ACROSS TOWN, in the Manhattan studios of Fox TV, Tammy Terrill was getting ready for the interview of her career. It would be live. It would be real. And it would be a TV first.
She could hardly sit still through makeup. But she had to look her best. Fox was almost behind her now.
The majors would be after her by this time tomorrow, and may the highest bid win.
Rushing to the studio, she bumped into Clyde Smoot, who said, "Tam, this had better be good. I wanted you in tall cotton not under hot lights."
"Don't sweat it. It's going to be better than good. It's going to be spectacular."
Taking her seat at the Fox anchor desk, Tammy checked her lavaliere mike and waited for the red tally light that would tell her she was live.
The bumblebee was hiding under the desk. On cue, it would emerge and alight on the desk. Then the interview would begin. And so would Tammy Terrill's national career as a media superstar.
The spooky theme music trailed off into an appropriately long, sinister organ sting.
When the tally light came on, Tammy looked back at the camera with her cool blue gaze and said in her most self-important voice, "This is Tamara Terrill. And this is 'The Tamara Terrill Report.'" She took a breath. "Tonight, with America's heartland under siege and pocked with devastated crop circles, and with killer bees swarming in our major cities, Fox News Network brings you an exclusive that will rock the news world, and the world that watches the news."
The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Tammy lifted the bee onto the desk. It sat there.
"A being known only as Bee-Master has thrown down the gauntlet and is demanding to be heard. And Fox, the news network of the coming millennium, is the only network brave enough to give this mystery man a hearing."
Tammy flashed the quiet bee the okay sign. The bee stirred on its tiny feet.
"With me now is what might appear to be a common, ordinary bumblebee. But is it?"
The bumblebee jumped up into the lights and circled Tammy's head once.
"No. This is no ordinary bee. But a death's-head super-killer bee. But even that is not the entire incredible story."
The bee dropped back onto the desk and faced Tammy. The camera dollied in on the skull imprinted on its back.
"This bee," continued Tammy, "is an emissary of the Bee-Master, and through its own tiny bee voice we will hear what the Bee-Master has to say and how this will affect the future of civilization." Under her breath, Tammy added, "Not to mention my career..."
Tammy picked a microphone off the desk and pointed it at the bee. "Mr. Bee, speak your piece. America is listening."
The bee started to speak.
Later, there were those who denied the bee ever spoke. Or who swore that Tammy Terrill was practicing a cheap form of ventriloquism.
But at that moment, all over America, millions of viewers heard a tinny amplified voice that said clearly, "I bring mankind greetings from the Bizarre Bee-Master, King of all Insects."
"Is that anything like the King of all Media?" Tammy quipped.
The bee didn't reply. For a moment, Tammy thought she had offended the bee. So she asked, "Tell us about the Bee-Master."
The bumblebee just sat there.
Tammy said, "Go ahead. We're listening. We're live."
The bee just sat there.
Face frowning, Tammy nudged it with the mike.
The bee fell over. Its tiny legs stuck up stiff and lifeless in the air.
And seeing her great moment dispersing like pixels in a blown TV tube, Tammy attempted another broadcast first. She tried to give the bee mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
All she succeeded in accomplishing was to accidentally swallow her guest interviewee.
In the control booth, there was a collective groan.
Coughing violently, Tammy gasped, "We-we seem to be having ...technical...difficulties."
The set went black. So did the career of Tammy Terrill, AKA Tamara.
Chapter 48
A week later, Remo was waiting for the doorbell to ring when the telephone rang instead.
"I have determined the identity of the Bee-Master," said the lemony voice of Harold W. Smith.
"Okay. But hurry up. I have a hot date."
"His real name was Palmer Pym," said Smith.
"Wait a minute. That's the real Bee-Master's real name. I mean, the fictitious one's real name."
"Peter Pym is a nanoscientist attached to UCLA. His diaries have been found. Evidently, as a young boy he discovered a Bee-Master comic book and, struck by the coincidence of their shared name, he resolved to become Bee-Master in real life when he grew up. He studied biology and biochemistry, but his plans were frustrated when he discovered it was impossible to commune with insects through electronic means. And further, that he was highly allergic to bee stings. So Pym pursued other avenues. In time, he was attracted to the field of nanotechnology, and there realized that his dream was not impossible after all. He needn't communicate with actual bees if he could instead create obedient artificial bees of his own."
"That is the nuttiest thing I ever heard," Remo exploded, looking at a wall clock. Jean was due at any moment.
"Nevertheless, it is true. Pym set out on a campaign to wage war on those who had waged war on the insect world, starting with Doyal T. Rand. His nanomites, as he called them, were created to demonstrate his power. But he was unable to make his demands public because his chosen vehicle refused to cooperate."
"Who was that?" asked Remo, not really caring and instead wondering what was keeping his date.
"The publisher of the Sacramento Bee."
"Well, that makes sense in a moronic kind of way," said Remo.
"Instead, he chose Tammy Terrill."
"Yeah. And we know what happened there."
"Your timing was fortunate. She has been so professionally embarrassed she is unlikely to resurface again. More importantly, the Bee-Master menace is over. There has been not a single attack since you vanquished Pym. All his equipment and insects we have found have been destroyed. I have so informed the President."
"Well, all's well that ends," grunted Remo, looking out the window for the zillionth time.