"Act as if the future of the universe depends on what you do,
while laughing at
yourself for thinking that your actions make any difference." -- Buddhist saying
Marty McFly was busy shelving a new shipment of CD's and tapes when the phone rang at the music store where he worked. He and a few other guys were in charge of closing the store that night, and the manager -- a shaggy-haired guy who had dropped out of college the year before to pursue a career as a rock star -- had cranked up heavy metal over the store's loudspeakers.
Marty's current task was refreshing the stock out on the floor. It was pretty easy, but he was having trouble concentrating, partially from the loud music -- which, frankly, was giving him a splitting headache -- but mostly because he'd been working for twelve hours straight on his feet all day. One of the guys at the store had been desperate to have someone cover his shift so he could take off and spend a day at the coast with his girlfriend, so Marty had accepted the extra hours, figuring that the money couldn't hurt and knowing that Trevor owed him one. With his own girlfriend, Jennifer Parker, out of town working at a camp all summer, Marty knew that it would only be a matter of time before he'd need some time off to drive up and see her.
At any rate, he was exhausted, his mind already anticipating the end of his shift, and finding it that much harder to concentrate enough to figure out if Bryan Adams came before or after Aerosmith. Marty rubbed his eyes as he straightened the Journey display for the band's new album, "Raised on Radio," thinking how sweet it was going to feel sleeping in late.
"Hey, McFly!"
At the sound of his name, Marty turned around and saw fellow employee John Renolds standing at the counter, holding the cordless phone in one hand. "What is it?" Marty called, raising his voice to be heard above the screeching guitar riff.
Renolds waved the phone in his hand. "Call for you!"
Marty sighed and headed for the counter, his feet and legs complaining about the movement. "Who is it?" he asked, wondering if his parents were checking up on him or something.
Renolds shrugged, passing him the phone. "I don't know, some guy. He says it's an emergency."
Doc,
Marty knew instantly, wondering what the problem was. And how did he know I was working here tonight?"Yeah?" he said into the phone, hopping up to sit on the counter top.
"Marty? Is that you?" Emmett Brown's voice was faint, dwarfed by the Quiet Riot blasting through the store. "I can hardly hear you over all that noise!"
"Just a sec." Marty covered the mouthpiece. "Hey, someone turn that crap down! I'm tryin' to hold a conversation, here!"
A moment later the music was jacked down. "Thanks!" Marty called, returning his attention back to the phone. "What's up?" he asked Doc, unable to keep the exhaustion he felt from oozing into his voice. "And how did you know I'd be here?" he had to add.
"One question at a time, please," Doc said. Marty thought he sounded weird -- very brisk and businesslike. "I called your house and your mother said that you were still at work, and gave me the number."
"Whoa, wait -- you called my house? At this time of night? Jeez, Doc!"
The scientist ignored the question. "There's been a very interesting... development here today. And I absolutely need your assistance, immediately. Can you come over, now?"
"Wait a minute, Doc," Marty said, frowning. "What are you talking about? What do you mean by interesting development?" He lowered his voice, glancing around to see if anyone was eavesdropping before he spoke. "Does it have anything to do with... you know...."
"Yes," Doc answered without hesitation. "It does. And I'm afraid I can't tell you over the phone. It's something that you'll have to see to really believe or begin to understand."
"Doc, is it really that important? It's kind of late and I'm almost dead on my feet already. I can't deal with rushing off somewhere tonight!"
Doc sighed softly and lowered his voice. "It's important Marty. Very. I wouldn't have tracked you down in the manner I had if it wasn't. The futures of those we love and care about -- and I think the entire world -- may be at stake. I need you over here immediately -- I don't know how much time we have left -- and then I can provide you with a better explanation. Can you leave work now?"
"I don't know. I guess so."
"Good. Come straight here. I'll be in the lab. And hurry!" Doc hung up before Marty had a chance to say anything else. The teen stared at the phone for a moment, rather numbly, then set it back in its cradle and hopped off the counter.
"Hey, Keith?" he called out to the manager, stacking records on the other side of the store.
Keith turned around. "Yeah?"
Marty nodded to the phone behind him. "I gotta go now. That was my, uh, family. It's an emergency."
"Oh. All right, dude. Just don't forget to clock out."
Keith turned back to the records. Marty opened the drawer beside the cash register, wrote the time on his time card in the "out" slot, then shut the drawer and headed for the door, pulling out his car keys from his pocket as he went. His truck sat in the middle of the nearly deserted parking lot at the Lone Pine Mall.
During the drive to Doc's place, Marty replayed the conversation with the inventor in his head and started to worry. Doc's definition for an "interesting development" could be pretty frightening. And Marty didn't have a good feeling about the whole thing, considering that it had to do with time travel and was clearly important enough for Doc to track him down they way he did, this late at night. With the scientist being so damned elusive about the whole matter over the phone, Marty's mind had a chance to cook up all sorts of situations that could have happened, each one worse than the last. He was a nervous wreck by the time he reached the Brown place, fifteen minutes later.
Marty parked next to the curb, noticing that every single light was on in the restored farmhouse and in the old barn that Doc had taken over for his lab -- odd, considering that his wife, Clara, and their sons Jules and Verne should've been asleep in bed at this obnoxiously late hour. He felt more apprehensive than before as he left his truck, locked it up tight, then jogged across the lawn to the lab, his aches and pains forgotten.
The door to the lab was uncharacteristically propped open and Marty entered without knocking. He opened his mouth to call out, then closed it before a whisper of air could escape. Doc was slumped back in a chair at one of the worktables, on which a TV and VCR was rigged. His eyes were staring off into the static on the television screen, likely not seeing that which lay before him. The DeLorean time machine sat nearby, looking perfectly normal, and that made Marty feel a little better. One of his mental scenarios had that machine destroyed or damaged in some nasty way.
Doc blinked and looked over at the sound of Marty's entrance. He, too, looked as he should, though the teen immediately noticed the worry etched into his face, creating a number of lines that were normally not there. "Good, you made it," he said as Marty shut the door behind him.
"Yeah.... What's wrong, Doc? Why are all the lights on in your house this late? Were you robbed or something?"
The scientist sighed, the sound weary. "In a manner of speaking." He stood slowly, then gestured to the chair he had just vacated. "Have a seat, Marty. What I have to say might be a little confusing, but I'll do the best I can so we can get out of here as soon as possible."
Marty inwardly cringed at the last part of that sentence. "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute here," he said, holding up his hands. "Who said anything about leaving?"
"I need someone to help me, and you're the only one who can," Doc explained. "Please, Marty, listen to what I have to say before you argue with me about that." He glanced outside in the direction of the house, a sadness -- and, Marty wondered, was that a look of fear, too? -- flashing across his face. The teen didn't like that look and immediately dropped the idea of persuading Doc that he wasn't needed. Something was wrong here; something was very wrong. He sat down in the chair, his heart starting to skip uneasily in his chest.
"Okay," he said softly. "I'm listening."
Doc started to pace as he spoke. "I took the DeLorean with me today out of town for some routine mechanical work in the future. You know, rotating tires, changing the oil, checking up on the hover conversion system. I can't do that all myself, not unless I invested in some special equipment. And with all the devices built on and in that car, now, there's certainly no way I could chance taking it down to the local mechanics, not in this time. Anyway, because it took about an entire day in the future, I had opted to return home later in the day so I wouldn't throughly distort my internal clock. I told Clara; she knew to expect me at nine P.M. tonight.
"When I returned, right on time, I found the house was dark. Rather puzzling, since so far as I knew, Clara had planned to be home with the boys and it was a bit too early for her to go to bed, at least. I put the DeLorean away and checked the fuse box, wondering if something had blown. Everything was in order, so I continued on into the house. The back door was unlocked, I discovered at once -- and the house was completely and utterly empty. Clara's purse was in its normal place. The station wagon was where it should be -- never mind that Clara doesn't have her license, yet. There were no signs of forced entry, no signs of robbery. There were no notes telling me where they might be." Doc paused, rubbing the back of his neck as if it ached. "To put it mildly, I began to get a little worried."
"Oh my God," Marty said, his eyes widening. "Did you figure out what happened? Are they okay?"
"Yes, to the first question. I don't know to the second."
Marty opened his mouth to fire off another query when Doc picked up a remote from next to the VCR and began to finger it thoughtfully. "I don't believe I'd told you this quite yet, but I recently installed a couple of security cameras in the lab, around the time machines, as a precautionary measure. They're still in the testing stage, but I've got some motion detectors set up so that if something moves around the machines -- or in view of the camera -- the device will switch on and capture all the activity."
The teen arched an eyebrow at this news. "Did something happen to scare you?" he asked. "And why didn't you tell me?"
"It's always been my intention to improve the security around the lab, especially as I collect more things that could have tremendous repercussions if they were to be spotted. And I didn't tell you simply because it hadn't occurred to me over the last few weeks, especially since I hadn't seen you very much since you started your job at the mall."
Marty accepted that. Doc went on, steering the subject back to the matter at hand. "I returned to the lab after searching the house and looked around the building. That's when I got my first inkling that something... unusual was going on. The other time machine was gone."
"Gone?" Marty asked. "You mean the train? How could it be gone?"
"Quite easily, if someone knew how to operate it. My first thought was that Clara had taken it out, and the boys with her. But that made little sense to me, since I knew she would've left a note. And although I had taught her to operate the train in the case of an emergency, she wasn't terribly enthusiastic about it. So I decided to see if the security tapes had activated -- and found out that they had, indeed."
Doc paused as he shifted the remote around in his hand. "I found an explanation for both the missing machine and my missing family -- but even now I find it hard to fully accept, and I suspect you'll find it doubly difficult."
A cold chill snaked down Marty's spine. "What?" he asked softly, bracing himself for just about anything.
"I'll show you. You're going to have to see it to believe it."
The scientist started the tape playback in the VCR. A moment later the static filled screen shifted to a grainy black and white image of the main lab. Marty heard footsteps and saw a figure step onto the scene. The back of the person was to the camera, but it was clear enough that he had Clara gripped painfully by the back of her neck with one hand, and a gun dug into the small of her back with the other. Jules and Verne were following, clearly with reluctance and terror. A time was stamped at the base of the image: June 29, 1986, 5:03 P.M.
"Where's the other machine?" the man demanded in an oddly familiar, gruff voice.
"In the basement," Clara said softly, her voice carefully controlled. "The old rug over there conceals the trap door. Jules, why don't you show him where it is?"
Jules looked at his mother with an expression that clearly asked her if she was serious. Clara nodded once, as well she could with the intruder holding on tightly to the back of her neck. Jules didn't say a word as he dragged his feet, off camera, over to the place Clara had indicated. There was a sound of scuffling, then the man -- Marty determined there was no way the intruder could be female, not with that build and that voice -- dragged Clara with him, again off camera. Verne followed, afraid not to, by the expression of utter terror on his face.
"What's--" Marty began, but was stopped by Doc with a brisk gesture. The scientist fast-forwarded a little, 'til the scene abruptly switched to the cellar where the train was located. The bulk of the picture was focused on the second machine. Once more, due to the position of the camera, Marty couldn't get a good look at the face of the man. He leaned forward, onto the edge of the chair, and squinted hard at the grainy image on the screen, but it was just the wrong angle. Damn.
"Do you know who that is?" Marty had to ask as the stranger dragged Clara over to the train, the boys following.
Doc nodded once, his mouth drawn together in a tight, tense line.
"Amazing!" Marty heard the man say softly on the tape. "And this was accomplished in the Nineteenth Century?"
"Yes," Clara said.
"Fascinating." Something about the way the man said that word sent goosebumps running up and down the back of his neck. He knew that voice -- quite well. Was it Biff, maybe? The answer wouldn't come.
Meanwhile, the man was nodding to the train. "I want you all to get in."
"Why?" Verne asked suspiciously.
"Because I said so!" the man said, his voice immediately angry. "Don't mouth off to me!"
Verne shrank back, his lower lip trembling. Jules stepped forward, annoyed with this stranger for snapping at his younger brother. "Maybe if you'd tell us a little bit about who you are and what you're doing with us, you might find that Verne wouldn't be so apt to ask the questions that clearly anger you!"
What happened next happened so fast, Marty couldn't quite believe it. Without the slightest bit of warning, the man stepped forward (with Clara still tight in his grip) and used his other hand, the one with the gun, to slap Jules hard across the face. The blow was so strong that the ten-year-old was knocked off his feet and landed hard on the packed dirt floor.
"Shut up and do what I say!" the man ordered, tugging back hard on Clara's long hair to emphasize his words. She gasped in pain from the gesture as Jules reached up to touch his cheek where the man had struck him, his eyes filling with tears that were visible even on the poor quality of the recording. Verne went to his brother's side, silently, watching the stranger with an odd sort of shock on his face, something that Marty recognized from photographs of people recently caught in some natural disaster or accident. It was extremely disturbing to see it on Verne's face.
"Open the machine!" the stranger demanded, gesturing with his gun hand to the train. No one moved for a moment; the boys were clearly terrified to and Clara couldn't. After a moment, the woman cleared her throat gently and spoke.
"If you let me go, perhaps I can do that," she suggested, making an effort to hold onto her temper if the tension in her voice was any indication.
"And let you run off?" The man snorted. "I'm not here 'cause I'm stupid."
"And I don't believe you've earned yourself much choice, since you've terrified the boys so much," Clara said rather frostily.
The stranger didn't like that. He shook her hard, yanking once more on her hair. Clara squeezed her eyes shut and drew her lips together in a grimace, but didn't make a noise. "Then tell me how to open the damned door," he hissed.
Clara gestured to the latch with one hand. The stranger tentatively tried it, and the door popped open. The man was clearly startled by the way it opened, out, towards him, but concealed the surprise after a moment and dragged Clara with him into the cab of the train. Jules and Verne looked at each other, perhaps debating the wisdom of trying to escape, but the man appeared in the doorway a moment later, and Marty got his first good look at the guy's face. His jaw dropped and he could feel himself turn pale.
"Jesus Christ," he murmured, glancing at Doc in disbelief. The scientist nodded, once, then gestured for him to look back to the screen.
"Unless you kids want your mother shot, you'll get in here right now," the stranger on the screen said. "Don't even think of trying to run out of here, or I'll shoot you both."
He meant it, Marty knew without a doubt. The boys knew it, too. They both got to their feet, Jules holding his left cheek where he had been smacked, and reluctantly walked over to the train, getting inside. Once they were in the cab, the door was shut and Marty could only make out faint movement and shapes from within. The sound, too, was missing; apparently the microphones weren't sensitive enough to catch what was being said inside the train.
Doc stopped the tape. "They were in there for about ten minutes before the train came to life and headed out of the cellar," he explained. "Now I suppose you've got some questions."
That
was certainly an understatement! "Jesus Christ, Doc," Marty said again, the expression a gasp. "That was... was that..." He couldn't quite finish the sentence."Me?" Doc asked, completing the question for him. "I think you know the answer to that, Marty. That monster may look like me and sound like me, but any similarities end right there. Never in my life have I struck anyone the way that that... that thing struck Jules!"
"But he looks just like you! God! What the hell is going on?"
"I spent the last few hours trying to figure that out," Doc said, leaning against the edge of the table as if his legs might give out on him at any moment.
"You mind filling me in on what you think it might be, then?" Marty asked. "I think it's time for more telling than showing, now."
"Fair enough," Doc said. "As close as I can figure, another version of myself from an alternate reality arrived here at some point, found my family at home -- and they probably assumed that he was me -- and... well, he took them hostage and stole the other machine."
Marty frowned intensely, getting just the gist of what he was saying. "Let me get this straight," he said, holding his hands up. "Are you saying that there are two of you here?"
"Were
two of me here," Doc corrected. "Yes, that's what I'm saying. Allow me to explain in greater detail."Marty rubbed his forehead. It was a little too late for understanding this kind of bizarre, brain stretching stuff. "Just make sure it's in English," he suggested as Doc went over to the dry erase board at one end of the room. The inventor picked up the black pen and drew two lines, both horizontal and parallel to each other. Next to one he wrote "A" and under the other "B."
"Imagine that where we are now is this line of A," Doc began, pointing. "And B is another of many theoretical timelines that run parallel to ours. An alternate dimension, if you will. In each of these parallel -- or alternate -- dimensions are doubles of everyone who is in this line of A, our reality." Seeing Marty's confusion, Doc clarified. "Simply put, these would truly be our other selves. Not our past selves or our future selves, but different versions of ourselves that evolved in different ways due to different histories and life experience and worlds. Does that make sense to you?"
Marty waved his hand in a so-so gesture. "It's late," he explained. "I kind of get what you're saying, so go on."
Doc went on. "We've visited such places before, in our travels, when we've accidentally altered timelines. But so far we haven't run into entirely new versions of ourselves. I suspect one of two reasons for this -- one, when we come into an alternate reality, we somehow bump our other selves out of it because two of the same person cannot exist in the same dimension. Or perhaps we've simply not had the luck to see our other selves. In the alternate 1985 run by Biff, I was committed and you were in Switzerland. And in the alternate world created when we went to San Francisco, you had either never been born in the first place, or were residing far, far away, and I was dead."
"Yeah," Marty said, shuddering at the memory of that. "We saw your corpse."
"At any rate, these alternate or parallel dimensions or realities are either formed when we accidentally do something we shouldn't've in history, or they exist already and we have merely tripped the right kind of circuits to throw it in our path. Like you can switch trains from one track to the other at a switchtrack. There is a theory and some speculation that there are an infinite number of parallel dimensions out in the universe, one for each 'road not traveled,' as it were, but that we are doomed -- or blessed, depending on your perspective -- to experience only one."
"Unless you have a time machine," Marty couldn't help saying.
Doc nodded, pleased that he was following. "Yes, unless you have a time machine. Anyway, these dimensions or realities simultaneously exist with ours, but we're only aware of our own, most of the time. Think of it as a radio tuned into one station, and not hearing the others that still exist out there somewhere. But if you find the right frequency, you can pick up something else, something new."
Marty frowned at the analogy. "So does this have something to do with radio frequencies?" he asked.
Doc shook his head. "No, I'm trying to put it into terms you might find easier to understand."
"So.... basically, there are realities where I'm a different person because I grew up differently?"
"Well, that would be grossly simplifying it, but that's more or less the basic idea."
"Okay," Marty said, glad he was sort of getting it. "So how does this really tie in with what happened on that tape?"
Doc turned back to the board and drew a crude stick figure above each line. "I believe that my other self from a parallel reality created a time machine -- which, I speculate, perhaps failed him here -- and altered his history in such a way that it took him here."
Marty stared at Doc, his brow furrowed intently. "Can you dumb it down a little?" he asked.
Doc rubbed out half of the line of B and drew a new line from it, connecting it with line A. "Simply put, my other self did something in his history that changed things to bring him into this one." He erased the stick figure with line B and put it next to the stick figure of line A. "Thereby, two Emmett Browns are co-existing in this reality." He paused a moment. "I suppose it's possible that this version of myself found a way to intentionally travel between dimensions rather than through time, but for our purposes, we'll assume this was accidental."
Marty frowned, his mind skipping back to something Doc had said a moment before. "So, your other self is still here....?"
"No, he's gone -- with my family and one of my machines. And we've got to get both away from him, immediately. You saw how he treated them." Doc's face darkened at the memory. "And the idea of someone so obviously cruel and insensitive with a time machine gives me no comfort. Whatever he may do, it will not bode well for the rest of the world."
Marty swallowed hard at the ominous prediction. "So what can we do?" he asked.
"We'll follow them," Doc answered. "We'll follow them to see what he's planning on doing, make sure we undo anything he does -- and to make sure that he doesn't dare harm my family any more than he already has. If he should...." The inventor's tone alone threatened dire consequences. "At some point we must get the train and my family away from him."
"But, Doc -- this is a time machine you're talking about! How can you tail something like that?"
Doc reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a beeper, holding it up by his thumb and forefinger. Marty eyed it curiously, noticing that it looked smaller and sleeker then the ones he had seen before, encased in a transparent plastic that allowed one a glimpse of the wires and circuits inside. With his thumb, Doc flipped up a plastic cover on the front of the device and showed a small LCD display. Text was scrolled out on it, although Marty couldn't make it out at the distance he was at.
"Last week, I installed a new system into the train that would act as a form of security in cases like these - specifically, if either of the boys somehow made off with one of the machines, or if there was some sort of accident or event that prevented me from returning home. The timing of the system installation couldn't've been better, though I hadn't tried a test, yet, with the equipment." Doc smiled without any amusement. "Luckily, it worked as I thought."
"What?" Marty asked, wanting clarification.
Doc provided it without further prodding. "When the time machine reaches eighty-seven miles per hour, it'll automatically emit a signal to the beeper with a readout of what was input as the destination. So long as we are in a location when the other machine jumps elsewhere, we can know where -- or when -- this other self is and follow him immediately."
Marty held out his hand for the beeper and Doc passed it to him. The teen looked it over carefully, surprised at how light the device was. "Does your other self know about this?"
"Extremely doubtful," Doc replied. "I hadn't mentioned it to Clara or the boys yet, not until I was sure it would work. And you can't tell a signal is being sent out."
Marty squinted at the tiny LCD display. "So they went to... March 5, 399 B.C. in Athens, Greece at 4:00 P.M.?"
"That's what I'm assuming." Doc took the beeper away from Marty, slipped it into his pocket, and looked at him. "I know this is a lot to swallow."
"No kidding!" Marty agreed. "My brain is killing me, trying to understand it."
Doc nodded once, his face grim. "Can I count on you for your help?" he asked.
Although he was still exhausted -- and, now, more than a little uneasy -- the teen didn't hesitate at once with his reply. "When do we leave?" he asked.
"Now," Doc said, already turning to the DeLorean. "I've already prepared things for our journey and the more time we spend here, the more damage that bastard is doing to the space-time continuum -- as well as the welfare of my family."
Marty raised his eyebrows as he stood, wincing a little as his feet immediately complained about being used once more. "What should we call him?" he had to ask as Doc slipped into the car. "Just so I can keep this all straight in my head."
Doc frowned as he stared through the windshield and started the car, Marty slipping inside as he did so. The large double doors before the car began to slide open. "I suppose we can refer to my other self as 'Doc B,' since he's from the theoretical reality of B," he said after a moment's thought. "Would that work for you?"
"Sure," Marty said. The doors finished opening all the way and Doc wasted no time putting the car in gear, switching on the flying circuits, and racing up to eighty-eight. Marty looked down at the Brown property as the scientist steered the vehicle over the wooded portion of it at the back, wondering if this would be his last glimpse of home as he knew it.
Don't even go there, McFly,
he told himself immediately. They would succeed and everything would be fine. Doc would accept nothing less.
The dark night dissolving into a bright, blue late afternoon sky dazzled Emmett Brown's eyes. He squinted, shifting his gaze away from the windows for a moment to the shadows of the DeLorean's cab and give his eyes the chance to adjust. Marty recovered quicker and stared out the side window, craning his neck as he looked below.
"Wow," he said, sounding awed despite the serious situation. "Check out the view, Doc!"
Doc didn't take Marty up on the suggestion. "Check the sky around us," he said. "The train is almost certainly airborne and we need to see in which direction they're headed."
Marty looked away from the ground and did as Doc asked, scanning the horizon. "Hey, if we came in here at the same time they did, how come we didn't arrive right on top of them?"
The question was valid and Doc didn't hesitate in providing an answer. "The train left several hours before we did, meaning that the rotation of the earth had changed. That can have an influence on the precise location a time machine arrives in, unless nothing is changed for a destination -- which is why you didn't end up in different spots in Hill Valley when jumping from 1985 to 1955, for example. So, although the train is theoretically in the same time and place we are, it could be anywhere from a dozen feet to a couple miles away, depending on the size of Athens, now."
"Oh, all right." Marty glanced at Doc as the scientist slowed the car around and peered out the window. "So, once we find the other machine and all, what are we supposed to do here?"
"Follow this so-called Doc B to see where he goes and see what it is he has planned," Doc said. "I know little more than you at this point." He shifted his eyes to the ground below, catching a rather impressive view of the ancient Greek city, now with fully intact buildings and populated with tiny people.
"Isn't it going to be a little obvious to him and the others in this time if we're scooting around in a flying DeLorean?" Marty asked.
"Yes," Doc admitted. "And I considered that. Once we see where they settle down, we can join them nearby and then go after them on foot."
"Then what? Just follow this creep? Go after your family? Take the train and strand him here?"
"In a perfect world, we could do all of that," Doc said. "But unless we can easily access the train -- and that would include actually spotting where it currently is -- our only option may be to go after Doc B and see why he's gone here in the first place. And anything he does, any action he takes against this time or the people here, we must undo. If he changes history to a degree that it drastically affects our future, we won't be able to get home again."
"Great," Marty said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Sounds like this thing should be a cakewalk, then."
Doc carefully rotated the car on its horizontal axis, scanning the surrounding sky for any bit of evidence of the train. But it was Marty who spotted something.
"Over there," he said, pointing to the left. "I saw something big slip behind that hill."
Doc quickly took the DeLorean in that direction, ignoring the nagging of his conscience telling him to land and conceal the time machine as soon as possible. It wouldn't do, of course, to attract the attention of the contemporary population with a flying car from the future, but it also wouldn't do to lose sight of the other machine and the individual driving it.
They made it over to the area where Marty had spotted the car in a minute, and Doc caught a glimpse of the smokestack in the midst of a scattering of trees. It was all he needed. He promptly pulled back on the wheel and the car banked sharply, tossing about unrestrained objects in the cab. Marty gasped at the move, his hand snaking out to grip the handle in the car door.
"Jeez!" he managed after a moment. "What'd you do that for?"
"I don't want him to spot us, not yet," Doc said, driving away rapidly while taking the car down. "I don't know how he'd react to being followed -- by another version of himself, no less -- and I don't intend to experiment with that while he has my family and one of my time machines in his hands."
"Smart, I guess," Marty said. He turned to look in the direction of the train as Doc landed them perhaps half a mile from it, in a rather rocky, rural area. "What do we do now?" he asked as the scientist shut the machine down.
"Change into something a little less conspicuous," Doc said as he opened his door.
Marty blinked, glancing down at the unbuttoned black and blue patterned shirt, light blue t-shirt, and jeans he was wearing. "Like what?" he asked, immediately suspicious.
Doc popped the hood of the DeLorean and raised it up, coming up with two sheets in hand that he'd tossed in when frantically preparing for the trip. He passed one over to Marty when the teen got out of the car. Marty accepted it with a raised eyebrow, his question silent.
"Makeshift togas," Doc explained. "I doubt we'll be here terribly long, so just throw that over what you're wearing." He pulled out a handful of safety pins from one of his pockets and set them down on the car bumper.
Marty held the sheet up an arm's length away and eyed it. "Sure..." he said slowly. "Why don't you give me a demonstration?"
Doc did just that, draping the sheet over one shoulder and pinning it securely. Marty followed the example a little more awkwardly.
The teen smiled a little as he looked over at Doc. "I never thought that we'd be parading around in bedsheets in another time," he admitted. "Not terribly authentic, is it?"
"It's better than nothing," Doc said, tugging at the sheet as much as he could to conceal his late Twentieth Century clothing. "I somehow have the feeling that this is going to be just the first of many temporal outings for Doc B, and taking time to change into legitimate period clothing is something we won't be able to spare."
Once the "togas" were on, Doc leaned back into the trunk and pulled out a couple pairs of small objects. "Here is one of the language translators I got from the future, and here's a two way radio I also got there," the scientist said, passing the small pencil eraser-sized translator as well as something that looked very much like a small wristwatch. "The radios are pretty self explanatory -- you wear it on your wrist, and when you want to speak into it, bring it up to you mouth and do just that. It'll activate automatically, and output the sound through the translator, right into your ear. Nifty little gadget, and much easier to use in a public area without provoking unwanted attention."
Marty examined the radio watch for a moment, clearly impressed. "Nice," he commented, strapping it onto his left wrist, above his watchband. "Are we gonna split up?"
"If necessary," Doc said, slipping on his translator and radio watch. "I think that's everything," he added, slamming the hood shut. "I have the beeper. If we happen to be separated when Doc B leaves, I'll let you know and we can rendezvous back here."
Once Doc secured the car up again, the two of them left the cave and started walking down a rocky incline in the direction of the outskirts of Athens and the general area where Doc B had taken down the train. The view from the height they were at was rather spectacular, an amazingly blue ocean visible and the sun in the sky. Despite the clear weather, however, it was only about sixty degrees out, with a brisk breeze. Fairly cool, considering that they were both currently used to the summer heat of northern California.
"What are we gonna do when we catch up with Doc B?" Marty asked. "Ultimately, I mean."
Doc shrugged at the question. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm not sure if he could return to where he came from, and I don't favor the idea of taking him back to the future with us. Leaving him in the past or in the future could cause a number of problems as well."
"So what's left?" Marty asked. "Killing him?"
Doc felt a little ill at that idea, never mind that Doc B had abducted his family. "I hope to avoid that," he said. "I don't particularly want the blood of an alternate self on my hands."
The hike to the Greek city took about half an hour, and as they grew closer to the center of it and saw more and more people, Doc was a little dismayed to find stares directed towards himself and Marty, no doubt due to their makeshift togas. He did his best to ignore it and concentrate on scanning the crowd for a sign of his evil twin, so to speak.
"I can't believe how different things look now," Marty said softly, his eyes all over their surroundings. "Everything is so alive and real."
"Of course," Doc said, not as affected by the hustle and bustle around them. "And while I understand that it may be difficult for you to avoid it, please concentrate on the task at hand. We didn't come here for pleasure."
"I know," Marty said. "But how are we supposed to track your double?"
"Keep our eyes open, I suppose," Doc said.
Marty frowned faintly. "You know, I think I have a better idea. If he's here now, it probably means this date has some kind of historical significance."
"Not necessarily," Doc said.
"But there's one way we could find that out," Marty said, and before the scientist could stop him, the teen stepped over to a short, bearded man milling around nearby and said, "Uh, 'scuse me, but is there anything historically big going on today?"
The Greek citizen stared at him, though whether it was from what Marty's question or his clothes, Doc couldn't tell. The inventor watched helplessly from a few feet away, inwardly shuddering at Marty's unsubtle technique but knowing that marching up to stop his friend now would just make the teen's question all the more suspect or unusual in the eyes of the locals. "Pardon?" the man asked.
"Is there anything historically important happening today? You know, like someone important dying now, is anyone having any kids, is there some kind of war going on? That kinda stuff."
Doc had to wonder how the translators were working through Marty's casual slang. By the expression on the man's face, it wasn't doing a terribly authentic job. "If it be important events you ask of, you should know that the philosopher Socrates is to be executed at sunset this evening," the man said. "He was charged with neglecting the gods and corrupting our youth."
"Socrates?" Marty repeated. "I've actually heard of that guy! Where is he now?"
"The Parthenon."
"Thanks."
Marty returned to Doc's side, his eyebrows raised. "What do you think?" he asked. "That sounds like a pretty big deal to me."
"Indeed," Doc said. "I suppose it warrants checking into." He glanced up at the sky, recalled the time on the DeLorean's display, and guessed that sunset wouldn't be terribly far off. "I think we've got an hour, tops, to find the philosopher before he's supposed to die. You didn't ask for directions to the Parthenon, did you?"
Marty blinked. "I didn't even think about it," he admitted.
"Well, there's no doubt it shouldn't be too hard to find. Come on."
Doc led them deeper into the city, his attention split between examining the buildings for their goal and searching for Doc B. "Do you think this other you is actually gonna be stupid enough to try and change history with this?" Marty asked as they went.
"Presumably he did something foolish enough to end up in my world," Doc said. "And the way he shanghaied my family brings me little comfort."
"Right, I guess so.... But how do you think he'll deal with Socrates, if that is the thing he's going after?"
Doc glanced at the teen for a second before continuing his scan of the surrounding area. "Do you know anything about the incident?" he had to ask.
Marty half shrugged. "I've heard of him," he said. "But I must've slept through history class that day. The whole history of ancient Greece was kinda dull to me when we got to learn about it during my sophomore year. The teacher focused mostly on all the political crap back then."
Doc frowned faintly, silently disagreeing with Marty's assessment of that aspect of history being dull, but dutifully offered the information his friend lacked. "In our history, Socrates dies from drinking hemlock, a sentence brought on by those in power disagreeing with his philosophies and teachings and believing that he was a threat. From that point on, he was seen as a martyr, sticking by what he believed in and not denying the charges filed against him."
"So you think Doc B could change that? Wouldn't he have more luck not doing it the day of the death sentence, or whatever it is?"
"We don't know that he intends to change it," Doc reminded him. "I suppose it's possible that Doc B could've interfered and allowed Socrates to live. Or even killed him before he willingly drank the hemlock. It could all be a moot point, though, since we still don't know if my other self is even there."
Doc turned a corner and saw the building that was the Parthenon. The ruins of it were still standing in the future, and it was a rather odd sensation to see it entirely whole, surrounded by equally whole buildings, and populated with plenty of people in appropriate dress. "There it is," he said to Marty. "Socrates should still be alive in there, unless the man was wrong about the time of his execution."
Marty squinted at the building. "It looks kind of familiar," he said.
"It should. It's one of the more famous structures that is still standing by our time."
"Oh." He paused a moment, frowning thoughtfully. "Should we split up? One of us in there and the other out here, in case Doc B comes by?"
Doc considered that a moment, then nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. "I suppose. Why don't you stay out here and keep a watch for Doc B and I'll go inside, since I have a better idea what Socrates looks like. Call me the moment you see anything!"
"Where should I start looking?" Marty asked, his eyes scanning the crowded streets surrounding them.
"Anywhere nearby," Doc replied. "Just don't wander off far enough to get lost. I'm hoping that if Doc B indeed came down into the city, he won't be dressed like the Greeks, making our job a little easier."
Marty nodded at the words, and they split up. Doc kept a sharp eye out for his other self as he approached the Parthenon, but he saw nothing unusual. Ascending the steps of the famous historic building, Doc noticed that a crowd was starting to gather inside the marble structure. He edged his way into it as gently as he could and saw Socrates in the middle of the gathering, his wrists bound and armed, guards bookending him. Doc shifted his eyes away from the philosopher, curious to see the rest of the room's layout, when something snagged his attention, drawing his eyes back to re-scan the area that he had flicked over.
His eyes locked on what his brain had unconsciously noticed a moment later, and Doc felt his heart skip as he zeroed in on it. Another Emmett Brown was standing on the opposite end of the room, scowling faintly, dressed in what looked to be a makeshift toga, in the same fashion as his wide-eyed counterpart.
"Great Scott!" he whispered, unable to avoid staring at his alternate self. Doc B didn't appear to see him, instead watching the philosopher with a dark, calculating gaze. Before the scientist could tear his eyes away from his other self and plot a quick course of action, he heard a nasty -- and, thankfully, brief -- squeal of feedback directly in his ear, then Marty's voice. "Doc, are you there?"
Wincing from the feedback, Doc ducked behind a pillar at the back of the room and lifted his wrist with the radio microphone to his mouth. "Marty, I was just about to contact you," he said softly. "I've located my other self in here!"
"That's impossible!" Marty replied a moment later. "I'm following Doc B right now! We're right in front of the Parthenon."
"Great Scott!" Doc gasped, realizing his mistake. "How'd I overlook something so obvious?"
"What is it, Doc?" Marty asked, another loud burst of static accompanying his words. Doc looked cautiously around the marble pillar, past Socrates. Doc B was still there, doing nothing more threatening than watching the doomed philosopher.
"There are two of me -- or, rather, two Doc Bs," he explained in a low voice into the microphone. "One of these Doc Bs is the one that apparently altered history the first time -- so that his past history became mine. The other Doc B, the one we followed that has my family and the train, appears to be trying to keep himself from altering history!"
"Huh?" Marty asked.
"Remember when we went back to 1955 to retrieve the sports almanac from Biff, and there were two of me and two of you there?" Doc didn't give Marty a chance to answer, plunging ahead. "Well, this is the same principle. It appears that there will be one Doc B from before and one from now." Doc sighed as more things occurred to him. "This is going to be twice as hard as I first suspected."
"What makes you say that?"
"If I'm spotted by either of these alternate selves, there are going to be a lot of questions -- particularly from the first Doc B." The scientist rubbed his forehead, the headache he'd been dealing with all evening threatening to worsen. "It's going to be pretty inevitable that the second Doc B will notice me after a while."
"This is getting pretty heavy," Marty said, his voice crackling with static. "Is there anything I can do out here?"
"Don't let either of the Doc Bs see you! I'd prefer to keep the first Doc B from discovering our presence at all, and to postpone discovery by the second one as long as possible. I don't know if they'd recognize you, but they definitely will know me. I suppose it depends if your other self was friends with my other self in their reality."
"Okay. We're on the steps of the building right now. Should I stay close to this Doc B when we get inside?"
"That might be a good idea. But don't interfere in his actions. If he intends to stop his past self, then it saves us the job."
"All right. Over and out."
Doc turned his eyes to the doorway of the building. A moment later he saw the other Doc B enter and immediately beeline for the back of the room, where the crowd would block him from view of his past self. He was, Doc noticed, dressed in the same clothes that he had been wearing on the video when he had abducted Clara and the boys -- what looked to be a leather trenchcoat over a rumpled black and white geometric print shirt and dark brown cargo pants. The newcomer Doc B's eyes were focused in the direction of his past self and Doc was relieved that he was, so far, not noticed by either.
A couple beats after Doc B entered, Marty arrived. The teen looked around and craned his neck a bit, trying to see past the crowd. Doc kept his eyes on his friend, reluctant to do anything that might call attention to himself and catch the eyes of either of the Doc B's.
Doc spoke quietly into his radio. "Marty."
Marty froze, bringing his own wrist up to his mouth. "Doc?"
"I'm behind the third pillar from the door," the inventor said, watching him. Marty looked over at the pillars, got his bearings, and finally spotted Doc.
"I see you," he said into the radio, walking towards Doc as he spoke. "Now what?" he added softly when he reached his friend's side.
"We've got to make certain that Socrates drinks the hemlock as he did in our history," Doc whispered, looking between the great philosopher, and his other selves. "If something happens to prevent that, then we must intervene."
"Even if it means being seen by your other selves?" Marty asked softly.
Doc looked outside one of the doorways. The sky was deepening in color. Sunset was possibly ten minutes away. "Even then," he concluded after a bit of hesitation. "But only if there is no other alternative. Understand?"
Marty nodded.
A few minutes later, with the room packed to the walls, a woman with long golden hair entered, bringing with her a ceramic cup. She handed it to an official-looking man near Socrates, then departed. The crowd grew quiet as the man stepped forward, towards the philosopher, and frowned at him.
"Socrates of Athens, you have been charged of neglecting the gods and of corrupting our young," the man said. "We have decided that the drink of hemlock is to be your punishment. Have you any last words before your death?"
"Yes, I do," Socrates said, his head up and his voice clear. Before he could say more, a voice from the crowd broke in.
"Why should you die now from the opinion of a few? Surely there is more to do in your life, more wisdom to share with us."
Doc recognized the voice of himself. It was from the Doc B they were tailing, the one who had stole his family and time machine.
Socrates looked over at him, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the unusual clothes. "I do not have a choice in the matter," he said with a faint accent coloring his words, no fear or regret on his face. "I believe that I have done what I can with the life I was given."
Doc looked at the other Doc B, wearing a stunned expression on his face. He started to edge away from the center of the group, towards the doorway.
"I don't believe that you should have to die yet," Doc B said, coming closer to Socrates, pushing his way past the people none too gently. "You could teach us so much if you lived longer!"
"Does Doc B have a translator, too?" Marty asked in a low voice, staring at the scene before them. Doc blinked at the question, only then realizing that Doc B was apparently speaking the same foreign language as the natives.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Perhaps he knows fluent Greek. If he's from a different reality, it's possible that he was educated differently than I was. I learned German, French, and even a bit of Latin in school, but I've forgotten almost all of it now, since I rarely put it to use in the last couple decades. Perhaps he didn't let that slide, and in fact studied up additionally on his own."
"But what's he trying to do?" Marty wondered. Doc held up a hand for his silence as he tried to keep up with the unfolding conversation.
"I don't believe there is anything that can be done to prevent my death now," Socrates said in reply to Doc B's last comment.
"There is," Doc B insisted. "Isn't it true that if you admit to the charges brought against you, there will be a lesser price to pay than your life?"
Socrates looked at the man who was holding the cup. The man nodded. Doc was puzzled. He had never heard anything about such a choice given. Was it something that history had neglected to mention, or something that was isolated to Doc B's world history?
"So tell them that all your words were lies," Doc B urged. "And you can be freed, able to leave this city and go somewhere new. I would do that if I were you."
Socrates frowned at the proposal, though if he was annoyed with Doc B's words or just thinking was unclear. If it was the second option, then Doc knew he had to speak up to persuade him otherwise -- but he didn't want to reveal himself to Doc B, not yet. Damn! Scowling as he thought, Doc realized there was a third option. He looked at Marty.
"Say something," he whispered, tilting his head towards the middle of the room to indicate what he meant.
The teen stared at him as if he was crazy. "What?"
"Go out there and tell Socrates why he must drink the hemlock," Doc explained quietly. "That's how it happened in our history, and I think it occurred differently for Doc B, if his comments are any indication. There's a chance that he doesn't know who you are, so if you speak up he won't be as suspicious as he would if I was speaking."
"What do I say?" Marty asked, taking a reluctant step forward, away from the pillar.
"Tell Socrates that he must stand up for what he believes in and that if he doesn't drink the hemlock, it'll be a contradiction of everything he's ever taught," Doc said. "Say that and I'm sure he'll listen."
Marty sighed, then raised a hand and waved it in the air, as if he was an eager student desperate to be acknowledged. "Hey, Socrates, you have to drink the hemlock!" he called out to the philosopher. Every head in the room turned to stare at him. "If you don't it'll be like you're contradicting everything you've taught people!" Marty glanced at Doc. "Uh, what did he teach, anyway?" he whispered.
Socrates eyed Marty for a moment, then nodded. "You're right," he said. The Greek man looked at Doc B. "I must agree with this young man. To deny these charges goes against my principals and what I have spoken about all these years." He looked at the man holding the cup of hemlock and nodded once. "I am ready."
"Wait!" Doc B protested, clearly surprised by this turn. "You can't do this! It might be too soon!"
Socrates took the cup of hemlock in his hand and looked at the people around the room, his eyes finally coming to rest on Doc B. "The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways -- I to die, and you to live. Which is better, the gods alone know."
That said, he lifted the glass to his lips and drank all the poison. He smiled calmly at the crowd when he lowered the glass. Doc B looked horrified, then furious. He whirled around and pushed his way through the Greeks, roughly shoving more than one person to the floor on his way to the door.
Doc took Marty's arm and dragged him toward the back of the room. "It's not a pretty sight to watch someone die of hemlock poisoning," he explained softly. "And I believe Doc B is on his way out. Let's go."
Marty followed without protest.
* * *
Outside, the sky was growing darker and stars were starting to pop out in the eastern horizon. Marty followed Doc down the worn marble steps of the building carefully, his sneakers wanting to slip out from under him more than once on the tractionless stairs. When they reached the bottom, the scientist stopped and glanced around, a frown on his face. "I don't see him," he said, frustrated. "Do you?"
Marty looked around. "No," he said. "Doc B must've hauled ass!"
"Damn!" Doc swore. "We've lost him!"
Marty sighed a little, already tiring of this chase. "Doc, what exactly are you planning on doing to yourself?" he asked. "If we catch up with him?"
"Capture him, if we can, collect the time machine and get my family away from him, and make sure history is back so the future will be as we left it," Doc answered without hesitation, walking briskly forward, his stride so long and rapid that Marty had to trot to keep up. "After that, I don't know. In spite of what he's done, I don't think I can kill him -- but I also can't bring him back to where we live, or leave him somewhere else in time. It's a paradox of my own."
"Great," Marty muttered. "So how are we gonna figure out where the train is if we can't follow him?"
"We know where it is now; it's just a question of how to get there on foot. Our best bet is to return to the DeLorean now and see if we can beat Doc B back to the train."
Almost as soon as Doc concluded his plan, there was a roar from overhead. In a time before airplanes routinely roamed across the skies, it was something quite unusual that attracted the attention of every single person outside and in earshot. Marty looked up and saw the bottom of the train whooshing over them, moving rapidly despite its size. The people on the ground gasped as one at the sight and Marty heard Doc sigh deeply at his side. The time machine sped away from the city, vanishing shortly with a bright flash of light and earth-shaking rumble, leaving a trail of flames behind. Less than a second before it punched through the time barrier, Doc's beeper went off with a piercing chirp. The scientist quickly shushed it as the Greeks looked at one another, in shock from what they had just witnessed.
"Let's go," Doc murmured to Marty, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the path that would lead to the DeLorean. When they were away from the locals and curious eyes, Doc stopped his rapid walk, pulled out the beeper, and held it up to examine the display. Marty tried to see what the readout said, but there wasn't enough light for him to catch the letters on the LCD readout.
"What does it say?" he asked finally.
"July 17, 1232, Parkington, England, 6:45 A.M.," Doc said, flicking the plastic cover back over the display, then pocketing it once more before resuming his walk. Marty followed him.
"What's there?"
"That was during the Crusades in Europe," Doc explained over his shoulder. "Beyond that, I'm not sure. I've never heard of that place in England, the date doesn't ring a bell, and I don't know what Doc B would want to do there."
"Maybe it's something that wasn't big in our history -- or a big deal at all," Marty offered.
"Perhaps." Doc stopped, looking back at the teen with a faint frown of irritation. "Marty, can you pick up the pace a little? We've got to go after my other self as soon as possible, so we'll arrive closer to his arrival point."
"S'cuse me for not having long legs like you," Marty said, annoyed. He apologized right away. "Sorry, Doc, forget it. I'm just tired."
Doc didn't seem to mind, waving his hand at the apology and walking fast once more up the gently sloping hill. Marty sighed to himself and tried his best to walk faster. Despite the comfortable shoes he had on, his feet were killing him. He'd been on them all day, first in the music store and now here. But he also knew that if he took a break, he wouldn't be able to get up again, not for a while, anyway. Best to keep moving and not think about it. "If we've gotta travel on foot a ways back there, can we get some horses?" he asked.
"We'll see," Doc answered, the answer not giving Marty much hope.
Ten minutes after that, they reached the DeLorean. Doc unlocked the doors and pulled the sheet off his clothes before getting behind the wheel. Marty also yanked his sheet off and stuffed it behind the seat, shivering a little as he dropped into the seat. It had gotten a little chilly outside since the sun had gone down.
"Why don't you enter the destination time?" Doc suggested as he started the car.
"What was the date again?"
Doc pulled the beeper out and handed it to Marty. Marty carefully punched in July 17, 1232, 6:45 A.M., Parkington, England as Doc activated the hover conversion on the DeLorean. The scientist wasted little time in getting up to eighty-eight, and as Marty looked down at the ground, he saw the Greeks staring up at them, pointing.
So much for subtlety,
he thought with a faint smile. He could only hope that history wasn't going to change because the Greeks had seen strange flying vehicles from the future.
This time when they entered the new location, the train was visible up ahead. Or so it was to Doc. "There it is!" he exclaimed, pointing straight ahead.
Marty leaned forward in his seat and squinted hard in the early morning light. After a moment he saw a dark speck glittering against the clouds. "You're sure that's it?" he asked doubtfully.
"What else could it be?" Doc asked. "Last I checked, the airplane won't be invented for almost seven hundred years." He glanced at Marty. "Turn off the time circuits for me."
Marty started at the inventor, confused. Doc had never asked him to do that before! "What for?" he asked.
"I want to catch up with the train, and I can't have the time circuits on for that. You know what happens when we hit eighty-eight."
The teen blinked in surprise. "You mean you can actually go that fast -- and faster -- and not automatically go through time?"
"If the time circuits are off," Doc said with a meaningful look at the digital readout. Marty quickly threw the switch between them and the LED displays went dark.
"I never really thought you could go past eighty-eight," Marty admitted to his friend, watching the digital speedometer creep up to eighty and beyond. The dark speck on the horizon began to grow larger.
"Of course you can. This is still a typical sports car in many respects. You could max out the speedometer if you wanted, although I certainly wouldn't recommend it for long periods of time. Going that fast might cause damage to some of the delicate modifications to the car."
Marty shrugged, glancing around the cramped interior. "I keep forgetting this was once a normal car. I mean, the only times I'm really in here is for time travel."
The speed was up to eighty-five now. Marty couldn't help staring at the readout as it went up to eighty-seven, then hit eighty-eight without incident. By the time the car was up to ninety, the object was much clearer up ahead. It was definitely the train, moving at a slower pace than the smaller and lighter DeLorean.
"We're gonna catch him!" Doc said, leaning forward so far that his nose was nearly touching the glass of the windshield. His voice carried a strange mix of excitement, anger, and dread.
"And then...?" Marty prompted. Doc didn't seem to hear him.
The DeLorean caught up with the train at ninety-five miles an hour, Doc easing off the accelerator only when the car zipped past the larger vehicle. The two time vehicles drew parallel to each other at fifty miles an hour. Marty looked through the window on his side of the car, the side closest to the train, and saw Clara staring at them from the window of the train, her eyes wide at the sight of the DeLorean.
"Hey Doc," he said, tapping his finger against the glass. "I see Clara!"
Doc turned his head and looked outside. Clara noticed him, her eyes widening even more and a smile of pure relief briefly turning up the corners of her mouth. The look of relief was short lived, however, replaced swiftly by an expression of inexplicable terror. Marty frowned, puzzled.
"What are we gonna do?" he asked the inventor, looking away from the outside. Doc was scowling, not at Clara but at the train itself. "You want me to jump to the train? I could, if you got closer."
Doc let out a humorless laugh. "I don't think so, Marty. Look how far we are from the ground."
Marty looked down out the window. The trees below looked like toys from a miniature set. If he fell, it would be a long, long way down. "I see your point," he said, gulping a little.
"Besides," Doc added, "we don't know entirely what we're up against. Doc B has a gun. He's not beyond possibly using it on us or his hostages."
Marty gasped at the incredibly irony of the scientist's words. "No shit, Doc," he breathed.
Doc's head swiveled to Marty immediately. "What is it?" he asked anxiously. Then he saw what Marty had seen. "Oh my God!"
Inside the train, Doc B had noticed their presence. He had left the controls of the train and was at the window now, watching the DeLorean. In one hand was the gun, and grasped tightly in the other was Clara. The muzzle of the gun was pressed to her forehead. When he noticed that he had both Doc's and Marty's attention, he made a gesture.
"What's he want?" Marty asked Doc.
"He wants us to stop," Doc said quickly, putting the brakes on. The train also started to slow down.
"How'd you know?"
"I know myself pretty well, even if this version of me appears to be more malicious and without any sense of morals or ethics whatsoever."
A couple minutes later, both vehicles were motionless, hovering in the sky beside each other and rocking a little from the strong winds at that altitude. Doc B, still holding the gun to Clara's head, managed to slide the window open. He made another gesture.
"Marty, put your seat belt on and open your door," Doc said softly. Marty quickly did what he was told. A glance at the ground below through the now-open door and the feel of the brisk wind whipping into the car made his stomach turn. Man, we're high up, he thought, his hands grasping tightly to the bottom sides of the seat. He swallowed hard, averting his eyes from the drop.
Doc B stared hard at the both of them, a flicker of recognition coming to his face when he looked at Marty. "Marty McFly?" he said, a note of confusion in his voice. "Why are you with me?"
Marty didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Doc leaned over him and spoke instead. "Take the gun away from my wife's head," he said in a calm, clear voice.
Doc B turned his eyes to him, smiling widely at the sight of his alternate self. Marty glanced between the pair of Docs, feeling like he was caught in some kind of strange, twisted nightmare.
Maybe it is,
he thought hopefully. Maybe this is some weird hallucination dream and you're really at home in bed. Or maybe you never really left the music store and a box of compact discs just fell on your head or something....Marty looked down again, felt the cold, damp wind against his skin as it blew through the open door, and squinted against the hazy dawn sunlight glinting off the metal of the train. No way, McFly, he told himself. Dreams weren't this real, not by a long shot!
"I'll take the gun away from my wife's head once you leave," Doc B told himself. "I've got some important business to take care of before I can go home and I can't have you tagging along on it!" His voice and face darkened as he spoke and Clara winced, the expression likely brought about by his hand tightening its grip on her.
"She's not your wife," Doc said, anger flashing in his eyes. Marty could tell he was struggling to keep his temper under control. "Clara is a product of my time and my world -- not yours. And that is also my time machine and my children that you so rudely took with you. They are not, nor were they ever, property of yours."
Doc B cocked the gun and Clara let out a whimper. Her dark eyes were locked on her husband -- her real husband -- and they were filled with a terrible fear.
"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Doc B said, his eyes narrowing. "You leave right now -- I don't care where or when you go, just leave me alone here -- and I won't shoot Clara. Or Jules and Verne, for that matter. I've hurt people before to get to where I am, and I'm not afraid to do it again."
Doc B's eyes flicked to Marty for a second, and the teen felt a shiver go down his spine. Although, physically, Doc B was almost identical to his counterpart, there were a few notable, subtle differences. Strangely enough, Doc B looked older, older than even Doc had looked before his rejuvenation in the future. And the eyes of the alternate scientist looked almost like the eyes of a hungry animal, without an ounce of humanity or compassion in them. Doc B, Marty knew, could've cared less about the feelings, let alone the physical well being, of either his hostages or his counterpart. There was nothing but a cold madness there, and it chilled Marty to the marrow. That such a look was in the eyes of a face so familiar made him feel even colder. Never before had Marty seen a look remotely similar on Doc's face. And he knew a hundred percent that he never wanted to.
It was quite clear to Marty that Doc B was not bluffing. Clara echoed his feeling. "Do what he says, Emmett!" she called to Doc, her voice quaking with fear.
"Yeah, Doc," Marty echoed, spooked and shivering. "Let's get the hell outta here! He means what he's saying!"
Doc bit his lower lip, looking horribly torn. Clearly, he did not want to leave his family or his machine in the hands of this madman. Doc B quickly grew impatient. "Ten seconds," he said, shaking Clara hard and causing the woman to bang her head against the metal edge of the window. She moaned softly from the impact, and the sound of discomfort annoyed her not-husband; he slapped her hard across the face with the hand with which he'd been holding her. "Shut up!" he snapped.
Doc jerked at the sight of the blow to his wife, his face managing to both pale and redden at the same time. Clara choked back whatever noise she might've made, closing her eyes and turning her face away from the window. Marty could see silent tears roll down her cheeks and a nasty red welt was visible from Doc B's hand. The scientist in the DeLorean fairly twitched with suppressed rage at his crazy counterpart, his mouth shifting into a variety of scowls and frowns. But even he knew there wasn't another choice, not yet, anyway.
"All right," he said in a softer tone. "We'll leave."
Doc B smiled, the expression rather hollow and forced in Marty's eyes. "I'm glad you're more reasonable than I am," he said. "You've got ten seconds to get the hell out of my sight."
Doc started the DeLorean forward. Marty reached out quickly and pulled the door shut, relaxing marginally now that he wasn't on the edge of a thousand foot drop. "Now what?" he asked as they left the train hovering in the air.
"I don't know, Marty," Doc said briskly, almost snappishly. "From this point on we'll have to be more subtle in tracking my other self."
"Sounds impossible, if you ask me," Marty said honestly.
Doc suddenly stopped the DeLorean, hard enough that Marty would've been thrown out of his seat had he not remained buckled up since shutting the door. "Dammit!" he burst out, suddenly furious, slamming a palm onto the steering wheel. "That son of a bitch is using my family as hostages! And he's hurting them even as we sit here!"
Marty didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Doc continued to rant. "He hit Clara so quickly and without any provocation! How could he do that to her, especially if he thinks of her as his wife? That's not how you treat a spouse -- Great Scott, that's not even how you treat an animal!"
"He's a jerk," Marty said. "And he's got more than a couple screws loose. Did you see his eyes, Doc? There's nothing there."
Doc looked straight ahead, through the windshield, as he replied. "I believe it's already been established that my other self isn't sane," he said curtly.
Marty winced a little, realizing once more that this wasn't a random stranger they were discussing; it was an alternate version of Doc, and that might make it a little more personal. "Sorry,"
The scientist took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out slowly, his fingers nervously wrapping and unwrapping themselves around the steering wheel. "This is madness," he said finally, his voice soft now.
Marty couldn't have agreed more. "I know, Doc," he murmured.
"I don't know what to do, other than to keep following Doc B and making sure he doesn't do anything to change history. And wait until he's away from the train long enough that we can get into it and take it away. But if he knows we're following him...." Doc didn't finish the sentence. He ran a hand through his hair, his face haggard.
"Is that what we're gonna do now? Go after him now, anyway?"
"We have to, Marty. We can let him do what he came here to accomplish."
"But Doc, he's not bluffing about hurting Clara. What are you gonna do to keep him from knowing we're on his tail?"
"I'll think of something," Doc said. And Marty had no doubt he would.
* * *
Doc kept them hovering in the air for a while, considering their options as he had Marty keep an eye on the surrounding area for Doc B. After a few minutes, Marty reported that he had caught sight of the train heading for the ground southwest of them, perhaps a mile away. The clouds concealed the precise landing location from their vantage point. Doc turned the DeLorean on its axis and dropped it down until they were below the clouds and able to see the puffs of steam indicating where the train had landed. It appeared to be in a clearing in the midst of a large forest. Doc kept his eyes locked on the area as his mind worked through a number of possibilities on what to do. Finally, he started to take the DeLorean down, driving away until a mile separated him from the other time machine.
"So what's the plan?" Marty asked.
"We'll discreetly follow Doc B, wait until he leaves, then hopefully undo whatever damage he attempts."
"Umm, what if it's something we can't fix once he leaves? Like he kills someone?"
"Then I suppose we'll have to find another way to handle things. But right now, there's little else we can do. I don't intend to have him hurt Clara or the boys because of anything I do."
Marty sighed, the sound one of utter weariness. "Don't you have anything that could make us invisible?" he asked. "As far out as that might be?"
"It's not as far out as you may think," Doc said. "Holographic projectors that are able to cast an image of nothing to conceal something won't be widely available in the future -- the technology is there, but there are some legal issues about it. I've been drafting some schematics to make some of my own for installation into the time machines, but it's still in the experimental stage."
"Oh," Marty said, clearly disappointed. "So are we just gonna lurk around in the bushes and trail Doc B that way?"
"We'll see what's available," Doc said as they landed in what appeared to be a rural area, with no signs of civilization nearby.
Marty sighed again, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car while Doc shut down the machine's systems. He stared at the time display as it went dark, thinking hard for a moment, before joining Marty outside the car.
"Something wrong?" the teen asked, having noticed his hesitation in leaving the car.
"No," Doc said. "I was just remembering how I had looped the tracking device into the time circuits. Thank God I did it so that if Doc B tries to dismantle or remove it, the time circuits would fail and keep him in one time until he could replace them."
"So that's good?" Marty asked.
Doc nodded. "I've got serious doubts he would risk that, even if he did manage to discover how we're following him." He locked the car, then gestured to Marty, who was leaning against the side of the DeLorean and rubbing his forehead, as if he had a headache. "Let's go."
Marty winced a little, but followed. "Are we gonna have a chance to rest soon?" he asked tentatively, after they'd been walking for a few minutes.
"We'll rest when we have the time," Doc said though, frankly, even if that opportunity was granted to them right now, he wouldn't be able to relax. He was running on a mix of adrenalin, anger, and terror.
"Great," Marty said, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm.
They walked in silence for a while, pushing their way through woods and underbrush. As they went, Doc worried a little about finding their way back to the DeLorean. There were no paths to follow and no real landmarks to use to retrace their steps. But as they went, they had to break off branches and push back boughs. The ground, too, was damp and their feet sank down a bit into the almost marshy ground. It might take a bit of poking around to find their way back, but Doc was fairly certain it could be done.
"Where do you think Doc B came from?" Marty asked softly, finally breaking the silence.
"I don't know," Doc said, unable to put forth a single theory on that subject. "Even if his home is hell on earth, I can't imagine how he became the person he is now."
"But you said yourself that if he's from an alternate reality, he might've had different life experiences and all that," Marty said.
"Perhaps. But if he's from a time changed, and shared the same experiences as I have had, up to a certain point, I don't understand how he could be the person he is." Doc lowered his voice as he added, "I never thought I had that sort of behavior and disregard for others in me."
"Everyone has a dark side," Marty said. "Even you, probably. But that guy isn't you, Doc. Not by a long shot." He paused, then added, thoughtfully, "I wonder what I'm like, where he's from? He seemed to recognize me, so I have to have a twin there."
"That's probably so," Doc said. "Though whether or not you are friends with him there as you are with me here is unknown."
Marty shuddered visibly at the idea. "God, I hope not -- no offense," he added quickly, swatting a bough of leaves out of the way.
"None taken. I would hope that you found a better role model than the me of that time."
The pair lapsed into silence on that note. Doc frowned as they continued their hike, wondering if and when they'd run into any sign of human life. What could Doc B be doing out here? he wondered. And, more importantly, how much history had he altered already? If -- and it could be a big if -- Doc B was traveling back from the point farthest in the past up to the present -- 1986 -- then that left approximately seven hundred or so years for him to have changed. And if he was just jumping around random-like, there was no telling how much was ahead of them. The inventor nearly groaned aloud at the idea, but a look at Marty made him keep his feelings to himself. The teen already looked worn out and stressed; Doc didn't care to see how he would react if they were at this for the next few days, at least, without any downtime.
Aside from that, there was the matter of how Doc B had even traveled to Doc's home to be considered. He was all but certain that the unbalanced scientist had come in a time machine, not a dimension-hopping machine. But where was it now? What had happened to it? Had it somehow been destroyed or damaged in 1986? Had Doc B simply stumbled across his "new" address and family and decided to leave it behind in favor of a larger machine and some hostages? And if that was the case, where had he stored it? During the few hours of frantic investigation after he had returned home, Doc hadn't found anything unusual on his property. The darkness, though, had been a bit of a hindrance. He supposed that it was possible Doc B could have hidden his machine in the woods out back -- there were a couple miles of wild and undeveloped land there, after all. He'd have to poke around there when -- if -- they returned home.
A rustling of branches from up ahead and faint movement jarred Doc out of his thoughts and caused both him and Marty to slam to a halt. "Doc B?" Marty breathed in a barely audible whisper.
Doc frowned and shook his head once, all but certain of that as he caught a better glimpse of the figure up ahead, leading a horse behind him. He held his hand up for Marty's silence, and his friend complied, not voicing another word. The figure drew closer and Doc could see that it wasn't Doc B. The figure was shorter than the alternate scientist, and wearing pieces of what appeared to be armor. A local, no doubt.
Marty reached the same conclusion as the inventor. "What do we do, Doc?" he whispered. "The guy's coming this way."
"It might be best to just go up and meet him," Doc said after thinking hard for a moment. "He might be able to give us an idea on where we are. And if we hide out until he passes, there's a chance he could see us, believe we're enemies, and try to harm us."
"Great," Marty muttered. They made their way toward the local and had gone just a few steps when the man heard their approach and turned their way, drawing his sword immediately. Closer, now, Doc saw that the man wasn't that old -- possibly in his late teens or early twenties. He didn't look terribly threatening, even with the sword. Maybe it was the shaggy dark blond hair framing his face, or the wide blue eyes with the nose that looked a shade or two too big for his face. Maybe it was that he didn't look terribly tall or muscular, his height not much more than Marty's and his build rather lanky. His chain mail, sword, and bags strapped to his horse suggested to Doc that this was either a knight or knight in training, but his appearance was almost the opposite.
"Who goes there?" he asked with a strong English accent.
Marty looked at Doc to answer. "Travelers from a distant land," the inventor settled on. "We're a little lost, too. Do you know where we are?"
"Perhaps twenty miles north of the village of Parkington," the young man said, not lowering his sword. "Tis an unusual manner of speaking thou has. From where dost thou hail?"
"Outside of England," Doc said. "We mean you no harm." He paused as the knight stared at him skeptically. "Who are you?"
There was a brief hesitation. "Sir Andrew of Parkington," the young man said. "I am returning home from the Holy City where I helped the Crusades. Why art thou here?"
"Business," Doc said, honestly. "Tell me, do you know of any events currently happening in Parkington today?"
The knight blinked at the words, his brow furrowed. "Events?" he echoed. "In Parkington?"
"Yeah," Marty chimed in. "Like births or deaths or anything else that might end up in history books."
Andrew looked even more confused. "I know not," he said finally. "I have been away a spell. Is it to Parkington that thou art traveling?"
"We're not sure," Doc said.
There was a silence as Andrew looked over the time travelers again. His next question caught Doc completely off guard. "Art thou a wizard?"
"What?"
"Art thou a wizard? I have seen few men as aged as thee, and yet thou movest with the energy of youth."
It was a remarkable observation. Doc hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose that would be an accurate statement in some ways. But I'm traveling in disguise here, and no one can know that I'm here."
"Certainly," Andrew agreed, finally sheathing his sword. "Perhaps I could offer my help to thee. I know my way around these parts well, if thou art indeed lost. And if a wizard such as thyself needest my help, then I must go with thee. I have many friends that might be able to help thee in thy business."
Doc mulled over the offer for a minute. "I don't know if I'll need your help," he said. "I don't even know how long I'll be here. I'm trying to track down my....ah, identical twin. He's taken my family and I'm afraid he might do something harmful to them and others."
"Is he a wizard as well?" Andrew wanted to know.
"Yes," Doc answered without hesitation. "But his magic is of a darker kind."
Andrew nodded in understanding. "If thou needest my help, thy will be done."
"That's very generous of you," Doc told him. "But perhaps--"
"We'll take you up on it," Marty interrupted, having watched the exchange between Doc and Andrew with a faint smirk of amusement on his face. At Doc's sharp look in his direction, Marty shrugged. "It's better than knocking around the woods getting lost," he said.
Andrew looked at the teen with interest. "Art thou a magician as well?" he asked Marty.
"No -- I'm just his assistant," Marty said, nodding to Doc.
"I can lead thee both to Parkington, if that is thy will," he added, looking to Doc. "I am traveling there, regardless."
The scientist hesitated, then nodded, gesturing forward. "Lead the way," he agreed, hoping he wouldn't regret it.
* * *
Marty didn't get why Doc pulled him aside shortly after they started to follow the local knight to the village that he had been coming from. "Why did you accept his offer?" the scientist had wanted to know.
The teen shrugged at the question. "I thought it was a good idea. He'll know where things are and we won't get lost. Why are you so against that?"
"We could change his future."
"It might not -- Mr. Wizard. Why'd you tell him that's who you were?"
"It's a very convenient way to explain away any strange things he might see." Doc sighed. "I just hope that Andrew's future isn't severely changed because of our involvement."
The hike continued on, with little else being said. Personally, Marty lacked the energy to talk. His feet ached from being on them so much that they were almost numb, and he felt like he was moving through water, not air. Each step -- each movement -- seemed to take twice as much energy as normal. He was dragging, hard, and could only hope that their next destination might be a place that would let him lie low for a couple hours and get in a quick nap.
"I was raised in an area near here," Andrew eventually said to Marty and Doc.
"Oh?" Doc asked politely.
"Parkington was the closest village, but even that was nearly ten miles away," Andrew explained. "My mother died when I was born, so 'twas my father who raised me, until I went to the castle to be a page and begin my training for knighthood. As a lad, my father took me hunting and tracking through these very woods." Andrew paused, his face suddenly wistful. "He took ill when I was ten and passed on. I went to the castle, then."
"I'm sorry," Doc said, sympathetic. "Did you have any other family?"
Andrew shook his head. "Not that I know of. My mother's sister ran away as a young woman with a man her parents did not favor. My father's brothers and sister suffered a worse fate. One was murdered, three died as children, and his sister died in childbirth."
Wow,
Marty thought, amazed. People sure died from little things now! He wondered how long his family might've been around if they had lived in this time."Do you have a girlfriend or wife or anything?" Marty asked Andrew.
"There was a fair maiden at the castle where I was trained," Andrew said. "Bianca was the daughter of the king and, alas, there is no possibility of betrothal. Her father has arranged marriage for her next year with the prince at a nearby kingdom." He sighed, frowning. "'Tis a pity, since she does not favor him but favors me."
"Why don't you run away somewhere with her?" Marty suggested. "Then you can be together, and it's easy to get lost, now."
The look Andrew gave him told Marty the knight was clearly questioning his sanity. "Thou speaks nonsense. T'would disgrace Bianca's lineage to do so, and she wishes not to leave her life behind. 'Tis best if we forget each other."
Marty shrugged. "Well, it was just a suggestion." He glanced at Doc, wondering.... "Any chance this might be what Doc B wants to change?" he whispered to the scientist.
Doc shook his head almost immediately. "Doubtful, at best. Human relationships would be far harder to alter then actual events and actions -- and, anyway, the chances that this young man is involved with whatever Doc B is trying to change is almost nil."
An hour later Doc was forced retract that statement. They were still heading down the same path, with Andrew leading the way with his horse, Doc in the middle, and Marty dragging up the rear. Marty had been eyeing Andrew's horse and trying to figure out if it would be rude of him to ask if he could get off his feet and ride the animal when there was a rustling in the foliage bordering the pathway. Having seen three deer, a couple rabbits, and countless squirrels so far, Marty assumed it was just another piece of wildlife -- but that was before four men, two from each side, jumped in the path before them.
"Halt!" the one in the front shouted, brandishing a long, sharp sword.
Doc, Marty, and Andrew all stopped with various degrees of suddenness. Marty stared at the first man, the one who had spoken. He was a big guy for the times, ragged clothing straining against muscles. Dark hair hung down his back and his face was almost hidden by a long black beard and layers of grime. The other three men behind him were in similar states: all were missing teeth and had tattered clothing and all were holding some weapon or another; one had a club, one had a knife, one had a spear of some kind.
Andrew drew his sword without hesitation and leveled it at the ringleader's neck. "What dost thou want?" he asked, sounding almost bored. "We have no gold or silver."
The big guy in the front chuckled, the sound deep and foreboding. "Be so? Then thy lives'll do." Quicker than Marty's eyes could track, the man used his sword to smack Andrew's away and out of the knight's hand. Andrew blinked at this move, taking a step back. Before the gang could advance on the knight and the time travelers, though, there was an ear-splitting sonic boom and bright flash of bluish light from the space right between Andrew and the four would-be criminals. Marty recognized the sight and sound right away; it was the same phenomena caused by the time machines as they entered a new time!
Not surprisingly, Doc recognized it, too. "Get down!" he shouted, grabbing Marty's arm and shoving him off the path and into the bushes that bordered it.
Two other sonic booms followed in quick succession as Doc joined him in the branches. Gasping at the suddenness of everything, Marty rolled onto his side and watched as a modified DeLorean appeared in the same spot that the sounds and lights had issued from. And it was moving at nearly ninety miles an hour.
Two seconds after it fully materialized in the new time, it ran into the four hoods, scattering them like bowling pins. Two flew off into the trees, their bodies making sickening cracks as they came into contact with the trunks and branches; the other two flew up into the air, hitting the ground with weighted and muffled thuds. The DeLorean braked as soon as it had hit the men, kicking up dirt and other forest debris into the air as the tires squealed in protest.
"What the--" Marty began.
Doc shushed him with a hand over his mouth. "Stay down, keep quiet!" he hissed, his eyes on the other DeLorean. It backed up a little, then the door opened and Doc stuck his head out. Marty didn't get it at all; his tired brain took a moment to click things together. It was clearly the other Doc, Doc B. But he's with the train, isn't he? Marty thought, even more confused. How did he get the DeLorean?!
"It's Doc B's past self," Doc murmured, as if he had read Marty's mind, removing his hand from the teen's mouth. "The one who has changed his history to merge with our reality."
Doc B took in the sight of the scattered men a moment, lifted his shoulders in a kind of "oh well" shrug, then closed the door and continued down the road.
Andrew, who was still standing in the middle of the path, watched the time machine grow distant with his jaw hanging to the ground. When it grew more distant, obscured by the dust it was kicking up, he shifted his eyes over to the still bodies of the four men who had held them up, their weapons scattered around. Marty couldn't quite look at them, his heart still racing and his stomach churning from the memory alone of the car's impact with human flesh. God, the noises that they had made.... He swallowed hard.
Before either he or Doc could move, there was the sound of more underbrush cracking and giving way as someone moved rapidly through the woods, coming from the trees on the opposite side of the path from where the time travelers lay. A second later the other Doc B -- the one they were chasing -- burst out of the woods and onto the path. He staggered to a stop and glanced around quickly, taking in the scene of the four bodies scattered, of Andrew standing alone, and of the other time machine, all but invisible to the eye but not to the ear; the sound of the engine was still audible in the quiet of the rural area.
Marty turned his head slightly and looked at Doc, staying low on the ground beside him. Doc put a finger to his lips, his face grave. Marty got the message; if Doc B saw them right there, Doc's family would be in serious trouble. So far, the thick branches and leaves were concealing them nicely.
"Damn!" Doc B swore, clearly disappointed. "I'm too late!"
"What?" Andrew asked, still shaken.
Doc B turned to regard the knight, his face unsmiling. One of his hands slipped into the pocket of his coat as he spoke, slowly advancing on the knight. "You were supposed to be killed by those men," he said matter-of-factly. "But I prevented that from happening when I came into this time originally. I believe it might've helped change history, to a future that isn't the one I came from. The solution, then, to my problem is simple: let what was once allowed to happen, happen."
The off balanced scientist narrowed his eyes to dark, glinting slits. "So you must die," he concluded, pulling out a gun and firing once, twice, three times into the chest of the knight. Andrew was thrown back from the succession of bullets striking him, narrowly missing his skittish horse and hitting the ground with a heavy, final-sounding thud. Doc B looked over him for a moment, then turned and hurried back into the woods the way he had come.
"Jesus!" Marty couldn't help but whisper, stunned at the abrupt and coldly executed violence that had just taken place before his eyes -- and it was even more disturbing that the perpetrator of the act had looked so much like his best friend.
Doc sighed, a remorseful sound, finally rising from the forest floor when they could no longer hear the sounds of Doc B retreating. "Damn," he said softly, so much contained in that little word that nothing more needed to be said. Marty tried to get up, found his legs shaking, and decided to stay on the ground a while longer to recover from the last few minutes.
"What do we do now, Doc?" he managed to ask in between slow, deep breaths of air.
"There isn't much more we can do," Doc said. He shot a look in the direction where Doc B had arrived and left -- the second one, not the first. There was so much anger boiling beneath the surface of that glance that, for a moment, Marty felt he was looking at the doppelganger Doc. Before it could really unnerve him, though, Doc looked away and at Andrew lying still on the ground. "I wish he hadn't succeeded in this 'mission.'"
"I believe he did not," Andrew said, the sound of his voice causing Doc to jump back and Marty -- still reeling, hard -- to nearly faint. The knight sat up, slowly, fingering his chest gently. "I know not what the dark wizard did to me, but though I ache, I am not wounded."
"Of course!" Doc exclaimed, smiling as he understood. "Chain mail! Thank God you were wearing that!"
It took Marty's poor, tired, shocked brain a moment to realize what the hell Doc was talking about. When it did -- that the chain mail Andrew was wearing had effectively stopped the bullets as neatly as bulletproof vests would in the future -- he smiled faintly, appreciative. "Nice," was his opinion as he managed to scrape together enough energy to finally make it to his feet.
Andrew looked faintly confused at their remarks, but shrugged them off. He seemed remarkably calm for someone who had just witnessed a rather violent death, a time machine's appearance, and had the unpleasant experience of being shot in the chest. "That man was the twin of thee, was he not?" he asked Doc. At the scientist's nod, Andrew frowned. "He is indeed a danger to man. Thou must follow him."
"We will," Doc said. "Thanks for the help you've provided."
Andrew nodded once, curtly. Marty wondered if he was regretting his offer to show them around the area. If he was, the teen didn't blame him at all. Doc gestured to Marty for the teen to follow him and they set off in the opposite direction that they had been traveling before the action had happened.
When they were out of sight and earshot of the knight, Marty asked a question that had nagged at him since Andrew had sat up, unharmed by the murder attempt. "You let him live, Doc," he said.
"Yes," Doc said.
"But... won't that change history?"
"Not exactly," Doc said. "At least, not that we should worry. Doc B killed him because in his history, that's how it was to be. Andrew's living might have a great impact in keeping our future safe. We want him to be alive, not dead."
Marty frowned intently as he mulled this over. "I think I understand," he said at length. "We're supposed to keep this Doc B from doing whatever he does in these times, but let the first one take care of what he's doing."
"That about sums it up," the inventor agreed.
A half hour later, the beeper went off, the sound causing both Doc and Marty to start. Marty closed his eyes briefly as Doc pulled the device out of his pocket. "Please let it say 1986..." he begged.
Doc smiled ruefully as he skimmed the screen. "Sorry," he said, sounding apologetic. "But we do leap ahead a few hundred years...."
Marty sighed. "Where next?"
"April 17, 1679 in Kingston, Jamaica at 5:30 A.M."
"What the hell is there?"
"There was a great deal of trade going on during that time in that area of the world. And piracy, I believe."
Marty raised an eyebrow at the news, amused. "You mean like pirates of the Caribbean? That might be kind of interesting."
"And dangerous," Doc said with a sigh.
Marty echoed the sigh, but for very different reasons. "I don't suppose we'll get a chance to rest while we're there..."
"Probably not."
Marty couldn't keep from groaning at the news. "Jeez, Doc, I'm dying here! My body thinks it's been up all night -- and then some. I haven't had anything to eat since some crappy mall food for dinner. And I swear I'm gonna have blisters the size of quarters on my feet if we keep doing this much walking."
"There's food in the DeLorean," Doc said. "We can have a snack before we leave, and that should help. But we can't afford to rest now. Later, maybe, but not now. Not yet."
By the look on Doc's face, it was clear that he wasn't going to be open to the idea of resting until his family was far away from the grasp of Doc B. And, Marty supposed, he couldn't blame him. If he had been in Doc's place, he'd feel exactly the same way. So the teen kept any further complaints to himself during the rest of the hike back to the time machine, doing his best to ignore the complaints of his body, and hoping fervently that things would be over -- soon.
After a brief pause for a snack -- Doc had thrown a bunch of non-perishable foods into the car's trunk as he had prepared for the trip -- they followed Doc B to the destination displayed on the beeper. The DeLorean came in over the ocean, which looked like a blank, black pool of nothing under them in the predawn hour. The train was perhaps a half mile ahead, streaking away from them. Doc slowed down -- way down -- hoping that the darkness would help conceal the car from obvious view.
The train didn't hesitate in its mission, heading down for a sandy beach on the coastline below.
"Are we gonna land next to 'em?" Marty asked, tracking the train through the window.
"Absolutely not," Doc said. "We'll wait to see what he does and where he goes before we go down there."
They didn't have long to wait. Shortly after the train touched down, a figure that could only be Doc B hopped out and moved rapidly away from the time machine. A moment later, the train lifted itself into the air and headed out over the ocean, accelerating rapidly.
"What's going on?" Marty asked, sounding confused. "Did Clara kick him out and take over the time machine?"
"I wish," Doc said. "I think if that was the case, she wouldn't immediately leave -- and it looks like the train is preparing to leave the time."
Almost as soon as he spoke, the train vanished in a dazzling burst of light, twin trails of fire marking its path to the future. The piercing note of the beeper reached their ears at the same moment the scene did.
"Then what the hell is that all about?" Marty asked, sounding confused. Doc looked at his beeper, the car remaining still in the air, buffeted by a slight breeze.
"Doc B's figured out how to pre-set the train," he said. "The same program I installed in the DeLorean and tested out on the Oregon Train in April is in that machine; I put it in there a few weeks after I verified the system worked. The train will return in a few hours, at eleven A.M., twelve miles west of Jamaica."
"So you're saying... what? That he's gonna leave this area?"
Doc nodded as he replaced the beeper in his pocket. "On board a ship, no doubt. And we've got to go with him, even though it is mighty tempting to skip ahead and meet the machine."
Marty sighed. "Great," he said, not at all enthusiastic. "What do you think he's up to this time?"
"I can't imagine... but look at that."
Marty looked to where Doc pointed as the scientist started the machine forward again. He gasped. "Oh, wow!"
A bit farther up the coastline from his other self was the outline of a docked ship, with masts that stretched up high into the sky. It was hard to see much else with just starlight and a faint glow in the sky to the east illuminating the surroundings, but it was impressive nonetheless, especially at the height they were hovering. Below them, Doc B was heading directly for the dock of that ship.
"That's almost certainly his goal -- and ours, too. We'll land, set the DeLorean to return shortly after the train does, then follow him onto the ship, and shadow him."
"Seems like it's gonna be a little hard to stay out of his sight on a ship," Marty remarked. "Do you think he'll try anything with your family if he sees us?"
"It'll be a little hard for him to do that when they're on the train," Doc reminded him, smiling joylessly as he spoke. "But let's not push our luck."
Marty nodded. "No problem."
A few minutes later they were on the shore themselves, carefully out of sight of Doc B; minutes after that the DeLorean had successfully launched itself to a new time and the pair were heading towards the docked ship. The air, even at this hour, was warm and slightly damp. It was quiet, except for the sound of the ocean crashing against the sand.
"Are we just gonna stroll onto this ship like we belong?" Marty asked as they got closer and began to see people -- men, actually -- heading for the loading plank.
"That's the idea," Doc said. "Bold and dangerous, I'll admit, but most of the times captains of ships were so desperate for hands that they didn't care who got on their ships to help. It was actually rather dangerous to walk in port areas alone at night now because of the risk one had of being impressed, knocked unconscious and waking up miles out to sea, put to work against their will."
"Sound like a fine bunch of people," Marty said. He lowered his voice a little to ask the next question. "Is this a pirate ship?" He gestured to their goal, where Doc could see two muscular men fighting to bring a weighty chest on board.
"It's possible," Doc answered cautiously, catching view of fat cannons on the deck of the ship. "But don't you dare ask! Piracy was against the law and the men who were involved in the illegal trade weren't above killing people to protect themselves. Although the myth of privateering has a romantic and adventurous aspect to it in our time, the real pirates and the real lifestyle were very dangerous."
"I'll keep my mouth shut," Marty promised without hesitation. "Walking the plank would be a pain in the ass."
"Fortunately, that's pretty much a myth," Doc said. "Unfortunately, what they would really do to you would be even more unpleasant." He paused, considering something that hadn't occurred to him before. "I hope none of the Doc Bs do anything that'll anger those on board. If so, I might be mistaken as the one who committed the act and be the one punished."
"Just tell them you've got a twin brother," Marty said with a shrug. "It worked last time."
"I doubt they'd go for such an explanation." Doc slowed down a little, watching as Doc B boldly walked up the gangplank. He didn't look back to see his counterpart and Marty standing perhaps a quarter mile distant. "I may be generalizing, but pirates were more apt to kill first and ask questions later. They'll want blood, not an explanation."
"Wonderful.... So are we just gonna walk onto the ship like we belong there, like he just did?"
"That might be the best idea... We'll just cross our fingers that no one asks questions."
Although their clothes provoked more than one double-take from the men on the dock, the time travelers managed to board the ship without anyone questioning them outright. By the time they stepped onto the gently rocking deck of the ship, the sun was over the horizon and Doc B was no where in sight. As Doc looked around in the hopes of gaining an idea as to why his other self was here, on this particular ship, Marty went to the railing and let out a low whistle at the view.
"Check out that water!" he said. "I never knew the ocean could actually be that color."
Doc glanced at the ocean's blue-green hue and smiled faintly. "It is in the Caribbean -- even in our time," he said softly.
"Really? Nice. I should take Jennifer there sometime...."
"Who are you?" an unfamiliar and accented voice demanded from behind Doc.
The scientist turned around and found himself staring at a rather elaborately dressed man, who appeared to be the one in charge, if his attire and attitude was any indication. The man's eyes were dark in color, his skin olive-toned and deeply tanned. He had a couple inches over Marty, with a wiry, muscular build. His dark, curly hair was pulled back in a pony tail at the nape of his neck, and his angular face was clean shaven, save for a ghost of a mustache over his upper lip. Most surprising of all was his age; Doc guessed he couldn't be older than his mid-twenties, at most. He supposed that wasn't entirely unexpected, considering the life span of people now, but it still caught him off-guard a bit that someone so young -- comparatively speaking -- was in charge.
"Are you new to the crew?" the man asked, unsmiling. He spoke with a Spanish accent, meaning that the language translators were weeding through the foreign language.
Marty turned away from the ocean view and looked to Doc for the answer. "Yes," the scientist lied for them both. "We had heard that you needed extra people on your crew, and decided to report to the ship."
The young pirate nodded slowly, accepting their response. He looked at Marty, a faint line appearing across his forehead at the sight of the teen. "You appear familiar," he said, his words surprising both Doc and Marty. "Have you worked for me before?"
"No," Marty said immediately.
"Any kin, then?"
"No, not that I know of." The teen glanced at Doc with a raised eyebrow at the question. Doc shrugged faintly.
"Hmmmm." The man studied him hard for a moment, eyed narrowed, then his attention was snagged by something other than Marty's face. "I've never seen such garments before," he said, reaching out and lifting up a corner of Marty's shirt, his eyes traveling over the t-shirt under it, the jeans, and down to the Nike sneakers. "Where did you purchase them?"
Once again, Marty looked to Doc for an answer. "A distant land called California," the inventor said, half truthfully.
The pirate's frown deepened. "I've not heard of such a place," he said suspiciously. "Where is it?"
"Northwest from here," Doc answered, vaguely. "Quite a ways away." He changed the subject before the man could ask more questions about that. "Are you the captain of this ship?"
"Do you see anyone else around her who might be?" The young man straightened up, putting on a large, dark, floppy hat he'd been holding. "I am Juan de la Vega -- Captain de la Vega to you. As part of my crew, it will be your job to keep my ship in operation, assist in my missions as I see fit, and keep in confidence our missions." A ghost of a smile formed on the captain's lips. "Those who have attempted to deceive me, or have been lazy in any manner, would be regretting it still, had they lived. Do we understand each other, senors?"
"Quite so," Doc said, nodding. Marty nodded in turn.
"If you do well, you will find that I am a very generous capitan," Juan de la Vega said, staring hard at them -- particularly, once more, at Marty. "You will have three meals each a day. You can find hammocks in the bunkroom. Anything that belongs to you will be kept there as well. Have you any questions?"
"No, I believe you've told us what we need to know," Doc said.
Captain de la Vega looked at him a moment. "If you've questions about my ship, ask one of my men," he said. "We set sail in moments. Prepare." With that, he turned and walked away briskly, presumably to see to another task or perhaps greet more newcomers.
Marty looked at Doc. "We're here for just a few hours, right?"
"Correct. Why?"
"Nothing... I'm just making sure that we won't have to deal with that guy for very long."
"No," Doc agreed, his voice soft. "We should do our best to avoid him. I don't have more than a vague idea of the kind of tasks one had to do on a ship. And the last thing we want is to be assigned something neither of us knows how to do."
"Exactly," Marty said, nodding as he leaned back against the railing. "So what do you think Doc B wants on a ship like this? Buried treasure?"
"Somehow, I doubt that," Doc said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. The glittering water was giving him a headache. "So far, his historic tampering has been limited to direct involvement in life or death situations with people. Although I suppose it might be naive to believe that sets the rest of his agenda, it may indeed be the sign of a pattern."
Doc watched as men began to draw up the boarding ramp from the dock and weighed anchor. "It might be a good idea to go below now, before the captain assigns us something for the ship's launch," he said.
Marty nodded in agreement. Doc had to ask one of the men on the crew where the bunkroom was. The short, burly gentleman gave them an odd look, but pointed them in the right direction. As they descended the stairs, Marty made a terrible face.
"It stinks down here," he hissed to Doc. "Did someone die or something?"
Doc made a face of his own at the stale, soul odor under the deck. "No," he said, carefully ducking under a beam as the ceiling lowered. "This was very normal for these ships of this time."
"Great... let's just spend as little time down here as possible, then, okay?"
It took a few moments for the scientist's eyes to adjust to the dim light put out by some hanging oil lamps. When they did, he discovered they were in a very narrow, low hallway. A few doors were set into the walls of the corridor. Doc slowly headed down the hallway, partially due to the greater rocking of the ship as it headed out to sea, partially due to observing caution at the unknown up ahead. Marty followed closely on his heels.
"What are we doing?" he whispered after a moment.
"Making sure we won't have a face to face encounter with Doc B," Doc murmured back. "Unless you were hoping for that."
"No. God, no."
A moment later, two more steps forward, just before the first doorway, and a figure suddenly stepped out into the hall, right into Doc's face. He was so startled that he staggered back, bumping hard into Marty. The teen gasped, pitching backwards. The inventor's heels caught on Marty's toes and he fell back, too, right on top of his friend. Above them there was a chuckle from the toothless pirate that stood above them, now.
"Scared you, did I?" he asked, offering a hand to the stunned Doc.
"Only a little," Doc managed to say, trying to slow down his skipping heart. He accepted the offered hand and was stunned at the easy way the man hauled the scientist to his feet. After a moment, though, he supposed it wasn't to be unexpected; work on a ship was hard, and the upper body was sure to get a good work out.
"I take it you're both new," the man said as Marty got to his feet on his own. "An' where you've come from I got no idea... I ain't seen rags like that b'fore."
"We're from a ways away," Doc said. "And we did just join up." He hesitated a moment, then asked the question. "We're actually following my brother, who just joined the crew as well. Have you seen him? He looks just like me."
The pirate before them -- a stocky, balding man with a proliferation of muscles -- studied Doc a moment, then shook his head. "I ain't," he said, "but I work in the galley with the grub. You do better askin' another crew."
"Where would they be?" Doc asked.
The cook -- Doc assumed that's what he was on the ship -- pointed to the last door at the back of the corridor. "The bunkroom's there," he said. "Ain't you a little old t'be workin' on a ship like this?"
Doc forced a smile on his face, knowing that he appeared almost impossibly ancient to someone from this time period. "You're never too old for adventure," he said.
The cook grunted. "You ain't never been on a ship before 'ave you?" he asked.
"Not one like this," Doc said, hedging a little. He wasn't sure if they would kick him and Marty off if they found out about their lack of experience.
The cook smirked a little, amused. "Or at all." He gestured to Marty, being rather quiet behind Doc. "Only those who ain't used to the sea got a look like that on their face."
Doc glanced at Marty, puzzled by the remark. The teen was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, grimacing. His face had turned a sickly pale shade, visible even in the dim light. "What's wrong?" Doc asked, though he was starting to get a good idea; the sea was rough this morning, outside of the port.
"I dunno," Marty muttered, wincing as the ship creaked upward. "I feel like I'm gonna.... I'm gonna...."
"Yes," Doc said, understanding. "Let's get up on deck; the fresh air might help." The cook chuckled again as the scientist hurried Marty back down the hall the way they'd come.
Up on deck, the other crew members were busy with their own tasks; some were climbing above in the rigging, others were pulling a rope or scrubbing a spot on the deck. Doc led Marty over to one of the railings near the front of the ship, the stiff, fresh breeze a welcome change from the dank stuffiness below. "Better?" he asked.
Marty shook his head as he gripped the railing tightly. "I feel sick," he said, nearly whimpering as he crouched down to rest his forehead against the railing. "Food poisoning....."
"No; seasickness," Doc said. "Have you been on a ship before, in the ocean?"
Marty shook his head once; slowly, his eyes closed.
"I'm all but certain that's it, then," Doc assured him. "If it was food poisoning, I'd be feeling it, too... but I'm not."
"I don't get... motion sick," Marty mumbled.
"That doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's a shock to the body to go from nothing to this. It's quite normal -- and it'll pass in a few days, or would if we were going to be here that long."
Marty squeezed his eyes shut tighter, beads of sweat popping out across his forehead. "Turn around," he muttered thickly to Doc.
Doc did as he asked. He heard Marty get sick over the side a moment later. When the sounds stopped, the inventor turned back to his friend, finding Marty still hanging his head over the railing. "It'll pass," he said softly.
"Why aren't you sick, too?" Marty asked, his voice barely audible over the rush of the ocean waves.
Doc shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Some people are fortunate to not be bothered by it, and I suppose I'm one of them."
"Lucky you." Marty grimaced as the ship rode a large swell. "Any way you can call the DeLorean back and let me wait there?"
"No," Doc said. "It's already waiting in the next time; we just have to catch up with it. I'm sorry. If I'd known you would have this reaction, I would've sent you ahead, most definitely."
Marty moaned in response, drawing his head back from over the ocean and sinking to his knees next to the railing. "I'm sorry, Doc," he said, rather pitifully.
"It's not your fault. Do you want to stay here while I look for Doc B?"
Marty pondered the words a moment, clearly struggling with a decision. "Let me go with you," he said finally, swallowing hard after uttering the words. "The distraction'll help."
"All right."
They hadn't taken more than five steps away from the railing before Marty suddenly staggered back over to the side and threw up again. Doc waited patiently for him to finish this bout of sickness before saying anything. "I think you should stay up here," he told his moaning friend, gently. "I have a feeling that going below decks might make you feel even worse, and if you remain up here while I'm down there, we can cover all of our bases."
Marty slid down to a sitting position, his back against the bars of the ship's railing, studying Doc through an expression of utter misery. "Okay," he said in a low voice.
Doc gave him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder. "If you see him or need me, call me on the radio," he said.
* * *
Fifteen minutes after he had left Marty's side, Doc stumbled across his other self while carefully investigating the rooms below the main deck of the ship. As he had left the galley, he caught a glimpse of a tall man, carefully ducked over in the low-ceilinged area, going into the room at the end of the hall -- the bunkroom, where Doc had made his first sweep of the area. Knowing for certain that he had just glimpsed his other self (he hadn't seen anyone matching their height on the ship), the inventor hurried in that direction cautiously, calling Marty on the radio.
"I've spotted him, Marty," he said. "Do you read?"
There was a crackle of static for a moment, then Marty's voice -- sounding weak and flat -- came back. "Yeah."
"He just went into the ship's bunkroom. At this point I'm not sure if it's the one who has stole the train, or his earlier self -- we could have three of me on board. But I've spotted at least one of them. How are things at your end?"
"Nauseating and messy. Be glad you're not up here with me."
"It'll pass. Hang on. Keep me up to date on any new developments."
There was a long pause, so long that Doc wondered if the transmission hadn't been heard. "Marty?" he whispered into the microphone.
Marty came on, sounding as if he felt worse than he had a moment before. "I'm here, I just had to deal with my stomach. Ten-four."
"All right," Doc said. He reached the doorway of the bunkroom and, keeping his back snug against the wall (easier said that done, what with the rocking of the ship), carefully tilted his head enough to peer into the room. He saw his counterpart quickly, gathered in the center of the room with a small group of men. Knowing he didn't dare get closer, as the large room offered little more than shadows to hide behind or in, Doc strained his ears and his neck, trying to see and hear what was going on. The creaking of the ship as it moved made the task difficult, but not impossible; Doc B was clearly unafraid of eavesdroppers.
"...I've heard that tomorrow's your independence day," Doc B said to the men. Various expressions of shock crossed the crowd gathered around him.
"Where is it you came by that news?" one asked, giving Doc B a dark look.
"I've got my ways," Doc B said, smiling coldly. "If you're planning on following through with it -- don't. If any of you lay a finger on the captain, you'll not be given a chance to regret it."
The eavesdropping scientist noticed, once more, that Doc B appeared to be speaking fluently in a foreign language -- Spanish, this time. Doc frowned in the shadows of the hallway, wondering about his counterpart's knowledge and intelligence. He supposed that given enough time and study, he could pick up a foreign language -- but not to the degree that Doc B had apparently mastered, not if he started learning a language this late in his life!
A young, skinny man, scarcely older than fourteen or fifteen if he was a day, scowled at Doc B. "I recognize you!" he said, pointing at the alternate scientist. "You told us yesterday that you seen Cap'n hidin' something, something like riches from what he's stole!"
Doc B didn't appear bothered by the words. "I was wrong," he said dryly. He reached into the pockets of his leather coat and pulled out something. Doc leaned closer to the doorway, struggling to see it, though he had a fairly good idea what it might be. The light of the lamps proved his theory correct a moment later, catching the sleek, dark metal; it was a gun. Doc B raised it, aiming it at the small group. "If you kill the captain, then you'll die. Any questions?"
The group of men looked confused at the statement more than anything else. The one that had spoken first smirked at Doc B, oblivious to an expression that bordered on rage falling over the face of the scientist. Doc watched silently, unable to do or say anything, though he knew that their future might depend on just that. He can't know I'm here, though! the inventor thought, torn. Should he summon Marty?
As he considered that, the bearded man with the smirk opened his mouth. "An' what might that wee thing do?" he asked, gesturing to the gun as he advanced a step towards Doc B. "How can one man stop a dozen?"
Without saying a word, Doc B directed the gun square in his direction and pulled the trigger. The noise was hardly more then a whisper, and it was only then that Doc noticed the silencer on the weapon -- odd, considering that it hadn't been there when he had shot Andrew. But, a part of Doc's mind whispered, he probably doesn't want to make any suspicious noises in such close proximity to others.
The bearded man was hit, point blank, in the chest. His shirt literally exploded in a shower of red as he was simultaneously thrown back, knocking over a couple of the men standing behind him. There were no noises of horror, such as screams or moans; instead, everything seemed to pause completely. People did not move or speak; even the boat seemed to stop tilting from the waves. The men stared down at the body of their friend for a long moment, some edging away from the gruesome sight, then, as one, looked to Doc B.
"Have I made myself clear?" Doc B asked, calmly wiping a fine spray of blood off his face with the sleeve of his coat. "The mutiny will not happen."
A pool of blood from the dead ringleader of the group spread across the floor, unnoticed by the crowd, whose attention Doc B fully controlled. Finally, inevitably, one spoke. "The cap'n will see t' your death for this!" a heavily pierced young man said.
Doc B sighed a little and pointed the gun at him in response. "You fool," he summarized simply. "You don't understand, do you? You are planning a revolution against him, ending with his death. I've proof of this. And so why would de la Vega be anxious to punish me when I'm saving his life? He will reward me for revealing the true nature of his crew." Doc B examined the gun for a moment, his mouth drawn together in a tight line. "Is there anyone else who wants to question my wisdom?"
Judging by the weight of silence in the room, no one did. Doc B smirked, allowing his armed hand to drop to his side. "Very good, then." He gestured to the still body of the shot crew member. "Better clean up this mess and get rid of this body before it starts to smell."
The crew was still for a moment, perhaps still numbed by shock. Doc B clapped his hands together, hard, the sound startling life into the room. "Go!" he barked, waving his gun at them before turning around and heading for the only exit from the room -- the door beyond which Doc was hovering.
The scientist moved quickly, darting into the closest doorway and crouching low into the shadows. Seconds later, Doc B walked by, heading for the stairs to the deck. Doc reacted quickly.
"Marty!" he whispered into the receiver.
"Yeah?" came the staticy response a moment later.
"Doc B is heading up to the deck. Keep an eye for him and let me know what you see."
"Okay... is something wrong? You sound weird."
"I'll explain later. Be careful, though, and try to avoid being spotted."
"Sure. Over and out."
Doc waited anxiously for a few minutes before venturing out of the dark room and back into the corridor to leave the hold. Reemerging into fresh air and sunlight, he wasted little time in locating Marty and pulling the teen away from the railing and into a small space between the back wall of the captain's cabin and some large coils of rope. Marty, still looking quite ill, cast Doc an odd look as he was being ushered into the space, but saved his questions until they were all but out of sight from the main deck.
"What's up?" he asked softly. "What did Doc B do?"
"I watched him shoot and kill one of the crew members below, in the bunkroom."
Marty's eyes widened. "What? Are you serious?" He sucked in a breath at Doc's nod and leaned back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sitting. "That guy is such a bastard!"
"I won't argue that. I was listening to the conversation, though, and apparently Doc B was trying to prevent the crew from mutiny -- right after his other self had persuaded them that way, likely before they left port this morning."
Marty winced a little, hugging his stomach. "So what's that mean? That originally this crew did rebel before Doc B even came here?"
"I'm almost certain so. Meaning that it's now our job to make sure that it does indeed happen. And, at the same time, we cannot let him see us! I don't think he'd hesitate to shoot either of us if we got close enough."
"Probably not," Marty muttered, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "So how do you expect us to persuade the crew and keep out of sight of Doc B at the same time?"
"Aside from being very careful, I don't think there's anything more we can do. Speak with the crew, perhaps, without him around. I think we have three options, and all have some flaws."
"Which are?"
"We could attempt to intimidate the crew enough to rebel against the captain, as my other self did, but with the opposite effect he was desiring. However, this carries the risk of Doc B discovering their plans before they can enact them, and then follow through with his promise of harming them."
Marty closed his eyes a moment and took another breath, an action the scientist wasn't sure was brought about by his words or the ship's tilting deck. "What if we waited until right before we left?"
"There's still a great chance Doc B could find out, especially on a ship," Doc pointed out. "Of course, I suppose we could wait until after he left, but I'm reluctant to allow the DeLorean to be seen by the crew for very long. Bad enough that both machines will materialize in the middle of the day...."
Marty frowned. "What are the other ideas?" he asked softly.
"We could frame the captain for doing something -- like, say, perhaps embezzlement of trades or cheating of some kind -- that would anger the crew enough that they'd want to mutiny without any persuasion on our part." Doc paused. "But there's a chance that Doc B's threat will keep them at bay, regardless."
Marty stood quickly and pushed his way past Doc without a word, running over to the railing of the ship. He returned a couple minutes later, grimacing. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Don't worry about it." Doc hesitated a moment. "Be careful when you go out there, though."
"I'm trying my best, but it's not like I can quietly puke over the side of the ship." Marty closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. "I just want to get out of here as soon as possible," Doc heard him say, softly.
"I understand." He waited a moment, then restarted the conversation where he had left off. "The third option I can see would be riling up the crew by speaking with them about how poorly the captain has treated them, in the hopes that they would, again, take matters into their own hands without our direct involvement."
"Are those all your ideas?"
Doc hesitated a long moment. "There's one more, I suppose. More often than not, mutiny's ended with the murder of a captain -- that was often the only way a crew could take over the ship and goods. If that's supposed to be the case now, and the captain was supposed to die, we could orchestrate an 'accident' with him so that he fell into the ocean. But that comes with a number of problems -- we don't know for sure he's supposed to die, I don't particularly want to kill someone, there's no guarantee his crew would allow him to drown -- or worse -- and there could be problems with his reputation. People might feel more sympathetic than angry towards him, or something of that nature."
Marty was quiet a moment, perhaps reviewing the ideas that Doc had brainstormed. "Which one do you think'll be best with the time we have and everything?" he asked.
Doc took a deep breath of the salty air, held it a moment, then exhaled. "I suppose the method of reminding the crew about the treatment they endured would be the best. There's the problem of us knowing utterly nothing about the matter, but I suppose that's part of our job as well. And you'd be perfect for that."
Marty blinked, squinting at Doc. "Huh?"
"You're closer in age to the crew, and also don't have the added bonus of having an evil twin on board who's jerked them around already."
Marty groaned softly. "And you think I can even do anything? Christ, Doc, I can hardly stand up right now and keep my stomach where it should belong, let alone get into deep conversations with people here."
"I don't think we have a choice about this. There's little time to waste -- I'd guess by the position of the sun that it's closing in on nine, now -- and this could take some strong persuasion."
"So are you just gonna hang out back here while I do all the work?" Marty sounded annoyed by the very thought. "Doesn't seem fair to me."
"Do you think it's fair that Clara and the boys are with that abusive bastard?" Doc snapped before he could stop himself. "I'm doing the best I can!"
Marty jerked back, as if he'd been struck. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm gonna go... you know."
He hurried out of the alcove, in the direction of the railing, once more. Doc hesitated a moment, hating to show himself, then followed him. He found Marty braced against the railing, face turned to the sea, his eyes closed. "Marty?" he said after a moment.
"What?" Marty muttered, not opening his eyes or turning towards the scientist.
"I'm sorry, that was rude of me."
Marty took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm just so tired of all this," he murmured, opening his eyes and looking at his friend. "And this seasickness is worse than anything!"
"I know. Perhaps the sea will settle down soon. But we can't count on that. If I could speak with the crew, I would. But there's little or no chance that they'd listen to someone who's been jerking them around so much."
"You've got more of an intimidation factor, though," Marty said. "And you're not getting sick every ten or fifteen minutes."
"I'll do what I can, but I'm not going to change my mind about you speaking with the crew. If you're still getting ill, bring a bucket with you; I'm sure these men have seen a reaction like yours before with the sea."
Marty sighed, clearly frustrated. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it. But what should I say?"
It took Marty almost an hour before he could work up the energy to go below deck and search out the crew members. His stomach was mostly to blame; he just couldn't deal with moving, let alone moving more than a dozen feet from the railing. The nausea was so bad that he seriously was considering death as a viable alternative. Doc was as patient as he could be, but when time passed and Marty wasn't getting any better, it was clear that he was going to ask the teen to get to work regardless. They had little time left.
Although Marty was still dealing with losing whatever he'd had to eat in the last day, there was really nothing much he could do to postpone the inevitable and so, armed with some advice from Doc on what to say and a wooden bucket (Marty wasn't sure if the scientist's suggestion had been serious or in jest about that, but he frankly wasn't willing to take a chance of throwing up all over the floor -- or, worse, on someone), he set out for the stairs that led below, doing his best to be as alert as possible to the potential presence of both Doc B and Juan de la Vega. That was almost as difficult as ignoring the queasiness; he felt incredibly weak, exhausted, and achy between the stress of the trips and the seasickness.
Luck was with him; he saw neither the captain nor Doc B at all on his way to the stairs. Descending, them, though, he nearly turned around for the fresh air and sunlight. The smell was what got to him; it was so stuffy and sour down there that he was nearly sick again. Marty pressed a hand hard against his mouth and tried to breathe without smelling anything. After a moment, he was able to control the nausea, and continued onward.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright sunlight up above to the dimly lit and windowless corridor below decks. Once they had, he was able to make out a few doorways along the passage. Doc had told him that the first one on his left was the mess hall, and the one at the far end was the bunkroom -- likely the two places crew members might be, if they weren't working. Marty walked down the hallway slowly, pausing to peek into the mess hall. There were a couple groups of men sitting at the tables inside -- and playing some kind of card game from the looks of it. He supposed he might as well start there, especially since someone had been murdered in the bunk room a short time before. If he had to see the body, he knew he would need the bucket. Marty hesitated a moment in the doorway before stepping into the room and approaching the groups.
"Hey," he said as cheerfully as he could muster -- which, considering the way he felt, wasn't that cheerful at all.
The half dozen men in the room turned at the sound of his voice. A variety of expressions danced across their faces -- surprise, confusion, suspicion, and amusement. The last clung longest to the faces of the men, though if such a reaction was brought about by his clothes, his waxy complexion, or the bucket tucked under the arm, Marty wasn't sure.
"Ah, ye must be new to the crew," greeted a man with a brightly colored scarf tied around his head.
"Ah... yeah, I am," Marty said, seeing no point in lying.
"Your garments are most unique," another one of the men -- a blond with a large tattoo -- said, his eyes raking Marty's clothes with a faint expression of disgust.
"Thanks," Marty said dryly, not wanting to get distracted by anything. "Listen, there's something I think you guys might want to know...."
The crew didn't seem terribly interested. "Are you good at the cards?" one of the men asked.
"See, the captain -- what?" Marty asked, completely caught off guard.
"Cards," a mustached man said, pausing to light up what looked to be a handmade cigar. He nodded to a stack of gold coins and some jewels in the middle of the table that made Marty's eyes widen. He quickly got a hold of himself, though; the sickening movement of the ship made it pretty easy. The sooner he did what he had to do, the sooner he could return to the deck above.
"Uh, no, no, that's okay." He sat down on one of the chairs at the edge of the group, hoping that sitting down might help him feel better. It didn't. Marty swallowed hard, then plowed on with what he had come to say.
"There's something you guys should know," he said, rushing ahead before anyone could ask him what that might be. "The captain's got a hidden stash of treasure he swiped from the last few voyages under the floorboards in his cabin, and I overheard him say to someone back in port that he plans to kill the crew tomorrow and sink the ship to make it look like there's been some kind of accident, then take a longboat to Port Royal to sell off the goods and live well for the rest of his life."
Breathless from spilling out the story that Doc had coached him on, Marty could only watch the faces of the men around him to gauge the reaction of the fabricated tale. There was silence immediately following his words, a thick sort of silence. Then, without warning, the man with the scarf slammed down his fist, hard, in the middle of the table, knocking more than a few coins to the floor. Marty was so startled that he almost fell out of the chair.
"That swine!" the pirate swore, his eyes burning. The others nodded tersely in agreement.
"Who knows of this?" a balding older guy asked Marty.
"You're the first ones I've told," he said honestly, eyeing the bucket he'd set on the floor by his feet and wondering how much longer he could put off using it....
A skinny man with a couple necklaces hanging around his neck turned to a guy directly behind him, at a table that had been oblivious to the announcement Marty had made. "Fernando, you hear what Cap'n's doin'...?" When Fernando turned around, the pirate proceeded to paraphrase Marty's words. There were uproars of anger and indignation from the other table, then two men headed for the door -- to spread the news, Marty hoped, and not to kill the captain or anything.
"What're you guys gonna do?" he asked softly. "Mutiny?"
"Perhaps," the pirate with the scarf muttered. "This is but one more black mark on 'im. You did well tellin' us... what's your name, senor?"
Marty decided it would be a good time to split; he didn't think he'd be able to go much longer down here without getting sick, not the way he was feeling already. Why, he wondered, did the ocean have to constantly move up and down and up and down....? "Um, Juan," he said, settling on the most common Hispanic name he could think of -- and never mind that it was shared by the captain.
Before any of the crew could ask him more questions, Marty got up from the chair and moved rapidly toward the doorway. He was a half step into the hallway when he collided, hard, with someone. An apology was on the tip of his tongue as he backed up -- but it froze there as his eyes settled on the figure before him.
"Hello, Mr. McFly," Doc B said softly, his eyes narrowed. "Might I have a word?" Without warning, he grabbed Marty by the front of his shirt and dragged him into a dark, seemingly empty room a couple feet down the hall, roughly throwing him back against the wall. Marty gasped, amazed by the strength of this guy and terrified by his sudden appearance.
"What are you doing here?" Doc B demanded, his face an inch from Marty's. The alternative scientist's breath was hot on his cheek, reeking of stale cigarettes. The smell of it cranked his queasiness up a couple notches -- it reminded him way too much of his mom from before -- and the touch of it sent goosebumps popping up all over Marty's skin. Faint lamplight spilling from the hallway made the face before him look almost inhuman and definitely not like Doc; the expression of anger and hate twisting it was something Marty had never seen on his friend's face.
"N--nothing!" Marty said, his voice cracking.
"Liar." Doc B glared at him, pushing him harder against the wall with the hand clenching the front of Marty's t-shirt. "Where's my twin?"
"I don't know," Marty said, playing dumb, even as his heart raced with fear. His stomach rolled, a precursor to the sickness he was going to have to deal with in the next few minutes.
"Oh, yes, you do...." Doc B studied him a moment, silently, as Marty felt perspiration break out across his forehead, partially from being held almost by the throat by a clear madman, partially from how ill he felt. "Damned if you're not different, here."
"What do you mean?" Marty asked, the question out before he could consider the wisdom of it.
Doc B smiled in a rather feral way, his eyes gleaming like dark pools. "You're still alive," he said rather ominously, changing the subject. "Where's my counterpart?"
"I don't know. On deck, probably -- where I should be," Marty added, the sickening sensation in his stomach growing worse.
"Not just yet," Doc B said. "Why are you following me?"
Marty rolled his eyes. "You've got Doc's family and one of his machines," he said. "And you're screwing with history. Do you think he'd just sit back and let you do that?" He tried to swat away Doc B's grip, failed, and moaned softly. "Look, if you don't let me go now, you're gonna be sorry...."
Doc B ignored him; if anything, he tightened his grip, stretching the fabric to the tearing point. "Those are mine just as much as they are his," he growled, then smiled so unexpectedly that Marty was chilled. "We are, after all, the same person."
"The hell you are!" Marty shot back as passionately as he was able. He felt what was probably the remains of last night's dinner start to rise as the ship took a plunge down; he managed to hold it back.
"I want you and my twin to stop following me," the mad scientist said softly, his voice disturbingly calm. "I've got important business to take care of -- my past self created a nasty mess of things -- and I can't have you interfering with it. Got it?"
Marty just stared at him, silent. He figured lying to the guy's face was a bad idea, and the truth was worse.
"All I'm trying to do is get back home," Doc B said, his voice in that same creepy, soft tone. "You and him have to understand that. It's what he'd want, too. I don't have a family in my world -- and I've become rather attached to them."
"I'm sure they love you," Marty couldn't help but mutter. The softly uttered remark earned him an immediate and thoroughly unexpected reaction: Doc B slapped him hard across the face, the blow strong enough to tilt Marty's surroundings without the ocean doing the honor.
"They're confused now!" he hissed into Marty's ear as the teen struggled to regain his bearings -- and the tenuous control on his seasickness. "They will learn to love me, even if I have to beat it into them!" He smiled coldly, the expression once more so abrupt it was disturbing. "I especially adore this lovely Clara. She doesn't think much of me at the moment, but I like a woman with some fire in her. More... fulfilling to tame, even if I have to... teacher her about proper wifely duties."
At that remark, Marty had reached his limit -- in more ways than one. Perversely wishing that Doc could be there to see what he was about to do, he took a moment to smile, weakly, at Doc B. "You make me sick," he mumbled, then threw up all over the front of the man's leather trenchcoat. Doc B jumped away immediately, letting Marty go, and backing up enough so that he bumped into the wall opposite the teen.
If he hadn't felt so crummy, Marty would've laughed. "I told you to let me go," he said instead, gasping a little from the unnatural exertion of being sick.
Doc B cast a sizzling and disgusted glare at him, took a step forward, looked down at the nasty mess on the front of his body, then reconsidered his options and turned to run from the room, the footsteps fading down the hall to the deck. Marty let out a deep breath at his departure, tentatively touching the side of his face that had taken the blow from Doc B, then set out on weak legs in the footsteps of Doc B, wanting nothing more than to be out on the deck in the sunlight and fresh air.
When he emerged into the above world, he saw the evil scientist next to the railing, his coat off and seawater spilling onto the material from a bucket. Marty hastily circled around to the other end of the ship, so he was out of potential sight from Doc B, then nearly screamed as he was grabbed from behind.
"How did it go?" Doc asked, oblivious to Marty's reaction.
Marty shook off his hand as he turned to face his friend, crouching behind some coils of rope and water barrels. "Want the bad or good news first?"
Doc's face grew still a moment, then he sighed. "Bad, I suppose."
"I ran into Doc B down there -- literally."
"What happened?"
"He cornered me in a room, demanded to know why we were following him, went off about the plans he had for your family, slapped me when I said something he didn't like...." Marty paused, unable to resist smiling no matter how bad he felt. "And then I puked on him -- all over the front of his coat. The bastard deserved worse. Grossed him out enough that he let me go and ran up here, and now he's trying to get vomit off leather with seawater." He chuckled a little.
Doc didn't look happy with the news, not even the bit of payback Marty had given his counterpart. "What did he say about Clara and the boys?"
Marty squirmed a little. "You won't like it. Do you really want to know?"
Doc's mouth twitched. "Perhaps you should tell me the good news, now," he said.
"Well, getting sick on Doc B felt pretty damned good... but I talked with the crew before that and they bought the story hook, line, and sinker. When I left, they were busy spreading the word."
"Does Doc B know what you did?"
Marty frowned as he recalled their encounter. "No," he said at length. "He didn't mention it if he did, and I think he was more interested in figuring out where you were on the ship."
"Did you tell him that?"
"Not really. Anyway, I think he's more concerned now with his coat."
Doc sighed heavily. When he said nothing more, Marty decided to. "You okay?"
"No," Doc said bluntly. He looked at the sun, then at one of his watches. "We've got about forty minutes until the time machines return," he announced. "Maybe we'll be fortunate and Doc B will be too distracted by cleaning up his coat to speak with any of the crew members or attempt to hunt us down."
"Maybe," Marty said, though he wasn't sure if he'd bet on it. "So, will we leave even if they haven't mutinied yet?"
"Oh, definitely -- there's no way they could pull a thing like that together in a couple hours."
He grew silent again, a brooding sort of silence. Marty sighed. "What's wrong, Doc? I mean, right now?"
"Did he happen to say if he was going to... harm them if we continued to follow them?"
"No," Marty said, certain. "He didn't threaten us at all beyond telling us to stop 'cause he just wanted to go home." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that was gonna tip any sympathy from me."
Doc rubbed his forehead. "We can't not follow them, Doc," Marty went on, wondering if his friend was going to suggest that.
"I know. Thank God I set the destination time for five minutes after the train will arrive. If we're fortunate he'll be out of here by then."
The interval left before the time machines would arrive flew swiftly by. Paranoid that Doc B would discover them, Doc kept himself and Marty in almost constant motion in a variety of hiding places on the deck of the ship. Although Marty still felt quite ill from the motion of the sea, he discovered soon that he'd gotten the last food out of his system, on Doc B as it were, and was dealing with dry heaves. It wasn't very pleasant, but he held on knowing that soon it would be over.
When the first sonic boom ripped through the air, every head on the ship's deck swiveled upward, scanning the utterly flawless sky for a sign of presumed storm clouds. With the second, there were confused murmurs. With the third, the train appeared, roaring through the sky toward the ship, and all the men screamed, ducked, fell to their knees, or ran. Doc B, Marty saw from their shadowed vantage point, looked up, pleased, his freshly scrubbed and dripping leather coat draped over one arm. The train drew to an autopilot stop near the rigging of the ship and the mad scientist wasted little time in climbing up the ropes to the door, then slipping inside, as every eye on the ship goggled at him.
"Good," Doc said quietly. "He's leaving."
No sooner had he spoken than the door closed and the machine moved swiftly away from the ship. All eyes followed it, the silence on the ship broken only by the sound of the steam engine chugging away. It wasn't yet out of sight when it hit a burst of speed and vanished into another time. Doc's beeper went off, as usual, and the scientist turned it off without looking at it, perhaps afraid of drawing attention to their hiding place.
"Sweet Mother Mary, what was that?" one of the men finally asked.
"A sign!" another said in a hushed tone.
"No! 'Twas a spirit!"
"In broad daylight? I think not!"
"What makes ye the expert, now, Donovan? I think it was--"
What the pirate was about to say was interrupted by another triple sonic boom, announcing the DeLorean's arrival. "Get ready to move, fast!" Doc hissed into Marty's ear, just as the sports car appeared, following a path similar to that of the train.
"Go!" Doc urged a moment later, as the machine slowed to a stop, a couple feet short of the bobbing railing of the ship. Marty followed his friend's run as quick as he could, reaching the DeLorean just as Doc boosted himself up on the railing, pulled open the driver's door and pulled himself inside. Marty hesitated, waiting as Doc rotated the car and opened the passenger door, then followed the inventor's demonstration in boarding the time machine. Doc waited just long enough for him to close the door before he accelerated, hard, away from the ship, leaving behind a thoroughly baffled crew.
"Let's hope that little demonstration doesn't end up in history books," he muttered.
Marty watched the ship recede in the background as Doc shifted through the gears. "Maybe it'll just be a kooky maritime ghost story," he said. "Where are we headed next? A bed and breakfast?" He couldn't keep the pleading tone out of his voice. If he didn't rest soon, he'd pass out, he was sure.
Doc dug into his pocket with one hand, the other steering the car, and flicked the plastic cover off the screen with his thumb. "Vienna, Austria, on December 21, 1823 at seven P.M."
Marty half sighed and half moaned, burying his face in his hands. "What the hell's there?"
Doc shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said flatly.