Every five years the Autarch in power was
murdered. Bartol knew this was why he had been
picked as a stand-in for the reigning tyrant!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
June 1957
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Bartol stood on the balcony of the Grand Palace and waved, smilingly,at the throngs of people below. He couldn't help it; he struggledsilently against the implanted hypnotic commands, but it did no good.He waved and smiled. And the crowd cheered automatically for theirAutarch.
And then the energy bolt slammed against the metaglass window thatseparated him from the cheering crowds. It only took a fraction of asecond for the beam to burn through, but in that fraction of a second,the automatic protection devices took over.
Bartol dropped as the floor beneath him dissolved, plummeting him intoa tubular chute that slanted back into the Grand Palace. The beamsizzled hotly above his head, filling the balcony with blue-whitelight, and then Bartol was in darkness.
He was sliding down the polished metal of the chute, dropping andcurving away from the balcony floor. Then, quite suddenly, a lightappeared ahead of him, and he slid out of the tube onto a polishedfloor.
The Commander was standing nearby. A half smile played over hishard, thin, gray face. "You look very undignified for the Autarch ofApollyon. Get up."
But I'm not the Autarch! Bartol thought. I'm just plain Rad Bartol!
But he couldn't speak the words. The hypnotic injunction in his mindprevented him from ever denying that he was the Autarch or even actingas though he were not.
The Commander knew who he was, of course. As Bartol stood up andstraightened his gaudy uniform, the Commander said: "So far, we'vefooled them. The Autarch will reward you handsomely for this, Bartol.You've done well." He waved at a nearby screen. "The attack has stoppedalready. We haven't spotted the Assassin yet—but we will eventually.
"Now, if you will excuse me for a moment—" there was deep sarcasm inhis voice "—I will check the progress of the search."
Bartol stood there in his gaudy red-and-gold uniform, waiting forfurther orders from the Commander, trying to break the bonds that heldhis mind.
It had been nine days ago that Bartol had been arrested—secretly. Theandroid robots of the Peace Administration had come to his apartmentin the middle of the night and taken him into custody. He was only acommon citizen of Apollyon, and had done nothing—at least, nothingthat he could remember.
But instead of being taken before an ordinary Peace Administrator, hehad been taken before the Peace Commander himself.
The blank-faced robots had held him, gently, but firmly in theirrubbery hands, while the Commander had looked him over.
"Almost perfect," he had said at last.
"What am I accused of?" Bartol asked. "I demand to know the charges!"
For an instant, the Commander's face had blazed with anger. "Demand?What right has an arrested man to demand anything? As a citizen ofApollyon, it is your duty to submit to authority." Then his facesoftened. "But, come, citizen Bartol; relax. There are no charges."
"Then why—"
"No questions. You will learn."
He had learned, all right. The Commander had selected him as a doublefor the Autarch himself! Every citizen of the planet Apollyon had hismental and physical characteristics on file in the Master Records ofthe Grand Palace. To select a double for the Autarch, it was onlyneces