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.
The blank-faced robots had held him, gently, but firmly in their rubbery 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!"