Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  “Almost sickening isn’t it?” I say, noticing Grace whisper something to the Director in my periphery. “After extensive research, I had a hunch. I began trials, targeting individuals in both Tier 1 and Tier 2 who had reported symptoms. Eventually, I also treated new reversal patients, passed on to me by our Director, using this new technique.

  As you know, reversal therapy, when used to alter deep, integrated memories can be extremely challenging. Side effects are caused by what I like to call ‘echoes.’ These are shadows of the original memory, tucked away in corners of the brain not anticipated by our technology. These echoes are then triggered by random events and experience, but no longer have a framework to shape them. The cognitive dissonance that this creates—both consciously and unconsciously—is incredibly damaging and frustrating for the patient.” I click forward on my sensor, showing Kate’s ‘after’ scan.

  “After a few initial treatments, this is Kate’s brain.” Again, I pause, allowing for analysis. Then I pull up both images side-by-side. “Previously, despite being able to see where the damage had occurred, we weren’t able to ‘release’ these echoes and eliminate them. My procedure has proven capable of doing that, not only retroactively, but also for first-time, aggressive treatments.”

  The next image is a chart, almost identical to the Director’s, but with one major difference. The numbers in the second column, representing reports of negative side effects, are all the same. Zero.

  Hands begin to pop up across the room. Grace is glowing and the Director has a wolfish grin on his face. My heart races, again making my hands go momentarily numb. Distracting myself, I point to a man on my right, his hand catching my eye first.

  “What was your procedure?” he asks. Another voice shouts from across the room, “Has this been tested anywhere else?” I hold up my hands, motioning for silence.

  “Let me see if I can answer some of your questions preemptively. Yes, my sample size was fairly small, but the results are obviously statistically significant.” This comment pulls laughter from the crowd. “This has not been tested elsewhere. Trials were just recently completed, so there hasn’t been time for that. I will comment on the actual procedure in a moment, but first, there is something else I would like to discuss.” Here it is. My heart pounds, my mouth becomes thick, and I choke on my last words. Sweat glands prickle uncomfortably under my arms. I close my eyes and envision Kate, desperation on her face, attempting to find a solution to this mess. Bentley, with his absolute confidence in my ability to do so. I can do this, I tell myself. Taking two deep breaths, I begin.

  “I promised I would comment on these aggressive procedures, as Jessica brought up earlier. First, let me ask you. In your collective opinion, why has our use of reversal therapy in this way—used to erase memories, sometimes entire portions of patients’ lives—increased? This technology has always existed, so why now?” I ask, only to be met with silence. “I know some of you have opinions on this, so I will happily wait,” I say, my voice low. After a few uncomfortable moments, a hand raises near the back.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, pointing.

  “I can only speak for myself, obviously, but I know we have seen more pushback, like your Director mentioned. Unfortunately, more Tier 1 individuals seem to be balking at what is being asked of them.”

  I nod. “Okay, thanks. Anyone else?”

  Another hand shoots up. “There have been some incidents in our territory, specifically where a Tier 1 individual has been dissatisfied with a Committee decision. They needed to be dealt with to maintain the peace,” she announces shyly.

  “These are both things that I have witnessed, definitely,” I agree. “Let me ask you two more questions. First, in a society steeped in research and caution when it comes to technology and treatment, why have we begun utilizing reversal therapy in this way, with literally no research to justify it? To assure us that there was no harm in our treatment? Second, why do you think, after hundreds of years with zero need for ‘dealing’ with members of Tier 1, are we faced with conflict?”

  Again, people shift uncomfortably in their seats. The Director rises, beginning to move toward the stage.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I would ask you to take your seat and let me finish,” I command. The room erupts into agitated conversation. Panic again threatens to rise in my chest, but I push it down, staring the Director down. His eyes bore into mine, no longer moving forward, but not sitting down either.

  “Stop!” a voice shrieks above the din, and heads whip to the back corner of the room. Carole Berg. As people recognize her, the room again retreats into silence.

  “I’ll answer your questions, Nick,” she offers. “Everyone, please take your seats,” she says, pointedly looking at the Director, who obediently lowers himself down again. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “The answer to your second question will explain the answer to your first. We haven’t adapted our conditioning quickly enough to accommodate for the changes we are experiencing. Our progress is exponential; this new research by Hayes is only one example of that. Yet our conditioning has remained somewhat stagnant. We are using this technology as a temporary plug. A way to stop the leak until we can better prepare individuals in Tier 1 to meet these expectations willingly.”

  “And those expectations would be?” I ask gently.

  “What they have always been—”

  “I would argue that they are absolutely not what they have always been,” I interject, my confidence building. “Never before have we had resources in such excess. Never before have we expected individuals to break familial ties for procreation. Never before have we kept Tier 1 individuals in the dark—”

  “Oh wake up, Nick,” she snaps. “We have always kept Tier 1 individuals in the dark. Absolute chaos would ensue if everyone was included in every decision. We entrust our most intelligent, most committed members to lead us, that’s how it’s always been.”

  “And what if our most intelligent, most committed members begin to violate our most basic societal understandings? What if they begin to serve themselves over the collective whole?”

  “That can’t happen,” she argues.

  “Why can’t it happen?” I ask, incredulous. “It has happened over and over again throughout history. Are we so arrogant to think that we are somehow immune from basic human instinct? You, yourself, just admitted that our conditioning is lacking. Our ‘most trusted’ individuals have come through that system. Yes, we are still seeing progress, and yes, I believe we are still moving forward, but in which direction? My Director sent me patients to treat without consent. Without my consent, and without the consent of the individual being treated. I have witnessed lapses in judgement that I cannot justify. I believe we are at a crucial juncture that will determine our future as a society. If we continue to allow these small, seemingly innocuous acts to infiltrate our leadership, we will fall. I promise you that. We don’t have time for our conditioning to catch up, Carole. We have to act now.”

  Carole stands, staring at me with steely eyes. The room, again, eerily silent. “And what would you propose?” she asks, causing the Director’s face to flush an even angrier shade of red.

  “I do not have enough information to propose anything, but I will tell you what I will do personally. I will not give details of this procedure until these wrongs have been rectified—” I am cut off, voices rising in anger from the crowd.

  I wait, watching Carole walk to the front slowly, the sound slowly dying as she passes each row. Her shoes click on the stairs as she joins me onstage.

  “Please, everyone, silence. What we have just witnessed is evidence that we have adjustments that need to be made. We will work with the research team to make this procedure accessible—“

  “I don’t think you are hearing me,” I say gently. “The procedural information exists in only one place,” I say, tapping my forehead. “I haven’t kept any information publicly and I have used reversal therapy to remove any pertinent information fro
m my assistants.”

  “But you can’t—“ she sputters.

  “We do it all the time. Think of the chaos that would ensue if—“

  “Don’t you dare quote me right now,” she hisses. “There has to be a record.”

  “I assure you, there is not. And as useful as reversal therapy is, we have yet to discover a way to extract information. I recommend you meet my terms.”

  “We have other means of extracting information.”

  Addressing the room, I speak up, “If nothing else I have put forward tonight has convinced you that we are in a dangerous situation where leadership is concerned, that statement should do it.”

  Carole seethes next to me.

  “This is not who we are. We don’t commit to a trajectory and refuse to adjust when new information is presented. We don’t harm our citizens to protect our own assets, our own pride. I have been left with no other choice. I have the key to a therapy that I do not trust our current leadership to use appropriately. I need assurance that our path has been adjusted before I will turn it over.”

  “I agree,” I hear from the crowd. Jessica is standing. A man stands next to her, then another. Soon, at least fifteen people are on their feet.

  “Please,” Carole says, waving them off, “no need to stand.” Nobody moves. Her tone becomes sickly sweet. “I agree that we are progressing quickly and, perhaps we need to realign our priorities. In my defense, we have been in crisis mode—trying to act on new research, integrate new tech, expand our territory and distribution—“

  “There’s no blame here, Carole. I don’t think that anyone actively dropped into these roles purposefully. We are simply misguided—adopting assumptions that are false and avoiding hard truths.”

  She nods. “Surely we can find a compromise—“

  “I have terms that will need to be met. One hundred percent. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but I don’t see another option that will set things right.”

  Her lips purse into a tight line and her nostrils flare with each breath. “What are your terms?” she asks coldly.

  “I have three. First, this information needs to be made public.” As she begins to protest, I raise my hands. “I’m not asking that you expose every resource detail, but you need to allow Tier 1 individuals to understand the situation. I have discovered that many of these reversal situations have occurred due to informational leaks. Open conversation would eliminate the need for these procedures while allowing our citizens to come together and find a solution that benefits all.” Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond. I take this as my cue to continue. “Second, each person that has been treated without consent needs to be notified and debriefed—”

  “That is impossible, it would take months—”

  “How could it possibly take that long if this is a ‘rare occurrence’? And, as far as I understand it, Committee members have plenty of time on their hands,” I say pointedly.

  She sniffs. “Third?”

  “Third, I want reparations made to my family.”

  “But you have already eliminated Kate’s symptoms—”

  “I want Kate to be allowed to re-pair with Eric, and Bentley and Tal to remain with them.”

  “In what world—”

  “Kate has fulfilled her duty. We have two beautiful daughters, genetically primed for tumor suppression. I realize it’s not ideal, but neither is living with someone who know would rather be with someone else. I care for them deeply and want them to be happy,” I explain, almost forgetting that an auditorium of Committee members is watching our exchange.

  “I don’t see how—”

  “Those are my terms. Meet them or don’t,” I finish, standing and acknowledging the crowd. “I know we can fix this,” I say, my hands resting at my sides, all pretense gone from my voice and body language. “We can’t become complacent and slip like every other society, we’ve come too far.” Giving a small smile, I gather my things and exit into the hallway, tears finally allowed to slide silently down my cheeks.

  89 Eric

  “I tried, Eric, I’m so sorry,” Val says, hanging her head. “I utilized every tool I could think of, but no Kate came up.”

  “Do you think they could have changed her name?” Tal asks.

  “It’s possible,” I say, rubbing my face with my hands.

  “I’m so sorry—” Val repeats, but I cut her off.

  “Val, please don’t apologize. It was incredibly kind of you to even try.”

  “What do we do now?” Tal asks.

  “That. Is a great question,” I answer, thoroughly exhausted. Though I have been more functional over the last few days, it’s still a fight to wake up and get going. I remember everything—or, at least, I think it’s everything. Regardless, I remember enough. Enough to make the life I am leading seem truly pointless. Tal was right all along, in his own way. He knew he was destined for something greater, and I...I stifled that. Told him that it wasn’t our lot in life.

  For the first time in what seems like weeks, I think of Kip. Though seeing some logic in the points he made scares me spitless, I can’t deny that he was right about one thing. There is power in belief. Now that I know I am Tier 1, my personal expectations are exponentially higher. Why was I ever satisfied planting in the fields?

  “Dad?” Tal says, pulling me out of my self-analysis. Focusing on him, I tilt my head, waiting for him to finish his thought.

  “We can’t stay here.” His words drop like solid weights, landing on the floor between us.

  “I know, Tal,” I agree, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “We don’t have any information to go on. As uncomfortable as it is, I think we need to trust Nick—”

  “But—”

  “No, I agree with your dad, Tal,” Val cuts in. “I think it’s your only option. You have been given a gift, having your memories returned. Any misstep, and that could be discovered. I don’t understand why any of this is valuable enough to cause Berg so much trouble in covering it up, but I do know that they aren’t going to ignore it potentially being let loose. You have to keep up appearances. Eric,” she says turning to me, “you have already raised red flags. Missing your work assignments brings the wrong kind of attention. I don’t know how long you will have to wait for Nick to reach out, but in the meantime, you have to keep on. Business as usual,” she explains soberly.

  I nod. “Tal, we don’t have to only keep up appearances. There are some things that we could do, discreetly, to prepare ourselves.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks quizzically.

  “You’re pretty good with software, right?”

  He nods, his eyebrows still furrowed.

  “What if you got even better,” I say, a conspiratorial grin on my face.

  “I think I could probably handle that,” he says, unsure, but excited by my energy.

  “We may also need to be physically conditioned. New workouts starting tomorrow,” I add.

  He nods. “I better finish up my conditioning assignments then,” he says, moving out of the room with more passion than I have seen in weeks.

  When he is gone, I exhale loudly.

  “You handled that well,” Val says approvingly.

  “I gave him false hope,” I mutter.

  “What has convinced you that it’s false?”

  “The fact that I have no information. Nothing to go on.”

  “So finding Kate is the only acceptable outcome?”

  I stare at her, not sure how to respond.

  She gives an exasperated laugh. “I’m trying to help you understand that one hundred percent success isn’t the goal! Life is messy, Eric, as you are now blatantly aware. If you base your happiness on one perfect solution, you are going to miss the beautiful conclusions all around you. Your son has a purpose. You have a purpose that was hidden from you before this happened. Yes, finding your family is ideal, but your path isn’t dependent on it. If you let it be, you’ll be actively limiting your view all on your own.” />
  “If I don’t find them, Val, how—”

  “You will move on, because you are strong. You are kind, you are intelligent, and you are a father. Stop worrying about how, and commit yourself to doing, Eric.”

  I nod, anxiety still plaguing my mind, but dissipating slightly. “What if I fail?”

  A laugh explodes from her lips. “Fail? What does that even mean?”

  Taken off guard, my eyes search the room for an answer that isn’t there. “What if I don’t get what I want?” I whisper, the words resonating deeply within me.

  “Then you will truly be Tier 2, like the rest of us.”

  90 Kate

  “Nick?” I say softly, shaking his shoulder. He stirs slightly. “Nick, I’m so sorry to wake you, but your sensor has been going off all morning. I am worried it’s an emergency or something.”

  At that, he rolls over, throwing the covers off of the bed. “What time is it?” he asks, sitting up and stretching his arms high above his head.

  “Almost eleven. I just dropped the girls at the nursery.”

  “Wow, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late,” he apologizes, standing and reaching for his shirt, hastily tossed on the bedside table the night before. When Nick arrived home last night, I didn’t dare ask him how it went. With a pale face and shaking arms, he had collapsed into bed without saying a word.

  This morning, he looks like himself, but I don’t want to risk upsetting him. Instead, I pick up the comforter and methodically put the bed back in order as he dresses. As I stand, I become aware of his presence next to me.

  “Thank you,” he says, hugging me, and walking into the hall.

  Sitting on the bed in a near stupor, I mull over my possibilities. I know I can’t stay here, but other options escape me. Every time I consider a new alternative, I eventually end up in the same place. Memories altered, alone, forgotten. Berg is too tapped into my life, and I can’t see a path that leaves me free of them. Is that what I want? To be free of...all of this? No, I silently correct myself. I want Eric, the kids, and, in some ways, Nick. I want him to be okay. To be happy. Again, the connecting links between where I am and the conclusion I seek are missing.