THIRTEEN
July 18, 1986
1:31 p.m. EDT
"Dr. Catledge, here's the information you requested from Skiles," Gately announced to his boss as he entered his office, Doc's blueprints and notes in hand, "Still no word from either the mercenaries or the robots since our last check with them a half hour ago. Something tells me our friend Dr. Brown disabled them."
"Perfect," Catledge muttered, snatching the blueprints off Gately, "Let me see those". He put on his reading glasses and examined the notes closely. "Good, good, now I see what was wrong with Fugett's planning," he said to Haeckel, showing his dog the notes, "He was using the wrong system and not enough power. Well, now that I see how our pal Dr. Red did it, we can just copy his systems and make ourselves very rich and powerful indeed."
"The DeLorean parts are downstairs if you want to look at them," Gately said. Catledge didn't answer. He was watching the closed circuit cameras in the tracking room. "We found Miss MacAdams, Dr. Faraday," one of Scroeder's men told Catledge's protégé as they pushed a protesting Carolyn into the room. "Hey, not so hard!" she was telling them.
"Give me a minute here, Gately, I want to see what if anything we can learn about how our finds were spirited away from us by Blue," Catledge told him. He lounged back in his chair and watched the screen as Faraday strode over to the intern and said rather curtly, "Their perceived harshness is the least of your concerns, Miss MacAdams. You're going to tell me exactly how Emmett Brown was able to take David out of here right now."
July 18, 1986
5:36 a.m. local time
"Great Scott!" Doc was lamenting, scanning parts of the spaceship's wall with an irregular looking futurist device, "The robots' fire serious compromised the polymer shell!"
"Compromised? Exactly how bad is that, Doc?" Marty asked him. They were talking in low tones, since everyone else was now asleep, the three a.m. wakeup call finally getting to them. Neither Marty nor his friend was in any condition to nod off. Both were too excited for differing reasons.
"There are large holes in the walls in ceiling in six different locations; see for yourself," Doc held up the device to Marty's face. Marty really couldn't understand anything the screen was showing, but he nodded along anyway. "So that's bad, huh?" he reasoned.
"It's even worse than no protection at all," Doc told him, "The edges of polymer shells invite friction and burning, so when temporal transference is attempted by us, a load of heat and pressure will build up along the breakage points. This could conceivably set off a mild explosion that could damage the ship irreparably and destroy any chance of getting David back to 1978 in one piece! And I used up all the spray earlier because I failed to foresee this possibility occurring!"
"Well, I don't think any of us could have expected to be attacked by the Libyans and several homicidal robots," Marty told him encouragingly. He felt it was time to change the subject. "How're we looking on the jigowatts, then, Doc?" he asked him.
"If my calculations are correct, the plutonium we were able to get our hands on, added to the energy we'll extract by putting our radiation suits into Mr. Fusion brings our total up to approximately 4.93 jigowatts," Doc told him. "With any luck, we'll soon come across a location with ample trash to pour in. In about a half hour I should have the time circuits all set up and ready for a full-scale test."
"Sounds great, Doc," Marty said. He looked out the front window and frowned. "Should it be getting darker?" he asked out loud, "Are we sure we're going the right way?"
"It was a left turn," Max said defensively, "I can triangulate any position."
"Are you sure about that?" Marty raised his eyebrows, "We did end up in the middle of the ocean after the Mach 4—Lord knows what ocean, even."
"Positive."
"That looks like Miami down there, "David pointed to a large mass of lights below.
"I told you so," Max gloated. A closer look, however, proved otherwise. "This isn't Miami, it's Tokyo," the boy exclaimed, pointing out all the Japanese characters on the buildings.
"Uh, I knew that," Max said sheepishly.
"From now on, let me do the navigating," David told his extraterrestrial friend.
"Oh really, Mr. Smart Guy who got a D in geography?" Max posed.
"How'd you know that?" David asked, amazed. When Max merely laughed, he shrugged and said, "Oh well, I'll just back this out of here and go back…"
"Wait a minute," Doc interceded, "The longer we stay out here over international air space, the safer we'll be from Catledge and Faraday's forces—and the more time we'll have to put this together."
He gestured to the electronic paraphernalia he was setting up. "Sounds good," David agreed, "I always wanted to see a lot of the world, anyway."
He pushed forward, and soon Tokyo was far behind them. "You're doing well with it, Dave," Marty lauded him, "It's been smooth sailing since you took over."
"Thanks," David smiled, "I feel like I'm doing something good for once in a long time."
"Like I told you, all it takes is a little self-confidence," Marty said.
"Say Max," Doc hailed down the alien as it zoomed by, "If it's not too much of a difficulty, now that you've finished research on David, I was wondering if you'd be interested in more human research?"
He held up the jar with the Libyans inside. "Hmm," Max examined it closely, "Is there anything about them I should know?"
"These gentlemen display one of the sadder sides of humanity," Doc told him, "Most human beings are decent people, but these gentlemen represent a darker side. I think any information you might garner on them—as long as you treat them with civility, as I believe in not harming people," he said, leaning very close to the lip of the jar, his voice no doubt sounding akin to God's to the shrunken Libyans, Marty figured, "…might provide a reasonable contrast to the information you received from David. Indeed, research on these two over the next couple of years might help humanity, since these two become high-profile members in al—well, a highly unorthodox organization that in the near future commits a hideous atrocity against humanity. While not having them here on Earth won't stop this disaster from occurring, it could conceivably delay it."
"So you want to send the Libyans to Phaelon, huh Doc," Marty asked, "Nice payback."
Doc smiled mischievously. Max stuck his eye through the gap in the jar's lid, prompting another horrified scream from the Libyans. "Well, I'll crank up my magnificent marble machines and see what I can do with them," he said, "This might be fun; more human information."
"Just make sure to re-enlarge them after you're done if you have the technology," Doc said. He looked into the jar himself now. "Don't worry, boys," he told them, "You'll like Phaelon. It's a good respite from the California penal system, and at least you won't have to worry about formulating an escape plan now."
Marty smiled at the thought. Then another thought entered his mind. "Say Max," he asked the alien, "Does this thing only fly for David? If it doesn't, I'd like to take a try with it."
"You want to step behind the stick and give it a whirl, flyboy?" Max asked him, "Now this I must see."
"All right," Marty strolled over to the big chair. "Let the next guy have a seat, Dave," he told the boy, "I'll give it back in a little while."
"Sure," David shrugged and got up, "Just don't change the settings on anything. I don't want it all out of whack when I take over again."
"And please don't do anything reckless, Marty," Doc told him, "I can't afford to have any of this equipment here damaged."
"Don't worry Doc," Marty sat down and put his hands on top of the control disks. "All right, I feel the need for speed," he said (he'd seen Top Gun twice already over the summer) and pushed the disks forward as far as he could. The spaceship shot forward rather fast (although no one woke up), and soon Japan was behind them and the Chinese coast was upon them. "Shanghai," Marty mused, bringing it down reasonably low to the streets so that he could see the activity going on below. It looked so picturesque, as no postcard could capture. "Hey Doc, you should see this," he said, "It looks a lot like the intro they run before the movie on HBO; you know, where they go down through the city and the toy cars come by and..."
"What's HBO?" David asked him, looking very confused.
"Uh, you'll find out," Marty told him, "I hope."
"Amazing," Doc came forward to stare out the window, "I always dreamed of visiting China, before the Cold War made it impossible. Most fascinating land."
China was soon far behind, and they were heading for the subcontinent. "Taj Mahal," Marty pointed to the familiar landmark, "This is heavy."
On a whim, he swerved the spacecraft around each of the spires of the majestic palace. This started making Doc look ill. "OK, very amusing Marty, now let's get back on a straight track," he said.
"Relax Doc, everything's under control," Marty zoomed off toward the north.
"Did you ever have the feeling you was bein' watched?" Max abruptly asked in a Bugs Bunny voice, "We've got earthly aerial travelers behind us."
"Let me see," Marty looked toward the back of the ship as it became transparent. "Great, MiGs!" he groaned. About a half dozen of them were now on their tail. "We must have wandered into Soviet air space," he figured, "Well, we'll see if those video game hours come in handy, like Wild Gunman did for 1885."
He swerved wildly to the left into an Immelmann. "Marty, this is not advisable," Doc protested, but it was too late for it. Seeing the MiGs following him into a dive, Marty pulled up at the very last second before impact, subjecting everyone still awake inside the ship to about 6 Gs. The front most MiG was unable to pull up and slammed into the ground. The rest were soon back on his tail. Several air-to-air missiles were fired straight at him, but Marty was able to zoom out of harm's way. Then he saw one was coming at him from the front, firing its machine guns wildly. Caught in a vise, he nevertheless didn't panic. When the one in front of him was only a few feet away, he pulled the ship upward into a loop-the-loop that sent Doc backpedaling to save the amplifier from tipping over and shattering. A loud explosion told Marty that a collision had occurred below. "Whooo!" he shouted, "This is getting good."
"Missed us by that much," Max said in a Maxwell Smart impression.
"Marty, stop fooling around!" Doc scolded him, "We can't risk an aerial confrontation! Head to the southwest, out of their airspace."
"Check," Marty nudged them off toward the specified direction. Within minutes the Arabian deserts were below them. "What city do you think that is?" he said, pointing to one straight ahead of them.
"Looks like Baghdad," Doc figured, "I wouldn't get too low; Saddam Hussein won't hesitate to shoot at any object over his skies."
"Who's Saddam Hussein?" David was even more confused now.
"Yeah Doc, who's Saddam…?" Marty started to ask.
"Watch it!" Doc shouted just a bit too late. They had drifted too low among the Baghdad rooftops and glanced off the side of a building on which, ironically, Hussein and his lieutenants were reviewing a military parade passing below them. The spaceship destroyed the balcony they were standing on, sending the brutal despot and his cronies tumbling, fittingly, into a manure cart parked below. Doc looked out the back of the ship at Hussein's predicament. "Good, he isn't dead," he commented, "This would have been a serious effect on future history if he died here and now—albeit in a primarily positive way."
"What does he do?" David asked. Marty, who'd rarely heard of Saddam, would have liked an answer himself, but before Doc could even think of answering, they'd entered Africa. "Hey, the Serengeti," Marty pointed to the great African plains before them, glistening in the early strains of sunrise, "Now this is something I've always wanted to see."
With no buildings around, he took the craft low to the ground. Wildlife zipped by them on all sides. It was like some sort of hyper-National Geographic experience. He skimmed over the surface of a waterhole, sending a few crocodiles and ibises scattering for cover. Noticing elephants nearby, he was tempted to try and push the spaceship under one's legs, but at the last minute decided against it. Next they were maneuvering out over the Sahara and across the Mediterranean toward Italy. "Anyone up for a Roman holiday?" he asked half-jokingly as they went over the Eternal City.
"If we had more time, maybe," Doc said. He was back at the circuits again. "Ah, here we go," he said, raising the flux capacitor into place, "That part's done. Now all I have to do is connect the destination controls and…" he expression dropped when he realized they were heading down again at a high rate of speed. "Marty, what in the name of Johannes Kepler are you doing now!?" he demanded.
"Showing the Commies that people shouldn't be held in oppression," Marty said. He was diving over East Berlin, heading straight for the wall.
"Marty, don't, they'll be tearing it down in three years anyway!" Doc protested. It was to no avail, as Marty plowed right through the wall, leaving a big hole behind. "Hey Doc, don't worry, it'll be erased like you said," Marty said in self-defense, aiming westward toward France.
"All right Marty, I know you mean well, but you're taking this flying way too far!" Doc told him, "I know this ship can take a severe beating from earthly technology and keep ticking, but if you keep subjecting this to…" he cried out and covered his eyes as they zoomed under the Eiffel Tower with only a few feet to spare.
"Relax Doc, I've got it under control," Marty reassured him. He next approached London and circled around Big Ben at high speed several times, spinning equipment in every direction. Looking heavily seasick, Doc scrambled to put them back in place. "That's enough!" he sputtered, "I demand you give David control back now!"
"Are you sure I have to?" Marty was disappointed, "I haven't been THAT reckless, Doc."
"For the sake of our stomachs, I strongly urge that you relinquish control!" Doc told him. Marty sighed. "Well, here you go again, Dave," he said, giving the seat back to the youngster.
"That was fun, "David told him with a big smile on his face, "I should do that more often."
"Actually David, I would advise…." Doc was cut off as David gunned the ship at just as reckless a speed toward the Arctic. "Not again!" he moaned, clinging hard to the wall as they accelerated to almost a thousand miles an hour, "I can't take much more of this!"
"Could you keep it down PLEASE!!!" Amy chided the scientist, "I'm trying to sleep here!"
"Right, sorry," Doc said sheepishly. Trying to ignore the churning sensation in his stomach, he crawled back over to the time circuits and started working on them again.