“Come on now,” coaxed Gabriel, “don’t fight your destiny; think how you are helping your country, just like your ancestors helped theirs all those hundreds of years ago.”

Woody spat out a cold laugh. “It’s not the same!” he shouted. “You’re creating monsters!”

“Perhaps not as revered as the Wolven clan,” admitted Gabriel, “but more effective. No room for emotions or morals, you see. And now that I have international cooperation, they’ll be for hire to anyone in the world. Anyone who can afford them, of course.”

He moved across the room to one of the milky pods, gesturing at Scale to drag Woody with him.

He poked the nearest pod hard, like an inquisitive child at the zoo. “Let me introduce you to the Psylli clan,” he said. “P-S-Y-L-L-I. The P is silent, by the way. They live in trees usually, and when in human form they’re almost as ugly as Lucas here. But when they metamorphose into snakes, they are the leanest, meanest killers I have ever come across in my entire career. They team the deadly bite of a taipan with the grip of an anaconda; I’ve seen these slippery little suckers swallow a hippo and regurgitate it in twenty minutes flat. The other benefit, from our point of view, is that they can blend into the background like a chameleon, contorting into shapes undetectable by any enemy, anywhere.”

Still held in a viselike grip by Lucas Scale, Woody peered closer into the milky depths. WHACK! Two fangs tried to gain purchase on the slippery side of the pod and bite their way out. Woody didn’t even flinch. He grinned at Gabriel mockingly.

“The things in these jars look like a joke,” he said. “They look like they couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag or one of those pods. When were you hoping they will be ready?”

A shadow passed over Gabriel’s handsome face.

“When are they going to be ready?” repeated Woody. “D’you want to phone a friend or ask the audience?”

Gabriel Gruber regained his composure. “By the end of this year, the first Psyllis will be exported for use in the field,” he said firmly. “Obviously they won’t be as sophisticated as the Wolven hybrids, but they’ll serve a purpose on more covert operations.”

“But you don’t have any Wolven hybrids now, do you?” taunted Woody. “They’re all dead, thanks to you.”

“That really is of no consequence,” scoffed Gabriel.

“You better get a move on, then,” continued Woody. “It’ll be the twenty-second century before you work it all out!”

Lucas Scale coughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, we’ll do it, all right!” cried Gabriel. “You are our Grail, our last chance to create another legend. The original Wolven were weaklings compared with what we are going to achieve.”