As my patients disperse, I retreat to the office to ‘finalize trial files’. Since I have already tried hacking into Kate’s restricted file with no luck, I have determined that I need to go another route. Our lab coordinator has a higher level of access than I do when it comes to Tier 1 patients. I’m not completely sure if that means he will have clearance for this particular file, but it’s the easiest and least risky option I have available. Besides directly asking Grace. Given the fact that the Committee hasn’t been overly excited to give me access to Tier 1 files for legitimate research, I don’t anticipate that going over well, especially considering the current situation.
Last month, I had issues with my profile. I had used a scheduling app that was developed as a prototype to assist with shift coordination in the lab, but it somehow crashed my login. I was kicked out and, upon trying to get back into the system, was locked on dark screen. A Systems tech had to reset my profile. Berg has since improved the program, changing the app, and it no longer crashes, but the original version is still present on my profile. A fact I plan to exploit. Tapping on it, I am hopeful that it will wreak the same havoc it did last time.
Initially, nothing happens and my heart drops. Then, my display flicks to the login screen. When I type in my credentials, the screen goes dark. Success. I tap my sensor, messaging the lab coordinator.
Hey, I am so sorry, but I accidentally tapped on the wrong version of PlanIt and it crashed. I don’t know why that version is still active on my profile!? I need to complete these patient profiles and it will take hours for Systems to reset my info. Would it be possible for you to log me in to your profile for an hour or so? Tamara only has access to basic patient information and I was hoping to edit scan info before I head home. Thanks. Again, sorry for the dolt move.
I press send. Then I wait. There is a good chance that he will tell me I need to come in early tomorrow when my profile is reset. I purposely don’t say anything to Tamara in case she decides to be helpful by finding another analyst to log me into their profile. They have the same clearance as I do. Not helpful. That is another option that the coordinator could propose, but I cross my fingers, hoping he won’t think of it. I busy myself with sanitizing the lab equipment, my heart pounding. A few minutes later, I still haven’t received a reply, fear and doubt beginning to creep into my thoughts. As I am working on the last electrode, however, the door to the lab opens.
“Nick, looks good in here,” Bey states.
“Thanks, just cleaning up for tomorrow,” I smile sheepishly. “I am so sorry to make you come all the way down here.”
“I was actually in this wing helping with a technical issue—one of the reversal machines is struggling this afternoon. I’m hoping the problem is just a bum electrode, but I’m having a technician take a look in the morning.”
“Frustrating,” I comment, trying to look concerned, yet at ease.
“So what is this about PlanIt?” he asks.
I sigh. “Did you ever use the previous version of the software?” He shakes his head. “It has a glitch that crashes profiles. It happened to me last month when it was first released, and somehow that version of the app is still available. I accidentally tried to open it, intending to access the current version. Anyway, my profile is locked and I hoped you could help me out so I can finish up. If not, I can just message Systems and wait until morning.” I pause, hooking my fingers in my back pockets. “Tomorrow is our family rec time, so I was just hoping to avoid cutting into that,” I say, again, trying not to look like I care. Breathing purposefully slow, I hope he can’t tell that I am now sweating profusely. I resume my task, wiping the electrode and placing it gently into the tray along the reversal machine.
“I can do that,” Bey says, “but access has changed so that profiles can only be active on one display at a time. I still have to set up that appointment with our technician and meet with inventory about a discrepancy before I head back to my office. I would think that should buy you about 45 minutes. After that, I’ll have to kick you off,” he says, walking to the display and typing in his information.
“Thanks Bey, that should be plenty of time,” I say gratefully, relief swelling within me.
“Next time you could probably walk up to the next compartment and get Chris to log you in,” he suggests.
“Huh, good idea. I hadn’t seen her today, so she didn’t come to mind,” I lie. I saw her this morning, walking past the windows. This is the second time I’ve been dishonest with him and the guilt is emotionally draining. I thank Bey again as he leaves, pushing away my self-disappointment as quickly as it came, and eagerly move to the display.
60 Kate
“I think it goes here, Mom,” Bent says, showing me where the puzzle piece should fit. Feelings of inadequacy sit heavily in my mind as I attempt to help him work through this assignment.
“Bent, why exactly do you want my help?” I ask. “You find the variations much faster than I can.”
“I know, but it’s still fun to have someone to watch me,” he answers, grinning.
I laugh. “I am just an audience? Thanks a lot,” I tease and his grin widens. He places the wooden pieces in silence for a few moments, focusing.
“Mom, why do you think you have had headaches more often the last few months?” he asks unexpectedly.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammer. “I usually connect it with stress—”
“I don’t think that’s it,” he says. “I think there’s something else. That doesn’t make sense because our lives are built around low tension and stress. Why would it happen to you more than anyone else if it were just that? And, I don’t think you have a genetic link, so it has to be an external factor.”
“How would you know if I have a genetic link?” I ask, impressed and taken off guard by his analysis.
“Well, I don’t for sure. I just assumed. Maybe I got lucky, but that variation is dominant and I don’t have it. Do you?”
“No, I don’t,” I answer slowly, watching his face take on a very satisfied expression. “I do think it’s time for bed, though.” He slumps his shoulders in complaint.
“Can I finish this first?” he petitions.
“Let’s finish in the morning. I’ll give you more ‘help’ then,” I say, and we both laugh. He embraces me, his now not-so-tiny arms wrapping around my neck, then runs to the bathroom and I notice that, for the first time, his pants didn’t fall down. My heart aches a little, mourning that goofy little boy with no hips.
I wait for Nick. He is late and I am starting to get anxious. Tapping my sensor, I still don’t see a message from him. Trying to take my mind off of it, I wipe down door handles and dust the shelves. My breath catches when I finally hear the front door open, feeling suddenly absurd that I was worried in the first place. Setting my cloth on the counter, I walk toward the hallway and meet him halfway.
“Hey,” I say, reaching for him, and he crushes me in his embrace. He is surprisingly emotional; intensity exudes from his every movement.
“What’s going on?” I ask, pulling away to look at his face.
“Nothing,” he sighs.
“Is it something to do with the meeting the other night?” I ask, hoping to drag it out of him.
“No, just a long day at the lab.” I can almost visibly see him closing off, putting on a face.
“Nick, stop,” I say, sharper than I had intended. “I know something is going on. You have been cycling between emotional highs and lows for a while now. I can almost physically feel the turbulence inside of you. I love you. Please talk to me. I am not afraid of most things, but this. This terrifies me. Not being able to help, knowing you are shouldering something alone. Please, Nick,” I practically beg. The panic I feel at him shutting me out is irrational, and yet like I have felt it before. Emotionally, this is impossibly familiar and that realization pushes my confusion further. Nick doesn’t answer, looking conflicted.
“What is going on?” I demand, watching Nick’s expression turn
to hurt and surprise. Dread settles on my chest and I start to hyperventilate. “Something is going on with me, Nick!” I blurt, tears filling my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I sob, and he immediately pulls me close. “This isn’t about you, it’s me. I’m scared because I don’t understand why I am dreaming, why my head hurts, why my child is so concerned about me that he’s trying to figure out a solution,” I blubber nonsensically. “Things have always made sense and you always thought they made sense.” I pause, breathing. “Do they make sense, Nick?” I plead.
“Whoa, Kate. Slow down. What is—”
“There’s something wrong with me, Nick!” I practically shriek. He stares at me then, unblinking, his arms pressed on top of my shoulders. He stares at me and we stand unmoving, the air thick between us.
“Kate, I think you had reversal therapy,” he says quietly—gently—but he may as well have slapped me.
“What? I have never had reversal,” I respond, my voice hard.
“When you were a kid. I think that’s why you are having bad dreams. That’s what I pushed in the meeting, when I came out stressed and upset. I wanted to use you as a patient and see what is going on. I want to help you, Kate. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, but—I’m certain at this point. As far as I am concerned, that is what is causing your trauma. I assume it was something about your mother, which is why your dreams are centered around her,” he explains, pausing to evaluate my reaction.
A peace falls over me as he clarifies, my initial shock and offense melting away, and I immediately know in my heart that what he is saying is right. I don’t understand how or why, but this makes sense of everything. Sighing in relief, I close my eyes and lean against his chest.
“Is there anything we can do?” I ask. “Do you know why it happened? Or how to fix it?” So many questions race through my mind, I can’t keep up.
“I don’t know why, but yes, I think I can fix it. At least, I hope I can. Based on the results of my most recent trials—”
“When?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Now?”
He laughs. “I wish. Let me get things set up and we can do it later this week. Will that work?”
I nod, every cell in my body begging for rest.
“Kate...there’s a good chance that I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t want—”
“I trust you, Nick.”
I enjoy a night of euphoric, uninterrupted sleep. Waking, I mentally prepare for a completely normal, busy day in the life of Kate, but it already feels completely different. There’s something I don’t know about myself. About my history. If my parents felt that it was necessary to do reversal, I am sure they had a good reason for it. But why wouldn’t they tell me? They likely didn’t understand that there would be any reason for me to know. How could they have predicted that it would cause this kind of trauma? Especially when Berg didn’t even know. Yet, despite all of this rationalization, I don’t know if I can let it go. Even if Nick knows how to heal my symptoms, do I want him to erase my knowing? Is it even possible to eliminate these residual pieces of memory, considering that my most recent scan was last year and this is such a minuscule piece of information, probably lost in the abyss of my childhood? I can’t see how it would be easy to locate without also affecting other information.
Something else tickles at my subconscious, though I fight it, not ready to give it full attention. My dreams aren’t always about my mom. I haven’t told Nick about the last few, but they have all included Eric, Bentley—and Tal. A child that doesn’t exist. If my dreams with my mom are legitimately linked to an event...I shudder, forcing that thought out. There is no way that I have a child who I have forgotten. It isn’t possible. And Eric has been dead for years! I watched him die. Tears fill my eyes, the weight of remembering nearly bowling me over. Perhaps those dreams are connected to the same event, just manifesting in different ways. When the pathways are repaired, maybe they will disappear, too. I can only hope.
A cry from the girls’ room snaps me back. Throwing my legs off the side of the bed and wiping away my tears, I stand up and force myself to move forward. I can do this. Just a normal day.
61 Nick
Sitting across from Shari, Grace, and the Director, I nervously clasp and unclasp my hands under the table. The Director is pulling up his display, while Grace actively avoids meeting my eyes. Shari shoots me a wink and my shoulders relax a little.
“Nick, thanks for coming in at an unorthodox time. First. Let me apologize for my reaction last time we met.”
This is not the introduction I was expecting, but I am grateful for it.
“I hadn’t anticipated your questions, they were completely out of context, and I didn’t process them well,” he continues. “I would like to give you a proper answer now, but first, I need you to understand something.” He leans on the table, eyes searing into me. “This is classified information that we—the three of us here and the entire Committee—have determined to share with you. We do not take this lightly, and neither should you,” he says, and his tone almost carries a hint of a threat. So much for relaxed shoulders. For a moment, I question whether I should walk away. Are the answers I seek worth whatever burden they will obviously carry? Knowing this is impossible, I nod my acceptance. The display lights up as the door behind me opens.
People begin filing into the room, one after another. I don’t recognize any faces, but the Director is listing off names, introducing them quickly.
“...Nasser, Faye, Cameron, Polly…” he prattles on. There is no way I will remember all of them. I try to focus on one or two names, to at least gather something from the exercise. Eventually, everyone is seated, filling all forty seats around the table.
“Nick, we have invited our territorial Committee to join us today. Have you met any of our members—besides the three of us—before?” the Director asks.
I didn’t realize that Shari was officially on the Committee. Glancing over at her, I catch an almost amused look on her face. Looking away, I shake my head.
The Director continues, “Nick, I am pleased to announce that today we would like to offer you a seat on the Committee.” The table erupts with applause before I have time to process this. Did I hear that right? What is even happening right now? Confusion at this offer is met with a realization that I have no idea what most people on the Committee even do.
“I—I’m sorry, this is literally the last thing I could have anticipated today and I don’t think I am understanding. Could you flesh this out a little?” I stammer over the din, flushing. The applause slowly dissipates.
“What details are you interested in?” the Director asks.
“Ummm…pretty much everything,” I answer. “A few moments ago, you alluded to some answers that would be given. Regarding the questions I asked during our last meeting. Now you are offering me a seat.” I scan the table, taking in all of the smiling faces. Is this how it happened for them? “I would love to know why you have invited me to join and what you would expect me to do. So, yes, lots of details. About everything,” I finish, my eyes darting around the table again. Nobody seems obviously taken aback.
The Director chuckles. “Luckily, my answer to your initial petition should clarify all of that, so let me start.” He motions to the display. “You were concerned about numbers in Tier 3, correct?” he clarifies. I nod. A chart that I don’t recognize appears. The numbers are completely different from those that I pulled up when researching for Bentley. In this image, Tier 3 population numbers drop drastically—not stable at all.
“These numbers were recorded in our territory. As you can see, the Tier 3 population has significantly decreased over time, reaching a record low five years ago. With such a low number, it was impractical and inefficient to continue providing resources for them. We integrated those we could into Tier 2 and the others were released— ”
“Released?” I interject. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I don’t understand what that mea
ns. They were left to fend for themselves?”
“They were no longer needed in society, so they were released from their responsibility,” he answers kindly.
“So that’s a yes?” I fish, refusing to accept a vague answer.
“They were released from their physical burdens. As you know, people in Tier 3 had significant challenges. Their lives were difficult and complex. Because we have always valued life, Berg has consistently felt that they were to be preserved and provided for as long as it was possible to provide. It was no longer possible. Our resources were being essentially wasted on the few. Few who were not capable of serving or providing necessary benefits in return. Those that we could not integrate were released,” he responds with finality. I nod, my throat clenching. Their lives were taken, in some form or another. Tier 3 doesn’t exist because we killed the last of them in an effort to be efficient. I take a deep breath, reminding myself not to jump to conclusions. That I know none of the details. Yet the pit in my stomach remains.
“This pattern has been followed—or will soon be followed—in every territory. We are all at similar points, give or take. I will remind you that this is what Berg expected and planned for. The goal of the Tier system was always to use resources efficiently in creating a safe, thriving society, ripe for improvement and evolution. We have arrived at what we are calling Phase Two. With reproduction rates, it is an eventual certainty that we will see Tier 2 follow a similar pattern, leaving only Tier 1 individuals in Phase Three. At that point, Berg has a plan in place for categories of division—creating three new Tiers based on evolution at that point in time.”
Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3 Page 33