Ripple

by Radioactive Nerd

It's simple Newton that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Disclaimer: All identifiable characters belong legally to Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale.

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Hill Valley, California

July 14, 1994

9:27 AM

Clara had been fussing over her oldest son's hair for an hour. The left side was straight as a rail but the right side was doing its own wild thing. The back curled in a sidways way at his neck. Hairspray did nothing. Styling gel just made a mess. Jules somewhat regetted giving up his neat mushroom haircut, but growing it out was satisfying. Still, Clara kept at his head with the brush.

"Did you sleep with a wet head?" Clara asked as she accidentally dragged the brush across Jules' ear. He flinched.

"Mother, it's fine." Jules stated. His eyes went back to the National Geographic he was reading. Her only response was another tug at the back of his head. Jules tried to guess her thoughts. Shaggy hair on my boy. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Most likely something along those lines was going through her mind. The boy sighed. "I surmise Einstein had to go through this as well."

Drowsy footsteps came down the stairs. They were that of bare feet and Jules knew who's feet. The prepubescent voice proved him right. "Our dog or the real guy?"

"Real guy," the voice of his father said. Jules' eyes darted off the magazine to see the time-defying man. His brilliant DNA doner was standing there and messing with his tie. It must have been a darn uncomfortable thing because his father was yanking it every which way. The color was dark green and it was in stark comparison with the plastic hypo-allergenic tie from the future. If it wasn't a big deal, he might of suggested that his father slap that future piece on.

"Mom, did you make any extra eggs?" Verne yawned. He didn't go anywhere near the kitchen, but rather plopped upon the couch. Jules bounced a bit from the impact.

"Sleepyheads don't get fed," Clara quipped. Verne groaned as a response and flipped on the TV.

"Are you positive on not joining us, Verny?" Jules' father, Doctor Emmett Brown, asked for the fourth time.

Verne didn't look away from the television. "Enter the Holy Temple of Nerds, Geeks, and Dorks? No thanks, Pop."

Doctor Brown chose to ignore that crack. Jules didn't let it sting him either. However, his mother did not let it pass.

"Calling people names is not nice," She said as she finished her final touches on taming Jules' mane. "We don't go around calling you a big nosed raccoon headed monkey."

Jules laughed a Ha Ha Ha laugh. It shook his shoulders and failed to end even when the racoon hat was thrown at him. His brother sat up from a laying position and whipped around at his mother. Verne was scowling. "I don't got a big nose!"

Clara laughed softly, like a tinkling bell. "I was joking to prove a point, honey. You have your father's nose."

"Oh," Verne said calmly, although only saying so to end the subject. He turned back to the TV but Jules could still could see the short-termed anger of his brother's movements. Doctor Brown went over to his wife.

"That doesn't make me feel better," Doc replied and Jules felt his mother stop brushing his head from behind. He turned around to see his mother moving his father's chin toward hers with her hand. She smiled a sly smile. He had never seen such a smile on her.

"All in good jest," She said and kissed him. Jules averted his eyes and shielded his vision just in case. Verne was too entranced with the TV to notice the display of affection. The blond boy did break his trance with a question.

"Is Marty going with you?"

"No," Doc answered. "He called earlier and stated that he may come over today, depending on his vehicle's ability to function."

"Yes!" Verne hissed and pumped his fist. Jules rolled his eyes. Lately, Verne had been very shadow-like with Martin. It was almost like their first visit to 1985 all over again. Jules could still remember those few weeks in 1895 where the word "Marty" was a favorite of Verne's vocabulary. Marty. Marty. Marty. "Will we see Marty again, Papa?" and "I'm gonna make a picture for Marty when we go to the future." Statements were joined by dozens of questions on the seventeen-year-old. Now at age twelve, Verne just might of continued the thought that Marty McFly was the coolest adult ever.

The various clocks on the living room walls made themselves known. Cuckoos to chimes to buzzes disturbed the peace. Doc smiled at the casual memory and saw the time of 9:30 AM. "All right," Doc said and clapped his hands together. "We need to gather ourselves to get to the Caltech."

Jules had known his father for the whole duration of his own life. Therefore, he knew all of his father's quiks and habits. None of them was more characteristic than the constant embelishment of vocabulary. Jules didn't complain. After all, he had that habit too. The funny thing was, despite the preference for longer words, his father referred to the California Institute of Technology simply as Caltech. Strange.

Clara had backed off of his hair with one final swipe of the brush. Jules sat up. He picked up his messenger bag. It was leather and made him feel more serious than he usually felt. Such an increased feeling would be useful for this trip. Inside the messenger bag, was his notebook, plenty of pens, a jacket, and several books. They were going to be gone for a whole day after all.

"Bye Verne," Jules said to his brother. Verne, however, was too enamored with the samuri battle to even pretend to of heard him. Einstein (the dog, not the real guy) galloped into the room. He circled around Jules, barking and nudging to get his attention. Jules let the dog lick his hand but Einstein soon moved onto his master.

"Guard the house, boy." Doc ruffled the old fur. He went over and did the same to Verne's hair. "That goes for you too."

Verne respounded in three blunt sentences. "Yeah. Okay, Dad. Love you."

The volume of the TV went up as the doctor turned to his wife. She pulled him into another kiss before he could say anything. Jules averted his eyes and Einstein put a paw over his. Then, she turned to Jules and hugged him tight. He was up to her shoulders now after a winter growth spurt. He hugged her back, briefly smelling her dress collar. The scent eased his nerves. "Stay with your father, Jules. Tell me all about it when you get home."

Jules didn't say anything. It wouldn't be difficult going over the day's notes and then devising some sort of recap for her. The difficulty would be in putting any emotion into it. He thought of this as he followed his father out the door. It was blistering hot outside. It was as if July had murderous plans. The cuffed shirt and the long pants made Jules feel like he was in for thermic trouble.

He turned around and found himself face to face with his father. The man was tapping his chin while he examined Jules. Being in the spotlight wasn't very comfortable, but then Doc loosened his son's tie. Without even a glance to see if his wife was watching, he ruffled Jules hair a bit.

"There's my boy," Doc said and opened up the van. They both got inside. It was a mess of outdated school papers, Burger King wrappers, mints that no one wanted, and a library book Verne forgot to return. Jules pushed it all aside and buckled up. His father turned the key in the engine as Jules was unraveling the cord of his mother's Walkman. He could feel his father's eyes on him.

"Jules…" His father began.

"Hey, Doc!"

Jules craned his neck to see a young man running towards the van. Actually, Jules observed, he was not running, but skateboarded over to them. It was Martin. Father's friend and the family's friend.

"Hello Martin," Jules said politely. His voice cracked. Besides from the remark about Einstein, he had said nothing for the whole day.

"Good, I got to… you guys before you left…" Marty said in between deep breaths. Jules took several minor observations. Martin's face was nearly red from the heat. The bangs of his hair were stuck together with sweat. The human cooling system made stains on his shirt too. "… I need the…"

"Clara has them," Doc said, not to be rude, but to save Marty from winding himself further. "May I warn you in advance that Verne is bored and will jump at the chance of leaving this day."

Marty smirked between his panting. "Thanks, Doc. Have fun at Caltech, Jules."

Jules nodded through the beating music that was flooding his ear canals. The lyrics did not scramble his thoughts. The tune did not distract his brain. He had hoped it would, but wasn't so lucky. Outside the window, Martin was heading towards the house. The van pulled out. Jules looked down at one of the books he had brought.

0 0 0

The kitchen was empty.

"Hello?" Marty called. He heard a crash like someone had knocked over a table and a wild thumping of feet that could only be…

"Marty!"

"Hey, Verne-O," Marty said and slapped the boy a high five. "Summer getting to you yet?"

"Heck yeah!" Verne replied. He watched as Marty helped himself to a glass of water. "I've been so bored I did all the assigned sustained reading. I read Tom Sawyer twice already!"

"This heat wave isn't helping anyone," Marty said after putting the glass in the sink. "Including a guy who enrolled in summer courses."

"Bleh," Verne said. The way he saw it, school and summer could never, ever mix.

"Your mom around?"

"Yeah, she's in the den." Verne trailed his shadow all the way to the den. It was cooler in there than the rest of the house, probably because the window was almost always opened. Clara sat in front of it, reading a book. It must have been a good book because she didn't notice their entrance at first. She closed her place in the book and smiled at them.

"Emmett said you might be coming over," Clara said. She looked Marty up and down. "You shouldn't be exercising in this heat."

"My truck's having problems," Marty said. He mocked a sigh. "The one time I leave Dave in charge of changing the oil… Anyway, the Doc said you had the keys."

Now that sent Verne off. He was bouncing between his mother and Marty like a giant rubber ball. His mouth ran like chatterbox doll. "Can I go? Can I go? Please? Today's so boring. There's nothing to do. It's hot and there's nothing on TV. Please!"

"Why are you going, may I ask?" Clara said. Verne took the hint and settled down.

"It's for school," Marty said. Verne took the chance again.

"Can I go, Mom?"

Clara gave him her attention. "You already made plans to go over your friend's house. Jake and his mother are expecting you."

Verne slapped his forehead. "Darn, I forgot! Someone still has to go with Marty, though. Pop's new rule."

"What you guys don't trust me?" Marty asked, half-jokingly.

"No, but we got to have a buddy system." Verne said. "No more lone trips into the past or future."

"Well, then it's simple." Clara said and stood up. She retrieved the keys out of her dress pocket. "You go over to Jake's house like you planned and I'll go with Marty."

Marty flinched ever so slightly. It was tough not to show and he hoped she didn't see it. Time travel with Clara? Had he ever time traveled with her before? He tried to think of one time in time. Nope. There was that whole scene with the locomotive. The only thing that could count was when it was the whole family (and that was more of a tag-along).

"We'll go after I drop off Verne." Clara said. She headed out of den and past Marty. As she past him, she handed over the keys. "You drive."

California Institute of Technology

July 14, 1994

10:45 AM

To Jules' surprise, hardly anyone was at this so-called institute. When their van had pulled into the institute and found the parking lot, Jules was glued to the window. He couldn't help it. At least he managed not to take notes on what he was seeing. It was also a good thing that what he was seeing wasn't too interesting. There were buildings and grass and insignia's all over. The only actual life forms were two girls. They were teenagers that were running across the grass. A flying radio controlled object was over their heads. It didn't look store bought. The girl with the remote had red hair and Jules hurridly looked away.

When they got out, Jules started messing with his tie. He pulled it back and forth in thought. He pushed it up and pushed it down. His mind wasn't conscious as he observed more of his surroundings.

"If that's bothering you, you don't have to wear it." His father said. Jules let go of the tie.

"Mother asked me to wear it," Jules said and felt his father put an arm around him. He looked up to see him smiling.

"You're a good boy," Doc said and led the way toward the buildings. It was just as hot here as it was back home. The grass had a tanish tinge to it and the few flowers drooped on their stems. Jules hoped he wasn't a sweat mess as his father led him to a building marked: Crellin Laboratory. Despite there being relatively no one there, the door to the Crellin Laboratory wasn't locked.

There was a woman. She wore a hair clip that kept most of her hair out of the way as her gloved hands worked. Goggles of blocky plastic blocked Jules' viewing of her eyes. The lab coat she wore made her have an elegant look. Elegance and science never went hand in hand, but in this case…

Her hands were steady and focused with her equiptment. Great equiptment, Jules had to add in his notes. As he wrote and wrote, he began to feel guilty. He was in her laboratory. She had to be the most serious woman he had ever seen. If he got upset when Verne entered his bedroom without knocking, then how is she feeling right now? Jules was getting ready to turn and leave as casually as possible when the quiet was broken.

"Have my eyes finally caved to the fumes," Her voice began in a sweet, almost playful tone. "Or did Emmett Brown finally have himself a son?"

Her eyes lifted from her project. They were hazel eyes encased in plastic. Jules estimated her age in the margin of his paper. She was twenty-eight or thirty years old, most likely.

"Jules," the boy felt his father's hand clap his shoulder and move him forward. "This is Dr. Sherry Chase. PHD in biochemistry…"

The seriousness had melted away. She looked friendly, like a teacher at the beginning of a school year. Jules remembered his politeness and shook her hand.

"… And bacteriology." His father finished.

Jules looked at the palm of his hand. Dr. Chase laughed.

"Rule one," she said and pointed to the used pair in the sink. "Always wear gloves."

Jules decided to go along with the joke. "Personal protection is a must when it comes to dealing with micro organisms."

She laughed again, but not at him. Her laugh was like a yawn.

"Please say that more to your dad." Dr. Chase said. "When we hired him to fix my photo-electron microscope, he forgot to… Well, the human body is a natural conductant."

Jules allowed himself to look surprised. He turned to his father, but the only response was a sheepish grin. "You didn't!"

"Oh, believe me, son, I did." He said.

Dr. Chase continued as she adjusted her goggles. "And that's just one of the incidents. Go talk to Dr. Horner and he'll tell you The Magnet Story."

"Sherry, mind leaving me some dignity?" Doc asked and Dr. Chase laughed again.

"Sure, let's start over." She said. "So, this is your son, right?"

Jules played along. "Yes, hello Dr. Chase. My name is Jules."

They shook clean hands again.

"I'm finishing up here." Dr. Chase said and went back behind the lab table. "Rule two: Clean up when you're done."

Despite himself, Jules jotted that down. He already knew to clean up after oneself after experiments. It was a no brainer so he wasn't sure why he was taking that note. Perhaps it was because his father was watching him and Jules was in a humoring mood.

"I have an idea," Doc said and looked at his son. "Why don't I go find Dr. Horner while you and Dr. Chase get more acquainted?"

I say no. Jules thought. He tried to send his father a telepathic message. I say a definite no.

His father didn't get it and Jules watched him walk, in a rather good mood, out the door. Jules kept watching him, wondering whether or not this was disproof of the telepathy. Something brushed against him. He was being led over to the lab table.

"Put on a pair and scrub like mad, Jules."

The gloves were a bright shade of blue. They were also too big for his hands and bagged in a way that made him feel like he was playing pretend hospital. The feeling intensified when Dr. Chase handed him a pair of goggles and they slipped down to his neck. She had to help him tighten the elastic band. Jules said a soft thank you and worked with the woman. She praised him on the simpliest things.

"Hey germ girl, this the new teacher's pet?"

Jules looked up from the sink. A man was there who looked nothing like Dr. Chase or his father or even himself. If anything, he looked less like a distinguished scientist and more like an overgrown adolescent. He was the kind of adolescent that wore a t shirt claiming he was a Magnetic Fields fan (not the field of force) and jeans with red sneakers. He didn't even have any facial hair. The man standing with Jules' father in the doorway looked to be only six years Jules' senior.

Dr. Chase didn't seem insulted. "Mabe in a few years, but right now he's Doctor Brown's son."

"No kidding?" The young man pumped Doc's hand wildly. "Way to go, Emmett!"

"I have two sons to be accurate," Doc began as the young man released his hand. "The one that stands in front of you and another that considers this place the Holy Temple of Nerds."

"Proud nerds." The young man corrected. He turned all of his attention to Jules. "How old are you, kid?"

"Thirteen," Jules heard himself answer. Ah, the constant need to display knowledge. "Fourteen come September."

"Great age, if you don't count freshman year." The young man said. "My name is Mike. I'm nineteen."

Another student taking summer courses no doubt. One with a mouth too. Jules didn't express any stupefaction at an kid older than him. Mike seemed to want a little bit of stupefaction and Jules was happy to not give it to him. Mike turned to Dr. Chase.

"Are you all set, Sherry?"

"Oh, yes." Dr. Chase answered. "Jules helped make everything spotless."

Jules found himself following them like his feet were on automatic. The Grown-Ups were ahead of him with Dr. Chase and Mike trading banter about bacteria and lunch room codes. He only caught a winding of it as he lagged behind more and more. His brain was already tuning out everything about this place.

I want to scream.

Hill Valley, California

July 14, 1994

11:00 AM

Destination: Hill Valley, California May, 17, 1976

"You shouldn't be nervous," Marty said, as he finished typing and readying the DeLorean. He put it in reverse. "It's local. The worst thing here is bad haircuts."

"That's not so different from any other times," Clara replied. Again, Marty was surprised but he managed to hide it. She was right.

"Right," he said as the speed meter reach eighty-eight.

Three sonic booms, a flash of temporal displacement, and they broke into 1976. It was dusk as Marty drove through the clouds. Outside the windshield, the sun was going down fast. Trees were all below them. The local park, no doubt. A great place to stash a sport car turned time machine was the middle of the park. Marty eased the machine downwards.

0 0 0

"Why May 17th?" Clara happened to ask as they walked through town square. The clock tower- a most comforting, familiar sight- was still stopped in time. People were flooding the central. Some walked and some ran. Some dragged kids along and some were in no hurry at all. It was a basic Hill Valley day. For that, they were grateful.

"Well, you'll see." Marty answered as he led the way down the sidewalks. "Actually, I think I chose May because me and my brother were shipped off to summer camp."

"May is awefully early for summer camp." Clara noted. She hitched up her skirt's hem to get through a huge puddle. Her skirt was saved but her shoes weren't.

"Dave and I ticked off our parents this year," Marty said. "We sort of turned mom's car upholstery into goo city…"

"Hey!"

Marty turned around to see why Clara yelped. He didn't expect to see her swatting the hands of a guy Marty's age off her hips. The guy didn't look too threatening and he backed away from her with wide eyes. Marty went right up to him.

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing?" Marty demanded. The guy had backed off Clara, but was still giving her the look.

"Sorry, man, I thought the lady looked familiar." The guy said in a rather, as Marty saw it, lame attempt. "I thought she was this girl friend I have."

Marty replied flatly. "She's not and she's got a ring on her finger."

"She's pretty old for you, dude." The young man said and cast another glance at Clara. His eyes went up and down her frame. "Foxy, but too old."

Marty rushed up to the man, hands clenched. "Knock it off!"

"Marty!" He heard her say in a rather hushed tone. How she could speak so hushed when some stranger tried to feel her up, Marty didn't know. "That's quite enough."

"No, it's not enough." Marty retorted and returned to the young man with a glare. "Get a life, man. If you look at her like that one more time, you're gonna really regret it. Come on, Clara."

She let him take her hand for awhile, then she freed herself from it. They passed Healthy Jack's Fruit Stand and Marty bumped into the oranges crate. Only one tumbled to the ground and he put it right back. The citrus was the only excitement along the way. The doors to the Hill Valley Public Library were painted a different color. The excitement died right there. Marty led the way to the reference desk, talking most of the way. "… Anyway, it's easy. If you ever get confused and stumble over your words, just make up a cover on the spot."

"I see," Clara said, but it seemed like she wasn't listening. Her voice had something to it too, like snap or bite. Marty chose to ignore whatever it was and faced the librarian.

"Hey, can you tell me where the mathematical reference books are?" Marty asked as he casually rapped the desktop with his knuckles.

Clara's voice came from behind him. "Is that it?"

"They change things around and it's not like I'm a regular in the advanced calculus aisle." Marty answered as they set off. The row of two bookshelves contained all thick, leather bound books of numbers. Marty sighed and searched until he was down to his hands and knees. The place wasn't that much difference than 1994. With the book in hand, Marty couldn't help but wonder what had happened to it. If it wasn't catalogued in 1994, then maybe a kid ripped it in frustration. He finally found the book he needed on the bottom shelf, wedged into the corner.

Clara was watching him the whole time, her expression one of amusement.

"Oh, shit!" Marty muttered. He turned to her in embarrassment. "Sorry for swearing, Clara, but I forgot something."

"I've heard worse," Clara answered. "What did you forget?"

"My pencil," Marty answered and turned the pockets of his letterman jacket inside out. The jacket wasn't even his own. Apparently, Dave had been on the football team in high school and bequeathed the jacket to Marty when he was thirteen.

There weren't any freebies on the librarian's desk. She must have been a protective person, even when it came to school supplies. Marty knew if he was ever going to get the first paragraph of his assignment down, he'd need to jot it right away. If it left him, well, he was sure he'd be in for another endless night of Writer's Block. The affliction, he had learned, could affect people who weren't even writers. There had to be a pencil or pen around here somewhere! A blur in an orange shirt walked by with the thin yellow wood of pencil in his hand. Marty didn't even think of what he was about to do. It happened all too fast.

"Can I borrow this?"

"Hey!" A male voice yelped as Marty took the pencil out of his hand. Marty pressed it to the paper.

Hobart Shannigans was not the most normal person alive. His liking of the supernatural and how numbers related to every single ghost event could make the folks at the phsych ward come rolling in with the white jackets. It's not just insanity that put Shannigans mark in the Math World, but his big equation in particular…

It ran out like a leaky pipe as Marty made his way for the door. Clara was behind him, talking to him, but he didn't feel like answering questions. The report was coming out fast this time and that was gift that shouldn't be ignored.

California Institute of Technology

July 14, 1994

11:03 AM

It was normal cafeteria nutrients. In the layman's terms that everyone demanded: It was the usal burgers, fries, salads, soda, and pizza. For a highly respected scientific institute, they had quite an offering of applesauce. Jules got saddled with a bowl of the infantile gunk on the tray line. He stared down at it as the grown-ups around him talked and talked.

"So, Jules?"

Oh, they said his name. It was time to look up. It was time to look alive.

"What do you think so far?" Dr. Chase was the one who asked it.

Answer it maturely!

"I'll have to cross-reference my notes tonight," Jules heard his mouth say, "but I like it here."

Way to lie, Jules, I didn't know you had it in you.

"Oh that's fantastic!" Dr. Chase said as if someone had just assured her that Doomsday had been put off until after the holidays.

"Yeah, whoop! Whoop!" Mike agreed. He pumped his fist like he was still in seventh grade. "I was worried the Baroness of Bacteria scared you off."

Jules took a big bite out of his pizza to keep himself from saying something he shouldn't. It was working so far into this game.

"Jules doesn't scare easily." His father said.

Stop talking about me as if I'm not present. I'm here against my will! Jules' thought surprised even himself. The statement hit him hard in the cranium.

"So, Jules?"

Again, must we?

Mike was the one addressing him. "Besides note taking, what do you do with your spare time?"

"Well…" Jules had no other way to say it. "I invent."

As he predicted, his father jumped right in on that one. Jules knew it wasn't the parental thought message of "My child can do this. What can yours do?" It was the message of "Actually…" for commonplace future knowledge. It didn't help the bubbling sensation in Jules. His father, however, was running his mouth at a speed that had been previously reserved for recounting scientific breakthroughs.

"He's been at it since he was two…"

Jules put down his pizza. He couldn't move his eyes off his applesauce. His stomach quivered and his feet moved around a bit more than was normal. For the briefest moment, he feared vomiting.

"I remember when he attempted creation of a Goldberg tribute. The thing worked so well it scared him so much, he ran away from it screaming. Then there was the time he made that bladeless turbine-"

"You're even more busy than me!" Mike said, most likely to him, but Jules couldn't look up.

"Yes that's a lot of accomplishments," Dr. Chase said. She was still trying to smile friendly at him. "I'm very impressed. About half of my students are capable of that type of work. I'd like to see one of your creations some time."

Mike slapped the table and nearly scared Jules out of his seat. "Okay," the man said. "I'm sick of science talk. Tell me, Jules… Have the girls yet fallen for the mad genius?"

The word uncomfortable would be a universal understatement.

"No, I'm afraid not." Jules practically muttered. Then, just when he thought the environment couldn't get any more socially unbearable, the inevitable yet unpronounced moment came in five words. Five words from his father's mouth which proved that the universe was not on his side today.

"What about that Franny girl?"

All the blood in his entire body rushed to his face. All eyes were on him and he couldn't handle it. There was a potential meltdown impending inside him. He could feel it building, trying to radiate its way out of his burning cheeks, up the esophagus and out of his mouth, and he knew it was determined to seep in that moment and that space. His knees felt wobbly. What could he do to stop this?

"E-Excuse me." Jules said and stood up. "I need to use the restroom."

His father stood up too. "Well, here, I'll show you where-"

"No!" All eyes rolled their photorecptors onto him. "I'll find it on my own."

His exit was abrupt and almost speedy. The potential energy of the once impending fit had now traveled up his spine and into his brain. Thoughts formed, angry ones. He didn't voice them and just kept walking. His feet finally did stop near the large building. Previous distance was all a fog. He had no clue how far the cafeteria was or where he was now. The sign next to the big building said:

Fairchild Library, Engineering and Applied Science

Salvation, Jules thought as he opened the door.

Hill Valley, California

July 14, 1994

11:11 AM

Three sonic booms and they were back. The barn in the noon was the first thing Marty saw and he slowed down as he approached it. "I never get used to that flash. I got to ask Doc if it causes blindness or cancer after exposure…"

Clara was quiet and Marty turned to look at her. She was sitting, quite content, in the passenger seat and flipping through a book out of his backpack. From the cover, Marty could see it was his textbook on Musical Tastes and Musical History. Her hair was behind her ears so she could be free to read without the curls descending into her face. Without warning, she started to read aloud.

"When reviewing the prime years of Toxic Shoelaces, you should remembered to think of them pre- Scratch My Back, in order to have not only a better understanding of their contribution to music history, but a better respect."

She slammed the book closed. "Why would anyone in their right mind name their performing group Toxic Shoelaces?"

Marty didn't answer that one because… well, he had no idea. The Toxic Shoelaces were perhaps the so-bad-they're-good flop in all of Rock N' Roll. The only good thing about them was reading about their failure scared you into making sure you made the right decisions with your band. If there was one thing he learned from last night's homework, it was that The Pinheads would never go on stage with rainbow laces tied to every limb.

"What's the name of your band again, Marty?"

"This is nuts!"

"I dare say that's not that bad of a name."

Marty started to get out of the car, eyes fixated on everything around him. Clara pushed up her own door and got out too.

"Marty?" she asked and watched the young musician start running toward the house. "Marty!"

California Institute of Technology

July 14, 1994

11:12 AM

The square of X multiplied by the density of Y equals… Jules was in a trance. One of his favorite trances: Scientific inquiry. It made his heart beat louder, stronger. Paper of other scientist's work and his lay before him. Three or four doses of resources was good for a nap of inquiry. The ones here were the cream of the crop. Leather bond sleekness that thousands of others on the brink of some fantastic theory once touched lay open. There was no such thing as a quick theory. Jules knew this, although he had instances that served as contradictions. The theory traveling from his mind to his pen was actually something he had been thinking about for quite awhile.

Posible or Impossible? True or False? Logical or illogical?

The eternal quest.

A energy-draining one too. His hand had long gone numb from the rapid notation. Jules did some finger excercises he had seen on TV. His back had a crick in it from leaning over his work. He pushed the chair back and stretched. As he raised his arms high over his head, Jules tried to catch a view of a clock. The darkness around him made the task difficult. How much time had passed in that one scientific eruption?

With a rubbing of his eyes, Jules walked around. The lighting had gotten very dim, too dim for thirty minutes into noon. Explanations were few as Jules stretched his legs. It wasn't just dim in here. There was such a lack of light that he couldn't see his shoes clearly. His stretch of the legs became a search for light.

Eventually, he spotted some slices of the stuff on the floor. Floating spectors of dust made it even more recognizable. Jules knelt down beside it. His nose began to twitch and he stiffled a sneezing fit. Beames of light traveling millions of miles…

Following its journey, Jules looked at the source. The slit looked like a slit because of the window. The window that he had admired after entering now was boarded up. It was as if someone had bandaged it crookidly from several diagonal scraps. Before he knew it, he was following the beams to the doorway. He fingered the knob once… twice… three times… four times…

The door was a simple wooden door. A way that would open with the dependence of the kinetic energy of a student with deadlines. It was wood and metal and tumblers. It was just a door. Nothing more and nothing less. So why was he feeling such fear?

Perhaps it was because he was about to ram it with a table twice his own size. It was the only thing that he could think of, which was what was so terrifying. Panic was disturbing common logic. All the flaws with this plan presented themselves with clear defiance as he pushed the table.

1. The table has no wheels, you Neanderthal!

2. Drag! The friction between the table and the carpet will affect the motion! You'll go at the rate of a turtle! How's that going to knock down the door?

3. You should of gone with Escape Route 4.

In the end of this effort, his brain's screaming was correct. The table hit the door with a mere thump. Dust rained down and made him sneeze. That was it. He felt like a fool as he walked back to his original table. His notebook was open with escape routes one through eight. They first four had flaws and the others were drawn out of desperation. He once read a paper by a psychologist who locked up a full grown man in a room. Everything had gone swell for two hours. The experiment ended with the man trying to break the door down with a fire extinguisher and then tearing the couch cushions with his teeth. Back when he read it, Jules found the image of a grown man orally destroying a couch hysterical.

Friction… Stupid, stupid friction. He thought angrily and dropped his head down upon his notebook. What terrible escape routes he created with what few books remained! Half of him defended himself with the memory that most of the books were gone and the ones here came apart in his hands. All he could do now was sit with his failure.

He did until the stab of his own child emotions stewed up from the canals of his chest and came out in one massive vocal explosion.

"Father!"

"Father… Father… Father…"

The echo was all that came as a reaction. The empty library was making fun of him. An illogical assumption but a stinging one. In the almost fourteen-minus-two-months, there was an answer. A "Yes, son?" or "In the lab, Jules!"

"What is it?"

"Hmm?"

"Come in!"

"Watch out!"

"Over here, son!"

"Don't worry, eyebrows grow back."

Always a response. Always.

Jules rubbed the back of his neck. He turned to a blank page in his notebook, one far away from the failure. The white lined paper was a symbol of hope. If he could dedicate this time to figuring things out, then maybe the panic would subside. There had to be some solution to this change. Deep down, he knew what it was and what had happened. It was time for the How.

"Good, I got to… you guys before you left…" Marty said in between deep breaths. Jules took several minor observations. His face was nearly red from the heat. The bangs of his hair were stuck together with sweat. The human cooling system made stains on his shirt too. "… I need the…"

"Clara has them," Doc said, not to be rude, but to save Marty from winding himself further. "May I warn you that you in advance that Verne is bored and will jump at the chance of leaving this day."

No.

Yes. Jules thought and positioned his pen. Marty you idiot.

It wasn't completely fair to blame it all on Martin. Then again, Marty McFly had the tendency to be a rather hazardous time traveler. From jeopardizing his parents' initial meeting to nearly causing universe-shattering paradoxes, the teenager had the worst luck in the Continnuem. Granted, Marty managed to fix his messes fairly well but the logic were clear. Logic also told him it could have easily been Verne. The odds were it was a definite accident. Even stepping on a butterfly could rewrite history.

Rewritting history started a whole new page in his notebook. If Marty, either with or without Verne, traveled into the past… the accidental action in there triggered a rewrite… a ripple. Another memory hit Jules' subconscious.

"I say they disappear," Verne said as he tossed several darts at the corkboard nailed to the wood of their tree fort. Jules looked up casually from the laptop.

"How so?" He asked.

Verne aimed another dart. "You know, one day they're ironing their shorts and their hand goes right through the ironing board. They scream bloody murder and Bink!" The dart hit the center of the cork. "They're gone and the other guy finishes the ironing."

He actually looked up from the laptop. "Other guy? Do you mean the alternate version of the person? You mean that they disappear from existence and then a new version of themselves appears from out of nowhere?"

"Well, yeah." Verne replied and twirled a dart. "You got a better idea?"

How could he possibly start? "I asked Martin about his experience once. He told me he felt like he had the flu and his hand started vanishing-"

"Ha!" Verne interrupted. "See, I'm right!"

"… But I don't see how that is valid for every ripple victim." Jules continued as if his brother hadn't spoken at all. "Martin's affliction was from his parents' lives being rewritten, rather than just his life being rewritten. As you and I both know, Marty's existence was dependent on the reproduction by his parents. Father said it simply, '"If they never meet, they'll never get married, and if they never get married then they'll never have kids."'

"Never say reproduction in our fort again, Jules." Verne said with another whiz of a dart.

"Grow up," Jules said. "I think that once the ripple catches up to a person, they don't notice. They're, like your example, ironing their shorts with no screaming or vanishing. If they're existence is not endangered and something in their past was rewritten, then I dare say they'd rarely notice. Little by little they grow up and the chosen bit of their life is altered, but do they disappear and scream? No."

He felt proud of his opinion and the way he expressed it. Verne made a raspberry sound.

"I like the disappearing and vanishing better," His young brother said. "Plus, it still goes if your existence is messed up."

Jules stopped writing out the memory. The pen dropped from his hand and fell to the dirty floor as all blood drained from his face.

This isn't right. Jules thought as he sat down at the desk. It's against physics of past, present, and future. It's against everything Father has collected from his ventures through the Continnuem. What's going on?

"I shouldn't exist." His words so suddenly spoken, scared him along with the implication. Was it true? The statement wasn't really about his sole existence, but the current unchanged state. He looked down at himself.

The shaggy hair was still shaggy on his head. He was as tall as he was this morning. He could move his feet and the rest of his body. Nothing felt broken. The only difference he felt was the pit in his stomach and the bruise forming on his arms.

This wasn't right.

A sensation of falling, dropping into one bottomless void came upon him. It was a sensation he was not a stranger towards. It could have come up because of his elevation emotions right now. Brief moments of this phenomenon happened in school. He'd be in the middle of an american history test or study hall and it would kick in. He'd even grip the desk as he felt the drop. A sharp gasp would shake him out of it.

There was a shimmering. Jules almost fell out of the chair, but was stuck with fear. No. The notes shimmered and the ink of his pen seemed to fade. The longer Jules looked at it, the more he had to squint. He squinted and squinted until all the pages of engineering notes changed to blank.

Wait, was that it? That was all the ripple had in for him? Taking his notes away?

"Well, that wasn't too bad." Jules admitted out loud. He preferred to look at something like this positively. "Wait…"

The notes were no doubt due to the books' disappearance in this new timeline. New timeline. Alternate Timeline, to be exact. He wrote on the pages that were once filled in the original timeline. He felt incredible. Panic was replaced with excitement of being a witness to an incredible space-time event. The pen flew on the paper.

"Knock over one domino and the rest come tumbling down…" Jules muttered as he wrote. "Alternate is really another word for replacement. It's all a result of one big…"

His voice trailed off. The word replacement hit him hard. It made him look around the library. The shelves were still collapsed and papers lay all over. The rug had two inches of dust while more floated in the air. At the thought of that, Jules sneezed again. It echoed through the space.

Terror, pure unadulterated terror enveloped him, making all thought come to a halt. It felt like blood had stopped flowing too. No, Jules thought, Oh, no, no, no, not that. He brought his hand up, experimentally. The dimness wasn't perfect so he walked over to the slit of sunlight on the floor. It was solid and whiter than ever. Safe for now. Being safe wasn't much of a relief either. His notes didn't exist so how was he existing? If he truly existed in this timeline, then where was he?

The library was empty.

Jules crawled out of his chair and under the desk. He pulled his notebook and pen with them, holding them like a teddy bear. Who knew what the outside world was like behind these walls. It could be any degree of Heck. Jules didn't open his notebook. He only hugged it to his chest.

I knew I didn't want to come here.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots? No, more like a fist on wood. Both observations made Jules squeezed himself further under the desk. Of all the ways to go from this earth, being a victim of his alternate self had only been in his imagination.

"Go away," Jules murmured. "None of this is my fault."

"Jules!"

The voice was deep, raspy, and frightened out of its wits. It was also very, very familiar.

"Jules, are you in there?"

Jules could not move a muscle, not even the ones in his throat.

"Jules, are you in there, son?" The voice yelled. More banging came. "If you're in there, answer me!"

"Father," Jules said.

"Jules?" The voice questioned and the banging became more intense. The creaking of metal and the crack of wood seared the quiet. There were thudding footsteps across the dusty carpet. "Answer me, again!"

Jules' throat was in a fire of defiance.

"Jules Eratosthenes Brown, you answer me right now!" His father yelled uncharacteristically. Jules crawled out from under the table, feeling the One Strike, Two Strike, Three Strike child feel bubbling. He stood to see his father was only ten feet away from the desk.

The next thing he saw was the cotton of his father's shirt. The overwhelming joy of interacting with another human being made Jules cling. It was almost like his toddler days of greeting his father before dinner. He clung to him for the longest time, the memory of his anger coming back at the last second. It was an embarrassing let go.

"Are you all right?" Jules was spun around and around as his father examined him up and down. There was nothing different about him, except for the cramp in his hand disappearing. Jules allowed this examination, knowing his father wouldn't be satisfied with, "I'm fine."

Instead, Jules said: "I've figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Doc asked as he rolled Jules' shirt sleeve up, probably to check for scars or bruises.

"The situation, Dad!" Jules said and pulled his arm away. Doc blinked, then switched from concerned father to contemplating cohort scientist.

"Ah, yes," He began and began to pace. Jules tried to keep up with him. "Our situation has nothing to do with the environment… the biosphere, anyway. I believe that you and I are on that same thought train aren't we?"

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Hypothesis?" The old scientist asked.

"Ripple effect." The young scientist said. He went to find his notebook. He handed it to his father. "As I said, I've figured it out. Look at pages 72-75. We're existing in an alternate version of our timeline. One where you and I are strangely not replaced with-"

"…With alternate versions of ourselves," Doc finished. His eyes followed Jules' disertation at a speed that would make a person dizzy. "Yes, very true. The ripple effect is a possibility. Our standpoints are not the norm by my past observations, but the universe is complex."

He handed back the notebook. Jules couldn't hide the glare or the annoyance. "I know it's the Ripple, Father! All evidence points to it!" Jules counted them off on his fingers. "Physical changes in the surrounding environment… a vanishing act of my notes… and the fact that Martin is or was traveling through time-"

His father held up a hand. "Enough. What I meant was the complexity of our universe is what is worrying me."

If his father was worried, then this had to be at the worst. "You don't know why we -ourselves from the original timeline, that is- are still here either?"

His father sighed. "No."

One short word that made the world feel like it was crumbling. Jules stopped dead in his tracks, or rather his father's tracks. Doctor Brown, however, kept moving. In fact, his tempo was now increasing as his brain worked feverishly on a better analysis.

"Some can be rewritten to a certain degree," Doc said. Thump, thump, thump went his shoes against the carpet. "Not everyone is totally annihilated, erased, or killed off. It's a shame of the lack of experience I have on the ripple effect. My 1985A counterpart was rotting in an asylum and Marty's counterpart was with the Swiss… if they knew of the Ripple…"

"Then they knew how it came to be," Jules continued. "Even if you went insane, you would of known that such a thing couldn't happen by chance. It's a reaction and no one else had a time machine except you."

"Exactly," Doc said. His tempo picked up. "No one still has a time machine except me and…"

He stopped. Jules stopped. The world stopped.

"Marty." They both said.

0 0 0

With the slapping of yellow phonebook pages, Marty turned to Clara. "Verne, all right?"

"You called him, Marty." She said as she put the dishes into the dishwasher. "You told me he's fine. He didn't even get in trouble yet and he's eating dinner over there."

"That's one…" Marty muttered as he dialed another number. "Dad? Oh, thank God, er… I mean, how's the new manuscript coming along? Good. Okay. Yeah, I'll be over for dinner. Bye."

"How's your father?" Clara asked as she loaded the detergent in the machine.

"Alive," Marty said. "Mom is too. Okay, Linda's staying with either Greg or Craig…"

She stopped what she was doing. "Are you all right?"

Marty was already waiting for the dial tone to end. "Come on, sis, pick up…"

"Marty," Clara said. His face was too strange. She watched it go from strange to distressed to silently paniced until a female voice came and he relaxed. "What's wrong?"

"Linda, it's Marty." Marty began, but before he could continue his questionnaire, Clara's hand took the phone from his and hung it up.

"Marty you need to calm down." Clara said firmly. She walked over and took the phonebook out of his hands and put her hands on the back of his shoulders. With more force than Marty had expected, she led him over to the table and made him sit down. Marty kept staring at the phone.

"I need to see if she's all right," Marty said. "She sounded fine, but you never know with these things."

"What things?" Clara demanded. "You've been in this calling fit since we got back. Marty, you tell me what's wrong right now."

Marty looked at her now. "I can't explain it to you, Clara."

Clara's eyebrows raised. "And why is that? Does it happen to be because I'm the housewife who's only here to ask questions, but not comprehend their answers? I've been around longer than you have, Martin, and that includes the nineteenth century. Also, I live with an overactive physicist. Now, I think my one hundred and thirty-nine year old brain can handle one explanation."

"Uh…" Marty wasn't sure how to respound to all that. From what he had known of Clara during the whole 1885 fiasco was that Clara Clayton was definitely an intiative woman. Her climbing out on a racing train and nearly getting mangled just to see The Doc was proof. That was what probably attracted Doc to her. Not to say Marty didn't like that about her. It was cool to meet a chick that didn't act like a chick, especially in the nineteenth century. A chick that was more than smart enough to understand time traveling and everything surrounding it was pretty awesome. "I, uh… well, I was looking for something."

"From what I've seen, you're looking for a change." Clara summarized. Marty sighed a relief inside his head. It was a good thing she was more concerned with the problem at the moment. Doc once in awhile showed up with an overnight bag, saying things about lab explosions and how hell had no fury like a woman scorned. Jeez, no kidding…

"Yeah," Marty said, rubbing the back of his neck. He still felt embarrassed, from the insult he made and for his actual reason. "I am looking for a change. I don't, well, I don't have a reason for looking for one. It's kind of a gut thing. I feel like something's wrong."

"Instinct," Clara said and nodded. "I know all about those. To tell you the truth, I've got that feeling too. I just didn't want to spook you by saying it out loud."

"Then why'd you ask me what I was doing?" Marty asked.

"To make sure you were still sane," she answered and smirked. "But seriously, I wanted to see if you felt it too. What do you think it is?"

"Something me and Doc have gone through before," Marty said. The atmosphere was still a bit tense, but the weird similarity was lifting it. "It happened before he went to 1885. We had just gotten back from the future, 2015, and we came home to an entirely different town. I'll spare you the details."

"Don't," Clara interrupted. "I already know them. In this Hill Valley, Emmett was institutionalized and you were in Switzerland with Biff Tannan as your father."

Marty shivered slightly. "Yuck, don't remind me. If you know that, then you know why Hill Valley ended up like that. I did something really stupid and it caused a chain reaction that sent 1985 down the drain. The thing is, Clara, I think I did it again."

She looked at him hard. "How so?"

He didn't have to answer that and just looked at her. They shared that look for what seemed like forever. The kitchen may have been the same and so was the house that contained it. The day of 1994 was not a day in a pithole. There were no guns. There were no bikers. There was just that gut feeling. Yes, they both knew the answer. The feeling in his gut was almost getting unbearable, like it was a kid kicking and screaming that something was wrong. Something, somewhere, was just wrong.

0 0 0

"Marty told me he was going into the past," Doc stated as they paced around the library for perhaps the twelfth time. He was in the walking and talking mode where all his deductions and thoughts came directly out of his mouth. His body took giant, thumping strides equal to the pace of those thoughts. Jules hadn't noticed that he had inherited such a mode of deduction. Of couse, what didn't he inherit from this man?

"When exactly in the past?" Jules asked. Perhaps if it's a national day or an otherwise date of significance, Father and I can piece together the mystery of what exactly occurred. "And where exactly in the past?"

"Hill Valley," Doc answered, much to Jules' surprise. "May 17, 1976."

"Hmm," Jules said. "There's nothing historically significant about that date."

"Agreed," his father said. "That is except…"

"Except?" Jules repeated, egging his father to lament. His father just brushed off the idea with a wave of his hand, as if banishing it from this moment.

"Nothing," Doc said as they passed what used to be the Industrial Revolution section. "Although, that random date doesn't really match up with this alternate reality. What could Marty have possibly done to result in a whole scientific institute being nonfunctional?"

"Perhaps Martin went to another time period," Jules suggested.

"No, he specifically told me where and when he was going and what he was going to do there." Doc answered. Again, he surprised Jules. "He knows the risks."

Blasphemy. If Martin knew the risks, we wouldn't be in this situation. Jules thought. Stop it, Jules. You can't pin this all on him. He may not have the best track record of us all, but that doesn't mean all is his doing. What if…

"Father, what if it was something insignificant?" Jules began. His father looked at him, giving him his full attention. "What if Martin… or Verne or Mother did something that was natural to them and then the something proved to be a devastating consequence?"

"Good thinking," Doc said and Jules smiled. Stop smiling, you dope! Everything's even worse than it was before! "We all have a habit of doing such acts we deem normal. To myself, it was completely normal to save your mother from falling into the ravine. To Marty, it was completely normal to push his teenaged father out of the way of Mr. Baines' truck. It is only after these actions that we realize they could have consequences and that goes for present day life also."

Jules nodded. "Anything could have happened on his trip. I don't think we'll ever know how it is linked with Caltech's downfall, even if Marty gave us a full summary."

A sudden sound filled their thinking space. Jules had no idea where it possibly was coming from until his father extracted a cell phone from his belt. His father put a hand over one ear and the phone against the other. In a perplexed tone he asked, "Hello?"

Jules had to strain to hear who was on the other line, but the word "Doc" clued him on it. Martin was on the other line, but which one? It could be Martin seeking help or it could be Alternate Martin seeking Who-Knows-What. Alternate Martin could be any type of person in the world. However, from the conversation going on between his father and the cell phone, Jules could ease his worries.

"A feeling, huh?" Doc said, rather loudly into the phone. The thing wasn't the best piece of engineering of the present. It didn't take a time traveler to know that much. "I dare say there's an affirmative to that theory. Yes. Really? Nothing out of the ordinary. Well, Marty, you and I both know that nothing out of the ordinary is out of the ordinary. You did? Speak up. Oh! Are you all right? Is Verne all right? No changes? Let me talk to Clara."

Please let Mother be all right. Please let Mother be all right. Jules let out a sigh as he heard the distant sound of his mother's voice.

"Clara, honey, speak up." His father said into the phone. He walked over to the table Jules had once occupied and sat down. He took Jules pen and started scribbling furiously on a blank page of the notebook. "The house the same? Yes, yes, he's fine. I swear it. I'm all right, too. We're just in the foreclosed remains of what used to be one of America's top scientific institutes. I told you, he's fine. Are you sure Verne is fine? Unchanged? A gut feeling? Marty told me. Okay. Yes. Yes. I love you, too. Hand the phone back to Marty."

Jules looked over his father's shoulder to see the notes. The penmanship was too horrible to even be classified as English. From all he could tell from the conversation of questions and unrearable answers, his father was getting a recap of the time trip. Excellent! Now maybe they could piece together the events that led up to this.

"… That's it?" Doc asked in a tone not of surprise, but of dutiful note taking. "You didn't drive over anything that seemed like a pot hole? All right. No. No, don't think that. Our first experience in this field has yet to replicate itself. Everything is fixable from my viewpoint. Listen, go back to 1976 and follow them- I mean yourselves- to backtrack. Be on the lookout for everything and anything you did that was normal, but could cause a consequence such as this. I agree that could be anything, you don't have to yell. All right. Good luck. Be safe. Bye."

His father finished off his notes with a flourish. He looked at them and then slammed them on the table. "That's it. I'm out of ideas, Jules. All we can do is wait for the Ripple."

The boy wasn't sure how to respond.

0 0 0

They were running toward the barn with their orders.

"Emmett didn't explain why we're still us!" Clara heaved. "He may of said he was fine, but I know my husband, and he is at complete odds with himself if he doesn't have the whole picture figured out!"

"I've seen that side too," Marty panted as he pushed open the door. "It's not pretty. You bet he'll be bouncing theories off of us later. You still got the keys?"

Clara handed them to him as they slid into the vehicle. Marty jammed them in the ignition as Clara set the time circuits. Marty noticed her setting it a few minutes before they originally entered 1976. She did know a thing or two about time travel.

He got the DeLorean into gear and slammed the excellerator. As he shot off the ramp and the speed meter climbed, Marty replayed 1985A all over again. Bars on the windows. Mom being Biff's love slave. The drunk bikers. The trashy hotel. The pollution. The cold gravestone. Could it escalate to that? He didn't want to think about that as he covered his eyes from the temporal displacement.

California Institute of Technology

July 14, 1994

12:32 PM

He had to fight from screaming. It had been casual when they were bouncing off one another, sharing their estimations and trying to solve the mystery. They were two scientists in an unknown void, thinking out loud. It wasn't the same. The change of mood had been expected. All they were now was a father and a son sitting on top of at table because a simple mouse had scared them silly.

There was nothing they could do now.

At least there wasn't anything his father could do. Jules, however, was raging a battle he had felt since the mere prospect of dragging him to Caltech had arisen at the dinner table. This rippling was a factor, an event that just happened along the way. Jules only had two worst days in his life, but this one was steadily rising to first place. The worst of it was he couldn't broadcast it. If he started writing in his notebook, his father would ask what he was doing. As for verbally…

"Son?"

"Yeah," Jules asked, his tone reflected the harsh venting he needed to do.

"Just checking."

A minute passed with Doc being lost in his own thoughts while Jules seethed internally. The boy had to say something. Anything before he exploded or had some sort of aneurism. "How did you break the door down?"

His father glanced at the sunlight through the hole he had created. "Adrenaline rush. Another proved concept."

"What concept?" Jules asked. If he kept asking questions, then the explosion (or aneurism) might not happen. It was tough to keep the harsh out of his voice but he managed, like always.

"One of the most repeatable," Doc answered. He was observing the ceiling, probably to see if it was damaged enough to fall upon them. "I came across it in a medical journal. It called upon the emotional stamina of a person, particularly a parent, being so enraged or otherwise keyed up, that their bodies were pumped so full of adrenaline that they were capable of lifting cars off their children. I never thought it was possible until this ripple happened."

That struck a cord in Jules. The epitome of all zowies. It made him reconsider his anger for the slightest micro-second, but then it blazed to fury with remembrance. He couldn't give way just because someone had rushed to his rescue. What am I, Snow White? I'm a scientist, by God! Respond like a scientist!

"Fascinating," Jules said. The table creaked on its legs as his father moved closer to him. Jules stared down at the table as his father tried to meet his eyes. To fend himself off he added, "Did you save the medical journal?"

His father didn't say anything.

Hill Valley, California

May 17, 1976

7:02 PM

Since they couldn't land in the spot they originally picked, Marty and Clara had to find a new spot. This took up most of their planned "Be ahead of themselves before themselves arive" time, particularly with Marty pointing out every available spot and Clara vetoing all of them. She had good reasons but that didn't make it any less annoying. Eventually they found a good hiding spot miles from where their past counterparts parked. Judging by the time, Marty noticed as he got out of the car, they should have arrived. Clara agreed.

"It will be eerie, seeing ourselves." She said, perhaps to just make conversation. The walk to Courthouse Square wasn't nearly as casual as the last time. "Even if they are just ourselves from a couple hours ago, give or take."

Marty nodded. "Definitely. Try seeing yourself thirty years older."

"I have."

Marty looked back and was about to ask about that when their two targets arrived. They were them all right. Even from behind the bushes, Marty could see the red of his sports jacket and slight mullet that gave the (his) identity away. Clara could see the light purple fabric of her skirt and her own long hair. The freakiness rushed to Marty in a surge of nostalgia. He was even tempted to say, "This is heavy, Doc." but then knocked himself out of it with one glance at Clara. It occurred to him then that watching himself walk and talk with the Doc's wife with the Doc's wife was even more awkward than actually walking and talking with the Doc's wife. He also realized the back of his head was weird.

"Are you any good at sneakin' around?" He asked the question, in the hushest of whispers, as they were doing so. Their counterparts were far enough to not hear, but close enough to still be in sight.

She answered almost in the same tone as in the kitchen. "I am sure I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

Marty wanted to snap back until it hit him that he made a fopa. "No," he corrected. "I mean sneakin' around like observing and being agile."

"Oh," he heard her say from behind. "Yes, on occasions such as this."

She suddenly grabbed the back of Marty's jacket in a halting clutch. It made the young man's Nikes scrape to a stop on the dirt. The scrape wasn't too loud. The approaching night was full of rushing cars and summer crickets. "What-"

A feminine white hand slapped over his mouth. "Quiet."

Over the distance, the identical- although louder and calmer- footsteps came to a stop. Clara yanked her grip so Marty nearly flew closer to the big oak. He ducked without the aid of another yanking. Voices traveled to them.

"You hear something?"

"Why… no."

The footsteps started again.

The intense grip on Marty subsided, twitched, and then finally withdrew. A sigh was breathed.

"Golly, that was close." Clara said. She brushed herself up and helped Marty to his feet. Marty's question apparently radiated off his face. "Chasing after two boys for thirteen years increases a person's strength."

0 0 0

This had to be, hands down, the hardest mission Marty had ever been assigned. Fixing up his teenaged parents? Piece of cake. Retrieving a future almanac from a bonehead lunatic? No problem. Hijacking a train and pushing it past the point of holy explosion? Yawnfest. But, stalking his past self and analyzing every move and comparing it to the result of a destroyed college? Doing his calculus homework would have been a better choice. How, oh how, did he get into this?

"What about that?" He had said for the eighth time. Past their vantage point, his counterpart was putting the orange back on the the cart.

"I fail to see how oranges could ruin Caltech." Clara replied. She watched for the second time the tall charlatan grope her at the hips. She frowned deeply. "Or that, either."

They shared a look.

Marty was afraid to say it, but in this situation he had to act like a scientist. "Maybe you shouldn't of-"

"Marty, I'm not even going to respond to that idea."

"Jeez, Clara, I'm just trying to…" He realized the volume of his voice and lowered it. He whispered his words as they crept after themselves. "I just meant- Wait! The library!"

"Yes, we're entering it," Clara observed. The heavy wooden doors closed.

"I think I know what went wrong." Marty said and bolted for the building of literature. It was hard to act casual when you were on to something.

California Institute of Technology

July 14, 1994

12:34 PM

Empty. Quiet. Decrepit.

Those were the words Jules used to silently describe the environment. Every so often he would look up from his knees and check for differences. Empty. Quiet. Decrepit. Two minutes would pass and he'd repeat the action. It was all there really was to do and it made him even more angry. Scientists weren't supposed to mope around. What could they do, though? There was no save-the-day ripple as of yet.

His head was full of contradictions. Should he? Shouldn't he? His father had his back to him. Every now and then, Jules could feel the man's back muscles moving as he too looked for the Ripple. Then there'd be the sigh. Every sigh made Jules' shoulders twitch in some bizarre reaction. The boy rubbed his eyes.

The square of of X multiplied by the density of Y equals… Density of Y equals… Equals… Gahh!

He groaned out loud.

"What's wrong?" his father asked.

"Nothing," the boy grunted.

My notes gone and so is the only good thing about this day…. Being dragged against my will… lying to and fro…

"Son, I can tell something's wrong." Doc said and turned around. Jules stayed with his back towards his father.

Doctor Chase probably thinks I am a cute funny monkey boy and that boy Mike… The universe was against me here… Why?… How can he not get it?

"Fine." Jules heard himself say, his voice cracked a bit in the middle. He felt his whole upper body whirl around to face the man who was his father. "You want to know what's wrong? It's not the Ripple or the current environment standards, it's…"

I'm in control again, frontal lobe, cease waving me around like a madman. He thought and looked at his father. The only reaction was confusion, as well as a waiting for the answer.

"Jules," the older scientist began with inquiry. "What is it?"

It was the trigger that set the following emotional reaction off with words. All self-control was lost in a junvinile fit. "How could you ask that question? You're my father for God's sakes and you're a scientist! Observation is the first task in the scientific method! Couldn't you observe I didn't want to be here? Couldn't you observe that taking me to a scientific institute approximately six years too early was a bit much? I wager that the only thing you did observe was that I'm your cute little boy clomping around in your shoes!"

His father stared at him. "That isn't true. You're an individual, not a carbon copy of me. I've always seen you as an individual."

"Like hell," Jules replied. He was only semi-conscious of his body movements and barely noticed he had long jumped from the desk. A thick hand squeezed his arm between the elbow and shoulder. It didn't take two guesses to know who was trying to stop him and the emotions.

The voice came with parental sterness. "I can understand your standpoint, but only if you can ease down and start from the beginning."

There he went again, treating him like he was a little boy. "Let. Go. Of. My. Arm."

The grip tightened, but not too much. Jules flicked his arm and slipped out of it. He walked a pace of short little stomps back to another table. He could hear his father follow him and sit as he sat.

"Start from the beginning," his father asked. "You're riled up and you're not making any sense."

Let it out. Let it out. Tell him the deal and be done with it. I'm tired of always being advised that. Must I show him everything? I am making damn good sense. My anger is valid!

Jules turned his head and with one look at his father, he lost the control again.

"You brought up this place at the dinner table. You made me feel guilty and unappreciative for not getting excited and I agreed to come! You dragged me here to be gawked at and cooed at by people who could of respected me in the future- the correct time for bringing me-" It occurred to him now that he was yelling. "-but instead saw me and will forever see me as a little boy with a baking soda volcanoe! You put me on the spot multiple times and… and you just had to bring up Her!"

His voice cracked with the threat of the onset of another emotional release he didn't want to showcase. With one final jerk, he propelled himself off the table and started walking. He kept going in a straight line, a straight determined line. His eyes were cast at the floor and his lower lip, trembling, was bitten to the point of blood. In his head, he painted out a prediction of his father's next reaction. If the man was still feeling the fatherly patience, the most likely would be "Son, wait!" If it was annoyance and anger than the obvious was "Jules Eratosthenes Brown, we're not finished here!" As Jules rounded his first corner in the determined flee, all he heard in reality was the hot thumping in his ears and the shocked silence of the scientist.

Hill Valley, California

May 17, 1976

7:16 PM

Sneakin' around had been utterly forgotten as Marty darted between the aisles. Clara was close behind, keeping up with amazing speed. She was completely right about the chasing after two kids thing. Marty had to hand it to her: She was a skilled time traveler, more so than he had thought. If he paid attention to most of the stories Verne retold about the family's exclusive adventures, he would of saved a lot of gripe. She was smart, no doubt. She could run. She didn't complain. She knew when to do what. As Marty skid past the science fiction section, he made a mental note to never misjudge Clara as The Doc's Wife again.

Although this wasn't the time to say as much aloud.

His sneakers nearly set the rug on fire as he stopped. Clara practically slammed into him. "There. I knew it."

Clara looked and her eyebrows raised. "Golly."

There they were as themselves only hours earlier. Well, it felt like hours to them although they'd have to ask the Doc about the exact calculations. The other Marty and the other Clara were walking up to the reception desk. They could even hear their counterparts' conversation and the freaky aspect again hit Marty. He guessed it would never get old.

"Hey, can you tell me where the mathematical reference books are?"

Marty mouthed the words.

"Is that it?"

Clara lifted a hand up to her eyes like she was trying to shield herself from her past words.

"They change things around and it's not like I'm a regular in the advanced calculus aisle."

Marty broke them out of the Days Of Their Lives moment. "Let's go."

He was ready to commence trailing again when that death-defying Hold It Buster clutch got his back again. "No," he heard Clara whisper. "Let's wait. Trust me."

Hey, you've proven me wrong past the state record so why not? Marty thought. A person walked by. He watched Clara casually look from title to title on the shelf by her head. It could be the bump. She bumped into someone in the non-fiction section. Wait, then we'd be following us if that's what she thinks…

"What aisle did the librarian send us to again?" Marty asked.

"4B." Clara answered and Marty didn't move. "Are you growing to trust me?"

"Yeah," was all Marty could muster. "I've always trusted you, Clara."

He couldn't prove it, but he swore he heard her mutter, "Not in situations such as this."

They waited for themselves. There was no more conversation or agruments. Their mission's success or failure was now based upon woman intuition. It wasn't a mockery or a false hope. The stakes were high, but weren't they always? Marty couldn't recall one solitary trip into the past (or the future) where there wasn't a problem. It was always something, no matter how little, that had a reaction. The Doc had explained that it was the universe's nature. Yes, if that was true, then why couldn't the universe throw time travelers a little slack now and then?

He had problems of his own and it wasn't fair that he had been thrown extras. Normalacy and Time Machine did not mix. It didn't take a physicist to see it. He was just seventeen when all this had started. From his normal american teenager actions in the past birthed reactions more worse than any science-fiction movie to date. The paradoxes, techno babble, chases, race against the forever ticking clock, getting lost, getting shot, getting frantic. Why over and over again?

He didn't really think about destroying the time machines. When the daily train almost smashed him along with the DeLorean, he was on such an adrenaline rush that he couldn't tell if he was sad or happy. It was a DeLorean, a pristine stainless steel sports car that would be the envy of everyone in school. Plus the time machine aspect made it the coolest thing in the universe. When he first saw it, he couldn't stop thinking how awesome it was and if The Doc would consider him taking it for a ride. Well, he did under another set of circumstances… Still, he wondered if The Doc's whole speech on how time travel was "irresponsible" way back when was true. Marty leaned his head against the aisle as he wondered about it. Maybe it wasn't time travel that was irresponsible, but the people who were gutsy enough to do it.

"You got those books all set, Alice?"

Marty looked around and blinked rapidly. Being completely enveloped in his own thoughts made him miss out on what was going on. Clara, on the other hand, was watching the reference desk intently.

"Rise and shine, Marty, I think this is it." She said and pointed to their two figures walking back from the mathematics aisle. They were looking irritated and in the original Marty's hands, was the book. Oh Jeez, not another book mishap…

Clara seemed to read his thoughts. "Do you remember not remembering to bring along a pencil?"

Bam. It hit him right there and then. The pencil? The pencil! He almost went closer to watch the scene. This was going to get interesting.

"What were the titles again?" The librian asked the male who had addressed her so informally. Marty looked him up and down. The dude had a dark brown mullet that curled like a girl's hairdo. The Orange Crush of his shirt contrasted with the bell bottoms and adidas on his feet. Big, thick, almost military-like glasses were propped up on his nose. Marty was suddenly reminded of his father, especially when the dude started naming the books he wanted.

"The Martian Chronicles… Uh, Time and Again… Oh! There was also Ubik and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?"

The librarian smiled. "Do they, Sam?"

The dude, Same, cocked his head in thought. "I don't know. I haven't read the book yet." Then he laughed a high-pitched, snorty laugh. Marty fought to not laugh himself. It wasn't hard when his past self came into the scene.

Clara put a hand on his shoulder, but she didn't say anything. Marty counted the next action in his head. Four… Three… Two… One.

"Can I borrow this?" Snatch!

"Hey!"

"Thanks." The original Marty said as he began doodling homework- ones that were probably wrong, he would admit- on a scrap of paper. The original Clara followed him with her previous mutterings as they headed out of the building. Marty watched them go, remembering the mad dash to get that homework done. Yeah, rushing to get it done even though it wouldn't be due for eighteen years. Bonehead.

Sam stood there, staring at his vacant hand as the librarian worked behind him. He had this weird look on his face. It was the kind you'd expect from a person who was just about to say, "All is lost." How could all be lost from the theft of a pencil? Sure there wasn't a bucket of them on the desk, but so what? Marty halted that thought right then and there with his past experiences in the past. Anything, from gold to crap, can cause weird shit to happen.

Both were silent with the new answer. "You got it perfectly."

Clara didn't brag or nag. "Let's right this wrong."

The victim's head didn't turn as they walked up to the reference desk for the second time. Sam was too busy talking to Alice the Librarian again. "Thanks Alice, this will really help me with my research. Did you just see what happened? A couple of finks swiped my pencil!"

"Oh my," Alice said as she finished stamping the last of the books. "Why would someone do such a silly thing?"

"Finks, that's who!" Sam replied as he searched through his pockets. "I didn't bring a spare either… You got one?"

"Sorry, no." Alice said, but she was looking past Sam. Marty met her gaze and came closer from behind Sam with Clara. Sam caught her staring and turned around. His head jerk a little in surprise.

"Hi," Marty said with a raise of his hand, just to seem friendly. His grin was sheepish. "We're the finks."

"I'm afraid so," Clara chimed in. They got two very strange looks that made them both squirm a bit. Strange looks were something you never grew used to. The Doc had long accepted them into his life but Marty still felt awkward from them. Too relieve himself of it all, he reached into his pocket. The long, thin feel of the pencil graced his fingers.

"Listen, I'm real sorry about all this." Marty said as he handed the writing instrument over. "I got a little carried away with my homework. You know those assignments they slap on you at the very last second?"

"Oh yeah," Sam replied. "Thanks… I guess."

"We're very sorry," Clara added as she and Marty slowly back away. "Make sure you keep that pencil in a safe place."

"Uh, okay." Was the last they heard as they headed out of the library.

California Institute of Technology

July 14, 1994

12:37 PM

Aaaarrrrgggg!

Jules didn't even remember enetering the coffee break room. He didn't even feel any disobediance from being in there (he didn't work here). The table was knocked over and only one chair existed. It had faced the rusty refridgerator and lopsided cabinets. There was less dust in here which helped Jules' congestion. That, however, didn't relieve his mind.

He had yelled at his father. Actually, he had exploded in front of his father. Everything of the last few days had poured out in a fit of a four-year-old. Very unprofessional. Then again, it was hard to be professional in front of someone who once changed your diapers. Either way, a scientist wasn't supposed to do that. A scientist was to carry themselves with dignity and a respect for their elder and more wise companions. Just minutes ago, thirteen years of respect and dignity had flown out the panned transparent surface. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

Who was the bright psychologist who stated that one would feel better upon "letting it out"? Releasing all that… force could only lead to bigger and badder reactions. There would be reactions that would spawn actions that would spawn even more reactions. It would never end!

Circling and circling in a tesseract, just would keep folding in on the people until their time was up. Jules thought angrily. His cheeks were still wet and he mentally ordered himself to cease. Don't be an infant. For God's sakes, you're almost fourteen! Buck up!

Another layer of lacrimation covered his cheeks, traveling down the curve of skin, and finally dropping onto his dirty shirt. He fidgeted with the tie a bit. Mother was all right. Verne was all right. Martin was all right.

For now. The logic stated.

"Shut up." Jules was surprised not only at the abruptness of his voice, but the inarticulate pronounciation of the words. Never since toddler hood had his voice sounded that shaky or croaking. "Maybe it's because I've never raised my vocal cords to that level before."

The silence didn't prove that correct or incorrect. He'd be more worried if it did.

Worrying is the last thing I need at this moment. Jules thought and got up. He climbed on top of the table and lied down upon it. All right, I need to calm down. Calm down body, calm down. You're overwrought. Calm down. You're not yourself. You're riled up.

The mere repeat of that made his blood rush back to his face. He's damn right I'm riled up. Jules thought and raised his hands to his hair. He pulled the shaggy brown and brushed it back and forth. Calm down, Jules. You need to calm down. His mind put this thought on a loop as he rubbed his own hair. After awhile, the blood stopped boiling and the thoughts stopped racing. He felt like a boulder had been removed from his stomach, which only reminded him of his hunger dwelling back. That hunger diminished when he saw his father's tall, presence in the doorframe. Oh, not again.

The boy waited for the action. There was none. A word, just one word would have relieved Jules. "Jules Eratosthenes Brown" would tell him a negative. His legal name was being used a lot today, the boy realized. Without any sort of dialogue, he couldn't produce any conjectures on his father's impending counter attack. All he observed was his father stepping over the foreclosure debris and walking over to the table. Then, the scientist pulled up the chair and sat down in it, right in front of Jules.

There were still no words for a few minutes.

"Any changes?" Jules asked. He had to fill the air with something.

"None that weren't interpersonal."

Jules moved a little on the table. His father was staring at him, with his face unreadable and his hands clasped on his knees rather relaxed, like he was a therapist. For awhile, Jules internally debated whether or not that was a good thing. That is, until, he remembered the words he'd prepared for this moment. "Dad, I'm s-"

Jules. Don't." His father said. The two males looked at each other for the longest time. Then, there was a sigh to ease the tension. With that sigh, his father got up and sat right down next to Jules. "Son, you and me… we're very, very much alike. Now I know you've already asserted you are not my identical twin. We both know that my DNA was rather strong when it came to creating you. You and I… we're more than a father and a son. We're scientists, partners in the eternal search for knowledge, sounding boards for each other, and that leads myself to sometimes forgetting that you're, well, a child."

"Teenager." Jules couldn't look up from his feet.

"Right," his father's hand clapped onto his shoulder. "You are just a teenager, Jules, a brilliant and creative teenager, but a teenager none the less. When I was your age, I'll save you the details, but my father… wasn't as conscious to what I was doing."

His father? Jules thought. From what little he observed of his paternal grandfather, all he had gathered was the first Doctor Brown was serious and in medicine. Was that why his father happened to show him off now and then? "He ignored you?"

"No." Doc said and waved off the subject. "Anyway, I followed in my father's footsteps with all this. You were absolutely right. You weren't ready for all this and I failed to notice that factor. For that, I'm extremely sorry. What I'm trying to say is that you're grappling with new problems and trust me, more will come, but if you feel angry, then you need to talk."

"I did," Jules said and had to fight the threatening urge to use that tone all over again. "And I exploded to my most extreme level."

"Jules, that's normal for someone your age."

"That doesn't make it any less embarrassing." Jules retorted. He rubbed the back of his neck and felt himself be hugged sideways.

"Who said life doesn't throw you embarrassing moments?" Doc said, smiling. "I've had at least fifty!"

Jules didn't laugh, but he gave a small smile, then sighed. "I am a normal teenager."

"You are a normal teenager," his father said and pulled him into another hug. "Depending on various viewpoints."

Now Jules laughed. The laughter was interrupted by the cotton of his father's shirt. When he relinquished from the hug, everything was different. Well, everything was different in more ways than one. The wood of the table they were sitting on had a polished surface for one. Cabinets were straight and there was an actual door on the hinges of the entryway. The floor was spotless and, from the verdict of his nose, the dust level had gone down to absolute minimum. It was a shock to the system.

His father looked around wildly, relaxed, and looked at Jules with a smile. "Marty did it. We're back."

Hill Valley, California

July 14, 1994

11:20 PM

It was noon. The house was the same. The air smelled the same. Einstein was barking inside the house. The electronic buzz of the gull wing doors were the only disturbance of the present. Marty locked the barn up on the way out. Yup, the feeling was gone. That uneasy prickling on the back of his neck and shifting in his gut was completely over. Phew. Job well done.

Although, not job well done for just him. "Hey, Clara?"

She was halfway to the house and turned back at the sound of his voice. He walked over to her, dreading every step, and met her in the middle of the backyard. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Can I talk to you about something?"

Clara nodded, briskly giving him permission. Marty wondered if she knew what he was about to say. Well, if she knews then she can listen…

He took a breath. "You and me haven't known each other for as long as I've known Doc. I… only know you from the trip to 1885 and, at first, I thought you were like the western ladies in all the John Wayne and Clint Eastwood movies. I didn't really know you, personally. I'm scared to say that I, well, actually thought of you as an obstacle."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "An obstacle in your initial plan to get back to 1985?"

Marty blew a small sigh of relief. She hadn't been offended, or at least, wasn't showing it. "Yeah, but like I said, this was before I knew you. This was before I knew you were you."

"And who am I?" Clara asked, staring levely at him. Marty gulped. Get your act together, McFly!

"You're one of the most amazing women I've ever met." Marty said and looked at the ground. "You're smart and inventive and you have guts. You know what to do and when to do it. You're a great mom and you don't let people try to pull shit on you. And…"

She was looking at him. Her face didn't radiate anger or doubt or any other negative emotion. In fact, Marty was sure she looked down right surprised. Maybe she hadn't been expecting any kind of apology. If that was true, then who did she think he was?

"And…" Marty began and stopped rubbing his neck. "And you don't need to be treated like a female dopey sidekick. My whole point is I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everthing I said and did that was, uh…"

"Rude?" Clara suggested like she was helping one of her students with a difficult spelling. "Demeaning? Misogynistic?"

"Yeah, all that." Marty said softly. Now he looked her in the eye. "I didn't mean to be misogynistic. It had nothing to do with you being-"

"A woman." Clara finished.

"Do I have to sign some form?" Marty asked. "Or can I apologize?"

She smiled at that crack and then cupped a hand to his cheek. "You already did. Thank you for realizing that I'm not a neophyte anymore. I apprciate your words and I dare say that I've never heard you talk to me for this long! You're a fine young man, Marty."

She gave him a friendly pat on his cheek and turned toward the house. Marty threw the backpack over his shoulder and turned his Nikes west.

"Doc, I don't know how you do it…"

0 0 0

"Good to hear it, Marty… What? Sorry I'm in the car… Oh! Great scott, no. We were fine. It's all fine here. Jules and I patrolled the campus. How's Jules? At a better place than when he entered the campus. Nothing. Something?… Well, she's been on an uncounted number of trips through time… Haha! That's the woman I married all right. Is Verne accounted for? That's a relief. The home front is fine?. Fantastic! All right, Marty. Good job. Good bye."

The cell phone flew to the back of the van, landing on a dog bed.

"I hate that piece of technology," Doc said, casting a glare back at the phone.

"We've been spoiled by voyages into the future." Jules said, looking up from his notebook. "Did they make it back safely?"

"They made it back great," Doc said. "Guess who figured out what went wrong?"

Jules humored him. "Who?"

"Your mother," his father said and was overcome with a rather far off look on his face. "I married the right woman."

"You did," Jules said. He flipped through his pages. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here to verify that statement."

Conversation died down after awhile. It left Jules along with thoughts of the aftermath. Boy was his mind loaded up with results, ideas, questions, and answers. They bumped against one another in endless circling like atoms of a gigantic picture. There was a lot to think. Wasn't there always? The notebook pages had returned with his careful printing. Amazing, just amazing.

The ripple effect had hit him twice. His first experience and one as the victim. His scientific logbook would have a very interesting entry tonight. He never really liked writing, but tonight he could make an exception. Verne alone would have to be locked out until he could finish the document. His younger brother had missed out on the action and when that happened, the boy could get cross. Well, Jules thought. I surmise I can whip up a satisfying document of the day's events. The real issue will be dealing with Verne's questions.

How could one go about doing that when one couldn't answer them for themselves?

Actually, it might be better if they didn't know what had happened. Science could do well with other examples (God forbid). Time travel was a hodge podge of confusion. It was a shame that only his family were in this. Six people and only two of which were scientists. The great brains of today had already denounced time machines to science fiction. The great brains of tomorrow rarely thought of it at all. What a sad state of affairs the scientific community was in. There were just two scientists faced with results of experiences in this Unknown. The issue wasn't seeking answers anymore, it was connecting the answers with questions. How was the Ripple started from a theft of a number two pencil? What was the measure of the speed that had rewritten Caltech's history. Most of all: What would of happened if the Ripple kept going?

Jules put his notebook away. It was better if time travel was a secret and that there were some secrets within secrets. Jules looked out the window, thinking thoughts of the word "secret." What did it really mean? Could a simple six letter word hold more to it than one double its size? What made a secret a secret? Why did the human race feel the incessant need to keep them locked up? Who invented the first secret? What was it about cars that made him get philosophical? Secret was a good way to describe the universe in one word. In fact, it was both a good way to describe the universe and the Ripple.