Chapter 2

Saturday, October 2nd, 1982

Hill Valley

11: 05 A. M.

Doc studied his blueprints carefully, going over the numerous notes and asides. "Damn, why does stainless steel help the flux dispersal? It would be far less complicated if I could use any old car. Or not have to remove the paint from this new DeLorean. Who the hell paints a DeLorean, anyway? Ah, well, if my prototype is successful, so what? My life-long dream will have been fulfilled." He folded up his blueprints and tucked them in a safe place. Then, resigned to his tedious job, he picked up his paint scraper and headed for the garage.

A knock at the door interrupted him. Puzzled, he turned around and went to answer it. "If you're selling something, I don't want it," he warned as he opened the door.

To his surprise, Marty McFly stood there, looking nervous. "Marty? What are you doing here? I thought your parents expressly forbade you to set foot on my premises."

Marty shrugged, then held out a $20 bill to him. "Part of my savings," he said. "It's a start for your garbage cans, anyway."

Doc felt his amazement grow. "Marty, you don't have to pay me. It wasn't your fault about my garbage."

"I want to, Dr. Brown. That jerk Fred's not gonna pay, and Mom and Dad definitely won't either, so-" He shrugged.

"Your parents don't know you're here." It was a statement, not a question.

"They don't give a shit where I go, most of the time." Marty's tone became sad. "I knew I could see you at least one more time." He pressed the money into Doc's hand. "I guess I'll see you around." He picked up his skateboard and turned to go.

"Marty!" The teen turned back. "How would you like a job around my place?" Even as he spoke, Doc wondered, "Now what possessed me to say that?"

Marty looked startled. It wasn't every day you got offered a job out of the blue. "A job? Doin' what?"

"Odd chores. Whatever I can find."

"How much?"

"$20 a week," Doc said temptingly.

"This isn't just an excuse to give me back my cash, is it?" Marty asked suspiciously.

Doc shook his head. "It's a real job, Marty. I often get so involved in my studies that I forget to do the simple things. It wouldn't be more than daily household chores - sweep the garage, mow the lawn, those sort of activities. Heck, I'll let you listen to my record collection too. Do you want it?"

Every normal kid instinct told him to get out of there now. He didn't need a job working for the man known as the local nutcase. He'd be ostracized for life! But something overrode all that. Something that told him Doc would have never offered him that job if he hadn't been desperate for human contact. Plus, 20 bucks a week was a damn good salary. "Sure. 20 bucks is great."

Doc smiled. "Wonderful. You can start right now, if you're so inclined. Unless you've already made plans?"

"Nah, I like to keep my Saturdays free. I don't think Mom or Dad will come around looking for me either. What do I have to do?"

Doc glanced inside. "You have a choice of jobs today. You can either do dishes or help me scrape paint off that damned DeLorean."

Neither sounded very appealing, but washing dishes didn't seem quite so tedious. "I'll do the dishes."

"I don't blame you." He led Marty into the house to a small sink. A pile of dishes was there, waiting patiently for someone to clean them. "That's the one major problem with this place," Doc frowned. "No proper kitchen. I'm glad this place is next to a Burger King." He pointed out the jukebox. "The records are right next to it. I'll leave you to it." He returned to the garage. Marty poked around for a moment, examining the various inventions and stuff, then made his way to the jukebox. He examined the records and was pleased to see a lot of his favorite musical talents included in the massive collection. He chose a song by one of the fathers of rock and roll, Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode." Smiling, he put it on and sang along as he washed the dishes, occasionally lifting his hands to play air guitar.

He finished the dishes by the time the song was over. Needing something to occupy his time, he went out to the garage to help Doc. The scientist glanced up as the teen came in. "Finished with the dishes already?"

"They'd been soaking for so long, all I had to do was wipe 'em off," Marty said. "That's a heavy-duty jukebox, Dr. Brown. And an awesome record collection."

"Thanks. Lou's Cafe sold it to me when they got a newer model."

"Lou's Cafe?"

"You'd know it better as the aerobics place. It used to be a diner. A lot of things around here have changed since my youth."

"I'll bet." Marty accepted the paint scraper from Doc and started chipping. "Who paints a DeLorean red?"

"The dealer said it made it look 'spiffy'," Doc grumbled, locating a second scraper for a windshield. "It was the only DeLorean on the lot, though. And I needed a stainless steel body."

"Why?"

"It's a secret project of mine. I'd prefer it to be so. After all, this invention could change the course of mankind's history. You're better off not knowing."

Marty got nervous. "It's not illegal, is it?"

"Oh, of course not. I wouldn't do anything illegal. It's just rather - delicate. I've spent many years researching it, and I don't want it jeopardized."

Marty supposed he could understand Doc's reluctance to talk. He'd only known him for 2 days. "What sort of science do you do?"

"Oh, all sorts. All sciences fascinate me. From chemistry to zoology. Granted, my forte is physics, but I believe in being well-rounded."

"I'm not so hot in science," Marty confessed. "A lot of it seems boring." Doc pretended Marty had mortally wounded him. "At least, the way my teacher teaches it. Everybody in that class is in a coma by the first 3 minutes. I've spotted some kids actually asleep. All he does is drone on and on about the properties on matter. It's only 1 month into the year and he already hates me for not understanding the homework. I can't stay awake to understand it."

"Sounds like a few of my teachers," Doc sighed. "But I can assure you, science is definitely not boring. It's involved in all our everyday lives."

"That's what all the teachers say, but why do I need to know all of it? Even the 'official' sciences seem dull. Geology is studying rocks. Rocks!"

"Rocks can be interesting. Have you ever heard of pumice stone?"

"It's some sort of lava rock."

"It's also so porous it can float."

"Get outa town! Rocks can't float! That's why they're rocks!"

"Almost anything can float if it's not too dense. Pumice is filled with air bubbles which leave pores all over it's surface. This lowers its density to the point where it can float."

"Well, that's kinda interesting. I still don't want to study rocks."

"Would quantum physics interest you?" Doc suggested with a grin.

"What physics?!"

"Quantum physics. It's the study of subatomic particles. It's fascinating, and comprises much of my research."

"Sounds like you'd need a brain the size of a planet to understand it."

"Well, I can give you some of the more interesting aspects of it. One of the first applications of it was to light. What is light?"

"Energy. Waves, I think."

"Yes, but certain experiments involving light proved that they would only work if light was made up of photons, tiny particles. Light has a dual nature; it can be either a wave or a photon. Later, a scientist named de Broglie proved that ordinary particles could have this duality. Electrons, for example, can behave as waves and particles."

Marty blinked. "But - but they're different! How could something be both?"

"It depends on how you're testing the particles. A man named Heisenburg demonstrated this with a hypothetical measuring of a particle. You're trying to find the position of the particle, and it's momentum. Now, depending on how you look at it, there is a large uncertainty in either the position or the momentum. If you're viewing light as a wave, the uncertainty is in the position, if you're viewing it as a photon, the uncertainty is in the momentum. No matter how accurate you try to be, there will always be uncertainty due to the 'changing' states of light. Basically, it's impossible to measure properly on the subatomic level. Sometimes the particles can appear to be in two places at once. And sometimes they seem to vanish completely."

Marty couldn't help but glance down at his chest. Doc smiled sheepishly. "But I'm being mean. I hire you to help me and I treat you to a science lesson. Did you even understand me?"

"Uh - I'm not sure. A lot of it went over my head, but I think I've got something of an idea. You're a damn good idea teacher, that's sure. You should teach."

"I did. At the local college for 10 years, from 1956 to 1966."

"What happened?"

Doc sighed. "Early retirement. They asked me to leave. I was filling the student's heads with nonsense, they said. I don't know how, half didn't pay attention to me anyway."

Marty couldn't fathom anyone not being able to pay attention to Doc. "Their loss," he shrugged, continuing his paint scraping. "Those inventions I saw looked really cool. What do your friends think of them?"

The minute he said it, Marty regretted it. Doc blushed faintly and looked away. "I don't talk with people often. I'm not exactly welcome in the scientific community. And most of my family is dead or living far away. The closest is my sister Emily, and she's in L. A. And I doubt she'd be interested in my scientific rambles."

Marty found himself feeling bad for Dr. Brown. "Hey, you can babble to me if you want. I don't care."

Doc smiled. He couldn't believe it - he was actually bonding with this kid! "Well, I'm sure you're sick of hearing about me. What about you? What's your field of expertise?"

"Music," Marty grinned. "I wanna be the biggest thing to hit rock and roll since the invention of rock and roll."

"That's quite an ambition there."

"I know. Me and my friends have got a band all formed and everything. We just need a name and a rockin' sound."

"Well Marty, I've always believed that, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything. If you really have faith in yourself, I'm sure you'll succeed. What instrument do you play? Or are you the lead vocals?"

"Guitar and vocals," Marty said proudly. "I've been practicing for a year on a guitar my buddy Spydo got me, and everyone says I really rock. We've been practicing all the great songs - Johnny B. Goode, Jailhouse Rock, The Heart of Rock and Roll, stuff like that."

"You sound like an audiophile," Doc said, impressed. "I'm a music-lover myself."

"Anybody with a collection like yours has to be."

"Well, yes, but I play an instrument myself. The saxophone. And I have some remedial talent in piano and organ. I used to own both, but they perished in the fire."

"You play sax? Let's hear."

Doc hesitated a moment, then got up and retrieved an old, worn sax from his desk. He brought it to his lips and played the first few bars of "Night Train". Marty nodded in approval. "You're good, Dr. Brown. The sound's a little muddy, though."

"Wear and tear. I've had this since the 50s. Too bad you didn't bring your guitar. We could have played together."

"I know." Marty suddenly snapped his fingers. "Jesus, that reminds me! I've got practice with the guys at 4. I gotta ship out before then."

"How far is it to where you're practicing?"

"Hell, I don't know. It's Spydo's place, 1717 Letchmark Ave."

"Hmm, near the college, that's roughly 4.2 miles from here. And you've got to stop at home to pick up your guitar, I'm sure. Normally it would take you 30 minutes to get there, but seeing as you have to make some stops and skateboard there - unless you want a ride?"

"That's your call, Doc. I'm just worried Spydo's gonna freak out worse than my mom did."

Doc frowned. "I know. It would take you - 50 minutes to get there on your own, assuming you practice that dangerous car-surfing, which I'm sure you do. If I drove you there, 40 minutes."

Marty was amazed. "You figured all that out in your head?"

"I'm a scientist. I have to be good at calculations like that. I'm sure you have a similar ability."

"No way! I only do 'okay' in math."

"I'm not just referring to math. What about your music?"

Marty glowed. "Hey, yeah! You know, every so often I'll wake up in the middle of the night or look up during my homework and find I've got a song idea, or a melody in my head."

"See? We all have our special talents." Doc checked his wrist watches. "It's 11: 47 and 20 seconds. Do you want to grab some lunch from the Burger King?"

"Sure!"

Saturday, October 2nd

4: 00 P. M.

Marty skated up to Spydo's house, precisely on time. He was grinning from ear to ear. He and Doc Brown had spent a very pleasurable couple of hours together. They had chatted quite a bit, from science - Doc enthralling Marty by describing a few of his theories - to music - engaging in a debate over the true father of rock, Chuck Berry or Elvis Presley. The pair had soon discovered that, despite their differences, they seemed to have a lot in common. Marty had decided that, in spite of all the rumors, nobody that fun to be around could be crazy. He was eagerly looking forward to his next day on the job.

Spydo was already at the drums when Marty walked into his garage. "Hey, SnacPac," Spydo teased. If there was one thing the drummer loved, it was goofy nicknames. "You're actually on time today."

"I know. Unbelievable, huh?" Marty gave his guitar a test strum and made a minor tuning adjustment.

Rick looked up from his own guitar. "I heard Needles got Fred Jacobson to throw you off his truck. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Dr. Brown was really nice to me."

There was a loud discordant note as J. J. nearly fell on his keyboard from shock. The other band members looked similarly stunned. "Dr. Brown?" Rick demanded. "The guy who burned his house down? The one everybody says is wacko?!"

"He's not wacko! He's pretty cool. He gave me a job."

"You didn't take it, didja Marty?" asked Spydo, eyes wide.

"For 20 bucks a week? Course I took it! He's got a really b*tchin' record collection too. Hell, we both like Huey Lewis and the News! And he did the impossible and got me interested in a science lecture. He's cool."

Rick gawked. "But Marty, everybody says he lost it years ago. What the hell are your parents gonna think?"

"Who cares? I like Dr. Brown."

"Marty, are you sure he didn't do something to you when you were out of it?" J. J. asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," Marty snapped, getting a little ticked off. "Look, I've met the guy. He's not crazy. Eccentric, sure, technical, hell yeah, but not crazy." He strummed a chord. "Are we gonna practice or what?"

They played for a couple of hours, Spydo's mom giving them a snack of milk and cookies halfway through. The guys warned Marty to be careful around Doc Brown, but also asked what his house was like. None had ever been inside, and they were all curious. Marty told them about all the neat inventions and Einstein, and he saw them getting more interested. "You guys wanna meet him? He plays sax, maybe he could be part of the band," he joked.

Rick shook his head. "I still don't know, Marty. You go first and make sure he's safe. Once you give us the all clear, maybe we'll say hi or something."

Well, that was progress. Marty agreed, then after a final song, left for home. His mother was waiting for him when he got home. Marty could see she'd been drinking. "Dr. Brown called. He made up some ridiculous story about having hired you. That man has an obsessive personality. Stay far away from him."

Marty opened his mouth to reply when a new voice cut him off. "I want 'em by Thursday, McFly. The CEO wants to see these forms, and I don't want them screwed up."

Marty groaned. Biff Tannen had come over to bully George into doing work for him. It was like this every week. Why couldn't Tannen disappear off the face of the earth? "When did he get here, Ma?"

"An hour ago. No smart remarks this time. He is your father's supervisor."

With a heavy heart, Marty walked into his house. Biff was assigning George his homework for the week, forcing a stack of forms into his hands. George made a weak protest, then just accepted the load. Dave and Linda, his sister, were too busy watching TV to notice or care. Lorraine had followed Marty in and was pouring herself a glass of vodka. Marty snorted, disgusted. "Yup - just another typical evening at the McFlys."

The phone rang, and Marty, being nearest, got it. "Hello?"

"Marty? Is that you?"

"Oh, hey, Dr. Brown. Yeah, it's me."

Doc breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I didn't particularly want another tongue-lashing from your mother."

Marty glanced over at Lorraine, draining her glass. He felt a pang. "I think she's had a little too much to drink. My dad's supervisor is over, and he gives everybody a hard time."

"Oh. Well, I called to offer you something."

"Yeah? What?"

"You mentioned you weren't too adept in science. I'd be willing to help you with your homework if you ever need it."

"For free? I'd feel guilty if you didn't get something out of the deal."

"I get someone to talk to who shares some of my interests. It's depressing, trying to hold a conversation with your dog." There was a bark of protest from Einstein, making Marty smile. "Even if said dog is extremely intelligent," Doc added. "Well, Marty?"

George butted in before he could answer. "Who's on the phone, son?"

"Dr. Brown," Marty admitted. "He gave me a job."

Lorraine was shocked, to say the least. "What?! You're actually working for him?!? That's just horrible, isn't it George?"

"It's certainly risky," George sniveled. "You could be ostracized for life, Marty. You should stick with your regular friends."

Biff giggled, having listened. "Figures a McFly would go work for that crazy old coot."

Marty was getting pissed. "You don't even know the guy! He's willing to give me $20 a week and free homework help just for doing odd chores and talking to him. He's not a lunatic, he's just really lonely!"

Doc heard the outburst on his side of the line. This kid had known him for 2 days, and was defending him! The scientist smiled. It was fascinating, how fast some people could bond. If he had believed in fate, he would have said they were fated to be friends.

Marty returned to his phone call, leaving 3 very startled adults. "Sorry, Dr. Brown. It's a deal."

"Okay. Just one more thing. You don't have to call me Dr. Brown. It's so damn formal. My first name's Emmett."

"I can't really see me calling you Emmett," Marty admitted. "How about Doc instead?"

Doc. . . . It sounded right. Doc nodded in approval. "Fine with me. I'll see you tomorrow, Marty."

"Okay, Doc." Marty hung up and went upstairs before anyone could yell at him. At Doc's house, Doc returned his paint scraping, whistling happily. What had started out as an unfortunate accident was turning into a beautiful friendship.