"I don't care," the Producer said petulantly. "This kind of bumbling inefficiency has gone far enough. It'll do 'em good to get crushed in the Traffic for a change--" Frick paled, obviously disturbed by the severity of the punishment the Producer was meting out. Only the lowest ranks of employees, the non-executives, the factory people, were forced to suffer the indignities of the Jam. "I'm sure they'll get that fellow," Frick said. "After all, T.D.--how far can he get? When he gets out of the forest, he'll reach the Studio Barrier, and he'll be stopped. Simple as that." "And what if he finds the exit?" Frick scoffed, "Well, the odds on that--" "Odds? Don't talk to me about odds, Frick!" The Producer winced as man and brontosaurus came together on the screen. There was a closeup of the man's face, and his expression wasn't pretty when he saw the imitation beast. But of course, he couldn't know it was harmless-- "The letters!" the Producer groaned. "The complaints! I can see 'em now--" The office door opened. A pretty redhead with vacant eyes and a frozen smile poked her head inside. "What is it, Miss Stitch?" "Will you take a call from Mr. Manford? Phonescreen Seven." "You bet I will," the Producer said menacingly. Frick lowered the fidelivision sound and flicked on P.S. 7 with a few efficient motions. The face of Joe Manford, the Director of the night's _Thrill Show_, was haggard, despite the jovial smile. "Hi, T.D.," he said. "Been watching the show?" "Yes, Joseph," the Producer said gravely. "Oh." The smile faded, but only for a moment. "Well, nothing to worry about. Our boys will have that fellow rounded up in a few minutes. Can't imagine how that got fouled up. But that's the _Thrill Show_ for you. Full of surprises." "Is that a fact?" said the Producer. He picked up the butt of his hookahmatic and sipped smoke calmly. "I presume this fellow was fully authorized before you put him on?" "Oh, yes," Manford said hastily. "He passed the routine FCC physical, and had the usual adrenalin and hypnomecholyl dose. I mean, you saw the girl didn't you? She was _fine_, wasn't she?" He beamed. "Yes," said the Producer. "She certainly was fine." Frick stirred uncomfortably behind him. "Anyway," the Director continued, "we're dropping in the dinosaur film--that's always good for a few shivers--and we've sent a crew into the Studio to get that man out of there--" The Producer nodded his head toward his assistant. "Frick," he said, eyes on Manford. "You tell him." Frick stepped into range. He cleared his throat and looked at the floor. "There'll be a meeting after the show," he mumbled. "Meeting?" Manford said. "What for?" He blinked, and looked at Frick's bowed head. Then he looked dazed. "You don't mean a--a _live_ meeting?" Frick nodded. The Producer puffed contentedly on his hookahmatic. He blew a smoke ring, and it puffed itself to pieces against the phonescreen. * * * * *