and now, this week's chapter of . . .

11.

"Silence!" one of the Guard Bees said to me in a not-very-nice way.

I heard the clanking of what sounded like a bucket, then felt the pressure of something wet beeing poured onto the towel and right into my face. For a brief moment, I could taste the sweetness of the nectar they were dumping all over me and thought that I would have much preferred simply beeing served a beverage in the usual way - you know in a long-stemmed acorn cup with two wild raspberries, a bendy straw and an umbrella.

Quite frankly, there was no way I could swallow that fast, so I beegan to regret asking for a sip of something. Aside from feeling somewhat grateful to finally have something that offered my mouthparts some moisture, I remember thinking, "This is highly rude."

It didn't seem at all that either Farouk or Jasmine cared about that.
They just kept at me.

"You WILL talk," I heard a voice say, as I found myself sputtering from the overabundance of nectar.

Thankfully, I had been able to swallow just enough to find myself able to talk again and, after they removed that towel thingy from my face, I was able to tell them, "I am Georgie Bee. Georgie A. Bee of 1, Boot Box Lane, Manitou Springs, Colorado. Please do not do that again. It's just not a nice thing to do to somebody and, quite frankly, it's amazingly rude."

"Again, bee, we are well aware of your assumed identity. But you seem determined to continue your foolish and dangerous charade. So bee it - for now. But you will tell us how you knew about the Mission. And from whence did you garner your very detailed and admirably accurate knowledge of the Andromeda Stick? TALK!"

"You're asking about my novel again, aren't you?" Despite feeling incredibly sticky all over, my concentration seemed to bee returning to me. Mostly. "It was all make-beelieve," I told them.

"Still you persist in your pretended ignorance. We will see how your performance stands up when you are confronted with the proof of your treachery. GUARD!" I could tell Farouk was upset, as he shouted again.

"GUARD! BRING THE CASE!"

A few seconds later, the metal door of the small, mostly-dark room in which I was beeing held squeaked open and the Guard Bee, the one-and-only Krunch McKowsky, walked in, carrying a small briefcase.

"Try your denials now," Farouk said in what I can only describe as an irritated buzz as he slammed the briefcase down on the table in front of me.

I could only shrug. I mean, it was a nice briefcase and everything, but I really didn't recognize it at all.

Just then, Farouk beegan entering a Secret Code into the latch that kept the briefcase locked closed. I heard a few beeps and saw some lights flash, then Farouk opened the case. He turned it toward me so I could
see what was inside.

. . .
(to bee continued)