The Tyranny of Art
Posted on 24 May 2023 @ 4:23am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M3 - Into the Deep
Location: O.C. Station - Promenade & Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Timeline: MD11 - Afternoon
1708 words - 3.4 OF Standard Post Measure
Brek had left the Fortune Palace restaurant, and with it, a business offer that he refused to entertain. He had feared, upon returning to his usual lair (his art gallery) that the prospect of turning a good pile of latinum away would weigh on his mind. It didn’t. He felt as light as a fly in a placid summer sky (Ferengi poetry is an acquired taste). The only thing he sort of owed to Senator Thitur was a painting. Anything else that cropped up, he could easily kick under the proverbial carpet. On O.C. his agenda was to be entirely transparent. Gone were his days of dodgy deals and convoluted arrangements.
“Yep, I’ll cancel everything those Romulans told me today. That’s it, done!” he mumbled to himself as he entered a turbolift. There was a young thing in the lift. Hewmon, no more than 20. And of course she gave him an odd look, and a wide berth too. He must have looked like a toad of some kind to her. This too, he shrugged off. He had no time to waste on people whose brains were as empty as a bankster’s promises.
He left the lift a couple of minutes later, and as he approached his gallery, he heard a strange conversation going on inside Timeless treasures. Young Kyrill was there, along with Romulan artist Bajeem, and Glutik, his Tellarite bodyguard. Sweet Nyasha was remarkably absent because Glutik, the beast, had altered her features once again. Under the directives of Kyrill and Bajeem, the Tellarite had created a new female holo-entity, part Hewmon, part Romulan, which they called T’Ania.
When Brek entered the gallery, they were discussing the creation’s peach coloured evening dress, an insignificant detail to the Ferengi, whose eyes were immediately attracted to the gold present on the holo-creature: earrings shaped like little daggers, a solid gold necklace, a fine wristwatch and to complete this fine picture, a delicate bracelet embedded with three initials.
A complete silence followed Brek’s sudden appearance. Paying more attention to T’Ania (who looked like she might not even align three words on an average day) he saw that she was cursed with heavy eyelids, a permanent sulk and short blond hair revealing the tip of pointed ears. Such features made her look unapproachable. The sort of holo-assistant you want when you are out of business and need to fend off all inquiries. What he would call an Ice Queen. By all that was precious, what the hell was happening here??
“Will no one introduce me to this new... creation?” Brek asked, seething.
The three men looked at him with a guilty blush on their face. Red for Kyrill, greenish for Bajeem, and copper-coloured for Glutik.
“We were just having a bit of fun,” Glutik said as a weak form of apology. “There was no malice intended. As you can see, T’... T’Ania is very reasonable.”
Brek had to admit, the new assistant wasn’t in any way extravagant. In fact she barely had any curves at all. Give her a moustache and she would easily pass for a young man - with magnificent blue eyes.
“It’s all my fault,” Kyrill started. “I was trying to show Mister Glutik, what I meant when I said that one of the figures in my latest painting was inspired by an icon of the past. A Terran actress from the 20th century that my mother’s very fond of.”
Glutik looked a little shocked there. Chances were, no one had ever called him ‘Mister’. He was Glutik to everyone. A force to be reckoned with, but this had never included any form of civility.
“Yeah, so we got a lecture on Russian spies,” Bajeem intervened. Today he was wearing a knitted vest with horizontal stripes. The sort of thing produced by the most basic of replicators. “Which in many ways is quite funny because, honestly, Terrans are useless as spies. For a real secret agent, you need a Romulan. That’s how we made T’Ania a hybrid. But enough of that!” Bajeem suddenly decided. “I wanted to see you, Brek, because guess what? I have completed the famed ‘The Fall of Freljord version 2.’ Ta-dah!”
Bajeem unveiled a painting that had stood behind him, and they all stared at an unusual sight: the rendition of a massive explosion, with many shades of greens, purples, oranges, reds, and the kind of white that hurt the eyes and denotes complete annihilation. Brek’s hopes at that point were almost that colour. The real Fall of Freljord represented the ancient ruins of a well loved Romulan monument. There were a lot of symbols, political and cultural, in that painting, and Bajeem, who was supposed to paint a new version of that grand view, had purely and simply nuked it. Gone were the references to Mordan IV’s civil war, the occupation of Bajor and the Dominion War - unwisely fought against the UFP. If only those Romulans knew when not to take sides... Also, if only he had found ‘The Fall’ painting among Ms Hardt’s treasures. He could have gone to the Senator, and sold ‘The Fall’ to him. End of the matter, and don’t call back. That would have been fun. Instead he was back to square one, with the likelihood that the original painting would never be found. It had either been destroyed, or another art collector had got hold of it.
“You don’t like it?” Bajeem asked, alarmed that the Ferengi was so silent.
“I knew he wouldn't,” Glutik commented. He looked quite impressive, clad as he was, in dark green garments, but the Tellarite knew as much about art as your average Targ, and should, really, shut up. “It’s not intricate enough. A good painting, it needs endless details. So that people can marvel at the meaning of every leaf, or brick or glass of brandy. Whatever’s being represented. Here we have a great big nothing. An amazing void. Although I feel sure we can all agree: it is quite colourful.”
“That’s the point!” Bajeem added, losing his temper. “This new version of the old painting is all about clearing the air. Allowing for a new start. The hell with old politicians like Thitur and his clique. They are the ones who are responsible for what happened to the Romulan Empire. The stalling, the contradictions, the backstabbing, this is what the Senate, the military, the Tal Shiar, and even the Free State, have achieved. We are stagnating because of well established people like them. We need to turn to the new generation. People who understand the plight of the refugees, and are prepared to act. The likes of Thitur, they are mostly mummified. Nothing positive ever comes to fruition with them. Out with the old oppressive symbols. Let’s start afresh.”
Sensing that Bajeem’s tirade was far from over, Brek intervened. “I’ve heard enough, and I’m not sold on your concept. If you can’t give me a proper new version of the ruins that were Freljord, I’ll find another artist who can deliver.”
“I can’t believe you are on the Senator’s side,” Bajeem added. “You of all people.”
“If you are going to continue with your rant, do it elsewhere. I don’t have the ears for it,” Brek countered. He snatched the holo-controls from Glutik’s hands, and he activated T’Ania, curious as he was to hear what she sounded like. The Tellarite tried to stop him, but he proved too clumsy for the Ferengi’s swift grasp.
Only one phrase was pronounced, guttural yet soft enough to be charming. “You are very kind. Could I offer you some coffee or cognac?” The amazing thing was, the way every word had been enounced, you could tell that T’Ania was prepared to offer a lot more than beverages, and that made Brek blink.
“I see...” The Ferengi finally said. “It looks like the three of you have had a lot of fun while I was away. You know Glutik... you need to buy one of those holo-assistants for yourself. Set it up in your quarters, and have as much fun as you dare, away from my property.”
“Spoilsport.” Bajeem muttered. “You know, holo-characters are a form of art too. IT takes a lot of dedication and hard-work to render them right.”
Untouched by this condemnation, Brek resurrected Nyasha, who, funnily enough, looked hugely relieved to be re-activated. “From now on, I don’t want anyone to alter my holo-assistant. Is that clear?”
The three men produced muffled sounds that had the markings of insincere apologies, so Brek added a new layer of security protocols to his holo-controls. “Out with the three of you now. You don’t belong here. You too, Kyrill. We’ll resume your apprenticeship next week.”
Glutik and Bajeem left immediately, they knew when enough was enough, but young Kyrill, on the strength of his immaturity, lingered. He scratched his neck and then said: “Mister Brek, you know, about the Romulan painting, maybe I could give it a go? I mean if it’s all about desolation and ruins, that’s right up my street. But I could do it in good taste. No skulls on the ground, or gibbets on the horizon-line. It would be clean. Sombre, but with hope.”
Brek sighed. He had not expected to find a Ferengi streak in such a young man. “You would try to steal the commission of another artist?”
“But you said...”
“What I said was only for Bajeem’s ears.” Brek explained. “I was trying to bring him to his senses and reignite his pride. Besides, for the sake of authenticity, this painting must be done by a Romulan. Surely you can understand that?”
“I do. But still, if only...”
Brek sighed again. “Off you go Kyrill. Please.”
Once the young Hewmon had left, the Ferengi went to his office. He needed to conjure up a few plan Bs for the ‘The Fall of Freljord - Version 2’, and Senator Thitur, too.
