Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  “Ideally?”

  “Realistically.”

  “For me they’re kind of the same thing, I think,” I chuckle and Kip rolls his eyes, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I see cancer as a thing of the past, soil toxicity brought down to manageable levels, more opportunities for reproduction, more variety in food and fauna. Basically a better, richer quality of life for everyone.”

  “But why? Eric, when there’s nothing to compare it to, it doesn’t feel better. It just feels normal,” Kip argues.

  I pause, leaning on my shovel, sweat dripping down my back. “But it would be a better normal.”

  “Sure, theoretically, we could look back and say ‘they had it worse’, but nobody in Tier 2 looks back. We are only looking up. Looking at what we don’t have. Regardless of how ‘great’ life gets here, we always know that there’s something that escapes us. That we aren’t whole enough to be given opportunities—”

  “It’s not personal,” I interject. “It’s simply the only way to ensure that we become our best.”

  “But what is our best, Eric? And who is ‘we’? Don’t you mean that ‘they’ become their best? And who determined what ‘best’ even means? I would argue that we have sacrificed our holistic ‘best’ for a narrow version of it.”

  He waits to continue speaking until I mix the last of our amendments into the soil. Propping our shovels into our wheelbarrows, we push them along the path toward the storage shed.

  “Have you ever read anything from Alan Sears?” Kip asks. I shake my head. “He was a philosopher in the early two thousands, had some great theories on conflict. Two discussions of his have really stuck with me. First, the Tier system was never established through consensus. Again, I’m not arguing that forced participation wasn’t necessary at the time, but I don’t think it is justifiable anymore. Everyone—Tier 1, Tier 2, and Tier 3—should be allowed the opportunity to opt in or out. The Tier system will always serve Tier 1 as a first priority, and it isn’t rational to pretend that we are all benefiting to the same extent.”

  My wheelbarrow bounces along the uneven ground, and I reach out a finger to steady the handle of my shovel so it doesn’t continue to clang against the side.

  “Second,” he continues, “human potential can’t be fully realized in an oppressive state. Berg can argue all they want about how we are ‘free’ and ‘opportunities are available to all’, but here, we know that isn’t true. They have fully hitched their wagons to genetics and our physical interactions in the brain as the be-all-end-all source of truth, but I don’t buy it. There’s power in perception. There’s power in belief. All of which is intangible and, so far, quite immeasurable.”

  I walk in stunned silence. My own ignorant perceptions have been completely ripped apart during this conversation. Specifically, my perceptions of Kip. I have, subconsciously, always viewed him as lesser. As slightly unenlightened, but just the opposite is true. Could we have been having conversations like this every day, had I been more open? Had I been more willing to explore my own biases?

  Rolling our equipment back into the covered storage area, we brush ourselves off and enter the shed to wash up for lunch. My senses are heightened when I touch my sensor. I have an hour to make it down to headquarters to figure out if they can trace where the message originated. Our prior conversation served as a nice distraction, but now, finding that information is all I can focus on. Glancing across the room, I notice Kip already rummaging through the fridge for his lunch. With nobody paying attention, I am compelled to pull it up and re-read it for the hundredth time.

  I scroll, not seeing it immediately. Did it somehow get moved down the list in priority? Typing in a portion of the memorized words, I search. Nothing. My abdomen seems to hollow out, a pit opening up and threatening to swallow me whole. No. The message has to be there. I frantically turn my sensor off and then on again. Still nothing.

  “Is everything ok?” Kip asks, noticing my frenzied movements.

  Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead. “I—I seem to have lost a message,” I say through my clenched teeth.

  “Val will understand,” Kip chuckles, waggling his eyebrow at me. I force a smile, then march out of the shed, forgetting my lunch on the counter.

  80 Nick

  Cuddled in blankets with warm tea in our hands, Kate and I stare up at the stars from the bench in our backyard. The sound of crickets, chirping their consistent lullabies, calms me. I relax for what may be the first time in weeks. Kate leans her head on my shoulder.

  “Nick,” she breathes. “Can we finally be honest with each other? No more worrying about ourselves, or the Director, or the fate of society,” she says dramatically.

  A sardonic laugh escapes my lips. “That’s kind of all I’m good at,” I admit. “I don’t know how to not factor in all of those things.”

  “I know,” she soothes. “But, could we try?”

  “We can try. Do you want to go first?” She shifts her weight, pressing closer into my chest and I wrap my arm around her shoulder.

  “Do you know about the memories?” she asks, her voice a terrified whisper.

  “About you getting them back?” She nods in relief. “Yes. I took a risk—trying something that, as far as I know, has never been done before—without your knowledge. It didn’t feel right, Kate. What they had done to you. Not only because you were suffering, but because...well, they basically stunted your ability to contribute. How can your mind analyze and create when half of its input has been deleted? And as much as I love having you here with me...it hasn’t ever felt truly fulfilling because I know…” I sigh. “I know you wouldn’t have gotten here without the Committee forcing it on you. So yes. I reinstated those memories as best I could. I am so relieved that it worked, but in my defense, I don’t think I could have screwed up your pathways any more if it didn’t—”

  “It’s okay, Nick. I’m glad you took the risk. I didn’t know that you knew. I was terrified that you would find out and they would all be—” she sucks in a breath. “Do any of your patients receive boosters?”

  I laugh softly. “No, that was just a cover.”

  “Why couldn’t you tell me? All this time I—”

  “It’s still not safe that you know, Kate. What I’m doing—if they found out...I need the knowledge of these procedures to remain solely with me.”

  Kate nods, thinking. “Nick, I am so sorry,” she starts, and I exhale audibly. Tension that I didn’t even know I was holding escaping on that breath. “You were thrown into this messy situation and asked to shoulder massive responsibility at such a young age. You were asked to pair, asked to be an instant father, asked to hold secrets and manipulate—the list goes on. I don’t think Berg has been fair to you,” she concludes.

  “Well, when you put it that way,” I tease.

  She laughs, full bodied and tragic. “I’m serious,” she complains, smacking my arm lightly.

  I sigh. “I know. I guess I have a hard time seeing it as ‘unfair’. I have always been asked to shoulder more, to do more. It’s kind of expected.” Kate starts to say something and then stops. “What is it?” I prod.

  “I—I feel incredible guilt even exploring this out loud, but...I am kind of disenchanted with the Committee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nick, they took my family. They lied to both of us—they have manipulated us, and who knows how many others. I know it’s all in the name of progress and—I believed in that. Maybe that’s what hurts the most. I was ready to do it, too. I lied to Eric. I lied to you, somehow thinking that the right outcome would justify my actions. It doesn’t, Nick. It just doesn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful for the girls, but that is beside the point. All of this was supposed to be for the good and...I don’t feel so good right now.”

  I rub her shoulder. “I don’t think it was supposed to be for our good,” I say softly. “For the greater good.”

  “Shouldn’t it be the same thing?”

&
nbsp; “Not necessarily,” I sigh.

  “I don’t agree,” she says, her face lifted upward toward the heavens. “If we are acting in the best interest of those around us, and even those who will come after us, we should feel fulfilled and accomplished. I feel...nothing. I feel nothing, Nick.”

  I nod. “I know what you mean.” Looking up, I take in the vast expanse of the universe. Stars prick the sky, small needlepoints of light in the deep blue. “Kate, I have never felt fully settled about pairing with you. I love you, make no mistake about that, but I have seen your scans. I have witnessed the damage that was done, and the extent that Berg had to go to in order to wipe Eric from your day-to-day. He was—and is—a part of you. When we first met, I didn’t have the life experience to really understand what that meant. Even now, I probably only truly comprehend a fraction of it, but that fraction is extremely powerful. You have become a part of me. Nobody else could—” I pause, swallowing. “Nobody could replace you. I know that might sound odd, considering our current situation, but it’s true. I have grown into someone different because of you. Someone better. The other night, when I reacted the way I did in front of the Committee members—I’ll never forget the way you looked at me. I don’t want anyone to have reason to look at me like that again.”

  She squeezes my hand, but doesn’t speak immediately.

  “Why now? What caused you to see all of this now?” she eventually asks.

  “The main catalyst actually came that same night. During the trials, I had been treating Tier 1 patients—for routine things like accidents, death, the usual. I didn’t look too closely, everything seemed so benign. Anyway, I went to get your sensor out of the auditorium and realized I had left my display back in our meeting room. When I got there, I overheard—well, long-story-short, I found out that my trial treatments weren’t necessarily being administered knowingly.

  Kate inhales sharply. “What?” she asks, her voice cold.

  “Somehow, I had convinced myself that you were the only one. That ours was such a unique circumstance that extreme measures had been justified, but to find out that it was happening all the time...”

  I can feel Kate shaking her head.

  “I know. I was horrified, too. I still haven’t had a chance to figure out if any of them were legitimately requested, or if they were all ‘mistakes’ that the Director needed to hide.”

  “Nick, this is what I’m talking about. All of this, this isn’t what Tier 1 has ever been about. The Committee should be serving us—protecting us. Not managing us.”

  “I know. Seeing that flipped a switch. Well, along with our interaction. There I was, garnering that reaction from you for an ideal that I thought was worth it. It was worth it to hurt someone, to eliminate someone from your life, to give my life, for something better,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “But, it’s been twisted. Their goals are not my goals anymore. That’s why I took a chance on giving you your memories back. If their ideal isn’t worth fighting for, then maybe mine is.”

  “Can you get your life back?” she suggests.

  “I don’t know if that’s possible at this point,” I admit, and it rings true. What life? My life is society, Kate, Bent, and the girls. Regardless of whether that life came about in the right way, it came. It’s here. But I now know I can’t keep it. How do I move on from that?

  “Maybe,” I say, “I was never meant to truly have my own life. I still want to make this world a better place, Kate. I want to fix this. If the Tier system is beginning to decay, I want to find an evolution. Maybe this is truly all necessary for my growth, and nothing more.”

  “That’s inspiring, but pretty bleak,” she teases.

  “Like you said, bleak is worth it if it’s for something legitimately better. I can feel good about that, I think.”

  “Maybe this is exactly who we are meant to be. We have been conditioned to be this, Nick. Tier 1 gave us the best of everything—our genetics gave us the best chance of succeeding here. Maybe this is the next evolution. We are meant to move beyond this restrictive system, but Berg is so used to having control and knowing what to expect... This is scary for all of us. Their actions have been difficult to justify, but we are all pioneers here. There has to be a way to navigate it for the best. If our brains are pushing us in this direction, we need to embrace it instead of constantly trying to remain stagnant.”

  “That requires humility, Kate. The Director doesn’t have it.”

  She sighs knowingly.

  “What about you?” I ask gently.

  “What about me?”

  “What are you feeling?”

  She interlaces her fingers with mine. “I don’t want to leave you alone, Nick,” she says, her voice catching. In the dim light I can see her nose wrinkle, the way it always does when she cries. Her breath comes in short bursts, her shoulders lifting gently against my chest.

  How will I possibly be able to remedy this? Our lives are impossibly tangled and we still have Berg breathing down our necks. They will never let us split, let alone allow Kate to see Eric or Tal again. I’ve been attempting to play the hero, but I have no cards to play. Unless...I run my free hand through my hair, my mind reeling.

  “Kate, you’re not leaving me,” I whisper, “I’m giving you back.”

  81 Kate

  Every minute, every mundane task, every breath is rich with meaning for me. The missing pieces of our understanding have all clicked into place. I know it, Nick knows it, and we are finally working as a team instead of working for a team that didn’t necessarily have our best interests at heart. I still have a hard time condemning them. I can see how, in a strange, twisted way, it made sense for them to do the things they did. The fault lies in their own hubris. Or at least in the Director’s. I assume everyone else was simply too attached to their newfound freedom and providence to rock the boat.

  My mind continues to process as I watch Beth and Leah attempting to pull themselves to their feet. My face lights up as they practice each new skill, and I am met with wide eyes and drooly smiles.

  I am in shock, recognizing that I am personally witnessing the very first signs of societal decline. Just as in every previous society, as soon as someone with power decides that they know better—or should be more important, more worthy—than others around them and people accept it, life begins to unravel. I imagine the Director as a young man, serving and working to improve Tier 1 his entire life, then finally put in a position to make a difference, only to give in to his natural tendency to want more. To be above. Really, this is everything that Eric and I were criticized for as well—putting ourselves above the greater good. How can I judge? I empathize, remembering now how justified I felt.

  Placing the girls in the buggy, we begin our daily walk to the outdoor nursery. Both girls begin to kick wildly as soon as we hit the path, already knowing where we are headed. The magnolias are in bloom and their heady scent fills the air around us, making the bird chatter and even the breeze seem romantic.

  After checking them in, I head to the campus courtyard, planning to meet Bentley for lunch. I haven’t said anything about my memories to him over the past few weeks, but he has been more withdrawn than usual. I worry that he has picked up on the added stress, despite my attempts to hide it.

  He spots me immediately, waves, and runs my direction. Sitting down on a bench under a wide-stretching dogwood tree, I open my picnic bag.

  “Hey Mom,” he says, walking the last few steps, plopping down dramatically.

  “Hey bud, are you already tired out?” I laugh, noticing the sweat around his hairline.

  “Yeah, we were playing four square.”

  “So fun. Here’s our lunch,” I say motioning to the spread. “What are you in the mood for?” Without speaking, he appraises the food and picks out his favorite vegetables and some smoked ham.

  “How was conditioning this morning?” I ask and he shrugs his shoulders. “Hey Bent, let’s play a game,” I propose, grasping at any idea that could
open up some conversation. “I’ll say a word, and then you say the first thing that comes to your mind. So, for example, I could say ‘red’ and you could say ‘tomato’. Does that make sense?”

  He nods, slipping garden peas between his lips.

  “Okay, first one. Fun.”

  “Four square,” he says, without missing a beat.

  “Happy.”

  “Beth.”

  “Touché,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Okay, sad.”

  “Nick.”

  My breath catches. “Friend.”

  “Pace,” he says smiling. One of his friends from advanced conditioning.

  “Work.”

  “Healthy,” he says, again causing my eyebrows to shoot up.

  Alright, maybe I will give him something a little deeper. “Responsibility.”

  “Mine.”

  “Progress.”

  “Necessary.”

  “Family.”

  “Broken.”

  “Bent,” I sigh, my heart aching for him, “we need to talk, but I don’t know how to share some of the things I’ve learned over the last few weeks. You’re obviously picking up on the fact that Nick and I have had some really rough things to work through—”

  “What are they?” he asks, his eyes trained on the ants making their way toward our food.

  “How good are you at keeping secrets?” I ask.

  Later that night, sitting with Nick, I fill him in on my conversation with Bent.

  “He really said that?” Nick asks, impressed.

  “He did. I was blown away. He’s so perceptive, Nick, it scares me. It’s like he sees right through me.”

  “Seriously. So what did you tell him?”

  “I—pretty much everything. Is that bad?”

  “Do you think he’ll say anything to anyone?”

  “I wouldn’t have told him if I did,” I answer.

  Nick nods. “How did he take it?”