Doctor Govard Rasteban

Vaster looked at Govard. “Do you travel to the continent often, Doctor?”

Govard nodded. “We teach anatomy to doctors at the hospital in Oradore once a starcycle, and try to keep them informed of new research and findings going on down here.”

Vaster took a sip of his wine. “Do you get to see much of the landscape out there?”

Govard smiled. “It’s unavoidable. Step off a ship in Oradore and you’re up to your ankles in snow.  It’s a harsh place, but that harshness has its own sense of beauty.”

“Yes, Ceil’s paintings certainly present a…” Vaster had to pause a moment to recall how Overdage had said it earlier. “An unembellished naturalistic view of the Valbaran landscape, don’t they?”

Govard gestured to a bright red painting by the gallery’s entrance. “He captured that last gasp of red light over the horizon. I can tell he’d seen it with his own eyes.” Vaster looked at the painting. A field of endless snow bounced beams of crimson light back into a blood-red sky, the sun barely peeking above the horizon. Emaciated trees, their black leaves starved for the last glimmers of sunlight, stretched their twisted branches up toward the top of the canvas. There was no evidence of life in this painting, no residue left by human presence. Not even a footstep in the snow.

The bartender tapped Vaster on the shoulder. “A message, sir, from a gentleman at a table nearby.” He handed Vaster a folded piece of paper. It read:

We overheard your conversation with the augur.
Lodencia Vaye, Memorial Row Clinic, Level 21.
We can’t talk about this out loud here. Do not approach me.
Mention my name so she will not suspect you. —GR

Vaster turned back towards the banquette and looked at Doctor Rasteban. The doctor raised his glass and smiled.

“An acquaintance of mine said you might be able to help me.”

“Who told you that?”

“Doctor Rasteban.”

Lodencia’s eyes widened. “How do you know Govard?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Need a light?”

“Oh, right.” Vaster struck a match and lit the cigarette that was still dangling from his lip.

Vaster pulled the pack from his duster pocket. “Want one?”

Lodencia nodded.

Vaster handed her a cigarette and lit it with the tip of his. “It’s counterfeit.”

 “Everything down here is.” Lodencia took a puff from the cigarette. “So, tell me about how you know Govard.”

“I run an art gallery. He’s one of my collectors.”

“That’s not complicated.”

Vaster nodded and took a drag from his cigarette.

“What do you need? Did another one of his experiments go bad out in the dark?”

Vaster blinked. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I told him not to send any more of his broken mistakes my way. He should keep them out in that old house in the snow where they belong.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but that’s not what I’m here for.”