Super Man and the Bug Out | Page 9

imagined that their lack of cultural context made his tights and emblem
seem absurd, that they evoked grins beneath the Sikhs' fierce
moustaches. But today, he was glad the man was a Sikh, another
foreigner with an uneasy berth in the Canadian military-industrial
complex. The Sikh was expressionless as Hershie squirted his
clearances from his comm to the security desk's transceiver.
Imperturbably, the Sikh squirted back directions to Woolley's new
office, just a short jaunt from the exalted heights of the Prime
Minister's Office.
The Minister's office was guarded by: a dignified antique door that had
the rich finish of wood that has been buffed daily for two centuries; an
RCMP constable in plainclothes; a young, handsome receptionist in a
silk navy power-suit; a slightly older office manager whose
heart-stopping beauty was only barely restrained by her chaste blouse
and skirt; and, finally, a pair of boardroom doors with spotless brass
handles and a retinal scanner.
Each obstacle took more time to weather than the last, so it was nearly
an hour before the office manager stared fixedly into the scanner until
the locks opened with a soft clack. Hershie squelched in, leaving a
slushy dribble on 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