By BOOGER

EPILOGUE

Bond sat swirling a very dry martini in a big cushy chair in "M's" office, in London.

M; "Well Bond, it seems we have our man, and everything worked out fairly well. It will take some time to enter the c.e.o.'s base and extract some of his technology. Mmmmm...do you have any theories as to why an internationally famous pop star like Mr. Michael could have gotten himself involved in this?"

Bond; "I've been thinking...Mr.Michael's sagging record sales may have been a factor. As well as a recent scandal in the media."

M; "Yes, but why have himself altered to look like another pop star."

Bond; "It would seem obvious. If his actions were found out, his real identity could remain secret, provided he wasn't caught, of course. That still doesn't explain why he chose, WHO he chose to impersonate. Who tipped us off as to his real identity?"

M; "An anonymous source, actually, and we've no clue there. Well, it just doesn't wash, and all seems very strange. Especially since Mr. Michael wouldn't have had the funds necessary to bankroll the whole operation. He MUST HAVE HAD HELP! Some super secret backer. This psychic dog seems to have been the most interesting factor in this whole affair."

Bond; "Yes, I was right in saving him. Well, M, I do need to get down to "Q" and get briefed on some new weaponry."

M; "Very well. (Moves to shake Bond's hand) And, good show, old man!"

Bond; "Right!"

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First voice on the phone; "Well, can we get him out of the maximum security lock up that they have him in? That animal is the most valuable asset to this organization! He's irreplaceable! The base may have cost a filthy sum, but I can always get another. This way, our ISP is clear of the link, and no one can associate us with the hypno plan. Another remote base can save us once again, and continue where we left off. But, I'm telling you, man, we need that DOG!"

Second voice on the phone; "Yes sir, I realize. We're working on it this very moment."

first voice; "Very well. It's a pity we lost Mr. G.M.. He came cheaply, at least. The newsmedia have been nearly beating down the door here, giving me all the free publicity I can use!"

second voice; "Right, D.B., I..."

first voice; "I TOLD YOU BEFORE, NEVER, NEVER USE MY INITIALS OVER THE PHONE!"

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Rex sat staring out of the bars on his cell. He eyed his jailer, who was aproaching with a bowl of dog munchies. "That's it," he thought. "Just look me in the eye, Bonzo, and we'll see what we can do about getting you a bale of nice ripe bananas."

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Famed movie critic Roger Ebert sat in his office, mulling over some letters and small packages that came for him in the mail.

"Hrrmmff. I've got three columns to write and still have to open all this stuff. What's this?"

He fidgeted with a fairly good sized packet, tearing open the outer plain brown paper, then finally, forcing the cover off the cardboard box inside. It looked like a piece of white cloth. He looked back at the return address.

"Well, it's from Booger. Now what..."

Picking up one corner of the cloth, he let the box drop, and as the contents unfurled, he held up the largest pair of boxer shorts with little hearts on it, that he'd ever seen.

"Good gravy, these may actually fit!"

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Slinky the swayback wonder horse clopped into Booger's apartment holding a small packet in his mouth.

"Hey Slink! What you got there? Mail already!"

He rushed to open it.

"Come on Slink! Let Go! You am just mad because me not buy you carrots when you save me from evil dog on teevee! Oh, alright, me get you whole bunch, if you let go!"

Slink finally gave in, and Booger happily ripped the packet open. Suddenly, a flurry of green bits of paper shot up into the air as he tugged too hard on the packet.

He picked one up and read it...

"One thousand Bowie bucks."

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Deep in the bowels of n2k headquarters, the c.e.o. raised a glass above the boardroom table. The gathering of financiers rose and raised theirs. Farquar rose as well, clasping the bandage 'round his neck as he raised his glass.

Bowie; "Gentlemen, TO EVIL!"

All; "TO EVIL!"