Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Cindy Gunderson

  I had no idea he was worried about repercussions even then. I was worried, but he seemed so sure of himself. And then when nothing happened, I just assumed everything had worked itself out. From his messages, it seemed like compromises were continuing to happen on both sides, plus, the terms he had initially set out were being met.

  The next several entries contain technical information on new subjects and trials. While I’m sure it’s interesting, my brain can’t even process basic charts right now. I continue to scroll until I see something more personal.

  Entry #47

  My sensor dinged first thing this morning, and I thought I was dreaming. The first piece of information has been released to Tier 1. While I think Berg could have been more liberal in what they selected to be disclosed, at least it’s something. Carole insists that this has to be done gradually, and who am I to argue? As long as it gets done, I am satisfied. Their announcement included resource numbers from a few years ago and the real Tier 3 numbers from about halfway through the decline. Though they aren’t recent, Tier 1 individuals don’t know that. It’s a start. This will get conversations going and hopefully prepare people for the information yet to come, and the more intense conversations we will need to have soon. Hopefully very soon.

  Moving through the next entries, I fully expect to see an update, but there’s nothing. Just more comments on methods in trials, interesting patients, and such. Jessica’s name is mentioned more than a few times. I cling to each, allowing them to reaffirm my belief that she is a friend.

  Entry #83

  It’s been three months and no new information has been sent out. I’m figuratively pulling my hair out here. I understand that new numbers can’t be sent out yet, but we could definitely begin discussing reversal patients. The Director has assured me that we will be holding a briefing with patients in the next week or so, but I’m not holding my breath.

  Nick didn’t tell me any of this. He always gave me the impression that things were moving forward in exactly the ways he had initially lined out. Why didn’t I think to ask for details? Why did I assume that Berg was going to do things our way? I read on.

  Entry #91

  Tamara and I got our first results back. Our rubric focused on skills and attitudes that are most likely to affect future progress (and hopefully appease the concerns of the Committee). These include: resiliency, flexibility, creative thinking, and problem solving. In each group, participants were informed that they would be conditioning in diverse company (mixed Tier 1, Tier 2, and reversal patients). In only one group was this actually true. Compared to the control groups, there was a slight bias effect seen in the non-diverse groups, but in the singular diverse trial group, the results were through the roof. Beyond statistically significant. They consistently out-scored the other groups in all areas, and here’s the best part: the results were significant regardless of whether a Tier 1 or Tier 2 individual was responding. Can you believe that? I can’t wait to share the results and begin our next set. Come to think of it...maybe I will follow Carole’s lead and introduce this information slowly. Give the Committees time to adjust to a new mode of thought.

  Of course. These were the trials he was working on. Technically, I knew he was studying multi-Tier relationships, but I didn’t quite understand what information he was looking for. Those results are mind-blowing, considering everything we’ve been taught in Tier 1. If having mixed company is able to improve us in those ways, what else have we been missing out on by being segregated? My mind buzzes with possibility, but—as exciting as it is—I am too curious about the rest of the entries to stop and consider the possibilities.

  Entry #102

  The Director called today. Our first briefing will be Friday, and I am oddly nervous. Though it wasn’t me who ordered the treatment, I was the one who physically carried out the procedures. Are patients going to lump me in with the Committee on this one? Technically...I am still on it, though I haven’t gone to a meeting in weeks. Seems pretty pointless when they won’t discuss real issues when I am there. Maybe someday I won’t be considered a threat?

  They made Nick do the briefing? Not surprising that they would refuse to publicly take responsibility. Yes, Nick performed the reversal therapy procedures, but he had nothing to do with withholding information from patients. He had nothing to do with sending patients for treatment without disclosing procedural information. I am seething as I read on.

  Entry #109

  I think we’ve officially hit everyone in our Territory. Every patient I treated knows. Some opted not to discuss, but at least they now understand what to look for in potential symptoms (since not all of them were completed using my new procedure). Many of them have asked to be re-treated to avoid this, but I can’t take that risk yet. I hate to make people suffer needlessly, but I can’t give away any information until this process is complete. Knowing Berg, they would somehow find a way to record everything and refuse to meet the remaining terms of our deal. Patients will just have to wait. Now that I have a vested interest in getting patients on the list for treatment, I anticipate Carole stretching it out just to make me uncomfortable. I hope—for their sake—that I’m wrong.

  More scrolling. More trials. More run-ins with Berg. Then my throat catches.

  Entry #126

  I witnessed a conversation at the girls’ conditioning today. People are discussing the most recent release and it is giving me hope. I’m not sure if everyone feels the same as these two women, but from what I overheard, they were very much in line with my own thinking. The real doozies will hit within the next few months: the extent of our excess resources, and the potential side effects of reversal therapy. Once that happens...I won’t have any excuse anymore. I’ll have to present my procedure and hope our society has changed enough to protect it. Tamara will be with me this time, and that is a comfort. We will present our current research at the same time. They will have to acknowledge that it’s time to consider integration. The data are clear, and we can’t ignore it any longer.

  Chapter 107

  The words of Nick’s last entry haunt me throughout the evening tasks. Eventually, earlier in the day, I had to get out of bed to keep from going completely crazy. Though I am physically here witnessing the children’s excited faces as they all bed down in the hall outside of Tal and Bentley’s room—spilling into the now-cramped living space—I am numb. None of it touches me. Time seems to float around me in a fog. Almost as if I am watching my own life from far, far away.

  I’ll have to present my procedure...they will have to acknowledge that it’s time to consider integration… Is this why he died? Did he share his reversal procedure and then they didn’t need him anymore? The thought that Berg was plotting against him—just waiting for their information—makes me sick. This is literally what the Tier system was set up to avoid: seeking for personal gain, power, and control. And without Nick—without someone who is willing to stand up to them—how will it ever change? Will we have to go to the extreme measures of our predecessors? War? Revolution? I shudder at the thought. That can’t be the only way.

  “Mom?”

  “Huh?” I say, finally hearing a small voice cutting through the thick wall of my thoughts. Somehow, I find myself standing in the kitchen. My disconnected arms continue to wash dishes as I slowly turn to face Bentley.

  “I’ve been calling you and you didn’t answer,” he says sheepishly.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind and...I’m not at my best right now.”

  “I know, Dad told us. About Nick.”

  “He did?” I ask, the shock of it coming out of his mouth hitting me full force.

  Bentley nods, and tears spring to his eyes. He looks at the floor to disguise his sadness, but I quickly dry my hands and drop to his eye level.

  “Bentley, I am so sorry,” I say, pulling him to my chest. His arms wrap around my shoulders and we hold each other. Somehow, this contact loosens something within me and a small semblance of feeling seeps in. I
t feels good, and so necessary.

  “Mom, why did it happen?” he asks, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

  Releasing my grip, I answer, “I don’t know. But I do have some suspicions.”

  “You think Berg had something to do with it,” he says, his voice picking up tempo. “I do, too, but I didn’t want to be the first to suggest it.”

  A laugh escapes my lips, despite my best efforts to hold it in. “I’m sorry, this is the worst time for laughter, but you just sound so...grown up.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I am pretty much grown up,” he says, puffing out his chest ever so slightly.

  “You’re right, what was I thinking,” I say, grinning through my tears.

  “So what are we going to do?” Bentley asks.

  I sigh. “I don’t know yet. I’m going to talk to Jessica in a bit—she’s a friend of Nick’s, someone who has been helping with his research and ideas. Maybe we can come up with something…” I trail off, already trying to process potential plans of action.

  “Okay,” Bentley says, pulling me back to the present. “Well, let me know tomorrow. I want to help.” He smiles, then turns on his heel and begins marching to his room. “Oh, Mom!” he exclaims, turning back toward me. “Look at this,” he says, running to my side and pulling out the imaging display. A brilliantly vibrant bluebell flashes into view and my breath catches.

  “Wow, where did you see that?” I ask in awe.

  “They were blooming along a log. Since you weren’t there, I thought I’d capture it for you. I didn’t want you to miss it.”

  I stare at the delicate petals, perfectly preserved on the display. “Thank you,” I whisper, pulling him close.

  Bentley grins and scampers off to his room.

  I am left wondering at this interaction—this perfect embodiment of the outward expression of grief. One moment I am frozen inside, the next I am alive, then I am hurting, then laughing. Everything moves too quickly, it’s too out of control. But trying to control it only deadens the good along with the bad. I have to let go. To feel it all. Turning back to the dishes, a resolve to never lose myself in this deepens. I am here, I think. I am here.

  Ding.

  I scramble for my sensor, half asleep. Eric breathes peacefully next to me; I try not to wake him.

  >Hey Kate, it’s Jessica. Are you up?

  My heart pounds from the shock of being woken up. Taking a deep breath, I respond.

  I’m here.

  >Sorry I couldn’t respond earlier. There’s a lot going on here, as I’m sure you can imagine.

  I get it, no worries. Thanks for getting back to me.

  >Did you have a chance to look over the files?

  I did. I have so many questions.

  >Shoot. I’ll try and answer as many as I can.

  I furiously begin typing. Not the easiest task when I don’t have a full display, but I do my best.

  Did Nick end up revealing his reversal procedure? If so, that means all of his terms were met. What is happening in Tier 1? How did people take the news?

  >He did. The terms were met, albeit slowly, and he presented his full procedure to the region two weeks ago. People in Tier 1 are...concerned. Definitely concerned, but—excluding the patients who were treated against their will—regular members still have so much blind trust in Berg that they aren’t ‘concerned’ enough, in my opinion. I think Nick expected that once the resource numbers were out and people knew the truth about Tier 3, everyone would be driven to action, to change. Berg continues to send out ‘updates’ that are really just words smoothing over their decisions regarding these resource numbers. Showing how rational and compassionate they have been, whilst conveniently leaving out other important details. Nick was extremely frustrated and was brainstorming how to present his newest research to the Committee in a way that would finally be heard and considered. But I think he was beginning to lose hope.

  What do you think Berg is going to do at this point? Just keep things the same? What about the patients—you mentioned them as feeling differently than the group. Is there potential for putting pressure on Berg through them?

  >Berg is beginning to suggest the possibility of re-splitting the Tiers. Tier 1 individuals are in more of a tizzy about that information than anything else. It’s a distraction. But it’s working. People are trying to be their best to potentially qualify for the top Tier again, meanwhile Berg is refusing to acknowledge the body of research that is growing for an integrated system. It’s not just us fighting to be heard, Kate. As for the patients, yes, they are understandably outraged. But it’s just difficult to ask people to fight against the only thing they’ve ever known. They aren’t willing to take the risk when it comes down to it. Hardly any of them went public with their stories.

  Wow. I can see why Nick was frustrated. Jessica, I’m going to be honest. I am dying just sitting here and doing nothing. But I can’t, for the life of me, think of anything I can do. I’m sitting here—my shelter filled to the brim with Tier 3 children—with no way to help anyone. Not these kids, not my own family, not the community that I love. I know we’re technically not a part of Tier 1 anymore...but in my heart, it’s my home. I can’t sit here and watch it fail.

  The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. My eyelids begin to droop as I sit stiffly, the sensor held tightly in my palm.

  Ding. The sound sends a shot of adrenaline through my limbs.

  >Let me think on this. I’ll be in touch.

  Setting the sensor down more gently this time, I collapse into bed. Despite my exhaustion, it takes a few moments for my body to settle after being startled. Slowly, my thoughts begin to drift.

  Chapter 108

  I dream of him. All night long, I dream of him. His broad smile on replay—a constant loop, as if my mind is trying to make sure it doesn’t let this image slip away. Tossing and turning, I try to get comfortable, but by the time the early morning hits, I’m frustrated enough that I throw myself out of bed. I may as well get started on the morning chores and try to take a nap later, rather than continue to fight with myself. Quickly pulling socks on to protect my feet from the chilly floor, I pull my hair up, throw on a sweater, and grab the flint and steel to get a fire going.

  Based purely on the sunshine we had the other day, I’m guessing it will be cloudy again. Saving the solar energy for heating, rather than using it to cook breakfast, seems like a more prudent choice. Checking my sensor, I am dismayed to see that it’s only 4:45. I don’t want to start gathering ingredients and wake anyone prematurely—especially since there are at least four children curled up in blankets near the table. Instead, I move to the pantry and begin preparing a menu plan for the week, rotating items as needed.

  After forty-five minutes or so—probably catalyzed by thinking about delicious meals—my stomach can’t take it anymore, and I have to eat something. Pouring water into a clay cup and sprinkling some cayenne pepper in, I take a drink. This should tide me over until breakfast is finished.

  Feeling somewhat satiated, I begin pulling supplies off the shelves to make said breakfast. Realizing that I am cooking for—how many? I don’t think I even took a full count of the children the other day. At least fifteen people, including our four—I pull full canisters to the counter. Anxiety rises in my chest, just thinking about this much food being used for a single meal. There’s not much I can do about it now. Transferring the ingredients quietly to the counter, I pull out a wooden cutting board and begin to slice the first of many potatoes.

  My thoughts go to the girls. Even though Jessica said they were safe, panic on their behalf simmers just beneath the surface. What does “safe” mean? Are they being passed around to different caregivers? They are old enough now that a lack of consistency has got to be taking a toll on their well-being. They must know that something is wrong—and they surely miss Nick. Has anyone told them what happened? Once again, every fiber of my being craves to be there. To be able to hold them a
nd comfort them. Even just to know what is going on and have the option of finding a way to help.

  A sharp intake of breath accompanies the realization that I have cut myself. My mental distraction made me careless, and the knife slipped off the side of the potato, catching the tip of my left index finger. Though much of it was protected by my nail, droplets of blood appear through a thin slice. Holding a clean cloth to the wound, I look under the counter for a bandage.

  “What are you doing, Mom?”

  I jump, almost hitting my head on the counter above me. “Bent, you scared me!” I complain. “I cut myself, so I’m looking for a bandage.”

  “I can help you,” he offers, his voice still sleepy.

  “It’s okay, I just found one,” I say, standing and pulling off the protective wrapping. Applying it, I show him, “See? All better.”

  Bentley nods. Without warning, he throws his arms around me and begins to sob, his body heaving with emotion.

  “Whoa, bud, what’s going on?” I ask, taken off guard. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  He shakes his head as best he can, with it still pressed against my torso.

  “Okay,” I say softly, rubbing his back, and pressing my cheek against the top of his head. Standing there, I hold him until he begins to calm down. Eventually, he loosens his grip and looks up.

  “I miss him,” he says simply. My heart aches as I gaze into his eyes, still shimmering with tears.