"Bond, James Bond."

"I know who you are, 007."

"Where's Miss Moneypenny?"

"Mizzzzzzz Moneypenny. While you were away spending the Queen's good money, Ms. Moneypenny joined NOW and decided she could no longer work around sexist pigs. I believe those were her exact words. Permit me. I'm A."

"A what?"

"Just A."

"How'd you get Moneypenny's job, A?"

"Diversity in the workplace rules. There weren't all that many job applicants who were black, Jewish, spoke seven specific languages and programmed in true Java."

"That is rather extraordinary, A. Could you be a good chap and tell M I'm here."

"I'm afraid M has, shall we say, retired."

"Retired? That doesn't sound like the M I know."

"Actually, 007, it was the result of rightsizing the organization. The consultants the Queen hired showed us the errors of our ways and the need for new enlightened leadership to guide a diversified team toward fulfillment of our new mission statement. M, being of the old school and thus beyond help, had to go."

"Where'd M go?"

"He started a software company with some virtual reality algorithms Q worked up. Went public last week for $1.2 billion, I believe the figure was. Anyhow, you report to Z now."

"Q's still here?"

"Still at his old job, sadly. Z's working on finding a Native American Muslim named Abdul to replace him and fill our quota. Not easy to find, you understand."

"Can you take me to Z now?"

"I can. And in the future you'll follow the procedure from A to Z. Is that clear?"

"Listen, A, don't you ever talk about fast cars and fine-looking women with names like Pussy Galore and vodka martinis and vintage English cigarettes..."

"Perish the thought, Mr. Bond. All are soooo politically incorrect now. Your new BMW Z3 has only a 138-horsepower engine, drinking is forbidden on the job and there is no smoking permitted on the grounds or in a vehicle. As for women, we would not welcome a sexual harassment lawsuit. Is that clear? It's a new age, Mr. Bond, and you'd better learn to live with it. Further, we no longer condone violence. Your license to kill was revoked by Z."

With a series of lightning-fast moves, Bond smashes A to a bloody pulp. He moves slowly to a cabinet, takes out some bottles and mixes himself a vodka martini, shaken not stirred. Reaching into the inside pocket of his formal jacket, he withdraws a silver cigarette case, removes one and lights up, blowing smoke downward toward the unconcious A.

"I sometimes have trouble adjusting to change," he says to A as he walks toward Z door.

"You're a woman!"

"How observant of you, Mr. Bond."

"But I mean..."

"You mean in your mind, warped from years of prejudiced thinking, a woman couldn't possibly do this, a man's job. That's what you mean, isn't it? Get used to it, buster. And put out that cigarette. Everyone knows the dangers of secondhand smoke."

"Why was I called?"

"We have something we want you to do. Quietly. There's a restaurant we want you to go to, called the Golden Buddha. I want a complete report."

"What am I looking for? International spies? Drug lords? Someone with a nuclear weapon? Illegal gum chewing?"

"No, James. The food. We want a complete report on the food. Bring us menus, samples, the whole works."

"Food? I've been assigned to do a food review?"

"It is not your position to question authority, 007. Do as you're told for the good of the team. Now go see Q about a corporate vehicle."

Bond empties his martini into one of the many plants decorating Z's office. He reaches for the door and hears, "Wipe your feet next time. You tracked in blood."

"Q, good to see you, old man. Whatcha got for me this time?"

"Brand new, 007. Called the Z3. Little roadster number from BMW."

"BMW! Don't the British still make good cars I can use?"

"Corporate deal, James. Don't ask questions. Big bucks exchanged hands. You don't want to know. You'll like this little baby, so be quiet and listen. She's got a solid body with great curves, two air bags, anti-lock brakes, side-impact protection, automatic seat-belt tensioning, remote keyless entry, an alarm system and a double-tube reinforced windshield frame for rollover protection. Safe little number."

"But..."

"Cornering can be done at a rapid clip, pulling .91g's. That's very quick, James, as you can well understand. The brakes are among the best in the world, naturally, since this is, after all, a BMW, the ultimate driver's car. Steering is precise, with no tendency toward oversteer or understeer in corners. In the old days, you'd flip the tail out and use the throttle to bring her back in line. With this rear-driver, you still could. But don't. Too risky, you understand.

"Those brakes, by the way, are four-wheel discs, not some cost-cutting drum set on the rear. Got all that?"

"But..."

"Zero-to-60 is accomplished in 9.7 seconds..."

"Now wait, wait."

"Calm yourself, 007. That's a conservative factory figure. We clocked this baby 0-to-60 in 8.6 by dumping the clutch with a 4,000 rpm start."

"That's only a little better. This is not a car suitable for James Bond. How can I be expected to scoot away from bad guys when an upset momma in a minivan can keep up with me?"

"We obey all laws now, James. New corporate rules. No speeding. No reckless driving. Our fleet insurance rates are expected to decline accordingly. Let me be the first to warn you that if anything happens to one of our cars, say you drive one off a cliff or something, you'll be filling out paperwork and riding the bus for the next 10 years."

"What if I get a ding in the door parked at the Golden Buddha."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, James. You're on your own if you do."

The table that follows is the result of computer-testing the BMW Z3:

BMW Z3 Performance/Handling Data

Acceleration (mph)	0-30	0-40	0-50	0-60	0-70	0-80	0-90	0-100
Elapsed time (secs)	2.5	4.4	5.9	8.6	11.1	13.9	18.6	23.4
Top speed	133 mph
Quarter mile	16.3 @ 84.9 mph
Slalom	64.1 mph
Lateral acceleration	.89 g

"Not only is this Z3 a looker, 007, but you're going to like the comfort features. It's easy to get in and out of, unlike some sports cars, and you won't feel all cramped inside. Everything is pretty much right where it should be -- although we've put a plug where the unacceptable cigarette lighter would be."

"Get to the special features, Q. You know, the machine-gun headlights, parachute in the trunk, torpedo sidemounts."

"Oh, there's none of that. But you do have air conditioning, a leather-wrapped steering wheel, power windows -- but strangely not one-touch-down for the driver -- dual cupholders..."

"DUAL CUPHOLDERS?"

"Cruise control, a multi-function digital clock, power seats, headlights that will light up the dark like nothing else in the world, and a hi-fi system."

"DUAL CUPHOLDERS?"

"Tiny things, really. Won't hold a Slurpee."

"I assume you've outfitted it with all the other amenities."

"'fraid not, James. Against the rules now. You'll have to lower and raise your own top -- it's real easy even from driver's seat. You'll have to live with a plastic rear window when glass would have been preferable. And you'll have to adjust to the biggest steering wheel in a sports car since a '50's MG."

"Will I be comfortable in a Z3, Q?"

"Yes, James, you will. But our liberal spending days are over. We all have to tighten our belts now, do more work, shoulder more responsibilities."

"When are you getting out of here, Q?"

"Fast as I damn well can. I'd rather jerk sodas for Burger King than stay here with all this corporate crap goin' down."

"Was your mission accomplished, 007? Let's have your report."

"I like it, but it's got a few problems. Begin with the sound of the thing."

"I mean, it sounds like a moped. When the Miata was being readied, they listened to more than 100 exhaust notes, even a classic Bugatti, to select just the right sound. And its sound is just right. This...this putt-putt just doesn't sound...muscular."

"As if that's important."

"Well, it is important. See, it was mostly guys that coveted this car. When I drove a Miata, women gushed over the car. I knew right away that Mazda would sell so many of 'em to women that it would be branded a 'girls car'. And it was. This is a guy car. But it sounds wimpy. Sound is important.

"Get to the really important stuff."

"It's not fast. Period. No ifs, ands or buts. It gets out of its own way, but that's all. You have to work to chirp the tires going into second gear. Stops faster than its accelerates. The shifter is a pleasure to use. Seats are supportive. Controls are at hand. Orange illumination of the dials at night will give color-blind males fits. There is lots of interior storage space in little cubbyholes here and there."

"THE IMPORTANT STUFF!"

"I'm getting to it. Ok, ok. You'll like the egg rolls. And the thing they do with little chicken pieces is to die for..."

'Nuff said.

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