Well, I finally managed to rescue myself from my grandparent's place. I've got Doc's old address on a slip of paper (how quaint) in my pocket, and I've got another long walk to take. But hey, long-ass trips are my business.

Turns out, Doc used to live in a pretty nice place. A couple of acres, looks like, out past the railroad tracks that lead towards a bridge. In 1986, it's on the very outskirts of town.

Knocking on the front door, I wish once more that I had some idea on how to handle this. It's going to be weird.


Newsflash: It was weird.

"I don't want a newspaper subscription!" he'd yelled at me. "Or a vacuum cleaner!"

"Not selling anything, Doc. I need your help. It's a science problem."

He stared at me for a few seconds, but I've said the magic words and he was intrigued, in spite of himself. His eyes trained on my backpack.

"You need help with your homework, kid? Does it look like I'm running a study hall here!"

"Well, here's the situation. My name's Mark. There was an accident with one of your experiments."

He looked completely nonplussed by that; tell me something I don't know, he was clearly thinking. Considering that he's thirty years younger than I'm used to seeing him, he didn't actually look all that different. It's good to see him alive at all, really. It helps me to forget, just a little, the way he looked the last time I saw him.

"Which one, kid?" he hedged, glancing around, warily.

"It's something you haven't built yet."

Now he's looking really confused. And just out-and-out annoyed. He frowned at me.

"Okay, kid. Beat it. Scram. Fun's over." He started to close the door on me.

"No! Wait! I really do need your help. Please. My life depends on it."

So does yours, I thought.

He was staring at me, waiting for me to continue.

"I'm stranded, Doc. I'm a long way from home." I dig through my backpack then, and pull out his old iPhone. There's a picture of Rover on the locked screen. "See that? That's a fingerprint scanner, right there. It's yours, in the future. You loaned it to me, to film an experiment you were doing."

He's still staring at me.

"It was a time-travel experiment." I think I've eased him in, as gently as I possibly can. He's kind of slack-jawed, eyes wide, not even blinking.

"But there was an accident," I continue. His head was shaking now, slowly, as he tried to make sense of what I was saying. He shakily reached one hand towards the phone, and touched the fingerprint scanner. It unlocked. 'December 17, 2016' was clearly visible on the display.

I thought he was turning away from me to look over his shoulder, but I realized too late that he was in shock. He slumped to the ground, eyes rolled back.


Well, it's not too terribly often that growing up with an alcoholic parent scores me anything in the plus column. But it's totally second nature for me to drag him in and get him set up on the sofa, and I'm practically on autopilot as I get him into the recovery position, just in case.

Doc's dog comes to check on her master after a while. Friendly little thing. Same breed as Rover. Some kind of shaggy little sheepdog. A quick inspection of her collar reveals her name to be Cerberus.

Eye roll.

Misogynist, much, Doc?

Doc seems to be sleeping, at this point, rather than just unconscious, and it's pretty late anyway. I should do the same.

After I've been duly sniffed and pass muster with Cerberus, I settle down in the chair across from Doc and attempt to pass out.

But I can't. All this stuff keeps replaying in my head. My grandparents. Mindy. My parents. Doc's murder. I can prevent that, right? If I tell him never to do business with 14K he might not ever build the time machine, though.

That would probably be for the best. It's caused nothing but trouble, so far. Only, there's one thing bothering me about that. Why did he build it in the first place? And why did he pick 1986 as his first target? He's not stupid. He should know that to interact with anyone 30 years ago, especially himself, could seriously fuck up future events.

I have a hard time reconciling the fact that he was apparently willing to risk it, anyway, for whatever the "unfulfilled wish" was that he'd mentioned at Twin Pines. It must have been important, if it had been bothering him for thirty years.

If I could just… nudge… those two events. Just a little bit. Keep Doc from getting murdered, and maybe figure out what that wish of his was. If it's something feasible, and we get it taken care of now, then maybe, just maybe, he'll never build it. And of course, we'll have to get some rocket fuel, somehow. Without screwing up the course of history too much. And then everything can go back to the way it's supposed to be.

I pat Cerberus, and then close my eyes and try to sleep.


An actual, true-blue alarm clock with a motherfucking bell on top is ringing its shrill little head off, loud enough to wake the dead.

And Doc, for that matter. I give him a friendly wave and a smirk from the chair before he has a chance to freak the hell out on me again. He silences the shrieking alarm and sets it gently down, next to the iPhone, which he picks up. Gingerly, as though it might bite him, he does the fingerprint unlock again.

Low Battery 15%, it informs us helpfully. Memory Full.

"I thought I must have dreamed all this," he started to say, "but this little device. Great Scott. It has to be true, doesn't it."

"Yep," I confirm, "in 2016, you invent a time machine." I sit up, suddenly. "Hey, I recorded the whole thing! You can see for yourself!" He looks at the iPhone dubiously. "And then we're going to need to go get the time machine from the woods where I left it," I add, as I'm navigating the touch screen menus. Doc watches, saucer-eyed. "We should bring it back here. Do you still have that flat-bed?"

"That's incredible! I was just thinking about buying one of those!" He shook his head, ruefully.

"Oh well. I suppose I can just drive it over here. A Delorean shouldn't stand out too much in 1986, huh?"

"I built a time machine into a car?! That's brilliant! Great idea, future counterpart!" He pats his own shoulder in congratulations. "That way I can move it anywhere I need to go, in style!"

He watches, as I delete a few files, to free up some memory, and turn on Airplane Mode to save the remaining battery, until I get a chance to recharge it. Not like we're going to be finding many WiFi hotspots around here.

His eyes go even wider.

"That thing can fly?" He sits back in his chair, stunned. "Why do the people of the future need their computers to be able to fly around?" He furrows his brow, blinking, and then floats the first hypothesis that comes to him. "Is it a problem with global warming? Of course! People get stuck in their homes and cars a lot because of rising floodwaters? You send one of these out, like a carrier pigeon?" His voice had climbed about an octave, as he stared at the iPhone in my hand.

"What? No. No, it's just called Airplane Mode. It doesn't fly." Good grief. He looks confused. "Okay, here we go."

"Wait!" Doc stood up, suddenly. "The alarm! My lab assistant will be on his way over here soon. He can't be allowed to see any of this. It would be dangerous." He mused quietly, to himself. "Very, very dangerous. I need to call him, before he leaves."

I eavesdrop shamelessly, as Doc tells the guy not to come to work today. Or tomorrow, for that matter.

Huh. I guess it sounds like I have a 1986 counterpart, too.