the hall.

* * * * *

Ellaby clutched the doorframe for support. He was breathing raggedly
now, as if he'd run all the great length of the corridor, sprinting
with monsters behind him. He rubbed the shoulder of his tunic against
his damp brow and entered the room.

A man Ellaby's own size was sitting there, viewing a 3D. When he heard
Ellaby at the door he got up. He looked very unhappy as Ellaby
pointed the blaster at him. He said, "So soon?"

"They said you would try wiles, trickery, deceit," Ellaby recited.
"You won't fool me."

"You think I'm the Dictator? You're going to kill me? That's very
funny. I know, you see. I know."

"Stand back!" Ellaby screamed.

"I assure you, I am not the Dictator any more than you will be--"

The Dictator's face dissolved in a red, jelly-like smear as Ellaby
pulled this trigger of his blaster.

He spent the next ten minutes being very ill.

Afterwards, they were very efficient. They carted the body away and told
Ellaby all he had to do was ring for food or drink or anything he wanted.
Occasionally, he would sign some papers. Occasionally--masked--he might be
asked to review a parade.

And all at once, sitting alone in the room with its pleasant view, it
came to Ellaby. He passed no judgment, but he understood--and he was
afraid.

The masses ruled, thought Ellaby, hardly knowing what the phrase
meant. The system was self-perpetuating, and revolution couldn't
change it. The common man--men like Ellaby--had come into his own, for
once and for all time.

The man Ellaby had slain was no Dictator. He had tried to tell Ellaby
that before he perished. Now Ellaby had taken his place. Ellaby was no
Dictator, either.

But he would do until the next one came along.

THE END

* * * * *

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dictator, by Milton Lesser

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