Chapter Text
You picked nervously at the flecks of paint dotting your hands. Your legs bounced. You hated waiting.
Sitting, staring at a blank screen, waiting for Admiral Komack’s head to pop up was the worst. You didn’t even think you’d be here that long, having got the call to visit and ducked in from your art workshop on the starbase, you had neglected to bring a sketchbook. Without it, you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands.
The screen fizzed to life, and you were face to face with the admiral. You discreetly brushed off the small pigments of dried colour from your utility jumpsuit.
“Ensign (y/n)?”
“Yes sir.”
You sat as formally as you could, back rigid. Komack looked you up and down, frowning at the spots of acrylic and sweeps of charcoal dust that donned your uniform. Thank goodness he couldn’t see the bottom half of you.
“Please pardon my appearance, sir. I’ve come straight from my old Earth art techniques workshop. I was using charcoal and acrylic paint.”
Komack frowned further. “Starfleet officers are required to maintain a particular standard of excellence, Ensign. Including appearances.”
“I understand, sir. Unfortunately there are no Starfleet regulated art smocks of any kind, so I had no alternative but to opt for the utility jumpsuit. As this is a field uniform currently used aboard Starships I assumed it would be more durable to foreign substances.”
Komack resigned to your logic, nodding as you sighed internally. I’m the master of bullshit, you thought.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
Komack stood, pacing around the office and staring out his window, still in sight of your view screen. You knew he was trying to appear casual. That probably wasn’t good.
“How is the program progressing?”
It could be better if you weren’t interrupting me! You grimaced, but caught yourself.
“To be frank sir, there has not been as much interest as I was initially led to believe. Those who have showed up for the last week seem to have had an educational time though, many of the participants haven’t had the chance to work with-“ you glanced down at the paint on your hands and bunched your fists in an attempt to hide the mess, “physical materials before.”
“Well, art mediums of 19th and 20th century Earth is a very niche subject, Ensign.”
“That does appear to be the case, sir.” You frowned. “The one thing I’ve noticed throughout the week is the underlying frustration of the participants. They express frustration at not being able to right mistakes on paper, as you would with digital art. There seems to be a lack of understanding that these physical skills take time to develop, and that mistakes are what makes the work unique and organic.” You looked back up at him, smiling sweetly. “But of course, all of this will be included in my official report at the end of the program.”
“Ah, about that,” Komack circled around, seating himself once again. “The program will conclude today.”
You felt your eyebrows shoot downwards angrily before you could stop yourself. “Sir?”
“There is no longer a need for the program.”
Your shoulders sagged. It had taken you a whole year of writing proposals to secure the meagre amount of funding for even the three short weeks of programs you had wanted, not to mention you had to supplement supplies with your own budget once stock had ran low, as you knew you would have to. Fifty credits was barely enough to purchase recycled paper. It seemed you always had to fight tooth a claw to get any kind of art representation at Starfleet. The popularity of STEM education over the last few centuries hadn’t been kind to creatives like you.
Having been posted to a Starbase, you thought this could be the perfect crowd, some passing travellers looking for entertainment. Apparently this was not the case.
“With all due respect sir-“
“You have been reassigned at the request of one of your participants.”
You blinked. “Reassigned? Sir, I have not been made aware of any complaints about the program that would result in its premature cancellation! If there has been-“
“If you will let me finish, Ensign.” Komack interjected roughly, and your jaw snapped shut. “Do you remember the Andorian ambassador?”
You thought for a moment.
“Ambassador Doxon, yes.” You remembered your interaction with the blue alien. “He passed through the station last week. He expressed a liking for Vladimir Tretchikoff’s painting Chinese Girl from Earth’s year 1952. I had a copy on display there as an example of popularly reproduced artworks of the 20th Century. (1) I don’t think he expected to see any early Earth art depicting blue skin before the time of first contact. Though colloquially the skin tone is considered green, it’s sometimes nicknamed The Green Lady.”
You waved a hand. “As with all art, it’s really up to interpretation.” You felt yourself rambling, so stopped and tightened your lips.
Komack nodded. “He is an old friend of mine. We have been speaking over the last week,” he continued. “And though numbers in your workshop have been,” he paused, searching for the right word, “diminishing, we thought your skills might be utilised more effectively elsewhere.”
“Sir?”
“The Ambassador described to me some of the work you had on display. Some sketchbooks?”
You blanched. “Sir, my sketchbooks aren’t… proper, or finished art pieces as such. It’s more a collection of daily observations that I do to increase my visual literacy.” You saw him staring blankly. “It helps me really ‘see’ what I’m looking at.” You explained. “It’s a journal of my own creative journey, but I took them along to show that art doesn’t have to result in a finished piece, it’s about exploration.”
“That was exactly what sparked the ambassador’s interest. The way you physically document the life around you. It’s not been part of any official practice at Starfleet for more than two centuries.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person to consider me an old human, rather than a new human, sir.” (2)
Komack nodded. He was considered an ‘old human’ as well. “Our research has shown that those inclined to old ways tend to fair better in space travel. You’ve been transferred to the starship Enterprise.”
“The Enterprise, sir?”
“It’s just started its five year mission, so I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” He smiled.“Ensign. Congratulations. You are the first Starfleet artist.”
Your jaw dropped. “Uh, I mean, thank you sir. I’ve always wanted to be on board an exploratory ship, that every officers dream! But I don’t understand-“
“Your mission is to document.”
“Document what, sir?”
“Anything and everything.” He continued. “We have plenty of scientific ways to measure data, but, some federation members feels that it lacks emotionality, tactility, the human element. It’s hoped that your unique observations of the everyday practices of the five year mission will bring new insights for the federation. The people, the places. Looking at them with a visual and cultural lens, not just scientifically.”
He smiled at you. “You are part of a pilot program Ensign. Should your work be deemed successful to the Federation, in ten years’ time every exploratory vessel will have an artist in residence.” Komack laughed, then leaned in close to the screen. “If your work is successful.”
You swallowed thickly. “Yes sir. I’ll do my best.”
He saw hesitation flash your eyes. “It was my understanding that you have been an advocate for the arts in Starfleet since you enrolled?”
“Yes sir, that’s true.” It was true, and you did have a bit of a… colourful track record in that sense. Starfleet never did discover the person who may have had too much Andorian wine one night and tried to become the Banksy (3) of the 23rd century. There had been some interesting graffiti in the cadet’s accommodation a few years ago.
Komack straightened up. “You depart at 1900 hours. The Enterprise is passing the satbase for a supply run. You have until then to gather anything you need.” An alert sounded from your nearby PADD, and you picked it up, glancing at the screen. “These are your orders from Captain James T Kirk. He has approved your transfer on the condition that you follow the rules and regulations regarding dangerous substances aboard Federation Starships, and that in addition to your documentation role, you will double as a security officer in the operations division.”
You had trained in security, with a basic knowledge of engineering. That had been your foot in the door to Starfleet. You didn’t consider yourself a confrontational person by nature, so maybe it wasn’t the best choice for you. Those couple of months aboard freighters had got you quite used to space. Part of you itched to get back out there again.
“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”
“Good luck Ensign.” He sighed, sitting and stretching back in his chair. “Between you and me, the Enterprise could use a little less emotionality.”
You frowned slightly at the casual, almost gossip-like admission. “What makes you say that, sir?”
“Kirk is a bit of a cowboy, reacts to everything like a bullet from a gun,” Komack sighed. “At least Mr Spock is there to keep things in order.”
The name rang a bell. “Mr Spock, sir?”
Komack nodded. “The first officer on board. He is a Vulcan”
You had met a few Vulcans before. None had been particularly politely to you. You had thought they’d had an odd reaction to you and your work. The few Vulcans you had met had reacted as the Ancient Greek philosophers did. They viewed art as deception, as lies covered by a pretty façade. As an unnecessary expression of emotion. And most of all, they viewed it as illogical.
It would be difficult to justify your position to the first officer on the ship.
“Like I said Ensign,” Komack leaned into his screen. “Good luck.”
As the screen blipped to black, you couldn’t help but think of the immortal words of one of Earth’s famous historical figures.
Good luck, and don’t fuck it up.
Four hours later, with your equipment packed and PADD tucked beneath your elbow, you were beaming aboard the Enterprise.
Footnotes:
1. Vladimir Trechikoff was a self-taught portrait artist born in Russia in 1913. He was said to be inspired by his early life in China, Singapore and Indonesia, and later life in South Africa. He was considered the "King of Kitsch" by art critics as his work was extremely popular with the general public, especially in the 1960’s and 70’s, which were reproduced as cheap prints that could furnish a household.
Vladimir Tretchikoff, The Chinese Girl, 1952-53, oil on canvas.
2. Taken from Admiral Kirk’s preface from the Novelization of Star Trek: The Motion Picture by Gene Roddenberry, where Kirk describes the best space travellers are considered ‘old humans’ that are more old fashioned than their 23rd century counterparts (E.g: Kirk keeping his traditional family last name of ‘Kirk’ is considered an ‘old human’ trait by this point in time)
3. Banksy is the name given to the anonymous street artist, famous for their political and social criticisms through graffiti.