Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  Before he can speak, I raise my hand. “What would that look like?” I ask. So much for observation only.

  “What do you—wait, do I know you?” Taylor asks when he sees my face.

  “Eric. Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I work with Kip”

  He nods. “Eric, what do you mean?”

  “If resources were freely accessible, what would that look like?” I repeat. “Would we adopt similar policies to Tier 1? Adjust our service assignments? Lose the credit system?”

  The men glance around the room at each other and there is an accompanying low hum of voices.

  “We’re thinking bigger than that, man,” Kip says, smiling. “It’s time for freedom from everything. The whole system.”

  “I have a hard time wrapping my brain around that,” I admit. “People tried that in the past, and it always—I repeat, always—led to a lack of freedom eventually. Without someone to structure our conditioning—I mean, if future generations were left to their own devices, what would prevent another Crisis? More power hungry leaders? More conflict?”

  Kip smiles and looks toward Taylor. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to prevent now, Eric,” he says softly. “Who do you think has all the power?”

  “We all do,” I say, without missing a beat. “We all work together for our communal progression.”

  “Who’s progressing here?” Kip says. “Are you progressing? I’m certainly not,” he spits. “Tier 1 might be progressing, but it seems to me like we are serving without much benefit.”

  “Their progression benefits us all—” I start, but am cut off by chatter within the group. Realizing I am definitely in the minority, I close my mouth and sit still.

  The anger that Kip spoke with is something I had never experienced before. Everyone around me seems to agree with him to varying degrees and this knowledge rocks me. This can’t possibly be the general feeling within our Tier. Could it? How could they have forgotten the standard of life our predecessors suffered before the Crisis? Their arrogance at professing to know a better way is appalling. And simply irresponsible. As my frustration rises, hearing the arguments around me, I stand and thank them for the information, moving toward the door.

  “Eric,” Kip calls behind me, “think about it. This movement is alive and well, whether you agree with it or not.” I nod and walk out into the hot evening air.

  77 Nick

  Kate lies still as the sleek, metal halo glides around her head, the soft whirring of the machine breaking the silence. A cold sweat makes the palms of my hands slippery, and I surreptitiously wipe them on my slacks. Though I am trying desperately not to show it, the frustration within me fights to rise to the surface. The Director has some nerve interrupting our evening to force a scan. Did my assertiveness the other night somehow set him off? Any effective leader should be thrilled when an apprentice takes the initiative to begin a project and then is successful. His reaction—and Shari’s immediate obedience—serves to solidify my understanding of the situation. He doesn’t want equals on the Committee, he wants minions; people who will do his bidding without question. Though that may have been me a month ago, that agreeableness has died within me now.

  I adjust Kate’s head position and run the machine again, only one more position to go. Shari sits in the corner, legs crossed, fingers tapping on the chair. Though I have only known her for the last two years or so, my respect for her has continued to decrease exponentially. Based on her comments to me that night in the hall, she is aware of the Director’s need to be in control, yet she has done nothing to raise a warning to our regional leaders. I have to assume that not every member of leadership is corrupt. We couldn’t possibly be that far gone.

  Tier 1 has been built upon principles of service, selflessness, and the communal good. Witnessing this lack of integrity—along with the secrecy and manipulation—in the Committee’s actions sends me back to history conditioning. Over and over we studied societies following the same pattern. In every case, societal decline occurred after one small shift. Someone with less than worthy goals asserted dominance. And nobody stopped it. Of course, it’s much easier to diagnose in hindsight and incredibly difficult to assess in the present.

  How can we determine whether someone’s goals are worthy? As humans, we rely on social cues and we trust those who seem trustworthy. Especially in Tier 1 where we have supposedly eliminated those characteristics that lead to selfish conflict. Our society isn’t set apart by a better system, it’s successful because of our collective unwillingness to regress to something lesser.

  The scanner beeps definitively, and I reach out to help Kate sit. Her hands are ice cold; I rub them between my hands, smiling, though she doesn’t look up. She stands abruptly, moving toward my dock.

  “The image hasn’t processed yet,” I say.

  “I know, I just wanted to be ready,” she answers. Shari beats her there, taking her place at the computer.

  “Where will the image appear, Nick?” Shari asks assertively, guarding the dock with her body. I raise my eyebrows, staring in her direction.

  “I love the excitement here, but I am going to need access to the display for the image to be processed,” I answer nonchalantly, forcing my anxiety about the situation to take a backseat. Shari huffs and moves out of the way. What fire has been lit under her to inspire this level of intensity? I move between the two women and calmly open the imaging companion software.

  Movement catches my eye at the bottom of the display. A data traveler is attempting to connect. My eyes narrow. It’s Tamara’s. I clear it from the dock, shutting down any potential uploads. Kate grips my arm, unsteady, and as I turn, her eyes roll into her head before she falls.

  78 Kate

  “Kate?”

  I hear Nick’s voice above me and blink, attempting to focus.

  “Hey, there you are. Do you see me?”

  I nod. Nothing hurts. Nick must have caught me when I went down.

  “I should have had you stay seated for a few minutes after the scan.”

  Reaching up, looping my hands around his neck, I make an instantaneous decision. “Nick, that scan will destroy both of us,” I frantically whisper into his ear. “The booster—”

  “It’s okay, Kate. I know you’re probably out of sorts,” he replies gently. “Just lie down and I will take care of it.”

  “No! Nick!” I hiss fiercely. I should have told him about this earlier, I think, panic building in my chest. All of my previous confidence has dissipated, virtually sucked out by Shari’s refusal to give me any space to work. I had hoped that the image from the traveler would upload and open on the display. Even facing a terrible outcome, I know I couldn’t have told Nick earlier. He would have taken my memories away again, gone forever. Do all roads lead to me losing my family for the second time? I close my eyes, lying back on the bench, and silently weep.

  “Is she okay?” I hear Shari ask.

  “It’s normal to be emotional after a loss of blood pressure like that,” Nick says. “Here, looks like the image is ready.”

  This is it. I force myself to breathe, apologizing desperately to Tal and Eric. I didn’t even get a chance to find out where they are or how they are doing. My brain still hasn’t fully processed all of this and now it’s over. For good this time.

  “Wow,” Shari exhales. “That’s really impressive work, Nick.”

  “It’s amazing, right?” he agrees.

  What is happening? Taking a deep breath, I lift myself to a sitting position and allow my equilibrium to settle.

  “Can I see?” I ask meekly. Shari, still staring intently at the image, moves to the side, allowing me space to move in beside her.

  As the image comes into focus, I inhale sharply. That’s the right image. The image I was trying to upload. Did it somehow get there despite Nick’s intervention?

  “Do you want to see the side-by-side?” Nick asks, more for Shari’s benefit than mine. She nods and he places the images next to each other
, the colors swirling madly on the first.

  “I’m sorry to pull you here this evening,” Shari says apologetically. “I don’t know why—” she stops short, inhaling deeply. “Just put these images on here and I’ll get them to the Director,” she says, handing her data traveler to Nick, frustration and exhaustion evident in her tone.

  After finishing the download, Shari places the drive in her pocket and hastily exits the lab. I breathe a silent sigh of relief as Nick begins to tidy up the space and move to walk out to the office, when his voice stops me in my tracks.

  “Would you be willing to give Tamara’s traveler back?” he asks softly. I stand stock still, every muscle tensed.

  “It’s okay, Kate. It was a good idea, but I never would have thought that your uploaded file was the new image,” he says with a wan smile.

  “How did you—”

  “I moved your earlier scan into the recent imaging folder. I didn’t actually scan you tonight. Just moved the machine around a lot. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, but I didn’t know how—” My head whips around toward him at the sudden silence, and find his face twisted in anguish, a hand over his mouth. What is happening? He moved my image...and didn’t scan me? Does he—

  “Nick,” I sigh, walking quickly to his side and pulling him close. I hold him then, glad for the opportunity to give comfort when he has done it for me so many times before. His shoulders shake silently, his head hunched over my shoulder. I rub his back and wait. The silence stretches on, but slowly, he begins to breathe normally.

  “Kate, I have so much I want to say to you. Something shifted in me weeks ago, but I couldn’t allow myself to sink into it. And it wasn’t safe—well, honestly, it still isn’t, but...I still don’t think I can handle fleshing out the ramifications of the actions I have taken. As long as it remains surface level, I can deal with it. I know I’m on the right track, I just—”

  “Nick, it’s okay. Let’s go home and talk there,” I soothe, “I’m going to be honest, I have a lot of questions—”

  “I know, and we need to get everything out in the open. But there’s something I have to do first. Can you give me a second?” he says, moving toward the dock.

  79 Eric

  The sunset over the lake is stunning tonight. Since I had too much nervous energy to simply head home after the meeting, I ended up taking a walk around Washington Park. This place has always felt somewhat nostalgic to me, though I haven’t actually spent much time here. Perhaps it’s merely the fact that it is tied to a previous society, a past culture. Watching Tier 1 and Tier 2 individuals meet here during the day to collaborate also represents the best part of our current society. All of that melded together leaves me feeling almost reverent as I walk the quiet paths.

  Finding a bench, I sit for a moment as the colors diffuse across the sky. There’s no room for anger here. I struggle to reconcile the things I heard tonight—the attitudes that I was previously oblivious to. How have we all come through the same conditioning and yet, somehow, arrived at such opposite conclusions?

  A message appears on my sensor, and my heart jumps at the thought that it might be from Val. We still haven’t had a chance to get together after our interruption the other night. She was sent out of territory for a project, and any free time I have had has been taken up with monitoring Tal. He returned to conditioning yesterday, but it took a lot out of him. A part of me wonders if he is struggling with emotional trauma more than physical.

  Tapping the message, I’m disappointed that it’s not from her. Though I don’t recognize the sender, I open it anyway.

  Eric, forgive the blunt delivery, but you need to know that Kate’s alive.

  I’m working on it. -a friend

  My heart stops. I re-read the message three more times, my body frozen, unable to process. Is this a sick joke? Tapping on the sender, I find it blank. Untraceable, at least from here. Standing up, I begin walking briskly toward home.

  Who would do something like this? My stomach swirls in discomfort, not due to any belief on my part that this message is true, but because someone out there knows I wish it were. I am nearly running by the time I reach our street, my feet pounding into the path leading to our unit. Slamming through the front door, I press my back against the cold metal and catch my breath.

  “Dad?” Tal calls. “Are you ok?” he asks, rounding the corner and seeing my distress.

  “Yeah, sorry. Long story,” I say, rushing to the display, flicking it on. “What are you working on tonight?” I ask, attempting to sound normal.

  “Just that research you asked me to complete,” he answers soberly, naturally understanding that I am distracted.

  “Great,” I say, still not giving him my full attention. “Tal, I will definitely talk with you more about this later, but would you mind giving me some privacy? I’m trying to track something down and it’s frustrating. I would really love to be alone.”

  “Sure, Dad,” he says, patting my back and retreating to his room. The guilt at pushing him away lasts for only a moment. With my mind reeling from the meeting and then this, I don’t have energy to spare for engaged parenting at the moment.

  Pulling up the message on my main dashboard, I see a random string of letters and numbers listed in the ‘sender’ field. Using all of the tools I am aware of, I hit a series of dead ends as I endeavor to reply or track the number. All the while, the message stares me in the face. My desperation builds with each subsequent futile attempt. Tears begin to flood my eyes and, almost involuntarily, I slam my hand down on the counter, leaving my palm stinging.

  Eventually giving up, I close the display and run my hands through my hair. Though this feels different from my regular panic attacks, I take a moment to breathe and count, listing off other possible solutions to the situation. The message may not be traceable under my account, but I wonder if I could trace it at headquarters? Or through a Tier 2 Committee member? Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s far too late to attempt that tonight, but I could potentially stop in mid-day during my lunch break. My hands shake. An outward manifestation of my inner desire to not have to wait until tomorrow to figure this out.

  Suddenly noticing how quiet Tal has been, I move down the hall and knock on his door softly. Hearing no reply, I open the door to find him asleep at his desk, his stylus still between his fingers. It’s been a long time since I have carried my little boy to bed. I smile in spite of myself as I stagger to lift him from his chair and, quite ungracefully, lay him in his bed.

  Since I have taken charge of a few of his conditioning responsibilities, Tal hasn’t had any outbursts or behavioral issues in his group. I’d like to take credit for it, but I am almost positive that he has also begun to mentally and emotionally mature these last few weeks. His social smarts finally catching up with his academic side. I smooth his hair with my hand, remembering how his fuzzy head felt as a baby.

  Tears roll freely down my cheeks. Oh, how I miss you, Kate.

  Kip and I work side by side again this morning, building permaculture in one section of the planting fields. We haven’t said more than two words to each other since beginning at dawn. What I really want is to understand, but my mind reacts so strongly to his opinions. It’s difficult to listen without jumping in and trying to persuade him to shift his perspective. I mentally prepare myself to try again.

  “Kip,” I start, “I’m having a hard time understanding where you and your buddies are coming from in relation to our current structure of government. Do you mind sharing your feelings with me?”

  “Eric, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

  “I promise I won’t judge,” I say, cutting him off. “You work, Kip. You show up every day and you work. I know we think differently, but I see that you are honestly trying to do your best. I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I have found the only correct world view.”

  Kip appraises me, leaning on his shovel. “Alright,” he agrees hesitantly. “Where do you want me to start?”r />
  “Maybe from the beginning? What was your life like growing up?”

  I listen to Kip all morning. His experience seems to be fairly typical of Tier 2 individuals, though I haven’t had conversations like this with more than a handful of people. While my sample size is small, I extrapolate in good faith.

  “I guess, one day, I had to ask myself: what is the point?” Kip continues. “I serve, I feed people, I go home, I eat, sleep, then get up again and do it the next day.”

  “Are you paired, Kip?” I ask.

  “I was, it didn’t work out,” he admits. “I wasn’t approved for a child and she had better numbers. Wanted to see if she could find a healthier option.” His face flushes and his shovel seems to be hitting the soil with more force.

  “That’s tough,” I say.

  “That’s life,” he corrects. “Again, begging that same question. Honestly, Eric, how do you stay motivated?”

  I swallow, not immediately knowing how to answer. “The truth is, I haven’t ever considered this, Kip. I have always felt a strong pull to contribute. Maybe it’s amplified because I have Tal? Or because I feel some strange responsibility to do right by Kate? I don’t know. To me, doing my part to make our world a better place is good enough.”

  “Is it better, though?” Kip asks.

  “What do you mean? Of course it’s better,” I answer, out of breath from lifting another shovel of compost.

  “Okay, yes. I agree, it’s better than it was during the Crisis, but is it getting better,” he clarifies. “Where do you see the Tier system in fifty, even a hundred years?”