Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  My eyes widen. Where did he learn the idea that Tier 3 lives don’t matter?

  “My guys are not all Tier 3! It’s a mix of everyone.” Bentley is getting increasingly frustrated. This isn’t going to end well.

  “Okay, well, then I kill all the Tier 2 and Tier 3 people.” Tal starts dropping pretend bombs. Bentley squeals and I walk into the room, hoping to mitigate the damage.

  “Guys! What’s going on? Why are we fighting?” I ask as I pick Bentley up, avoiding his kicking legs.

  “Tal is killing all my guys and saying they are Tier 3!” Bentley accuses, crying now.

  “I was just trying to do the battle he wanted,” Tal responds defensively.

  “Okay, let’s take a few minutes to calm down, and then we can talk about this. Tal, please get dressed so we can go. Bent, what do you want to wear today?”

  While the boys get dressed, I grab some snacks out of the fridge and fill up the water bottles. We hop in the car and buckle in.

  “Can we talk about what just happened?” I ask gently. They both nod. “How do you two think we can avoid getting into a fight next time?”

  “Bentley could stop throwing a fit,” Tal says. I see Bentley’s eyes flash.

  “Let’s only talk about what we individually could do differently, not what others could do. So, what could you do to avoid a fight, Tal?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe talk about the rules ahead of time?”

  “I think that’s a great idea. What about you, Bentley?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I just tried to play, and then Tal was making stuff up,” Bentley complains. Tal scoffs.

  “Well...what if you let Tal have a say in how the game goes? Maybe you both get to make half the decisions? If Tal wants to kill everyone, maybe you get to kill his guys, too. Or maybe only some of them die. Do you think you could discuss rules like Tal suggested?”

  “Maybe,” Bentley says, as he looks down at his shoes.

  “My other question is for you, Tal. Why were you talking that way about Tier 3?”

  “What way?” he asks, confused.

  “I heard you say that it didn’t matter if they died, because they were Tier 3.”

  “They weren’t Tier 3! They were a mix!” shouts Bentley.

  “I know, buddy. I am not talking about the game anymore, just asking Tal about his thoughts and feelings,” I explain, rubbing his back.

  “I thought Tier 3 is full of people who have bad markers. Why would it matter if they die?” Tal says, honestly wondering.

  “That’s a good question,” I say, trying to hide how disturbed I am by this line of reasoning. “Do you know the history of Tier 3, Tal?”

  “Kind of. I know that when Berg took over, there were a lot of people who didn’t want to get on board with the new system. They didn’t think it was fair that certain people had access to more resources. But Mom, why would anyone be satisfied with not getting food or water? How could Berg expect people to just say ‘Okay, you’re right, I should starve while other people get what they need’.”

  “They didn’t expect that, because you make a good point. Nobody would accept that. Our drive for survival is strong, regardless of whether we have a good chance of surviving or not. Our brain doesn’t take that into account naturally. It wasn’t a situation that anyone would have chosen to be in. To have to decide who lives and who dies is pretty terrible, but it had to be done. We had only so much food, so much water, so many safe locations; and they had to determine how to distribute those in a way that would ensure the survival of our species. Outright war among an already-damaged population was the other option, and everyone knew that we wouldn’t survive that.” Tal and Bentley sit thinking, their brows furrowed.

  “What would you have done?” I ask Tal.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I could tell people that we were choosing for them to die. I would probably just surprise bomb them, so I didn’t have to make them suffer.”

  “That option was considered, actually. They didn’t go through with it, but the discussion resulted in a group of people who caused a lot of problems—terrorizing the Berg camps and starting small uprisings.”

  “Yeah, if you were going to die anyway from a lack of resources, why not fight?” Tal says.

  “Exactly. Those people, as terrible as it sounds, were eliminated out of necessity. There was no other option. There were, however, other individuals who didn’t meet the requirements to be considered for higher resources, but they weren’t actively causing problems. These are the people who became Tier 3 as we know them today. Berg decided to distribute resources in a way that gave everyone who met the marker and health requirements what they needed. Not wanted, but needed. Then, they gave whatever was left to those people who weren’t qualified, but who were still living peacefully outside of the safety zones.”

  “Why would they give any resources to those people? If they weren’t in a safety zone, their chances of survival were low. And they shouldn’t have been allowed to reproduce,” Tal says, puzzled.

  “They weren’t allowed to reproduce. In order to gain their resources, they were required to undergo sterilization.”

  “What does sterilization mean?” Bentley asks.

  “It means that you can’t have kids anymore.” Tal says. “If they were sterilized, how come we still have Tier 3 today?” he asks.

  “Great question. We don’t have nearly as many in Tier 3 as we did then. Also, because of terrahealing projects, new farming technology, and less population, we have plenty of resources to go around. Tier 3 isn’t stuck with leftovers; they get what they need now, along with the rest of us. But back to your question. Genetic pairings still aren’t 100% predictable. Especially when matching is at the low end. It is very common for couples in Tier 1 to end up with Tier 2 or even Tier 3 children. Sometimes their pairings are just unlucky, resulting in mutations that we can’t control. And sometimes people end up having children when they haven’t been approved for it. All of this combines to introduce kinks in the system. We do our best to select for the variations that will serve society in the future, but when things don’t go as planned, we have a place for those people to fit.”

  “So, what do Tier 3 people do?” Bentley asks as he ties and unties his shoes, happily entertaining himself.

  “They do lots of things. Often manual labor, since they don’t have the genetics to justify spending time on higher learning. They learn skills and trades, and they contribute to society, just like we do. They are responsible for many of the raw materials that we receive in order to build, do research, and create new technologies. In exchange, they receive resources.”

  “Are they still sterilized?” Tal asks.

  “Yes. It really does have to be that way. As a society, we can’t afford to build populations that aren’t sustainable or that could compromise more promising groups. Tier 3 populations are extremely low, and Tier 2 is getting lower every year. Eventually, I think the goal is to move back into an integrated society, but for now—”

  “Like, there would only be Tier 1? But how is it fair not to give others a chance?” Bentley demands, incredulous.

  “But, we do! We give people chances. That’s my whole job! I teach people how to heal their bodies from the inside out. Some of them repair their DNA to a point where they can actually move to Tier 1. When people are close to the cut-off, Berg doesn’t require sterilization—they only require semi-permanent birth control. That allows them to work toward advancement and eventually, if accepted, they may be able to have children. Those who are far from making the cut are still given information that helps them lead happier lives, but sterilization happens at 16-years old. It’s less risky to undergo that procedure at a younger age, before body systems are set. At that point, it’s already quite clear they won’t be able to qualify for Tier 1.”

  I sigh. “I guess that was a really long answer to your question, but the short version is: We don’t want Tier 3 people to die because they contribute without
endangering society. We have plenty of resources now and aren’t in a crisis situation, so there’s no reason to eliminate them. These people can live full—albeit short—lives. Their existence also gives us an opportunity for service and learning. It’s good for society to have diversity.”

  “Seems like Tier 3 is the place to be. No responsibilities, just food and some physical work. Can I transfer?” Tal jokes.

  “Ha. Ha. You would not be happy there—your brain is coded for more. It sounds nice to be lazy, but it isn’t actually fun long term.”

  We pull to a stop, arriving at the Tech Museum. The angular facade is juxtaposed against the trees, making the leaves look even more vibrant. I am not ready to be done talking, but the boys are. They unbuckle and jump out, running through the natural grass toward the entrance.

  Chapter 28

  Nick is taking the boys for the afternoon, so I can meet with Cassidy. I have been writing down all of the questions that have been weighing on my mind. It is slightly ridiculous that I know so little about life in Tier 2, considering that I work with these individuals weekly. Clipping my bike into the stand, I see Cassidy already sitting on a bench. We decided to go on a walk together today to meet her physical fitness goals.

  “Hey Cassidy,” I say as I sit down next to her.

  She closes her display. “Hey! How are you?”

  “Great. I have been looking forward to this. We didn’t get to chat the other night, with all the Ceremony excitement.”

  “I know, this will be great.” She motions toward the path. “Should we do a loop and see how far we get?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We start walking, and I allow the fresh air to seep into me. I haven’t been in nature much the last few days and I suddenly feel desperate for it.

  “Now that we aren’t at a table of strangers, you can tell me what you really think about Tier 1. No need to hold back,” I say.

  Cassidy laughs. “I wasn’t holding back the other night! I really do love it. I love feeling useful and holding myself to a higher standard.”

  “Do they have you assigned for service yet?”

  “Yep, I am a distribution specialist for Tier 2.”

  “Oh, no way! My family and I just went and helped out at one of the Tier 2 centers. Which one are you working at?”

  “I’m actually at the central location most of the time. I order and organize resources, and every once in a while, I’m able to actually go into the field. There was a sharp learning curve at first, but once I became competent at the ordering process, I have felt really comfortable.”

  “That’s great, Cassidy. Good for you,” I say, looking out over the lake. The pristine, glassy surface of the water is calming for my soul. An occasional ripple erupts and slowly dissipates as it moves toward the shore.

  “Do you miss Tier 2? Your family and friends?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course, but it’s manageable. I still see my mom regularly. I didn’t really have many close friends in Tier 2. I was so focused on qualifying that it became a full-time job for me. A lot of other people didn’t understand that, so it was hard to connect.”

  This is foreign to me. Everyone in Tier 1 has the same goals, the same ideals in common. As an adult, I’ve never had a conversation with someone where I felt like an outsider. I do remember a few conversations I had with one particular girl at conditioning when I was younger. Her world-view was confusing for me, but even then, I felt like she was the outsider. And we were seven.

  “Tell me more about that—actually, I would love to hear about Tier 2 life in general. Technically, I know that Tier 2 has service assignments, but I have never asked anyone about it. What were your days like there?”

  “It’s funny, because for me, they weren’t all that different. My service assignment was to look after some of the elderly people in our immediate neighborhood. That included my mom. Every day I would check in and make sure they had what they needed and that they were completing their health requirements. Many of their children were—and still are—serving in the south gardens. I loved hearing their stories of picking fruits and vegetables, then cleaning and bundling them for distribution. I actually wished many times that I could serve there,” she says longingly. “As a consolation, I applied for extra service hours in our gardens. Time in the dirt makes me more functional. More able to problem solve, better perspective. If that makes any sense,” she finishes, slightly out of breath.

  “Oh, I think it absolutely does. It’s great that you made that connection. Being with my kids does that for me, too. I guess those are my ‘extra’ service hours,” I laugh. “After being with them, I see things differently when meeting with patients. I also feel more grateful for the quiet moments in my life that I tend to miss otherwise. It’s so important to find a balance, otherwise it’s difficult to give our best.”

  “That’s exactly what I love so much about being here. In Tier 2, I just didn’t have the flexibility to explore—anything, really. My days looked very similar, but I lacked the control and opportunity to shift and grow. I feel freer here. Like I can blossom and follow whatever path I need to. That is really powerful.”

  This idea of limited freedom has also never occurred to me before, having always been encouraged to explore and discover.

  “Have you completed your initial testing yet?”

  “I go in next week. I have been working hard and reaching all of my goals. I don’t feel nervous. I am sure it will come back positively. I feel better than I ever have, so if the results don’t reflect that, I would be shocked.”

  “I’m sure the fact that you aren’t nervous about it will only improve those scores. And then you will be fully integrated.” I nudge her. “You can start dating, hey?”

  She laughs. “It’s funny, I was so excited for that initially. Now my mind has been opened to all of these new possibilities. I know I definitely want to pair and have kids at some point, but I feel more stable. Like it doesn’t have to happen immediately.”

  I am amazed at how much more confident she is. She seems grounded, whereas before in our meetings, she came off as desperate and unsure.

  “This might be a strange question, but now that you have seen inside both Tiers...do you think the Tier system is right?”

  She stops walking. “You mean, do I think it’s a good system?”

  “Yes. I guess I just wonder if we really need to be separated? Now that resources aren’t as scarce as they were back then? Could we all live together and be happy? I don’t know. Maybe that’s crazy. It would probably turn out the way it always has.”

  “Yeah,” Cassidy agrees, “I think it sounds idyllic, but I am not convinced that people in Tier 2 would willingly take on the responsibilities needed to properly integrate. They are conditioned for giving less, and being satisfied with less. I don’t know how that would work,” she admits, hesitating. “Right now everyone receives resources equal to their societal contribution. In the past, conflict was caused by people trying to receive more, whether by working harder, or smarter, or simply breaking the rules. I think the fact that ‘getting more’ isn’t an option makes it easier for all of us, don’t you? When we are all equal, that stress doesn’t exist. We don’t have to try to get ahead.”

  “But, many people in Tier 2 are trying to get ahead, to move into Tier 1. But, like you mentioned, that marked you as different from the rest of your peers. So maybe it isn’t a majority mentality.”

  We walk in silence for a moment. “I hadn’t really thought of it that way,” Cassidy muses. “But, it didn’t ever feel like I was trying to get more. Only that I wanted opportunities for growth and to be able to contribute. Maybe, for those of us who are borderline, Tier 1 feels more like an eventual home. Even for others who have qualified, it didn’t ever seem like they thought they were ‘moving up’. Just trying to be the best they could be.”

  I nod, slowing as Cassidy stops on the trail. She pauses, balancing and lifting her foot to pull a rock from her shoe. “I mean,
I have definitely heard rumors that some people in Tier 3 feel like the Tier system is bad for society, that they have been left with less purely because Berg wants order so they can retain control. I did hear some members of Tier 2 discussing things like that, but I guess I have always viewed it as a natural thing. Of course people with lower genetic and social capabilities would come to false conclusions,” she says, replacing her shoe and continuing on.

  “It’s true. That’s exactly why the Crisis happened. It did turn into a power struggle. Those who understood the best options couldn’t make headway with so many people holding them back. I guess there has to be some element of organization to keep that from happening again. I think a part of me just wants to believe that we can help everyone, that we have enough resources to give everyone the best. I don’t know if it’s actually true or not, but I want it to be.”

  “It probably isn’t realistic, but definitely a nice thought.”

  We pass through a canopy of low-hanging trees into a small clearing. Taking in the surroundings, I realize we have returned to our meeting place. We sit on the bench we started from, taking respite from the growing heat under the shade of a massive honeylocust tree.

  After taking a small break, we decide to walk one more loop. The sun feels good on my skin, and I am not ready to head home yet. We talk of frivolous things for the most part, but my mind is still focused on our initial conversation. I have always viewed Tier 2 as being less desirable, but her responses have shifted my understanding. It’s just a different place. People there are comfortable because their way of life suits them. What would it be like not to worry about growing, stretching, pushing? Are my desires inherent to my coding or societally grown? Would I have those ideals if I had grown up in Tier 2? I can’t wait to see how E—I stop myself. Nick, how Nick feels about this. I am sure he has an opinion worth hearing.

  Chapter 29

  The next few days pass by slowly. My day with Cassidy felt fine, normal even, but now, a fog has somehow slowly descended on my entire life. I go through the motions of each day with my heart not fully in it. Every once in awhile, a piece of me surfaces and anticipation of a potential day of normalcy surges within me, only to be squashed again when the moment is short lived.