Chapter 4
Wednesday, October 21st
4: 53 P. M.
Doc groggily blinked open his eyes. For a moment, he had absolutely no idea where he was. Then memory returned, and he recalled he was in the future. He tried to remember more, but it felt like something was shutting his brain down. "Dr. Richards?" he called, finding a name.
The young Asian appeared on the scene. "Good to see you're awake," he said, sliding off the headband. Immediately Doc's mind felt clearer. "You look much better than you did when you first came in. Although, frankly, you didn't look too bad then, either. You must take good care of yourself."
Doc reached up and felt his face. The skin felt younger, softer and smoother. Many of his smaller wrinkles were gone. Even his hair felt silkier. "I still look like myself, right?" he asked, a little worried. He didn't want to go home looking like a total stranger.
Dr. Richards laughed. "Don't worry, you do." He handed Doc a mirror to prove his point. The scientist was extremely pleased to see he looked more like himself from 1955, down to a faint blond tinge to his hair. Marty's going to get quite a shock, he thought with a chuckle.
He examined the rest of his body as the mechanical coat hanger with his clothes rolled in. Everything seemed healthier and younger. Gone were the first traces of arthritis in his limbs and his slowly weakening eyesight. He felt completely revitalized, like his internal clock had been turned back 30 years, if not more!
One thing, though, seemed a bit out of place. There was a thin red line running across his abdomen. "What's this?" he asked, gingerly touching it.
"Your spleen and colon were pretty worn out, so we replaced them," Dr. Richards explained. "That line should fade in a few weeks."
"No stitches?"
The doctor gave him a strange look. "We use medical glue now," he said. "Much safer than stitches."
"Sorry, I'm thinking in terms of the past," Doc apologized, wondering if he had any amazement left in him. "You may definitely consider me a return customer."
"Glad to hear it. Thanks for using our services."
"Anytime." Doc looked back into the mirror, grinning. "My friends are going to be very surprised. They'd never think I'd do anything like this for myself."
"If you want to give them a real shock, you could wear a mask," Dr. Richards suggested mischievously as Doc dressed. "We mapped your old face into the computer. It wouldn't take long to make one."
"Go right ahead," Doc said. "What's the cost?"
"Oh, no charge. The option comes standard in this form of treatment. Hang on a moment, I'll make it for you." He left, leaving Doc to think. At first, the scientist simply admired his new look. I wonder what Marty's reaction will be. Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be fun to watch!
The thought abruptly reminded him of Marty Junior. The very George-like demeanor the teen had had worried him. He didn't think Marty would let his own flesh and blood be bullied by Tannens. Had something happened to his family? To him?
And why hadn't Marty Junior recognized him? Come to think of it, no one recognized him here in the future. Not one person had come up to him and known him for Dr. Emmett Brown. There was the chance that he was dead by now, but even the older members of the community didn't seem to realize it was him. And they, of all people, should remember his reputation. It was like he has just vanished off the face of the earth one day.
"Which I did," Doc realized, adjusting his pants. I used my time machine to skip over approximately 30 years of time. Am I seeing a world bereft of my influence in the space-time continuum? It would explain a lot about my successful use of the alias.
But it didn't quite explain Marty Junior's not knowing who he was. Doc had been ready to blame the bump on the head, but things seemed more complicated now. This is intriguing. I should pay a visit to the McFly household and see how things turned out for my best friend. I promised to look him up anyway. It will be interesting to later contrast this future to the one I arrive at normally.
Dr. Richards returned with a small package. "Just press this onto your face when you're ready. It's a very durable plastic, so you can wear it safely for a few days and even get it wet. After that, it'll start to look too unreal."
"I don't plan to wear it that long. Allergic to synthetics," Doc shrugged, taking the package. "If I wear them for too long, I get a rash."
"Actually, Dr. Lloyd, your blood change most probably fixed that for you. It's a new immune system, after all. If not, you can always come back and have us look at it.'
Yes, there was some amazement left. Doc could have jumped for joy. His allergies to various things had been the bane of his life. To think they might be gone! "Definitely a repeat customer," he repeated from before, shaking the doctor's hand joyfully.
"That's our goal for every customer, Dr. Lloyd. Have fun with your new look."
"I certainly will." He exited, making sure to grin at the clerk. He grinned back and nodded, understanding immediately. Ah, the pleasures of a time machine, Doc thought, feeling better than he had in weeks.
That reminded him -- his DeLorean should be ready by now. Whistling happily, he walked over to the garage and asked the guy if his car was ready. "Should be. Just go up the -- hey, you look great! Just visited the RevitaClinic, huh? That place is a fountain of youth. Anyway, it should be waiting for you in the flying arena. Go up to the third level and ask for it."
Doc nodded his thanks and headed up. A mechanic noticed him. "Oh, hello. I see you caught a refresher, you look good. 30 years younger. Your car's all set. You've certainly got a lot of funny-looking junk in that DeLorean. It degrades the value, you know."
"I don't think about it's value in monetary terms, but rather in experimental terms. Those inventions could change life as we know it. You didn't disturb anything, did you?"
"No, we left all of it alone, except for that chamber in the back. It looked like you had built a nuclear power plant back there."
Doc shrugged, looking around for the flying arena. "My experiments need a lot of power," he said vaguely. "Where can I find the car?" The mechanic jerked his thumb over to a door. "Thanks." Doc went through the door to see a large open area, his car waiting patiently in the middle. He went up and inspected it. The mechanic had been right, the time machine components hadn't been touched. The car looked basically the same, except for the large Mr. Fusion set right above the old plutonium chamber. He tapped it, still wishing he had been willing to pay for the smaller model.
The mechanic had followed him in, wiping his hands clean on a cloth. "Ready for your first flying lesson?"
"Of course." He got into the passenger's seat as the mechanic entered the driver's side. "What do I do first?"
"Well, most of it is just like driving a normal street car. This switch--" he pointed to a switch on the dashboard, next to the steering wheel "--converts her to hover mode. You pull back on the wheel to ascend, and lean into it to descend. The rest is just normal driving stuff. Ready to try?"
"It's that simple?" Doc asked as they traded places.
"Mostly intuitive," the mechanic shrugged. "Go ahead, give it a whirl."
Doc flipped the switch and marveled as the wheels rotated to become hover thrusters. He picked up the basics in the training arena quite easily, and soon felt ready to try it on the real streets. The mechanic totaled up the sale and handed Doc a pair of solid-gray glasses. "What are these for?" the scientist asked, trying them on.
"Just like TV glasses. You use them to drive." The mechanic totaled up the sale as Doc examined the world through the glasses. "The total comes to $39,999. 95"
Doc gulped as he monitored the world. That was pretty expensive. Good thing his 80s money had fetched so much! It was probably a good thing he hadn't sprung for that smaller Mr. Fusion now. He handed over the money, grumbling as he did so, "Everything's so damn expensive."
"Yeah, tell me about it," the mechanic agreed. "Inflation is going through the roof. I was born in 1985, and I remember that even during my childhood, a dollar had some worth. Now--" he snorted. "Well, I hope you're satisfied with the car."
"Very much. Whenever I need a tune-up, I promise to come here."
"Kinda hard to go anyplace else, we're the only shop in Hill Valley," he grinned. Doc couldn't help but smile back as he got into his car. He spent a few more minutes practicing with the glasses, then took to actual skies. It was very enjoyable, he found. He had always wanted to fly on his own. This was as close to it as you could get. He happily experimented with all he could do for a while, then landed in an alleyway. Away from prying eyes, he re-set up the time machine components, rewiring the Mr. Fusion into the flux capacitor. After he had satisfied himself with the quality of his work, he sat down to think.
Marty McFly. That had to be next on the list. It would be a little surreal, yes, but he had to see what was going on with him and his family. He took the car back out onto the streets and started searching for a phone booth. He found one fairly close to the Café 80s. He went inside, but couldn't find a phone book. Or, for that matter, a phone.
"Hello?" a voice said behind him for not the first time that day. Doc turned to see a flat video screen on the wall, the image of a woman on it. But this woman was obviously the real deal, and was wearing a headset somewhat similar to that of a telephone operator's. Ah, video-telecommunications. That's not so surprising. "Would you like to make a call, sir?"
"Actually, I would like some information. Could you give me the address of Marty McFly Senior? And any personal stats you may have available, if possible?"
The woman's image disappeared, to be replaced by a blue screen. White lines of type appeared, which she read off. "Martin Seamus McFly Senior, married to Jennifer Jane Parker McFly. Age 47, two children: Martin Seamus McFly Junior and Marlene Jennifer McFly, fraternal twins. Address:3793 Oakhurst Street, Hilldale. Phone number: 555-4956. If you would like to call this address, please deposit $10 for the first ten minutes."
"No, thanks. I simply wanted the information. Thank you.'
"You're welcome. Have a nice day." Doc left the booth, repeating the address to himself a few times to fix it in his memory. Then he got in his car and headed for the ramp to the Skyway. Marty, I certainly hope you're all right.
Wednesday, October 21st
7: 40 P. M.
Doc stared as he landed right beside the "Hilldale" sign. Back in 1985, the housing development had just been built, and was considered the "hip" place to live. Now, though, time had taken a severe toll on the neighborhood, turning it seedy. There was litter everywhere, as well as numerous potholes. The houses next to the luminescent fence all needed painting and landscaping. Graffiti was splattered over every blank space, even the sign. In the distance, Doc thought he could hear the shouts of drunken revelers. Hilldale had certainly changed.
Pushing down the worry he was feeling, he locked the DeLorean securely and used the remote he had brought with him to hide it. He certainly didn't need it stolen by joyriders, or anyone else. He began looking for the address as he walked down the street. It wasn't too far from where he had parked, Doc was pleased to see. Like all the other houses, the paint was peeling and the yard was a disgrace. Despite all of that, though, the place looked friendly. Very slightly heartened, Doc went up to the door.
Only to find the doorknob missing. He wasn't startled by this point, since he had noticed this feature was absent on most future doors. He simply looked around for the device to open it. Spotting a plate, he realized it was it was probably just like paying for his food or his clothes. You pressed your thumb to the plate and the door opened. We're certainly into privacy in this decade. Almost everything requires fingerprint activation. On the off chance his theory was wrong and he was still around in this future, he tried the plate. It scanned his thumb print, then told him, "Access denied. Please knock for access."
Doc hesitated. Should I or shouldn't I? I did promise I would look Marty up. But what if someone else is at home and comes to the door? If they don't recognize me, I probably won't be allowed inside. And if they do, they're going to wonder how I got here, presuming I'm dead or missing. I don't want to just leave, though. I suppose I should knock and see what happens before giving up. He knocked twice and waited.
He heard a female voice ask, "Think that's Mom?" before the door opened. As it did, though, he gasped in astonishment. The person before him was clearly a girl, but she was the spitting image of Marty! The only real difference Doc could see besides her gender was her much-lighter hair, almost honey in color. Great Scott, what a strange combination of genes in the McFly family! I almost feel sorry for poor Jennifer. It appears Marty had almost all of the dominant genes in the family. Although that hair looks more like some sort of genetic aberration, considering they would both have the allele for dark hair. Either that or it's from his uncle Joey.
The girl looked at Doc a little nervously. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, keeping the door half-closed.
Doc was tempted to tell her the truth, but instead made up a story. It was best not to risk it if Marty had never told his children about time travel. "Is this the residence of Marty McFly?"
The girl nodded cautiously. "I'm -- here to discuss some rather urgent matters with him. Is he home?"
"Depends on which one you want. Marty J's home. Are you from the school? He said that his after-lunch class was cancelled."
"No, I'm looking for the senior Marty. It's a matter concerning something that happened a while ago. He was directly involved in an experiment back then, and I need to talk to him about it. I imagine it's had quite an effect on his life today. May I come in and wait for him?"
The girl shook her head. "Dad doesn't like strangers in the house. We've been robbed before. You'll have to come back later and tell it to Dad yourself. I don't know what the hell--" Doc started a little from her rudeness "--you're talking about."
Doc blinked at her mention being robbed, then remembered the state to which Hilldale had fallen. "I can understand that," he nodded. "Goodbye then. I'll call back later and talk to Marty personally."
"Bye." The girl shut the door and went upstairs, judging from the sound of her footsteps. However, Doc wasn't about to give up, or leave just this second. He had promised to check up on Marty, and his current living conditions had made him all the more determined to follow up on that promise to any extent he could. Thinking hard, he inadvertently leaned against the door.
And felt it give.