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unprecedented and unequalled.
    But as he left the executive complex, a part of him wondered against his will whether he knew how to stop playing the role in which he had submerged himself for so long, and whether he would have had what Erickson needed within him to give.
    “Archive,” Erickson said softly, curled up alone in the viewpit of her darkened apartment.
    “Ready,” answered the netlink.
    “Terran history. Nines. Statement of purpose. Exclude references previously accessed. Primary sources if available.”
    “No contemporary primary sources available. I have twenty-four speeches by founder Eric Lange from his campaign for supervisor of Sudamerica District 5.”
    “Oldest entry. Context.”
    “Year 610 A.R. A public rally in Montevideo, Sudamerica. Estimated attendance, six thousand. Source of reference, Earthnet polinews archive.”
    “Show me,” Erickson said, settling back firmly against the cushions.
    The greatroom lights dimmed further, and a flatscreen video element in the viewpit’s broad window came to life.“There were warnings,” the image of Eric Lange said to the overflow crowd in the seedy public hall. “William Clifford, a man who would be here tonight had he not lived nearly a thousand years ago, a man who was in every way one of us, saw what was coining.
    “ ‘A race which is fixed, persistent in form, unable to change,’ he said, ‘is surely in peril of extinction. It is quite possible for conventional rules and habits to get such power that progress is impossible, and the race is fit only for death. In the face of such a danger, it is not right to be proper!’
    “Clifford was right—but no one listened. We went on taxing the winners so that losers could be made equal. We went on legitimizing the claims of the have-nots and would-nots and could-nots. We went on elevating mediocrity. And we taught our children that that was what it meant to be civilized.”
    There was a light in Lange’s eyes that seemed to burn through Erickson’s objective remove, and his voice had the compelling power of honest conviction. A powerful speaker, yes, but no demagogue, she thought. Every word spoken from the heart, every idea the product of introspection—
    “They will ask us what we stand for,” Lange said. “We will tell them. We believe in survival.” He was cheered. “They will ask us what we want. We will tell them. We want the freedom to grow.” The cheers resounded.
    “They will ask us what we offer. We will tell them. We offer change—change for the better if we can, but if not, then change for its own sake. We have a right to live in interesting times. We have a right to struggle, and if we are worthy, to greatness.”
    The. audience told him, with six thousand massed voices, that they agreed. Lange smiled an uncomfortable, embarrassed smile and waited for them to quiet.
    “They will ask us our name,” he began again softly. “And we will tell them. We are the not-average. We are the non-followers.” As he continued, his voice rose, and the sound of voices crying “Yes” rose with it to reach a roar. “We are the un-mediocre. We are the movers. We are the dreamers. We are the builders and planners. We mastered fire. We invented writing. And we colonized the stars. We are the Nines. We are the Nines. And we will not be denied our birthright.”
    The images played in Erickson’s mind long after she closed the archive file and shut off the netlink. It was still “tonight” for Lange, still the pinnacle of his triumph. There was no hint there of what would come just three months later.
    How would it be different if you hadn’t been killed, if those who reacted to your message with fear instead of cheers hadn’t dragged you from your house and silenced you? she wondered. At the very least the Nines wouldn’t have felt the need to go underground, and we would have known who we were fighting .
    Would you have approved of them as they are now? Would you have embraced the