Stepping into Bailey Gilande's office was like stepping into another world. A large wooden desk stood in the corner of the room, in front of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and binders and haphazardly stacked folders stuffed to bursting, remanants of a pre-digital age that Niola couldn't even fathom existing.
Bailey herself was small figure sitting behind a keyboard, dwarfed by both the desk and shelves, another stack of folders at her elbow. A tiny owl perched on the green shade of a desk lamp and watched Niola's approach through enormous eyes. Bailey looked up from her computer with the trace of a smile.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Chein," she said, motioning to the chair in front of the desk, "please, have a seat."
Niola blinked. Bailey's stature belied her voice, which was rich, assured and velvety, a voice that both invited and inspired confidence. Pity that she spoke so little.
"How can I help you today?"
Niola collected herself and straightened in the chair. "I'm preparing a proposition for the next general election, and I wish to know if there exists any precedent for this kind of project in Cloudbank."
"Of course. What is the nature of the project?"
"A gallery space in Goldwalk, showcasing works from artists of the working class and the disenfranchised."
"A public gallery?"
"Naturally."
"Let me check the archives." Bailey turned back to her computer, and for a long while afterward, the office was silent save for the sound of her keystrokes. The little owl shifted its weight atop the lamp and, satisfied that Niola posed no threat, closed its eyes.
"I don't see anything that matches your query exactly," Bailey said at last. "We've had plenty of public galleries, but they've all featured professional artists, or those in training to be."
Niola shrugged. "I figured as much. Thank you very much for—"
"What inspired this idea?" Bailey leaned forward, making direct eye contact. "If I may ask?"
"A desire for equality, for diversity. I see people of so many different backgrounds passing through Goldwalk, and I have spoken to many of them. They have ideas and dreams, like anyone else, and the creativity to give those ideas form. It makes no sense that they are silenced. They are already denied the vote; why deny their expression, as well?"
"Is it based solely on class?"
"While I wish to feature the traditionally voiceless, anyone who wishes to participate is welcome. We all have our own stories, and they all are worth telling, despite what the Administrators believe."
"Stories," Bailey repeated slowly. "Of the other, of the in-between." She smiled, broadly this time, if sadly, and blinked rapidly. "What I wouldn't have given to be able to tell my story back then."
"You are welcome to tell it now," Niola offered, not quite sure what Bailey meant.
Bailey shook her head. "No, the time for that has passed. But I applaud you, Ms. Chein, and I wish you the best, for this project, and for Goldwalk."