“How so? Are those two things related?” Matt looks concerned.
“No, he doesn’t know about her. I guess I listed them together because they are the two most significant stressors for me right now. Tal is just questioning everything, which I know is normal, but I have no obvious course of action. As you know, he’s extremely smart and capable. He’s bored to death in his conditioning, so I set an appointment to discuss options with his team, but I’m not holding my breath. The last time we talked, they assured me they could provide options, and obviously it hasn’t happened. I’m hoping they will allow me to take over some of his conditioning personally.”
“That’s a good option. Is there any precedence for that?” Matt asks.
“I honestly have no idea. I did also talk with Tal, trying to drive home the fact that conditioning isn’t just a personal thing. It’s a collaborative effort. He needs to become comfortable with leadership, but right now, he doesn’t see how that would be helpful. He actually even said that he felt like the Tier system is outdated,” I say, incredulous.
“Huh. He really is questioning everything.”
“Yep,” I agree, using my feet to sweep pieces of mulch back into the planting beds. “I have no idea how to deal with it. I haven’t ever questioned like that, but he’s beginning to make me think.”
“What about?” Matt asks.
“Well, could he have a point? Could there be a better system? Nobody has even approached me about trying to qualify Tal for Tier 1 initial testing. His scores are through the roof. His instructors have told me that his behavior and attitude stems from losing his mom at such a young age, but I am starting to disagree. He doesn’t act out at home, only when he isn’t utilizing his potential in conditioning. Shouldn’t that tell us something? I don’t feel like he has an advocate. Well, besides me, but I’m obviously doing a terrible job.”
Matt is silent for a moment. “Maybe I could put in a word,” he says. “And Eric, you might not remember questioning as a kid, but I remember you going through a very similar stage. Not as intense, definitely, but it’s not like you always accepted things blindly.”
I nod. That’s good to know. It makes me feel slightly better about myself, knowing that I wasn’t always completely spineless.
“Is this it?” I ask softly. “Is this the whole purpose of my life? Help my son and help people eat?” I say bleakly, and even I hear the futility in my tone. Staring at the grass, I let that settle in for a moment.
“Eric. Tell me about this woman,” Matt requests, snapping me back.
“Why? There isn’t anything to tell.”
“Just tell me about her.”
“Okay. Her name is Val, she works with the Committee—she’s over food production—so I run into her at the storage facility sometimes. She has been—is interested in getting to know me better, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“She asked to run our numbers awhile ago. I told her I wasn’t at a point where I could even consider pairing.”
“Eric, it’s been nine years,” Matt says, attempting to meet my eyes, but I look away.
“It still feels like it was only yesterday that I lost her,” I admit, almost to myself.
“You talk about being frustrated with life and I would postulate that it’s because you aren’t really living one. You go through the motions, you excel in everything you do, which is maddening because you aren’t even trying. You have so much more to give. Have you considered therapy?”
“You mean reversal?” I ask, jerking back.
“That, or just talking with someone regularly,” he continues calmly.
“That’s why I have you, right?”
“I’m not a therapist, Eric. I love talking with you, but I don’t know how to help. I just know that I care about you. I want you to live fully and for Tal to have a mother—”
“He has a mother,” I mutter, interrupting him.
“Does he? He didn’t even know her! He has no models for relationships, no opportunity to understand women—” he stops, taking a breath, and lowering his voice. “You talk about Tier 1 initial testing, but he will never qualify as it currently stands. Yes, he is smart, but he isn’t in a position to be successful and you know it.”
I sigh. I do.
“I’m not saying you should pair with this Val, but I think you need to get yourself into a position where you could have a relationship—even just a physical connection.”
Anxiety is already building in my chest. Gripping the bench, I count internally. It doesn’t dissipate, but it doesn’t intensify either, so I sit quietly until I can manage.
“How would I go about starting therapy?” I ask, having a difficult time getting the words out.
“That I can help with,” Matt says, clapping his arm around my shoulder. Despite my best efforts, the physical contact loosens something within me, and I begin to sob.
55 Kate
“Hey, Nick, Mom, can you help me with my assignment?” Bentley asks. The girls are down for the night and we are relaxing in the backyard, enjoying the evening. It’s been raining all week and the air feels cool, despite the sunshine. Our trees and shrubs are lush and vibrant, as if showing their gratitude for all of the moisture.
“Sure, Bent,” I say, gathering the blanket around my shoulders. “Want to bring it here by me?”
“Could you come over here?”
“I could, but I’m kind of comfortable on this chair. And there’s room for two,” I suggest, hoping he will take the bait. He picks up his tablet and cuddles in beside me. It is immediately noticeable how big he has gotten. There was a lot more room in this chair for the both of us a year ago.
“What’s up?” I ask as Nick drops into the seat next to us.
“I am supposed to ask you guys about what it was like when you were kids,” he explains. I stiffen involuntarily, and Nick jumps in, recognizing the situation.
“Can I start?” he asks.
“Sure,” Bentley agrees.
“Is there a specific category or topic you are interested in? Or should I just start talking?”
“Just start talking.”
“Okay, hmmm. Well, it wasn’t all that different for me then, but I didn’t necessarily have a traditional life. I was like you, Bent. I accelerated through a lot of my conditioning and that took up a lot of my time. I do remember, though, that the cars weren’t as available when I was young. Kate, do you remember we used to have to share one car with the entire neighborhood?”
I laugh. “I remember not even having access to a car, so count yourself lucky!”
“That’s true, I guess I shouldn’t complain.”
“Did you work with Tier 3? Were they the same?” Bentley asks.
“I really didn’t,” Nick says. “I actually told your mom that I had never seen a Tier 3 individual before and she thought I was crazy.”
I look at him puzzled. “I don’t remember that,” I say.
The strangest expression flickers across his face, and when he laughs, it feels somewhat forced.
“How do you not remember that?” he asks. “Maybe it only made an impact on me because I felt so lacking compared to you, with your vast experience,” he says and I grin, but worry laces my thoughts.
This has happened a few times lately, where Nick recalls a conversation that I don’t. Am I losing mental acuity? Or maybe his memory is simply better than mine? He has heard my complaints about aging, as well as my frustration with my lack of memories from my childhood, too many times to count. At times like these, I would love to have experiences that I could share with my kids. I do, of course, remember some things. Just not as much as I would like. Am I losing more recent memories now, too?
“You have experience with Tier 3, right Mom?” Bentley asks, pulling me back into the conversation.
“It’s been a long time, but yes. My mom—your grandma—used to serve there and I loved listening to her stories. I don’t know if that really counts as experience—”
“What was it like?” Bentley interrupts.
“They were suffering then, I remember that. I know it’s a lot better now. At the time, they didn’t get nearly the variety or quantity of food that we did, and very few of them qualified for work assignments. My mom loved them, but there was always an underlying current of caution present when she was planning to make a visit. I assume that was because there was more crime and violence in Tier 3. People there didn’t have the skills needed to avoid those behaviors completely. It sounds awful, but I remember being intrigued and slightly put off by their outward appearance. They had different teeth and markings on their body. Some of them weren’t very clean,” I say, trying to explain in terms that won’t be disturbing.
“What about Tier 2?” he asks.
“I can add something there,” Nick says. “I started working with Tier 2 years ago and have been really impressed with them. Kind, simple people who just want to live their lives. Some struggle, but an overwhelming majority are working hard to improve society, just like we are.”
“Do they look different, too?” Bent asks.
“Not really,” I say. “You can tell they aren’t Tier 1, though. They just don’t look quite as healthy.” I don’t know how else to describe it. “In conditioning, have they told you anything about Tier 2 and Tier 3 in their current forms? Is it different than how we are describing it?”
“No, it sounds the same. And that confirms my suspicions,” he says, snapping his book closed and hopping down from the chair.
“What suspicions?” I ask, amused.
“That Tier 3 doesn’t exist,” Bentley says nonchalantly.
“What?” I ask, completely taken off guard. I look at Nick and he seems equally baffled. “Why would you say that, Bentley?”
“Think about it, Mom. The Committee has been talking about the decrease in Tier 3 births for years. Lifespan there is half of ours. I played with some numbers while they were talking about it in conditioning today and even with the most generous estimates, there should only be a few hundred people left.”
Nick laughs heartily. “Bent, that is awesome. I am so impressed that you spent the time to try to figure this out. I think you may have forgotten about a few things, though.”
“What?” Bentley asks, not amused.
“You can’t just take into account Tier 3 birthrates, you also have to calculate the Tier 2 births that result in Tier 3 individuals. It’s surprisingly high. And there are some people that end up in Tier 3 as teens or adults based on life experience or a failure to improve with therapy,” he explains.
Bentley’s eyes narrow. “But don’t you think, even taking those numbers into account, that something would have changed over the years? With more opportunities to work and condition, more food and resources? How is it exactly the same?”
It’s a good question. “I doubt it is exactly the same,” I say. “Maybe your instructors are giving you the quick version. Glossed over. Most of them probably haven’t been there personally, and I’m sure they didn’t anticipate someone so young taking such an interest,” I suggest.
This seems to connect with him. “Do you have recent numbers?” he asks Nick.
“I don’t, but I’ll see if I can pull up some reports when I am at the lab,” he says. Seemingly mollified, he walks toward the house.
“Was all of that really for a conditioning assignment?” I call after him.
“No,” he says simply, opening the door.
When it shuts, Nick and I burst into laughter.
56 Nick
I laugh with Kate until I am breathless. Watching Bent so serious about his research somehow released the tension I have felt about my own trials. I hope he didn’t see us laugh. His intensity is inspiring and I would never want to embarrass him.
Kate goes back inside shortly after him, cleaning up dinner and getting him tucked into bed. I pull some weeds in the flower garden and sweep the debris off of the walkway from all the precipitation. The ground is spongy and my feet sink slightly every time I leave the paving stones. As the sun begins to set, the entire backyard seems to glow with intensity. The greens somehow more green than they were before. Of course, I understand the physics of the transformation, but it’s still beautiful to witness. I find myself waiting until the colors begin to fade.
Inside, I find Kate typing into her display. Probably prepping for her assignment tomorrow. Not only is she back serving, but we also have our community volunteer assignment to complete. Tomorrow will be a busy day for all of us. I give her hip a pat as I walk by and see her smile in response. My heart leaps.
“I think I’m going to head to bed early,” I say. “I can wake up before I go to the lab and at least get the mowing done at the park. Then we will only need to work in the garden tomorrow evening.”
“Sounds great. That’s the kids’ favorite part anyway,” she says. “Goodnight.”
I wake to my sensor at around 5:30am, the early morning light barely creeping in the windows. Putting on my work clothes, I sneak out of the house and walk down the street. My sensor activates the keypad on the storage shed, and I pull out the electric mower. It’s been charging all night, thankfully. Forgot to check that.
Virtually noiseless, the mower expertly cuts through the grass, taking very little effort on my part. I take pleasure in watching the clean pattern emerge as I make my way around the field.
An hour later, I am covered in grass from the knees down, and the park looks fresh and pristine. Wiping down the machine, I secure it back in its dock and head home. The birds are out this morning, enjoying the sunshine as much as I am. Their songs bring a smile to my lips, and I practically bounce into the house. Carefully, I remove my pants and place them in the sink by the washing machine. I will need to treat those later. Kate is in the shower, and not hearing any children yet, I quickly hop in with her. She jumps in surprise.
“You scared me!” she accuses, slapping my chest with a soapy hand.
“I can see that,” I say.
“The girls are going to be up any minute, I have to hurry,” she rushes.
“Let me get your back, then,” I offer. She hands me the soap, and I massage her shoulders and neck.
“Thank you,” she says, turning so the water rinses off the suds. “As much as I would love to stay—”
“I know, it’s okay,” I assure her. “See you in a minute.”
She hops out and I quickly wash myself. The cool water is perfection.
Patients greet me upon entering the lab. Tier 1 individuals are prompt, directly contrasting with my experience last week in Tier 2. I quickly prep the machine and turn on my display, then instruct my assistant, Tamara, to begin patient briefing. The whole trial is fairly simple. My goal is to find a way to minimize these echoes so we can use reversal therapy without the negative after effects. I sigh. It seems to be a simple objective, but finding those echoes is proving difficult. I haven’t made much progress in the last few weeks. Initially I tried stimulating different parts of the brain while administering the therapy. While I haven’t received any official dream reports, the headaches were reported almost immediately for these repeat patients. Typically, patients experience them within the first week after treatment. We always assure them that it is a natural symptom that should dissipate with time. Most people don’t experience them chronically, though in extreme cases—like Kate—it can become debilitating. She is doing incredibly well, considering.
Back to the drawing board, but this time around, I am going with my gut. It occurred to me that we don’t know enough about the brain to determine where precisely these subconscious echoes are hiding, but they must be present in the dream state, since this is when they manifest to the patient. If I can simulate a dream-state and then do reversal, I have a hunch that I might be able to eliminate the echoes. Or at least significantly reduce them. Of course, there is a good chance that I could be completely wrong. And, the difficult part is simulating the dream state in the first place.
While the patient list is available to my staff, I do have to keep the rubric private. Not only because it would affect the study, but because the general public is unaware that reversal therapy—in large doses—can have side effects. The general public is actually unaware that we use it to inflict such sweeping change in the first place. It’s better that way, but makes confidentiality doubly important.
These patients, as far as I can tell, haven’t recognized that their current symptoms are still connected with their reversal treatments. The headaches and dreams are so few and far between that it isn’t causing them significant stress. The Committee wants to keep it that way.
This group of patients today was required to attend one evening of sleep monitoring before showing up today. I check, and sure enough, I have REM sleep scans of each patient on the docket. Bless Tier 1 individuals and their compliance. Tamara will be placing a tap and monitoring patients while I anesthetize them and create a similar brain pattern, inducing their personal dream-state. Tamara is well trained, but this is new to me and the possibility that we could cause harm weighs heavily on me. My hands shake slightly as I realize what we are about to do.
Before I can work myself up further, Tamara enters with our first patient. The tap is placed beautifully.
“Good morning, Sarah,” I say, attempting to appear at ease. If I am nervous, I am sure Sarah is, too. I remind myself that this has been approved, then utilize my own emotions to empathize with her.
“Hi,” she responds, clutching the sleeves of her shirt.
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