Handshake
It was still difficult for Werner to believe he'd actually been selected. Only three people were chosen for each public appearance the Minister made, three people to stand in a small line at the curb as his car pulled up. Each one would be given a gloved handshake, and if they were lucky, a few words from the Minister to remember. Of course, pictures upon pictures would be taken of the leader meeting with the “common” folk before he disappeared into the Assembly to conduct the business of running the government. Werner knew it was partly luck that had seen him picked over the uncounted others who wanted the same honor, that and his unwavering dedication to the party. Some said he bordered on the fanatical, but as far as Werner was concerned it required true passion for any government to be successful.
A cheer went up as Minister Oliphant stepped from the car, one followed by a thundering of voices, military and citizen alike.
“Hope through discipline!” They bellowed. “Discipline above all else!”
Oliphant smiled, a thin thing on slight lips, and moved onto the sidewalk in his peculiar shuffling gait. Not much to look at, the small man more than made up for his lack of physical prowess with an unwavering clarity, an insight into the hearts of the people that had rocketed his party to power in the years after the Dissolution. With electronic devices of all kinds rendered useless thanks to a punitive strike by the Enemy at the end of the last war, the country had fallen into fear and desperation. Riots had been the norm, roving gangs of hoodlums who did what they wanted, to who they wanted. The lack of electronic communication and information distribution made it almost impossible to track such groups, and leaving both police and the general population in a state of fear. In what they were sure was a brilliant ploy, the former government pulled the military back from overseas operations and set them loose in public, leading to a number of messy incidents.
A distant back-runner for any kind of power in the government, Oliphant's Party tapped into the desperation felt by the people, and gave them the courage needed to stand together. Hope became a word of strength, and discipline the only thing that could give hope form. Across the country, rallies sprung up, movements began, each led by one of Oliphant's top men. Within six months order had been restored, and a new leader was catapulted to head of the government, heralded as a revolutionary, a genius. A year passed and the country was safe again, secure under a blanket of inviolate rules and severe punishments.
Werner could feel his hands begin to sweat as the Minister approached him, and considered saying something, though he had no idea what. He settled on simply try to look strong and proud; anything that came out of his mouth would be total nonsense.
Oliphant stepped forward, smile fixed in place, and extended a gloved hand. “You do the nation proud, son.”
A grin spread across Werner's face as he took the Minister's hand, felt the supple touch of leather on his own bare palm. It was impossible not to be happy, unthinkable not to be overjoyed.
By week's end, the Minister would be dead.
***
It had taken Brenner Caldin the better part of nine months to develop a formula that would penetrate leather and active by sweat. Three more months had been needed to make sure the compound he'd created would target only Oliphant and not kill anyone else he happened to come in contact with. After that, his work had gotten far easier – attending every rally, quoting party literature and not bothering to shower on a regular basis had attracted the attention of higher-ups, and once he passed an enhanced security clearance, he had been selected to shake the Minister's hand.
It was almost laughable what passed for “security” under the new regime – electronic systems had just begun to come back online after the war, but Oliphant's government was made up mostly of anti-technologists and those who preferred brute force over a more nuanced approach. Brenner had been amazed at how easy giving life to Werner van Oxalde had been.
Drink in hand and television on, Brenner took a seat and leaned back, a smile on his face. It was only a matter of time before the first effects of the pathogen would take hold. It was something he'd been developing for the military before the Dissolution, and he'd been smart enough to commit its essential configuration to memory.
A close shot of the Minister showed a sheen of sweat on his brow, and Brenner could see the man's limbs shaking slightly. Within half a day, he'd begin to answer any question put to him with the unvarnished truth, and by mid-week he'd be spouting off all of his party secrets. Doctors would scramble to his side but there would be nothing they could do – those interested could get what they wanted from Oliphant - his death was assured.
Fear trickled down Brenner's spine; the country had just recovered from one revolution – what right did he have to cause another? He shook the feeling off with a long drink from his glass. He had been disciplined in his approach, and that gave him hope. If the Minister told the truth, he had nothing to worry about. The country would find its way.
Glancing around at steel-shod windows and reinforced doors, Brenner couldn't help but smile. If the country couldn't sort itself out to his liking, he'd be ready. Waiting.
It had taken Brenner Caldin the better part of nine months to develop a formula that would penetrate leather and active by sweat. Three more months had been needed to make sure the compound he'd created would target only Oliphant and not kill anyone else he happened to come in contact with. After that, his work had gotten far easier – attending every rally, quoting party literature and not bothering to shower on a regular basis had attracted the attention of higher-ups, and once he passed an enhanced security clearance, he had been selected to shake the Minister's hand.
It was almost laughable what passed for “security” under the new regime – electronic systems had just begun to come back online after the war, but Oliphant's government was made up mostly of anti-technologists and those who preferred brute force over a more nuanced approach. Brenner had been amazed at how easy giving life to Werner van Oxalde had been.
Drink in hand and television on, Brenner took a seat and leaned back, a smile on his face. It was only a matter of time before the first effects of the pathogen would take hold. It was something he'd been developing for the military before the Dissolution, and he'd been smart enough to commit its essential configuration to memory.
A close shot of the Minister showed a sheen of sweat on his brow, and Brenner could see the man's limbs shaking slightly. Within half a day, he'd begin to answer any question put to him with the unvarnished truth, and by mid-week he'd be spouting off all of his party secrets. Doctors would scramble to his side but there would be nothing they could do – those interested could get what they wanted from Oliphant - his death was assured.
Fear trickled down Brenner's spine; the country had just recovered from one revolution – what right did he have to cause another? He shook the feeling off with a long drink from his glass. He had been disciplined in his approach, and that gave him hope. If the Minister told the truth, he had nothing to worry about. The country would find its way.
Glancing around at steel-shod windows and reinforced doors, Brenner couldn't help but smile. If the country couldn't sort itself out to his liking, he'd be ready. Waiting.
- D
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