Eight Arms To Hold You
By Flaming Trails
A Back To The Future/Spider-Man 2 Crossover
Chapter 1
Friday, January 3rd, 1986
Hill Valley
1:14 P.M.
Dr. Emmett L. Brown needed, at the very least, two extra sets of arms. The two he currently possessed just weren't doing the job adequately. He cursed softly as he dropped his bag of Doritos for the fifth time. The rest of his items were content to stay balanced in his arms for the most part, but the Doritos insisted on escaping.
Why do I always do this to myself? he thought bitterly, slowly bending at the knees to grab the chips. The pile of items in his arms wobbled dangerously, but managed to stay upright as he retrieved the bag. Why can't I just come in here and grab three items like I intend to, instead of the eleven I always get? You think that, one day, I'd learn.
He waited for the person in front of him to finish up, then gratefully dumped his stuff on the conveyor belt. He browsed the magazines for a moment as the person in front collected their bags and walked off. "And how are you today, sir?" the cashier asked cheerfully as he advanced.
"Busy," Doc said truthfully. "I have my Frequent Shopper's card, just a moment. . . ." He pulled out his wallet and flipped through it. "Here you are."
The cashier took the card and scanned it. The machine gave an angry beep. "I'm sorry, sir, but this card expired this past December," she said apologetically.
"Oh." Doc shrugged and took the card back. That's funny, I don't remember -- oh, wait, I did get it! I must have thrown it out with some other junk mail. Just some more bad luck to heap onto this otherwise unpleasant day.
He went back to browsing the magazine rack as the cashier rang up his groceries. There wasn't much worth seeing. There were the usual women's magazines advertising both "How to Lose 50 pounds in a Week" and "Huge Chocolate Desserts You'll Love," Marty's "Got Your Music Monthly," TV Guide, and --
Doc's eyes suddenly lit up. Just as the cashier finished ringing him up, Doc quickly slapped two magazines onto the belt. "And these too, please."
The cashier glanced down, then back up at Doc, one eyebrow raised. Doc had seen that look many times before -- most often in the last few years. It sent a very clear message -- What is a guy your age buying Marvel comic books for? As he always did, Doc simply shrugged and smiled. "I like Spider-Man."
To his surprise, the cashier actually smiled back. "I'm a bit of an X-Men nut myself. I hope you enjoy these. Your total's $23.18."
Doc handed her $25 and graciously accepted the bags from the bagger. He collected his change and moved off to the side so he could put it back in his wallet without holding up the rest of the line. Yet another situation where I could use more arms, he thought, stuffing the bills inside their pocket. At least everything's not dropping everywhere anymore.
As if compelled by the thought, one of his bags promptly split open. Ice cream and dog food thudded to the floor. Doc put his face in his hand, groaning. I just can't catch a break today, I just can't. First the van's battery dies, then I discover I'm completely out of dog food, now this. He asked the bagger for a new bag and picked up his stuff. I should just retire to my bed for the rest of this temporal period.
He made it out to his DeLorean without any problems, to his relief. A little kid, about five years old, was standing beside it, staring raptly at Doc's numerous "improvements." "Hi. Can you go to the moon in that car?" he greeted the scientist.
Doc chuckled as he loaded the groceries into the front trunk. "No, not yet," he told the kid. "Maybe someday though."
"Cool. I wanna go to the moon one day."
"Well, kid, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything."
"Daniel! Get away from there!"
Doc started as a 30ish, brown-haired woman ran up and yanked the boy away from the DeLorean, pausing only long enough to glare at Doc. "What have I told you about talking to strangers?"
"But Mommy--" Daniel protested.
"No buts. That man's crazy and dangerous. I don't want you talking to him again." She dragged Daniel off, shooting another glare at Doc.
Doc sighed. I really should be used to that by now, he thought, getting into the DeLorean. After all, I've been Hill Valley's resident lunatic ever since I was a young man. But -- it's always different with kids. Feeling rather depressed, he drove home.
Einstein was waiting for him by the door as he came in. He barked as Doc plopped the bags on the cot with a sigh of relief. "That's over with at least." He knelt down and ruffled Einstein's fur. "Now how are you doing, boy?"
Einy happily licked his face, then padded over to Doc's answering machine. "Someone called? With my luck, it'll be a customer I missed." Doc rewound the tape as he put away his groceries. "Hey, Doc, it's me," Marty's excited voice said. "You know that new club downtown, Future Fest? They want the Pinheads to play for them! This Saturday at eight! This is gonna be our big break, Doc, I can feel it! I'll see you later -- I gotta find Jennifer and tell her the good news!"
Doc grinned as he reloaded the breakfast machine with fresh Kal-Kan. "Great Scott. That's wonderful news, isn't it Einstein? Sort of makes up for this whole rotten day." Einy barked in agreement. "I'm a little surprised they allowed him to call from school, though. I'll have to ask him about that when he comes over. Right now, all I want to do is consume Doritos and peruse great Marvel literature." He tore open the bag of chips, grabbed the two issues of Spider-Man he had bought, and headed for the couch. With a grin, he noted that one of the issues featured his favorite character -- Doctor Octopus. Although he was a villain, Doc had a lot of respect for the man. He was a scientific genius, after all. And today, Doc was particularly impressed by the character. I can certainly understand the need for four extra arms, he thought, skimming the comic. I'm surprised someone hasn't already invented these things. They'd be so useful in real --
life. . . .
Doc paused, an idea stirring in his brain. Why hadn't someone tried to invent the tentacles? They didn't look particularly hard to construct. Four long mental tentacles, extending from a metal harness and terminating in three sharp pincers. Nothing to it, really, if you had the time and the materials. Hell, with a little ingenuity, and a little help from future technology, he could probably build the arms.
He could build the arms. . . .
Doc grinned widely as inspiration hit. He immediately sought out some paper and a pen. "Let's see now," he murmured, beginning to sketch. "According to comic lore, the arms are made out of either steel or titanium -- I should be able to secure some steel, at any rate. . . . I'll have to come up with reasonable maximums and minimums for the telescopic stretching and shrinking -- maybe about four feet at minimum? . . . Can lift three tons? Maybe scale that back to one, three tons seems a little generous, especially considering those tiny pincers. I'll have to rework those as well, they seem highly impractical. . . ."
He felt eyes upon him, and looked down to see Einstein regarding him curiously. "I was muttering to myself again, huh?" Doc chuckled, scratching his dog behind the ears. "Sorry, but inspiration like this only comes once in a lifetime." He glanced toward the door leading into his garage. "Well, maybe twice. At least I didn't have to fall off a toilet to get this idea." He looked down at his crude technical drawings. "Come on, boy, we have some comics to track down."
Friday, January 3rd
2:42 P.M.
"Yo, Doc, did you get my call? That bastard Strickland nearly didn't let me take it from Future Fest, but the principal overruled him! You should have seen the look on his face! And then, to let me call you and my parents -- Strickland was PISSED! It was great!" Marty raced into the room at top speed, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "I know I shouldn't have called from school, but I was just -- Whoa!"
Marty's spine was abruptly introduced to Doc's concrete floor. Marty lay stunned for a moment, getting his wind back. "Ow."
"Marty!" Doc's face appeared above him, looking rather concerned. "Great Scott, are you all right?"
"Yeah," Marty said, sitting up slowly and rubbing the back of his head. "Just a couple of bruises, I think." He looked around and noticed he was surrounded by a sea of comic books. "Shit, I musta slipped on one of these. I hope I didn't wreck anything."
"We're in luck," Doc said, producing a crumpled plastic wrapper. "No comic inside. But next time, try to look where you're going." He helped Marty to his feet, smiling. "On a more positive note, I did receive your phone call. Congratulations, Marty."
"Thanks," Marty beamed. "We're all really excited. Future Fest is the nightclub around here. If we can play there, we can play anywhere." Marty winced as his back twinged. "Or anywhere in Hill Valley, which is a good start." He looked around again, frowning in confusion. "So what's with all the Spidey comics?"
"I'm looking for all the ones that feature Dr. Octopus," Doc explained. "Care to help me look?"
"No problem," Marty said, seating himself by a stack. "Why though?"
Doc grinned at him, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. "Have you ever wished you had extra arms, Marty?"
"Who hasn't?" Marty replied, picking up a comic at random.
"Well, my latest project is going to work to correct that situation. I recently bought the latest issue of Spider-Man that featured Doc Ock, and I found myself wondering why those tentacles of his didn't exist in real life. You can see from the comics how useful they are."
Marty looked up, eyes wide. "Wait a sec. Are you going to build the Doc Ock arms?"
"Why not!" Doc grinned. "Ock's origin story demonstrates their usefulness as lab aids." He held up the comic in question, safe in a plastic sleeve. "Think of it, Marty. I could tend to multiple projects at once, or even work on one project while taking care of more mundane chores." He set the comic back down on a small pile. "So now I'm collecting all of my Dr. Octopus comics together to use as references."
Marty looked at the sea of comics spread out around them. "And you actually found some. I'm impressed."
"My comic collection is not that big," Doc said, blushing faintly.
"Face it, Doc, you could build a house with your Marvel collection," Marty needled. "Hey, Spidey here alone is the foundation and two of the walls."
"That may be so, but who is it that keeps borrowing my comics almost constantly?"
Marty grinned. "Hey, it's not my fault you're the best comic library in Hill Valley. Seriously, though, this sounds like a bitchin' project."
"Thanks. I'm almost as excited about this as I was about the DeLorean." Doc joined Marty on the floor to search for more comics. "Especially after the day I've had."
"Needed some extra arms?"
"That, a new car battery, a new alarm clock, a never-ending supply of dog food, and a concrete reason why everyone's afraid of me." Doc sighed deeply. "The last most of all. I encountered a youth in the parking lot of ShopNSave, and his mother just yanked him away when she saw him near me. He was a nice kid, too. Thought my DeLorean was a rocket ship." Doc chuckled, then grew somber again. "I don't know. I think having that little kid respond so positively to me sparked my paternal instincts again."
Marty gave him an encouraging smile. "I see. There's still time, Doc."
"Marty, I'm 65 years old. If I haven't found a mate by now, it's likely I never will." He flipped through a comic, then set it aside. "Besides, why risk love again? The only two women I ever really loved broke my heart. The bachelor life is obviously my fate."
"I'll always be here for ya, Doc."
Doc smiled. "I know, Marty. And thanks." He picked up another comic. "And anyway, my inventions are my children. You can't help but get emotionally attached to something you've created with your own two hands. If that makes any sense," he added with another faint blush.
"I get what you're saying. I've felt it too, with the music I've written." Marty spotted an issue from the "Doc Ock vs. Hammerhead" arc and set it aside. "How exactly are you gonna make the arms? I bet they're going to be wicked expensive."
"It depends. I've made some preliminary designs here," Doc said, showing Marty his paper. "And I think I might be able to get a good number of the parts from the local hardware store." He winked. "Of course, I also intend to cheat a little. They're more complicated than they look, after all."
"Tell me about it. They look sorta like chrome shower hoses in the comics."
Doc laughed. "You know, they do. And I'm going to have to do something about the pincers. The just seem too small. I'm not sure what the new design will be yet. . . ."
Friday, January 3rd, 1986
Hill Valley Forest
7:38 P.M.
"What is the word on our beloved Doktour?"
"He is starting another strange experiment," the spy, Amr Ali, reported. "Something inspired by their fanciful comic books. He and the boy were working on it when I checked on him."
Dr. Ahmid Al-Baquar, leader of the Libyan United Front, smiled. "Figures. Dr. Brown always had his head in the clouds. We will bring him back down to earth, however. He will pay for tricking us out of our greatest victory against the American devils. Him and his friend. What is his name again? Michael?"
"Martin, Dr. Al-Baquar," Amr corrected. "Martin McFly. The son of the famous author George McFly."
"Wonderful. Killing him will give our organization the press it needs." He popped a few berries into his mouth. "What is the good Doktour working on, anyway? Something else for that infernal car of his?"
Amr frowned and scratched his head. "I'm not exactly sure. He was saying something about an octopus and metal arms."
"Dr. Octopus!" blurted out William, the only American in the group. "That has to be it. He's a villain from the Spider-Man comics."
"Yes, Dr. Brown mentioned a Spider-Man," Amr nodded. "Why is this man called Dr. Octopus?"
"He invented four metal arms so that he could handle radioactive materials safely," William explained. "There was an accident, and he was fused to them. So he ended up with a total of eight limbs."
Dr. Al-Baquar was intrigued. He leaned forward. "What could he do with these arms?"
"Lots of stuff. He could scale buildings, throw cars, break out of jail -- as well as use them for scientific work, like he intended."
"You know a lot about him," another lackey, Ahmed, noted.
"Eh, not that much. I grew up on Spider-Man," William shrugged. "But I stopped reading when I realized what a horrible place America is."
Dr. Al-Baquar smiled, his teeth shining white in the dark room. "This could be to our advantage. Dr. Brown is brilliant, in his own way." He ate another handful of berries. "Keep up your surveillance, Amr. Let me know how he proceeds on the project of the arms. Once it's near completion, then we will strike."
"Yes Dr. Al-Baquar." Amr drew back into the shadows. Dr. Al-Baquar picked up a berry and regarded it for a moment. Then he mercilessly crushed it. "You will be ruing the day you bought that pinball machine, Brown."