I was seated at one of the public consoles in the Observatory's main library, reading my last e-mail for the day. It was a calm night, and students were chatting softly to each other at grey tables. Outside the huge domed windows one could see spaceships in the distance outlined against the night sky (due to the mandatory phosphorescent paint they were all now coated with), taking off and landing at regular intervals.

I dunno how she managed to put a floral design and a blue background into her e-mail, but that was her. For her friends, no effort, no extra small detail was too good, especially for a friend who had saved her from a psychopath.

I sighed, glad that she was doing well, and I got up to leave to go back to our Stronghold.

Outside the Observatory, it was as bright as day, the path to the Stronghold was filled with flora and small fauna, and the sweet, late spring air immediately went straight to my hormones, making me feel more alert and restless.

On the uphill part of the pathway, there is a place where the path turns nearly three hundred and sixty degrees - in other words it almost doubles back on itself as it goes uphill, creating something of a small slope/cliff between the lower part of the path (before the turn) and the upper part of the path (after the turn). It was on this slope that the large ceramic pot was placed, and as I reached the turn in the path I stopped to stare admiringly at it.

How she (another one of my friends) had done it I'll never know, but then again, she had always had the Gift, especially when it came to plants. Last winter she had found a withered little brown leaf with a stalk about the length of a maggot, but she had taken a liking to it and nurtured it in a ceramic pot, and in a few days the stalk had turned a lush green. By the time of last month, the little leaf had grown into a small, but vibrant leafy fern dramatically growing in a complex spiral pattern, and she had decided to place the pot on that specific part of the path. To us, the members of the Stronghold, it had become a symbol of our group, signifying resistance and strength, but to the tourists visiting our campus we were merely the second largest University on the planet, famous for being dedicated to lifelong education, nature, and forward thinking, and to them this fern was nothing more than the by-product of an ecology project. Thank the moons of Neptune that no one had had the audacity to vandalize this fern, but then again its unusual growth pattern (caused by the use of the Gift) and the fact that it was reputed to be a University project seemed to be enough of a deterrent.

I stopped my contemplation and started back up the path. As I was walking along the turn in the path, I passed two old ladies who were coming downhill - they were visitors leaving the "University" and were nothing much to look at, with short, frail bodies, ridiculously permed and tinted hair, tacky clothing, and overly large, tinted eyeglasses.

As I continued on the path, I heard the most terrible plucking/tearing noise. Aghast, I looked down the small, steep slope to see the two old women standing next to the pot, grinning. In the center of the pot was nothing more than a tiny brown stub.

Clamping down on my anger, I crouched down where I was standing at the top of the slope to be more at eye level with the women, and I started to reprimand them when they reached up, grabbed me by my elbows, and tried to drag me down the slope. By some fortuitous accident I managed to stay where I was, but I did end up falling flat on my face, and while I was lying there one of the women reached up again and tried to drag me down by pulling on the cheap plastic sunglasses that were hanging around my neck on a green cord.

However, the sunglasses WERE cheap - they ended up breaking into two pieces in the woman's hand, and a bit stunned by this unexpected breakage, she just stood there staring at the pieces. I quickly grabbed the pieces out of her hand, stood up and brushed myself off, and shouted something to the effect of: "Go away you old hags, you've just disrespected the entire University by killing one of our pet projects, and you can't even mug a kid properly because of a stupid pair of sport sunglasses."

I nearly started laughing at the absurdity of it all and the exaggerated drama I had infused into my speech, and I was waiting for some sort of reply from the old pair, but people were starting to appear on the path and so the women had suddenly become ominously silent/subdued; they just turned and began walking downhill. As I watched them go, my brow furrowing with curiosity, I heard them muttering something to the effect of getting revenge and "revealing them for who they are" - and I went into a panic. Did these old women know we were the Stronghold? Where they even really old women? Were they sent to... goddess, had I had a closer call than I first thought? Had my life been spared only because they had seen other people on the pathway?

I was glued to the spot where I was standing till they were out of sight, and then I ran the rest of the way to the Stronghold, the main building of the University in the heart of our sprawling campus. I hardly noticed the beautiful gothic exterior or the monastery-like interior of the building as I ran inside and thudded down the halls, breathing loud and hard in fear. When I reached the public conference room, I flung open the heavy wooden doors, turned to my right so that I'd be facing the University Leaders seated in that half of the room, and shouted out incoherently: "They killed it! They KILLED it!"

I blinked as a multitude of faces stared at me - far too many people to be just the Leaders. Besides the Leaders there were students, faculty members, and even some of the janitorial staff.

When I turned to the other half of the room and saw the videocameras and surprised journalists, I immediately understood. Lately the University had been getting bad press, encouraged by the government no doubt, getting accused of things like "outdated emphasis on nature" or "out on a mission to destroy the values of our technological society" or "favoritism toward minorities" or "suspected of being connected with the Resistance." I had just interrupted a press conference meant to deflect those accusations (especially the accusation about the Resistance), and though I should have kept quiet I was too upset to do so, so I let myself babble, milking the scene for what it was worth and hoping the videocameras would record it all.

I was so furious and upset over the killing of my friend's fern that I started crying as I told the Leaders what had happened, and I went on to say that we had to do something - we had to, or our University would be wasting too much time and energy trying to prevent such hateful actions and hateful press, time and energy that would be better off spent for us in learning and bettering the planet. (Briefly I wondered if the journalists would think that my interruption was carefully contrived to help deflect the bad press, but I was too upset to be concerned that much.) I ranted about how we had gotten so much false press that now even little old ladies hated us enough to try and harrass a student and destroy one of the University's symbols. To lighten the mood and show that I was still sane, I mentioned the fact that my sunglasses had broken and I showed everyone the two pieces as I repeated the cheesy speech I had given the old women, which caused the whole conference room to laugh.

I could tell I had made an impact on the journalists, which pleased me, but I also saw that the Leaders, most of whom were placid creatures who liked to deny reality, hadn't taken me seriously. They knew that what I was really trying to tell them was that I had just had a run-in with people trying to sabotage the Stronghold, but the look in their eyes said quite plainly: "James Han is just being paranoid again."

Sure enough, as the laughter died down, one of the Leaders let out a superficially urbane/indulgent chuckle and told me very nicely to sit down, now that I was finished, and that they'd look in to the matter later, and they appreciated it greatly that I let them know.

Disgruntled, I put on a fake smile and quietly joined the group of Leaders, students, and staff. I sat far in the back so the videocameras wouldn't see my face, and when I was sure that no one from the other half of the room could see me I dropped the smile and muttered about how the threat WAS real, and that the women had said that they'd expose us for who we are. I thought that I hadn't said that loud enough for people to hear, but then a girl with straight, chin-length auburn hair and large green eyes turned to me and asked me if I was serious.

With a start I realized I was sitting next to the girl who was one of the Stronghold's top spies, and an expert in law and politics to boot. I told her that I had never been more serious, and after giving me a look she stood up and told me to follow her.

The girl had good timing: when I stood up the rest of the room did as well, and most of the journalists, students, and staff started filing out of the room. I realized then that my interruption had come at the very end of the meeting.

In the half of the room where the journalists had been, the walls were bare and stark-white, but in the half where I had been sitting the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookcases of an old, dark wood, filled to the brim with books both ancient and modern. The girl led me to a section of the bookcases, and as I admired the selection of literature, she pulled out a tiny green law book, no bigger than the palm of her hand. She flipped through a few pages and then shut the book decisively, smiling at me with grim satisfaction and speaking in a low tone:

"It's alright, you have nothing to worry about. Those two old women might be able to press slander charges against us and they might press charges against you for harassing two sweet old ladies, cause a lot of jurors won't believe that two old ladies tried to mug a healthy University boy, but it says right here," and she waved the book about, "that they can't touch us, and THEY'RE the ones who'd be in trouble for destroying our historical property, which the fern is... or was... technically a part of even if it was a new addition to the campus. So you don't have to worry about yourself or the University."

I sighed, even more frustrated - she hadn't gotten the point. I lowered my voice a bit and said, "It's not the University I'm worried about, it's what the University is meant to conceal - they said they'd expose us for WHO WE ARE."

Her eyes widened with comprehension, and I nearly cheered in relief. I could tell she was now as worried/scared as I was, but she casually put the book back (in a spot different from where she had taken it out, I noted) and said in a slightly raised voice: "Maybe we should talk about this over lunch tomorrow." I nodded, getting the hint, and I raised my voice too, saying, "Yeah, it'd be nice if you could give me some advice on my term paper."

As I said this, a tall, blond man who was one of the few journalists who had stayed behind came over to us from the other half of the room and said to me quietly: "Come with us."

I blinked. "Us"? Did he mean him and the girl? I turned toward her and she nodded, so I motioned for him to lead the way and I followed him back to the other half of the room. The girl trailed behind me.

When we got there we stood facing a wall with our backs to everyone else, ostensibly admiring something on a table in front of us, and while we were in this position he slipped me a picture of a girl. He told me that the girl was vital to the Stronghold's power but had been missing for nearly a week, that the two old women I had run into were actually young male members of the sabotage group in disguise, and that the two "women" knew where the girl was. He thanked me for the timely interruption, and said that the two sabotagers were already being tracked down.

As I handed the picture back to him and we turned around, the journalist's assistant came up to us, talking very loudly about how he had the new custom shirt design that his boss had wanted for the press banquet next week. I stared in disbelief as the assistant handed the "journalist" a piece of white paper cut out in the shape of a dress shirt. To everyone else in the room, it probably did look like the perfect model of a dress shirt in miniature size, but I was standing right next to the man and I could see various symbols and instructions on the paper - written on the paper were the plans for a new type of gun. Even the folding on the paper sleeve "cuffs" were actually reference measurements for the gun barrel.

I smiled in sheer appreciation of the deception - everyone else in the room was taking no notice of this no-name journalist looking over a custom clothing design - and walked casually back to the other side of the room.

As I walked, the Head of the Stronghold suddenly came up to talk to me. What surprised me is that he was dressed as a Native American chief, with the headdress and everything - even though I knew he was Native American I had never seen him wearing anything else but jeans and white shirts.

His eyes twinkled at me from beneath his graying eyebrows, and I could tell that although he wasn't going to say anything he had appreciated my interruption and subsequent performance. He whispered the answer to the question that was so obvious in my eyes:

"You're wondering why I'm dressed like this, right? Think about it, most of the journalists that were here today were from a rather homogenous, racist country, and at least three of them were probably spies who suspect that the University really is the Stronghold. You think they'll suspect me of being the Head if I'm dressed like some old, grumpy Indian chief? If I was dressed in my jeans and shirt they might be suspicious of me cause I'd look conspicuous and because the University and the Resistance are both known for helping minorities, but dressed like this they probably think I'm a stupid janitor the Leaders dressed up to make me look important or one of the eccentric students the University is known for accepting.

"So this is more conspicuous than me dressing the way I normally do, but this way, those bigoted little journalists will see this outfit and assume that I, the grumpy Indian chief, couldn't have a brain any better than that of a horse, let alone that of the Head of the Stronghold! Hell, they'd probably think my mother is a horse!" He chortled good-naturedly at the lameness of it all, and I smiled ruefully at him, appreciative of the cleverness of his ruse, yet saddened by its necessity and the reason why it worked.

I was about to say something when I noticed three cute guys watching us from a distance, blatantly/rudely staring. I knew those three guys, and they frustrated me to no end, as they were the type of male whom I didn't know if I should be totally repulsed by or totally attracted to. I decided to leave the conference room, as I didn't want to see them.

Therefore I put my hand on the Head's shoulder, trying to convey my love and respect for him and his work through that contact, and excused myself, leaving the room and walking down the hall to my room, thankful that the distance to it was short. I was feeling quite relieved and cheery overall as I walked: the two "old women" would soon be caught, their motives and secrets would be revealed, and the impression I got was that my actions had actually saved the Stronghold from what could have been a major disaster.

My good humor faltered when I noticed that the door to my room was wide open and the lights were on inside. As I had my own room and always kept my door locked (as all Stronghold members are taught to do), I grew frightened again as I approached my door, walking at a slower, more reluctant pace. Fearing the worst, I went up to the open doorway and looked in.

The three guys who had been in the conference room were now inexplicably in my room - one sat on my bed, another was sitting on the floor, and the last one was at my desk and had apparently been going through my personal computer console. They were all staring at me, smirking at me with expressions of anticipated debauchery, and I blushed, feeling the same alert restlessness of spring that I felt when I was walking up the path to the Stronghold. I stood there, staring back, absently noting that my senses were suddenly heightened, and I waited for one of them to make a move, to say something or do something.

However, nothing happened. Nobody made a move or a sound or said anything, and the three of them continued to leer at me as I stared back for what seemed like an eternity.

Then, I woke up.

Fifteen minutes after I awoke, I started typing out my dream.