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The school’s campus is old-fashioned “Soviet.” There are roughly twenty private cottages, with ample spacing, within a wooded area surrounded by a tall spiked fence; a comfortable dining facility, classrooms, and labs sprawl across a ten-acre medical complex. No outsiders welcome – or allowed. Perhaps because of my test scores, I have a cottage close enough to the sea to hear waves lapping. And, I’m given special privileges to move around. The parcel of fenced-in land which contains the school has defined boundaries, and guests need approval to leave. On-property mingling is discouraged but allowed, as some classes require multiple students, and the dining hall is open 24/7. There is little to do, no televisions in the rooms, and no cell towers close to the property.

My orders this week are to gain the trust of the American general, who I suspect may one day father my daughter. At least predicted so by the beautiful woman in my dream, who might have been me in a hospital bed five years from now. That’s a lot for a simple girl to digest. Good thing I’m not a simple girl.