Within the parallels of the parralel universes Bond survived, trust me.
And now my dear Mathilde, we begin our story about a man named Bond, James Bond:
Prologue:
It was close to nightfall. Miss Goodnight had just departed her apartment on 415 Lalique Street.
The crisp and lurid sounds of soaking British torrents collapsed to the ground at a rapid and vividly loud pace, as famous English cars from every era ventured across
the pavements with old-fashioned pride.
The dirty-strikingly picturesque old quaint anachronistic elegant all-female township of L. Motleytown enveloped the lonely soul of the adventurous and crepuscular Miss Goodnight, as she slammed the door of her 1958 Aston Martin DB3-the exact model that once belonged to a very famous Formula One Grand Prix winner.
The recent migrations of spoonbills had caused a plenty a foul to run frantically, and birdwatchers had dropped their books, including the infamous "Birds of the West Indies" work of nonfiction that had befallen the ground, which Goodnight respectfully picked up and kept for herself, as she was pursued by some monarch butterflies known to frequent the town.
There was a slightly melancholy yet hopeful and comforting aura that filled the mystique of Mother Nature's air that day.
Miss Goodnight took a look at the book about birds she had picked up off the street.
"I didn't know James Bond wrote books, let alone field guides about birds, fieldwork yes, but birds?!" muttered Goodnight as she strolled through the antique and fragile town.
The town itself looked like a ghost town; albeit inhabited. Why would a ghost town be inhabited? Full of ghosts and specters of a bygone era as well as legendary
heroines.
Miss Goodnight took note of a "Let's All Fly Miss American Pie" bumper sticker attached to the vehicle parked next to her own.
It could only be that infamous ex-CIA pilot friend she missed so dearly.
Coming out of the exquisitely refined feline cave of the 1947 Jaguar XK120 was the beautiful and warm Pam Bouvier, whose mother lion-like efficiency with a gun and sleek style made her sweet and caring demeanor as well as her indoor pomedaris appetela twice as appealing to all who admired her surreptitiously stealthy independent ways. She took off her Thunderball sunglasses to reveal her strikingly powerful stunningly beautiful blue eyes as she presented herself in a classy but sexy cat-suit on loan from a lady known only as Peel.
Pam shared the same maiden name as Jackie Kennedy, and was occasionally referred to as "Mrs Kennedy" as an alias, although her hero she looked up to was in fact Amelia Earheart.
She kicked her door open, and held her gun down to her hips, before taking instant notice of her old colleague and dear friend
Mary Goodnight.
"Hello Pam. Been instructed as an operator to give you some papers" whispered Miss Goodnight. Pam and Goodnight began
exchanging their favorite brands of cigarettes' and walking down the sidewalk to 852 Shalini Street, close to Pam's house.
"Has it been tough on you? Hearing the news?" asked Pam.
"I was running, running away from the past, but I've been managing well, all things considered" replied Goodnight.
"That's good," said Pam. "Well well, Mary, how does your garden grow? Been a long time, we intelligentsia need to stick together, touch base more. What have you been doing with yourself? You know after my little Henry met Mathilde? Swann sent me some vintage Louis Jadot Chablis, or was that Lea Seydoux Chablis? Don't remember I was tipsy and seeing the warmest shade of the color blue, but come on in, take off that coat and stay a while"
Goodnight entered Pam's house. She could hear the gentle sweet hickory crackling in the fireplace along with a murderous
storm, the dichotomy of which was unquestionably romantic, if a bit unsettling.
"I made some delicious elegant macaron chocolates using my moms recipe if you want some, coats on the rack" said Pam.
"Okay, I'll make a coat deposit" said Goodnight, as she dispatched her coat on a rack that had lots of fancy outfits, including fancy top hats and disguises.
"Seems like just yesterday Vesper Lynd was here discussing her 401k plans and I was making Oolong tea for her. I miss those days, I really do, makes me teary" said Pam, reaching for a Kleenex.
"It's alright, Pam. Yes, she's quite alright. In Heaven, with Bond," replied Goodnight.
"Haven't been the same since the day the music died you know?" said Pam.
"It'll be fine. Bond has a fallout shelter way up above, and the music is still going in Heaven" replied Goodnight.
"I hope so, I mean I've seen a lot of angels fall from blinding heights, so it troubles me, please look out for yourself," said Pam.
"I will. Been helping out schoolchildren learning to read and write, showing them English with Lucy" replied Goodnight.
"Yeah, you know, whatever you gotta do" replied Pam.
"We were once the female equivalent of Bond and Felix, now we're all that's left, Pam, or should I call you Mrs. Kennedy" said Goodnight, giving Pam a shiatsu.
"Mrs Kennedy's good but I'm not one to complain. Hmmm, all that's left, such a comforting thought. Not! So, what work have you been doing?" asked Pam.
"Still spy work," replied Mary.
"Well, toothpicks of Allan Dulles, I'll be a girl with a golden gun twirl," said Pam, smirking playfully towards Goodnight as she twirled her gun in the air heartily, it landing directly back in her thigh-holster. She continued, "What sorta spy work? Still fit the cut of your jib I hope" replied Pam.
"Had to transcribe and translate the scripts of ten encrypted conversations from French to English, it was painstakingly long work. I like this town though, it's comforting to know we have a stretched out yet tightly-knit community here of like minded individuals," said Goodnight.
"Got anything for me?" asked Pam.
"I'm still an MI6 SIS Intelligence operative and I have some papers and dossiers I need to give you to recruit you for this special paperwork assignment," replied Mary.
"Yes, I'll be taking that. And how do you feel about the spy life? I sometimes miss being a pilot, so I do flight simulators with my scruffy but sweet little Henry," said Pam,
as she ran her fingers playfully through her sons hair. Her son began pining for the bottle of Chablis thinking it was soda.
"There's some Coke in the freezer, hun" instructed Pam, as she picked up her boy and kissed his head. "You get to live in a town full of girls, thank goodness it's by chance and not the law"
"He looks like a smart little bloke" said Goodnight.
"You're very observant in the cockpit, he's smarter than me sometimes, he might end up a CIA pilot too-a regular Rohn Lear. How do you feel about spywork?" asked Pam as she put on her sons Atlanta Braves hat by mistake, then replacing it with her own Pittsburgh Pirates hat without realizing it.
Pam was an avid baseball fan who liked the occasional hotdogs and sometimes found herself at odds with the other ladies in L. Motley, but everyone loves her for this exact reason and so do I.
"I love spy-work personally, it's the only thing that keeps me going. I used to work the MI5 but I was promoted recently to a bloody good position, certainly better than any position I shared with James on missions. As I said-I love to work the spy jobs" replied Mary.
"Yeah, it puts candy worms in the crisper. I got the document and the file you asked me to get so I've been a good target" replied Pam.
Pam invited Mary Goodnight into her home emblazoned with the finest ebony wood, golden pillars, statues of Apollyon, Zeus, Aphrodite, and various scarlet rugs. She seated herself down on the sofa after taking a sip of her succulent Earl Grey, but not before dispatching her high-tech tea proof laptop complete with her platinum-coated "CIA and Stuff" sticker. Her pet lizard attempted to gain control of her computer. She had inherited it after a glorious well-upholstered bust involving Franz Sanchez.
"You have a bloody Iguana, eeck, that nasty thing-does it bite?" asked Goodnight, as she backed away from the lizard as it slowly crawled about, flicking out its
tongue like a ferocious little green prize fighter from the fifties.
"No, he's a super guy, a little weird, but terrific guy. Back when James was alive and had a license to kill, I picked this little fellow up after busting open an illegal cookie cutter cocaine operation disguised as a Zen meditation center in Mexico City"
"What? Elaborate more, I'm fascinated," said Goodnight, reaching for a sandwich.
"This green guy's almost as old a friend to me as the old-fashioned cars in this town. Besides, haven't you heard? Iguanas are a girls best friend, or maybe
I'm just a tomboy who knows. Compared to you I am at least. But Iguanas? Girls best friend, at least that's what I told James before he passed" said Pam.
"Passed? I'm not so sure actually, this is most concerning, I need to go fetch some Oolong" said Goodnight.
"It's in the cupboard, be careful, there might be another Iguana in there, going after the Budweiser" joked Pam, laughing.
"Got it," said Goodnight, as she placed a teabag in her water.
"Now, let's get down to our business" said Pam.
"Okay, so I received this message from Headquarters, they want to know if it's genuine" said Goodnight, opening up her folders and papers.
She then told Pam that she would need to enter a top secret encryption key on the MI6 website in order to view the video.
"Ah, here we go. More Mac and cheese Henry? Candy worms, okay. Sorry, my son Henry's running amok with his toy lobster" explained Pam in a humorous tone.
"What? Just load the bloody file!" shouted Goodnight.
"James Bond-is ALIVE? I was never told about this! What next? JFK and Elvis are living in Honduras underground with the son of Castro?
The original fuckin' copy of Polybius? The grey aliens suspended in formaldehyde?" shouted Pam, scrunching up her nose in frustration.
"It will be the talk of the town if we all know. And we cannot let this get out, let's keep it between us. If Tatyana Romanov, or Maude Adams and
even her local sea animal governess twin sister Octopussy find out about this-can you imagine?" shouted Goodnight.
"True," replied Pam, as she crossed her long legs and took a puff from a Gurkha Majesty's Reserve.
"It's called Mr. Reed's Blanket, the CIA file. What do you make of it? You're one of the finest CIA analysts I know" said Goodnight.
"I think we're gonna have to send it to Miss Sutton for further analysis. She works at CERN but also has a second job for
our boys and girls down at CIA HQ" said Pam, shooting an email to Sutton.
An hour later...
"Thanks," said Stacy, winking at Pam and Goodnight.
"Anytime. Take that video to Q Clearance, but beware, do not get captured by enemy agents" warned Pam.
"Oh, yes, I once nearly died for a Solex transmitter, whilst listening to the words of a deranged sherrif. There's very few
worse ways to almost go" said Miss Mary Goodnight.
"Haha, indeed, to us and Bond" said Pam, raising a glass.
"To us and Bond! What do Mathilde and Henry do when they play?" asked Goodnight.
"Oh, they get together and play Goldeneye 64 not knowing it really happened" replied Pam, flapping her arm forward meticulously at the TV.
"Your Chablis is sublime, I would expect no less from Mrs. Kennedy" said Goodnight.
"Thank Madeleine not me. So is it Ice Road Truckers or Alaska Fishing Wars?" asked Pam, reaching for the TV remote.
End of Prologue
Chapter 1: The Dead are Alive, and James Bond Will Return
The fruits of ones works are never fully harvested until one is seemingly extinguished from existence.
No one pays mind to a lit candle until the moment it goes out.
But only when the candle has a wick strong enough that could withstand all the fires and waters and elements of the earth.
One might go so far as to say that when ones
works are not fully realized it would be criminal to snuff out said form of existence.
Yet some meet this cruel fate.
There is no rhyme or reason to the way the universe
is set up it simply is. Some die just to live, others live just to die.
Some say living is in the way we die, when our daylights go out.
Some say the rumor of the demise of a great man is always exaggerated.
Yet there are those who would defy all logic and laws of the universe.
Can you imagine the arduous task of avenging your own death?
Let me tell you a story of someone that did
this: He was a man. His name was Bond, James Bond.
IN AN UNDERWATER BASE SOMEWHERE IN THE CASPIAN SEA:
A heavily ornate room disguised its secrets in a dark and dimly lit opaque environment. It was a room of archives and records,
some of historical consequence others of little to no significance other than how many documents were shredded in one day versus another.
Although the true purpose of this facility was in question to the outside world, there was only one man who knew all too much
about its value. And perhaps too little as well?
"Bring her in," spoke a dark shadow that sounded as though he possessed a slightly unusual Queens accent.
Two guards brought in a feisty and spirited stramineous woman with moldavite eyes in her mid-thirties who was filled with contempt for her captors.
"We found her taking a good solid look at that island with computer visuals. She was just as curious as we were" said Monty.
"Yes, very curious," added Norman.
"I don't suppose the footage shows anyone eating unusually high-octane bacon and reading Robinson Cruso? Haha" said the shadow.
The two men just ignored this comment and laughed.
"Anything else?" asked the two men in unison.
"Monty, Norman," said the shadow, taking a puff from his cigarettes' as he lay back in a chair in front of an office desk. "You can let go of her now"
The woman brought Norman against her back, pretending she was his coquette and skillfully managed to subdue him by throwing him over her shoulder.
When Monty attempted to regain control of her and end her glorious cart-blanche, she unleashed a double-foot-sweep on him and proceeded to lower a large shelf of vials against them.
She then brushed the dust off herself and gathered her composure.
"You've certainly-changed, I must say. At least since our last tryst" said the shadow.
"We never had any trysts, Max!" said the woman.
"It's just my sense of humor Miss Sutton, you must forgive me, atomic blondes seem to effect me like a bombshell. I only brought you here with these arguably questionable means as a way of obtaining some information that would be of great benefit to the entire world" explained Max, revealing his face as that of a blonde shady sketchy French Industrialist/Nazi experiment with an even shadier sketchier past.
His mother had been injected with steroids while she was pregnant-this created the unnatural growth of an intuitive yet evil vicious madman.
In addition, his entire body was filled with injected microchips including parts of his brain, which fired off random foolish impulses of rage at times, conflicting with his intelligent side. Despite all this Max Zorin exerted a powerful and demonic authority like that of Caligula.
"Then why are you pointing that gun at me?" said a ferocious Stacy Sutton.
"It's not loaded I assure you. I'm saving my last bullet for some fish in my bathtub on a rainy evening. Really, I am, I'm literally
that kind of man. Could be worse, we could bring in the Polybius machine. Now tell me, is Bond alive?" asked Max.
"Just so you know, I got tired of using rock salt" said Stacy, slowly, stealthily, and sensually dispatching a S&W500 Smith & Wesson from her thigh holster, which was seated next to her XVR 460 Magnum high velocity revolver she used as backup.
Stacy felt she had fooled Zorin into thinking she was flirting with him.
"How resourcefully attractive, quite convenient, if only the large Smith & Wesson in your sexy hands were mine. No more rock salt? You could start then by using your brains," said Max, as he fired a blank against the wall and laughed hysterically.
"I didn't get my job at CERN for lacking discernment" said Stacy, placing a highly classified piece of electronics on the table.
"You viewed the inner core of the island with that piece of junk thing that looks like an outdated fax machine?" asked Max.
"You could say that. You can hear the faint sound of a speedboat at the end of the video, maybe some spy friend of his escorted him away" said Stacy.
"Yeah, like Ian Fleming, or maybe Tom Clancy. Peh. It looks fake, it's fake everyone. She gave us a CGI video. Looks like it was made by my grandson" said Max.
"It was made by your grandson, Max. Max Headroom!" said Stacy.
"You honestly thought that was real?" asked Max.
"I did," replied Stacy.
"It's Putin. He's playing with all of us, out of anyone I would know, he was my roommate in our KGB days, he always found me a trifle peculiar. My other roomie was Oddjob. Next they'll say the big blowjo-err-blofish is still alive, Ernst, was that his name? But, I'll subject the video to every form of analysis at my disposal. In the meantime, you're free to go. You've been more than helpful, give Mr. Pootalini my regards" said Max.
"I look forward to the day you burn in Hell" replied Stacy.
"As do I, my dear and favorite scaly sharp tongued geologist. I'd love to go down in a fiery blaze, like Bond" said Max.
"Wouldn't we all, Maxie boy?" said Stacy, as she walked away quickly but nonchalantly.
"She gets me, she's like a cobra I swear, If I was ten years younger," muttered Max under his breath.
"What?" asked Stacy, glancing back at Zorin angrily.
"Nothing of any consequence to you Miss Sutton. Be on your way" said Zorin, motioning with his hands for her to leave.
The guards slowly got up, and although they were injured they were mostly still alive and well. They signaled for their largest guard Mr. Ignatius Fernsby.
"Get her Mr. Ignatius Fernsby" shouted Max.
"Prepare to die Stacy" said a large foreboding hulkish man.
"Treat others how you want to be treated!" shouted Stacy.
"I do. I'm a masochist" replied Ignatius Fernsby.
The fearsomely fierce ferrocious Fernsby attempted to hurl Stacy to the ground, but she got up, narrowly escaped, running away for some cover behind a steel box, and she fired her gun at a barrel of explosives nearbye where Fernsby was. Luckily the walls were sealed tight and explosion proof.
"Oh really? A masochist? Then take some of this sweetheart!" Stacy said, as Fernsby the henchman was blown to smithereens.
Stacy then blew steam off her gun and left the room, clearing the perimeters of all geologist tracings.
"She was one of Bond's girls right?" said Monty.
"Yeah, she-she was a Bond girl" said Max, laughing.
"What else do you know?" asked Monty and Norman in unison.
"The Bond girls, as SPECTRE so respectfully called them-at least seem to have found a supportive niche in a town near Liverpool called L. Motley, I've been monitoring it very closely" replied Zorin.
"Stacy in particular?" asked Norman.
"She's got some kick in her. She knows Judo I wouldn't tangle with her ever again. Besides, she didn't have the real footage, I'll let her live, for now ahah!" replied Max Zorin.
"Fake? THAT footage?" asked Monty.
"Yeah-it's CGI. The video, it's CGI and the sound-it's all fake. It's not even a good deepfake, it's probably Russian propaganda" said Zorin.
"So Bond didn't escape?" asked Norman.
"I don't think so. Stacy may be a geologist but when it comes to determining the authenticity of surveillance footage she's a bag of rocks, in more ways than one" said Max.
"Don't you think someone will find this pelagic party-house one way or another? I mean it's not like we're invisible," said Monty.
"No, no-we're invisible. Harder to detect than the dome out in Omaha. You know we're the result of more than just good breeding here,
good cloning as well. Adrian Malprave can attest to that" said Max. A tall feminine silhouette began massaging the shoulders of Max Zorin.
"There's always time in a day for a good laugh, I always tell myself if a failure brings you laughter it isn't a failure.
I fail to hit most of my targets, it certainly doesn't mean I don't enjoy a good tussle with a barrel, or even two-ahahaha!" explained Zorin, with a woman by each of his arms.
"I hear the clones have Persian cats these days, Blofeld, his time will come!" a woman whispered in Zorin's ears.
"There's a time for everything isn't there?" suggested Norman.
"Indeed. As Ecclesiastes states: There's a time to plant, a time to heal. My favorite part? A time to kill" said Zorin.
"At least Bond is dead!" said Monty.
"The whole world was a Bond girl that day," said Norman, the dumber of the two, sniffling.
"He's dead Norman, come on let's celebrate, the bastard is dead, he's up there with what's her name-the bitch. Bond is dead" said Monty.
"Is he? His survival skills rivaled Sir Hugo Drax's in World War II, why Bond even beat me at the game of Bridge" said Zorin.
"That still isn't funny" said Monty. Zorin began speaking again.
"To quote the late great Francisco Scaramanga: 'The death of Bond-is always a peculiar thing,' ahahahuaah" laughed Zorin.
The next day in the base:
Zorin was reporting to a strange cloaked figure with no visible face.
"Mr. Pheonix? She seems to have been hiding something from us. According to the raw intelligence data I've been reading on the dark web, Bond is alive and Stacy is hiding
the real video. She's currently skiing in Dufourspitze, in the Swiss Alps. Send everything you've got after Sutton!" ordered Zorin.
"Affirmative. Understood, I will look after her and see to it that some harm comes her way" replied the strange figure.
"Good, ahaha. Use intuitive improvisation-the secret of genius" suggested Zorin.
"I shall harness her energy. I am sure she will provide plenty of Vrillis for our organization " replied Mr. Pheonix
In the Alps:
While listening to her smartphone app mistakenly play the modern Katy Perry version of "California Girls," before it switched automatically to Spy Who Loved Me's Ski-chase ost:
Stacy found herself under pursuit by four face-covered hooded men on skis. They carried machine guns.
Stacy reached for her tactical laser powered flashlight and killed two of the men by pointing it at their eyes, and then gunning them down with her Smith & Wesson.
Stacy then pushed a button on one of her smartphone apps that enabled her hi-tech skis to become faster. She then found herself gallivanting away towards the edge of a cliff. She descended off of the cliff to the surprise of her hunters and they foolishly fell off the edge to their demise, whilst Stacy hastily dispatched a parachute with a California redwood tree logo on it.
As Stacy found herself knee deep in a snowman built by some locals, she shouted for help after spotting Pam and Goodnight.
"There you are," said Pam, as she approached the snowman and helped pull Stacy out of it.
Stacy brushed off her snowpants.
"Poor dear are you alright?" asked Pam, patting Stacy on the back.
"I've got the footage. Two copies, one for the CIA and one for MI6" replied Stacy.
"Exquisite! And what a handsome snowbeast you ascended from" said Goodnight, chuckling.
"Yeah, well the damn thing was trying to eat me" replied Stacy.
"You feeling alright?" asked Goodnight.
"Yeah, but I'm so exhausted I almost feel too dead to die, like that note said" said Stacy.
"We'll get you out of here and catch a plane to London" said Pam.
A note fell on the ground near the three women.
It contained lyrics to a song.
"Hey, this is really cool let's sing this sometime when we're not on duty!" suggested Pam.
"It looks like Bond's handwriting!" shouted Stacy.
The song read:
The martini lied,
I thought I died,
Searching for solace in a quantum sea of life and the familar face of death,
Just knew it couldn't be my final breath.
But my quantum soul? It did not fly.
Is there nothing left to salvage in the heart of a spy?
I saw the Heavenly skies, far up above,
However joyful stolen chariots can't match love,
I saw the ground, I'm still earthbound...
And I won't kill my final kill,
as long as I have my eternal will,
To move on, and never live a lie...
Cuz I was someone, I had too much to offer, I'm not your average guy...
I'M TOO DEAD TO DIE!
Too dead to die, can't live a lie, no time to fly-TOO DEAD TO DIE!
Too little too late for a sorry fate,
this man never had an expiration date,
Gotta give it my all before it's too late,
I'm too dead to die!
I'm too dead to die!
I'M FAR TOO DEAD TO DIE!
TOO DEAD TO DIE!
The other side of the note were the lyrics to the Madonna song "Die Another Day"
I'm gonna wake up, yes and no
I'm gonna kiss some part of
I'm gonna keep this secret
I'm gonna close my body now
I guess I die another day
I guess I die another day
I guess I die another day
I guess I die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess I'll die another day
Sigmund Freud
Analyze this
Analyze this
Analyze this...
I'm gonna break the cycle
I'm gonna shake up the system
I'm gonna destroy my ego
I'm gonna close my body now
I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know
I guess I'll die another day
It's not my time to go
For every sin I'll have to pay
I've come to work, I've come to play
I think I'll find another way
It's not my time to go
I'm gonna avoid the cliché
I'm gonna suspend my senses
I'm gonna delay my pleasure
I'm gonna close my body now
I guess I die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess I die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know
I guess I'll die another day
It's not my time to go
I need to lay down
I guess I die another day
I guess I'll die another day
I guess I die another day
I guess I'll die another day
Another day
Another day
Another day
Another day
Another day
Another day
Another day
"Judging by the lyrics to that Madonna song there's no way it's talking about Bond, doesn't take a CIA analyst to figure that out" concluded Pam.
"Or maybe he's trying to put the enemy off track with it" said Stacy.
Later...
IN THE MI6 BUILDING:
"Nice weather. Been nice and sunny" said Nomi.
"Yes, it has been. Although I do enjoy the London rain now and again" replied Moneypenny.
"Is that why all your phones keep going bad?" asked Nomi.
"Yes, actually," replied Moneypenny. She continued, "Speaking of phones, Swann tells me she keeps getting all these messages from sympathizing women who knew James"
"Sending Swann Chicken Soups for the Soul I suppose. Yes I sent her one as did Tatyana Romanov and a few other people" replied Nomi.
"Yes, it's for the best probably" replied Moneypenny.
"You know Q? He keeps going on and on," said Nomi, pouring some water from the water machine into a cup. She then added a bag of Earl Grey tea into it.
"About 007?" asked Moneypenny.
Nomi almost laughed.
"Bond, not me. I'm 007, that'd be flattering but, you know how it goes, I think we know Q better than that" replied Nomi.
"Right," replied Moneypenny.
"R and I baked some goods for Q and his male live-in buddy Oscar to munch on, R cracks me up, sometimes he's like someone off of Monty Python" said Nomi.
"So you're 007, I need to keep reminding myself, sorry" said Moneypenny.
"It's alright. You'll get used to it. I'm just worried about the sanity of the little boy" replied Nomi.
"I just got done comforting Swann and her daughter over a Zoom conference. It seems I need to be there for everything these days!" exclaimed Moneypenny.
"Why don't you go check on our little Q-tie, while I put the kettle on" replied Nomi.
Three minutes later...
"One of them stayed shut," said a frustrated Q. "The silo doors. I swear it wouldn't have worked. He probably used something I gave him and then crawled under there
at the last second! Then he got whisked away by a John Wayne-esque cavalry of spies of all nationalities" he added. Moneypenny walked in.
"Aww, Q. I know it's sad," said Moneypenny.
"It's not sad, it's maddening" replied Q.
"Looking at the diagrams again are we? Trying to find a way out of cruel reality?" asked Moneypenny, sipping her coffee.
"More like trying to find a vantage point of sanity in a forest of lunacy veins akin to a panda with no comfy socks" replied Q.
"What?" asked Moneypenny, scratching her head.
"Yes, you see in order for the missiles to function properly every single silo needs to be open. But this one stayed shut" said Q.
"Q, we've been over this. Let the dead bury the dead. There's a time and season for everything, even a time to die" said Moneypenny.
"No, this was no time to die," replied Q.
"We all have a time to die," said Moneypenny. "Some day we'll face the music as well"
"It's about data, this isn't about Louis Armstrong or a romantic fireplace," replied Q.
"All available data shows that James Bond is dead" said Moneypenny.
"All available data confuses me more than my initial childhood viewing of the Italian animated film Mr. Rossi Looks for Happiness" replied Q.
"Well what data have you gathered up for us?" asked Moneypenny.
"A respected analyst should be paying us a visit any moment, she's late and I had
planned to spend the evening with my dear friend Oscar later today, what am I to tell him?" said Q, looking at his Rolex watch.
"Who?" asked Moneypenny. There was a knock on the door.
"Hope I'm not interrupting," said a warm and pleasant voice belonging to a beauteous blonde woman with comforting innocence in her shimmering and sinfully dazzling mature moldavite green eyes.
"Not at all," replied Moneypenny.
"We met over an under the table highly advanced continuation of the Prodigy Network, so you'll recognize me as Q" said Q, shaking the woman's welcoming hand.
"Sutton. Stacy Sutton, assistant chief geologist at CERN, Geneva Switzerland" said Stacy.
"You're kidding," said Moneypenny. "I don't mean to sound strange, but you just seem too good looking for that, you must be joking" she added, embarrassed.
"Do I look like someone who would kid around like that? It took me a long time to get where I am, some people think I'm part dragon, I just tell them my name isn't Rebecca Swanson and they just sort of turn away!" replied Stacy in her usual speech pattern.
"Right, so I take it you brought something with you am I correct in this assumption?" asked Q.
"Yeah, I get what I want and the footage is right here, it's raw, unedited, and real, haven't given anyone else the real copy except you" said Stacy in a breathy voice, winking at Q and depositing a piece of hardware on the table she pulled out of the precarious hiding place on her own body.
"Footage? Of what?" asked Moneypenny with a look of concern and mild amusement.
"Everything, I take what I want, get what I want, anything less would be an empty space" replied Stacy.
"I'll just connect this to my laptop," said Q.
"Have fun with that," said Stacy.
"Oh dear," said Moneypenny.
"This could be what we need to prove Bond is alive" said Q.
"Oh, BOND," said Moneypenny, laughing.
"Yes, Bond, I rather miss him, handsome old chap. He would have loved to know he was knighted after his death" replied Q.
"So how long have you been at CERN?" asked Moneypenny.
"As long as I can remember," replied Stacy. "There was a time when I worked for a small conglomerate of geologists in California. They really were below me, I'm part dragon. I mean part of my life was just completely blank, it all went up to an allergy research center and I can't remember anything past that other than that I learned I'm a lizard, and I might have accidentally sent a woman named Sophia Primrose into another dimension by accident" she added.
"I heard long ago that you can learn all kinds of strange facts from mind control allergy clinics" muttered Q.
"California, conglomerates, geologists," said Moneypenny, laughing.
"What?" asked Stacy.
"Oh, it's nothing. It's been a long day. I'm glad you found something to entertain the boy. He's been really lonely around here" said Moneypenny,
leaving the room.
"You're lonely, huh?" asked Stacy, flouncing her hair towards Q.
"I-I-It-It's nothing Mittens can't solve," said Q, quickly picking up his Scottish fold from under his desk and stroking it vigorously with passion.
"Aww, that's sweet, nice little fluff bucket, didn't know they allowed pets here. You know I used to care for animals, my first dream as a little girl was to be a veterinarian until I became absolutely astounded by rocks" said Stacy, as she took a seat.
"I'm sure you did, and I'm not totally sure they do allow pets here" replied Q in a snarky tone.
"Rocks carry energy you know. Just like animals. Used to have a whole array of birds, and rabbits, lizards too. You wouldn't believe the amount of lizards I cared for.
Some of them belonged to my uncle, I think maybe my uncle was a lizard actually. You ever know a lizard, hun? You need to get out more, you know that?" said
Stacy in a pleasant sultry tone, pulling out an Ashton Triple Maduro cigar from a cabinet and lighting it up.
"I wouldn't doubt it," said Q, compiling some documents together. He then turned on the footage on the thumbdrive.
"It's remarkably compelling. This is not fake, where did you get this?" asked Q.
"A friend in the CIA, you know, the Central Intelligence Agency? More well known than the Pinkerton Detectives. Her name is Pam Bouvier, ever heard of her?
She was an old friend of James and Felix. Good times, I tell you.I wish they'd have never ended.
Felt like just yesterday I was trying to get a foothold down at the Golden Gate Bridge, hard to believe it you know, all those missiles and
it just all fades away. Could have been worse, Safin you know, he could have killed millions!" said Stacy.
"Stacy," said Q with a nervous gulp. "I want you to show this to M"
"Who's M?" asked Stacy.
"Someone you'd probably like to meet" replied Q.