Johnny Saturn

Being Johnny Saturn – Part VII by Benita G. Story. Copyright 2008 by Story Studios, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

Three days later, while Greg was gathering wood before sitting down to the next to last ration package, he heard something. His head came up. Was it the wind in the chimney or had some animal gotten onto the roof?

It was getting louder. It was the engine of a Harley Davidson motorcycle. His exile was over.

That night, sitting next to a roaring fire in a mountain lodge, his stomach full of hot, simple, filling food, Greg turned to face John Underhall. Apparently, John had been waiting for this.

When John had arrived to take Greg away from the house on the mountain side, there had been very little conversation between them. Even over the hearty supper placed before them, nothing was said. Now, here in the darkness, the only light coming from the fire before them, did words come.

“I thought,” Greg said.

“And?”

Greg frowned and looked into his wine glass. “Why did you become Johnny Saturn?”

John’s eyebrows rose. “Because I wanted to make a difference on a level that the metas couldn’t descend to. Besides, this last time, I watched my father-in-law delve deeper into his psychosis and I knew I was the only one who knew what he was capable of. I had no intention of it lasting beyond stopping him.”

“No overwhelming urge to save the world?”

“No, only my community, my city. The world could be saved by their own local people, but not by me.”

“Oh.” Greg looked into the fire.

“And what did you think about?” John asked.

Greg took a long sip of the wine and waited until the warmth of it spread throughout his body to his toes and fingers.

“I thought about why I decided to follow in your path.”

“And?”

Greg took another sip of the wine. “I discovered I was wrong.”

“To become Johnny Saturn?”

“To try to become John Underhall.” Greg drained his glass and sat the empty glass on the table at his side.

“Everything I did was based on what I thought was the answer to “What would John Underhall do? Not once did I asked, ‘What would Greg Buchanan do?’”

Greg leaned forward and picked up the poker. He used it to shift a log in the fireplace, watched the shower of sparks as they rose and crackled, then leaned back, poker still in his hand.

“I thought John Underhall would just wade in and bash his way through the throng of baddies and come out on top. I should have known better. I knew your background as an Army Ranger, as a cop, as one of the best detectives on the force. I should have realized that was because of brains, not necessarily brawn. I also realized you were able to do all you did because of your desire to see it through no matter what, or how long it took.” Greg weighed the poker in his hand, then sat forward and replaced it in the stand.

“Somehow, I feel the last six weeks of being with you and following your plan of training, has been a condensed version of what it has been like to be you.”

“And?”

“I don’t want to be you. I want to be me. But I want to be a smarter me than I have been in the past. I no longer want to play by my old rules and screw who gets hurt because of it. I want to play by new rules that build rather than destroys.”

John sat silently waiting.

“You are right. I have made a huge blunder with the whole Tactical-Wissenschaft thing. I let my arrogance lead me down the easier path, and that path was into Tactical’s grasp. I didn’t see it at the time, but I do, now.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

Greg thought about that. “How much time do we have left before I should go back home?”

“Two weeks.”

Greg leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. He looked John Underhall in the eyes. “I need your assistance to bring peace to Spire City once again. I want to help you with whatever you plan and decide in this regard.”

John drained his own wine glass and sat it on the table next to him. He, too, leaned forward, and said, “Then I need to tell you what I’ve been doing these past six weeks in Spire City.”

Greg listened in amazement as John outlined his activities with the remodeling of Greg’s apartment building interior and levels beneath the ground into a strategical headquarters. He told Greg how he had caused a tunnel to be created with its own subway system to connect Greg with the Tailor and certain areas of the underground city of Elysium. He explained the network of homeless that worked for him in obtaining information, supplies, and technology. He described the micro intra-net he had constructed and how the homeless were working beneath the city creating a working army intelligence network that far outshone anything the international governments could do.

“Why do you think this is all working as well as it is, Greg?”

Greg thought for a moment. “Because it is on their home turf?”

“Exactly! If Tactical loses this fight and survives, he just moves on. If he destroys the city and survives, he just moves on. No skin off his teeth. No ties, no connection, just apathy and an every man for himself mentality. And that’s what will make him risk it all in the end and lose!” John’s eyes were shining with the fervor he felt.

“What about Wissenschaft?”

“We’ll get him when the time is right. He’s a minor player in the overall scheme of things. Besides, he’s old. Give him time and he’ll be dead anyway and his organization will crumble with his body. We’ve already stopped his kidnapping the homeless to practice on. He has to change tactics and that’s where we’ll grab him.”

Greg sighed. “I’m not so sure. I think you underestimate him.”

John stopped to consider this. “Perhaps, I do. Then we have to make plans to stop him as well. Like I said, work the two against one another and let them do our dirty work for us. I think they have sufficient animosity toward one another that something can be arranged.”