With Schneider gone, the world shrinks to just you and Paulus facing off across the folding table with the engines of the Semiramis chugging in the background—a sinister and foreboding ambiance.
"Oh dear, Dr. Spillane," he begins. "What a pity it had to be like this. We connoisseurs of history really ought to work together, don't you think? When people of learning turn on each other like this, it really is the end of civilization."
"I know you and what you do," you reply. "There's nothing civilized about any of it."
Paulus studies you for a moment.
"I suppose I am a ghoul to you," he says. "But know that I do not enjoy it. For our culture to progress, blood must be shed. It was always thus. Though your simplistic morality will doubtless not see beyond the obvious. Nonetheless, let us hope that you cooperate, so you will not have to become…uncomfortably familiar with these things that you have heard that I do."
You stay silent. He chuckles.
"You must despise me," he says. "But I do not reciprocate. I admire you. As I said, I am a connoisseur of history. I know your work. I know you are a scholar of repute and distinction. I know all about you and your remarkable specialisms."
You wonder, for a moment, what specialisms he might be thinking of.