An Artful Distraction

Posted on 18 Dec 2023 @ 6:52pm by Lieutenant Louke Haille & Sylvie Hardt - Surrat Gallery

Mission: M4 - Falling Out
Location: Promenade - Surrat Gallery
Timeline: MD 04 - Afternoon
2392 words - 4.8 OF Standard Post Measure

Finding a moment free of Harshman’s attention, Oly had slipped from the Diplomatic realm and onto the promenade. He’d specifically changed out of his official garb and into more casual attire, not wanting to draw any undue attention. He was, after all, just another civilian enjoying the sights on the outskirts of the Federation, and no one would think any differently as he wound his way through the crowds and toward the collection of artisan stalls. Admittedly, there were a handful of interesting shops; Oly found himself making note of a few to check in on when he was finished with this job.

If he finished the job. For a moment the easy expression faltered as Oly sought to tuck the errant thought back into the shadows of his mind. He had nothing to be worried about on this mission; he would be in the security of a major station for the majority of his work, never far from the support of an officer should he need one. And since when has that been any guarantee? Setting his jaw, he ducked his head and pressed forward, missing the next few shops until he came upon the marquee for Surrat Gallery and made his way to the entrance.

Stepping through the entrance, Oly felt the change almost immediately from the muted chaos of the Promenade to an almost pristine stillness within. Surrounded by artwork of various forms and medias, he drew in a breath and took a moment just to enjoy the atmosphere, putting his errant thoughts back in order.

A couple of minutes passed as he walked through the new displays in the gallery, consisting of mostly work from an obscure place only called Iries Colony (obviously with heavy pre-militarization era Cardassian influence) and fine crafts selected from the native tribes of Obsidian and cooperatives in Kalara. By the time he reached the back of the gallery, a tallish half Cardassian woman in a patterned dress and a colored shrug stepped out of the back room, resettling her sweater over her shoulders before clasping her hands together. “Good evening, I hope you are enjoying the artwork. Please do let me know if you have any questions.”

Oly smiled, inclining his head to the woman. “Why, thank you. Might I assume you are Ms. Surrat?” He kept his expression open, watching her own to gauge her temperament.

“It’s Sylvie Hardt,” she said with a deferring tilt of her head, a polite correction. “I often am asked if I am Surrat. An honest misunderstanding. The Gallery is named after my maternal grandfather.”

“Ah,” Oly filed the information; while he had researched Ms. Hardt’s connection to his target, he hadn’t looked so much into her own past. As best he could have assumed, she had changed her name upon reaching the station - if only for professional purposes. Then again, she had been listed as proprietor on the manifest. “I’ll admit I’m not all that familiar with artwork, but my mom’s a definite fan - sisters as well.” It wasn’t a lie, and if he was lucky Oly could possibly keep just on the right side of the woman’s better opinion to score something memorable to send home to them. “Name’s Oly, by the way.”

“Mr. Oly,” She repeated, albeit with enough air in the two syllables to stretch them practically out to Awh-lei. “A pleasure. Guests are slow this time of week. The gallery is likely to remain yours to peruse. Are you in the market to purchase, perhaps a gift for a sister, or perusing?”

“Oh, a little both.” What the heck - he could buy something now, have it sent home, and then get on with business. “Do you have anything by local artists? I’m not really familiar with the area surrounding the station. I know it’s connected with Loki III, but … that’s about it? To be honest, I’m just here as a junior attache; a chance to get away from the desk and actually feel like I’m doing something, you know?”

“Yes, this station is directly associated with the Protectorate world.” She had a small padd in the lining of her sweater and handed it to him. “If you enter your contact information, shipping destination, and your price range, I can make a few suggestions for some authentic pieces.”

Taking the device, Oly jotted down his parents’ name and details; if he sent anything through for the girls, they would see they got to the intended location. As he filled in the price range, his gaze swept over some of the larger pieces visible to where he stood and hoped there was something closer to his capacity, otherwise this was going to make him look like an idiot. Once finished, he handed it back to Ms. Hardt. “I’ll have to break that amount over three pieces, if possible.”

She smiled. “I suppose you wouldn’t prefer one sibling believe she were more favored over the other.”

“I’m still alive at the ripe old age of 36; if I start playing favorites now, I won’t live to see 40.” The grin he flashed her was a genuine one. “Unless it’s for my mother, then I’m alright to splurge a bit more.”

“Can you tell me something about them? Your mother and sisters? I see they live on Sol?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Oly nodded. “North-American region: they call it Big Sky country, where I’m from.”

She looked thoughtful. His price was limited enough without the three way split. But perhaps there was something. “Then they appreciate landscapes, I presume?”

“They do, actually.” Playing up the wide-eyed tourist just a bit, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own padd, drawing up an image on the screen before handing it over. “My mother likes to dabble in a bit of it herself.”

Sylvie pursed her lips in thought, genuinely examining the brush strokes, values, tones, and composition. In her estimation, his mother seemed to be an intermediate skill, probably capable of showing her work in smaller outlets and fairs. But she could tell from the pride in the eyes of the son of this artist that he was unlikely to appreciate a cool assessment and so only gave a nod of approval as she returned the padd. Sylvie was never of the mind to deter any artist from their pursuit, herself struggling to make any skilled marks. Sometimes she wondered if it didn’t make the hobby more frustrating having surrounded herself with the finest art her money could buy. Perhaps in the same spirit, Mr. Oly’s family members would find something more relatable to their liking… Something from a self taught artist.

With long fingers forming one fluid motion, she wordlessly beckoned for him to follow her into a smaller chamber of the gallery. It was sparse, with no standing sculptures or unusual installations. One of the three walls had arranged on it black and white photos in floating frames, making them seem like little holographic picture windows into the world below.

Oly walked up to one of the images, eyes narrowing as he took in the stark planes and angles that seemed both familiar and alien at the same time. What caught his attention was the style of the art. He’d been expecting perhaps stock images, or perhaps simple prints, but as his mind adjusted to the range, he was surprised to find he was looking at a genuine photograph. He blinked, stepping back and reassessing it along with the others. There weren’t many of them - perhaps a dozen or so - but each had the same definite texture. “Someone went to a lot of work to make these look like antiques,” he mused.

“Well,” She smiled. “They were captured with a very old piece of equipment, a classic manual lens camera, with light exposure on 35 millimeter film, and subsequently traditionally developed with emulsifiers in a dark room.” She wasn’t entirely sure Aiden had chosen the right speed of film for the intensity of light he was working with on the desert world, but he was getting closer, and although it was costing him some clarity of focus, it added a certain…. something… she was unsure what. Authenticity? Innocence of the amateur? Implied atmospheric distance? She shook her head, unable to pin down the thought. “Each of these prints are exposed manually on light sensitive paper, then immersed in fixing bath, hence no two images are exactly the same, even when exposed from the same frame of film.”

“Really,” Oly glanced at her, only a little incredulous now. “I take it you’re familiar with the artist?”

“Mr. Dhow. He’s a gallery assistant who helps with the exhibit change overs. Custom carpentry, painting, lighting installation. That sort of thing.” She waved her hand which she obviously didn’t dirty with that type of work. “He found the camera among some boxes from my storage and asked to make use of it. I hadn’t any intentions for it. I think it was a gift from… I don’t remember. At any rate it’s his now.”

His professional self was prodding at the back of Oly’s mind, reminding him he was on a mission right now, but for the moment, his focus was on the piece in front of him. “So he’s here on the station somewhere?” If he did end up buying some of these - and Oly had to admit he was sorely tempted - it might add a bit of a special twist if he could get them autographed as well. But he had to stay on task, here.

“He has been spending his time creating these photographs, in the Itonian Bajada. There is a joint settlement there, negotiated by some el Aurian diaspora. I have seen very little of him after our latest show was installed. Only once, in fact, to deliver these and to laser cut the glass floating frames. I had reserved him this wall, wondering if he might find that motivating. Apparently it was.”

The statement shifted Oly back into work gear. “Itonian Bajada - I take it that’s down on the planet itself, then.” There had been mention of the settlement in his notes, as well as a Kalara City. He’d thought to start with the latter and try to find some in to the settlement itself. If Sawyl truly was somehow still alive, and had managed to weasel his way in with the refugees, that would be the ideal spot for him to hide.

“It is. On the southeast side of the Taragi-Shar mountain range. In the foothills where there is some source of water, though otherwise dry. Hot days. Frigid nights.” She shivered, repulsed. She preferred humid, warm climates and didn’t plan to holiday in Itonia any time soon herself. She could transact anything she needed to through agents.

A bemused smile curled his mouth at that. “Sounds a bit like home. Do you by chance have an image of this Mr. Dhow?”

“Ah, yes. There is a brief biography for him, and a self portrait. Although… he didn’t expound terribly much. He strikes me as a very private young man and I’m not one to pry. Much.” She pointed Mr. Oly to a very small wall card. In the two by two inch image, the photographer’s face was partly covered by the camera he was holding up to a polished obsidian glass mirror, making the balance in the black range very important in the exposure’s treatment. She was unsure if the reflection was one he found in nature or in the polish of a craftsman’s work, as it was not obvious in the frame of the photographs cropped edges.

Ever the eager tourist, Oly turned and nearly choked as he caught the profile. Though years were stripped aside, the bones were there in the angle of the jaw and shape of the eye. He couldn’t tell the color, but it didn’t matter. “Ah … and you said he’s been planetside this past week? Does he usually inform you if he’s coming to the station, or does he send his work on its own?”

Sylvie looked uncertain about this question. Not as to the answer as much as the purpose of Mr. Oly wishing to know the whereabouts of the artist. She blinked a little rapidly. “Forgive me? Do you mean to inquire concerning his whereabouts so as to… make arrangements to acquire his signature on the work?”

Oly caught her expression and smoothed his own. “Signature; I was just … you’d mentioned you hadn’t heard from him in a week, so I was just wondering if it would even be possible to have signatures to the pieces before I had to leave the station. This was only supposed to be a short-term assignment, after all.”

“I’m afraid I’m currently neither apprised of Mr. Dhow’s present whereabouts nor his future plans.”

“Ah, understood.” Giving her his warmest smile, Oly nodded to the wall, indicating a trio of cliff landscapes. “All the same, I would like those. I know they go a little over the budget I gave you, but I think I can justify the extra.”

Sylvie regarded his selections, the similarities in the set he had chosen, all alike and not browsing for variety to suit each giftee. Perhaps it said something more about the giver. The challenge of scaling such land features? Or perhaps something more about the abruptness of a cut off trail and the pitfall below…. Now she knew she was creating sheer fancy. Perhaps a cliff was just a cliff. “Very good. I shall process your payment and have them properly packed and shipped. You should receive a confirmation shortly. Should you have other questions, I am reachable here,” she gave him a small data slip, one with the verification for patrons which she favored over general inquires. “I hope your business on Obsidian Command proves fruitful, abbreviated though it may be.”

“Ma’am,” Oly nodded, holding up the slip. “Thank you very much.” With a wave, he headed out.