For Mary Jean Holmes, an excellent friend and mentor, who encouraged the creation of fiction in fanfic and has assisted me with my writing from all time periods.
From one writer of the Future to another....

"Change and growth take place when a person has risked himself and dares to become
involved with experimenting with his own life." -- Herbert A. Otto

"People do not change with the times, they change the times." --P.K. Shaw

Chapter One

Thursday, May 14, 1987
11:11 P.M.
Hill Valley, California

Clara Brown had seen a lot in her forty three years of life. Married more than ten years to Dr. Emmett L. Brown, a man far ahead of the times in which she had grown up, Clara had become accustomed to many changes in her life -- from the perhaps common ones of marriage and motherhood, to the rather unusual ones, such as the concept and experience of traveling through time. When her husband had approached her a few years back to broach the subject of uprooting the family to move nearly a century into the future, back to the times that had bred him -- and explained to her the reasons why it was so important -- Clara had swallowed the fears she had possessed and supported his proposal one hundred percent. It would be an adventure, she had thought at the time. A challenge. She had spent much of her years growing up dreaming and reading about far away, distant places, what it would be like to see such locations, and now was the chance to live somewhere that was beyond the comprehension of many of the people in 1890's Hill Valley.

In the year and a half since the move, Clara had had her share of culture shocks, being the one family member who had spent the most time in the Nineteenth Century. (Their sons, who had been born and spent most of their childhood in the late Nineteenth Century, had adapted to the changes of the future with the swiftness of most children adjusting to a permanent change.) She had, Clara believed, accepted all of the technological advances and devices fairly well for someone who, frankly, couldn't have once even dreamed of some of the commonplace items to which she had since grown accustomed to using or seeing on an everyday basis.

But one thing she resisted heavily in her new present was medical treatment. Clara dreaded check-ups worse than her children, worse than her husband -- even worse than Einstein when he had to visit the vet. The strange machines and the cold, unfamiliar, sterile settings made her extremely uncomfortable and uneasy. Clara felt foolish, being a grown woman, asking the doctors exactly what some of their machines did -- so she didn't. And her husband couldn't come with her on every appointment to follow her into the examination room and explain what everything was.

So, Clara avoided medical check-ups as much as she was able and had so far managed to visit the doctor for herself exactly twice -- once for a standard examination when her family had first arrived, back in November of 1985, and once when she had been battling a rather nasty chest cold. But by mid-May of 1987, she knew that it was time for another visit. Clara hadn't been feeling quite right for several weeks -- unusually tired, nausea that came almost every day and left her with little or no appetite, and sometimes a faint dizziness that would bother her when she was on her feet for long periods of time.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Emmett," she said to her husband in their room as they prepared for bed. She sat at her vanity table, hairbrush in one hand, and stared at her rather pale reflection in the mirror. "I've just been feeling so strange the last few weeks, so out of sorts. Almost like I have the flu or something."

Emmett Brown poked his head out of their bathroom and looked at her through her reflection. "A few weeks?" he echoed. "Why haven't you said anything before?"

Clara shrugged, tugging the brush through her recently cut hair; instead of cascading to her waist, the locks now stopped a few inches below her shoulders. Clara had cut her hair for several reasons, the largest being that her long hair was just so time consuming to take care of and, in the more modern times where she lived, it was not unusual in the least for women to wear their hair down and not pinned up all the time. Strangely enough, though, her hair had been one of the hardest things to change. After a few weeks in the 1980's, Clara had gotten rather used to wearing pants, even enjoyed the freedom that fashion allowed her, and sometimes took delight in wearing the make-up that was also quite common (though she was just as likely to do without it). But her long hair, which had been a part of her from as far back as she could remember, took her more than a year to finally cut into a more contemporary and convenient style. Almost as if by cutting her hair she had been cutting the last of her ties to her time, silly as that sounded.

"I don't know," she said in answer to her husband's question. "I suppose I was hoping it would go away on its own." Clara sighed heavily. "You know how much I hate the doctors of this time."

Emmett looked concerned as he switched off the bathroom light and joined her at the mirror. "Clara, if you've been feeling ill for a month now, you've got to see someone about that. Medical technology today is quite advanced and if it's anything serious -- God forbid -- we can have it treated. And if it's something that the 1980's haven't yet found a solution to... well, we can take you to the future and have it fixed."

Clara smiled wanly. "I know that," she said. "And I should probably see a doctor, you're right -- but all those strange machines and things they use are so unnerving...."

"But the earlier something is caught, the better," Emmett said. "If you let it go -- and a month is a long time, Clara -- it could end up being much worse and that much more difficult to cure."

Clara pulled the brush through her curly locks a shade too hard, earning a brief wince from herself as a few hairs were plucked from her scalp. "I realize that, Emmett," she said softly. "I'll make an appointment with Dr. Porter tomorrow." She swallowed, her nerves already kicking in. "I hope dearly that it's nothing serious."

Emmett gave her shoulder a warm squeeze. "I'm sure it'll be okay," he said. "But let me know the results regardless."

"Oh, certainly," Clara agreed, surprised that her husband would believe otherwise. She changed the subject slightly. "Is tomorrow going to be the day, then?"

Emmett blinked, mentally shifting gears to the topic Clara had gone to. "Tomorrow? Yes, I think it will be. We can do it after dinner. Does that sound okay with you?"

Clara nodded. "How long do you think it will take?" she asked.

"I wouldn't say more than a couple hours, all told. The only dicey parts will be getting into the various government and periodical buildings."

Clara thought about that for a moment as she continued to brush her hair. Several months ago, after a trip to the future, Emmett had suddenly started a new project that he and Clara had dubbed "Operation Family Tree." It wasn't a new invention; rather, it was a final attempt to tie up loose ends. It seemed that while on that trip to the future, first to get some electronic parts for a holographic projection system and later to retrieve Marty McFly, who had apparently stowed away on the first trip, he had discovered that someone would eventually figure out her and their children's origins. Though, according to Emmett, the man who had made the discovery shouldn't cause any problems for them now or in the future, it had really shaken him up to find someone in on their family secret -- and even more so that the information about their real birthdates and the like would be so readily available to anyone with a personal computer and some determination in just a decade's time.

So, after some discussion with Clara and a family meeting or two involving Jules and Verne, Emmett had decided to do something he had hoped it wouldn't come to -- fabricate birth and marriage records and do a little time hopping to put the new certificates in their proper places and remove the old ones. It had taken a couple months for the new records to be made, through some channels Emmett had told Clara flat out that it would be best if she didn't ask about. Now, those records were ready for the final step -- physically traveling back in time to put them in the government offices and to take the old ones away. The result would be a more or less total erasure of records that they had ever lived in the Hill Valley of the 1880's and 90's -- and that Clara had even existed prior to her "new" birthday in 1944. In addition to replacing records, Emmett also intended to visit the office of the Hill Valley Telegraph to remove the issues mentioning himself or their family from the archives. Clara had held her tongue when she heard of that intent, wondering if her husband wasn't being a little too paranoid. Yet she had agreed to help him with this mission when it was ready, and it now looked like tomorrow would be the day.

"You don't think it will be very dangerous, do you?" she asked. "Getting into all those important buildings?"

"Not so much in the 1800's, but by the time we get to the 1970's it'll be a little tricky," Emmett admitted. "I've got it all planned out, though, don't worry. I wouldn't have you come along if I thought it would be dangerous."

Clara sniffed softly. "But you would put yourself through danger?"

"That's not what I meant at all," Emmett corrected quickly. "If I thought there would be a great risk, I would allow those who I... commissioned to do this work to handle that aspect. But it would've cost me a great deal of money and I would prefer as few people as possible to know about this. Not to mention a third party couldn't remove the old records or the newspapers without noticing things that should not be noticed."

Clara saw his point. "I understand," she said. She sighed, closing her eyes and putting a hand to her head. "But I have to admit that I'm more concerned with seeing a doctor tomorrow than anything else."

"You'll be fine," Emmett assured her.

* * *

When Clara made her phone call the next morning, she was fortunate enough to get an appointment just a couple hours later that same day, due to a last-minute cancellation. The examination went better than she had anticipated. Once there, she found her nerves quickly soothed by the doctor, Deborah Porter, who listened to her carefully as she described her symptoms, ran a few tests, and promised to call her with the results of them as soon as they were in.

"You could just be suffering from something very minor," she said. "The symptoms you have aren't necessarily signs of a serious illness and I wouldn't worry about that." The doctor smiled reassuringly at Clara when she left the medical center to catch a cab outside. One of these years she intended to learn how to drive, but so far, her lessons by her husband and, on one memorable occasion, Marty hadn't had her move beyond empty parking lots.

Clara hadn't expected to hear from the doctor's office until Monday, but when the telephone rang in the late afternoon, it was a nurse from the medical center. "We have the results of your tests from this morning, Mrs. Brown," she said. "Your bloodwork looks to be normal, nothing in it to indicate any concerns. You turned up negative for all the tests we ran." The woman paused as Clara began to breathe normally again. "Except one."

Clara leaned against the kitchen counter for support, gripping the receiver so hard her knuckles went white. She was alone in the house, Jules and Verne still at school and Emmett out in the lab. "What's that?" she asked softly.

"You're pregnant," the nurse said. "Congratulations."

Clara gasped. The news couldn't have been more surprising to her. "I'm -- I'm pregnant?" she repeated, not certain she had heard right. "Are you certain?"

"Oh yes, quite," the nurse said with a chuckle. She heard the sound of papers being shuffled at the other end of the phone. "You're about... two months along now, meaning that sometime in December, you'll be having a baby."

"Oh my," Clara whispered, utterly astonished.

"Dr. Porter would like you to come in again next week," the nurse went on, but Clara hardly heard her. She managed to finish the phone conversation, set up another appointment, and then hung up. She quickly made her way to one of the kitchen chairs and sank down into it, her eyes wide as the news sank in.

"I'm going to have another baby," she whispered. "Oh, goodness, this is... it should be... impossible!"

But, apparently, it wasn't. It did make sense, too, now that she thought about it; she had felt similar symptoms in the early months when pregnant with both boys. Clara's heart thudded as she thought about the next few months -- she'd have to buy some maternity clothes and all the things for the baby. What were they going to do about sleeping arrangements, especially in light of the recent development of allowing Jules and Verne their own rooms? After months of discussion and just two weeks ago, Emmett had finally moved his second floor study to the first floor, where Clara's sewing room had once been, and she had moved her hobby into the window seat alcove in their spacious master bedroom. They couldn't very well make the boys move in together again, not unless they wanted World War III waged under their roof.

And the age differences between the boys and this one! Why, Verne would be ten years older than the baby by the time it would be born! And Emmett.... Clara swallowed hard at that, wondering what her husband would say about the news. Not quite a year ago, she had tentatively broached the subject of having another child and his reaction had been rather mixed. They were both getting older and, with the boys nearly old enough to be home alone, Clara had been thinking about getting a job to work outside the home or perhaps taking some classes at Hill Valley Community College to get her on the road to an eventual teaching degree she could use in this time. Now it looked like those would have to be postponed longer still, if not written out completely.

Clara sighed, resting her forehead in her hands as she leaned on the table. A quick review of her feelings -- aside from the shock -- and she realized she wasn't upset, not really. In fact, she had to admit, a part of her was almost relieved -- maybe because it meant she wasn't dying from some horrible illness, maybe because she enjoyed motherhood and had been thinking lately, more than once, how quickly the boys had grown up and how much she missed having young children in the house. It would be rather interesting to raise a new child now, in the new times. And maybe, just maybe, she would finally have a daughter -- not that she would've traded the boys for anything, but there was at least a tiny part of her that had been a little disappointed that she and Emmett had never had any girls. Now, here was a new chance.

"But what do I tell Emmett?" Clara murmured aloud. "And the boys?"

"Tell us what?" Verne asked from behind.

Clara jumped, having not heard them enter the house, let alone the kitchen. Jules, right behind Verne, looked at his mother curiously as his younger brother dropped his backpack by the coat rack next to the back door and went to the refrigerator to find a snack.

"Is there something we need to know about?" he asked.

Clara straightened up, quickly gathering what composure she could. "Nothing you both won't find out in good time," she said honestly. She stood, heading for the back door. "I'll be out in the lab, speaking with your father," she said. "There's some fresh fruit on the counter for a snack, which I recommend is much better than that sugary junk food you both so enjoy."

Verne already had a can of soda in his hand as his mother opened the back door. "Aw, Mom, you know it's my goal to rot all my teeth before I turn ten," he said. Clara shook her head as she stepped onto the back porch and then headed across the lawn for Emmett's lab. She didn't bother knocking, knowing that she could get into the lab quite easily herself, unlike other family members and friends. She pressed her thumb to the Identipad and waited a moment as the computer scanned her print, matched it with one on file, then opened the door for her.

Emmett was seated at a table in a corner of the room that had somehow become the lab's unofficial desk. He was both sorting through a folder of papers and writing something in a small notebook as Clara entered the room. He looked up after a moment, perhaps sensing her entrance.

"I think I've got everything organized for tonight," he said as she took a seat in a chair nearby. "I've managed to streamline our stops to about five to do everything we need to in order to make sure there's no chance of a nosy journalist discovering our secret." Emmett chuckled once as he shut the pocket notebook and set it on top of the folder. "It's a good thing we just had Jules and Verne -- if we had another child we'd have to add at least one more stop on our list."

Clara felt her cheeks flush at the remark. It couldn't've come at a worse time. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. "Emmett," she began softly.

The inventor looked up from the sorted papers. "Yes?" His eyes narrowed as he examined his wife. Perhaps she wasn't concealing her news as well as she thought she was. "Clara, is something wrong? You look like you want to bolt."

Clara shook her head. "No, not exactly," she said. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead before she could lose her nerve. "The doctor's office called."

"Really?" Emmett remarked. "Was everything okay?"

"I suppose so, yes," Clara said.

Emmett looked back down to examine some loose papers. "I told you things would be fine," he said.

"Well, actually, there was one thing," Clara said, lowering her voice. "But I should be fine in about seven months."

Emmett didn't look up. "Oh, really? Why is that?"

"Well, that's when the baby is due to be born."

The words hung there for a moment in the air. At first, Clara didn't think her husband heard her -- or, if he did, it wasn't sinking in. Then Emmett grew very, very still. He raised his head slowly, the eyes that met her filled with a startled sort of confusion.

"Say again?" he asked.

Clara smiled nervously. "Emmett, I'm expecting. We're going to have another baby."

Emmett blinked. "Are -- are you sure?"

"Oh, yes." Clara looked at him, at the plainly stunned expression that gripped his face. "You aren't happy, are you?" she asked, her heart sinking.

Emmett cleared his throat. "I just -- I wasn't expecting this," he said. "How could it've happened?"

Clara raised an eyebrow at him. "Emmett, what a question!"

Emmett stood up quickly. Now he looked like the one who wanted to bolt. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I mean... why now?"

"Why not?" Clara asked. "I know we're both getting older, but you said yourself, last summer, that women even older than me can have babies now, that it's quite normal."

"I know, I know," Emmett said rapidly, starting to pace around the room. "But... I... well...."

Clara swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat. "Emmett, this isn't my fault," she said softly. "It just happened. And I'll admit I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy about this. I know this is really sudden, but this baby is coming. You can't go back and stop it from happening."

Emmett slammed to a halt, looking wounded. "Clara, how could you even suggest a thing!"

Clara shrugged, blinking rapidly as her eyes filled. "Well, you're certainly not happy about this," she said, her voice trembling even as she struggled to control it. "I -- I know we talked about having another child before and you didn't like the idea--"

"Not true," Emmett interrupted. "I just thought that another Brown might shake things up a lot -- and you agreed."

Clara bowed her head, trying to hide her face from her husband. "Maybe so," she said softly. "But, Emmett, I really want this baby. It feels so right to me."

Emmett sighed softly. He came to her side, kneeling beside her chair. "Clara, I'm sorry if my reaction isn't what you expected," he said, lifting her chin up with his hand to look her in the face. He wiped away one of her spilled tears with his thumb. "I'm just rather surprised, that's all. You remember my reaction with the boys."

A half smile played upon her lips at those memories. "Oh, yes," she said. "I could never forget that."

"Well, this is the same thing. It'll just take me a few days to get used to the idea." Emmett paused, his face thoughtful. "It'll be all right," he said.

Clara felt a little better. "What should we tell the boys?" she asked. "When should we tell them?"

Emmett sighed again, leaning back and rubbing his forehead. "Well, I suppose as soon as possible," he said. "Maybe we could tell them tomorrow, take them out to dinner or something."

Clara fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "We'll need to figure out the room arrangements," she said. "I don't think they'll take kindly to the idea of bunking together again just two weeks after we gave them their own rooms."

"I'll figure something out," Emmett promised. "I've always meant to convert the barn loft into a study. If we did that, one of the kids -- Jules would be best, as he's oldest -- could live in the downstairs room. His room is also closest to ours, so it would actually work out rather nicely."

Clara turned the idea over in her head and found it to be quite reasonable. "I think that sounds very nice," she said. She leaned forward and kissed her husband quickly on the mouth. "I'd better start dinner now if we're going to be doing that traveling tonight."

Emmett froze as he began to stand. "No," he said.

Clara wasn't quite sure what the response was for. "I can handle cooking dinner, Emmett," she said, standing. "I'm not an invalid now, just because I'm going to have another baby. The doctor said I'm already two months along and--"

"That's not what I mean," Emmett said quickly. "You're not coming with me tonight."

Clara blinked. "Why not? We've been planning this for weeks."

"I know, but I don't want you to time travel while you're pregnant," Emmett said. "I don't know if that'll have any affects on the developing child or not, but I don't think it's something we should risk."

Clara mulled his words over and actually found he had quite a good point. "All right," she conceded. "I suppose that's a just argument. Are you going to go alone, then?"

"I'd prefer not to," Emmett said. "Another body would really help me out." He paused. "I suppose I could ask Marty. I know he doesn't like me springing things on him last minute, but I could always postpone it a day if he has a scheduling conflict."

"I think he'll help you out," Clara said. "But don't tell him our news until after we tell Jules and Verne first -- I think the boys might feel rather hurt if Marty knew before they did."

"All right," Emmett agreed easily. "I won't say a word to him about the situation."

Clara paused as she reached the door of the lab, still not a hundred percent at ease. "Emmett, do you really support this or are you just saying you do?"

Emmett, preparing to sit back down at his desk, straightened up to look at his wife. "I can tell you with utmost certainty that the idea will grow on me," he said, sounding as if he was choosing his words carefully. "Just give me a little time to get used to the idea of being a father for the third time."

Clara nodded slowly, realizing that was as much as she was going to get out of her husband at this point. He had reacted in similar ways when she had told him she was expecting Jules, and later Verne. Each time he had come around within a day or so and from that point forward had been even more enthusiastic than Clara about the prospect of being a parent. It would happen again with this one, she was certain.

It would just take a little bit of time.

Chapter Two

Friday, May 15, 1987
7:39 P.M.

Doc Brown stared at his notes for this evening's trip, the words before him frequently breaking up as he tried to review them. Thoughts that he didn't want to be thinking continued to intrude on his concentration of the evening's important project.

Clara's pregnant. My God!

Doc hadn't been expecting anything of that sort; frankly, he'd been more prepared to hear that his wife had some kind of serious illness than he'd been to hear she was going to have another baby. The idea of becoming a father for the third time made him feel two sensations he wasn't sure he enjoyed: nausea and a rapid heart rate.

It was exciting on one hand, but it was currently terrifying him more. Jules and Verne were nearly into the next stage of childhood, one that required less direct supervision. What about the financial obligations that a new child would bring? They were still living pretty well off the investments he had made and continued to make, but would another mouth to feed throw that out of whack? There would be important check-ups and visits to the doctor (Clara, after all, shouldn't have this child in the home at her age; a contemporary hospital was the smartest and safest way to go, and she would have to understand that if she didn't already), clothing and furniture to replace the stuff they had used with the boys and gotten rid of in another time, diapers would need to be changed and bought or laundered, there would be nighttime feedings, potential sibling rivalry, and by the time this child graduated high school, its father would be well into his 90's....

Doc sighed, massaging his forehead as the news continued to whisper and tug at his brain. He supposed there was one positive thing about the matter: with this child being born now, in this time, there would be no concerns about changing the future or concealing the true birthdate. Yet at the same time, he had to question his reaction to the news because of a lack of those particular worries. He'd had very valid excuses and concerns when Clara had become pregnant with Jules and Verne in the 1880's, about the children changing history. But now, with that worry out of the way, he should be perfectly excited about a new baby.

So why wasn't he?

Something beeped nearby. Doc leaned back and pressed the button to the intercom he had recently installed between the lab and the house. "Yes?" he asked.

"Marty's on the phone for you," Clara said.

"Thanks. I'll be there in a minute."

Doc stood and headed out of the lab for the house, picking up the cordless phone off the kitchen table as he passed through the room where Clara was still cleaning up after dinner.

"Hello, Marty," Doc said.

"Hey. Listen, my mom said you called earlier... what's up?"

Doc walked into the dining room, empty, although he could hear the sound of Verne playing videogames in the family room nearby. "Are you doing anything tonight?" he asked.

"Why?" Marty asked, not answering Doc's question.

"Well, I was wondering if you could help me with a project. I really need another person along and it should only take a couple hours."

Marty was sharp. "Let me guess -- it involves time travel, right?"

"Well, yes," Doc admitted, not seeing the point in denying the obvious. "Can you make it?"

Marty was quiet for a moment. "I guess," he said. "Jen and I were gonna hang out with Josh and his girlfriend tonight and watch videos at nine. Can we come back right after we leave?"

"That was the plan," Doc said.

"All right, then count me in. I'll be over in about ten or twenty minutes."

"Great. And thanks, Marty."

"No problem."

Doc hung up, returning to the kitchen to put the phone on its base so it could be charged. At his entrance, Clara looked up from loading the dishwasher.

"Will he be able to help you?" she asked.

"Yes. He'll be here in about twenty minutes." Doc thought hard as he walked the length of the kitchen once. "I think I've taken care of everything I can without actually time traveling. I've got the replacement certificates, the dates and locations where the documents are all located, the car is gassed up...."

"And the trip is safe, right?" Clara asked.

"It should be. If worse comes to worst, we'll get arrested."

"Emmett! That's terrible!"

Doc shrugged. "Well, it's a possibility -- and one I don't intend to see happen."

Clara looked uneasy now. "I don't know if this is such a good idea.... Are you sure it has to be done this way?"

"Absolutely. It's the only way we can make sure our family's future is safe from discovery some day. As communication technology becomes easier to use and more widely spread -- which it will in the next decade -- more and more of these records will be able to be accessed very easily by anyone around the world in a matter of minutes. We have to make sure there is no chance of this information being seen by the wrong people."

"I understand, I suppose," Clara said. She sighed. "I just wish you could allow more professional people to do this job."

Doc smiled at her, not without sympathy. "It would cost a great deal of money and, anyway, I'd prefer to do this myself. I'm dealing with a lot of potentially dangerous information for a third party to see, even if they would be people who might be paid to keep their mouths shut. The fewer who know of this the better."

"I don't like that idea almost as much as I don't like you doing this thing yourself," Clara admitted. "It all sounds so shady and dangerous to me."

"If we want to be sure that what happened to me in the future will definitely never happen now, we have to do this," Doc said. "Especially now," he added, dropping his voice. "You know, I don't recall any mention of another Brown from my experience in the future...."

"Perhaps we knew that you came from before we were aware of this one," Clara said. "Or maybe she was conceived after that journey."

"'She'?"

Clara blushed a little. "I'm sorry. Perhaps that's wishful thinking on my part. It does seem strange to me to call the baby 'it,' though."

Doc could understand, though thinking about the baby made him feel that strange sick panic again. He quickly redirected his thoughts to the more curious matter of the child's complete absence in the future. "Either could be true," he guessed. "Marty had looked through several articles about me and my future while we were there; even if you and the boys tried to conceal that information from me, Marty would have seen it. I suppose it's possible he just kept the news to himself.... I'll have to ask him after we tell him."

Clara set the last cup in the dishwasher and closed the door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel resting temporarily on the counter. Her chore done, she stepped over to her husband and slipped her arms around him, looking up so they were almost face to face. "Please be careful back there," she said. "Don't put yourself in some dangerous situation over silly pieces of paper."

Doc smiled at her concern, trying to reassure her about the planned journey. "I'll be fine, Clara. Why would I have asked you to come with me if I believed there was a danger in doing this?"

Clara pursed her lips together for a moment as she considered his words. "I suppose," she agreed. She leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Be careful," she said again.

Doc hugged her close for a moment, wishing he could convince her that things would be all right soon. "I'll be fine," he said, though he wasn't entirely sure about that. It wasn't the trip he was making that night that concerned him; it was the new baby again. If only he had taken to the news as well as his wife had! Time travel, Doc reflected wryly, seemed like a walk around the block when compared with the complexities of human emotions.

* * *

Marty McFly puzzled over Doc's phone call only a little as drove over to the Brown household. Doc calling him wasn't so unusual, but a time travel trip invite from the scientist was -- at least in the last year or so. Marty tried to remember the last time Doc had willingly induced a trip through time with another person without a crisis of some sort prompting him to do so. Maybe last summer's trip to a pre-Civil War Ohio would fall into that category; even then, however, he'd had a reason for taking a group back. Doc, Marty realized, never time traveled without some kind of reason, and now that he thought about it, that habit probably hadn't changed. It was like driving; why take the car out if you had no reason to do so? This night would probably be no different except that Doc hadn't mentioned anything recently about tonight's apparent plans.

Marty turned into the packed dirt driveway and parked his truck outside the carport, right behind the Brown's station wagon. As he got out of his vehicle he noticed that the house and lab were both lit up. Marty paused a moment as he tried to figure out which building to try first and finally settled on the lab. If Doc was planning to go out tonight, he'd probably be in there getting things ready.

Marty headed for the outbuilding, enjoying the warm spring night air as he walked. Midterms were currently bearing down on him at school, hard, since he had done so terribly in his classes at the start of the term. That wasn't his fault, not entirely, but he had to deal with the aftereffects of the low grades now in order to make sure that they weren't going to permanently affect his academic record when the school year ended in early June. It wasn't so much his parents' reaction that he was afraid of but repeating classes next year that he simply had to pass to eventually get a degree.

Marty sighed as he walked, trying not to think about that now. It wasn't the only thing in his life keeping him busy, although the other thing wasn't in the same category, exactly. He had quit his part-time job at the record store recently, due mostly to his shaky grades and wanting to spend more time with course work, but a flyer posted on one of the university's bulletin boards had caught his attention less than a week after he'd quit. The university's radio station needed someone to work the midnight to six A.M. shift on Sunday nights. What the hell, Marty had thought; he applied and had been hired after a brief interview the same week. The job paid little, less than his record store job, and the work was pretty simple -- playing pretty much whatever music he wanted and occasionally taking phone calls from the night owls and insomniacs of Hill Valley -- but he did have fun with it. He even got to play some of his band's music on the air, even if they weren't together anymore. Mondays were pretty insane, though -- he got through the day on about three hours of sleep. Marty was almost getting used to it, though, especially with the weird hours Doc had put him through over the years with time travel.

He glanced at his watch as he reached the lab, hoping Doc was right about this not taking long. Marty had been looking forward to tonight's double date most of the week and didn't want to cancel for any reason. He knocked on the door to the lab and waited only a few seconds before the door was answered by Doc.

"You're a little early," he said as Marty stepped inside. "Great -- that means we can get started sooner."

Marty looked around the room, as if the answer to this mission would be lying around somewhere in plain sight. The only thing he noticed was the DeLorean; the holographic effects were currently off, allowing the car to be visible. That itself was only slightly unusual. Since he had installed the Holographic Imaging System in the DeLorean, then the train, Doc had tended to keep the systems on when the machines were not being used. Sometimes they were invisible; other times they looked like something else. Doc's current favorite program for the DeLorean was the illusion of a junker car, so that he wouldn't accidentally walk into the DeLorean all the time as he sometimes did when it was invisible, and so that prying eyes wouldn't notice anything potentially worth stealing if they looked through one of the lab's windows.

"What's the deal with this trip, Doc?" Marty asked. "You were pretty brief on the phone."

Doc crossed the floor and picked up a brown folder from one of the tables. "I've been planning this for a while," he said, "but until tonight I didn't think you'd need to know because Clara was supposed to come with me."

"Why isn't she?"

"She... ah... she wasn't feeling well."

Marty narrowed his eyes as he looked at his friend, who suddenly looked vaguely uncomfortable. Doc can't be lying... can he? More importantly, why would he lie about something like that? "Really?" Marty said. "What were you two planning?"

Doc set the folder into a black backpack. "Do you remember when we stopped in the future a couple months ago and had that run-in with Jordan Smith?"

"How could I forget?" Something suddenly occurred to him. "He's not bugging you now, is he? Wouldn't he still be a kid or something?"

"No, he's not bothering me. But seeing something like that develop made me tremendously nervous, even if we did seem to fix that particular problem. Around that time, I started looking into some ways to prevent a discovery like that from ever happening, and decided it was high time to do something I've been putting off for years."

"What's that?"

Doc tapped the folder with one finger. "Fabricate birth certificates for Clara and the boys and a marriage license for Clara and me."

Marty was surprised. "You never did that? How the heck did you get your kids in school and stuff? Or get social security cards for them?"

Doc shrugged a little. "I lied. I told the authorities that the originals had been lost in a house fire. They bought that; it's not the first time something like that has happened. But the older certificates cause me more concern. They're still locked in the archives of Hill Valley and New Jersey, where Clara was born, as well as the deed to the land that was in my name a hundred years ago, birth and marriage announcements in the old HVTs...."

"Let me guess," Marty said, finally seeing a picture come together. "You're going to go back and steal the old articles and stuff to kind of erase yourself from existence and put the new ones in their place?"

"Precisely," Doc said with a nod.

Marty could definitely see the wisdom in that; he was actually amazed Doc hadn't done it before, what with the scientist's fear of paradoxes and all. "So where exactly do I come into all this? What am I supposed to do?"

"I need another person's assistance," Doc said. "Clara was going to help me out but... well, that fell apart at the last minute. That's why I never told you about this project. I thought that the fewer people who knew about it, the better."

Something about that sounded a little too familiar to the teenager. He raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Don't tell me -- you got this stuff made on the black market." Doc's silence was all the confirmation he needed. Marty couldn't believe it. "Jeez, Doc, how'd you do that? Actually, why did you do that? Remember that mess with the Libyans? Didn't you learn your lesson then?"

"That was a different matter entirely," Doc said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "In this case, I thought it would be best if I allowed those who knew how to do this sort of work to go about it. It did cost me some money, but not as much as it would if I'd had these... people place the certificates where I needed them to be."

"So we're going to do all that? Is that it?"

"Yes. I've outlined all our stops and where exactly we have to go -- mostly town and county archives. It shouldn't be unusually tricky to get into Hill Valley's, especially not in the 1890's, but things will get dicey when we go to bigger cities like New York--"

"Whoa! We're going to New York? Why?"

"It fits with the story people know about the family," Doc said. "Clara and I met and married in 1975 while I was in New York on a business trip for the university -- and that particular part of the story is true. I really was out there for a week in mid-December, attending a seminar about physics given at Columbia University. When I came back, however, I was strongly urged to retire, as the faculty had gotten too uncomfortable with my teaching techniques." Doc frowned, clearly still irritated about that. "A bunch of pompous idiots."

"So why did you retire, then?" Marty asked, knowing for a fact that Doc had done so in that year.

"Well, the retirement package they presented to me was quite generous. And I knew I'd need to make some great strides in the next ten years in order to achieve time travel by October 26, 1985. Anyway, as those in town now believe, we married in mid-December, but Clara couldn't come back with me because she was living in an Amish community and had to stay with her ailing parents. She didn't want to leave them, especially since the news of our elopement was what caused her father's heart attack."

"I'm surprised no one thought that was weird," Marty said.

Doc looked mildly insulted with the criticism. "It could happen," he said. "She planned to stay with her family until her parents died -- something she thought might happen sooner than later -- and I made as many visits as I could to see her. Once again, my frequent trips out of town to deal with time machine experimentation in those years support this beautifully. She stayed on even after becoming pregnant with Jules, then Verne, trying to raise them as her parents wanted them to be raised to make them happy. It explained why she was delayed so long before coming over here, why she and the boys reacted the way they did around Hill Valley for those first few months, and why I didn't tell anyone about the marriage and kids -- imagine my reputation then!"

"So if the kids were born Amish, why would they have birth certificates?"

"State requirements. But since they weren't born in a hospital -- both according to the cover story and in reality -- it'll be that much harder for someone to look into whether or not it's true."

Marty frowned a little, recalling the rumors of Doc's family history that had floated around town a lot in the last couple months of 1985. The gossips had made the most of it. "So your family finally got to move to Hill Valley once Clara's parents kicked off?" he asked. "Isn't that how it goes?"

"Exactly. And the money she inherited from them as their only child and family -- which was actually just investments I made that had matured very generously since we left the past and the time we returned -- helped us finally get a home and settle down together." Doc smiled, rather amused. "The town certainly had a field day with that tale!"

"Oh, yeah," Marty said, remembering. "I really felt for you and your family, though. Everyone just thought you were more crazy after that. God, that must've been tough for your family, on top of everything else...."

"They've adjusted and the town has as well," Doc said. "Anyway, once we get this last part taken care of I'll finally be breathing a lot easier!"

"How much are you changing things?" Marty asked, curious. "Is it just the years you've tampered with?"

"More or less. Of course, I had to change the places where Jules and Verne were born and where Clara and I married. But I allowed everyone to keep their birthdates -- I just changed the years as they needed to be. Clara's and my anniversary will remain the same as well."

Marty eyed the folder with a little bit of curiosity, but he didn't ask to see the contents. "What are you going to do with the originals? Keep them as family heirlooms or something?"

"Clara wanted to," Doc said. "But I plan to destroy them."

"Destroy them? Why?"

"If anyone saw them, they would pose a great danger to us all and it's a risk that I don't think we should take. It's like the sports almanac -- as long as the documents are around, they have the potential to cause trouble. If they were burned, however, the risk would be eliminated." Doc zipped the backpack up and slung it over one shoulder. He reached into the pocket of the coat he was wearing and pulled out a small notepad. "We'd better get going, now, if you want to be back by nine."

Marty looked at his watch. It was already closing in on 8:15. "Sure," he said. "Where's our first stop?"

Doc pulled out the DeLorean keys out of his pocket. "December 24, 1896," he said as he walked toward the time machine. "Hill Valley."

Chapter Three

Thursday, December 24, 1896
11:55 P.M.

Before they had left the present, Doc had taken a moment to shift the DeLorean's HIS to the invisible setting. Therefore, when they arrived on Christmas Eve in a Hill Valley over ninety years in the past, the only trace of their arrival that could be noticed by anyone looking in the right place at the right time would be three flashes of light and three sonic booms. If they were seen -- and the probability of that seemed low to Doc -- likely the phenomenon would be written off as thunder and lighting. The sky, he saw immediately, was overcast.

"This shouldn't take a very long time," he said as he peered down at the town, trying to orient himself. "The records were kept in files or folders in the town's courthouse right now. I'm not sure exactly where they'll be, but since tonight is Christmas Eve, I think we should be safe from discovery."

"Hope you're right, Doc," Marty said, his eyes cast down to the ground through his window. "They didn't have any burglar alarms or anything like that now, did they?"

"Hardly. And definitely not in Hill Valley. Electricity was still spotty throughout the town. At most, we'd run into a very human guard who might be armed -- this is, after all, still the frontier. But I had us arrive on this date on purpose; if there is any security, it will be drastically reduced tonight."

It seemed more than just reduced; as Doc landed the car behind the courthouse, he saw the square was deserted. He was more than relieved. It would make their job much easier, provided there were no unanticipated complications. Before leaving the car, he reached behind the seats to retrieve the backpack with both equipment and the new papers to replace the old, original documents. These ones wouldn't be replaced here and now, of course, but it would be better to carry the stolen documents in something than handle them all loose and chance dropping one.

"How exactly are we going to pull this off?" Marty wanted to know, making no move to open his door yet.

"I'm going to pick the lock to the side door," Doc said. "Wait at the door while I make sure the immediate area is deserted. Once that's confirmed, close the door and follow me."

He waited only long enough for Marty's nod before leaving the DeLorean. He made sure the car was locked, taking away its holographic costume for a moment to check, then reset it to the invisible mode with the small remote attached to the keychain. Doc had modified a car alarm remote control that allowed one to disarm their system from a distance into a switch to turn the HIS on and off right after the initial trip proved the invention was a little too realistic; he couldn't find the car at all while it was running on invisible. The only problem he had to be cautious about was accidentally hitting the button when it was in his pocket while in a close proximity to the car.

"Why'd you pick today to do this?" Marty murmured as they headed for the door.

"You mean our current time?"

"Yeah."

Doc lowered his voice to a whisper as he approached the door. "Due to the fact it is Christmas Eve, most people are indoors and at home. My family also left this time period for 1985 in the first week of December, so any documents we take shouldn't be missed by anyone. If we took them before the move, there was always the chance we might've needed to access them."

"Sounds reasonable," Marty said.

Doc held his hand up for silence as they reached the door. He placed his ear to the wood, straining his ears for any sound. Nothing he could pick up. Setting his bag down before the door, the scientist reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small tool that he had picked up somewhere in the future. The manufacturer claimed that it could disengage any lock in seconds. He slipped the tool into the lock and a moment later it clicked open.

Doc pushed the door open slowly as he slipped the tool back in his pocket. Again, he held still for a moment and strained his ears for any sound. The only thing he heard was Marty's breathing right behind him. The scientist made sure that his friend waited at the door while he pulled out a flashlight and clicked it on, sweeping the beam around the hallway before him. He walked down the hall once, seeing no sign that anybody was around. Slightly more comfortable now, he gestured for Marty to leave his post and close the door. He complied, walking quickly and quietly to meet Doc.

"Where're we headed?" he asked, the whisper echoing sightly in the uncarpeted hallway.

"The Hall of Records," Doc answered. "They were kept in the basement at this time." He handed the flashlight to Marty while he set his pack on the floor and pulled out two sets of mirrored goggles that he had also picked up in the future. "Put this on," he said to the teen, holding one of the pairs out to him.

Marty frowned in the dim light. "What for? It's hard enough to see already."

"These will help you out. Trust me. They're more sophisticated than you might think."

Perhaps deciding to humor him, Marty took the goggles and slipped them on over his head. "What are these supposed to do?" he asked, pulling them over his eyes.

"There's a switch on the right, next to your ear. Turn it on -- but turn off the flashlight first and it's extremely important that you don't look at anything bright or use those in a room already lit."

Doc could feel Marty's puzzled look as the teen fumbled around for the switches on both the goggles and the flashlight. "I feel like a-- oh my God!" He took a couple steps back. "What are these?"

"Night vision goggles," Doc explained, slipping the other pair over his head. "They take what light there is in a room and magnify it enough to allow one to see without using devices like flashlights. They're around in '87, but rather expensive, cumbersome, and a bit too sensitive to light, breaking easily."

"Why'd you bring these?"

"I think it might be much safer if we conduct our activities with these devices instead of using flashlights; it's less likely that we'll be spotted."

Marty lifted the goggles away from his eyes for a moment, perhaps checking to see the difference in perspective without them. "Smart," he said, slipping them back over his eyes. "Looks like daylight, more or less, except for that green glow. Is that normal?"

"Yes," Doc said, turning on his own goggles as he adjusted them over his eyes. The dimensions of the hallway came into focus, allowing him to see as well -- if not better -- than he might in the middle of the day. "Come on, let's make this quick."

The scientist led the way down the hall, into the main lobby of the courthouse, and down another hallway. Marty dragged his feet a little, perhaps sidetracked by the goggles, perhaps gawking a little at the interior of a building that was so much newer and in better shape than the one in their present. It seemed larger now, as numerous remodeling projects in the future to add offices and departments would gradually shrink the lobby and narrow some of the halls even more.

The stairs to the basement were at the back of the courthouse. Doc went first, slowly, making sure that this floor was as dead as the rest of the building appeared to be. Luck continued to be with them; he didn't see a soul around. When he was sure that the room was deserted, he set down his bag on one of the tables and explained to Marty what they needed to do.

"This is the Hall of Records, as it existed at this point," he said, gesturing around the large room that was filled with cabinets and drawers. "In our time it's much, much larger, so we're fortunate that we need to take care of this business now."

Marty looked around, a slight frown on his lips. "This still looks like trying to find a needle in a haystack," he said. "Please tell me you have something that'll make this easier than it looks."

Doc tilted his head to the side a little. "Sort of," he said. "They have this archive alphabetized for most of the documents. They're in separate categories, however." He pulled out a list of dates and names from his pocket and passed it to Marty to allow the teen something to reference. He had already memorized the list before leaving. "Why don't you take the deed and marriage records -- they're in clearly marked drawers across the room. I'll snag the birth certificates."

"All right," Marty agreed.

Doc stopped him as he started for the other side of the room. "Oh, Marty? Be careful that you don't touch anything else! Make sure when you remove the records for my family that there aren't any papers stuck to them or hiding within."

"Okay."

Doc headed for the drawers of the birth records nearby. He was slightly dismayed to discover that the birth records were alphabetized only by the first letter of the last name, meaning that he had to sort through every B name. He quickly discovered there was a faint method to the madness, however; the certificates seemed to be sorted into a vague chronological order. It took fifteen minutes of thumbing through each paper, but he found both Jules' and Verne's certificates intact. He looked them over carefully before closing the drawer, making certain that no other papers were stuck to them.

Full Name: Jules Eratothenes Brown
Born: January 2, 1887
Father: Emmett Lathrop Brown Mother: Clara Elizabeth Brown (Clayton)
Weight: 7lbs 9oz. Time: 2:17 A.M. Sex: Male.
City of: Hill Valley, California.
Signed on this date: 2 January 1887, William Peterson, M.D.

Full Name: Verne Newton Brown
Born: October 30, 1888
Father: Emmett Lathrop Brown. Mother: Clara Elizabeth Brown (Clayton).
Weight: 7lbs 2oz. Time: 3:23 A.M. Sex: Male.
City of: Hill Valley, California.
Signed on this date: 30 October 1888, William Peterson, M.D.

A sudden vision of a new certificate appeared before his eyes, this with a birthday in December of 1987. Doc's heart started to pound, his hands shaking a little. He blinked and the new certificate vanished. Don't think about it, he told himself. You'll have plenty of time to do that when you're back home. This is not the time nor the place to let this slip into your thoughts.

But he didn't believe that, not really. A part of him was more than a little relieved to be taking this trip without Clara, now that he knew about the -- he winced a little without realizing it -- baby. He was hoping that by the time he returned, he would feel better about the idea. So far, it wasn't working.

But we've got more stops to go, he thought, still clinging to the hope. At least four more. That should take several more hours, at least.

But the problem, he was beginning to realize, was that he was inclined to think this might take more than a few hours to wrestle with. It might take days, and they weren't going to be doing this for days. It wouldn't take--

"Are these it, Doc?"

The scientist jumped at the sound of the voice so close, the certificates for his sons fairly flying from his hands. Marty stepped back as Doc hurriedly bent over to collect the papers. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you heard me coming up behind you. Everything in this room echoes like crazy."

"I was... preoccupied," Doc said honestly as he straightened with the papers in hand.

Marty lifted his goggles up, resting them on his forehead. He stared hard at the scientist for a moment before replacing them, then looked at him a moment longer. "Something bothering you, Doc? You've seemed... I don't know. Like you've got something on your mind."

"I do have a personal life, Marty," Doc snapped. He apologized immediately as Marty drew back in surprise at the harsh retort. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm fine, honestly, just a little tense what with this project and all."

"Okay," Marty muttered. "I just thought I'd ask." He held out a couple papers clutched in his own hands. "I found these in the drawers over there. Is this what you wanted?"

Doc took them and looked them over carefully. "Yes," he said. "This is exactly what I needed. Thanks."

Marty shifted uneasily. "Um, I know you probably thought about this already, but... Didn't you get your place in the future by keeping hold of it now?"

"Yes," Doc answered. "And I believe I know what you're getting at -- if I take the deed now, I won't have proof of ownership with the property and we could potentially have a paradox on our hands. Correct?"

Marty nodded, looking a little relieved that this question was being treated better than the one before. "So, you've got it figured out?" he asked.

Doc nodded as he headed for the backpack. "I had a new deed doctored up to place here," he said. "I changed the names on it slightly so that it appears an Elizabeth Clayton owned the property."

"How the heck can that work?"

"Elizabeth is Clara's middle name; Clayton her maiden name. It can easily be explained that this person is related to Clara."

"Is that safe?"

"It couldn't be helped. The deed is too dangerous to remain here as it is now, but I can't allow it to disappear or the property and house may not be mine when we return. This is a compromise we'll have to take. The townspeople here believe that we moved away from town -- why would they believe we would never, ever come back? Besides, even in the original document, I included a stipulation that the property would remain ours for a hundred years or until it was claimed by a member of the Brown family of Hill Valley that was able to produce a copy of the deed. That's the most important aspect of this deed that allowed us to keep the land."

Marty looked increasingly confused. "So how did it get past your parents? Wouldn't the city approach them about it?"

Doc shook his head. "No. There was more than one Brown in town by the time they changed their name during the first World War. And, anyway, the city didn't want the land claimed; unless someone came forward to say that they had a right to the land and were able to provide documentation that proved this -- which I was able to do, with the proper papers that I had hidden in the cellar so the paper was properly aged -- they were going to wait out the December 1, 1996 deadline so that they could then claim the land."

"Oh," Marty said. "Do you want me to stick that where I found the original deed?"

"Please do."

While Marty went off to take care of the task, Doc retraced his steps around the room to make certain that they weren't leaving anything behind and that the room looked as it had before their arrival. Satisfied, he collected his family's real documents and slipped them into a side pocket of the backpack, zipping it up securely.

"I thought you were gonna burn that stuff," Marty said as he came over.

"I am -- but not here and not now. Better not to chance leaving any evidence like that behind." He slipped the pack over his shoulder and started for the stairs.

"So that's it? We're done here?" Marty sounded surprised.

"Not quite," Doc said. "We've got to visit the Telegraph office to get into their archive and pull the newspapers that have information about my family."

The HVT office took up most of the first floor of a brick building on the main street. Marty trailed behind the scientist as he headed to the newspaper office via back alleyways, craning his neck in an attempt to see how much the main street had changed. "There are a lotta new buildings," he murmured. "Looks like the town doubled in size."

"At least," Doc said, keeping his voice low. He pulled out the lock tool and easily opened the back door to the Telegraph building, stepping inside after a moment of cautious hesitation.

The newspapers were archived in the very back room, past the printing presses. They were stacked in piles according to dates, but discovering, say, the specific issue of July 15, 1887 would take a bit of digging, Doc saw quite quickly.

"What are we looking for here?" Marty asked.

In response, Doc pulled out another slip of paper from his pocket with the required dates written down. "Those are all the issues that contain any mention myself or my family," he said. "Thank God there aren't many -- I purposely avoided the media when I was back there, and had Clara do the same."

Marty scanned the list of a half dozen dates, then looked over at the stacks. "How long do you think this'll take?"

"However long is necessary. I'll take the first three issues, and you can take the last three."

Doc's issues were rather critical ones: September 8, 1885, where both he, Clara, and "Clint Eastwood" were mentioned in an article about the train accident; December 16, 1885, the date where his wedding had been reported in the HVT from the day before; and January 4, 1887, where Jules' birth announcement was located.

"You just want me to pull the issues when I find 'em?" Marty asked as he started to look through the dusty papers.

"Yes. And if there are more than one for the dates you have, take them all. This is the best way we can make sure that these particular issues don't end up on permanent record in the future."

Marty hesitated a minute. "What if they do anyway? I mean, maybe someone collects these things privately, or they have them stored elsewhere."

Doc made a face at such a possibility. "We're doing all we can," he said. "If that's the case, there isn't much else we can do at this point."

The scientist found the newspaper with his wedding announcement in it first, then the train accident and the birth of his firstborn. All three articles -- like the three Marty was tracking down about Verne's birth in 1888, a regional science award that Jules had won in 1893, and a mention of his and Clara's names when they had attended a critical city hall meeting about the construction of a library in 1895 -- were printed without any of their consent or real knowledge. They had granted no interviews -- rather, the information was taken as public knowledge and any quotes attributed to them were reported as heard by a third party.

Journalism, Doc reflected, was definitely a gossip-fueled business in small towns in the early days.

As he stacked the one or two page newspaper editions on the table by his bag, the scientist couldn't help examining his firstborn's birth announcement. It was almost as if his eyes were drawn there, even if the blurb was tucked away in the lower right-hand corner of the back page.

New Additions to Hill Valley

BROWN: To Emmett and Clara Brown, a son, Jules Eratothenes, January 2.

I wonder if we'll have a choice about them publishing an announcement in the HVT when this third child is born? he thought before he could stop himself. Doc knew he no longer had to fear the same danger that these documents posed, but the more than a decade-old habit of being careful about such things as he had done in the past was still with him at times. Was that why he felt so apprehensive from Clara's announcement? It was an interesting possibility, one that hadn't occurred to him before....

This time, when Marty came over, Doc wasn't startled. "Here're all the copies I could fine," he said, setting them down on the table. He picked up one of Doc's finds and examined the front page of the paper. Marty sighed softly. "So this was your wedding," he murmured, half to himself.

Doc looked over his shoulder to see the article himself, though he had seen it before -- Clara had kept a copy of it in her keepsakes.

Blacksmith, Schoolteacher Wed

Blacksmith Emmett Brown and schoolteacher Clara Clayton wed yesterday afternoon in a small ceremony at the Hill Valley Community Church. The couple became engaged in November after a courtship of just two months. Mr. Brown came to town last January, while Miss Clayton arrived in Hill Valley in early September to take over teaching duties after Miss Rebecca Jones passed away from a long illness last June. The ceremony was led by Reverend John Bishop at two in the afternoon. Seamus and Maggie McFly served as the witnesses.

The new Mrs. Brown plans to continue to teach in the schoolhouse until the town can find a replacement for her. The newlyweds will live in the schoolteacher's cabin after a honeymoon to San Francisco.

"Man, I wish I could've been there," Marty said with a sigh.

"Don't even think about it," Doc said, realizing what he was getting at. "Your coming back to that could create great problems."

"Maybe, maybe not. I was there when Jules was born and the world didn't end."

"But who is to say that wouldn't be true if you came to my wedding?" Doc asked.

Marty frowned. "Too bad you and Clara didn't make it back to the DeLorean in 1885," he said. "Then we wouldn't even be here."

Doc took the paper from his hands. "It didn't happen," he said. "And, trust me, I had the same wish more times than I can remember. There's no use in thinking that way."

"I guess," Marty said. He thankfully changed the subject. "Did you find everything you needed?"

"Yep." Doc took the stack of newspapers and slipped them into his backpack.

"Is it time to go, then?"

"Yes. We've got four more stops to make, and I hope they all go as smoothly as this one."

Unfortunately, that would not prove to be so.

Chapter Four

Sunday, April 16, 1944
3:00 A.M.
Kinsrow, New Jersey

Upon entering Clara's hometown, Doc was extremely careful to come in at what he knew to be a part of town still mostly made up of wilderness. Since the second World War was currently going on in Europe and the Pacific, the last thing he wanted to do was startle someone out of their wits with the triple sonic booms and flashes of light, having them think that a bombing raid was in progress. That sort of thing could definitely change history.

"Where are we?" Marty asked, looking outside, the goggles on his lap. "And when are we?"

"April 16, 1944, three in the morning," Doc said. "Currently, we're on the outskirts of Kinsrow, New Jersey."

"Kinsrow, New Jersey?" Marty asked, clearly surprised. "What's here?"

"Clara was born here in 1855," Doc said. "We're going to collect her original birth certificate, as well as replace it with one to show that she was born on March 30, 1944."

"I never knew Clara was born in New Jersey. Didn't her parents meet and marry on the Oregon Trail?"

"They did -- but they decided to return to the East Coast not even a year after their marriage. Clara's mother, who was quite a woman ahead of her times, wanted her children to have the best educational opportunities possible, not be confined to a life of farming. Kinsrow is where she was born, as well as her brother and sister."

Marty blinked as Doc lowered the DeLorean closer to the ground as they approached the center of town, where the records were kept in the city hall's basement. "I always thought Clara was an only child."

"Nope, she was the middle child. Her younger sister, Charlotte, died when Clara was eleven, from the diphtheria that made her ill as well. Her older brother, Christopher, was still around when we left, though I only met him once. He still resided in Kinsrow with his own family. His oldest child was almost a teenager by the time Jules was born."

"I never knew that."

"You never asked," Doc said.

Marty was quiet for a moment. "No, I guess I didn't. So, are we just switching certificates here? Do we have to mess around with newspapers again?"

"No. Her name was mentioned once or twice in newspaper issues during the time she lived here, but I don't think that's something to cause us much concern. Jordan Smith discovered her roots only because of the leads from Hill Valley in the Nineteenth Century; if those aren't there anymore, why would someone go out of their way to research Clara's life in the 1850's? Besides, even if someone wanted to do that, without the birth on record anymore, it could easily be written off as a coincidence or believed that another Clara Clayton moved here."

Marty sighed. "God, this is complicated," he said. "How the hell did you pull all of this together?"

"It didn't happen overnight, that's for sure," Doc said. He took the car closer to the ground and pointed to the building they were approaching. "There's our destination: Kinsrow City Hall."

The scientist landed the car, still in its invisible guise, behind the building, where there was a small courtyard. As he shut off the vehicle, he pulled the goggles over his eyes and turned them on, looking around carefully to make sure that the area was deserted. He didn't see any movement beyond the branches of trees stirring a little in a night breeze.

"This might be a little more challenging to pull off, now," Doc said. "There might be some form of security, possibly an alarm system." He paused, thinking about that for a moment. "Or perhaps not. Kinsrow isn't exactly a large, cutting-edge city."

"And they probably wouldn't rig archives now," Marty said. "I mean, who wants to steal that kind of stuff? Other than time travelers from the future?"

Doc scanned the outside world again. "Stay quiet out here," he warned. "And stay close behind me."

The pair left the car and made their way quickly to the back door of the building. The newer lock and bolt proved as easy to undo as the more antique security devices of 1896. Marty followed him inside and closed the door, but when the teen tried to follow his footsteps to make sure that the building was deserted, Doc stopped him.

"Wait here," he murmured. "If I'm not back within five minutes, I want you to leave and return to the DeLorean. Got it?"

Marty looked like he wanted to argue against that but nodded without a word. Doc walked through the first floor of the building, checking rooms and keeping a watch for any change in lighting that might signal a light illuminating a room. To double check that the glasses weren't fooling him into thinking an area was dark (though he doubted such a thing), he took them off a few times to strain his eyes in the darkness. Not a bit of light could be seen, save for the occasional illuminated "Exit" sign. Even the windows didn't help out, covered with blackout curtains.

When he was sure that they had the building to themselves, Doc returned to the back door. "Come on," he said softly to Marty, gesturing for him to follow.

The basement door to the archives was locked. The scientist quickly got the door opened, then stepped inside and gasped softly. The records in the city hall's basement filled hundreds of drawers and cabinets. Worst of all, they were unmarked by any system the scientist could see, aside from a numeric organization of some sort that gave him no clue to the dates inside the cabinets.

Marty took one look at the room and groaned aloud. "Jesus Christ! There's gotta be thousands and thousands of things here! How can we find one little document in all this mess?"

Doc headed for the first cabinet on his left. "There's a method to all this, Marty," he said as he opened one of the drawers. "They have to have some form of organization. As soon as we get an idea what it is, our search should go much faster."

Marty made no move to start looking through drawers. "Are you sure they even keep the old stuff here?"

"Where else would they archive something like that? It isn't as if they go through and throw away the old documents." Doc pulled a couple papers out of the drawer and examined them. "These look to be from January of 1935. Can you check some of the drawers around the room so we can narrow our search a little?"

Marty headed for the far end of the room, reporting a few minutes later that he had found August of 1910. After fifteen minutes, between the two of them, they narrowed down their search to one of the first cabinets in the room as the one most likely to contain Clara's birth certificate. The papers from March 1855 were so old and delicate that the scientist used the utmost care when prying each one free to check the name.

Marty watched from the sidelines. "I can't believe so many kids were born in this area back then," he said as Doc pulled out another certificate, saw it was for the wrong person, then filed it back. "I didn't even know people made birth certificates that far back."

"Of course they did," Doc said as he made another try. "And you must remember that this area of the country was much more populated in the 1800's than the entire West combined."

Marty grunted in reply, pushing the goggles up on his forehead as he reached for one of the blackout curtains nearby. He pulled a corner back and looked outside, a faint frown appearing on his face. "Was there a car parked outside when we came?" he asked.

"There might've been out front -- we never saw that portion of the building. Why, is there one out there now?"

"Yeah. Seems sort of weird, since it's the only car in the lot outside."

Doc froze in his search, straining his ears for any whisper of a sound. Silence greeted his efforts. "Perhaps it belongs to someone who lives nearby," he said, the answer sounding lame, even to his own ears. Marty looked at him skeptically, but allowed the curtain to drop back. "You don't see anyone outside, do you?"

"No. It's dead out there. Are you almost done? This place is starting to give me the creeps."

"As soon as we find Clara's certificate...." Doc pulled another paper free and glanced at the name. "Here we go! Clara Elizabeth Clayton. Born March 30, 1855. Parents are Daniel and Martha Clayton...."

"Great, let's go," Marty said, starting for the door.

"Just a minute," Doc said, quickly grabbing the teen's arm to stop him. "Let me finish exchanging certificates. Why don't you make sure that we put everything back where we found it? We don't want to accidentally leave a drawer ajar."

Marty sighed, sounding impatient, but started to circle around the room as the scientist closed the drawer, filed away the original certificate in the backpack, then pulled out the doctored one. He headed for the partially filled cabinet across the room, where the certificates from the current year were being stored. Finding March 1944 was easy, and Clara's certificate looked identical to the ones it was slipped between on her "new" birthdate. Doc had to hand it to his sources for the document reproduction -- they had done a stunning job.

"That's it," he said as he slid the drawer closed and picked up the backpack. "Next stop -- New York. Is everything back the way we found it?" he asked as he started for the exit.

Marty nodded as he slipped ahead of Doc. "Looks like it."

"Wait!"

The teen stopped and turned. "Now what?"

Doc felt around in his pocket. "I left the lock tool behind!" Seeing the beginnings of a frown on Marty's face at another delay, the scientist pulled out the car keys and tossed them to his friend. "Go ahead and get in the DeLorean. I'll meet you there."

"All right," Marty said. "Do you just press the button on this remote to shut off the HIS?"

"Exactly."

Doc turned and hurried back into the room, checking around the tables and cabinets where he had been. He found the tool after a couple minutes, resting on the tabletop where he had set down the backpack. Shaking his head at his close call of leaving an object from the future behind, Doc slipped it back into the pocket of the black trenchcoat he was wearing, left the archive room, and closed the door behind him. He walked down the hallway rapidly, already breathing a little easier now that they had just three more stops remaining... although those three stops would be the most challenging, being in New York in the 1970's, when alarms and other forms of surveillance could definitely be a problem.

Already thinking ahead to that and the gizmos that he had brought along that would hopefully allow them to escape detection, Doc didn't notice anything amiss until he was three steps outside and suddenly saw several forms before him. A light exploded into his eyes, blinding him for a moment as he fumbled to take the goggles off.

"Freeze!" a voice commanded sharply.

Doc blinked, trying to see past the white spots persisting in his vision. It wasn't helped that a flashlight continued to shine in his eyes. He couldn't see anything more than a few vague forms. Nevertheless, he held still, lifting his hands up with the goggles still clutched in his right hand.

"Drop whatever's in your hands!" the voice commanded.

Doc winced at the idea, knowing that the goggles would break if they hit the cement from that height. "I'll set it down," he said instead, moving slowly as he did so. He was almost certain they had a gun trained on him -- although who "they" were, he had no idea.

And where is Marty? Did he make it to the DeLorean?

"Back up against the wall, turn around, and put your hands there," the voice said.

Doc did as they asked. "Could you please take that light out of my eyes?" he asked as he felt hands patting him down. The flashlight beam was lowered, though it took a little longer for his eyes to recover. The scientist felt the backpack taken from him before he had the chance to react, as well as various contents being unloaded from both his coat pockets and those on his cargo pants -- everything from harmless items, like a comb or spare change, to futuristic devices, like the lock pick and a sleep inducer, brought along on the off chance they ran into someone.

And it looks like that wasn't much help, the scientist thought, scowling faintly as the implications of this were beginning to sink in.

"He's got nothin' else, Captain," Doc's inspector finally announced.

"Turn around," the voice said. "Slowly."

Doc did so. Still blinking a little, trying to banish the faint spots that danced before his eyes, he could see three men standing there, two in Army uniforms, one of them in plainclothes. One of the Army men held the flashlight and a gun aimed at the scientist; the other had a grip on Marty, holding a gun close to the teen. Doc looked over at his friend, remembering Marty's reaction when in an unusually close proximity to the weapon. His face was a sickly pale and he stared at Doc through wide, stunned eyes.

"What did you find on him, sir?" the tall man asked the man in plainclothes, who had taken Doc's belongings from him.

The citizen brought over the backpack and handfuls of odds and ends from the scientist's pockets to the Army officer. "I don't know, Captain," he said. "Looks like a lot of strange junk in his pockets...."

"Open the pack."

The civilian did as he was instructed. The young man let out a low whistle as he saw the documents inside. Doc closed his eyes for a moment, feeling ill. "Take a look at this, sir," he said. "The old man's been stealin' government documents!"

"I'm telling you, Captain, they're spies," the man holding Marty said, speaking up for the first time.

The captain frowned. "Hush it, Private. Get them cuffed and into the car. Spencer, give me the belongings, then continue your patrol. You've done well."

The man in plainclothes passed Doc's belongings, saluted the captain, then headed away from the excitement. Doc quickly sketched together a scenario. That man must've been checking around the building, noticed something suspicious, and notified the local military, he realized. He should've expected such a thing; it was normal for there to be civilian patrols during the wartime.

And now, due to that lack of foresight, they were being arrested by the United States Army.

Chapter Five

Sunday, April 16, 1944
5:41 A.M.

Marty didn't know what the hell was going on, but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He had spent most of the evening so far in a near constant state of confusion: first about the purpose of Doc's phone call and trip; next about why the scientist was behaving so strangely (even for him) and not at all wanting to share what the cause of that behavior might be; and finally, walking outside the city hall and being ordered to freeze and put up his hands by two uniformed men with guns.

After the last incident, both he and Doc had been handcuffed, ushered into a dark colored sedan, and driven a few blocks to the local police station. The building was staffed by only one man at that hour of the night, who took a look at the captives and promptly started to raise hell about how he didn't care who these people were who had been caught breaking into the city hall, it wasn't his jurisdiction. The military men then demanded to speak to the sheriff, but the single cop told them that Sheriff Stone was out of town on a family vacation and couldn't be reached. An argument of some sort ensued for the next hour, most of which took place in an office behind a closed door while Doc and Marty sat in the waiting room guarded by the private, who looked like he was itching for a chance to try out the pistol in his hand.

Finally, the captain returned and, by the look on his face, he wasn't happy with the outcome of the discussion. The time travelers were moved back into the government car, driven about half an hour, and brought onto what looked to be some sort of military base. Their captors said little to them, certainly nothing about who they were and why they were being arrested. Marty had a sinking suspicion that the news wasn't good.

"Doc," Marty hissed as they waited for the military men to be cleared for entry to a fenced-off portion of the base. "What are we gonna do? What are they gonna do?"

The scientist's lips barely moved as he spoke. "Stay quiet, Marty. We can talk later."

Marty sulked a little at that, wanting answers right now. But he supposed Doc had a point. There were too many ears around to have any kind of conversation, especially when it came to sensitive matters like the time machine.

The vehicle drove through the gates and stopped before a cement and brick building. They were led out of the car and into the building. The private and captain said nothing as they took their captives through a couple generic looking hallways. Their destination was a windowless room, illuminated by one light suspended over a wooden table with a couple chairs. It looked to Marty like an interrogation room that he'd seen before in movies and cop TV shows.

"The colonel will be here shortly," the captain said as they were finally uncuffed by the private.

"Wait!" Marty couldn't help saying. "Why are we even here? What did we do?"

The man scowled faintly. "I think you know the answer to that question," he said. He waited for the private to leave before following him. The sound of a lock clicking into place from the other side of the door was heard, then fading footsteps as they walked away.

"No, I don't," Marty muttered, frowning. He turned to Doc, who had taken a seat in one of the chairs. "Doc, what the hell are we doing here? What did we do that's bad enough the military's on our backs?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Doc asked, leaning back in the chair, arms folded across his chest. When Marty just looked at him blankly, the scientist sighed and started to tick off reasons on his fingers. "First, we were caught breaking into a government building. Second, we were found with government documents on us, all but confirming the suspicion that we weren't in the archives for a little late night research. Third, we're currently smack in the middle of a world war right now, meaning that the first thing these people are going to believe is that we're spies attempting to smuggle some kind of information to the enemy side."

Marty looked at him skeptically. "Yeah, right," he said. "We don't look like spies. And what could birth certificates have to do with that?"

Doc shrugged. "We should be more concerned that they now have items from the future in their possession," he said. "That includes the certificates -- all of them. They're going to wonder why I have documents from the 1970's, as well as documents from the 1880's, and why the names on all those documents have identical counterparts. Not to mention the DeLorean's out there right now. Granted, it's locked and invisible, but the potential of someone accidentally discovering it by walking into it is great." He sighed heavily. "I should've parked it on the roof...."

The gravity of their situation suddenly hit Marty. "Holy shit," he breathed, sitting down across from Doc. "And we thought the Smith thing was a mess. This is the freakin' military! If they find out about the--"

Doc halted the words with a sharp look. "We could be under surveillance right now, Marty," he said. "Watch what you say here."

Marty opened his mouth to say something else, but the sound of approaching footsteps made him change his mind and shut his mouth. Keys jingled and scraped outside the door; a moment later, it was opened by a tall, wiry middle-aged man and a shorter, slightly older man. Both were in uniform, though the younger man's dress was more elaborate. Marty guessed that meant he was of higher rank than the older man.

"I'm General Fleers and this is Colonel Markwell," the taller man said, the expression on his face one of practiced neutrality. "I understand you were both caught leaving the Kinsrow City Hall. Mind tellin' me what you were doing there?"

Marty looked at Doc for the answer to that question. The scientist cleared his throat. "A research project," he said, rather smoothly. "I'm in this area of the country on business, and by the time I reached the archives, they were closed for the night. Because I had to catch a train at dawn, there wasn't time for me to wait. So with the assistance of my... nephew, I decided to see the documents for myself."

General Fleers didn't appear to swallow that story. "Is that so, sir? Then what were the other documents in there from? Hill Valley, California's a long way from Kinsrow."

"They were part of my collection," Doc answered quickly.

"And the documents that bore dates and names from the 1970's?" Fleers stepped closer to the scientist, leaning towards him. "A time that's nearly thirty years in the future?"

Marty decided to speak up. "I think I can explain, uh, General, sir," he said, causing Fleers to really notice him for the first time. "You see, my uncle is kind of..." He twirled his finger near his ear and rolled his eyes. "This isn't the first place he's broken into, trying to make a family tree or something."

Fleers watched him through dark eyes under a set of bushy brown eyebrows. "Is that so? Then why were you with him?"

Marty blinked. "Uh, well...."

"State your full names," Colonel Markwell said, his deep voice more threatening than his superior officer's.

Marty and Doc exchanged a look. Fleers sighed impatiently when neither was forthcoming.

"You're going to be fingerprinted," he said. "And if you haven't guessed already, you're being held under arrest under suspicion of spying for the Enemy. Now you can choose to cooperate with us or you can chose not to." Fleers' voice hardened and he leaned forward on the table, staring intently at the scientist, then Marty. "If you chose not to, we can get our answers in other ways. But they may be quite unpleasant for you both."

"This situation is ridiculous," Doc said, scowling. "Neither of us are war spies. We've both been born and raised in America. Do we sound like we're German to you?"

"You don't have to be born in Germany to be working for the other side," Fleers said.

"Why would we want to?" Marty asked. "The Nazis were assholes and I'd rather kill Hitler than even bring him a cup of coffee!"

The general eyed the teen. "What's your name, son?"

"What's your name?" Marty countered, stalling for time.

"General Michael Fleers," the man said. "Now you tell me yours."

Marty looked over at Doc uneasily. Doc cleared his throat, remaining calm and collected. "I believe we both have the right to remain silent, last time I checked the laws."

The general's face darkened. "Colonel," he barked.

"Yessir?"

"Get me the ink and the forms."

"Yessir."

The older man left the room. While the general waited for his return, he walked slowly around the table, staring at the two time travelers.

"You are aware that we will find out who you are shortly, if you are indeed American citizens," he said. "Your fingerprints should be somewhere on file, especially yours, son," the general added, looking at Marty. "Unless you've dodged the enlistment, in which case there's just cause to sentence you to prison."

"Why are you holding us here with no proof of these wild accusations?" Doc asked, changing the subject.

"I believe we've already discovered some proof," the general said. "If you're not guilty of anything more than a simple break in, I don't see why you're having such difficulty with our questions. If you have nothing to hide, then you should be able to provide us with your names."

Doc said nothing, his eyes suddenly finding great interest in the tabletop before him. The general slammed a hand down on the table, hard, startling Marty so much that he nearly fell out of his chair. "I'm losing my patience, sir!" he growled.

Doc didn't flinch or look up. "As I said before, we choose to remain silent at this point in time."

The general drew back, almost like a snake coiling for an attack. His eyes narrowed as he directed a cold look at the scientist. "If you want to do that, there isn't much that I, as an American citizen, can do in good conscience to get that information." The words were nearly growled out, as if Fleers almost wished he wasn't on American soil so he could take stronger tactics to get what he wanted. "But we have no choice but to keep you here as prisoners."

Doc nodded once, though he looked as if he wanted to protest the arrangement. Marty definitely did and he didn't hesitate to get his two cents in. "I thought people were innocent until proven guilty," he said. "You're locking us up for no reason!"

The general straightened up. "If you stumbled across a man holding a bloody knife over a body, would you want that man in jail? Or would you want him allowed to still roam the streets and commit additional crimes while the justice system pulled together a trial and evidence?"

Marty didn't know quite how to respond to that. "We didn't kill anybody," he said. "This is completely different."

Fleers smiled thinly as he headed for the door. "No. You forget, son, that we do have evidence that you both were stealing documents from the Kinsrow City Hall." He left quickly, without another word.

Marty sighed. "Now what?" he asked, once the door had been locked and they were alone again.

"Now, we're going to be fingerprinted and put in a jail cell," Doc said. His brow furrowed a bit. "I wonder how they'll react when they don't find your prints on file at all and mine on the hands of a twenty-three-year-old...."

"Aren't you upset by this at all?" Marty asked, not understanding how his friend could be so calm. "This is serious shit!"

"There are better ways to use energy than in worrying," Doc said softly. "I just wish I could take my own advice about...."

The scientist didn't finish the sentence, nor elaborate on his comment. Marty stared at him, puzzled by the suddenly far-off expression on his face, one that looked vaguely troubled and a shade pale. He had a feeling that it didn't have anything to do with their current situation, which just aggravated his curiosity.

What the hell is going on with Doc now? he wondered.

He wasn't given much time to reflect about it. The door opened again and three men came in. One was the colonel, with a couple of inkpads and sheets of papers that appeared to be forms of some sort. "The general wants you both fingerprinted, both hands," he said, setting the materials on the table.

Marty looked at Doc, who had come back to the present to nod and roll his sleeves back. The teen did not like the thankfully brief ordeal, which made him feel uncomfortably like a criminal. The ink, perhaps more permanent than ones used in his times, stubbornly stained his fingertips despite the damp rag the colonel gave the both of them to wipe it off. When the military men had what they wanted, they took the time travelers from the room, down a flight of stairs, and into another windowless chamber that contained a couple cots, a sink, and a toilet.

"You'll get breakfast in a few hours," the colonel informed them. "After that, we might have some more questions for you -- and, I must say, sirs, it would be in your best interest to answer them."

"What is going to happen to us in the meantime?" Doc asked. "How long are you planning to hold us here?"

Colonel Markwell studied the scientist for a moment, his expression unreadable to Marty. "If you both answer our questions honestly and to our satisfaction, and you are cleared of any espionage charges, you might be fined for breaking into a public building and released. Or if we do find that you have ties to one of our enemies, you'll be held here while we see about negotiating a POW exchange with your country."

"What about my personal items?" Doc wanted to know. "My bag and the contents that you found in my pockets? I expect those back."

"Perhaps," the colonel said. "Anything we consider dangerous in civilian hands will be held back."

That sounded pretty vague to Marty. "The certificates are his personal property," he said. "You don't have a right to hold those back." Doc shot him a sharp look that Marty was able to read immediately -- keep your mouth shut. Marty closed his mouth, but not before he got a response from the colonel.

"The ones from Kinsrow were stolen," he said. "They must be returned." He nodded to them both, then the three men left.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Doc sat down on the edge of one of the cots while Marty remained standing. "What do we do, Doc?" he finally asked.

"Right now? We might as well get some sleep."

Marty blinked. It was the last thing he would've expected to hear. "What? You're kidding. We've gotta get out of here!"

"I agree, but there isn't much we can do right now."

"Wanna bet? We could do plenty. Anyway, I'm not even tired right now. I don't know what time it is here, but my body thinks it's only" -- he checked his watch, still left behind on the time of day from Hill Valley, 1987 -- "midnight or so." Marty stared hard at his friend, sitting on the cot and looking down at the floor. "Doc, what's wrong?"

"Isn't it obvious, Marty?" Doc asked without looking up. "We're locked up in a military base some thirty miles outside of Kinsrow, the DeLorean might be here with us by tomorrow if someone walks into it, and somewhere in this building they have items from the past and future that could cause great problems if left here."

"Besides that," Marty said. "You've been acting a little weird all night, even before this happened. What gives?"

"I'm fine," Doc said immediately.

"No, you're not," Marty said, unconsciously imitating his mentor as he began to pace the small cement room. "You never give up like this so easily. Never. Whenever we've been in situations like this before, you've worked your brain cells overtime trying to find a way out."

"Sometimes overthinking a problem can just make it worse," Doc said quietly.

"Not if our necks are on the line. Doc, you do know that your future is even more at risk than mine is right now, right? Your family might not even be there even if we can get out of here and get home."

Doc looked up, finally. "I'm quite aware of that, Marty," he snapped. "I don't need you to remind me about my family's endangerment!"

Marty took a step back at the harsh note in his friend's voice. It was the second time in the last couple hours that Doc had practically bitten his head off for asking a relatively simple question. Coming from the scientist, that was about as unusual as the way he was acting now. Something was up and Marty was completely baffled as to what, exactly, it might be. He was quiet for a minute as he mentally reviewed the last few days, trying to remember if he had noticed any change in Doc then. Much as he thought about it, he had to admit he hadn't. Then again, he hadn't seen his friend since Wednesday or so, when he had stopped by after classes to hang out for a couple hours. A lot could happen in a couple days.

"I'm sorry, Marty," Doc said, perhaps assuming the teen's silence was one out of hurt than thoughtfulness. "I'm just under a lot of stress right now about everything."

"Sure you haven't been replaced by a Doc B?" Marty asked, only half serious.

The inventor smiled faintly. "No, I'm the same person you've always known."

Then why are you acting so different? Marty wondered, but he didn't say the question aloud. If Doc didn't want to talk, there wasn't much he could really do about it. "If you are, then do you have any ideas yet on how we can get out of here?"

"No," Doc admitted. "But why don't you give it some thought? You don't seem as preoccupied as I feel."

Marty was willing to bet that was certainly true. He wandered around the room for a few minutes, examining the contents and nooks and crannies for any ideas. There was only one exit, as far as he could see, and it was currently locked up tight.

"You don't have another lock decoder thing in your pocket, do you?" Marty asked Doc, who was still seated on one of the cots.

"No, they took the only one I had. And I don't think exiting the way we came in would be the smartest move, anyway."

"Probably not," Marty said, disappointed nonetheless. He gave up, unable to see any way out of their small concrete room, and dropped back on the empty cot. "This bites," he said with a sigh. "We're trapped like--" The rest of the sentence froze on his lips as he suddenly noticed something he hadn't before. "Doc!" he cried, bolting up. "I think I've got it!"

MORE==>