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Own Worst Enemy – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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Own Worst Enemy

Denny Flowers

Flight Commander Lucille von Shard was not in her quarters. Or the officers’ mess, though apparently she had attended breakfast just long enough to liberate a bottle of amasec. I tried the main hangar, where I was informed that her Lightning fighter, Mendax Matertera, was housed elsewhere.

When I finally located her private hangar and knocked I was met with a yelp from within, followed by a clatter of tools. Slowly, the door peeled open a few inches, a benign face with a worried expression occupying the crack.

He smiled nervously. ‘Yes?’

‘I am Wing Sergeant Vagbon.’

I saluted. He hesitated, before widening the crack a few inches and squeezing through. He awkwardly returned the gesture, impeded by his bulky augmetic arm, even as he attempted to kick the door shut behind him.

‘Acting Flight Sergeant Plient,’ he said. ‘Can I help you, sir? The main hangar is at the other–’

‘I am looking for Flight Commander von Shard.’

‘Ah… Well, she is currently engaged in… tactical analysis,’ he said, gaze flickering over his shoulder. ‘I would happily relay a message. Or perhaps I could–’

‘My orders are to escort her to a meeting with Propagandist Esec.’

At this his face fell.

‘Ah. Well, forgive me, sir, but who gave the order?’

‘She did.’

‘Right,’ he said, gaze darting from me to the almost-shut door. ‘I… She didn’t sleep well, and–’

‘Plient! Close the damn door!’

The voice cut through like a chainblade. It was followed by a series of coughs, and the sound of someone hawking and spitting.

‘It’s Wing Sergeant Vagbon, sir,’ Plient replied. ‘She says you requested her call?’

I pushed past him before she could answer, shouldering open the door to the hangar. It was small, cramped with tools and spare parts. Mendax Matertera was suspended in the room’s centre. It struck me as an ineffectual use of the space, that the plane would be better suited to the main hangar, but I did not have time to dwell on it.

‘Flight Commander von Shard?’ I called.

‘At ease, sergeant.’

The voice came from my left, behind a roughly strung curtain. I pulled it aside, revealing a dingy living space. Presumably Plient’s, though currently the commander was the one stretched out on the mattress. Her flight suit stank of promethium, the smell almost masking the odour of amasec. Her eyes were shielded by a glarevisor.

‘Sorry, sir,’ Plient said from over my shoulder. ‘She forced her way in.’

‘That’s all right, Plient.’ The commander sighed, looking me over. ‘Vagbon was it? New recruit?’

‘No, sir. We have flown together before. Several times.’

‘Really? Well, you failed to leave an impression. A daring fighter ace must have a memorable face. That’s lesson one.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said as she dragged herself to her feet, still eyeing me with apparent confusion.

‘You should invest in a focal point,’ she murmured, glancing to Plient. ‘Who was the fellow with the fancy moustache? He had a little comb and everything.’

‘Flight Commander Gradeolous, sir?’

‘Gradeolous! That’s it. Now in fairness, he looked terrible. Like a furry slug had ascended his lip. But it made him memorable.’ She frowned, glancing to Plient. ‘What’s Gradeolous up to these days? I haven’t seen him around.’

‘He… had his head cut off by the orks, sir. They sent a vid of it?’

‘That was it!’ she said, clicking her fingers before turning back to me. ‘Try and learn from Gradeolous’ example. Excluding the decapitation. Right, lesson over. You may go.’

‘I’m here to take you to see Propagandist Esec, sir. As per your orders.’

At the mention of his name a shadow passed over her.

‘Esec,’ she said, her jaw tightening. ‘You’re sure that’s today?’

‘Yes, sir. We spoke yesterday. You said it was vital I reminded you.’

It was not the whole truth. The exchange had involved considerably more profanity on her part, in addition to several veiled threats. But the commander nodded, dragging a handful of hair from her face and binding it back.

‘I suppose we should get the ghastly business over with,’ she sighed. ‘You’re coming too, Vagbon. Esec wants to meet our more talented pilots. In their absence I guess I’ll drag you along.’

‘Sir.’

‘Sir,’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I insult you to your face and that is all I get?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’re no fun, Vagbon.’

Propagandist Esec rarely left his personal barge. It was an unsightly vessel, a swollen blimp of a craft that dominated the skyline. I had heard whispers it was some advanced surveillance machine, and just as many counterclaims that it was nothing more than a repurposed agriculture vessel. Either and both seemed possible. It was certainly not military, and neither was Esec.

He was seated at the control chair when we entered, though it resembled a throne as much as anything. There were no other visible crew, besides a hulking ogryn who stood behind him, arms folded, broad face cast in a permanent scowl. A domed control helm sat upon Esec’s crown, but he removed it, revealing a partially shaved head and gleaming smile.

‘Flight Commander von Shard,’ he said with a modest bow. ‘And… forgive me, I do not recall your subordinate’s designation?’

‘This is Wing Sergeant Vagbon. One of our finest warriors.’

‘Ah, of course.’ He nodded, gifting me a smile. ‘My apologies. I know your face, but there are so many pilots. Vagbon. I’ll make a note.’

As he spoke a device skirted beside me, its lenses seeming to scrutinise me. An Eye, that was what he called it, though the soldiers had other, less flattering names for the pict recording machines. I tried to ignore it, my gaze fixed upon Esec, who in turn was intent on the commander.

‘I have some excellent news for the current campaign,’ he said, nodding to the main screen. ‘Behold!’

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