Chapter 2
Friday, September 2nd, 1938
Hill Valley
2:45 P.M.
To both Doc and Marty's shock, the sky was a bright, clear blue when they arrived in the past -- no sign of clouds at all. "Doc, you said it was overcast!" Marty said, almost accusingly.
"I thought it was! Perhaps the passage of time has altered my memories," Doc mused. "Well, at least we're over open grassland and not a populated area." He frowned at the farms below. "Although you could never really tell where the Okies had set up camp. . . ."
"Hill Valley had Okies?"
"I think every town in California had a few at one point or another. They went wherever there was work. I generally tried to steer clear of them -- not out of any ill feeling toward them, but because I was afraid they'd harbor ill feelings toward me. The Von Brauns were one of the richest families in Hill Valley."
"Well, yeah, I knew you guys were rich. . . ."
"Loaded," Doc said, rolling his eyes a bit. "When I told you that I spent my entire family fortune on developing time travel, I was only referring to my share -- one third of the monies and the value of the house."
Marty lifted an eyebrow. "You only got one third? I thought the sons got more back then -- or now, I guess."
Doc shrugged. "Emily was the favored child in our family," he said vaguely. "I can only imagine the sibling jealousy problems that might have resulted if I were less fond of her."
"Doc, I have two siblings. You can't tell me you weren't ever jealous of her."
Doc scowled at nothing in particular. "Well, it wasn't really her so much as my mother and father," he said bitterly. "Some days it felt like I was invisible to them. And I never could please my father -- our tastes were far too different."
"I've had days like that," Marty said sympathetically. "It can really suck being the youngest, huh?"
"It can. At least Emily was never spoiled." Doc's expression softened again. "I knew I could always count on her to make sure my voice was heard." Apparently satisfied the area was deserted, Doc brought the DeLorean down. "But enough of this trip down memory lane. Ready for our test run?"
"Ready, Doc."
"Good. Get out of the car and I'll demonstrate the control watch."
Marty eagerly hopped out of the DeLorean. Doc followed and positioned himself in front of the car. He pressed the enter button on the watch, and the engine came to life with a low growl. Doc punched in "6+1-5+3" and waited. The DeLorean obediently drove up to him, turned left, and reversed two feet. Marty applauded politely while Doc beamed. "It appears Field Test One is successful. Now to test the thumblocks." He stepped back. "Go ahead and try and get into the car, Marty."
"Okay." Marty frowned at the DeLorean. He tried the door handle, but as he had suspected, the doors were locked tight. Figuring he had nothing to lose, he pressed his thumb to the plate.
There was a brief tingling sensation as his thumbprint was scanned. Then, suddenly, a red light flashed, and a siren blared. Marty jumped backward as a hard voice snapped, "ACCESS DENIED. MOVE AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE." "Jesus!" Marty gasped. "I don't think you'll ever have to worry about somebody breaking in, Doc. That siren nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"Sorry. At least I know it works exactly as it's supposed to." Doc pressed his own thumb to the lock, deactivating the alarm and opening the door. "Prepare for new user," he said.
The car made a few funny beeping noises. "Ready to receive," it finally announced. "New user, please present your thumb for scanning."
"Go ahead," Doc said, stepping back.
Hesitantly, Marty pressed his thumb against the plate again. The DeLorean rescanned it and made a "boop" sound. "Print successfully added to database of accepted users. Please state the identity of the new user for future identification."
Marty simply gawked at it. Doc nudged him. "Just tell it your name."
"Marty," Marty told the car, feeling a little stupid.
The light on the plate flashed green. "Welcome, Marty," the car said warmly as the door unlocked.
Doc laid a hand on Marty's shoulder, looking very stern. "Now, Marty, I've just made the assumption that you're responsible enough to use this thing alone. That means no stealing it for frivolous purposes or the like. Just follow this rule if you ever use the DeLorean alone -- if you wouldn't do it if I was there, don't do it at all. I hope I can trust you."
"I won't let you down, Doc," Marty promised. "There's no way in hell I'd ever want to repeat what happened with my parents." He smirked a little. "Besides, am I really ever going to be using this thing alone?"
Doc grinned and patted Marty's shoulder. "Good point. But in case the situation comes up, I wanted to make sure I could count on you. Ready for the final part of our field test?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, Doc."
"Okay then. I'll drop you off a little closer to town and give you your instructions. Hop in." Doc reactivated the hover conversion, and they set off.
"How big is Hill Valley nowadays?" Marty asked curiously as they approached the outskirts of town.
"I believe at a stable population of 10,000," Doc said. "Hill Valley doesn't experience any major population booms until the 50s and 60s." He landed and rummaged around in the back of the car. "Now, everything is probably going to look ancient to you, but try not to stare too much. Keep all social interactions to a minimum. When you get into town, head immediately for the clothing store I took you to in 1955 -- do you remember it?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Good. Buy some clothes and change at the first available opportunity. Until then, keep that coat tight around you so you don't attract too much attention." Doc pulled a suitcase from the back and set it on his lap. "Let me give you some money."
Marty's jaw dropped open as Doc snapped open the suitcase. Instead of the traditional clothes, the suitcase was filled with all different types of cash, separated into little pouches. Each pouch was labeled with a different year. "Holy shit, Doc, where did you get all of that money!"
"Future antique stores," Doc said with a grin. "I first sold off some old items that I had no use for anymore, then used the money I got from that to buy about 1,000 dollars for each time period in here. I have to be prepared for all monetary possibilities if I want to be a responsible time traveler." Doc pulled a small stack of bills from a pouch labeled "1935." "There, that should be enough."
"Positive, Doc?"
"Marty, it's the end of the Great Depression. That amount of money might qualify you as fairly well-off. At any rate, it'll definitely be enough for a decent shirt and some pants."
Marty nodded and took the money. "Anything else I should know?"
"Well, I would say don't look up your relatives, but I think you already know that very well." Marty smirked. "I think we're set here." Doc gave Marty a firm handshake. "Good luck, Marty. I'll see you in--" he consulted his watch "-- two hours?"
"You got it." Marty grabbed his time talkie and got out of the car. Doc gave him a final wave, then flew off into the wild blue yonder. Moments later, Marty heard a loud sonic boom, signaling Doc's departure back into 1986. Well, let's see what the space-time continuum has in store for me this time, he thought, putting his money and the time talkies in his coat pockets. Pulling his coat close around him, he headed for town.
Friday, September 2nd
3:17 P.M.
"Marty, do you copy? Over."
Marty grinned and ducked into the shadow of a corner shop. "Read you loud and clear, Doc. For a pair of cheap walkie-talkies, these things have great reception."
"I'll admit to tampering with them a bit. How are things looking out there so far?"
"Sorta like I just stepped into my history book." Marty watched a couple walk down the street, holding hands and grinning at each other. Marty smiled. "Though from the looks of it, some things never change."
"Any problems with staying discreet?"
"Nope. People are just ignoring me."
"Ah, good. So, what do you think of 1938?"
"It's familiar, but it's -- not, if that makes any sense. I mean, I recognize the place from 1985 -- or, really, from 1955 -- but it's still so different. The clock still works, the World War II memorial is missing, a bunch of the stores look way different, and some aren't even there yet." Marty watched a Model T putt along the road. "This is really heavy stuff, Doc."
"I would think so, to someone who hadn't lived through it. Did you have any problems securing appropriate clothes?"
"Nope. The guy you sent me to was great. Didn't ask a single question." Marty idly smoothed a wrinkle out of his trousers. "Although I can't say I like the color scheme all that much."
"If you wanted colorful clothes, you should have suggested that I drop you off in the 60s. I'm glad to hear things are going well for you. I'll contact you again in about 15 minutes."
"I'll be waiting, Doc. Over and out." Marty switched off his set and casually wandered back into the daylight. Nobody gave him a second glance. Never could have gotten away with that in 1955! he thought, remembering all the stunned looks he had gotten from the townspeople on his first trip through time. Then again, I wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. I wonder how these people would have reacted to--
"Oh, don't be silly, Arthur!"
Marty jumped, startled. That voice was awfully familiar. . . . He quickly turned around. Walking down the street was a fairly young couple -- Marty judged them to be in their late 20s or early 30s. They were pushing along a very antique baby stroller, and apparently having some sort of argument. With another start, Marty recognized them as his grandparents Sylvia and Arthur McFly. "Of course Georgie likes you, Arthur!" Sylvia continued. "He adores you! You're his father!"
"I dunno, Sylvia," Arthur said, rubbing his mustache nervously. "He doesn't look at me the same way he looks at you. You're his favorite, I know it."
"He's not supposed to! You're making a big fuss over nothing! Look at him -- he even looks like you! He loves you, Arthur. You'll see."
"I'm trying to believe you, Sylvia. Honestly. It's just -- I couldn't take that kind of a rejection."
Marty shook his head sadly. The minute he had met his Grandpa Arthur in the Twin Pines reality, he had suddenly understood why his father was such a wimp. Arthur and the old nerdy George were like peas in a pod, terrified of everything. Marty hadn't really gotten to know him any better in 1955, but he had overheard a conversation between Arthur and George about George attending college. Arthur had basically told George there was no point in even trying, disguising his rationale for failure as a homespun philosophy of not competing. It had made Marty almost sick to hear his father's plans shot down like that. And now here Arthur was, terrified that his own child didn't like him. What is it about McFlys that makes them scared of everything? I must be from some recessive gene. A really recessive gene.
As they continued walking and arguing, Marty realized that they were going to pass right by him. A nervous thrill went up his spine -- one, because he didn't particularly care to meet his relatives in the past again and maybe cause another mess, and two, because Arthur happened to be wearing the exact same coat Marty had on. Marty was certain they would notice -- and if non-confrontational Arthur didn't mention it, chatty Grandma Sylvia was sure to. Having her possibly realize it was the exact same jacket and start asking embarrassing questions was more trouble than Marty wanted to deal with at the moment. He had to escape somehow before they noticed him.
Keeping his eyes straight ahead, Marty quickly cut across the town square and ducked into the shadows surrounding the Clock Tower. Whew, that was a close one! Marty watched as Sylvia sat down on a bench and began playing with baby George. Arthur watched nervously, as if afraid to interrupt. Hey, Dad makes a pretty cute baby. Too bad he grows up to be such a wimp.
He sighed and adjusted his coat. Well, I'd better not stick around here. With my luck, either Mom's family or Biff's will show up next. I don't want to alter my family history any more than I have. Two sets of memories are more than enough. Where to go, though. . . .
He snapped his fingers. I know! John F. Kennedy Drive! Or, rather, Riverside Drive. I should be safe there, as long as I stay well away from Doc's mansion. Don't want to get in trouble. Grinning, Marty began walking.
Friday, September 2nd
3:30 P.M.
Riverside Drive looked very different, both from a 1985 viewpoint and a 1955 one. The road was paved differently, there was no sign of any of the small businesses Marty had seen dotting the street in 1955, and there was a lot more open space between houses.
And what houses they were! Marty openly goggled at the sheer size of most of them. Most had fancy doors, windows, and paint jobs, and practically all of them sported beautiful gardens. Everything about them screamed money. "Wow," he muttered. "I bet this is what Newport, Rhode Island looks like."
The walkie-talkie in his pocket crackled to life. "Come in, Marty. What's the report?"
Marty chose a tree at random and ducked behind it. "I'm here, Doc. I spotted Grandma and Grandpa McFly -- didn't talk to them, though. Arthur's as wimpy as he always was. He was afraid George -- at six months -- didn't like him."
Doc chuckled softly. "I see. It makes me wonder if Arthur learned that behavior from his own father."
"I don't know. I'll have to ask about great-grandpa William when I get back. Anyway, I skedaddled before they could notice me."
"Good idea. Where are you now?"
"Riverside Drive. Relax, Doc, I'm on the opposite end from your house," Marty promptly reassured the scientist, sensing his protest. "I just wanted a look around. Boy, there's a lot of mansions here in 1938!"
"Well, Riverside Drive and the surrounding areas did make up the rich neighborhood," Doc said. Marty could practically hear him blush.
"I'll say. This place looks really ritzy. But I don't remember there being this many fancy houses in 1955. What happened to them?"
"To be honest, a lot of the families in this time period are using their mansions as facades. The Depression ruined a lot of rich families -- mine was one of the few who kept their fortunes. The rest were trying to keep up a lifestyle they could no longer afford. In the 1940s, most gave up and sold their fancy homes, either moving or taking advantage of the newer, smaller dwellings being built."
"I see. Yeah, I was thinking about the Great Depression and all--"
"Hey! Kid! What are you doing here?"
Startled, Marty spun to see a large, rough-looking man in overalls glaring at him. He was holding a pair of hedge clippers in one hand -- apparently he was the gardener for the particular home Marty had chosen. "This is private property! Get off!"
"Sorry!" Marty yelled back, feeling rather intimidated. He normally wasn't one to be cowed by size, but this guy was a real ox. "I'll go!"
"Well, you're not going fast enough!" The ox suddenly grabbed a rifle from somewhere Marty couldn't see. "Damned Okies!"
Marty's chest tightened in fear. Ever since he had seen his best friend ruthlessly gunned down by Libyan terrorists, he had been nervous around anything to do with firearms. Especially ones that were pointed at him. "Doc, I gotta go! I'll call you later!"
Doc's worried "Mar--" was cut off in the middle as Marty switched off his set and made a run for it. The ox gardener followed, waving his gun and yelling. "That's right, get out of here you riff-raff! We don't want the likes of you around here! Goddamned Okies, trying to rob the lot of us blind! Go! Get out!"
"I'm going, I'm going!" Marty yelled back, staring over his shoulder at the man. The gap between them wasn't lessening an inch. Marty didn't know if he could outrun this guy -- but he was damn willing to give it a try! He was so focused on what was behind him that he didn't notice the other boy racing toward him -- until it was too late.
WHAM!