know that hasn’t had a parent die of cancer? I am 38 years old, and I am staring all of that in the face. I know that in the next few years, my chances of getting some form of cancer are incredibly high. If I knew that something I could do would spare a percentage of individuals in the next generation, more in the next, and eventually clear the human race? How could anyone say no to that?” She takes a long drink of her water. I am transported back to when I asked Nick the same question about the woman he considered pairing with. Suddenly, I see that situation in a different light.

  “I know. I get it. But, he made a comment a few weeks ago that is just not sitting right with me. He said that he needed to “toe the line” if he wanted to still be involved. Wouldn’t that insinuate that his involvement is optional? That Berg could move forward without him? Couldn’t he be at home with us, knowing that he made his contribution and let someone else take it from here?”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works, Kate. It may have felt that way to him, at first. He was in complete control during the research phase, but after their discovery, Berg took over. That must have been really hard for him. I am sure he felt like he wasn’t imperative anymore, but they do still need him and will keep needing him until this first phase is complete. They don’t know exactly how this is going to look when those first alleles match. New pairs will need to be trained, embryos tested for the entire nine months, and then they will continue to scan, watch, and compile data on them over the course of their entire lives. Then hope that those progeny have enough genetic diversity to pair again. This is just the beginning.”

  My body seems to slump lower with every sentence and as she finishes, I am completely defl
ated. What does this mean for me? For the boys? Are we just left to pick up the pieces and figure it out?

  I stumble over my words. “I don’t even know anyone that has been through this. What do I do?” The tears start to well up in my eyes again. With as much crying as I have been doing lately, my eyes feel permanently irritated and puffy.

  “I think you need to talk to Eric. Ask him how he feels and what his expectations are. Who knows, maybe this does have an endpoint and he is only overwhelmed.”

  This has all happened so fast, and again I chastise myself for jumping to conclusions so quickly. But I have given it some time and I can’t keep ignoring my gut. I can sense that he is done, that he is purposely driving me away, but I can’t imagine living life without him in it. Why should I have to imagine that? ‘This life requires sacrifice’, I get that. In this situation, though, why can’t we make both ideals work? This discovery is huge, yes, but it will be generations before the benefits are realized. My two boys are also going to be contributing to future generations. How can we not find a way to take care of both sides?

  “Kate. Are you going to say anything?” Shari asks gently.

  “I don’t know what to say. I think I was hoping I would come here today and you would just tell me that my fears are unfounded. That everything will go back to normal in another week or two. I didn’t expect to have to think about changing every expectation I have had for my life.”

  She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Trust me. I know all about changing expectations. It’s no fun, but you do become stronger through the process.”

  I, out of habit, squeeze back, though I find no comfort in it. My body craves to be home, but even as I think it, I realize that my ‘home’ doesn’t exist right now. Eric is my home. Anywhere I go feels empty without him there. Without all of him. This shell of a person in my house is not Eric, and I don’t know how to get him back. I am empty, and there is no place I can go that will fill this void.

  Chapter 20

  Nick sits next to me on a park bench, watching the boys play tag with their friends. He is still breathing hard from being ‘it’ and, without meaning to, I pay attention to the heat diffusing from his body, filling the few inches of space between us. With Eric gone, I have really appreciated having him around. It was strange at first, spending time with a man who isn’t my pair, but Nick is easy to talk to. It really beats feeling sorry for myself all the time.

  “You seem to be in your own little world over here,” Nick teases.

  “I kind of am.” I smile.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I don’t want to talk to him about Eric, and I don’t know how to express gratitude for his company, so I talk about my mom. When I was file scrolling again last night, I happened upon more of her service assignments and records. I fill him in on the most interesting parts.

  “I remember as a kid, I used to see people from Tier 3 all the time. My mom worked with them. When she wasn’t working in the Tier 2 distribution center, she was in charge of managing resources for their district. I remember going with her a few times and being fascinated and scared all at the same time. Theoretically, they seemed so different from me, but in person...” I trail off. “I don’t know, I guess I was mostly surprised at how much we had in common. I realized last night that it’s been a really long time since I interacted with anyone in Tier 3. Just got me thinking.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen someone from Tier 3,” Nick admits.

  “Really? How is that possible?”

  “I spent all of my time either conditioning, testing, or in the medical center with my dad.”

  “What does your dad do?” I ask.

  “He is an ER doctor for Tier 2. He doesn’t work much anymore. He mostly helps support the new doctors coming in. He’s forty-six and counting.”

  I gasp. “Forty-six? Wow, that’s impressive. I am sure you still saw a lot. Your mom was okay letting you be there with him all the time? That must have been pretty shocking for a little kid.”

  “She knew I loved it, but I don’t think she would have approved. She died when I was 7.”

  “Oh wow, Nick, I am so sorry.” I had no idea. “How were you able to fast-track your conditioning with that kind of trauma to work through?”

  “My dad opted to do reversal therapy on my limbic system. Just some slight adjustments to make everything bearable and allow my rational brain to function without being overpowered. It was really helpful. Even now, I view that time as being tender, but not painful.”

  I haven’t ever known someone who has been through reversal therapy to that extent, though I know the basics of how it works. Witnessing it in action at the rehabilitation center the other day made it even more tangible. By referring to a persons’ scans before and after trauma, they can actually achieve complete removal of pathways formed by the event. Typically they don’t erase all of them; it seems to be more effective to simply weaken them. Humans learn through pain and emotional stress, but only to a certain point. That same stress that allows us to grow can quickly become debilitating, if left unchecked. Partial removal allows patients to feel the amount of pain that is helpful, but ensures recovery and healing.

  “We actually saw a reversal therapy machine the other day in Tier 2. Do you remember what it felt like when you were undergoing the treatments? I’ve never talked with someone who has lived through it.”

  “I was really young, but I remember it feeling warm. Like a soft blanket was being wrapped around me. My dad actually had to cut me off because I wanted to go until I couldn’t remember—” he stops himself, running his hands through his hair. “Well, until I didn’t feel any hurt at all.”

  “I am sure. As a kid, that would be tempting not to have to feel anything.”

  “It was. But I’m glad we stopped where we did. I would regret not remembering my mom, and I think my memories are more focused because of the therapy. I’m grateful for that.”

  The boys are darting happily around the playground. I can’t imagine leaving them without a mother at this age.

  “Are you ready for the ceremony this weekend?” Nick asks, changing the subject.

  “I think so. It feels like so long ago that we wrote those introductions. We get to read them on displays, right?” I laugh.

  “Definitely.” He grins. “You can even download them to your sensor, just in case.”

  “I will do that tonight. Thanks for the tip.”

  Nick slides lower on the bench and leans his head back, content. He closes his eyes and soaks in the evening sun. The silence makes the children’s laughter more vibrant, and I notice the rustle of the leaves in the branches above us. I don’t mean to watch his broad chest rise and fall, or his hair gently moving in the breeze, but in that moment, I am transfixed.

  Later that evening, I walk with Nick and the boys to our co-op. It’s our night to tend the garden beds, clean up the livestock areas, and harvest the vegetables and fruits that are in season. Everyone in our neighborhood is assigned a couple of days each month. It isn’t practical for each of us to have our own gardens and food-production animals—not only logistically, but because space and areas with approved soil are limited. Our neighborhood co-ops allow for sustainable food production for all. Another side benefit is that we have the opportunity to interact with microbes in the soil, ensuring the health of our guts and promoting ideal immunity. Digging in the dirt every few weeks is enough to gain the maximum benefit while not infringing terribly on our other societal responsibilities.

  Tal and Bent look forward to our assigned days every month. They love collecting eggs, picking raspberries, digging up carrots, and especially snitching and snacking on anything they can get their hands on. Tonight we need to milk the goats, which is, admittedly their least favorite task, and pinch off the side shoots on the tomato plants. We have the opportunity to harvest greens for the distribution center, as well. Handing the boys their scissors and canvas bags, I send them off to
start cutting greens. They know the drill. I watch them carefully remove a third of the leaves from each plant, allowing for future regrowth.

  I pick up a clean bucket and ask Nick to grab a small pail of grain. Reaching under the fence, I snap off a handful of weeds to add to the pail.

  “What do we need this for?” Nick asks.

  “We,” I hand him a sanitizing wipe, “are going to milk the goats.”

  Nick stares at me blankly. “That’s a thing?”

  “You’ve never milked a goat before?”

  “I have never been given that assignment, no,” he laughs.

  “What is your typical assignment?”

  “I am usually turning over soil or repairing equipment and shelters at my co-op.”

  It makes sense that he would be used for manual labor. Harvesting and milking take knowledge and skill, but not necessarily muscle.

  “Well, you are in for a treat,” I say with a smirk.

  I let him lead our first doe up onto the milk stand. I laugh as he awkwardly pushes and pulls, fighting against her locked legs and swinging head. When she is in place, I gently pat her head and offer her the weeds and grain, which she happily accepts.

  “You can milk her now,” I say. Nick looks so taken aback that I laugh out loud this time. “Here, let me show you,” I say, walking over and motioning for him to move close. I show him how to clean the teat, then help him use his fingers and palm to start expressing the milk. His fingers move awkwardly at first, but his face lights up as a thin stream of milk hits the bucket, making the metal sing. He continues until the udder appears wrinkled and empty, and I rest my hand on his to let him know he can stop. He quickly turns and sends milk spraying past my face.