“Why were you working on a typewriter?” I ask. Computers have spell-check. I’d think that would be useful.

“I asked the same question the first time I saw them and got seriously annoyed each time I was asked to retype lists because I had to make just one change.” She adjusted her glasses. “Since then, I’ve learned low tech is reliable. It can’t get hacked or traced. We use the typewriters for the official day-to-day stuff because it’s safer for everyone involved. In the early years, a lot of Stewards got caught because they were connected to the internet. We learned the hard way that the only chance we have to survive is to stay off the grid. There are too many Marshals out on the streets looking for us. We’re determined to avoid them and to stay alive.”

After what happened at school, I sort of understand the concern. “But you still have computers and printers.”

She shoves her glasses up on her nose. “The computers that are used here in the Lyceum are old models. They don’t have webcams and they can’t be hooked up to any networks. They are as safe as they come.”

“Well, if they aren’t on networks, why not use them for everything?” I ask.

“We siphon off power for the lights from the buildings on the street above us. The rest of the Lyceum is powered by generators. Conserving that energy is high on the Head Engineer’s priority list. So . . .” She looks at her hands and sighs. “Smudges from re-inking ribbon are a small price to pay in the fight for freedom.”

“Fight for freedom.” Those words are stirring, but I still don’t understand how what the Stewards are doing will change anything or even if things really should be changed.

“Renu?” I ask quietly. “Atlas said you’ve been doing this for six years. If it’s dangerous, why are you doing it? Was your life that bad?”

“I get why you’d think that, but no. My life . . . the life I thought I had . . . was good,” she says. “I was a history teacher at DePaul University, which means I got to teach the classes most of the other faculty weren’t interested in. World History 101. That kind of thing. I loved it even if my students weren’t always enthusiastic. One of the more established professors came and observed me teaching. He was a legend in the department and I was really nervous. After the class was over he waited for the students to leave and asked me if I thought about whether the words chosen for our texts were as important as the information they conveyed.” She laughs. “I could have given him an honest answer and said not really. Instead I wanted to impress him, so I did some song and dance about how history is always told by those who write the books and the words they chose were clearly of importance to them, but that the information they convey is far more important than the turn of phrase they use. He smiled at me and shuffled away.