Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  “Are you excited for your night off?” she asks. Beth’s eyes fly open and her head arches toward the newcomer. I shift so she can see Shari without taking my nipple with her.

  “Hi, Beth,” Shari laughs, stroking the soft, slender strands of hair resting on her forehead. On her blanket, Leah kicks excitedly, doing her best to get our attention. Shari drops down and greets her as well, amused at her antics.

  “I am, in fact, very excited,” I say, answering her earlier question. “Thanks so much for coming over. I am slightly ashamed that training has become our only date night—”

  “That’s not my fault! I’ve offered my services anytime,” Shari asserts.

  I laugh. “I know, I know, it’s completely on me. I feel guilty leaving when I know the girls hate bottles so much.”

  “They’ll survive,” Shari coos to the girls. Beth whimpers in complaint as I finally unlatch her. Shari whisks her away, patting her back. For not having children of her own, she has taken on this new roll instinctively. Putting myself back together and adjusting my shirt, I call for Bentley. He runs into the room and I lay out the evening schedule for him. Thankfully, he commits to helping with the girls in exchange for some one-on-one game time with Shari after they go to bed. I kiss the kids and thank Shari again, then join Nick in the hall. Slipping on my shoes, he holds my hand and pulls me out the door before any of the children can delay us. My heart races, almost like I’m getting away with something, and the feeling makes me giddy. We skip down the path like children, finally hitting a normal, age-appropriate stride halfway down the block.

  Crossing the street, our feet eventually hit paving stones instead of concrete. Vines crawl along the rough bark of the trees, flanking the garden’s entrance. There’s no rush, since training doesn’t start for two hours. The scent of wisteria makes me heady, and we walk in silence for a few moments, taking in the delicate flowers.

  “These are my favorite,” I say, pulling a delphinium spire closer and inspecting the vibrant purple blooms.

  “Every flower is your favorite,” Nick laughs. He isn’t wrong.

  “This is perfect—thanks for walking with me,” I sigh. The air, thick with moisture, is calm and smells of warm honey. The scent seems to seep from the spongy flower beds, the soil coming alive with the heat of the late afternoon sun.

  “My pleasure,” he says, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. Feeling his breath rising and falling, I lean into him.

  “I owe you an explanation,” I whisper hesitantly, turning to face him. “For last night.”

  “I don’t need one,” he says, grinning. “That was probably one of my best nights ever.”

  I laugh. “It was pretty great,” I agree, my cheeks flushing, “but I wasn’t really being fair to you.”

  “Oh?” he responds, his eyes widening in surprise. “You should be unfair to me more often.”

  I jokingly hit his chest. “I had a really terrifying dream!” I say.

  He looks at me, a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “If you want to talk about your dream, let’s talk, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to, on my account. I don’t feel used in the least.” I pull on his arm, taking a step along the path, and we move forward again.

  “That is good to know,” I say.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks tentatively.

  “Yes?” I answer, questioning my answer almost instantaneously. “Maybe? I’m worried you might think I’m crazy,” I admit.

  “Not possible,” he assures me.

  “And...well, I worry that it will hurt your feelings. It was about...Eric.” My hands nervously twist and I peer at the ground, unable to meet his eyes.

  Nick is quiet for a moment. “It won’t hurt my feelings,” he eventually sighs.

  “That was a long pause,” I counter.

  “I know. I had to process for a second, but I really do want you to be able to share your thoughts and feelings with me. Eric was a part of your life and I want to hear about it.”

  I squeeze his hand gratefully.

  “So what was this dream?” he asks.

  Pulling him off the path, I lead him to a bench and we both sit. I lay it out for him, finding that some of the details are fuzzy now, hours after it happened. Saying it out loud makes the panic I felt in the moment seem silly, so those emotions are minimized in my retelling. Nick’s gaze doesn’t stray from the path, even after I finish. Getting no initial response, I fill the awkward silence with explanation.

  “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I wondered if you might have insights on where those ideas are coming from. Why would my brain make up a child? And why would I be imagining Eric alive, years later, only to lose him again?”

  Nick is ominously quiet and it makes me abnormally self-conscious. Not knowing what else to say, I cling to his hand as he stands and continues along the path.

  “I honestly don’t know, Kate. Even with all of the research that has been done on the brain, we don’t have a lot of answers on dreams. Sometimes it’s a way to deal with fears, as you know—”

  “That’s what confused me,” I interject. “Why would I be afraid of losing him when I already have?” Nick flinches, and I realize that may have stung. Why wasn’t my dream about losing Nick? I stop and pull him toward me.

  “I love you, Nick. I am so sorry that I have baggage. Please know that it has nothing to do with you. You are amazing,” I say, pleading for connection and acceptance, but he is in his own world. Again, staring off through the trees. I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head on his chest, feeling the curve of his muscles under my cheek.

  Our relationship is so solid in most moments, but then—in seconds like this—it suddenly feels tenuous at best. The space between us nearly a chasm. I question whether I truly understand anything he thinks and feels, especially when it comes to how he feels about me. The discomfort in this silence is fed by insecurities that normally lie dormant within me. Only to be yanked to the surface when Nick’s warmth is withdrawn, even temporarily. After what seems like forever, he pulls away and meets my eyes.

  “I’m sorry you had a bad dream and I’m sorry you lost Eric. I...wish there was more I could do to help,” he says genuinely. I swallow, relieved that he isn’t upset, but still unsure. Pain—or maybe anxiety?—is evident in his expression and it kills me that I can only guess where it stems from. Standing on my tip-toes, I lean in and kiss him gently.

  “Thanks for listening,” I say.

  49 Nick

  When we split for training, I kiss Kate’s forehead and walk in the opposite direction when she has passed through the auditorium door. Moving down a series of hallways, I scan my sensor to access the restricted area of the campus center. The door to the room is open, and everyone is already there waiting for me. My body jolts in surprise when I see Shari.

  “Where are the kids?” I ask quietly.

  “Don’t worry, I got them all to bed. They are in good hands and won’t know the difference,” she assures me. I nod gratefully. Sneaking Bent into the lab to remove a negative babysitting memory is the last thing I need. My muscles are tense, a byproduct of my previous conversation with Kate.

  “Take a seat,” the Director orders. We find our places around the steel table, Shari next to me and Grace directly across. Our displays activate almost simultaneously, the pale light adding to the soft illumination overhead.

  “I appreciate you all being here,” he continues. “Grace, may we have your report first, please?”

  “Certainly,” she acquiesces. “Our pairings in this region are moving along well. I’m not sure what the reports look like in other areas, but we still have a one hundred percent success rate. So far, we have 623 children born to our new pairs. Almost half of these are multiples. We have 84 pairs that have requested the opportunity to procreate again—with and without fertility options—and we are currently processing those. Obviously they will all be approved, but we will be making a couple of adjustments.
We have,” she checks her display, “nineteen pairs that have not been able to procreate. We are continuing to work on those and believe that we should see results within the next month.”

  “Wonderful,” Shari murmurs. “How are we looking in terms of relationships? Stability?”

  “So far so good. The few pairings that we were struggling with last quarter have all gone through their additional treatments and are bonding again nicely. If you remember Paul, he is still in weekly testosterone therapy and it seems to be balancing. I am somewhat concerned about Shay and Jamie, but their mentors are heavily involved. I should have a better report when we meet next month. I—” she hesitates. “I feel odd reporting on Nick and Kate. Perhaps he can take over?”

  The Director nods in my direction, and my heart rate increases.

  “Things are going extremely well, considering. We are...continuing to bond nicely, as you say, and she seems to be recovering extremely well from having the twins.” Heat rises under my collar, my neck flushing, and I clear my throat. “I am concerned about her reversal therapy,” I say in a rush, and the Director focuses on me sharply.

  “Go on,” he says, motioning for me to continue.

  “Her headaches are still coming more frequently than I would like...if you remember, I reported last time that she has been having dreams about her mom, which I wasn't initially concerned about. This week, however, she had an incredibly vivid dream about Eric, Bentley…and Tal.” There is an audible, sharp intake of breath.

  “I know,” I continue. “It shocked me, as well. I let her do the talking and tried to be supportive, but here is what I know.” Reaching down and entering a short string of commands on my display, I pull up an image and project it for the group. “This is a patient’s brain that I have been studying. This woman is Tier 2 and has had extensive trauma in her life. She had reversal therapy multiple times. If you notice right here,” I point to a section at the back of the brain, “the activity in the posterior cortical hot zone fluctuates dramatically during her sleep cycles.” I move forward through the images to show the difference. “This is consistent not only with dreamers, but specifically with dreamers after reversal therapy. The brain activity in patients who have never needed reversal is fairly static in this zone, regardless of sleep cycle. As the number of reversals goes up, the fluctuation increases. This not only leads to more dreaming, but also to brain fatigue. The frontal cortex compensates during the day for the extremes experienced at night, meaning that executive function also tends to suffer.”

  Shari, Grace, and the Director are all staring at the images, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I am not overly concerned about Kate,” I continue, “though I haven’t scanned her yet. I am hoping to wait until our regular scan days to avoid making her suspicious. Since she has only undergone one reversal procedure—” The Director flicks his eyes to Shari and it distracts me. “Correct?” I ask, suddenly concerned.

  “Yes, sorry, her session was just so extensive,” Shari answers, glancing between us. “I guess I worry that she might not be comparable to your other research subjects.” Her answer is incomplete and doesn’t satisfy the uneasiness that pricked at me when noticing the Director’s initial reaction. Involuntarily, my thoughts return to the first day I met him in the hallway, before any of this began. That overheard conversation playing in my head, as if it happened yesterday. Still so many unanswered questions. Shrugging it off, I continue.

  “The truth is, reversal was never meant to remove large sections of memory like this. The research we have didn’t ever purport to cover such invasive use of the procedure. While I know Berg feels that it isn’t a huge stretch to assume results would be similar, we are now seeing evidence that they aren’t. I would like to request approval for research surrounding these types of reversal echoes” I say, taking in their expressions. “It would entail studying subjects in both Tier 2 and Tier 1, which I know is not typical, but we need answers. We are using reversal therapy so extensively these days, and these symptoms make me incredibly uncomfortable with continuing at such a high rate. At least until we know how to prevent this effect. We will not be able to continue healing in this way if we don’t understand what the repercussions will be.”

  The Director’s mouth is drawn into a thin line, but he nods his approval. “I will get you your subjects, but the study will have to be blind. I will likely be able to put a smaller group together quickly, but it may take some time for us to sift through records for a full patient base. Hopefully we can get another group ready by the time you are finished with the first lot. Expect a briefing this week—next week at the latest,” he says, standing up abruptly. “I have more to discuss with Shari and Grace for a moment, if you don’t mind stepping out. Your report is greatly appreciated.”

  I nod, removing myself swiftly from the room and back into the hall. Reasoning that Kate’s group won’t likely be finished yet, I make my way to the main foyer. My mind is reeling and a weight has, yet again, settled on my chest. How long will it take for them to trust me? Have I not proven myself loyal to the cause? I have sacrificed my time, my energy, even my self-respect in doing what Berg has asked of me. I haven’t required answers to my questions up to this point, but I always assumed that I would get them. Here I am, paired—with children—embarking on a quest for knowledge that I fully anticipate to be groundbreaking, and I am still not deemed worthy of all the information that the Committee holds. Information about someone I care for deeply.

  The Director’s mannerisms were, frankly, worrisome. I have always known that Kate’s experience was abnormal, but now I wonder if there is more to it. I don’t wonder. Deep down, I know I am missing something. My eyes squint in response to pressure at the base of my skull, and I recognize tension in my shoulders and neck. Using my thumb and forefinger, I roughly massage the muscles, forcing them into relaxation and nearly sighing audibly in relief. My questions will simply have to wait.

  50 Nick

  “You’re pretty quiet this morning, Bent,” I comment, jogging through the rich hues of the damp forest to catch up with him. His feet seem to barely skim the ground as he hops down the path to his meeting point.

  “Yeah, just thinking,” he says, his voice choppy from physical exertion. He’s thinking. So cute. Such a little human and already trying to work through his world.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask, watching the morning sun glint off of his dirty blond hair, minuscule flashes of color reflecting from each strand.

  “I don’t know. Just what it’s like in other territories. We have big trees and lots of rain, but no oceans or—”

  “We actually do have an ocean in this territory, did you know that?” I ask, my feet hitting the path in beat to his rhythmic scuffling.

  “We do?”

  “Yep, it’s further west. I’ve only seen it once.”

  “Could we go sometime?” he asks excitedly. He pauses unexpectedly, causing me to skid to avoid running into him.

  “It’s not usually something we do without a purpose, but if an opportunity ever comes up, I will definitely try,” I answer. He smiles.

  “No rainforests, though, right?” he confirms.

  “No rainforests. Sorry about that.”

  We have reached the meeting point, but are a little early thanks to Bentley’s energetic pace.

  “Do other people ever go beyond our territory?” he asks.

  “Sometimes, but again, usually only for a specific purpose through their service assignments.”

  “What service assignment would I need to get to do that?” he asks innocently. I laugh, watching the wheels turn in his head.

  “It changes all the time—just depends on what is needed. Sometimes people travel for research, sometimes for agricultural needs. I guess you will have to hope to get lucky in your selection.”

  His brows furrow and he pauses before responding, “Okay. Thanks, Nick.”

  I wave as he runs to greet an appr
oaching friend, noticing his instructor moving toward us from the opposite end of the path. Once he arrives, I will begin the walk home, but I want to make sure Bent is accounted for before leaving. When they begin interacting, I catch Bent’s eye and mouth, “see you later” as he grins, giving me a small wave.

  A fine mist is falling as I trudge back up the hill to our house, and the minuscule points of cool moisture on my skin are invigorating. I can’t say that I enjoy Idaho as much as Colorado, but I definitely don’t miss the intense heat. Having a body of water close makes for much more temperate weather. If I could somehow have the lush foliage with more sunshine and be closer to the mountains. And keep the ocean. A sardonic chuckle at my own greediness escapes my lips.

  Arriving home, I see Kate struggling to feed Beth mashed sweet potato while Leah is slamming her hands on the counter, desperate for more. I quickly kick my shoes off, dramatically running to her aid.

  “Leah,” I coo, “such an impatient lady.” I pick up a spoon and give her a bite.

  “Perfect timing. She is out of control this morning! So hungry!” Kate exclaims.

  “She’s just a growing girl, right Lee?” Leah slurps another bite off of the spoon. Beth gives her a disgusted look and Kate and I break into hearty laughs.

  “Did you see that?” Kate asks between breaths. I nod, laughing too hard to answer. The girls think this is great fun and begin giggling and kicking in response. It doesn’t take Leah long to complain, though, still apparently famished. I continue to give her bites until the entire bowl is clean.

  “I’ll go mash more for Beth,” I say, moving to the fridge, taking the bowl with me.