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“But the meeting has to be here,” I say, keeping my voice low and clenching my teeth. So much of our plan depends on what we find out at that meeting. “That’s the main reason I’m at Harmony. I’m supposed to get information and bring it back to the Group!”

Jessie nods her head. “Now, we might not have to worry too much yet. I’ve also heard a rumour that Dr. Anders is doing everything he can to convince The Association to still hold it here. Supposedly he spoke to Dr. Guthrie about having barbed wire put up on top of the entire fence and getting guards to patrol the place, with guns.”

‘Guns?” I feel like I might throw up or faint or maybe both.

“Tranquilizer guns, but still. You never can tell with these guys.” A bell sounds and the door to the Relaxation room opens, and the irony of where we’re going isn’t lost on me. “All we can do is keep hoping they have the meeting here,” she whispers, as the line moves forward.

I nod but my mind isn’t on the meeting anymore. While I want The Association to be stopped once and for all, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that with barbed wire and armed guards, the way out of Harmony for all of us Group kids may be blocked forever.

gh

In the days that follow, I overhear whispers about Brendan. Some seem over-the-top, like one day he’s in New York and the next day he’s managed to get to Sydney, Australia. All this, with no money in his pocket. Here in Intermediate, his legend grows and grows. It’s like this pudgy little kid with huge glasses that no one seemed to notice before can now leap tall buildings and scale skyscrapers, stuff like that. After all, if he was able to escape from something as locked down as a transfer from Harmony back to a Home School, then what other special powers must he possess? I try not to listen to the crazy stuff, and pay attention to what people like Jessie tell me. Like that Brendan has been going to other families of kids with disabilities, to warn them that they’d better take action soon if they still want their child to exist. Knowing how Brendan felt about his disabled brother makes me believe these rumours. How he got the addresses of these people doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is that he somehow reaches them in his steady, Brendan-like way.

CHAPTER TWENTY

What’s the use of trying?

—Paul Johnson

With my medication
dosage reduced by half, I can almost feel my brain coming alive. Now that I can actually think properly again, I meet with Jessie and Marcus whenever possible, to try and develop the most perfect plan to have me get into The Association’s Progress Meeting (now back on track at Harmony Five).

After several weeks of snatched conversations between scheduled activities, we come up with a solid plan. Once the tables in the banquet hall have been set and the room prepared, Marcus will convince the hall’s supervisor (another female who seems to have fallen for his charms) to let him briefly borrow the key to the room in order to get a book he’d forgotten there during his last Interventionist Meeting. After he unlocks the door, I’ll sneak into the banquet hall and hide under a table near the back of the room, making sure the tablecloth is pulled a bit closer to the floor than normal. Once hidden, I’ll turn on the tiny recording device Marcus has given me, carefully hidden in the front pocket of my jogging suit. Before any of this happens, I’ll tell Holly I’m having digestive problems and ask to go to the Nursing Station, a request she never denies. In order to be extra careful, I’ve made sure to ask the night monitor to use the toilet several nights in a row, so that the idea my stomach is not cooperating is a believable lie. What we’re counting on is the fact that she’ll revel in the free time and won’t care enough about me to actually check into my lie.

The plan goes perfectly. Marcus unlocks the main doors then quickly heads back to the banquet hall supervisor, to flirt with the woman while I find the proper hiding place. As I head to the back of the room, I take in the giant space. There’s a stage at the front with a podium, as well as table after table covered in white linen cloths and decorated with crystal glasses and jugs of ice water. It has the feel of a wedding or perhaps a Bar Mitzvah, rather than a serious meeting.

I find the table we agreed on and scramble under, making sure to get in as comfortable a position as possible. I’ve been told that the meeting is two hours, but my guess is that to my cramped body it will feel like ten. The tablecloth is made out of linen and is thin enough for me to make out objects around the room.

After turning on the recorder and putting it back in my pocket, I sit as still as possible. Eventually, the main doors are unlocked once more, and people start walking in. The noise level is high, which doesn’t surprise me, given my memories of dinners held at my house for my dad’s colleagues. If nothing else, Psychologists like to hear themselves talk.

The first half an hour is more like a Home School reunion, rather than the oh-so-serious annual Progress Meeting of The Association. From my cramped hiding place, I watch as people shake Dr. Anders’ hand or to clap him on the back. After what seems like endless hand-shaking and back thumping, everyone finally sits down.

A rather short, but sturdy man walks to the podium and adjusts the microphone. I squint my eyes to try and see him better. Dr. Guthrie!

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the fifty-third annual Progress Meeting of the North American branch of The Association. As I speak, the annual Western European meeting which is taking place in London is just drawing to a close, and from what I hear, the Australian/New Zealand meeting will occur tomorrow. To be honest, whether that’s tomorrow their time or ours, I really can’t say.” A ripple of laughter comes from the audience. Dr. Guthrie smiles indulgently, before continuing. “As you know, the minutes from today’s meeting will be brought by me to the annual Chief Psychologists’ Global Meeting, which will be taking place in Vienna this year. I trust I will have quite exciting information to provide to them as a result of what we discuss here. I will now let Dr. English take the stage to review last year’s minutes for all those present.” Dr. Guthrie clears his throat, and goes back to his seat.

For the next ten minutes I zone out, not caring about such items as whether the uniforms for each Harmony in North America should be identical and whether or not an additional test of some sort should be added to the already lengthy Assessment for twelve-year-olds. I perk up when a heated debate erupts about whether or not more
technologically savvy
security measures such as keycards or ocular recognition devices should be used at all Harmony and Serenity facilities, rather than the current old-fashioned key hole locks. I listen as many of the younger Psychologists argue that such security devices should fall under the Essential category for technology, and point to the recent breakouts from Harmony Five as evidence change is needed. The older Psychologists in turn argue that given how long the Harmony structure has been in existence, the few escapes that have occurred are not statistically significant and therefore do not warrant such change.

“The very foundation of Typology was based on eliminating from society all computerized technology that existed during the Social Media Era, unless it was deemed Essential,” one of the oldest members sputters.

“That’s exactly my point!” a younger member says loudly. “The continued success of the Typology model depends on improved security, which means the security measures we’re discussing must be labelled Essential! Don’t allow your romantic and possibly naïve ideals about how Typology used to be to get in the way of the future!”

Through my linen hideout I watch as a large man standing near the back of the room walks over to where the younger member is sitting, whispers something in his ear, then firmly leads him by the arm out of the meeting.
Clearly it’s not only teenagers who are not permitted to challenge anything about Typology
.

The conversation returns to duller topics once more and I begin to zone out again. After a while, I notice my left foot start to fall asleep, the pins-and-needles feeling travelling up my leg. I want to shake it away, but I don’t dare draw any attention to myself. After about twenty more minutes, I suddenly hear a voice I recognize.
Daddy
?

“Yes, Dr. Jenkins?” Dr. Guthrie asks. Apparently he returned to the podium when I wasn’t even looking. If I’m going to be any use at all to the Group or to myself, then I’ve got to work on being a more observant spy.

“Before we start any new business, I have a pressing issue I’d like put on today’s agenda.” My father’s voice is deep and commanding. I can’t help but notice all the other Psychologists seem to be staring at him in awe.
Is he really that special? Really
? “It is something that we Psychologists at The Department have been discussing for some time now.”

“Of course, Dr. Jenkins. Please continue.”

“I would like the issue of Inclusion during the Primary years put to a vote once more. I realize we initially voted yes to Inclusion many years ago, but much has changed since that time.”

“Are you wishing us to consider lowering the age for the Assessment?” Dr. Guthrie asks. “Because research continues to show a child’s baseline personality isn’t truly set until the age of twelve.”

“Yes, yes, I was part of that research team, in fact, so I fully realize that,” my father answers in a slightly condescending tone. “What I am suggesting is that we consider having two separate Primary streams rather than one, and base it on the general testing that is done on children at the age of two. In other words, to start school off right away with two different Primaries: one for Extraverts, and another for Introverts.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” says Dr. English. “During the last few years, I’ve repeatedly heard of students from Secondary questioning the theory of Typology itself, a few actually being belligerent to the Psychologists teaching them. I don’t know about my fellow members here today, but I find this phenomenon to be completely unacceptable. To me, such questioning stems from having only one Primary stream. Why not instead wait until children’s personalities are fully formed and their minds more mature before throwing such diverse groups together, willy-nilly?”

“My point exactly,” my father says. “While our intentions were good at the time, it’s become clearer and clearer that such early mixing is confusing at best for children, and is potentially detrimental to the future of society as we know it at worst.”

“But what about the presumed benefits of having all children educated and socialized together until the date of their Assessment?” someone calls out.
A woman
. “Doesn’t research indicate we thereby raise citizens who are compassionate to the differences in others, which can be of particular importance, given many of these children’s future mates are likely to not fall under their specific Type?”

I look at my father’s face. I don’t think anyone else would notice, but his cheeks have become ever-so-slightly red. When he gets that look, you’d better watch out.

Dr. Guthrie raises his hand. “Very good points, my esteemed colleagues. And an important issue to be put on our agenda, to be discussed later on in this meeting.” He scribbles notes, looking down briefly and then looks up again. “Now, ladies and gentleman, before we begin discussing all of the new items on today’s agenda, including the highly significant Inclusion issue, I would like to discuss with you another topic of utmost urgency, that of Parental Abduction.”

A female Psychologist in the audience stands up. It’s the same one who just argued with my father. Dr. Guthrie nods in her direction. “Yes, Dr. Kaufman?”

“Parental Abduction, sir? Not to be facetious, but is there an epidemic of which I’m unaware of parents suddenly getting kidnapped?” She grins at Dr. Guthrie, who frowns back.

“No, no, don’t be ridiculous! Parental Abduction. Have any of you heard this term before?” Dr. Guthrie looks out at the audience and only a few hands get raised. “Good, good, I’m relieved beyond belief the majority of you have never heard of this issue, as this suggests the general public is also unaware and that we will be more successful containing this problem before it grows further.” Dr. Guthrie takes a sip of his water. “Now, Parental Abduction is a fairly recent phenomenon, one which actually originated at this very Harmony facility. For that reason, I would like the Head of Harmony Five, the esteemed Dr. Anders, to please take the floor and discuss what has been occurring at his heretofore highly respected treatment centre.”

Suddenly wide-awake, I try to put all my focus on hearing what is being said. Dr. Anders walks in his careful way to the podium, as if each of his steps is being evaluated for precision. Eventually he gets to the microphone and meticulously raises it to his height. “I would be honoured to go over this phenomenon for you,” he says, bowing slightly in the direction of the older Psychologist, before turning to face his audience. “Approximately seven weeks ago, the parents of a highly disturbed Autistic patient entered my office and demanded that they take their son home.” Dr. Anders pauses, as if to let the gravity of what he is saying register. “When I tried to explain to them their son was receiving the best possible care here at Harmony, and that in fact he would likely deteriorate if returned to their household, they refused to listen. When I explained this request was highly irregular and it was going against protocol, they had the audacity to remind me that the Parental Handbook does not have a regulation listed to prohibit a parent’s removal of their child from Harmony, if the child has been placed here for purely medical reasons.”

The still-standing woman raises her hand. “But Dr. Anders, I’m not sure I understand the problem here. You’re saying that two parents came to Harmony to take their disabled son home to raise him?”

“That is correct.”

“Which would mean that a bed at Harmony would suddenly be free for another needy child?”

“That is also correct.”

“And this is somehow a problem?” I like the way that she’s able to raise one eyebrow. I try doing it myself, but it doesn’t work.