"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 

 Prev. P 3/16 next