The hypnosis and the slight surgery that had made Bartol into an almost perfect replica of the Autarch of Apollyon had taken nine days. And on the ninth day, he had made the balcony speech in which he had formally accepted the challenge of the BSA. One attempt had already been made on his life. The rules of the Benevolent Society of Assassins were strict. One man and one man only was permitted to attempt the assassination of the Autarch. If he succeeded, he became Autarch. If he did not--he died. Success depended partly on the loyalty of the Peace Administration. If its Commander were inefficient, weak, or disloyal, the Autarch might die. But an Autarch always killed the old Commander, so there was no chance of disloyalty. But inefficiency, stupidity, and weakness were another matter. The first attempt on his life had failed. But there would be more. Bartol stood there, resplendent in his uniform, while the Commander watched the screens. There were about a dozen androids in the room, moving here and there, dispatching orders as the Commander gave them. Finally, the Commander turned. His face looked quite calm. "The BSA androids have started their attack on the Palace. My own androids are holding them off so far, of course, but that is only part of the diversion. The real, human assassin may get into the Palace by trickery. After that, it will be up to you." He walked over to an arms cabinet. "Your personal equipment is here. Force-field belt, cutter beam--everything. And may I say--good luck." A moment later, Bartol was seated in the private citadel of the Autarch himself, waiting for a murderer to come after him. He rubbed his temples, trying to think. There was something he was supposed to do. What? It kept nagging at the corner of his mind, but it wouldn't come out into the open. Damn the Commander and his hypnotic compulsions! What was it he kept trying to remember? Something he _must_ remember! It was something about the Galactic League--was it something the Commander had told him? The Galactic League was made up of some of the most powerful governments in the Galaxy. Their sole law, throughout the Galaxy, was that any planet could have the kind of government it wanted, except a government imposed by force. And yet, the League never enforced that law--at least not by using space battleships and atomic bombs. They could send directives and remonstrances, but the Autarchs of Apollyon had been ignoring those for fifty years, and would go right on doing so. * * * * * Bartol shook his head again. He couldn't remember what was so important about the League. Probably some order that the Commander had given him which would become operative at a crucial moment. It was more deeply buried in his subconscious than the other orders. The little speaker imbedded in his ear crackled. "Autarch! There's a disturbance on the fifth level! The assassin has entered the Palace!" It was the Commander's voice.