He came closer and saw that it was a broadsword. He paused. "Who are you?" he said. She looked up at him, her expression savage. "You're here!" she said. He took a step forward, and the voice spoke once more. "_Kill her and you go free._" "No!" he shouted. "_Kill him and go free_," said the voice. The girl put her head in her arms. Her shoulders shook. He walked towards her and she screamed. "No, please!" he said painfully. "I won't hurt you. Why should I hurt you?" She looked at him narrowly. Her hand tightened around the handle of the sword. "_You_ know why," she accused. "You must trust me," he said. He put his hand out gently to her. She backed away from his touch, and leaped off the log. She moved away cautiously, gripping the weapon with both hands. "_Use the sword_," said the voice. "_Strike, and go free._" She trembled, and lifted the sword from the ground. The man whirled, eyes penetrating the forest for an escape route. He backed up, and fell over a trailing root. "_Now_," said the voice. "_Strike!_" The girl moved towards him hypnotically. "I hate you.... I hate you ..." she moaned. She lifted the blade high, and the man lashed out with his foot as she towered over him. The broadsword flew from her grasp. "_Now kill her_," said the voice. "_And you can go free._" "I WON'T!" he shouted again. He scrambled to his feet and made a dive for the weapon. He took it in his hand and waved it threateningly at the surrounding woods. "Come out! Come out!" he screamed. The eyes of the forest blinked back at him in silence. He flung the sword from his hand, as if in loathing. Then he crashed into the forest once more. * * * * * The Producer gurgled through his hookahmatic. Frick, his assistant, recognized this symptom of official disgust, and jumped to his feet. "Turn it off!" the Producer said, gesturing towards the fidelivision screen. Frick turned it off. "No, leave it on," the Producer moaned, peeping at the white oblong through his chubby fingers. "Let's see what Manford does in _this_ pickle." Frick turned it on. "He'll probably drop in the dinosaur film," he said. "If he does, I get a new Director," the Producer answered in a rumbling voice. "He's used that spot three times in the past month." The fidelivision flashed. A screaming red title dripped bloodily across the screen. "MAN AGAINST DINOSAUR!" it said. The Producer's angry cry almost drowned out the horrific roar of the live-prop brontosaurus that appeared. "Meeting, meeting!" he cried. "We're going to have a staff meeting--right after the show!" "A _live_ meeting?" Frick gasped. "A live one," the Producer said. "Everybody here--right here--in person! This is an emergency!" "Gosh, T.D.--" Frick frowned disapprovingly. "That's kind of rough, isn't it? I mean, a phonescreen session would be a lot simpler. It'll take hours for Manford and the rest of 'em to get through the Jam."