A Summon
Posted on 12 Apr 2023 @ 2:52pm by Sylvie Hardt - Surrat Gallery & Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: Promenade - Surrat Art Gallery
Timeline: MD10 - 1700
3240 words - 6.5 OF Standard Post Measure
Brek had felt trapped in Mrs Novikov’s party, the most tedious assemblage of pompous Hewmons he had met in his whole life. This was saying something, since for years he had been in regular contact with politicians and ambassadors. So he was hugely relieved when he received a call from Ms Hardt. She wanted to see him, and, miserable as he was right now, this promptly became the best news of the afternoon.
Who would have thought, even a year ago, that he would have rejected a party where wine and little cakes were freely available, to go speak with a rather austere Cardassian woman?
As soon as he reached the gallery, he entered the place as one would barge into a crowded coffee house. Then the sophistication of Ms Hardt gallery hit him, and he slowed down. He also realised that he should have changed into formal clothing, but he was still wearing his bright orange jumper.
“Ms Hardt?” Brek called, making sure his voice was not too loud. “Did you want to see me?”
Having seen Brek enter on the galley sensor system, Sylvie was already strolling unhurriedly from the back office. "Your response time is remarkable." She said, taking in the sight of him with a mild smile. "I had not expected an answer so immediately after my brief missive, much less in person. Seeing as you find yourself free at the moment, perhaps we could talk." She motioned towards the backroom.
"We can talk for sure, Ms Hardt." He said, wondering why the backroom was necessary just to exchange a few words. "I was kind of bored... Surrounded as I was with people with no imagination.
"I take it you had a social function? " Sylvie prompted for more.
“A social dysfunction is a better term for what I went through. For the sake of networking, I joined a party with a crowd of businessmen and women.” Brek sighed. “You would think I’d have been happy as a grasshopper baking under a hard sun, in such a fine environment. Nope. Such philistines those were. Not the slightest appreciation for any art, whatsoever. And before that, I had a nice little incident in a tailor’s shop. But enough about me. Is everything all right in your gallery? I would hate to see my direct competition in a spot of trouble." He added with a smirk.
She frowned. "Admittedly your gallery has caused a fluctuation in my sales." He would, Sylvie suspected, take it as a bit of a compliment if he knew that his sales were affecting her bottom line, and so she chose for her current purposes to share as much. Although it was no act; her frown was genuine. "It has been difficult for me to come to the conclusion, but I have decided to concede to you."
“You concede?” Brek echoed, unable to hide his surprise. Swift victories were fun, no doubt about that. But he often found them a bit bitter. This stemmed from the fact that, crudely put, he was a defective Ferengi who preferred happiness and prosperity all round, rather than stuffing his pockets with latinum. Although he sometimes did that, to show off.
"It is, in fact, due to the overlap of content in our listings, that I am preparing to change over the current show of Surrat Gallery, and intend to formulate something in a different direction." She continued, coolly. "If you would be so kind, to entertain a proposal I have, I believe it would be in the best interests of us both, not to mention the artists of whom we represent, should you find it amenable to your own purposes."
“I will entertain you whichever way you like, my dear Ms Hardt,” Brek said, not paying much attention to his own words, as he was more focused on the future of Surrat Gallery and the changes that it would be going through. He found Hardt’s gallery perfectly fine as it was now. He had even tried to copy it a little, opting for clear lines in his own gallery, rather than giving in to the ‘jumble sales’ look that befitted his personality.
She entered her office, a room with simple, glossy cardassian futurist period furnishings, pre war era and original —clearly restored antiques with too many imperfections to be recreations. There were more sculptures than paintings and a holographic installation work behind her desk, spreading soft, glimmering lighting over the room. To the left of her desk, on a small display easel there was one painting, however, that didn't fit the rest of the design- an older Cardassian man in a colorful suit with a flamboyant shirt and an odd cane. The painting was of student quality with imperfectly unsure strokes. There was an inscription on the frame: Degan Surrat.
Brek entered Hardt’s office like one discovered a revered sanctuary. He was impressed by everything he saw, though a little baffled too that the Caradassian woman should want to have broken and repaired furniture on display like that. Maybe those had a sentimental value... He was, however, instantly attracted by the painting. The portrait was imposing and he liked the clothes that the obviously important man was wearing. It showed a figure with a lot of personality. The sort of individual one would want to speak to.
As Brek took in the appearance of the room, Sylvie continued to the other side to fetch something. From a hidden closet door which slid into a wall, she took up a fur lined coat to cover her closely fitted black dress. The coat extended past her dress and although she did not button it, she adjusted the collar around her throat.
The Ferengi, who had been examining the portrait closely, was taken aback, when he looked up, to find that Ms Hardt was now wearing a coat. He got the message instantly. Though it wasn’t cold, she wanted to be icy and so she had adopted a Siberian look. He cleared his throat, and his mind, because he didn’t want to say anything funny, not on purpose anyway.
“This portrait here, it is quite something. Very lifelike. I like it.” Brek said. “Is Degan Surrat your father? Or grandfather, maybe? The clothing looks quite old. Though I’m not an expert in the clothing arts. Very very far from it, actually.”
"He was my grandfather." Sylvie confirmed. "From him I learned of business and of true faith. I have met none of his equal, the worlds over. I haven't done him justice. I tried to recreate the portrait that was in my childhood home." She smiled as she looked between Brek's bright suiting choice and that of her Grandfather. "He didn't care a twig for what others thought of his fashion. He liked what he liked. It stood out in the boardrooms."
“It is a truly mesmerising portrait. There is a lot of heart in this rendition.” Brek then took a deep breath, and although he didn’t want to say anything that could be perceived as awkward, resistance, as always, proved futile. “Listen, Ms Hardt. The things you said, it got me thinking. If by any chance your gallery needs some cash, I would more than likely be able to help you. And you wouldn’t have to concede anything. I could find you a profitable investment. It would be legal, and you could rack in the profits within a week, or three months, if you don’t want to take too many risks.”
"Charity?" Her look darkened, and she folded her hands. "Come now, do you think so little of me?"
“Ah... It is not like that at all,” he quickly countered, unable to repeat the word ‘charity’ out loud in front of her..” He shrugged. “Latinum, it comes and goes, following the whims of speculations, and I like to see it fructify. In any case, I have the highest respect for you, Ms Hardt. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
"My gallery is a passion project. I have significant resources to supply even any ongoing losses to the gallery business. Although it is no where so dire as that. I think it may be easier to explain if I show you."
That shut Brek up for a few seconds. The realisation that Surrat’s wasn’t Hardt’s main project. That her gallery could even be a side venture, just to occupy her mind on tedious days. He was, by comparison, impoverished - yes that ugly word - for ‘Timeless Treasures’ was paramount to him. “Indeed, I look forward to seeing why you called me.”
Sylvie led him back out of the office to the loading and shipping corridor that ran behind all of the businesses on the promenade. Beside her loading dock, there was custom build— a small, private stairwell that wrapped around a maintenance lift, going down a few levels to a reinforced door. She opted for the walk instead of the lift, heels clacking all the way down. Brek seemed spry enough to manage it. There was utility lighting in the corridor to which they emerged, and she entered codes and biometrics as well a a swipe of a verification chip she had inside of the coat pocket. The outer doors rolled away as an inner iris door slid into its own petals. It revealed an access room like an airlock with a small desk in one wall. Sylvie stepped inside and waited for Brek, then sealed the big doors behind them again. Once secure she similarly entered her credentials for the inner door, which had all of the tell tale appearances of an expensive, high quality, reinforced vault. the smaller half of the vault door opened for them and she rolled it away waiting fro Brek to step in ahead of her. Inside was a climate controlled warehouse with art and artifacts and walls of locked drawers and cabinets. It went back quite a distance and there were four inset doors indicating deeper storage chambers. Here and there were large crated or covered works. A number of artworks were currently at the appraisal and restoration table in the center of the expansive vault space.
Brek had followed silently, but his mind had worked a lot. Why had they not taken the lift? This had forced him to walk well behind Hardt, following her move by the sound of her shoes really, for fear that he might trip in the stairs and collide with her. And then, there had been this fascinating display of high security with several authentications.
Now that they stood in what he viewed as a treasure cave, he looked around him, astonished, but a little mortified too. For he had told no one where he went. If, for some unknown reason, the Cardassian woman wanted to eliminate him, she could do it in all ease, right here, and his body would probably never be found...
"This is where I store much of my collections now. Not all..." She didn't want to misrepresent her self. "There are several storage bays at various other locations which I have had to arrange since my forced relocation."
“If you wanted to impress me, Ms Hardt, it is a blatant success. May I... may I have a look around?"
"You may." She handed him a small device, sitting on the table. it looked like a scanner but it had a holographic glass projection. As it panned around the room it would augment the view through it to illustrate the item in the catalog which corresponded to the storage number. "It is in fact why I asked you to come."
"You must have started collecting art a long time ago. Some of it, I suspect, you have inherited from your family."
"You deduce correctly. Much of this was gathered over as many as ten generations. Although the oldest relics and artifacts of my family remain in other storage and are primarily of Cardassian origin. This vault features more of my own collecting and boasts a broader selection, in many media, traditional and modern, largely within the past two centuries, as well as contemporary works from many different worlds. It's more eclectic. I have had difficulty narrowing down my own taste." She continued to talk as he looked around.
"You have so much...” His voice sounded like an echo. An envious echo. “But surely, you do not plan to part with any of this?”
"Well," Sylvie smiled through a tight twist in her lips. "The purpose in dealing art is to come to a price at which one would part with the work. Seeing as you have the better connections, salesmanship, and reputation in handling Romulan works, I would rather see pieces with history in my sales catalog discovered than hidden away. With a few exceptions that I expect to appreciate greatly, of course. And then the contemporary artists in the current show whom await their returns should not be made to accept a mark down for their expert craft and timely message. It was my intent in showing their work to try to lend aid to refugees and awareness to the turmoil of the region. But it makes little sense, for their sakes, to continue to compete with you. So, I would like to propose a partnership..." She paused, as Mister Brek seemed so very absorbed in exploring the augmented reality catalog. He did appear to need time to absorb.
Armed with the gadget that Ms Hardt had allowed him to use, Brek had not wasted half a second: he explored the vault and its many riches. As he did so, he made sure to keep the gallery owner in sight. For a new fear had surfaced: that of being locked up and abandoned in such a secure place. How many treasure hunters had died of thirst and hunger whilst being surrounded by gold coins? A lot. Worlds at large didn’t make a big fuss about that, because those poor greedy souls, it would probably take centuries before their dusty bones were discovered.
When reviewing several landscapes which he thought had been destroyed in ‘87, the word ‘partnership’ hit his brain cells. He switched the scanner off, and walked back to Ms Hardt.
“Ms Hardt, you have perfected the art of hoarding to the absolute magnificence!” He nodded his head with satisfaction but said no more on the subject. There was a whiff of sorrow in the air. Hardt’s family had suffered a lot, and those cold treasures were likely what remained of her dynasty. “A Partnership, you say? You have my entire attention. What would this entail?”
"I would hate to see the Romulan works simply dither away into obscurity. Perhaps you would wish to select from the collection pieces that would complement your show, and I might grant them on loan. If they sell, a commission to you for your trouble." She shifted her coat closer, her Cardassian blood disliking the vault's air temperature. "If you find the prospect appealing, we can discuss an agreeable rate in warmer environs, at a place and time of your choosing."
“I would for sure, love to select a few paintings among your vast collection, Ms Hardt.” He looked, puzzled, at her. Although she stood there, imperial, like she owned the whole place - and of course, she did - she didn’t look comfortable. Nor did he, really. How was he going to choose the best artwork, here and now, as fast as possible? “I will get to it then...”
He rushed back to the drawers and cabinets to scan them once more. As he did so, he felt compelled to talk some more, just to try to warm the place a little maybe. “What you said about the Romulan refugees, Ms Hardt, is truly commendable. I also like to help them, financially, whenever I can. Though I would rather not see this fact advertised too much. On account of, well... what I am. I can’t believe you have paintings from the 2250s! Must have one of those.” He added, quietly, to himself.
Sylvie followed after him, more slowly. "Your secret is safe with me."
“Also, I was thinking, Ms Hardt. What sort of food do you prefer? I would be delighted to invite you to a good restaurant on the Station.” This, he thought, would be excellent for his image: dining with the competition. It would also give him the opportunity to mention his interest in the Civilian Affairs office. “Something bright and exotic, maybe?”
"Perhaps. As long as it is suited to discussing business, and not terribly... lively. The most popular dining on the station seems to involve live music and crowds. Not that I'm set against such atmosphere. It just wouldn't suit our purposes."
“Absolutely,” Brek said, wondering whether he should set his mind on a small collection of modern artists, or go for the great classics, pre-2300. As he aimed to sell those paintings fast, it would be good to have them following a certain pattern, rather than a patchwork of talents. “I’ll make sure to select a high-end restaurant with a sophisticated atmosphere, excellent food and a service that’s impeccable. I won’t disappoint.”
"You know, my dear Mr. Brek." There was a gentle amusement in her voice as she watched him eagerly sifting through her vault as if trying to pick his favorite candy. "You may take the device with you. It can serve as a holographic catalog outside of the vault. When you've made your selections, I can have my gallery assistant deliver you the originals for inspection."
That stopped him dead in his tracks. “Really?” He asked, like her words were the best news since the defeat of the Dominion and the liberation of Bajor. “That is most kind of you! I’ll be as swift as I can, of course. Well, I suppose we can go back to the land of the living, then? Your storage system is very clever, and impressive too, but I would not rate its general atmosphere very much.”
"This is true. While I treasure the contents hereof, I usually dress for the weather when I plan to spend any time in it. It is a little brightened with company, however."
“Yes, I can see now, why it's best to wear a coat down here. I’ll let you get to the stairs first, Ms Hardt. I can be terribly clumsy at times,” He added, as he continued to look at the images stored in the scanner.
"Then I shall lead the way," she said as she continued back though the smaller vault door and waited for her her new business partner to follow her through. He did linger, but came along presently. His ears were very large. She knew it to be a compliment to say such a thing about a Ferengi, but kept it to herself seeing as drawing attention to such features was typically frowned on otherwise, or out of concern it might be impolitely misconstrued as some other type of interest. But likely he knew a very good opportunity when his business lobes heard it, as was the current case... She supposed in some ways they would always compete, but in finding a mutual way to do business in one shared area of interest, Sylvie was pleased.
