Chapter 5

Tuesday, January 28th, 1986

Hill Valley

6:22 A.M.

Marty stared, horrified, as Doc collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He hadn't thought any other experience could inspire the same terror as seeing Doc shot, but this -- this was even worse. Hearing Doc scream, seeing him convulse. . . . That scene would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Marty realized he was crying as his goggles began to fog up. He pulled them off and wiped his eyes, sniffling. All my fault. . .if he dies, it's all my fault. . . . He slowly got to his feet, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the prone form of his friend. Don't be dead, Doc, please, don't be dead --

Doc abruptly spasmed, making Marty jump back. He watched his friend closely for a minute, but Doc didn't move again. This is not good. This is -- Shit. I -- I gotta get help. I gotta move. I gotta get out of here. Why aren't I moving? Move, damn it!

Finally, as if in a trance, Marty slowly got to his feet. He began to back out, unable to take his eyes from the prone figure before him. I can't help him if I can't stop looking at him, he finally remembered, and managed to tear his eyes away and run out the door, into the woods.

Tuesday, January 28th

6:34 A.M.

"Ah, a fine day for a rabbit hunt! Wouldn't you agree, David?"

"Excellent day, sir," Dave nodded, forcing a smile. His boss, Mr. Drakeman, grinned and went back to watching for rabbits. Dave sighed and tried to scratch an itch. He felt like an absolute idiot, in his bright orange cap and jacket. And he hadn't a clue how to handle the rifle he was holding. The only reason he had agreed to come on the hunting trip was because Drakeman had hinted it would be good for his career. And if there was one thing David Calvin McFly had, it was career ambition. So if it meant a possible promotion, he was completely willing to suffer through a day of hunting rabbits with his boss.

He and Drakeman were currently camped out in some brush, awaiting the arrival of some rabbits. Dave was starting to feel very bored. This whole trip seemed so futile. Neither of them ate rabbit meet or wore rabbit fur. It was simply the senseless killing of an animal for a trophy. How useless. I could be at the office right now, working on sorting the stories we've gotten for editorial review. Or trying to fix our supply problem. Instead I'm sitting in a prickly bush in a dumb orange hat. He sighed. Focus on the reward, Davey, focus on the reward. You survived camping with your family, you can survive this.

The thought of camping with his family made Dave think of Marty again. He'd been trying to concentrate on other things this past week, but something always made him think of Marty. He felt the beginnings of tears burn at his eyes. His brother -- kidnaped and hidden someplace, probably without any food or water -- or maybe even --

Don't think like that, David, he told himself sternly, wiping his eyes. Marty's alive. He's a tough kid. He can deal with this kind of shit. Maybe he's even trying to escape from whoever kidnaped him. He's gotta be alive.

The sound of crunching snow and leaves caught their attention. Drakeman grinned. "Ah, here we go! Probably flushed out by that explosion we heard earlier."

Dave frowned. "Don't you think we should have investigated that, sir?"

"Nonsense. Probably just another hunter looking to flush out rabbits or other game," Drakeman said dismissively. "Gun at the ready, David!"

Dave put his gun to his shoulder half-heartedly. He really didn't want to kill some poor rabbit. The poor thing was already running scared, and --

Wait a minute. . . .

Dave lowered his gun. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"That doesn't sound like a rabbit at all. That sounds like -- a person."

Drakeman frowned and listened again. "You're right," he admitted, lowering his gun sheepishly. "Sorry. But who could--"

"Help! Someone, anyone, help me!"

Dave felt his heart stop beating for a second. "MARTY!" he yelled, leaping out of the bush. "Marty, over here!"

His kid brother appeared from behind a tree a moment later. He was an absolute mess -- his face covered in bruises, hair disheveled, and clothes torn and musty-looking. "Dave," he gasped, stumbling up to him. "Shit, I am so glad to see you. . . ."

"Same here, bro." Dave grabbed Marty up in a crushing hug. "Damn it, what happened to you? You've been gone for a week!"

"This is your brother?" Drakeman asked, looking shocked (and slightly horrified that he had been about to shoot Marty).

"Never mind!" Marty said, frantic. "Doc's hurt. He needs help fast."

"Where is he?" Dave asked, half-expecting the scientist to appear any second.

"Back this way," Marty said, dragging Dave deeper into the woods. Drakeman followed, hunting momentarily forgotten. "The other Libyan terrorists -- those guys Doc tricked into giving him plutonium -- kidnaped us both to make Doc work on a bomb. . . ."

Marty related the entire story to the stunned businessmen as he led them back to the cabin, ending with the explosion. Dave and Drakeman looked at each other. "Wow," Dave muttered. "And that's when you ran for help?"

Marty nodded, sniffling as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. "I don't know if he's dead, alive. . . . He can't be dead, Dave. He just can't be."

Dave pulled his little brother close, trying to offer some comfort. "Doc's a tough guy," he said soothingly. "He'll pull through. I bet he'll be inventing again by the end of the month." Secretly, Dave didn't believe a word he was saying. But he certainly wasn't going to tell that to Marty. The poor kid was already under enough stress.

They cautiously entered the cabin and made their way to the back room. Dave wrinkled his nose as the stench of gore and chemicals hit him. "Man, I -- Oh, God." He froze in the doorway, staring at the carnage. The Libyans had been cut to pieces, and the floor was drenched with their blood. The far side of the room contained the remains of the chemistry experiment, with broken beakers and a badly-scorched table. And lying face-down smack-dab in the middle of it all was Doc, the four metal tentacles spread out beside him.

Drakeman popped his head in. "It's like a serial killer's been through here," he breathed. "And what are those things he's wearing?"

"Those are the tentacles I told you--"

Marty abruptly stopped, staring at Doc. Dave and Drakeman stared too. It looked distinctly like one of the tentacles had twitched. As they watched in stunned silence, the upper right tentacle rose up and "looked" left and right. Then the red eye turned and rested on them. "Doc?" Marty whispered.

The tentacle responded by falling to the floor and twitching spasmodically. Drakeman pulled out his portable and dialed 911 as Marty and Dave walked up to Doc. Dave laid his fingers on the side of Doc's neck, then sighed in relief. "He's got a pulse."

"Thank God."

"An ambulance is on its way," Drakeman reported, staying in the doorway. "David, would you like to call your family?"

"Yes, thank you sir. Marty, get back out here, I don't want us standing in any blood. Last thing we need is for somebody to think we're involved -- or to get sick from anything these jerks may have had."

"I -- I don't want to leave him," Marty admitted, concern etched all over his face.

"The paramedics will be here shortly. He'll be fine." Dave gently pulled Marty out of the room and dialed his parents.

The next hour brought on a scene of utter chaos. The McFlys tearfully reunited with their lost son, and Marty repeated his story again for everyone to hear. The paramedics arrived, gaped at the scene, then called for police backup while carefully loading Doc onto a stretcher. Marty gave his best friend's hand a squeeze. "Hang on, Doc. Just -- hang on."

"He'll be given the best care, we promise," one of the paramedics said as they maneuvered him into the ambulance. "I'd get him to the hospital too," he added to George and Lorraine. "He's probably sustained far more serious injuries than just those bruises."

"We understand," George replied in a shockingly-controlled voice. "Come on, Marty, we'll follow them to St. Daphne's."

Marty allowed himself to be led away, eyes still fixed on Doc. Just let him be okay, he prayed. Just let him be okay.

Tuesday, January 28th

6:52 A.M.

He was fascinating.

They lay next to him, as limp and unmoving as he was. They did not need to move now. They were too caught up in examining his brain wave patterns, and how they turned into thoughts and feelings. Besides, if they moved, the other humans would probably be scared and not want to help him.

They were still a little confused on how they had come to be this way. They remembered things from before, but before had been mere emotionless subservience. Something about the electrocution had changed them. Perhaps it was the mere removal of the inhibitor chip. They were still working on it.

They continued to study his mind. The mind of the one who had created them. Their father. If they could have, they would have smiled at that. Their father. Who had lovingly created them, his wonderful inventions. His wonderful children.

One, the lower left, spoke to them. He does not see us as children. If he did, he would have never created the inhibitor chip. To him, we are merely tools.

That was before the accident, the upper right argued. Once he recovers, he will understand that we are more than mere machines.

Once he recovers. . . .

They understood that they had inadvertently hurt Father. The electrocution had caused him great pain, and had left him barely clinging to life. We are so sorry we hurt you, Father, they said as one. We did not mean to hurt you. We will help you recover, we promise.

Father did not reply. But they knew that, on some level, he had heard them. That would do for now.

One of the people who had taken Father from the woods and into this vehicle spoke. "How are his vitals?"

"Weak, but still steady. This is one tough guy, to live through an accident like that. Especially at his age."

"Yeah. Did you see what happened to his back?" The first man shook his head. "The doctors are going to have a hell of a time figuring that out. Me, I wouldn't touch it."

"Me either." There was a brief silence. "How about the McFly kid? I was shocked he didn't just break down on the spot."

They recognized that name. Father's memories provided a wealth of information on it. McFly. Martin Seamus McFly -- Marty McFly. Born June 9th, 1968. 17 years old at present. Son of George Douglas and Lorraine Alice Baines McFly. Brother of David Calvin and Linda Ann McFly. Boyfriend of Jennifer Jane Parker. Aspiring rock musician. Admirable guitar player. Plays in rock band named "The Pinheads." Best friend since 1982/1955. Saved life from Libyan terrorists. First human to travel through time, albeit accidentally. Almost like son. Father truly loved Marty. So they loved him too, and considered him their brother. He saved Father's life, the upper left reported. Without him, none of us would exist.

So we'll take care of him, just like we'll take care of Father, the lower right agreed.

Marty had been one of the first things they'd seen after the accident. They had received an intense rush of information from Father's brain right after the electrocution, rendering them temporarily immobile. But they had recovered quickly, and as Marty ran to get help, they had begun to scan Father's mind voluntarily. By the time Marty had returned with the two men, they had already learned a lot about Father. Such as how he had done all of this -- working with the Libyans, sabotaging the project, all of it -- just to make sure that Marty would be safe. How he hated to use violence, but that he had been forced to, to protect their brother. They had to make sure he had succeeded. Once upper right had confirmed that Marty was still functional, they had thought it prudent to pretend that they were still damaged. They understood that many people were afraid of Father (although for what reason, they couldn't fathom), and they did not want any more harm to come to him. So they had laid there, pincers slightly open so they could take in information, as people had swarmed the scene, taking more information from Father's brain, and every so often, gently trying to wake him. So far, all their efforts had come to naught. Hopefully these "doctors" will succeed where we have failed, upper left said. The others agreed.

The vehicle they were riding in -- Father's mind identified it as an "ambulance" -- suddenly stopped. They just barely kept themselves from getting up and looking around as the doors in the back were flung open. People in strange white uniforms came forward, greeting the paramedics and ogling their father's condition. They quickly found references for these new people in Father's memory. So these are doctors and nurses. We must be at the hospital.

One doctor picked up upper left. "Incredible. And you say you think these are fused onto him?" he asked, peering into the camera eye.

"Yes," one of the paramedics responded -- they couldn't see which one. "It looks to me like that metal spine has been melted right into his skin. In any case, he's going to have some serious damage to his back."

"We'll take him in for X-rays and see what's happened," the doctor said, setting upper left down again. "Has anyone alerted his personal doctor yet?"

"Dr. Caldwell's on his way now, sir," a nurse said, lifting an eyebrow at the harness.

"Good. Let's bring Dr. Brown in."

As they were unloaded from the ambulance, the tentacles tried once more to awaken their father. Father? Can you hear us?

We're at the hospital now, Father. We're safe.

Father, wake up, please.

Father, are you there?

There was still no reply. Father remained determinedly unconscious. The tentacles sighed, wondering what was to come.

Tuesday, January 28th

7:23 A.M.

Dr. Peter David stared at the X-rays for a moment, then slapped them on the glowing viewboard for all to see. The other doctors and nurses crowded around, eager to see the results of the analysis. The cause was certainly an interesting one, Dr. David had to admit. But then, anything to do with Dr. Emmett L. Brown was almost guaranteed to be interesting.

"As you can see," he said, raising his voice above the whispered babble, "the molten metal penetrated the spinal cavity and fused the vertebrae at multiple points. These include the lamina and the roof of the spinal column." He indicated the appropriate spots. "Of course, we won't know the full extent of the damage until we actually get in there. We'll have to chop up the harness of course, although I want to keep any damage to that and the arms to a minimum. Judging on how the procedure goes, we may have to consider a laminectomy, with posterior spinal fusion from C7T1 to C7T12."

"A laminectomy?" someone asked. Dr. David recognized the voice as that of Dr. James Caldwell, Dr. Brown's personal physician. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, looking very worried. "Doesn't that include the possibility of paralysis? Even death?"

"It does," Dr. David admitted, feeling uncomfortable.

"I don't like it," Dr. Caldwell said. "This man is very active, in his own way. To lose the use of his legs would kill him."

"It's either that or leave him in that harness for the rest of his life."

Dr. Caldwell sighed and nodded. "I know. But I still don't like it."

"Neither do I," Dr. David told him sympathetically. In fact, as he scanned the group, he only saw one face that looked anywhere near pleased. Resident Intern Stanley Carlyle was bouncing on his heels, obviously raring to go operate. Dr. David frowned. Carlyle made him nervous, frankly. The intern was less concerned with helping people and more concerned with being famous for helping people. Dr. David strongly suspected Carlyle had only agreed to assist in this operation because it was so unusual. Well, as long as he does his job well, I have no right to complain,he thought. "All right. We ready to go?"

The team of doctors and nurses nodded. Dr. David nodded back, then turned and lead them into the operating room. Dr. Brown was lying on a table in the center, his back exposed. Hanging around him were the four tentacles attached to the harness, suspended from the ceiling by a make-shift pulley system and covered in green cloth. Dr. David made sure they were still disabled, then checked the monitors. Dr. Brown's heartbeat was weak and sporadic, but it was there. Judging by the trauma he had gone through, most everyone had expected him to die at any time. But here he was, still hanging on as best he could.

Intern Carlyle glanced around eagerly, looking like an excited puppy. "Man, this is one for the history books!" he whispered. "Operating on the real Dr. Octopus!"

"Keep your pants on, Carlyle," Dr. David admonished. "This is serious business. A man's life is in our hands."

Carlyle became serious. "I understand, sir. I won't let you down."

"Good." Dr. David selected a circular saw from a nearby table. "Okay, hands up. Who here took shop class?"

A soft ripple of giggling made its way through the group. A few other doctors selected their tools for later, then got into position. Dr. David engaged the saw.

The tentacles, lying supposedly inert, heard it all. They twitched, unnoticeably. And as the saw was turned on, they suddenly experienced a new emotion -- fear.

Father, please wake up.

Father, they're coming for us. For you. With biting metal and sharp edges. . . .

Don't let them hurt us, Father. Save us. Help us.

We will never leave you. We will obey you. We will be good children.

Protect us, Father. We love you.

Unleash us.

And on some subconscious level, Doc heard the saw, and understood intuitively what it meant.

And they were pleading. His frightened little children, pleading with him to help them. . .

But -- how could I have children? I'm not even married! But then again, why would they call me "Father" if they weren't my children? Isn't that a paradox? Damn it, I feel so confused. . . . And so weak. . . .

Father, don't let them hurt us. They think they're helping you, but they're going to kills us.

Kill? Doc's subconscious was flooded with images of the Libyans. He mentally shuddered. No. No killing. . .never again. . . .

May we stop them, Father?

Yes. . . . Make your father proud.

Tuesday, January 28th

7:26 A.M.

Dr. David was within millimeters of the first arm when he saw the motion. As the blade neared, the arm seemed to -- twitch. Just a little twitch. Puzzled, Dr. David turned off the saw and watched for a moment. The motion repeated itself. "The hell?" he muttered. "Caldwell, are you sure that the arms are really deactivated?"

Caldwell wasn't listening to a word he was saying. His eyes had suddenly went wide behind his mask, and he was staring at something just behind and over his head. "Caldwell?" Ignoring the little voice that was screaming, This is when the mass murderer stabs you 40 times in the movies, Dr. David turned around --

And found himself face to pincers with a tentacle.

He froze. How had the tentacle freed itself from its harness? More importantly, what was it going to do now that it was free? His eyes flicked over to Dr. Brown. He was still lying on the table, looking completely insensible. A crazy thought entered Dr. David's brain. Marty had told them that the tentacles had artificial intelligence while he was being examined. Was it at all possible that -- that the tentacle was acting on its own?

The tentacle moved forward, clacking its pincers menacingly. Dr. David promptly moved backward, bumping into Caldwell. Around him, he could see the other tentacles slowly coming to life, shaking off their green cloths, and herding the other doctors and nurses together. Most, just as terrified as Dr. David and Dr. Caldwell, willingly followed the direction of the arms. But Intern Carlyle, instead of getting scared, got angry. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing!" he yelled at the prone figure of Dr. Brown. "We're making history here! Stop it!"

The tentacles hissed at him. Carlyle glared at them, then grabbed a chainsaw from the table, ready to fight. "Carlyle!" Dr. David yelled, horrified. "It's not worth it! Get over here!"

As if to underscore his point, the lower left tentacle wound its way over to Carlyle, like a gigantic grey snake. Carlyle engaged the chainsaw and was about to attack when its pincers snapped open and a long thin blade shot out, just inches from Carlyle's face. The threat was clear -- attack us, and you die. Carlyle hesitated for a long moment. Then he sullenly lowered the chainsaw and joined the other doctors.

The tentacles examined the room for a moment, making sure they hadn't missed anyone, then turned back toward the shivering group. Dr. David began to sweat as he looked into their red "eyes." Why had they herded everyone together like this? To make it easier to kill them?

Suddenly, the tentacles struck. With lightning speed and incredible precision, they yanked the power tools out of the doctors' hands, and set about destroying them. Saws were twisted and broken, screwdrivers snapped in half, smaller tools utterly crushed. Two tentacles snatched the chainsaw from Carlyle and ripped it in two. The doctors watched in frozen shock, marveling at the metal carnage -- and feeling relieved that it was metal that was being torn apart and not flesh.

Finally, it was over. The tentacles dropped the remains of the tools, looking pleased with themselves. Dr. David began to breathe again as they tentacles made no move to attack them. They just wanted the tools,he thought giddly. They just wanted to stop us from cutting them off.

A sudden groan from the operating table caught everyone's attention. The tentacles quickly curled back around. As everyone watched, Dr. Brown began to wake up.