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Their evening meal was not sweet and sour gerbil, much to Anar's relief. The kitchen crew now in their employment were happy to work with Earth ingredients supplied by The Dragon, so the three friends turned comrades-in-arms actually had the opportunity to sit down at their designated, reasonably comfortable table and eat hot, freshly prepared food that was not pulled from The Bag nor was it Pot Noodles. It had been quite the experience and had left them in good spirits before Anar showed off the newly discovered Mess and fridge full of Budweiser to his friends. The clink of empty glass beer bottles was sure sign that they were now in even higher spirits and Rave promised to mention the need of pool tables and Mariokart arcade games to their new boss when they saw him tomorrow. A karaoke machine wouldn't be amiss, neither. If they had portals linking them to other worlds then there was no excuse for boredom, and what did Medieval societies do for fun, anyway? Exactly. It hadn't even been invented yet.

Rap had given the aardvark a softly concerned hug when they had parted ways for the night, but he had been assured that everything was going to be fine; heading into a camp full of war-hungry aliens would be a breeze after some of the stunts he'd pulled off in his time, and he still had that bit of luck that had saved his hide before and would do again. He hoped. After all, he wasn't simply a senior administrator now was he? He was a General, and he'd kick some orc butt if he had to.

In the cold light of day however, he wasn't feeling quite so cocky. His brand spanking new uniform had magically appeared overnight, he'd found it laid in a neat pile outside the door to his private quarters. On top was a metal dogtag with his name and bunch of numbers on it. He was a little disappointed that he wasn't number 1. He wasn't disappointed with his jacket though. He slid it on over his short-sleeved tan shirt and felt the weight pull down; it was thick and soft, and had all the details that he'd wished for. The only thing it was missing was medals. He'd try and work on that. He had to start somewhere. It was a sumptuous black linen. On the shoulder epaulettes were gold stars, and around the hems ran a thick red satin stripe. The lining was a deep shade of blue, just how he saw the physical manifestation of magical powers. On a top pocket was the Kaos Army logo. He fussed over it in front of the mirror with a beaming smile. He was glad Rave couldn't see him, he'd no doubt have some insults to throw about his vanity or his stomach. Maybe both.

This was it now, there was no going back, no wimping out. He'd made his decision to follow in his distant ancestor's footsteps (barring the getting stabbed with a magical weapon bit) and he was about to go striding into an orc settlement on a mission to recruit them and turn them into army soldiers, as opposed to whatever they were now. He would need every ounce of his charisma, bravery and quick-thinking. And he didn't have a lot of any of that to be starting with!

In the corner of his nice new quarters was a khaki rucksack. Studded with pockets and covered with straps it was perfect for his needs. It had also been a New Rock record bag right up until he had accepted The Dragon's current job offer. He shrugged it onto his back, the jangling of the Ferrari's keys sounding out. Where had that car got to, anyway? Trust Hell to not even get that right. It could be absolutely anywhere, and after all that crazy portal stuff that had been going on, he had a sinking feeling that was now including other dimensions and realities. Well, no time to worry about a lost Italian sports car today, he had some travelling to do.

Outside in the blistering heat of the Lowlands desert he weighed up his transport choices; the old Willys jeep or the Titan? Destroyer would have been an option too if he hadn't sent him off back to his uncle's place. There weren't any real roads out here, just dirt lanes and gravel tracks. The magical, flying, horse-like creature would have probably been the quicker option. The Dragon had warned that the pocket portals were still largely untested, being Beta models, and until the whole system had undergone rigorous safety checks he was restricted to the main access points. It was a comforting thought that he was important enough to not risk losing him through a rogue portal that led to the empty vacuum of space, or embedded in an ice planet, or deep in the heart of Milton Keynes.

The curious metal slab and matching console had been relocated outside for now, it had been a grand idea having it in the War Room but they'd soon realised it wasn't practical. A piece of paper had been sticky-taped onto the side of the numerical keypad, with the scant few sets of reliable co-ordinates available to them noted down in The Dragon's scrawl. That would be another thing they were going to have to do - type them up. It was no good contemplating if that was an 8 or a 0 when you didn't want to swim with the fishes on the seabed. It was an even shorter list of available exits when you considered that the ones highlighted in yellow couldn't be traversed by carbon-based lifeforms at all, and only The Dragon could safely pass through.

He touched his grey fingers to the panel and it lit up with the odd squiggly symbols and letters that he now recognised as Draconish. He followed the instructions closely and entered the handy forty-digit long co-ordinates. A searing flash of blue blinded him momentarily. He recoiled and shielded his eyes. The portal had appeared, all swirly and circle-y. Was it just a coincidence that these were the same shade of blue as magic? He supposed that it must be, as everyone could see the Trans Dimensional Warpways but only those particularly gifted in the sorcerous arts could see magic. It was one of his natural gifts. The Dragon left a little vapor trail of blue wherever he went and it almost looked like pretty, low lying fog had come down after he'd been wandering around the base. Anar wondered just how much magic there was on this new planet and whether his magnifying abilities would be in demand. Or problematic.

The Titan seemed the safest choice in regards of transport to untrod realms and so he climbed inside the driver's area and set about turning the quantum motor over. He didn't quite understand how it worked but it had something to do with harnessing the power of the atom and it went like the clappers if you opened it up on a stretch. If orcs really were a bunch of murderous warriors itching for a scrap, he might be grateful for that thick armoured shielding!

With a loud exhale through his snout, he set the massive wheels in motion and headed through the portal to the far wilderness on the other side of the continent.

He exited into a sunlit valley with rocky outcrops on either side, and a winding river snaking away before him. In the distance he could see rising plumes of thick black smoke from a settlement, and he hoped that he was in the right area, because otherwise some poor alien farming community was going to get the shock of its life. He'd spent a bit of time in the shower the previous evening contemplating how he was going to go about introducing himself. His main concerns were not insulting the Nest Chief and coming out of the introductory meeting unscathed, but Anar knew that really, he'd be winging it, just like he did with everything. They would be seasoned veterans with axes and bloody great swords. Probably rather wary of funny grey mammals from the other side of the galaxy if truth be told. He'd be one aardvark with a wild proposition: wear a practical (but comfy) army uniform and shoot some guns at things. Blow shit up. Get paid for it. Be flung into the future, ready or not.

The Titan rolled gently from side to side as he sped down the muddy cart tracks towards the sturdy wooden gates of the orc village. He bet they'd never seen anything like this before - a motorised vehicle. He'd certainly be making an entrance. As he drew up closer he saw farmland before him and green humanoids raised their heads from their work to watch the thundering Titan as it passed by. They were all shapes and sizes with an assortment of hair colours and jutting bottom teeth. The same species as the angry fellow back at the inn where they had first talked to The Dragon.

A cloud of dust surrounded the armoured car as the brakes hissed and Anar came to a gentle stop. There was a crowd gathering around him. now, with lots of pointing and raised voices. Either side of the settlement gateway stood two massive, muscled guards and they lowered their battle axes in a warning gesture and trod carefully forward. The tusks on these guys were impressive, and they were capped with shiny gleaming metal. Spiked shoulder pads glinted in the sunlight atop their leather vests. More weapons hung at their rope belts. Anar was so very grateful to be inside, where it was safe. He jabbed a finger to the window operation, to lower it and introduce himself to his new friends.

But instead of the glass sliding down, he found himself exposed, with all side windows suddenly gone completely, and only the flimsy windscreen between him and angry orcs. He whipped his head around and marvelled, terrified. The bloody car had changed into a stupid roadster sports thing on him! He must have pressed something that he wasn't meant to. This was what happened when you didn't have user manuals! He lifted his snout up and with an "eep!" it touched cold battle axe.

"General Warlock," he wobbled, "I... have an appointment."