Super Man and the Bug Out | Page 9

the muted industrial-grade brown carpet.
Woolley knelt on the stool of an ergonomic work-cart, enveloped in an articulated nest of displays, comms, keyboards, datagloves, immersive headsets, stylii, sticky notes and cup-holders. His posture, hair and expression rivaled one-another for flawlessness.
"Hello, hello," he said, giving Hershie's hand a dry, firm pump. He smelled of expensive talc and leather car interiors.
He led Hershie to a pair of stark Scandinavian chairs whose polished lead undersides bristled with user-interface knobs. The old Minister's tastes had run to imposing oak desks and horsehair club-chairs, and Hershie felt a moment's disorientation as he sank into the brilliantly functional sitting-machine. It chittered like a roulette wheel and shifted to firmly support him.
"Thanks for seeing me," Hershie said. He caught his reflection in the bulletproof glass windows that faced out over the Rideau Canal, and felt a flush of embarrassment when he saw how clownish his costume looked in the practical environs.
Woolley favoured him with half a smile and stared sincerely with eyes that were widely spaced, clever and hazel, surrounded by smile lines. The man fairly oozed charisma. "I should be thanking you. I was just about to call you to set up a meeting."
Then why haven't you been taking my calls? Hershie thought. Lamely, he said, "You were?"
"I was. I wanted to touch base with you, clarify the way that we were going to operate from now on."
Hershie felt his gorge rise. "From now on?"
"I phrased that badly. What I mean to say is, this is a new Cabinet, a new Ministry. It has its own modus operandi."
"How can it have its own modus operandi when it was only created last night?" Hershie said, hating the petulance in his voice.
"Oh, I like to keep lots of contingency plans on hand -- the time to plan for major changes is far in advance. Otherwise, you end up running around trying to get office furniture and telephones installed when you need to be seizing opportunity."
It struck Hershie how finished the office was -- the staff, the systems, the security. He imagined Woolley hearing the news of his appointment and calling up files containing schematics, purchase orders, staff requisitions. It wasn't exactly devious, but it certainly teetered on the meridian separating planning and plotting.
"Well, you certainly seem to have everything in order."
"I've been giving some thought to your payment arrangement. Did you know that there's a whole body of policy relating to your pension?"
Hershie nodded, not liking where this was going.
"Well, that's just not sensible," Woolley said, sensibly. "The Canadian government already has its own pension apparatus: we make millions of direct-deposits every day, for welfare, pensions, employment insurance, mothers' allowance. We're up to our armpits in payment infrastructure. And having you fly up to Ottawa every month, well, it's ridiculous. This is the twenty-first century -- we have better ways of moving money around.
"I've been giving it some thought, and I've come up with a solution that should make everything easier for everyone. I'm going to transfer your pension to the Canada Pension Plan offices; they'll make a monthly deposit directly to your account. I've got the paperwork all filled out here; all you need to do is fill in your banking information and your Social Insurance Number."
"But I don't have a Social Insurance Number or a bank account," Hershie said. Of course, Hershie Abromowicz had both, but the Super Man didn't.
"How do you pay taxes, then?" Woolley had a dangerous smile.
"Well, I --" Hershie stammered. "I don't! I'm tax-exempt! I've never had to pay taxes or get a bank account -- I just take my cheques to the Canadian Union of Public Employees' Credit Union and they cash them for me. It's the arrangement."
Woolley shook his head. "Who told you you were tax-exempt?" he asked, wonderingly. "No one is tax-exempt, except Status Indians. As to not having a bank account, well, you can open an account at the CUPE Credit Union and we'll make the deposits there. But not until this tax status matter is cleared up. You'll have to talk to Revenue Canada about getting a SIN, and get that information to Canada Pensions."
"I pay taxes! Through my secret identity."
"But does this. . ." he made quote marks with his fingers, "secret identity declare your pension income?"
"Of course I don't! I have to keep my secret identity a secret!" His voice was shrill in his own ears. "It's a secret identity. I served in the Forces as the Super Man, so I get paid as the Super Man. Tax exempt, no bank accounts, no SIN. Just a cheque, every month."
Woolley leaned back and clasped his hands in his lap. "I know that's how it used to be, but what I'm trying to tell you today is that arrangement, however longstanding, however well-intentioned, wasn't proper -- or even