It was a slow descent. The inquisitor lumbered. His legs and lower body were braced inside some kind of augmetic exo-support. Every step was a heavy effort, every movement marked by the puff of hydraulic servos. Drusher had often thought himself old and in bad shape, but he was nimble beside the other man. How did a body even keep going after what must have been years of damage and injury? Surely there came a point at which enough was enough? There was an ugly stink of obsession coming off Eisenhorn, the stench of a man driven beyond reason to accomplish something. When was enough enough? Only in death? Drusher had heard that phrase often enough over the years, the noble mantra of the military. It was nonsense, obviously. Only an idiot thought that, or an idiot who pretended to be a hero. An idiot either way.

Drusher’s initial evaluation of the inquisitor had not changed, though he decided to keep that to himself. No point making his bad start worse. Sure, this Eisenhorn fellow was intimidating. He had the badge and the terrifying authority that came with it. But he was just another idiot of which the galaxy had so many: a man with delusions of grandeur; a man who felt he could make some kind of difference in the grand scheme of things; a man who believed his work mattered.

Try making a complete taxonomy, and tell me that matters, Drusher thought. Try doing that for seven years, and tell me it wasn’t hard work.

‘Perhaps you can tell me more about this investigation?’ said Drusher.

‘Isn’t that why you’re here? To tell me more about it?’

‘Well, I’ll need something to go on,’ said Drusher.

‘I think Deputy Garofar told you plenty.’

‘I just asked him, casually. He wasn’t really sharing classified information or anything–’

Eisenhorn paused and glanced at him.

‘In this situation, I decide what is classified, magos.’

Holy Throne, you’re an arsehole, thought Drusher. I get it. You’re tough as anything, and years of privileged authority have gone to your head. You’re not impressing me at all with this ‘get a load of me’ act. Given the shape you’re in – mental, I’m guessing, as much as physical – you should have retired years ago.

‘Maybe, now you’re here, you can share some details?’ said Drusher curtly. ‘You want a magos biologis with specific expertise in the fauna of this planet.’

‘And you want passage off this world,’ replied Eisenhorn, ‘so that seems a reasonable basis for cooperation.’

‘So… I just do what you tell me to do?’ asked Drusher.

‘That would be adequate,’ Eisenhorn replied. He continued down the stairs.

Drusher pulled a face then hurried to catch up.

‘A reasonable basis for cooperation would be an exchange of data,’ he said. ‘I have questions.’

‘Proceed.’

‘Why have you taken this case away from local enforcement?’

‘That’s classified. Ordo business.’