When they weren’t trying to be sneaky, the Orlic were remarkably easy to track. They left a trail of what I hoped was only churned mud behind them like a giant skidmark. They were the only species I had met that produced their own landing strip cum latrine in their wake.

  I landed off to one side of their trail, savouring the green grass between my toes as I got dressed. I strolled happily towards the edge of the camp, a ramshackle thing when seen from above, it nonetheless looked fairly formidable from ground level.

  Spiked barricades formed a huge ring around the much enlarged horde. If they reproduced as a result of how much fun they had while fighting, I could see some population control problems coming my way soon. But that was a problem for future Bob; right now, I had a simple task.

  “OOMIE!” yelled the first sentry that I approached.

  “Technically, I’m not. I’m looking to speak to Geeku–” The green man charged at me and swung his club in a vicious arc at my temple. I blocked it with a forearm, hearing the wood crack as it met my insane ARM stat. I took a page out of Kat’s fighting style and turned Goosestepping-To-Their-Doom from my dragon fu repertoire into a nutcracker.

  When the orlic had stopped vomiting and wheezing, I helped him back to his feet and patted him on the shoulder as he clutched at himself.

  “Dat was big honour, oomie,” he croaked.

  “I’m Bob, the dragon.” He looked at me blankly as he blinked tears away. “I’m Geeku’s boss. Can you show me to him, please?” My patience was wearing thin, but I was in a good mood, so I minded my manners.

  “Da boss? He’s in ‘is tent.”

  I looked out at the array of tents behind the guard and raised an eyebrow at him. He mimicked the gesture, then lapsed into confusion.

  “Why wiggle face?” he asked.

  I sighed. They’re good at fighting Bob, and they are under your control. There was no need to eat sentients if I didn’t have to, and I was pretty sure eating minions was somehow karmically worse than eating non-minions. I really needed some kind of rule book to work around. Within! I’d work within the rules.

  “There are a lot of tents. Which one is Geeku’s?” I asked.

  “Geeku’s tent is his tent?” the orlic asked, his seemingly perpetual state of confusion once more on full display.

  I punched him and walked into the camp, leaving him unconscious on the ground behind me. After exchanging much more honourable greetings on the first few orlics to approach me than they deserved, the rest kept their distance. I carefully stepped over the unconscious bodies. A group of warriors trailed along behind me, and the children stayed out of my way as I stalked towards the heart of the camp. The boss always had his tent in the middle, right? I was sure that was the rule.

  They all looked the same. Roughly made with shoddy supports and threadbare canvas that somehow managed to defy the laws of physics and not collapse in on themselves. The orlic tents defied explanation. One had been built around a sapling, the too-thin top of which poked out of the grimy wrappings. It shouldn’t have been able to hold the weight.

  “GEEKU!” I yelled. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU HIDING?” I turned in a circle, making sure the antsy warriors were still keeping their distance.

  “Bob? Da fuk you doin’ ‘ere?” My captain emerged from a nearby tent, adjusting his loincloth hurriedly.

  “Catch you at a bad moment? I need more mod docs, and I thought to myself, where better to find out how to get them than from the orlic's mouth.”

  “Is it true? Da boss beat da stumpy king in a wrestlin’ match ta save you and win ‘is freedom?” asked a slender orlic who emerged from the tent behind Geeku. Female? Impossible to say.

  I looked over at Geeku for a moment, who shifted uncomfortably.

  “Oh, sure. The little dwarf nearly had him, but then Geeku used his final form and grabbed the king by a foot, smashing him into the ground like he was, er, beating wheat off the sheaf. Then he roared, and the royal guard cowered away as we left the mighty hall of the dwarven lord.” I needed Geeku on side, so a few minor lies wouldn’t hurt.

  “Yar! Geeku!” chanted half a dozen enthusiastic warriors.

  “But you needed ‘elp?” asked a quiet voice. “Can’t be boss if needed ‘elp.”

  “Bob let me take da lead on dat one! Anyone want to fight him an find out if yer balls is big nuff?” Geeku called out, shooting me a grateful look.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  We didn’t get any takers, but I gave them all a level three glare for the sake of it.

  “Mod docs?” I asked, turning back to Geeku.

  “Inside. Not right ta talk bout dat stuff outside,” he said quietly, leading me into his tent.

  In the centre was a small firepit, and that was it. There were a couple of piles of weapons, swords and knives in crude sheaths, scattered here and there. I had to crouch down as I eyed the flimsy-looking centrepole and hunched my way into the gloom. I kept my mouth closed, unwilling to risk tasting the air. Whatever the scent was, it was making my eyes water.

  Geeku collapsed into a heap by the fire and tossed a few small sticks onto it. I sat down opposite him, cross-legged on the ground like I was back at school.

  “Tanks for fibbing fer me, Bob.”

  “No worries. Now…” I knew I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. The air tasted like an orlic’s armpit.

  “Mod docs. Why you want em?” he asked, looking at me over the flames.

  “Make more bunnies. Grow army.” If I kept my sentences short, I could minimise the amount of the air I had to taste.

  “Mod docs don’t make bunnies, Bob. Dunno what you ‘eard bout us, but dats a weird one.”

  “Cyborg bunnies. Totally-sane Simeon. Made them. I need more.”

  “Dat’s black modgick, Bob. We don’t do dat. Can’t ask a mod doc ta do somefin like dat,” he shook his head firmly.

  “Help make parts. Simeon put together?” I offered.

  “Mebbe. Can ask TT, I ‘spose.”

  “Outside?” I asked hopefully.

  “Aye. TT... ‘e’s a weird one. Talk funny,” Geeku muttered as he led me back into blessedly fresh air. Well, relatively fresh air. The orlic’s clearly had an issue with simple things like making sure the latrines are well, and downwind, from the main camp.

  “TT?” I asked as we threaded our way between tents and campfires.

  “Transcendental Timothy. Not right in da head, if use arsk me.”

  Oh great, more fucking unintelligible rhyming slang. I braced myself, I couldn’t eat him, I couldn’t eat him, I couldn’t eat him.

  “TT? You in dere?” called Geeku in a surprisingly respectful tone. The orlic were nothing if not brash.

  “Geeku! You should see my latest experiment! I think I’ve cracked the transdimensional membrane-boundary! Infinite power!” came an excited, and distinctly British accent.

  The Inside of TT’s tent was a complete breath of fresh air in comparison to the mud floor and grime of Geeku’s. And in terms of the smell. The inside of the tent was far larger than the outside suggested ought ot be possible, but I was used to that kind of thing by now.

  The arrays of gadgets and devices that formed neat rows down the centre of the space were unusual. Light blinked on every surface, and whirring fans hummed away happily. Hurrying towards us was a short Orlic, wearing the standard-issue multi-lens glasses and a lab coat.

  “Infinite power! Infinite worlds! Endless spaces for your lot to go and get all fighty in! I’ve cracked it, Geeku! Who’s this human?”

  “I’m Bob, and I’m not a bloody human,” I grumbled.

  The lens flicked in and out for a moment as he looked me up and down.

  “Ah. Transmigrated into a dragon. That’s a spot of luck, old bean! Which universe are you from? Come in, come in. Take a seat, and I’ll get some tea on. You sound like a son of old Blighty yourself? How do you take your tea?” A series of comfy-looking armchairs rose up as the gizmos retreated, and what I’d at first assumed was some kind of starship control station turned out to be an oven as he flipped the lid up to reveal a set of hobs.

  “Milk, one sugar?” I asked optimistically as I sat down. It really was a very comfy chair. The stuffing seemed to adjust itself to my shape, offering perfect support. I sighed as I relaxed, stress draining away.

  “Classic. How’s life as a dragon? I must say becoming an Orlic came as a bit of a shock, but they're not so bad once you get to know them.”

  “It’s a pain. I’ve got these urges now. And I really want to convince my girlfriend to have sex on my hoard, but she says it’s too hard.” I clapped a hand over my mouth as the other received a porcelain cup and saucer.

  “Ah, tricky. Being an Orlic is ok. I get left to tinker and invent. As long as I make them the odd gadget or prosthetic, they’re easy enough to get along with,” Tim settled into his own armchair and sighed contentedly.

  “I didn’t mean to say that!” I snapped. “I wanted to ask you to come work for me. I’ve got a couple of mod docs, but I need to up production of my cyborg soldiers for the war and to sell them to the dwarves. I’ve also got an egg growing in me that I need to find somewhere to lay.”

  “Black Modgick,” muttered Geeku, but Tim turned bright eyes to me.

  “Terminators? That’s pretty cool,” he said as he took a sip of tea. “I’m a little constrained by the social mores of my hosts; I can’t do the really fun stuff. They were ok with me tearing open a portal to another world because they think they’ll find new things to fight.”

  “More like Robocop. Uni-bunnies are grafted in as pilots. They’ve also got shoulder cannons like the Predator.” Dammit, I was spilling all the beans! Geeku made a disapproving noise as he settled deeper into his chair.

  “You sure a portal to another world is a good idea? Pretty sure the empire would get pissy about that, and god, I hate the nobles. They’re all pervs.”

  “I’ve heard about them, Bob. I’ve been exchanging correspondence with a chap in the city. Name of Phillpot. Turns out demonology is a massively underutilised power. For instance, these chairs are comfy, right?”

  I nodded. They very much were.

  “So it turned out that by binding a demon of sloth, and what they call a gobbler, stupid name, into the supports, they can possess the chair, and they suck out all your stress. That’s why they adjust to fit so well.” So I had a demon caressing my buttocks. I shrugged. I didn’t really care. “If you bind a Libelus into them, they have another nice little side effect. Really handy for building trust.” Tim peered at me over the top of his glasses like a green grandma.

  “Trust. I gotta have contracts over people to trust them. No one likes a dragon.”

  “How about you tell me about your father?” he asked like the worst shrink in the world. I opened my mouth to bite back, possibly literally, but instead I started talking. About my sense of rejection at my father's lack of interest in my life, in me. The distance, emotional and physical, with him travelling all the time for business. My loneliness, my lashing out in frustration and to get attention. The negative cycle of spiralling down into sardonic bitterness as I felt pushed aside by him and by life, and how I used it to justify pushing people away before they could hurt me.

  I closed my mouth with a clop.

  “What the fuck is a Libelus demon?” I snapped.