*Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from 'Kim Possible' or
'Back to the Future'.as if I could ever afford them on my allowance. I'm
just a fan of both domains having fun. Take it as a compliment.*
Okay, on to Chapter Two:
* * *
Leaping down, I snatched up my Club Banana jacket and ran, then skidded to a halt and paused when I realised that Dr Drakken wasn't following. Instead, he had gone straight for one of his laser guns, holding it up and aiming it in the direction of the fast-approaching vehicle.
"Dr Drakken!" I cried. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I have to protect my Peugeot 626! Don't worry, this laser will penetrate iron armour like scissors penetrate paper! Those knights won't know what hit them!"
Already Commodore Puddles had given up on standing his ground and made a bolt for it, tail hanging between his legs, and emitting dejected whimpers all the while. As the vehicle of doom skidded into the parking lot, with one knight at the wheel, the second suddenly appeared at the sunroof, grasping a Gatling gun tight and heading it straight for Drakken.
"Eat laser-beams, you irresolute knights!" Drakken clamoured, squeezing down hard on the trigger.
Nothing happened. Drakken suddenly froze, panic dripping from his every pore. He tried again. Still nothing. His weapon had failed him. I could feel my own heart bolting like mad just watching. He tried hitting it a couple of times with his bare hands, but that made no difference. Finally, he dropped the futile laser gun down and fell to his knees.
"Listen, I'm really sorry about that bomb I gave you, filled with used pinball parts and all," he snivelled, clasping his hands together tight. "But come on, we're all super-villains together, aren't we? Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement. . ."
The knight wasn't having any of it. Without a word, he pulled his own trigger and open fired.
"Nooooooo!" I found myself screaming.
As I did, the knight turned and noticed me, standing there, still clasping away at my jacket, and fired. I was much too quick for him though, leaping out of the way and bolting behind the cover of the 626.
"Drive!" he ordered his companion. "Don't let that girl get away!"
I tried to make another run for it, but, blunted by high levels of adrenaline as I was, ended up diving out straight before the rampaging knights. The one with the gun took aim once more and I all I could do was just stand there and wince, for a few brief moments too stricken by fear to move, even for my life, bracing myself for the moment I would be hit by the onslaught of metal bullets. And for those few moments, nothing happened. Finally, I heard him curse.
"Rats! Out of ammunition! Hey, get your hands off the wheel and grab the spare!"
I glanced desperately at where Drakken lay, hoping just to see some sign of life, but my hopes were not granted. All I had left was this one chance to get away. But I knew I couldn't do it on foot. All I could do was leap into the 626 and drive. And boy did I drive. No sooner had I begun tearing round the parking lot when I caught sight of the knights, in the rear view mirror, tearing after me in their own.
"Come on, come on," I was saying, just trying to speed the thing up. For those moments, everything I had seen and Drakken had said concerning the car was put on hold. It never even occurred to me that the time circuits would still be on.
I heard more gunshot in my direction, and continued to speed up like a bolt of lightning. 60mph. . . 70mph. . . 80mph. . . all the while having to twist and turn in direction just to avoid being hit by those infernal bullets. They kept on coming, I kept on going, just managing to stay one step ahead. 86. . . 87. . . 88. . . 89. . .
"Alright," I said, under my breath, "let's see if you jerks can do 90. . ."
As I braced myself for the ultimate chase, the car interior suddenly vibrated horribly, there was a blinding flash of bright light, and, looking ahead, I was about to crash into a scarecrow.
Which I did. And a barn, which appeared out of nowhere. You can guess what happened next.
For a while I just lay there in a mangled heap, every body part and organ - heart, lungs, liver, bladder - at utmost strain, barely able to think straight at all. Even when I finally opened my eyes, everything seemed so out of focus. The whole world was little more than a dizzying smear just swimming round and round in my brain. I could hear voices. Not the Knights of Rodeghan, thank the stars - they sounded more like little kids this time; couldn't be older than nine or ten. Looking in the rear-view mirror, I saw the faint glow of a flashlight, and, looking to my left, found myself standing face to face with a somewhat disgruntled looking cow. I suddenly got the feeling I wasn't in the mall parking lot any more. Where I was, I didn't have the slightest clue.
And guess what, I didn't exactly get the warmest of welcomes. For a start, I came too only to have a bunch of little kids screaming, "UFO! UFO!" Then when I dragged myself out, struggling to even stand up, the first thing I saw was a man standing there at the entrance with a shotgun pointed straight at me, the little kids and a dismayed-looking woman flocking around him.
"There, it's already mutated into human form!" one kid shrieked while another fell back in horror. "Shoot it, Daddy! Shoot it!"
"Hey, you'd better watch who you're calling 'it'!" I growled, flexing back and activating the green rays of my gloves. That was the first big mistake I made that day.
The woman and two of the kids screamed.
"It's one of them alright!"
"Kill it, Daddy, before it zaps us all!"
'Daddy' aimed his shotgun and fired both barrels. Fortunately all my training as an offensive agent had taught me how to be nimble. Diving out of the way and evading both bullets, I leapt back into Drakken's car and slammed down hard on the pedal. Then I drove. Right through the barn's wooden wall. I kept on driving, the sounds of that shotgun still ringing sharp in my direction. Through a forest of miniature fur trees and out onto the nearest road I could see. I carried on, keeping my smarting foot pressed down hard, even when I was sure that man and his shotgun were well behind me.
"It's okay Shego," I kept on telling myself. "It's all just a dream. A really, *really* intense dream, but still just a dream!"
I can't remember if I ever actually brought myself to believe it, even for a second. And you can hardly blame me. One minute I'd been in Middleton, being chased around a mall parking lot by a pair of iron-clad jerks, having just witnessed them gun down my boss. Now. . . I was driving past endless farmland, the only hint of human civilisation being a large billboard with a sign reading, *"Coming soon. . . western Middleton development,"* and of course the crudely constructed roads themselves. It made my head ache just trying to piece it together - everything had been such a gut-wrenching slew of rapid heart beat, inner sickness and adrenaline rushes that nothing would focus that blur in my mind. Oh yeah, sure, *you* probably understood the second you read all this. Looking, back, in retrospective, it seems pretty obvious what just happened. I'd escaped the Knights of Rodeghan by driving Drakken's machine right back into the time he'd pre-set it for, and was now racing relentlessly around the less developed Middleton of the year 1988. You have to remember though, at the time, everything had happened to me in less than an hour.
And Drakken.I thought of him suddenly too. Somewhere in that onslaught of hazy memories I had this discomforting vision of him being hit by machine- gun fire and falling. . . falling before the Knights of Rodeghan after his own weapon malfunctioned. Had that been real too? I didn't like where my thoughts were leading me. Could it be that, somewhere in a mall parking lot, in one time zone or another, he was lying there, in a bloody heap, dead, THIS VERY INSTANT? The very idea made my bones chill. Selfish moron though he may often be, Drakken was the only friend I really had. . .
I was so caught up in contending with the deep, dark sickness in my stomach that at first I didn't hear the beeping sound the car was emitting. Nor did I notice the computer screen currently flashing. The engine wheezed and the motors groaned, as the car's acceleration slowly dropped, finally grinding down to a single deadly halt. It finally dawned on me that I should check the flashing screen. It read, plainly, 'Plutonium vault - EMPTY'.
I gave up trying to start it again after about the tenth shot and resolved eventually to begin pushing it, with all the might I could summon, behind the concealment of the billboard sign. I still wasn't sure entirely of the risks involved, but I knew from long experience as his assistant that, if it was Drakken's invention, it couldn't be in the least bit good for anyone to get their hands on. My next problem - I was left stranded out in the middle of nowhere without any transportation but my own feet. The best I could do was walk, and carry on walking. A couple of cars did pass by along the way, but the drivers probably took one look at me and sped away even faster.
It was strange, how light it seemed already. When I'd last checked the time less than one mere hour ago it was 12:31 am in the morning. Now, it seemed to have skipped to dawn in an instant. I had faint memories, becoming bolder all the while, of Commodore Puddles skipping time in that same vehicle - a Peugeot 626 with strange appendages inside and out - and of great flashes of horrific white light. It was all starting to come together, but nothing really hit home until I reached the town.
At long last, I'd come to Middleton. But not Middleton as I'd known it. Everything was so different. The second I set foot in it, I knew something was wrong. At a glance, the town centre seemed pretty much unchanged to how it'd been when I'd gone down there yesterday to check out the deal with that stopped clock. But *that* was the first thing - the clock was ticking. 7:42 am. As far as I'd known, it had been fixated on 10:04 for the last fifteen years. I looked around, more desperately. Was anything right? The clothes everyone was wearing. . . satin jackets, slouch socks, combat boots, neon. So much neon. Headbands and shark tooth necklaces. . . I passed the record store. I glanced at the road. All I could see were DeLoreons as far as the eye could see, with the sounds of Michael Jackson and Cyndi Lauper thundering endlessly in and out my eardrums. In fact, when I took a really good look, this place hardly seemed like Middleton at all. Everything was so. . . vibrant? So eighties.
I remembered Dr Drakken telling me that the hunk of junk went back as well as forward. Feeling into my Club Banana jacket pocket, I rummaged around the various items and fingered a small amount of loose change. Good. . . I needed a drink. A strong one.
"Give me a non-diet cola," I said to the guy at the 'Good Burger' diner. "And don't skimp on the caffeine!"
Good Burger. Hadn't this place been a Mexican joint just yesterday? Bueno Nacho or something?
I took my cola and slumped down at one of the tables, gashing it down in about six seconds, and instantly regretting doing so. I ended up feeling sicker than ever. Looking over at the next table, I saw one girl turning the pages of a newspaper anxiously, and squinting at the front page, managed to scan out the date; July 9th 1988. That's right, I'd just driven several light-years in reverse and smacked down the time barrier on the way.
"Hey, you guys!" a pimply youth yelped, as he came bursting into the diner. "You've gotta come see this! Down at the Christmas Tree Farm - there's been another UFO siting!"
"For real this time?" asked the guy who'd served me.
"You bet! At about six in the morning! Apparently it destroyed Peabody's barn! And, get this - he even reckons he caught sight of the 'thing at the wheel'."
"Whoa! What type was it?"
"From what I've heard, the green and black type that shoots vaporising laser beams from its palms! Something tells me this one hasn't come in peace. . ."
"Cool! I gotta see this before the CIA gets involved. Hey, Porter, cover for me while I'm gone!"
About seven of them leapt up and bolted out the door, while a slightly older man sighed and attended the bar. The anxious girl toying with the newspaper pages didn't budge. She looked over her shoulder at them, wistfully, but finally returned to her paper with a slight jolt.
"Ain't you with them going, Loraine?" the older man asked, in a distinctive southern accent. Looking at this man, I suddenly felt like I recognised him - like I had seen his face in commercials and on the packets of the gross-out junk food that Drakken's henchmen were always stuffing their faces with. Even fifteen years younger, there was no mistaking a man with such a high profile.
"Erm, no. I think I'll just stay here. I don't really think they were asking me. . ."
H sighed. "You know your problem, little lady? You don't have enough gumption! That's why they don't accept you! I mean, look at me! I got gumption! I got ambition! You think I'm gonna be stuck here in this dead end job all my life? No way, Loraine! I'm gonna get out of here! I'm gonna make something of myself!"
"That's right!" I proclaimed, on an impulse. "You're gonna be Pop Pop Porter, owner of America's favorite snack-food corporation!"
"What? What are you talking about, miss?" He smiled. "Yeah! I like the sound of that? America's favorite snack food corporation! Pop Pop Porter - I gotta remember that name! Snack foods - yeah! Thanks, miss!"
"*I* have ambition. . ." the much less enthusiastic girl stammered.
"Well, if you do you sure don't give them many air-holes!" the future Pop Pop Porter said, walking away and continuing to smile.
"But some day. . ." this 'Loraine' sniffed. Concealed behind her newspaper, I caught sight of her fingers, grasped tightly around a tattered- looking binder.
"Ambitions?" laughed another voice from behind.
I jumped just watching. I hadn't noticed the second girl, who looked slightly older than Loraine, and, horribly familiar. It took me much longer to put my finger on the pulse than with that junk food fat-cat, but it came to me eventually. I'd rarely ever seen her over in the early twenty-first century, but Drakken and I were well-acquainted enough with our rival supervillains to get the picture.
"By ambitions, you mean that Club Banana dream? Give yourself a break, Loraine. Don't take this the wrong way, but no self-respecting fashion guru would ever endorse that kind of logo - have you ever even considered the connotations of the word 'banana'?"
"Of course, Amy. Exotic, ripe, loved by all. . ."
"That's not what I'm talking about, Loraine! I'm telling you for your own good, there's just no future in the designer fashion industry. Genetic science - now there's an industry you can set your watch to! Club Banana. . . who were you hoping to sell that half-baked idea to? What kind of mug did you ever expect would consider it?"
Loraine stammered for a few moments. "Well, I was thinking of approaching George M, m,mcFly, and. . ."
I very nearly choked on thin air. Loraine? McFly? Pieced together those names sounded kinda familiar. . .
"George McFly? The top business student?" Her companion giggled loudly once more. "Face it, Loraine, no offence or anything, but you've never had the guts to face up to that guy in your entire career as a college student! What makes you think you can do it now? Did you get carried away to a far- out distant land and get granted a fresh batch of courage by the Wizard of Emerald City or something last night?"
Clearly this DNAmy hadn't yet received her infamous nickname, but, looking at her back then, the ocean of irony she was swimming in was just hilarious. So much so that for the time being I was even able to forget about my own nerve-racking predicament. Talking about ambition and half- baked ideas - over in my time, she was pretty well-known for being virtually the least ambitious of all supervillains. Drakken and I were into ruling the world, Duff Killagan into getting his revenge on all the countries who'd banned him from their golf course (yeah, that'll be the day), and Monkey Fist gaining more and more elusive primate power. DNAmy, well, she kind of flipped when she exhausted the market for cuddly little plush animals, and went about splicing her own genetic mutations in the middle of a snowy mountain, just to get an even bigger collection. Well, from what I hear Kim still got to fight her and she got busted for it in the end (inevitably) but. . . surely you agree it's laughable? Particularly when you consider she was only dissing the future creator of Club Banana, the most successful designer line in the world, Loraine McFly. I remembered reading about her one time over in the day and age when Club Banana would be a thriving market. Never realised until then though that she'd spent time in Middleton. But I knew well in advance that she and this George McFly would some day get together, get hitched and run that planet-sweeping fashion business like a dream. Boy, in the future DNAmy was in for a serious shock.
"Yeah?" I called over to her. "And just what would *you* consider there to be a future in?"
"Hey, check out the finger-nails on you, girl! No offence, but don't they have manicures back where you come from? I've never seen you around."
I wonder just when DNAmy *did* start acting like such a marshmallow? Fifteen years younger she seemed so. . . catty.
"Yeah, well I'm sort of new round here. I'm sure in, oh, I don't know, fifteen years' time, you'll have a better idea who I am, particularly when my partner and I get to the top of the food chain, while you're still stuck in dead-end villainy, splicing animals to create freaks of nature just for the hell of it!"
"Hey, why don't you lay off genetic engineering, claw-girl? 'Scientist Today' reckons it's the profession of the future!"
"Future? In splicing DNA? Ha! World domination. . . now there's a future! Something I'll set *my* watch to! You'll understand one day, DNAmy!"
I departed, leaving her pretty bewildered, and feeling pretty good about myself for about five seconds. I was half-way out the door when it suddenly returned to me. . . over in the year 2003, Drakken had just been gunned down by a pair of terrorist knights, and I was stranded here in the year 1988. My future. Suddenly I didn't feel so spirited any more.
But, hey, that *was* a thought! Drakken! I could remember quite well now some of the stuff he'd been saying at the 626 testing. Something about remembering what Middleton was like fifteen years ago. Something about falling down and banging his head on a toilet seat. Typical Drakken, I suppose. That was why he'd set it for this time, wasn't it? It had been today, at exactly the time I'd arrived here, that he'd had his little accident, and first came up with the idea for that 'flux capacitor' device. So, he was here now, fifteen years younger? Maybe I could find him. Maybe if I did he could get me back to the year 2003. He was the only hope I conceivably had.
"Hey, Mr Porter!" I said, bounding back into the bar and doing my best not to make eye contact with the future DNAmy and Loraine McFly. "Hey, listen, have you any idea where I can find one Dr Drakken here in Middleton?"
"Who? Drakken. . . no, I've never heard of him. Sorry, can't help you, lady."
"Come on, you must know him, this seems like such a small place here in 1988. He's a scientist. . ."
"A scientist, you say? What kind?"
"A mad one."
"Hmmm. Well, the only guy who even comes close is one Drew Lipsky. He's not really an official scientist, but he does spend most of his time carrying out all these far-out experiments. Let's just say the guy isn't exactly renowned for his sanity round these parts, heh, heh!"
"Sounds close enough," I replied. "Alright, where is he?"
"I can't tell you his address offhand, miss, but I'm sure you can find it in any good telephone directory."
"Okay, fine." And I left the joint. The future DNAmy had already disappeared, though Loraine remained, still sitting at her table and toying wistfully with her ring-binder. I knew what I had to do now.
As I began my next quest (to locate a local telephone directory) I happened to pass by a group of young, carefree college boys heading toward one of the parked DeLoreans. Pulling it open, only one of the boys, a calm and attractive guy with a smooth neon jacket, clambered in and took the wheel.
"Cool new DeLorean, George," one of his comrades commented. "How about giving us all a spin later?"
"You got it, guys. Just give me a couple of hours or so. I've got to pick something up at my dad's office at around nine-thirty, then I've got a few more errands to run for people round here. Meet you all back here at about eleven?"
"Yeah, sure. Drive safely, McFly." And they slunk off down a different sidewalk, leaving their friend in solitude.
Then, as he revved up his car and began to drive, I suddenly caught sight of Loraine, the anxious-looking girl I'd met in Good Burger, and future creator of the Club Banana designer line, heading toward the same road, still clasping her binder tightly to her chest. So absorbed in looking anxious, it seemed, that she wasn't thinking to look both ways. I watched in horror as she put her foot out into the gutter, preparing to step out right into the path of the speed-hungry DeLorean. I braced myself. The future of Club Banana was suddenly in serious jeopardy! Its creator was going to get herself killed, and I alone had the power to put things right.
"Hey watch out!" I cried, bolting over in a micro-second and lunging, knocking her forward and clear of the vehicle just inches from collision.
The driver, George, cursed and shook a fist at us as he drove on, disappearing down a turning. "Hey, you girls should be more careful! I almost mowed you both down!"
"Just what were you thinking?" I growled at the bewildered-looking Loraine, as she scrambled to her feet and snatched her binder back up. "You wanna get hit by cars and ground to a bloody pulp on the road?"
"Sorry," she murmured, weakly, and scuttled away.
Shaking my head and sighing, I turned and set about fulfilling my own personal mission, unaware that I had just made my second big mistake that day.
* * *
*Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for Chapter Three, coming soon!*
Okay, on to Chapter Two:
* * *
Leaping down, I snatched up my Club Banana jacket and ran, then skidded to a halt and paused when I realised that Dr Drakken wasn't following. Instead, he had gone straight for one of his laser guns, holding it up and aiming it in the direction of the fast-approaching vehicle.
"Dr Drakken!" I cried. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I have to protect my Peugeot 626! Don't worry, this laser will penetrate iron armour like scissors penetrate paper! Those knights won't know what hit them!"
Already Commodore Puddles had given up on standing his ground and made a bolt for it, tail hanging between his legs, and emitting dejected whimpers all the while. As the vehicle of doom skidded into the parking lot, with one knight at the wheel, the second suddenly appeared at the sunroof, grasping a Gatling gun tight and heading it straight for Drakken.
"Eat laser-beams, you irresolute knights!" Drakken clamoured, squeezing down hard on the trigger.
Nothing happened. Drakken suddenly froze, panic dripping from his every pore. He tried again. Still nothing. His weapon had failed him. I could feel my own heart bolting like mad just watching. He tried hitting it a couple of times with his bare hands, but that made no difference. Finally, he dropped the futile laser gun down and fell to his knees.
"Listen, I'm really sorry about that bomb I gave you, filled with used pinball parts and all," he snivelled, clasping his hands together tight. "But come on, we're all super-villains together, aren't we? Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement. . ."
The knight wasn't having any of it. Without a word, he pulled his own trigger and open fired.
"Nooooooo!" I found myself screaming.
As I did, the knight turned and noticed me, standing there, still clasping away at my jacket, and fired. I was much too quick for him though, leaping out of the way and bolting behind the cover of the 626.
"Drive!" he ordered his companion. "Don't let that girl get away!"
I tried to make another run for it, but, blunted by high levels of adrenaline as I was, ended up diving out straight before the rampaging knights. The one with the gun took aim once more and I all I could do was just stand there and wince, for a few brief moments too stricken by fear to move, even for my life, bracing myself for the moment I would be hit by the onslaught of metal bullets. And for those few moments, nothing happened. Finally, I heard him curse.
"Rats! Out of ammunition! Hey, get your hands off the wheel and grab the spare!"
I glanced desperately at where Drakken lay, hoping just to see some sign of life, but my hopes were not granted. All I had left was this one chance to get away. But I knew I couldn't do it on foot. All I could do was leap into the 626 and drive. And boy did I drive. No sooner had I begun tearing round the parking lot when I caught sight of the knights, in the rear view mirror, tearing after me in their own.
"Come on, come on," I was saying, just trying to speed the thing up. For those moments, everything I had seen and Drakken had said concerning the car was put on hold. It never even occurred to me that the time circuits would still be on.
I heard more gunshot in my direction, and continued to speed up like a bolt of lightning. 60mph. . . 70mph. . . 80mph. . . all the while having to twist and turn in direction just to avoid being hit by those infernal bullets. They kept on coming, I kept on going, just managing to stay one step ahead. 86. . . 87. . . 88. . . 89. . .
"Alright," I said, under my breath, "let's see if you jerks can do 90. . ."
As I braced myself for the ultimate chase, the car interior suddenly vibrated horribly, there was a blinding flash of bright light, and, looking ahead, I was about to crash into a scarecrow.
Which I did. And a barn, which appeared out of nowhere. You can guess what happened next.
For a while I just lay there in a mangled heap, every body part and organ - heart, lungs, liver, bladder - at utmost strain, barely able to think straight at all. Even when I finally opened my eyes, everything seemed so out of focus. The whole world was little more than a dizzying smear just swimming round and round in my brain. I could hear voices. Not the Knights of Rodeghan, thank the stars - they sounded more like little kids this time; couldn't be older than nine or ten. Looking in the rear-view mirror, I saw the faint glow of a flashlight, and, looking to my left, found myself standing face to face with a somewhat disgruntled looking cow. I suddenly got the feeling I wasn't in the mall parking lot any more. Where I was, I didn't have the slightest clue.
And guess what, I didn't exactly get the warmest of welcomes. For a start, I came too only to have a bunch of little kids screaming, "UFO! UFO!" Then when I dragged myself out, struggling to even stand up, the first thing I saw was a man standing there at the entrance with a shotgun pointed straight at me, the little kids and a dismayed-looking woman flocking around him.
"There, it's already mutated into human form!" one kid shrieked while another fell back in horror. "Shoot it, Daddy! Shoot it!"
"Hey, you'd better watch who you're calling 'it'!" I growled, flexing back and activating the green rays of my gloves. That was the first big mistake I made that day.
The woman and two of the kids screamed.
"It's one of them alright!"
"Kill it, Daddy, before it zaps us all!"
'Daddy' aimed his shotgun and fired both barrels. Fortunately all my training as an offensive agent had taught me how to be nimble. Diving out of the way and evading both bullets, I leapt back into Drakken's car and slammed down hard on the pedal. Then I drove. Right through the barn's wooden wall. I kept on driving, the sounds of that shotgun still ringing sharp in my direction. Through a forest of miniature fur trees and out onto the nearest road I could see. I carried on, keeping my smarting foot pressed down hard, even when I was sure that man and his shotgun were well behind me.
"It's okay Shego," I kept on telling myself. "It's all just a dream. A really, *really* intense dream, but still just a dream!"
I can't remember if I ever actually brought myself to believe it, even for a second. And you can hardly blame me. One minute I'd been in Middleton, being chased around a mall parking lot by a pair of iron-clad jerks, having just witnessed them gun down my boss. Now. . . I was driving past endless farmland, the only hint of human civilisation being a large billboard with a sign reading, *"Coming soon. . . western Middleton development,"* and of course the crudely constructed roads themselves. It made my head ache just trying to piece it together - everything had been such a gut-wrenching slew of rapid heart beat, inner sickness and adrenaline rushes that nothing would focus that blur in my mind. Oh yeah, sure, *you* probably understood the second you read all this. Looking, back, in retrospective, it seems pretty obvious what just happened. I'd escaped the Knights of Rodeghan by driving Drakken's machine right back into the time he'd pre-set it for, and was now racing relentlessly around the less developed Middleton of the year 1988. You have to remember though, at the time, everything had happened to me in less than an hour.
And Drakken.I thought of him suddenly too. Somewhere in that onslaught of hazy memories I had this discomforting vision of him being hit by machine- gun fire and falling. . . falling before the Knights of Rodeghan after his own weapon malfunctioned. Had that been real too? I didn't like where my thoughts were leading me. Could it be that, somewhere in a mall parking lot, in one time zone or another, he was lying there, in a bloody heap, dead, THIS VERY INSTANT? The very idea made my bones chill. Selfish moron though he may often be, Drakken was the only friend I really had. . .
I was so caught up in contending with the deep, dark sickness in my stomach that at first I didn't hear the beeping sound the car was emitting. Nor did I notice the computer screen currently flashing. The engine wheezed and the motors groaned, as the car's acceleration slowly dropped, finally grinding down to a single deadly halt. It finally dawned on me that I should check the flashing screen. It read, plainly, 'Plutonium vault - EMPTY'.
I gave up trying to start it again after about the tenth shot and resolved eventually to begin pushing it, with all the might I could summon, behind the concealment of the billboard sign. I still wasn't sure entirely of the risks involved, but I knew from long experience as his assistant that, if it was Drakken's invention, it couldn't be in the least bit good for anyone to get their hands on. My next problem - I was left stranded out in the middle of nowhere without any transportation but my own feet. The best I could do was walk, and carry on walking. A couple of cars did pass by along the way, but the drivers probably took one look at me and sped away even faster.
It was strange, how light it seemed already. When I'd last checked the time less than one mere hour ago it was 12:31 am in the morning. Now, it seemed to have skipped to dawn in an instant. I had faint memories, becoming bolder all the while, of Commodore Puddles skipping time in that same vehicle - a Peugeot 626 with strange appendages inside and out - and of great flashes of horrific white light. It was all starting to come together, but nothing really hit home until I reached the town.
At long last, I'd come to Middleton. But not Middleton as I'd known it. Everything was so different. The second I set foot in it, I knew something was wrong. At a glance, the town centre seemed pretty much unchanged to how it'd been when I'd gone down there yesterday to check out the deal with that stopped clock. But *that* was the first thing - the clock was ticking. 7:42 am. As far as I'd known, it had been fixated on 10:04 for the last fifteen years. I looked around, more desperately. Was anything right? The clothes everyone was wearing. . . satin jackets, slouch socks, combat boots, neon. So much neon. Headbands and shark tooth necklaces. . . I passed the record store. I glanced at the road. All I could see were DeLoreons as far as the eye could see, with the sounds of Michael Jackson and Cyndi Lauper thundering endlessly in and out my eardrums. In fact, when I took a really good look, this place hardly seemed like Middleton at all. Everything was so. . . vibrant? So eighties.
I remembered Dr Drakken telling me that the hunk of junk went back as well as forward. Feeling into my Club Banana jacket pocket, I rummaged around the various items and fingered a small amount of loose change. Good. . . I needed a drink. A strong one.
"Give me a non-diet cola," I said to the guy at the 'Good Burger' diner. "And don't skimp on the caffeine!"
Good Burger. Hadn't this place been a Mexican joint just yesterday? Bueno Nacho or something?
I took my cola and slumped down at one of the tables, gashing it down in about six seconds, and instantly regretting doing so. I ended up feeling sicker than ever. Looking over at the next table, I saw one girl turning the pages of a newspaper anxiously, and squinting at the front page, managed to scan out the date; July 9th 1988. That's right, I'd just driven several light-years in reverse and smacked down the time barrier on the way.
"Hey, you guys!" a pimply youth yelped, as he came bursting into the diner. "You've gotta come see this! Down at the Christmas Tree Farm - there's been another UFO siting!"
"For real this time?" asked the guy who'd served me.
"You bet! At about six in the morning! Apparently it destroyed Peabody's barn! And, get this - he even reckons he caught sight of the 'thing at the wheel'."
"Whoa! What type was it?"
"From what I've heard, the green and black type that shoots vaporising laser beams from its palms! Something tells me this one hasn't come in peace. . ."
"Cool! I gotta see this before the CIA gets involved. Hey, Porter, cover for me while I'm gone!"
About seven of them leapt up and bolted out the door, while a slightly older man sighed and attended the bar. The anxious girl toying with the newspaper pages didn't budge. She looked over her shoulder at them, wistfully, but finally returned to her paper with a slight jolt.
"Ain't you with them going, Loraine?" the older man asked, in a distinctive southern accent. Looking at this man, I suddenly felt like I recognised him - like I had seen his face in commercials and on the packets of the gross-out junk food that Drakken's henchmen were always stuffing their faces with. Even fifteen years younger, there was no mistaking a man with such a high profile.
"Erm, no. I think I'll just stay here. I don't really think they were asking me. . ."
H sighed. "You know your problem, little lady? You don't have enough gumption! That's why they don't accept you! I mean, look at me! I got gumption! I got ambition! You think I'm gonna be stuck here in this dead end job all my life? No way, Loraine! I'm gonna get out of here! I'm gonna make something of myself!"
"That's right!" I proclaimed, on an impulse. "You're gonna be Pop Pop Porter, owner of America's favorite snack-food corporation!"
"What? What are you talking about, miss?" He smiled. "Yeah! I like the sound of that? America's favorite snack food corporation! Pop Pop Porter - I gotta remember that name! Snack foods - yeah! Thanks, miss!"
"*I* have ambition. . ." the much less enthusiastic girl stammered.
"Well, if you do you sure don't give them many air-holes!" the future Pop Pop Porter said, walking away and continuing to smile.
"But some day. . ." this 'Loraine' sniffed. Concealed behind her newspaper, I caught sight of her fingers, grasped tightly around a tattered- looking binder.
"Ambitions?" laughed another voice from behind.
I jumped just watching. I hadn't noticed the second girl, who looked slightly older than Loraine, and, horribly familiar. It took me much longer to put my finger on the pulse than with that junk food fat-cat, but it came to me eventually. I'd rarely ever seen her over in the early twenty-first century, but Drakken and I were well-acquainted enough with our rival supervillains to get the picture.
"By ambitions, you mean that Club Banana dream? Give yourself a break, Loraine. Don't take this the wrong way, but no self-respecting fashion guru would ever endorse that kind of logo - have you ever even considered the connotations of the word 'banana'?"
"Of course, Amy. Exotic, ripe, loved by all. . ."
"That's not what I'm talking about, Loraine! I'm telling you for your own good, there's just no future in the designer fashion industry. Genetic science - now there's an industry you can set your watch to! Club Banana. . . who were you hoping to sell that half-baked idea to? What kind of mug did you ever expect would consider it?"
Loraine stammered for a few moments. "Well, I was thinking of approaching George M, m,mcFly, and. . ."
I very nearly choked on thin air. Loraine? McFly? Pieced together those names sounded kinda familiar. . .
"George McFly? The top business student?" Her companion giggled loudly once more. "Face it, Loraine, no offence or anything, but you've never had the guts to face up to that guy in your entire career as a college student! What makes you think you can do it now? Did you get carried away to a far- out distant land and get granted a fresh batch of courage by the Wizard of Emerald City or something last night?"
Clearly this DNAmy hadn't yet received her infamous nickname, but, looking at her back then, the ocean of irony she was swimming in was just hilarious. So much so that for the time being I was even able to forget about my own nerve-racking predicament. Talking about ambition and half- baked ideas - over in my time, she was pretty well-known for being virtually the least ambitious of all supervillains. Drakken and I were into ruling the world, Duff Killagan into getting his revenge on all the countries who'd banned him from their golf course (yeah, that'll be the day), and Monkey Fist gaining more and more elusive primate power. DNAmy, well, she kind of flipped when she exhausted the market for cuddly little plush animals, and went about splicing her own genetic mutations in the middle of a snowy mountain, just to get an even bigger collection. Well, from what I hear Kim still got to fight her and she got busted for it in the end (inevitably) but. . . surely you agree it's laughable? Particularly when you consider she was only dissing the future creator of Club Banana, the most successful designer line in the world, Loraine McFly. I remembered reading about her one time over in the day and age when Club Banana would be a thriving market. Never realised until then though that she'd spent time in Middleton. But I knew well in advance that she and this George McFly would some day get together, get hitched and run that planet-sweeping fashion business like a dream. Boy, in the future DNAmy was in for a serious shock.
"Yeah?" I called over to her. "And just what would *you* consider there to be a future in?"
"Hey, check out the finger-nails on you, girl! No offence, but don't they have manicures back where you come from? I've never seen you around."
I wonder just when DNAmy *did* start acting like such a marshmallow? Fifteen years younger she seemed so. . . catty.
"Yeah, well I'm sort of new round here. I'm sure in, oh, I don't know, fifteen years' time, you'll have a better idea who I am, particularly when my partner and I get to the top of the food chain, while you're still stuck in dead-end villainy, splicing animals to create freaks of nature just for the hell of it!"
"Hey, why don't you lay off genetic engineering, claw-girl? 'Scientist Today' reckons it's the profession of the future!"
"Future? In splicing DNA? Ha! World domination. . . now there's a future! Something I'll set *my* watch to! You'll understand one day, DNAmy!"
I departed, leaving her pretty bewildered, and feeling pretty good about myself for about five seconds. I was half-way out the door when it suddenly returned to me. . . over in the year 2003, Drakken had just been gunned down by a pair of terrorist knights, and I was stranded here in the year 1988. My future. Suddenly I didn't feel so spirited any more.
But, hey, that *was* a thought! Drakken! I could remember quite well now some of the stuff he'd been saying at the 626 testing. Something about remembering what Middleton was like fifteen years ago. Something about falling down and banging his head on a toilet seat. Typical Drakken, I suppose. That was why he'd set it for this time, wasn't it? It had been today, at exactly the time I'd arrived here, that he'd had his little accident, and first came up with the idea for that 'flux capacitor' device. So, he was here now, fifteen years younger? Maybe I could find him. Maybe if I did he could get me back to the year 2003. He was the only hope I conceivably had.
"Hey, Mr Porter!" I said, bounding back into the bar and doing my best not to make eye contact with the future DNAmy and Loraine McFly. "Hey, listen, have you any idea where I can find one Dr Drakken here in Middleton?"
"Who? Drakken. . . no, I've never heard of him. Sorry, can't help you, lady."
"Come on, you must know him, this seems like such a small place here in 1988. He's a scientist. . ."
"A scientist, you say? What kind?"
"A mad one."
"Hmmm. Well, the only guy who even comes close is one Drew Lipsky. He's not really an official scientist, but he does spend most of his time carrying out all these far-out experiments. Let's just say the guy isn't exactly renowned for his sanity round these parts, heh, heh!"
"Sounds close enough," I replied. "Alright, where is he?"
"I can't tell you his address offhand, miss, but I'm sure you can find it in any good telephone directory."
"Okay, fine." And I left the joint. The future DNAmy had already disappeared, though Loraine remained, still sitting at her table and toying wistfully with her ring-binder. I knew what I had to do now.
As I began my next quest (to locate a local telephone directory) I happened to pass by a group of young, carefree college boys heading toward one of the parked DeLoreans. Pulling it open, only one of the boys, a calm and attractive guy with a smooth neon jacket, clambered in and took the wheel.
"Cool new DeLorean, George," one of his comrades commented. "How about giving us all a spin later?"
"You got it, guys. Just give me a couple of hours or so. I've got to pick something up at my dad's office at around nine-thirty, then I've got a few more errands to run for people round here. Meet you all back here at about eleven?"
"Yeah, sure. Drive safely, McFly." And they slunk off down a different sidewalk, leaving their friend in solitude.
Then, as he revved up his car and began to drive, I suddenly caught sight of Loraine, the anxious-looking girl I'd met in Good Burger, and future creator of the Club Banana designer line, heading toward the same road, still clasping her binder tightly to her chest. So absorbed in looking anxious, it seemed, that she wasn't thinking to look both ways. I watched in horror as she put her foot out into the gutter, preparing to step out right into the path of the speed-hungry DeLorean. I braced myself. The future of Club Banana was suddenly in serious jeopardy! Its creator was going to get herself killed, and I alone had the power to put things right.
"Hey watch out!" I cried, bolting over in a micro-second and lunging, knocking her forward and clear of the vehicle just inches from collision.
The driver, George, cursed and shook a fist at us as he drove on, disappearing down a turning. "Hey, you girls should be more careful! I almost mowed you both down!"
"Just what were you thinking?" I growled at the bewildered-looking Loraine, as she scrambled to her feet and snatched her binder back up. "You wanna get hit by cars and ground to a bloody pulp on the road?"
"Sorry," she murmured, weakly, and scuttled away.
Shaking my head and sighing, I turned and set about fulfilling my own personal mission, unaware that I had just made my second big mistake that day.
* * *
*Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for Chapter Three, coming soon!*