Part 3

Friday, October 25th, 1985

Grass Valley

8: 00 A. M.

Doc sighed in contentment as he looked the DeLorean over. Every piece was in the right place, every part tested, every curve polished. It was a thing of perfection.

Einstein promptly got intimidated by such perfection and put his muddy paws on it.

The scientist rolled his eyes and laughed. "You hate clean cars, don't you?" he teased the dog, getting down and ruffling Einstein's fur. "I don't think you'll want to dirty this one with your mud, though. That's your portal to the future."

Einstein barked and wagged his tail. Doc patted him again, then set to work cleaning off the mud and mentally planning what would happen tonight.

Friday, October 25th, 1985

Hill Valley/Grass Valley

8: 17 A. M.

Marty boarded up to Doc's house, glad that for once he could stick around. After Doc's birthday, Marty had spent quite a bit of his time before and after school looking for Doc around town, only getting the briefest of moments to check up on his house before racing off to another tardy slip at school. Now, he could spend some time making sure all was well, because Doc was nowhere to be found.

He opened the door to Doc's house, that flicker of hope that Doc might be back flaring up. "Hey, Doc," he yelled, on the off-chance that his hope was true. He dropped the key back under the mat and continued inside. "Doc? Anybody home? Einstein, come here boy," he whistled.

That's when he spotted the overflowing dish of dog food. "Oh, Jesus," he muttered, making a face. "That is disgusting. Where is he?"

He kicked his skateboard under the cot by the door, not hearing it hit against a certain yellow box. "I guess he left his equipment on all week. Dammit, I wish I had known that on his birthday." He glanced up at the numerous clocks lining the walls. "What the -- 7: 54?! Great, I can play some tunes!"

In Grass Valley

Doc did one final check on the car. Everything was fine, except that the gas level in the tank was low. "I'll fill it up later," he decided aloud, sealing it up in his van.

He looked over at Einstein, who was sniffing a hole in the corner. His pet was a very loyal friend, but he wanted to share this triumph with someone other than just his dog. He wanted to share it with Marty. He knew the teen would be properly appreciative of the invention. Besides, he had little to fear from the Libyans anymore. Once he confirmed that his invention worked, he would escape into time. And if they had been seriously searching for him, Doc knew they would have found him by now. He retrieved his new portable phone and dialed Marty's number.

Back in Hill Valley

After making sure nothing had been disturbed in the interim, Marty went over to the amplifier. He considered it second only to Jennifer in beauty. Wanting to hear some rocking tunes, he started adjusting every switch and knob he could get his hands on, turning them all to high. The amp began to hum.

And now in Grass Valley

Doc hung up his phone. "Damn," he muttered. George had just informed him that Marty had already left for school. Strickland would never put my call through to him. What a rotten piece of luck. I so wanted to see his reaction to this.

He was about to head off with Einstein when a thought occurred to him. Maybe Marty had stopped at his house along the way. Was it all at possible that he was still there? No, that's just silly. He must have already left. . .

Unless he's using my clocks.

The day before he had left, Doc had set up an experiment involving synchronization, solar time, and sidereal time. He had spent a number of hours carefully adjusting his clocks to solar time and setting them all in synch. If he had done it right, every one of his clocks was going to be 25 minutes slow. If Marty was going by his clocks and not his calculator-watch, he very well could still be at his house. Doc quickly dialed his number.

Friday, October 25th, 1985

Hill Valley

8: 23 A. M.

The amp was now at full power, humming loudly. Marty faced it, yellow mini-guitar and pick in hand. Time to blow the roof off.

He lifted his pick for the first strum -- then hesitated. Lately, every mechanical thing he touched had malfunctioned. Even his watch was no longer working correctly. Should he risk it?

Oh, hell, what's the worst that could happen? he thought, bringing the pick down.

He had about one second to enjoy the chord he had strummed. Then the amplifier exploded, rocketing him backwards. Luckily, he landed in one of Doc's soft chairs. Unluckily, there was a bookcase right behind that chair.

As Marty attempted to get both his bearings and the ringing out of his ears, the bookcase tilted, dumping its contents -- loads of papers and books, and miscellaneous junk -- all over him.

Finally, the assault was over. Marty slowly emerged from the pile of junk, taking off his sunglasses to better survey the damage. The amp had been completely destroyed. "Whoa-ho," he said, watching as one last piece fell out of place. "Rock and roll."

Something nearby suddenly started buzzing. Marty's first response was to look at the fire alarm. Then he realized that it was Doc's phone. He disentangled himself from his mini-guitar and grabbed it from the junk. "Yo."

"Marty, is that you?" Doc asked urgently. Even though it sounded like Marty's voice, he had to make sure.

Marty felt a surge of shock and relief. "Hey -- hey Doc!" he replied, struggling out of the pile of papers. To avoid dropping the phone, he held the receiver to his ear with his shoulder. "Where are ya?"

Doc didn't answer his question. "Thank god I found you. Can you meet me at Twin Pines Mall tonight at 1: 15? I made a major breakthrough and I'll need your assistance."

Marty stumbled past the broken amp, pulling free the starter key. "Wait a minute, 1: 15 in the morning?" he demanded.

"Right!"

If I'm getting up that early, he owes me some answers, Marty decided, getting a little annoyed. "Doc, where've you been all week?!"

"Workin'," Doc non-replied. It was the safest and most truthful answer he could give.

"Where's Einstein? Is he with you?"

"Yeah, he's right here."

"You know, Doc, you left your equipment on all week," Marty informed Doc.

"My equipment?" Doc abruptly remembered that he had discovered a short-circuit in the amplifier that he hadn't gotten around to fixing. "That reminds me, Marty -- you better not hook up to the amplifier. There's a slight possibility of overload."

Now he tells me, Marty thought. "Uh, yeah," he replied, tossing the key away. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. Remember, 1: 15 A. M., Twin Pines Mall," Doc repeated for Marty's benefit.

"Right."

Suddenly, every last one of Doc's clocks went off at exactly the same time. The room was filled with bells, cuckoos, booms, and other odd noises. Marty quickly used the base of the phone to shield his free ear.

"Are those my clocks I hear?" Doc yelled over the noise.

"Yeah!" Marty yelled back. "It's -- uh -- 8 o'clock!"

Doc was ecstatic. "Perfect! My experiment worked! They're all exactly 25 minutes slow!"

Marty hesitated. 25 -- minutes -- slow? he repeated to himself. "Doc, are you telling me that it's 8: 25?" he demanded.

"Precisely!"

"Damn!" Marty slammed the base of the phone down onto an available table. "I'm late for school!" Without waiting for an answer, he hung up, grabbed his skateboard, and raced out the door.

In Grass Valley, Doc hung up with a smile. "That kid," he chuckled. "Let's get some breakfast, Einstein. We've got a busy day ahead."

Friday, October 25th, 1985

Hill Valley

8: 25 A. M.

Hidden across the street, a well-dressed Middle-Eastern man watched as Marty raced away. He lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth. "The American dog will be at the mall at 1: 15 A.M.," he reported.

In their van headquarters a few streets away, the other members of the Libyan United Front smiled. Ever since they had discovered that the bomb Doc had delivered to them was a dud, they had devoted their time to getting back at him. Every day, they had sent a plant with a crude listening device to his house to gather information. They had considered breaking in, but decided that carried too much risk of being discovered. Now their work had finally paid off. "Good work," Abdallah replied. "Abbas and I will catch him there,"

"He will have another with him," the plant, Amr, warned.

"Then that other will die too." He turned off his walkie-talkie.

Abbas, who had been outside the car working on the engine, kicked the tire of their Volkswagen van, frustrated. "Stupid American car. Stupid stupid stupid!"

"The engine not working again?" Abdallah sighed, annoyed. "If not for that damn bomb, we could have bought a better car. The American dog will pay." He snapped his fingers. "Amina! Come here and help us!"

Friday, October 25th

8: 43 A. M.

Marty walked into history class, showing his yellow tardy to his teacher. "Late again? Marty, you are living proof history repeats itself." The class giggled. "I take it you were over Dr. Brown's house."

"He set all his clocks 25 minutes slow," Marty explained, taking his seat.

"Oh. Well, I suppose it's too late to tell you what a lunatic he is. Therefore, I will continue with the lecture you so ceremoniously interrupted."

Marty's face burned as he yanked out his notebook. One thing he could say for Strickland -- he was up front about not liking you. Mr. Vince Lette hit you below the belt.

His anger dissipated as he thought about the phone call, though. Even though it had earned him his fourth tardy, it was comforting to know Doc was still out there, safe and ready to see him again.

He wondered about Doc's cryptic instructions. What did Doc want to show him? Had he finally completed his work on that DeLorean? Marty hoped that was it. He had been wondering what Doc had been doing to that car for three years. I just wish he hadn't chosen such an early time to show me the damn thing. Waking up at one o'clock in the morning is harsh. Especially for a Saturday.

He idly doodled stick figures in his notebook, drawing himself, Jennifer, and Doc. Mr. Lette was going on and on about the 1950s. Boring, Marty thought, contemplating sneaking on his headphones. Yeah, some cool stuff came from the 50s, but it's all in the past now. And I'm not going to the past anytime soon.

Friday, October 25th

11: 10 P. M.

Doc smiled at the sign reading, "Hill Valley. A Nice Place To Live." Ah, home sweet home. You never know how much you care for and miss your home until you're forced from it.

He wondered if the Libyans were still around. He had dismissed them earlier, but being back in Hill Valley was starting to make him nervous again. If they are still searching for me, I hope they don't find me before 1: 15 A. M. Once I verify that the DeLorean's safe, I'm going to the safest hiding place there is -- the future. Doc crossed his fingers. Please let luck be with me tonight.

He pulled up at his home and quickly went inside. The plutonium was still under the cot by the door, thankfully. And now three gift-wrapped boxes sat atop it. Doc grabbed his radiation suit from where he had hidden it, scooped all the boxes up, and was back out the door.

He made a pit stop at the Burger King's drive-thru for an order of fries, then proceeded to Twin Pines Mall. Despite the late hour, there was still a couple of cars in the parking lot. "Must be either security or two very indecisive shoppers," Doc said to Einstein through a mouthful of fries.

He got into his radiation suit, then opened his presents. Jennifer's gift was a new pair of velcro-strap shoes. A perfect addition to my suitcase, Doc thought cheerfully. The band had gotten together and given Doc a new clock -- always a welcome gift. Setting it on the dashboard, he opened up Marty's present.

Laughter tore itself from his throat as he saw what it was. "Great Scott," he chuckled. "How appropriate, too. After all, time travel is certainly Weird Science! I wonder where he got the soundtrack from. Thanks, Marty, I needed a good laugh."

The other two cars finally left. Doc was free to test his remote-control access in and out of the back of his van. Everything seemed to work out perfectly. Smiling, Doc packed his new shoes and prepared to wait in the DeLorean until Marty got there so he could make the proper entrance.

As he hopped in, though, he realized that he had forgotten something. Something very important. Something crucial to the experiment.

His video camera.

"Damn! Damn damn!" Doc snapped, annoyed with himself. How could I have not picked it up? It was right on my bed!

Well, it was too late for incrimination now. He got back out and grabbed his portable phone.

Friday, October 25th

12: 28 P. M.

Marty usually fell asleep in an odd position and fully dressed, due to the fact he almost always was doing something up to the moment he fell asleep. Tonight was no exception, and he was out cold in a position that would give any normal human being a full-body ache. Nearby lay his guitar and some music, indications of what he'd been doing before he'd passed out. Above his head, Eric Clapton sang softly on his clock radio.

The phone suddenly rang. Marty first tried to nuzzle the pillow, then recognized the sound and sleepily reached for the phone. "Hello?"

"Marty! You didn't fall asleep, did you?" Doc demanded, partly in jest and fully expecting a "yes" answer.

Marty sat up, pulling himself closer to "full alert." "Doc!" he said, looking at both his watch and his clock radio. "No -- no, don't be silly."

Doc blinked at the obvious lie, but let it slide. "Listen, this is very important. I forgot my video camera. Can you pick it up on your way to the mall?"

Marty grabbed a chocolate candy and popped it in his mouth to provide him with some energy. "Sure. I'm--" he paused to chew and yawn a little "-- on my way."

He hung up, yanked on his jean jacket, then shrugged on his down vest. He stuffed his pillows under the sheets to make a Marty decoy, silently wondering why he was bothering. His parents weren't going to check up on him. Still, it seemed like the thing to do when sneaking out. He grabbed his skateboard from the closet and opened his window. It started to slide closed again, but Marty quickly caught it and pushed it back up. With a quick jump, he was in the backyard.

He made his way out the front gate and walked a few blocks. A couple of years ago, he had discovered how noisy a skateboard could be when he was sneaking out to meet some friends. His mother had overheard and come after him in the car. Even though the car had been wrecked by Biff Tannen, he didn't want to risk a repeat.

Marty scowled as he thought the name. It reminded him of how crappy his evening had been. After he had finished cleaning up Doc's place, he had come home to find the crushed Plymouth. His father, George, had done nothing, as usual. Then he had had to suffer through a dinner of his mother calling Jennifer a "bad girl" and recounting how she had met George. Marty had heard the story so many times, it was burned into his brain. Why does she insist on telling it?!

At least his call to Jennifer hadn't been so bad. They had shared some time b*tching about how weak George was and promising each other to try and find alternate transportation to the lake. He was so lucky to have a girlfriend who understood his family. And to have a best friend who could take him away from it.

He arrived at Doc's place around 12: 55 A. M. It only took a moment for him to grab Doc's JVC camcorder, then he was off to the mall. He yawned loudly, then sighed. "For me to get up this early, Doc, you'd better have something great planned," he muttered.

The End