Everyone was wearing crocodile hide... well, everyone except Franz Hoebbard. He was dead against animal exploitation, despite what he did at work. He did keep bees though, thousands of them. He was relaxing with them one afternoon in his garden when the Order of the Gilded Saints came around to talk.

Hoebbard noticed an inflation in the hum of his bees, looked over to see an Asian man with his hand in a hive like an underworld Winnie the Pooh.

<<Hey>> Hoebbard yelled, sick of mafia intrusions. <<This is private property. You'll get hurt.>>

<<He just loves honey>> another man said, and Hoebbard spun around to see two henchmen standing right behind him. They were both dressed in canary-yellow suits; one wore a crocodile teeth dog collar.

<<Don't get up on our account, Mr Hoebbard>> the older gangster said. They sat down at the table beside him. <<Please, chill...>>

<<You don't scare me>> the engineer said, but wasn't there a certain quaver factor to his voice? <<I want you to know I'm with a very important company. They're all the protection I could ever need.>>

The lead guy smiled, a face full of gold teeth. <<A very important company, huh?>> He said something to his comrade in Cantonese, and they laughed uproariously. Then a wave of realisation swept through Hoebbard, and he remembered who he was talking to...

<<Wait!>> he said: <<Jacky Tung! Dynasty Ltd. Fibre optics, offshore mining, Indian sweatshops. You're one of the most powerful tycoons in the world.>>

Tung shrugged, with typical Chinese modesty (not!) <<Hey, I do what I can. And hey, I'm sorry about that little jab to your belly. Bruisy punch-ups ain't my saintly style. Let's blame it on all the GM food in my diet lately.>>

Hoebbard shifted uncomfortably in his chair. While he was pissed off about the trashing of his house and equally fearful of a bodily trashing, he couldn't help but feel awed by Tung's presence. The world's sixth richest man, in his garden? <<Let me guess>> he said: <<you want to offer me a job?>>

<<Check out the brain on Brad!>> Tung said, and he made an aww shucks! hand-slapping motion modelled on African-American ghetto humour. <<But the job is not for me. In this instance I am acting only as an advocate. A talent scout, you could say.>>

<<More like a boy scout>> Hoebbard said. <<I don't care who you are. But if you wanted to impress me, you shouldn't have wrecked my house. Besides, I have no interest in developing China's first superman.>>

<<Nor do I>> said the glitter-mouthed Tung: <<nor do I. I have no interest in humanity, period. Our days are numbered, and our life-cycle is drawing to a close. I am more interested in the next phase of life on earth, the post-human world. I want you to join us in our glorious experiment.>>

<<Piss off>> Hoebbard said. And he stood up as if to leave.

Tung's associate grabbed him by the wrist and, squeezing a pressure point, sagged him into the chair. <<Do you like pain?>> he said. <<Would you like to feel some more?>>

The third Chinaman was still clowning around near the bee-hives, up to God-knows-what. Hoebbard whistled softly and like a liquid dog the bees lunged into attack. They swarmed around the gangster, stinging furiously. He swung his hands at the air and screamed.

<<What are you doing?>> Tung said. <<You'll kill him!>>

<<I speak to them>> Hoebbard said. <<Now clear off before I set them on you!>>

Tung looked like he was about to say something, thought better of it, and smashed his fist into the Australian's face instead.