The voice came over the intercom. "Hey Annie, I got another pilgrim down here."

"Another one? Haven't we had our quota for the year?"

"I guess not. This girl claims to be on a lifelong quest to find us."

"A lifelong quest, eh? How old is she?"

The voice grew soft. "How old are you, honey?" The reply was inaudible. Then the voice came back strong. "Says she's twelve. Looks younger, though."

Annie laughed gently. "All right, send her up. We've taken younger ones than that in the past."

In a moment the elevator began to hum. Annie sat back and waited. The humming grew louder and then stopped, as the doors opened. The girl lingered in the elevator, peeking out nervously. "If you stay in the elevator, the doors will close and you'll go back down again. Better come out," Annie said.

The girl stepped cautiously out, as if the floor might give way beneath her. She stayed close to the wall, and far away from Annie.

"What's your name?" Annie called from across the large room. The girl looked up, startled, but said nothing. Her eyes got so big that they threatened to engulf her face.

Annie stood up slowly. "You've searched for us your whole life. You must have imagined this moment a thousand times. And in your mind you say such witty things, and I know right away that you are no ordinary student. Yet in reality you stand tongue-tied, pressed against the wall, like a frightened rabbit. I don't know if you have the courage to be a scribe."

Color came into the girl's face. She pressed her lips together and marched across the room to stand in front of Annie. Her eyes said, I dare you to send me away.

Annie motioned the girl into a chair and sat down herself. "That's better," said Annie. "I thought all you needed was a challenge, and I was right. Now, let me ask again. What's your name?"

The answer was no more than a whisper: "Sarah."

"Sarah?"

The girl dipped her head in a quick nod.

"Very well, then, Sarah. Tell me, why are you here?"

Sarah, silent, glanced around nervously.

"There's no one listening. You can speak freely, you know."

Sarah laughed softly, humorlessly. "No, I don't know," she said in a tone so low it was as if she spoke to herself.

"No, you're right. One can't be too careful. But I assure you, this room is not bugged. We check it often. There's no bug here unless you brought it yourself."

"No, of course not!" Sarah's face assumed a look of shock. Annie hoped it was genuine.

"All right then. So, why are you here?"

Sarah took a deep breath and settled into her chair. "I . . . heard the rumors in my hometown. That . . . some of the stories in the magazines are written by a . . . rebel organization. I admire the stories and I've always wanted to create stories of my own, but . . . but I couldn't even form the letters properly." Her face showed pain. "There was a woman in town who wrote for the magazines. One day I went to her and asked her to teach me to write. But she said she wasn't allowed to do that, and if she did she would lose her government contract. I pleaded with her, saying I wouldn't tell anyone about it, and finally she told me, in a whisper, that there was a place where I could learn to write. Where I could learn handwriting, and even have my own writing machine. I asked her if that was the rebel organization, and she said no, it was the government writing school, but as she said it, she put her finger to her lips and nodded. So I knew, then, that she was one of the rebels. She drew me part of a map showing me how to get here. But the map was never finished because when I came back the next day, her house was a wreck and she was gone. That's when I knew that I had to get out of town as soon as possible. I packed a few things and left that same day. My parents were gone, so I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. And I was too scared to leave a message." She paused, as if remembering anew that she was a fugitive. "I've been wandering a month or more. It feels like a lifetime. Living on the street. Not getting enough to eat. Finally when I got to this town, I started hearing the rumors again, and then I saw a map of the town, and it fit with my partial map, and I found my way here." She smiled sadly and looked at Annie. "I want to learn to write. I want to help the cause. I'm willing to give everything I have, including my life if I have to."

Annie chuckled. "Your enthusiasm is admirable. But no one asked you to be a martyr. You are very young, and it is far better that you should live for our cause than die for it." Her smile widened. "I think I will take you on as a student. You show great promise."

Sarah exhaled. "Thank you."

Annie leaned back in her chair. "We may as well begin lessons immediately. First of all, what do you know about the government prohibition on writing?"

"Nothing. Well, almost nothing."

"Then I'll begin at the beginning. Once, there were many books and stories. More than you could ever read in a lifetime. But many of them were thought to be dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"Books that might offend people or, worse, force them to change their thinking. So those were banned. Then, when the current government came to power, almost all the other books were banned, especially if they would remind people of how it was in the good old days. Then the government took over the publishing industry, and stopped teaching writing in schools, only reading. And anyone who wrote had to work for the government, or else give up writing entirely. The result has been generations of schoolchildren who can recite the alphabet but can't write their own names. And books and magazines that are entirely controlled by the government. Well, almost entirely. That's where we come in. We work from within the system. Our scribes write for the government magazines. But they slip in ideas and references that can get past the censors, but might just inspire people to rebel. One can even write stories about rebellions and uprisings, as long as the rebels lose at the end. That way the government feels that the people see that rebellion would be useless. You have to be very careful, but really you can slip a lot past the censors. Are you understanding this?"

Sarah nodded quickly. "It's kind of a lot to take in, though."

"Yes, of course it is. But you seem to be a bright girl. You'll do fine. Do you read a lot?"

Sarah smiled. "Yes, I love to read."

"Then you ought to be able to learn writing very quickly. Just a few lessons in grammar, spelling, and sentence structure, and some lessons in typing, and you'll be well on your way. You'll serve an apprenticeship with one of our best scribes, and then start submitting your own work. Of course, for the first few years, you'll write only stories that the censors could have no problem with. Pure entertainment, no ulterior motives. That way the government will trust you, and be less likely to notice when you put in seditious themes."

"When will I get to write stories about rebellion?"

"It's hard to say. Some of our scribes get scared and write ordinary stories their whole life. Others try to slip too much past the censors, and those scribes . . . have a tendency to disappear. You have to maintain a delicate balance. For instance, any mention of 'the good old days' is likely to get your story rejected, along with a written warning."

"But if you can't get much past the censors, how can you make a difference?"

"We just have to hope that someone out there reads our stories and sees something the censors missed. People do occasionally, and sometimes they find their way here, and help carry on the work. The rumors of this place do get around, despite all the government does to prevent it."

Sarah had a look of deep concentration. "But if the people come here and write for the government, they're not out in the world rebelling. Is that what you really want?"

Annie smiled patiently. "A few rebels aren't likely to make a difference. But if we can inspire many people, even if it takes generations . . ."

Sarah interrupted. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's Annie. I write under the name Anne Brown."

"I've seen your work. In the magazines."

"What did you think of it?"

"Very entertaining. But nothing seditious about it."

Annie's smile grew condescending. "Of course, nothing that a child like you would notice. I'm very careful."

Sarah stood up. "Well, I don't want to be careful. Thank you for showing me what to do. I understand now that I was wrong to come here." She began to walk toward the elevator.

"Sarah, wait! Don't you want to learn how to write?"

"I'll teach myself, if I have to."

"So you're leaving?"

"Yes." Sarah kept walking.

Annie's voice echoed through the room ominously. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that."

"Why not? What's keeping me here?" Sarah pressed a button to summon the elevator.

"Well, for one thing, I've disabled the elevator."

Sarah turned around, her face white.

"Is there any way we can work this out?" Annie's smile was as sweet as honey as she advanced on Sarah.

"I don't think so, no." Sarah stood her ground firmly.

"That's too bad. I did have such high hopes for you. Hopes that all that rebellious energy could be channeled in harmless ways. It works with most. The rebels feel like they're doing something useful, when in fact they're working against themselves." Annie stopped at a small table, opened the box that lay there and took out a syringe filled with liquid. "Please, don't bother screaming for help. This room is soundproofed. Just in case. Let's be sincere with each other. I'm offering you a choice. Do you understand what the choice is?"

"I think so, yes." Sarah's tone was bitterly ironic. "I work for you -- and the government -- or else."

"I'm glad we understand each other. Now is the time to find out if your offer of martyrdom still stands."

Sarah crossed her arms defiantly. "It does."

"Very well, if that's the way you want it." Annie shook her head. "Young people are so idealistic. It's a shame, really. All right. Hold out your arm and make a fist."

Sarah did, bravely.

Annie peered at her arm. "You have good veins."

"Thank you."

As the needle slipped into her arm, Sarah said, "I can't believe I was such a fool."

Annie smiled, almost tenderly. "You are not a fool. You're very smart. I feel privileged to have known you. But it's time for our relationship to come to an end."

Sarah fell to the floor. Annie pressed a button on the intercom. "Are you there? This one didn't work out, I'm afraid."

The voice responded. "Shall I come fetch the body?"

"Yes, right away."

While Annie waited, she took a piece of folded paper out of her own pocket, bent over Sarah, and slipped it into Sarah's pocket.

The elevator came up and the small man stepped out. He lifted Sarah and put her over his shoulder. "What should I do with her?"

"Put her out back, for now. We'll report it later."

The man gave her an odd look but went back into the elevator, staggering under the weight of Sarah's body. The doors closed and the elevator went down. Annie stood, staring into space. "Forgive me," she whispered. "I couldn't see any other way."

She walked over to the small table and looked into the box. There was the other syringe, the one with the lethal dose. She picked it up and toyed with it, then put it back, reminding herself of what she had said to Sarah, that it was better to live for a cause than to die for it. She hoped that when Sarah came to, she'd have enough sense to get away. And hopefully she'd find the piece of paper in her pocket: the map to the real rebel headquarters. The one no rumors would tell her of, because the rumors were started by the government.