Kill Me If You Can! By S. M. Tenneshaw 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 struggled silently against the implanted hypnotic commands, but it did no good. He waved and smiled. And the crowd cheered automatically for their Autarch. And then the energy bolt slammed against the metaglass window that separated him from the cheering crowds. It only took a fraction of a second 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 into a tubular chute that slanted back into the Grand Palace. The beam sizzled hotly above his head, filling the balcony with blue-white light, and then Bartol was in darkness. He was sliding down the polished metal of the chute, dropping and curving away from the balcony floor. Then, quite suddenly, a light appeared ahead of him, and he slid out of the tube onto a polished floor. The Commander was standing nearby. A half smile played over his hard, thin, gray face. "You look very undignified for the Autarch of Apollyon. 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 mind prevented him from ever denying that he was the Autarch or even acting as though he were not. The Commander knew who he was, of course. As Bartol stood up and straightened his gaudy uniform, the Commander said: "So far, we've fooled them. The Autarch will reward you handsomely for this, Bartol. You've done well." He waved at a nearby screen. "The attack has stopped already. We haven't spotted the Assassin yet--but we will eventually. "Now, if you will excuse me for a moment--" there was deep sarcasm in his voice "--I will check the progress of the search." Bartol stood there in his gaudy red-and-gold uniform, waiting for further orders from the Commander, trying to break the bonds that held his mind. It had been nine days ago that Bartol had been arrested--secretly. The android robots of the Peace Administration had come to his apartment in the middle of the night and taken him into custody. He was only a common citizen of Apollyon, and had done nothing--at least, nothing that he could remember. But instead of being taken before an ordinary Peace Administrator, he had been taken before the Peace Commander himself.