The credits began to roll across the TV screen for the movie Close Encounters as the 3/4-inch cassette finished copying over to Beta and VHS. Seventeen-year-old Marty McFly looked up from his issue of Rolling Stone, where he was checking out an ad for a guitar amp. Maybe after a few more pirated tapes he would have enough money to buy it.

Marty set the magazine down and stopped the tapes, rewound them, then took a pen and carefully wrote, "Close Encounters, Original Edition" on the labels. He placed the master tape in a drawer. Other titles of bootlegged videotapes jumped out at him as he did so: The Empire Strikes Back, Stir Crazy, and Superman II.

Marty turned off the video equipment and picked up his schoolbooks, along with the other two videocassettes. He walked into another room connected to the video lab. This one was much larger, filled with workbenches covered with electronics, chemical equipment, and dust.

"Professor Brown!" Marty called to the older man at the other end of the lab. "It's almost eight thirty -- I'm outta here!"

"Shhhhhhhh!" Professor Emmett Brown hissed, his white head bent over what looked to Marty like a solar cell. At 65, he was considered the town eccentric, an inventor who's inventions didn't always work the way they were supposed to. Professor Brown was tall -- though his posture had grown more hunched with age -- and had a mane of shaggy white hair that was almost always unruly and uncombed. At the moment, the Professor was trying to get the cell positioned under the skylight in a certain way, maybe to catch the sunlight. Marty stepped closer to him, curious on what the project was.

Whatever he was working on it looked old, maybe 30 years. The Professor poured some kind of chemical solution into a compartment in the cell and plugged a patch cord from it into a Voltmeter. A light bulb on the panel glowed dimly and the meter needles moved slightly.

"Blast it!" Professor Brown exclaimed. "Twenty four measly volts!" He threw a flask across the room in his frustration, shattering it against the wall. Marty jumped back, startled.

"The power of a million hydrogen bombs," the Professor ranted, pointing to the sun that shone down though the skylight, then to his experiment, "and we get twenty four measly volts. It's not fair! I've been working on this power converter since 1949, and you'd think in all that time, I could find the right chemicals that would efficiently convert radiation into electric energy! But no! Thirty three years of dedication and research, and all I've got to show for it is a bootleg video operation!"

"That reminds me," Marty began, "if we could scrape up enough for a 35 film chain, I've got a connection with a projectionist in a first run house -- we could be sellin' new movies on the street before they're even in the theater."

"A 35mm film chain...." Professor Brown mused. "I'll see what I can do...." He turned his attention back to his power converter.

Marty crossed the room, heading for the front door. He paused at the door next to it, the one with five locks on it, and tried the knob. It was still locked. Big surprise, he thought with some disappointment.

"Won't give up, will you, Marty?" Professor Brown asked without turning around.

Marty grinned. "One of these days you're gonna leave this door open and I'll find out what's in there."

Professor Brown glanced at him. "Did you ever consider that some doors are locked for a reason?"

"Nope. The way I figure it, doors are made to be opened. See you after school."

"Oh -- Marty -- what time did you say it was?" Professor Brown asked.

Marty stopped in his tracks, a few steps away from the stairs.

"Eight thirty."

"AM or PM?"

Marty rolled his eyes. "Pro, the sun's out!"

"Oh, right, right," the Professor said, glancing up at the skylights.

"Jeez," Marty continued, "for a guy with a ton of clocks, you sure don't pay much attention to time."

Professor Brown looked quickly at all the synchronized clocks around the room. "On the contrary," he said, standing up and walking toward Marty. "I may not pay much attention to the measurement of time, but I'm very aware of Time itself. I believe time to be its own dimension...to be controlled...to be contained...."

Marty ran down the stairs, having had enough of the Professor's weird ramblings. "Catch you later!" he called over his shoulder.

Professor Brown continued to speak, to the empty room walking to the locked door. "...To be traveled through," he finished softly. He reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out some keys. One-by-one, the Professor unlocked the locks on the door. Finally, he opened it and walked inside.

A tangle of equipment was in the center of the room with a number of lenses at the end of the maze. It resembled nothing so much as a large ray gun or laser. Professor Brown stood back and admired it. "If only I could harness enough power!" he said wistfully.

Marty opened the door at the end of the stairs and stepped out on the street before the Orpheum Theater. The place had been abandon years before, it's windows boarded over. The marquee still spelled out the last movie that had played there, Assembly of Christ. Professor Brown resided on the third floor of the structure, the only person who used the premises now.

Marty walked down the street, headed for Wilson's Cafe. Parked a hundred feet down the street was a black van. The sign on it read "N.R.C." and two men were carefully putting samples of water from a gutter into little test tubes. Marty glanced at them for a moment, somewhat curious. They ignored him. He reached the cafe and went inside.

The owner, Dick Wilson, was sitting behind the counter. Only thirty-five, he already had lost more hair than remained on his head. Even though he was a good hundred pounds overweight, he was eating a Babe Ruth candy bar while reading a newspaper.

"Morning, Dick," Marty said, taking a seat at the counter.

Dick set the candy bar down. "Marty. What's for breakfast?"

"Gimme some chili, fries, and a Tab," he said, glancing down at the newspaper lying on the counter.

"Hot tip," Dick explained as he brought Marty his drink. "Rubber Biscuit in the third race at Arlington."

Marty nodded. "Dick, what's with those guys out there in the gutter?" he asked, tilting his head towards the window.

Dick squinted out the window and shrugged. "Third time they've been out there this week."

Marty watched them for a moment, loading up the water samples in the van. "What's N.R.C.?"

Dick shrugged again. "I don't know. National Cash Register?"

Later that afternoon, Marty stared at the textbook page in his hand. It showed a photo of a mushroom cloud with the words, "Last above ground atomic test, March 18, 1952, Atkins, Nevada." He took his pen and wrote the letters "M.M + S.P." on the cloud and drew and arrow through it, like a valentine. He added at the bottom, "How about the dance Saturday? We'll have a BLAST!"

In the background his science teacher, Mr. Arky, droned on with the day's lecture. "There were only three above ground Atomic Tests in the United States, so the government took every opportunity to study the effects of radiation. Actual single family tract homes were constructed on the test site, totally furnished with refrigerators, TV's, furniture...."

What a waste of perfectly good stuff, Marty thought.

"...Anything you could find in a typical home," Mr. Arky continued, "just so scientists could learn what kind of damage an atomic bomb would do to a typical town. They even put mannequins in the houses, just like in auto crash tests."

Marty tore the page with the picture and note out of his book. He turned to look at Suzy Parker, the pretty alburn-haired girl across the aisle and a seat behind him. He quickly folded the page and winked at her before tossing it deftly on her desk. The teacher didn't notice.

"But the fact remains that today, thirty years after those early nuclear tests, the threat of nuclear annihilation is as great as it ever was. Certainly, nuclear annhiliation is something you all must have thought about. Any questions, comments, ideas?"

No, Marty thought, glancing around. Everyone in the class apparently agreed with him.

"Anyone?" Mr. Arky asked. "I'm talking about the complete and total destruction of the entire world. Doesn't anybody have anything to say about it?"

No one raised a hand. Mr. Arky's face began to turn red. "How about you, Mr. Jackson?" he asked, raising his voice. "Would you like to share some of your wisdom with the class?"

Jackson didn't look up from the textbook, ignoring the teacher. Marty felt something brush against his foot and looked down to see the folded note that he had given Suzy on the floor. He leaned over and scooped it off the floor. Mr. Arky continued to ask for volunteers.

"Mr. Gomez? Any thoughts? Miss Parker? Mr. Crump, any reaction?"

Marty unfolded the note and looked at it. Beside the cloud the words, "That's sick!" had been written in loopy cursive. Marty turned the page over. On the back was the word, "Yes." He smiled, then was rudely snapped out of his thoughts by the science teacher's irritating voice.

"How about you, Mr. McFly?" Arky asked, strolling over to his desk. Marty quickly crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket before the teacher could see it. He stared at his graffittied desk top, wishing Mr. Arky would go away. "Did you even hear the question, Mr. McFly?" the teacher demanded, glowering at Marty.

Marty looked up, facing the inevitable. He might as well give his honest opinion. "Yeah," he answered. "You want to know what I think about atomic bombs. Well, I'd kind of like to see one."

Mr. Arky leaned forward so his face was a few inches from Marty's. "You'd like to see a nuclear holocaust?" he asked, his voice rising a few octaves.

"Not a holocaust --" Marty began, realizing his mistake.

Mr. Arky interrupted him. "Mr. McFly here wants to nuke it all, just so he can see it!" the teacher boomed out to the class. A couple students started to laugh.

Marty sat up straighter, glared at the teacher. "You know damn well that's not what I meant."

Mr. Arky ignored him. "All I can say is, that's one helluva attitude, Mr. McFly. 'Let's explode a hundred megaton Geothermal nuclear device, just to see it.' "

Marty felt his face turn red with anger and embarrassment. "Yeah, explode it up you ass," he muttered under his breath.

"Unfortunately," Mr. Arky continued, a malicious smile on his face, "the way things are going, you may get your wish. You may see the entire annhiliation of the world. If not, you'll certainly see the destruction of all out natural resources. We can already see the air we breathe, not to mention the pollution in our rivers and lakes. We'll see all of our oil reserves depleted, in fact, all of our energy sources. Yes, you people have a lot to look forward to -- a lot to see."

"Hey, Mr. Arky, gimme a break!" Marty exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "I'm seventeen years old! I'm not responsible for all these problems!"

The anger in Mr. Arky's face suddenly vanished. He sighed, a sound of defeat. "No, of course you're not. Not for the problems, no. But for the solutions...yes."

The bell rang, ending the school day. Everyone leaped out of their desks and rushed for the door. " See you tomorrow," the teacher added.

Ten minutes later, Marty was outside at the front of school, heading for a group of his friends, who were already giving other students videotapes in return for cash.

"Hey Marty," Rafe Newton called to him, heading his way. "Sport me fifty 'til the weekend, would ya? I'm down to my last twenty."

Marty shook his head. "Can't man. I'm savin' up for that new amp."

"Well, when you're a big rock star, how about loanin' me a grand?"

"You got it!" Marty grinned. He checked his watch. "I gotta go."

Donaldson, one of his friends, stood next to him. He looked at Marty's watch. "Hey man, what happened to your digital quartz?" he asked.

"In the shop," Marty explained. "So I'm sporting this antique." He lifted up his left hand with the watch on it. "Check out this wind-up action," he added, pointing to the gold timepiece. Donaldson looked at it with minor interest as the both of them went down the front steps of the school.

"Hey, you wanna come over?" Donaldson asked when they were at the bottom of the steps. "Get high?"

"Maybe tomorrow. I gotta dupe some more tapes."

Donaldson snapped his fingers. "Hey, that reminds me -- my brother's gettin' married next week and I'm throwin' a party for him. Can you provide some entertainment?"

Marty nodded, having the perfect thing in mind. "Yeah, I can run something off this afternoon," he promised.

The man and woman were really going at it now, breathing hard and moaning. Typical sounds of sex. Marty watched for a moment, then shook his head and turned away from the porno video he was copying for his friend. Twisting the volume down as the couple started to get really noisy, he fished some cash out of his pocket and placed it in the cigar box where he was storing all the money he was saving to use for that new amp. He got up from his chair and walked out of the room into Professor Brown's lab.

The Professor was lying on his cot, asleep, with a heavy blanket covering him. Marty walked quietly over to the refrigerator and opened it, taking out a bottle of Coke. As he was pulling the soft drink out, his hand accidentally bumped against an orange lying beside it. Before he had a chance to catch it, it bounced out of the fridge and rolled across the floor, vanishing under the cot.

Marty set down the Coke on top of the fridge and bent down to picked the orange up. He pushed aside the blanket and saw a crate, purple radioactive emblems on it. Marty frowned as he read the labels. Extreme Danger! Radioactive Plutonium! Authorized Personal Only! Do Not Handle Without Radiation Suit. Near the bottom were the words, "Property of San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant, San Onofre, California."

Right next to the word "California" was the orange. Taking a deep breath, Marty stood up and kicked the orange out from under the cot with his right foot. He slowly backed away, his eyes on the crate, before picking the orange up and tossing it into the trash can next to the refrigerator. Marty glanced at the Professor, relieved to see that he hadn't woken up.

Trying to forget what he had seen, Marty picked the Coke bottle up and twisted the cap off, taking a quick swig from it before walking over to a cage with an organ-grinder monkey in it.

"Hey, Shemp," he called softly. "How ya doin'?"

The monkey gazed back at him with dark eyes. Marty unlatched the cage door and let the animal out. Shemp quickly climbed up his arm and sat on his shoulder. Marty crossed the room, over to the table where the power converter was still set up, resting on some old blueprints. He leaned over for a closer look at those.

The top blueprint was for something called, "Photo-Electric Chemical Power Converter." The sketch on the blueprint matched the power converter that the Professor had been messing with earlier. Marty flipped that blueprint back to look at the others one-by-one. "15 Tube Mechanical Home Butler." It looked like some kind of robot. "Aero-Mobile," a weird-looking flying car. And a "Write-O-Matic," which looked like a pen with a suction cup at the end of an attached wire.

Marty let the blueprints flip back and stared at the power onverter. The last few rays of the afternoon sunlight filtered through the skylight and shone down on the photo-cell. Marty looked closer and noticed a funnel shaped thingy jutting out of the chemical chamber. He looked at it for a moment, temptation building, then reached over and poured some of the Coke in the funnel.

He hadn't even pulled his arm back when a bright spark shot out of the opposite end of the device, making a loud cracking noise. Marty jumped several feet away, his heart pounding, almost dropping the bottle in his hand.

"What happened?!" he heard Professor Brown demand, jumping out of his bed and running over to the table where the power converter sat.

"Well, I'm not sure exactly -- I accidentally spilled some Coke in here," Marty said, stretching the truth a little. He pointed to the funnel. "Just a drop!"

The Professor quickly hooked up the voltmeter and light bulb to the converter. "Give me that!" he added, snatching the bottle from Marty's hands. He poured some more of the drink into the funnel. The bulb started glowing brightly and the meter jumped. The whole thing started to make a humming noise. Professor Brown dumped in more Coke. The light grew even brighter, then suddenly exploded!

Marty flinched, but didn't turn away. He was dying to know what that thing was supposed to be doing. He wanted to know almost as bad as he wanted to get into that locked room several feet away. The voltmeters needle raised off the scale as the power converter began to vibrate, so violently that it fell off the table!

The Professor stared at the floor where the converter lay, his hands starting to tremble. He had a strange look on his face, disbelief mixed with excitement. He looked carefully at the Coke bottle.

"What's in this stuff?"

Marty gave a shrug, not understanding why Professor Brown wanted to know. "Nobody knows the formula for Coca-Cola. It's the most closely guarded secret in the world!"

The Professor was silent for a moment, his gaze far away. He finally picked the power converter up and walked across the room, taking out a key ring from his pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said as he began to unlock the forbidden door. Before Marty could ask him any questions, the Professor opened the door and shut it firmly behind him. Marty heard the sound of locks clicking into place, then all was silent.

That evening, wearing headphones plugged into his turntable, Marty walked around his bedroom, following the music on his own electric guitar. Posters of rock stars covered the surrounding walls. He was trying to find the drill he had been using earlier, moving the miscellaneous junk that covered his furniture and floor with the top of the guitar's neck. Under the Rolling Stone on the dresser were some tools -- but not the drill. A couple issues of Heavy Metal and the Lampoon hid some homework on the desk he had forgotten to turn in.

The record ended and Marty took the headphones off. "Who stole my drill?" he yelled out the door.

"Dinner's ready!" his mom answered.

With a sigh, Marty set his guitar down and went downstairs. He stopped in the living room on the way to the kitchen. His father, George McFly, was sitting on the couch and watching a boxing match on the TV.

"Anybody seen the drill?" Marty asked. Dad continued to stare at the TV, ignoring or not hearing the question. Eileen McFly looked into the living room from the kitchen.

"I've been calling you for five minutes!" she said to Marty. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I was practicing," Marty said with a shrug. "I've got an audition next week -- I gotta practice. How am I gonna get famous if I don't practice?"

Mom shook her head. Once, a long time ago, she had been quite attractive. Now, at the age of 47, it was easy to see the toll age had taken. Her brown hair was streaked with grey and her face was puffy, lined with wrinkles. Both of Marty's parents hadn't aged that gracefully. "You won't get famous if you don't eat, either," she said, ducking back into the kitchen.

Marty turned back to his dad. "Dad, you seen the drill?"

"What drill?" his father finally said.

"The drill!" Marty repeated, exasperated. "The power drill I bought you for Christmas. I was using it last night."

Dad didn't move his gaze from the TV. "It'll turn up."

Marty shook his head and went into the kitchen, sitting down as his mother put the food on the table. She leaned back into the living room. "George, dinner's ready!" she called.

Marty's father continued to stare at the TV, fully absorbed in the boxing match. "Coming, Eileen," he said, making no move to get up.

"Now, George," Mom insisted. "Dinner's ready now."

"Coming, Eileen," Dad repeated. A moment later a commercial came on the TV and George McFly finally got up and started to roll the TV on it's stand to the dining room.

"How was school today?" Marty's mom asked him.

"Fine," he answered automatically.

"Learn anything?"

"Oh yeah."

Mom smiled. "That's good."

His dad finished adjusting the TV and sat down. "How was school today?" he asked Marty, picking up a fork and starting to eat.

Hadn't he just done this? "Fine," Marty said.

"Learn anything?"

"Oh yeah."

"Good."

Dad turned his eyes back to the TV as the match resumed. Marty looked down at the newspaper, examining the sports scores, and his mom stared off into space. There was complete silence, during which the sportscaster did his blow-by- blow on the TV.

Eventually Mom spoke, during another commercial break. "By the way, that reminds me," she said, gesturing to the TV's burger ad. "Saturday night we're taking Grandma Stella out for Chinese food."

"Eileen, Chinese food again?" Dad groaned.

Mom frowned. "George, if you don't want Chinese food, pick a place you want to go and make a reservation."

"That means he'll have to pick up the phone, Ma," Marty interjected. As expected, his dad backed down.

"No, Chinese food is fine."

"Saturday night's the 'Springtime in Paris' dance," Marty added. "I'm taking Suzy Parker."

His mother looked thoughtful. "The 'Springtime in Paris' dance. You hear that, George? They're still having the 'Springtime in Paris' dance.

"That was our first date," she explained to Marty. "Remember George? I remember everything about that night. Remember the first time we kissed? It was during the last dance. They were playing that Eddie Fisher song, 'Turn Back the Hands of Time'. I even remember how you asked me out. We were in the cafeteria. You were so scared, you spilled your creamed corn."

Dad continued to look at the TV, not showing any sign of hearing his wife. "And I probably won't be here when you wake up Sunday morning," Marty continued. "Suzy and I are gonna go down to the lake and watch the sun rise." His dad looked away long enough from the TV to frown at him. "The sun rise? What for?"

Jeez, what did he think? "To see it," Marty explained patiently. His dad turned away to the TV, the look on his face puzzled. Unfortunately, his mom was not as easily distracted.

"You mean you're going to stay up all night?"

"Mom, how else are we gonna see the sunrise?"

"I don't think I like the idea of you staying out all night with a girl," Mom decided, shaking her head firmly.

Marty rolled his eyes. "Hey, Ma, gimme a break."

Before they could discuss the subject any further, there was a heavy pounding on the back door. "Would you answer that, George?" Eileen asked when no one else made a move to. Her husband ignored her. Heaving a sigh, Marty finally stood up to answer it.

The visitor was not one of his favorite people. Biff Tannen stood on the porch, his stomach hanging over the pants in his security guard uniform. His shirt was untucked and the tie was undone. The patch on his shoulder read "Special Security Officer." He was a 47-year-old jerk who liked to push his father around and Marty had no need for him whatsoever. Biff felt the same way about him.

"Well, well," he smirked when Marty opened the door. "If it isn't the neighborhood bootlegger, Al Capone McFly?"

"What do you want, Biff?" Marty demanded, wanting to end this little visit as soon as possible.

"Show me some respect, you little A-hole," Biff growled. "It's Special Officer Tannen to you."

The day I show respect to Biff Tannen will be the day I win a million dollars, Marty thought. "What's the matter, Biff, they're not showing you any respect down at the golf course? Don't they realize what a tough job it is keeping the criminal element away from the country club?"

Biff scowled at him. "Listen you little A-hole, I oughta --"

"What do you want, Biff?" Marty repeated, tiring fast of the conversation.

"Where's your old man?"

Marty took a step back and pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen. Biff pushed his way into the house and Marty saw he had a broken power drill and some bits in hand. He suddenly felt sick.

"Hey McFly, what's with this cheap-ass drill you're giving me?" he demanded. "Thing burned up first time I used it! Almost ruined my whole engine block!"

Marty shook his head in disgust as he sat down again at the table. His dad immediately turned away from the TV.

"Uh -- Biff," he stammered, pointing to the bits. "These are wood bits. Says so right here. You're not supposed to use them on your engine block."

Biff snorted. "Look, McFly, I know a lot about tools. This is a cheep-ass drill! You're just lucky I didn't ruin my engine block. Next time you buy tools, let me know. I'll help you pick out some good ones."

He handed George the drill, then added, "Oh -- and one more thing. My kid's selling Girl Scout cookies. I told her you were good for four boxes." Biff glared at Marty's dad. "Don't make me a liar!"

George nodded quickly and Biff left, slamming the door behind him. George turned to look at his wife, who gave at him a knowing, sympathetic look. "How do you like that guy, using wood bits on an engine block?" he finally asked, laughing nervously.

Marty couldn't take it anymore. He jumped up from the table and ran into the living room, grabbing his silver Porsche jacket out of the closet. "Where are you going?" he heard his mom yell.

Marty opened the front door and slammed it shut in reply. He pulled his jacket on as he crossed the front lawn. Reaching the mailbox, he gave the numbers on it, 777, a good slug, then kicked his dad's car beside it in the street for good measure.

Half an hour later, he was walking down a neighborhood street with Suzy Parker. "....He just lets himself get pushed around all the time," Marty was saying to her, talking about his father. "People walk all over him and he never fights back, never stands up for himself."

"No self confidence, I guess," Suzy said sympathetically. "At least you don't take after him."

"Yeah," Marty agreed. "Jesus! I wonder how he ever got up enough nerve to marry my mom."

Suzy didn't say anything for a few moments. "Can you imagine your parents in bed together?" she finally asked.

Marty laughed. "No way!"

"Me neither," Suzy said, smiling. "I've always wondered whether they slept together before they got married. You think yours did?"

"Hell no!" Marty cried, shaking his head. "The way my mom carries on about sex -- you even mention the word and she goes into cardiac arrest. You shoulda seen her face when I told her we were gonna stay up all night Saturday," he added. "Always afraid something is going to happen."

Suzy looked at him, her expression suddenly coy. " Is something going to happen Saturday night?" she asked slyly.

Before Marty could answer her, a skateboard suddenly hit his foot. He looked up to see two kids about fifty feet down the street, running an obstacle course. The one who had been on the board was slowly getting to his feet off the asphalt. Marty jumped on the board and skated over to the kid. Maybe it was because Suzy was there, but he showed off as he weaved through the obstacle, jumping over the last one and landing perfectly, then flipping the board into the air and catching it. The kids were wide-eyed as Marty handed it to the owner.

"Wow, you're good!" the kid gushed, staring at the board. Marty grinned and walked back over to an impressed Suzy.

"Just like riding a bike -- you never forget how to do it," he explained modestly.

A minute later they were standing in front of Suzy's house. "Well..." she said slowly. "Here we are..."

They stared at each other for a moment. "Thanks," Marty said softly, leaning forward and kissing her.

Suzy smiled and walked to her door. "See you later," she called. Marty watched her as she stepped inside, then turned around and started to walk back home.

A black sedan slowly passed him. A moment later, Marty noticed headlights shining from behind him and whirled around to see that the black sedan had turned around and seemed to be following him. Marty saw the car had the letters N.R.C. on it, like that van had. He stepped to the side of the street, on the sidewalk, and the car pulled up beside him and stopped. Two tall men dressed in black suits got out. They looked like Secret Service men.

"Good evening," one said. "Agents Reese and Foley," -- he pointed to his buddy -- "from the Nuclear Regulatory Commition." He pulled out his ID and flashed it to Marty. "Mind stepping over here?"

Marty eyed them cautiously before doing so. "What's this all about?" he wanted to know.

"Routine radiation check," the other man -- Agent Foley -- said. He took a Geiger counter from the car and ran it up and down Marty's body. Nothing happened until it got by his feet, especially his right foot. Then it made loud clicking noises. The two men exchanged some kind of look.

"Have you got any identification?" Reese demanded. Marty handed him his wallet after a moment's hesitation.

"What, am I radioactive or something?" he asked uneasily, trying to figure out what was going on.

Foley shook his head. "No, no, not beyond an acceptable level." "Have you been X-rayed recently, Martin?" Reese asked, his eyes on Marty's driver's license.

"Perhaps been in contact with some luminous paint?" Foley added.

Marty frowned at them. "No..."

"Been any place unusual in the past twelve hours?" Reese questioned.

"Home, school, here," Marty answered with a shrug.

"Been in the vicinity of 2980 Monroe Avenue today?" asked Foley.

"Where?"

"Over by the old Orpheum Theater," Reese said.

Marty hesitated for a moment before answering. They were talking about where Professor Brown lived. He remembered the box he had seen under the bed. Suddenly, Marty had a million questions for the Professor. "No," he said.

Reese finally handed him back his wallet. "Okay, Martin. You have a good evening now."

"Yeah," Marty said, jamming his wallet back into his pocket. "Right."

The two men got back into their car and drove off. Marty watched them a moment, then sprinted the other way down the street!

Marty ran through the streets all the way to the Orpheum Theater. The street was deserted, save for a newspaper blowing down in the gutter. Reaching the door to the upstairs of the dilapidated building, Marty took hold of the knob and turned it. It resisted and he tried again, hoping it was stuck. He juggled it around but it didn't budge. No doubt about it. It was locked. Marty took a step back and looked up, at the third floor.

A moment later the quiet of the night was shattered by all three of the third floor windows being blown out by a huge gush of air! "Jesus!" Marty gasped, ducking his head as shreds of glass rained down. A moment later he tried the door again, but it was still locked.

After weighing the pros and cons of the matter, Marty broke the glass window in the door and reached around to unlock it himself. Once inside, he ran up the steps to the lab. The first thing he noticed was that the mysterious door with all the locks was completely un locked! A crack of light shone brightly under the bottom of the door. Marty opened it up and stepped inside. He blinked, wondering if he was seeing right.

Professor Brown was standing next to what looked like a old furnace and hot water heater thrown together with some boiler room parts. He had one hand on a rope attached to a metal lever and was messing with some dials and gauges with the other hand. Shemp, wearing his organ grinder outfit, sat on a stool, a digital watch on a cord around his neck. Some kind of long tube with lenses in it was pointed at him.

"Professor!" Marty gasped. The Professor looked up, startled.

"Get behind that lead shield!" he ordered, pointing to a large grey sheet of metal next to the wall.

Marty stared at him incredulously. "But Professor --"

"Get behind the shield!" Professor Brown broke in, cutting off Marty. "I'm about to release radiation!"

Marty looked at him for a moment more, then darted behind the shield. He watched from around the side of it as the Professor pulled the rope a tiny bit. The next moment, all hell broke loose! The low hum all the machinery made grew louder and high pitched. Static electricity crackled in the air. The sounds grew louder and the monkey looked around, curious. A minute later, the Professor let go of the rope, his eyes on a watch, and a red beam of light -- like a laser -- hit Shemp directly in the chest.

Marty winced at the high pitched noise in the room. Less then a second after the laser -- or whatever it was -- hit the Professor's pet, Shemp vanished, taking the top of the stool with him! Air suddenly rushed into the room, whipping loose papers around. The noise died down and Marty stepped out from behind the shield, his heart pounding from all he had witnessed.

"Jesus!!" he exclaimed, staring at the Professor in shock. "Professor, you just disintegrated Shemp!"

Professor Brown shook his head, a smile playing around his lips. "No, Marty. Shemp's molecular structure is completely intact."

How can he just stand there, so calm? "Then where is he?" Marty demanded.

"The appropriate question to ask is when is he," the Professor correct him. "You see, Shemp has just become the world's first time traveller. I've sent Shemp into the future -- two minutes into the future to be exact."

Marty's mouth dropped open. "The future? What are you talking about? Where's Shemp?!"

"Shemp is right here in this room...two minutes from now," the Professor explained calmly. "And at exactly 9:02PM, we'll catch up to him."

"Now hold on a minute, Professor," Marty said slowly, trying to understand this. "Hold the phone. Are you trying to tell me that this -- all of this here -- that this is -- it's a -- a --" For some reason, he couldn't get the words out.

"A time machine," Professor Brown confirmed with a nod.

Marty found a chair and sat down in it quickly before his legs could give out on him.

"I always knew it would work," the Professor continued. "I knew it would work when I built it thirty three years ago. But I was never able to harness enough power to test it. Power is the key. Massive amounts of energy to accelerate matter to the speed of light while creating an intense gravitational field. But generating that kind of energy has never been possible...until this afternoon."

Marty took a couple of deep breaths as he waited for the room to stop spinning around him. A time machine! "Because of that Coke," he muttered.

"Precisely," the Professor said with a nod. He walked around the room, pointing out various parts of the machinery as explained. "The power converter, now operating at peak efficiency, thanks to the chemical makeup of Coca-Cola, channels energy into the flux capacitor, which releases several jigowatts in a fraction of a millisecond. Electron acceleration takes place here...and the result is the temporal displacement beam you saw a few moments ago. The entire process is triggered when I release the rope."

Marty finally stood, his legs still shaking a little from the shock. "I thought that power converter thing operated on solar energy. There's no sun," he added, pointing to the ceiling and walls. Not only was it night out, but all the windows had heavy shades drawn over them.

"Solar energy would have worked just fine...if I could have placed the converter about a mile from the surface of the sun. Instead, I've created similar conditions in this reactor here," Professor Brown explained, pointing to the rope. "The higher I raise the cadmium rods, the more energy I release from the plutonium core, and the further through time I can send an object."

Marty snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering. "The plutonium! That's what I came over here for! Professor, where did you get that stuff?"

"Why?" The inventor stared at him with suspicious, his eyes narrowed.

"I just got stopped in the street by federal agents checking me for radiation! I figure they're after your plutonium!"

Professor Brown looked over at a digital clock on the wall. Marty followed his gaze and saw that it was 9:01:50. Almost two minute had passed since the experiment. It had felt like twice that long.

"Ten seconds!" the Professor burst out, dashing over to the place where his beam had hit Shemp. Marty ran after him, stopping when his friend raised an arm. "Brace yourself for a sudden displacement of air!"

Marty watched the clock. The seconds lasted forever. 9:01:55...56...57... 58...59...

At that moment, a strong wind gusted in the room and Shemp suddenly appeared, literally out of thin air. The top of the stool came back with him and fell to the ground. The monkey screeched as he hit the ground and scrambled onto some equipment nearby.

"Shemp!" Marty cried. Professor Brown walked calmly over to the animal and picked him up. He quickly looked him over, the monkey squirming to get free, then examined the watch around his neck. He held it up for Marty to see. 9:00:10. Marty checked the clock on the wall. 9:02:10.

"Exactly two minutes difference...and it's still ticking!" the Professor cried triumphantly.

"Is Shemp all right?" Marty asked, looking at the monkey. Professor Brown set him down on the ground he quickly ran off to the other side of the room.

"Of course. Shemp is unaware that anything even happened, other than his stool suddenly falling over. We had to wait two minutes to catch up to him, but for Shemp the trip was instantaneous."

Marty suddenly realized something. "Professor, can this thing send Shemp back in time?"

The Professor thought about that for a moment. "Theoretically, yes, if I were to reverse the polarity." He pointed to a switch near the rope with a plus and minus at opposite ends. It was currently up in the plus position.

"Jeez, Professor, you've got a gold mine here!" Marty exclaimed, grinning with excitement.

The Professor frowned, as if he didn't understand. "A gold mine?"

"Sure!" Marty said. "Listen -- we take the racing results from today's paper...." He grabbed an newspaper from earlier that day at a nearby table and quickly flipped through to the sports scores. "Here they are. We send 'em with Shemp back to yesterday, we get the information, put our money on the winning horses, and become billionaires!"

Professor Brown started to shake his head. "Marty, that would alter history.

" "So what?" Marty asked. We'd be rich!

"Don't you understand? The mere act of sending matter back in time would change the course of events, and changing history is a responsibility that I do not wish to bear," the Professor said.

Marty sighed, lowering the paper. "All I know is you're throwing away an awful lot of money."

"The future, Marty, the future is everything," Professor Brown said, his eyes sparkling. "I built this machine to see the future. So I am going to send Shemp twenty-four hours into the future. You can assist me, if you like."

"Sure," he agreed quickly.

The Professor left the room for a moment, saying something about a cassette recorder. Marty waited for a second, then quickly ripped the racing results off the sports page and circled the date with a pen that had been in his pocket. He went over to Shemp, stuffed the clipping in the pocket on his vest, then glanced out the door. The Professor was rifling through the papers on his desk, his back to the door. Marty rushed over to the polarity switch and yanked the lever to the minus sign. A couple seconds later, Professor Brown returned, a Micro-cassette recorder in hand. He locked the door, then handed the recorded to Marty.

"Take this, stand at the panel," he said, pointing to a wall of switches near the beam, "and read off the radiation levels. I want to have a record of what happens here. Be sure to tell me when we reach 85 rads."

Marty nodded and stepped over to the panel. Right before him was a meter with the rads levels. He had his eyes on it as Professor Brown fixed the stool a few feet away. "Come on, Shemp, this won't hurt a bit," the Professor murmured as he picked up the monkey and placed him on the stool again. After doing that, he returned to the rope switch, across the room from where Marty stood and on the other side of Shemp. Marty watched him carefully, but he didn't seem to notice the lever at the minus sign.

"Here we go," the Professor warned, throwing a few switches. The equipment started humming again and Professor Brown slowly reached for the rope and started tugging on it.

"Radiation level, 10 rads," Marty said looking at the meter, holding the microphone in the recorder up to his mouth as he spoke. "Stabilization coefficient, .43. 16 rads; coefficient .44. 37 rads, .46. 51 rads, .46. 73 rads, .47..."

Marty heard a loud noise from behind him and spun around to see the locked door kicked open. The dust hadn't even cleared before Marty realized it was the N.R.C. agents, Reese and Foley. Behind them he saw a huge throng of police and other official people. The agents jumped into the room with .38 guns drawn.

"Everybody freeze!" Reese shouted, his eyes darting around the room. "N.R.C.!"

"Get back!" Professor Brown cried, waving his left hand. The other one was still holding onto the rope.

"Jesus Christ!" Foley yelled, seeing the machine the Professor was standing besides. "It's a Goddamn reactor!"

Reese pointed his gun at Professor Brown. "You! Shut it down! Now!"

Marty stared at the whole scene, mouth hanging open. He felt strangely detached from it, almost as if it was a play or a scene in a movie he was watching. The microphone fell from his hand, dangling on it's cord around his feet.

"No!" Professor Brown exclaimed, his eyes wide and frantic. "Get out! I'm in the middle of an experiment!" He moved closer to the reactor, pulling the rope tighter as he did so.

Foley didn't hesitate. He swung his gun at the Professor and squeezed the trigger. The loud bang echoed in the room. Shemp screeched and leaped off the stool. Marty watched, horrified, as the bullet hit his friend right in the chest. The Professor staggered back, hand still clenched around the rope. He fell backwards to the floor, the rope pulling taut as he landed.

"Professor!" Marty yelled, finally finding his voice. He whipped his head to check the meter. "Oh my God! Release the rope! It's 4200 rads!"

Reese stared at him, shaking his head. It was too noisy in the room for Marty to be heard. "What?!" he called.

"Release the rope!" Marty screamed at him. It was so noisy he could hardly hear his own voice! Reese shook his head again. Marty started for the Professor himself. Foley turned the gun on him.

"Freeze!" he commanded, his mouth set in a firm line.

Marty stopped, standing right before the stool where Shemp had once been. He raised his hands, showing he didn't have anything on him. The recorder and microphone was now in his jacket pocket. He couldn't remember putting it there with all the excitement.

Marty's eyes darted over to the Professor. As he watched, the Professor's grip suddenly relaxed and the rope swung loosely in the air. Marty suddenly realized he was right in the line of the focusing lense. A bright white light shot out from it and hit him square in the chest. Marty looked down at it for a moment, a little curiously, then looked up at the people in the room. Reese and Foley stared at him, startled looks on there faces.

Suddenly the whole room turned bright, blinding white, like a million cameras flashing at once. Then, less then a second later, everything was plunged into a deep, black silence.

"Professor?" Marty asked, straining his eyes in the darkness, trying to see something, anything. But everything was completely and utterly black. "Hello?" he called, listening hard for any sound.

After a moment, Marty reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook. He ripped a match free and struck it against the sandpaper. Marty held it up as it lit, looking around the room. It looked like he was in some kind of storeroom. Marty took a step forward, almost running into an old broken chair. He dodged it last minute and strolled slowly around the room, trying to figure out where the hell he was. Dusty furniture and crates littered the room.

The match was starting to burn Marty's fingers and he dropped it, fumbling to light another. He walked towards the door, having the nagging feeling that something was strangely out of place. Where the hell am I? he wondered. Marty reached for the doorknob and tried turning it. Locked.

"Damn!" he hissed, looking around for a way out. Marty spotted a window and went over to it, holding his breath as he tried to slide it open. It slid and he carefully climbed outside on to a fire escape. He scrambled down the unstable structure and dropped to the alley below.

Just as his feet scraped the pavement, Marty noticed a pair of headlights approaching him, fast. He stood there for a minute, frozen in the beams, then jumped back and pressed himself against the wall of the building. The truck sped by, missing him by inches!

Marty let out a loud sigh of relief as he watched the truck drive off, then noticed the sign on the door that he was right next to. "Wilson's Cafe, Rear Entrance," it said. Marty tried the door, expecting it to be locked. But the knob turned freely in his hand. Strange. For as long as he could remember the back door had been locked.

Marty stepped inside. "Hey, since when are you open at..." he started to say, then stopped when he got a good look around. It couldn't be Wilson's Cafe!

Everything in the room looked brand new...but at the same time, old. Dick wasn't behind the counter; a women of maybe thirty was. Marty looked up at the menu and gasped. Since when were roast beef sandwiches 30 cents, and an ice cream sunday 15 cents? He tore his eyes off the prices long enough to notice the people. Boy, did he notice them! All the men were in double-breasted suits, with hats. And not baseball caps, either! Marty noticed all the women were in skirts -- long skirts. Not one was in any type of pants, like jeans. And the way people had their hair done.... Those styles went out ages ago!

A chubby five-year-old boy, dressed in pajamas, was playing on the floor with some trucks. Marty almost tripped over him as he walked slowly around, his mouth open with amazement, gazing at everything. After a moment he realized the woman behind the counter was staring at him, a suspicious look on her face. "You want something, kid?" she asked, leaning forward across the counter.

Marty hesitated for a moment, then sat down. He decided he needed to blend in as much as he could. The silver Porsche jacket alone that he had on was causing way too many stares. "Uh, yeah..." he said slowly. "Gimme a Tab."

"What?" the waitress asked, frowning.

"A Tab," Marty repeated.

The waitress rolled her eyes. "Kid, I can't give you the tab until you order something."

Marty tried to ignore the stares everyone was giving him and looked down at the counter. He saw the man beside him had a cup of coffee.

"Uh, coffee," he told the waitress. She reached over and poured him a cup.

"Did something happen to you, kid?" she wondered. "I mean, you been lost in the woods or something?"

Marty looked at her blankly. "Huh?" He noticed a bowl of sugar cubes on the counter and added, "Say, have you got any Sweet 'N Low?"

The waitress stared at him. "Sweet and what?" She suddenly lifted the cup of coffee away from him. "Maybe you'd better pay for this first."

"Sure," Marty said with a shrug. He reached for his wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill, holding it out to the waitress. Her eyes bugged out and her mouth dropped open.

"A twenty? What do you think this is, a bank? I can't break a twenty!" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Say, what's a kid your age doing with all this money?"

Marty quickly stuffed the bill back in his wallet. Now everyone in the cafe was staring at him. "Look, maybe I'd better talk to Dick," he said to the woman. "Is he around?"<

"Dick?" the waitress asked. "Dick who?"

Now who's being stupid? "The guy who runs this place."

" I run this place!" the woman said sharply, her eyes once again narrowed. "What happened to Dick Wilson?" Marty asked, confused.

"Dick Wilson," the waitress repeated. "Dickie Wilson?" She chuckled. "Dickie Wilson runs this place? That's a laugh!"

Marty felt his face redden as everyone in the room started to laugh with the waitress. "What are you trying to do?" he asked angrily. "Freak me out, or something?"

"Freak?" the man with the coffee asked. "Are you from some circus? Is that what all that writing on your clothes means?"

Haven't you ever heard of designer labels? Marty wondered, glaring at him. He heard soft footsteps from behind the counter and saw the little five-year-old run up to the woman. "Mommy, I'm hungry," he whined.

The waitress smiled. "Just take a candy bar, then go to bed, Dickie," she cooed.

Marty did a double take. "Dickie?" he said incredulously. "That's Dick Wilson?"

The waitress nodded. "That's Dick Wilson," she confirmed.

Marty watched the kid grab a Babe Ruth of the candy counter and scamper off. He was about to turn away from the sight when he noticed a calendar behind the cash register. A calendar that had the number "1952" in big black letters.

"1952?" Marty repeated aloud, his voice rising. "This is 1952?! Holy shit! You know what this means? I've gone back in time thirty years! Thirty Goddamn years! I haven't even been born yet!"

The waitress took one look at him and reached for a phone. "I'm calling the cops."

Marty jumped off the stool and ran out the front door, stopping dead in the middle of the street. Everything had changed!

Monroe Avenue, once full of old, rotting buildings, was now a bustling, thriving business district! Cars from the '40's and '50's ran up and down the streets. People were everywhere, walking along the streets, stopping in the shops. Marty was so shocked to see what he was seeing he didn't notice the strange, suspicious looks the towspeople were flashing at him, or the drivers honking at him as they swerved to avoid hitting him.

He turned and noticed the Orpheum Theater. It, too, had changed! Boy, had it! The marquee was lit up with the words: "John Wayne, Maureen O'Hara -- The Quiet Man. In Full Color!" People streamed into it and from the looks of the place, it was a first class movie theater.

"Dammit!" Marty exclaimed, shaking his head in shock. He noticed a man walking by with a newspaper in hand. Marty ran over to him and snatched the paper away, ignoring the owner's protest as he scanned the front page for the date. March 11, 1952.

"1952!" he cried. "Dammit!" Marty threw the paper down on the sidewalk and ran down the street. He stopped beside an old car and checked out the license plate. Besides the fact it looked nothing like the plates he was used to, it also said --

"1952! Dammit," he swore again. Marty ran off again, noticing a phone booth. It was empty, so he stopped inside and grabbed the phone book. He frantically riffled through the pages, to the listings of Browns. After a minute, he located it and ran his finger down the column to: "Brown, Emmett L., 788 W. Spruce. Madison 3489." Marty pulled the Bic pen out from his pocket and circled the line. Then he reached into his pocket again and pulled out all the change he had. One nickel and three pennies.

"Dammit!" he muttered. Marty picked up the receiver anyway and dialed zero.

"Operator," a woman's voice said after a moment.

"Operator! Listen, this is an emergency!" Marty said urgently. "I have to make this call, but I don't have a dime -- all I got is a nickel -- but you gotta connect me --"

"Sir," the operator said calmly, interrupting Marty's speech. "It only costs a nickel."

"What?" he asked, not sure if he had heard correctly.

"Local calls cost five cents," the operator repeated. "What number do you want?"

Marty looked up and saw the words, "Local Calls 5 Cents" written in plain sight on the telephone. "Oh -- right!" he said, trying to sound like he had known it all along. "Uh, Madison 3489."

"Five cents, please."

Marty placed the nickel inside the coin slot and listened as the number ran several times.

"I'm sorry, there's no answer," the operator said after a minute.

"Operator, what's today's date?" Marty asked, holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

"March 11th."

"What year?"

"Nineteen fifty --"

Marty shook his head. "Dammit!" He slammed the receiver down and ripped the page out of the phone book, stuffing it in his pocket. Then he got out of the phone booth and ran down the street.

Marty didn't know how long he had been running before he found himself on a residential street. It looked vaguely familiar, but he was too exhausted by the recent events to figure out why. He leaned against a mailbox, trying to catch his breath, when he happened to look down at the numbers on it. 777. Marty spun around and stared at the house.

"My house!" he whispered. It looked like his house. It was! But there were some weird things, like the trees not being as tall, different curtains, and a old Chevy in the driveway. Marty watched as the front door opened and a woman pushed the screen door open to let out a dog. Marty gasped. The woman was his mother!

"Mom!" he cried, racing to the front door. She didn't notice him and shut the door. Marty ran up the steps and pounded on the front door. "Mom! Open up! It's me!"

After a few seconds the door opened and his mom stood in the doorway. She stared at Marty without a shred of recognition.

"Mom, thank God!" he babbled. "Thank God you're here!"

His mother stared at him blankly. "I bed your pardon, young man?"

Marty paled. "Mom! It's me! Marty! Don't you know your own son!"

Mom started to close the door, her expression uneasy. "I think you have the wrong house."

Marty shook his head frantically. "No -- no -- it's not!" he cried, having trouble breathing. "It's not!"

A man smoking a pipe approached Marty's mother from behind. "Who's there, Stella?" he asked.

"Stella!?" Marty gasped. "No! Don't tell me you're Stella! Tell me you're Eileen!" he begged. "Please tell me you're Eileen!"

In the background, Marty saw a teenage girl come down the staircase. She heard the last part of the conversation and went over to the door, pushing her way past the woman. "I'm Eileen," she said.

He stared into her hazel eyes. "How old are you?" he whispered.

Eileen smiled. "Seventeen."

Marty stared at her for a moment more, breathing hard, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground in a dead faint!

Marty smelled something funny. He made a face and turned his head, but the smell followed him. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up into the face of someone he knew.

"Professor? Professor Brown?" Marty asked weakly. It looked a lot like him, only he didn't look as old. Then Marty remembered -- he was in 1952!

"You know me?" the Professor wondered, removing the smelling salts from under Marty's nose now that he was awake. It was only then Marty realized he was stretched out on a couch in a living room that looked an awful lot like his own.

"Professor, you time machine works!" Marty said rapidly. "It works! It sent me back in time! I'm from 1982!"

"Ssshhhhh!" Professor Brown said, holding up his hand. His expression was both thoughtful and suspicious. Marty heard footsteps and turned his head to see his grandfather, grandmother, and mother, all looking thirty years younger, edging closer to the couch to get a look at him.

"Is he all right?" Mr. Baines asked finally.

The Professor straightened up. "He will be. Simple inebriation, is all. The young man must have a rather low tolerance for alcohol...something that runs in the family. You see, he's a second cousin of mine on my mother's side. Came quite a distance to visit me," he added. "His name's Lewis."

"Marty," Marty corrected him.

"Uh, Marty Lewis," Professor Brown said hastily. "I almost didn't recognize him -- haven't seen him in years."

Eileen stared at Marty and he looked back at her, fascinated that this young teenager was -- would be -- his mother! She looked so different...attractive, even!

"It's a good thing he had your name circled in the phone book," Mrs. Baines said to the Professor. "I would have called the police."

Professor Brown leaned over and helped Marty sit up. "Well, Mrs. Baines, Mr. Baines, thank you for your trouble," he said as Marty got to his feet. "Both Marty and I apologize for the inconvenience. We'll get him home and as good as new."

Mr. Baines looked sharply at Marty and shook his finger at him. "Son, you watch yourself," he warned.

"Yes, sir," Marty said, nodding his head.

"Oh," Eileen began, going over to a chair a few feet away and picking up the silver jacket of Marty's. Someone must've taken it off him when they brought him into the house, he realized. "Here's your jacket," she said softly, her big eyes locked on his face.

"Uh, thanks..." Marty stammered. Eileen held up the jacket and gave it a quizzical look.

"What kind of material is this?" she asked. "I've never seen anything like it."

He took it from her hand. "It's polyester," he said matter-of-factly.

Eileen frowned. "Poly-what?"

Professor Brown jumped in. "It's an experimental invention of mine. Sort of a rubberized silver-foil. I just made up a name for it. Come on, Marty," he added, walking toward the front door. "We've got a lot to talk about."

Marty followed the Professor. He was just about to step out the door when Eileen stopped him. "Marty?"

He turned. "Huh?"

"Have we ever met before?" she asked, a puzzled look on her face. Marty's eyes met hers, but before he could open his mouth, the Professor grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door.

Early the next morning, Professor Brown walked down the hall to the room he had given Marty McFly late the night before. He stopped and listened carefully, hearing no sound from the other side. After a minute he reached for the doorknob and turned it. The Professor pushed the door open a couple of inches, sticking his head around the side of the door to peer inside.

The shades were wide open, the first rays of sunlight slanting across the room over to the bed. Marty was lying on top of the queen bed on his back, one arm hanging over the side of the bed, still fully dressed in his 1982 clothes. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep. The Professor studied him for a moment, then slowly stepped inside the room and crept across to the table next to the bed, where the Cathedral Radio rested and the small cassette recorder. He had come in to get a closer look at the future object.

Professor Brown carefully picked the recorder up and examined it. His finger accidentally hit the play button and a loud burst of conversation came out. The Professor swore under his breath as he fumbled for the stop button. His eyes flew to Marty as he quickly set the recorder on the table again. Marty let out a deep sigh, eyes still closed, and rolled over.

Professor Brown waited a moment, to make sure Marty wasn't going to awaken. He listened to his slow, deep breathing for a second, then quickly crossed the room to the door. The Professor eased it shut and continued down the hall. He had to get to the University and look up the information about nuclear physics. Hopefully, there would be a answer to send Marty back to the future.

Late the next morning, Marty stirred and opened his eyes. It was another bright, sunny day outside. He smiled slowly, thinking of his audition a few days away, and crawled out of bed. The house was quiet, with the Professor at work.

Marty went downstairs and into the kitchen. Professor Brown had left the coffee pot on and he cheerfully poured himself a cup, then opened the refrigerator and pulled out the new bottle of milk. He got the stopper out in a matter of seconds, without breaking it, too. As Marty added the milk to the black coffee, he started to sing.

"So you wanna be a rock 'n roll star..." he began. The doorbell rang before he could get any further with the song. Marty rolled his eyes and set the milk down. He was going to have to go through this again? Marty left the kitchen and headed for the front door. He shook his head as he reached for the knob.

"Look, Professor," he started to say, opening the door, "I'm not -- oh."

The words died in his throat. Marty stared at Eileen, standing on the doorstep, hugging books to her chest. She smiled at him and Marty smiled back, weakly.

"Hi, Marty," she said.

"Uh, hi...."

"Eileen," his mother jumped in.

Marty gave another weak smile. It was hard for him to say her name. "Right. Eileen." What is she doing here?

The smile faded from Eileen's face. "You remember me...?" she asked, an uncertain tone to her voice.

How could I forget? "Oh, sure, I remember you."

"Well, I was on my way to school, and I just wanted to stop by and see if you were feeling okay," she explained. "You seemed like you were in pretty bad shape the other night."

"Oh, I'm feeling much better now," Marty said.

The smile returned to Eileen's face. "How long are you planning on staying?"

Marty shrugged. "Actually, it looks like I'm gonna be stuck here for awhile," he admitted.

Eileen's smile grew wider. "Then you'll be going to school here....?"

"School?" Marty repeated, mostly to himself. "I never thought of school! If I went to school I could blend in with everybody else, couldn't I?"

Eileen blinked, puzzled.

"What time does school start around here?" Marty asked her.

"Nine o' clock," she said, glancing at her watch. Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, I'm late! Maybe I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Marty said thoughtfully. "Maybe so."

Eileen flashed another smile at him, then turned and hurried down the walk. Marty shut the door and headed for the upstairs.

Not much later, Marty walked up the steps of his future high school, amazed at the change. The grafitti was gone from the building, as were the broken windows and overall run-down worn-in look the place had held before -- or would later. All the tall trees on campus were much smaller, maybe half the size they were in 1982. The bell rang as he reached the door, a notebook in hand, and students streamed into the hallways.

Marty stared openly at his classmates. They all looked like people from an old movie, with the hair and clothes, the way they acted.... He walked through the hall and passed an open door. The classroom looked familiar and he stopped, looking inside.

After a moment of hesitation, Marty walked inside. Yeah, he had been in it before! But everything looked a lot different -- newer. And the chalkboards were black, not green. He went over to the desk that would be his in thirty years and ran a hand across the smooth, shiny surface, devoid of any marks or carvings.

"You there!" he heard someone yell. Someone familiar.... "What are you doing in this class?"

Marty lifted his head up and found himself looking at Mr. Arky -- thirty years younger! His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he stared at the science teacher. He looked so different, age aside. Their was an energetic spark in his eyes that hadn't been there when Marty would have him for a teacher.

"Mr. Arky?" Marty asked, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He wasn't. "Mr. Arky!"

"Yes, that's my name," the teacher said, unamused. "Who are you, young man? Are you supposed to be here?"

"Uh -- yeah," Marty said slowly. "I'm new here, and I'm supposed to be in this class."

Mr. Arky nodded. "You have a name?"

"Marty. Marty Lewis."

Marty watched the girl in the seat next to him, his eyes focused on the old fountain pen she was filling with ink. He couldn't believe it. Where were the pens he was used to?

In the background, Mr. Arky continued with the day's lecture. Marty listened to him with half an ear, not paying much attention.

"...and it is, of course, due to science that we Americans enjoy the highest standard of living in the history of the world. When we think of the technological advances made in just the past thirty years, it boggles the mind to imagine what the world will be like in another thirty years. I think I can safely say that we can all look forward to a world of plenty, a world free of disease and starvation. There'll be entire cities built under the sea, cars that can go two or three hundred miles an hour."

Marty stared at Mr. Arky in disbelief. Could he be serious? Marty glanced around and noticed the rest of the class looked bored, as if they had heard the lecture before. Goddammit, he is serious!

"You girls will be able to cook an entire meal, clean the entire house, and do all of your laundry and ironing by push button," the science teacher went on. "You may even have a robot to assist you in all your duties as a wife."

"I hope those robots won't be assisting in all my wife's duties!" someone yelled from the back. The class laughed, but Marty was distracted by something. Where had he heard that voice before? It sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it....

"Well, Biff, since you seem so eager to get into this discussion, perhaps you'd like to tell us what you think you'll be doing in thirty years?" Mr. Arky said.

Marty turned around and saw Biff Tannen -- thirty years younger, of course -- slouched in the back desk with a bored expression on his face. Surrounding him were three other guys who were obviously friends of his. One was missing two front teeth, one chewed on a wooden match, and the other had a crewcut that made him look nearly bald. Marty stared at Biff, who appeared just as obnoxious as he was later in life.

"I know what I won't be doin'," he said with a smirk on his face. "Goin' to school!"

His three cronies broke out laughing. "Hey, Biff, good one!" the guy missing his teeth called out.

"Ataway, Biff!" the baldy added.

Biff suddenly noticed Marty's stare. He scowled at him. "What are you lookin' at, A-hole?" he demanded.

Marty met Biff's glare, then turned away. Mr. Arky continued with his class, the confrontation unnoticed.

"Anybody else have any ideas about what life might be like in thirty years?" the teacher asked the class, eyes roaming the class for volunteers. No one did, as usual.

At least this hasn't changed , Marty thought with a chuckle.

"Mr. Cusimano? Miss Voyles? Miss Kaner?" Mr. Arky looked around the silent class. "So am I to understand that no one has anything at all to say about the future?"

The teacher shifted his gaze to Marty. "How about you, Mr. McFly?"

Marty felt his face drain of color. He had been caught! "Oh shit...!" he muttered under his breath.

A few kids turned their heads to stare at him, shocked at his words, including Biff. Marty hardly had a chance to notice that when the student in front of him started to speak.

"Well, I, uh....well...."

Marty glanced at him, and did a double take. That person stuttering was none other then a younger version of George McFly -- his father! Marty couldn't believe it! First his mother, now this! George was a mess, shoulders slumped, hair uncombed, and an overall nerdy, wimpy look about him.

"Jesus Christ!" Marty gasped. "Dad!"

The entire class now stared at Marty. Mr. Arky ignored it as best he could. "Continue, Mr. McFly," he said.

Marty's father stood up slowly, as if he were getting called to his execution. Marty sighed and buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. "Well, I -- uh -- could you repeat the question?" George asked meekly.

"Sit down, McFly, you stupid moron!" Biff shouted from the back. "I can't see!" A second later, a spitball hit George in the back of the head. His face red, George sat down.

Marty whipped his head around, furious, and glared at Biff. "Hey, lay off!" he ordered.

Biff glared back at him, his eyes narrowed in slits of hatred.

"Did you say something, Mr. Lewis?" Mr. Arky asked.

Marty didn't hear him, continuing to give Biff the worst look he could. "Mr. Lewis, I'm talking to you," Mr. Arky said, his voice rising.

Marty snapped out of it, remembering who he was supposed to be. "Who, me?"

"You're the only Mr. Lewis in this class," Mr. Arky said with a note of sarcasm in his voice, gesturing around. "If you have something to say, say it so the whole class can hear."

Marty nodded. If that's what he wanted. "Well, yeah, I was thinking," he began, "if cars are gonna be going two or three hundred miles an hour, they're gonna be using an awful lot of gas. Like, what if we run out?"

Mr. Arky stared at him. "Run out of gas?" he repeated in disbelief. The class started laughing. Marty looked around, baffled. Was what he said that funny? "Well, class, it seems we have a doomsayer in our midst. I must say, Mr. Lewis, that's a mighty pessimistic attitude for a young man like yourself," Mr. Arky added.

"First of all, with all the studies we have indicating the vast supplies of petroleum in the earth, plus the massive reserves that have yet to be discovered, the likelihood of any such shortage is highly remote. And even if the most improbable, catastrophic circumstances were to occur and we did have a shortage of petroleum, I'm sure that American technology and ingenuity would overcome the problem in no time at all. All in all," Mr. Arky concluded, "I'd say your time would be better spent worrying about the real problems that face our world, instead of a shortage of gasoline."

At the back of the class, Biff and his group started to make farting noises. "Hey, we got plenty of gas back here!" Biff cried, causing the class to erupt into laughter once again.

Marty just shook his head.

Not much later, the bell rang, ending the science class. Everyone made a mad dash for the door, including Marty. He'd had enough humiliation for the day with Mr. Arky.

George waited until most of the other students had left before gathering up his books and heading for the door. Marty separated himself from the mob in the hall and stood outside the door, waiting for him. A minute later, George finally walked into the corridor. Marty waited a moment, then followed him, keeping his distance.

When they reached a hall intersection, Marty noticed Eileen headed for the two of them, her friend Madge with her. She didn't seem to see Marty, but her eyes locked on George and she smiled at him. "Hi, George," she cooed.

Marty watched as George looked over at her and became so flustered that he walked straight into another student in the hall. Eileen and her friend giggled and walked away. George's eyes followed her until she was out of sight, then he walked over to a drinking fountain.

As he leaned over and turned the fountain on, he misjudged the distance and the stream of water hit him right in the face. Marty shook his head from a few feet away, as George wiped the water from his eyes. From the fountain, George headed over to his locker. Marty watched him dial the combination and, as he opened the locker door, a pile of books fell out, nearly knocking him over. Marty looked away, sighing.

After George picked up his books, he started moving in the direction of the cafeteria. As Marty got in the lunch line behind him, he noticed a large poster tacked on the wall. Something about the "Springtime in Paris Dance" on Saturday, March 16th. Not too far off.

Marty turned his attention to his father, watching the bored cafeteria ladies shovel out a overcooked pork chop, wilted salad, and green stewed tomatoes. Looks like the food isn't much better now then in 1982, Marty thought, amused. George didn't seem to notice. Leaning forward a little, Marty could hear him muttering to himself.

"Eileen, if you're free Saturday night.... No.... Eileen, would you like to go to the dance...no...."

Something suddenly clicked and Marty looked at the poster again. Yeah, now he remembered! That was the dance his parents fell in love at!

The lunch line moved slowly, but eventually both he and George got through it. George looked around the crowded lunch room, searching for someone. Marty tried to follow where his eyes were roaming and after a moment, he realized George was staring at the table where Eileen, Madge, and a few other friends of theirs were sitting. George took a deep breath, then started walking over to the table. Marty followed, not too far behind.

As George approached the table, his hands started shaking, causing everything on his lunch tray to wobble around. "Uh, Eileen?" he began when he was at the table.

Eileen turned around and gave him a warm smile. "Hi, George."

Marty watched his future father, a bundle of nerves. "Eileen, could I ask you something?" he said quickly. The creamed corn on his tray suddenly tipped over and spilled. "Ooops --!"

Eileen smiled again, obviously not put off by it.

George took another deep breath. "Uh, well, the thing is, that is, what I wanted to ask you...."

Marty decided this was too important to miss and crept closer so he could hear better. Unfortunately, Eileen spotted him.

"Marty!" she exclaimed, rasing an arm to wave at him. "Hi, Marty! Over here!"

George spun around before Marty had a chance to do anything. The sudden movement causing George's entire tray to slip from his hands and spill all over his shirt. "Oh God!" he cried, horrified. "Excuse me, please!"

He started to run off, but Marty grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute -- aren't you gonna ask her to the dance?" That was what was supposed to have happened, wasn't it?

George stared at him. "Huh? How did you know?"

Marty pushed him towards Eileen. "Go ahead, George. Ask her."

George shoved his arms away. "Leave me alone!"

The gesture shocked Marty, but he shook his head. "You've gotta ask her to the dance!"

"Not now...." George muttered, looking around the cafeteria. People were beginning to stare.

Eileen had been watching the whole ordeal with interest. Now she spoke up. "Is that what you were going to ask me, George? To go to the dance?"

"No!" George shouted, running away, out of the cafeteria.

"George!" Marty yelled, taking a few steps in his direction. "Wait! Get back here! You're not supposed to run off! It doesn't happen that way!"

George didn't look back. Marty threw his hands up in the air helplessly. "Oh, God, this is all wrong!" he moaned.

Eileen stared at him with concern. "What's all wrong?"

Marty ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "George! He's supposed to ask you to the dance!"

"But he didn't ask me."

"But he does!" Marty insisted. "Don't you see?"

By the blank expression on Eileen's face, it was obvious that she didn't. Marty quickly explained: "He comes out of the cafeteria line, he's nervous, he spills his corn, and he asks you to the dance!"

"Marty, you haven't been listening. Nobody's asked me to the dance...yet," she added, giving him a flirtatious smile before picking up her empty lunch tray and walking away.

Oh, no she couldn't be.... Marty sat down in a chair, quick, as his legs threatened to give out on him. Eileen, his mother, she -- she....

"I know," he whispered.

"You did what?!?" Professor Brown yelled as Marty finished telling him what had gone on that morning. It was later in the afternoon, they were in his study. Marty had gone to the Professor right away, since he had no idea what to do and needed some advice. His friend was taking the news better then Marty had expected.

"I didn't mean to do it -- it was an accident!" he insisted.

Professor Brown shook his head. "Do you realize what that means? Do you have any idea what that means?" he cried.

Marty shrugged. "Look, it's not a big deal! I can fix it! All I gotta do is get 'em together and make sure my old man asks her out!"

"You better make sure your old man asks her out," Professor Brown countered, "because if he doesn't, they may never have a first date. And if they don't have a first date, they won't have a second date. If they don't have a second date, they won't fall in love. If they don't fall in love, they won't get married, and if they don't get married, you'll never be born!"

Marty swallowed hard. Well, maybe everything is a little worse then I first thought, he realized.

The next day, Marty brought George to the malt shop. It was after classes and all the high school students were in there, including Eileen.

"I don't know if I can go through with this!" George moaned as they drew closer to the building. Marty dodged two kids on homemade scooters as they sped by them on the sidewalk. His eyes followed them for a moment, the vehicles reminding him of skateboards.

"George, she's beautiful, right?" Marty said to him. "She's nice, she's decent, she's the kind of girl you'd like to marry, right? And there's nothing in the world you'd like more than to take her to that dance, right?"

"Well...yeah...." George admitted.

"Okay, then!" Marty said brightly.

Suddenly, George stopped, turned and faced him, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wait a minute -- who are you, anyway? What are you doing this for?" he asked, his hands on his hips.

Marty hesitated. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in you and Eileen going to this dance, all right? Look," he added, pointing though the window of the malt shop. "There she is...."

Eileen was sitting at a table with Madge and some other girl, each having ice cream sodas and talking.

"Go in there and invite her," Marty told George, nudging him in the direction of the doors.

But George stayed put. "What do I say?" he worried.

"Say what you were supposed to say in the cafeteria," Marty prompted him.

George shook his head quickly. "Oh, no! That was for the cafeteria! This is different!"

"Christ, it's a miracle I was even born!" Marty muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Look, I'll write it down for you, okay?" Marty took the notebook George had in his hands and ripped a page out. He pulled his pen out and started jotting down some helpful lines. George stared at the pen as he wrote.

"What is that? A pencil that writes in ink?" he wondered.

It was Marty's turn to be confused. "Huh?"

"Lemme see that." George plucked the pen from his hand and looked it at it carefully. " 'Bike fine point?' "

"Bic," Marty corrected. "It's a Bic pen."

George frowned. "How do you fill it with ink?"

"Fill it with ink?" Marty repeated. "You don't fill it -- oh come on, George!" He pushed him into the malt shop, tired of the procrastination. As soon as they entered, Marty steered him in the direction of Eileen's table and handed him the paper he had written on.

"There she is," he said in a low voice. "Just go and ask her. I'll be sitting right here," Marty added, taking an empty seat at the counter.

George looked at him, and then over at Eileen. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, then suddenly veered back to the counter. "Gimme a strawberry malted," he told the soda jerk. Marty shook his head, wondering if he would ever get to Eileen.

While he waited for the drink, George examined the paper Marty gave him and mouthed the dialog to himself, apparently trying to memorize it. A moment later, the malt came and he took a swig of it, the drink leaving an unnoticed pink moustache on his face. He turned around and started to approach Eileen.

Finally, Marty thought.

George was still several feet away when Eileen looked up and spotted him. "Hi, George," she said brightly.

He took a step back, startled. "Uh, hi, Eileen," he mumbled.

"How are you?" Eileen asked.

"Oh -- I'm all right. Say, listen, about this dance Saturday night --"

The door to the malt shop was suddenly thrown open. "Hey, McFly, I thought I told you never to come in here!" Biff Tannen yelled, standing in the doorway with his gang behind him. George took one look at him and shuddered. Marty let his head fall in his hands with a sigh. They had been so goddamn close!

"Well, it's gonna cost you, McFly," Biff continued, stepping onto the tiled floor. "How much money you got on you?"

George pulled out his wallet and opened it. "How much do you want, Biff?" he asked meekly.

Biff crossed the room, on his way to George. As he passed, Marty stretched his leg out and tripped the bully. Biff crashed to the floor, taking a chair down with him. People started to laugh, but Biff scowled. He didn't think it was too funny. He got to his feet and stepped over to where Marty sat, his back to him.

"Listen, A-hole," he growled, "it's about time I taught you a lesson." Biff put a hand on his arm and at his touch, Marty spun around on the stool and threw his fist into Biff's face! Unprepared, Biff fell back onto a table. Marty jumped off the stool. The cafe was deathly silent and Biff's three henchmen started to approach him. Marty decided it was time for him to leave the building and he pushed his way out of the crowded teen hangout and onto Main Street.

Marty ran down the street, hearing the pounding footsteps of Biff and his gang behind him. He cast a quick look over his shoulder and saw them closing the gap that separated them. He was going to be dead meat! One of the kids on the homemade scooters sailed by, and Marty suddenly had an idea. He grabbed the scooter and pulled it away from the kid, kicking the orange crate off the board with the skates on it and leaving a crude skateboard!

Marty jumped on it and sped down the street. Biff and his gang stopped in their tracks and stared at him, amazed. Likewise with the crowd that had moved out of the malt shop.

"In the car!" Biff yelled to his buddies. They raced to the black convertible, Biff getting behind the wheel. He gunned the engine, heading straight for Marty. Marty glanced over his shoulder and saw the convertible quickly gaining on him. He cut a sharp turn in the middle of the street and crossed before Biff's car, then started to retrace his steps back to the malt shop. A car passed him, and Marty grabbed onto the back of it, ignoring the stunned looks of everyone around, including Biff and his gang.

Biff executed a quick U-turn and continued his pursuit of Marty. As he passed the malt shop, the spectators cheered. "Did you see that?" Madge asked Eileen, awed.

Eileen nodded, her mouth open, impressed.

Biff's convertible raced past the cafe, hot on the trail of Marty. Marty risked another look back. His eyes widened in panic as he saw Biff's convertible closing in on the distance, quick. Was there no end to his maniacal determination? Marty turned his attention back to the front. He saw Hill Street intersecting up ahead. Instinctively, he released his hold on the car and leaned into the board, turning it onto the street. Biff once again overshot the street and had to do another U-turn to get on it.

Hill Street was not named by accident -- it was incredibly steep. At the bottom of the hill was an intersection with traffic lights. Marty felt the board pick up speed. Behind him, Biff was putting the pedal to the metal, the tires actually leaving the ground as he leapt onto Hill Street! Once again, he quickly closed in on the distance between the convertible and the skateboard. Marty crouched down, cutting the wind resistance down, and the skateboard picked up speed. He was approaching the intersection, fast! The light turned yellow.

Closing his eyes and mouthing a silent prayer, Marty flew through the traffic, cars skidding to a stop and swerving to avoid hitting him. Miraculously, he made it to the other side unscathed.

Such could not be said for Biff. His breaks locked up as he tried to avoid a red car ahead, and the convertible's tires skidded across the road. Marty winced in anticipation as Biff headed straight for a red car. At the last minute, the car pulled away and Biff slammed into a cop car in the next lane of traffic! Two big cops immediately got out and headed straight for Biff, not looking too happy.

Biff let out an angry sigh. "I'm gonna get that son of a bitch," he growled.

Marty left the site, a satisfied smile on his face. Biff had gotten what he deserved. He turned onto a residential street, his mind wandering as he leisurely skateboarded. About ten minutes later, he reached an intersection next to his future home, and saw Eileen approaching the house...with George! Marty skidded to a stop, grabbed the board, and ducked behind some bushes to watch.

George, carrying Eileen's books, was walking her to the door. They were talking, but Marty couldn't catch any of the conversation. After a moment, George gave Eileen her books and they shook hands very formal-like.

He must've finally asked her to the dance! Marty sighed, glad to have that mission finally accomplished and dropped his board on the ground, skateboarding away from Eileen's house to the Professor's place to tell him the news. He never saw George, after Eileen had closed the door, throw his jacket down in the street and slump down in the gutter, dropping his head in his hands, dejected instead of exuberant.

That evening, Marty lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in deep thought. Eventually, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the business card from Reginald. Marty looked at it for a long time...then shredded it into tiny scraps. He pushed himself off the bed and let the papers fall into the trash can. Then he pulled out the crumpled textbook page and went downstairs with it, heading for the study.

Professor Brown was seated at the desk, his back to the door, hunched over something. As Marty entered, he made a quick movement, as if he was trying to hide the fact he had been listening to the micro-cassette recorder again, the gunshot portion. Marty didn't notice, too caught up in his own problems.

"Professor, you were right about everything," he said. "I don't belong here. I almost screwed up my existence again today while I was trying to put it back together, and I've had enough. I want to go back to the future."

Marty handed him the textbook page, pointing at the caption under the photograph. The frown on the Professor's face changed to a smile and his eyes lit up. "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"I brought it with me from 1982," Marty explained. "It's from my science book."

Professor Brown looked at it more closely. "The test is this Monday! 15 megatons," he mused. "Let's see, we need 4200 rads..." The Professor did some calculations on a slide rule, lying on the desk. "You'd have to be...exactly 800 yards from ground zero," he concluded.

Professor Brown turned to Marty with a serious look. "You realize that what we're going to do could be extremely dangerous."

"Believe me, Professor, running around on a nuclear test site can't be any more dangerous than what I've been doing," Marty assured him, thinking of that afternoon's chase.

The Professor stared at him a moment, then nodded. "All right, here's what we'll do: we'll get an Army Surplus Truck, mount the time machine and power converter on it, and drive it to Nevada. If we leave by Saturday night, we can make it to the test site in plenty of time. And just to be on the safe side, I'd better build a lead-lined time chamber for your added protection. I don't know if I trust these atomic bombs," he added.

The telephone rang before Professor Brown could say anything else. He reached over and picked it up. "Hello?" A pause, during which the Professor looked sharply at Marty. "Uh, no, Eileen, he can't come to the phone right now." Marty stared at him, his heart starting to pound with alarm.

"All right," Professor Brown was saying. "Yes, I'll tell him.... Good-bye." He hung up and turned to Marty with a grave expression. Marty had a sinking feeling that he was not going to like what he had to say. He was right.

"Your 'mother' wanted me to tell you that she was very impressed by what you did this afternoon, and that if you were interested in going to the dance Saturday, she's available."

"But that's impossible!!" Marty cried. "George asked her out! He had to! I saw him walk her home! Oh, God!" he moaned.

"My guess is that she turned him down," Professor Brown said calmly.

"But why?" Marty asked. "Why would she do that? She's supposed to marry the guy!"

Professor Brown shrugged. "Apparently, what has happened is that the maternal instinct has transcended the gap of time and this has caused an alteration in your mother's emotional behavior."

Marty swallowed hard. "Are you trying to tell me that my mother's got the hots for me?" he demanded.

The Professor thought about that for a moment. "In a manner of speaking, yes," he decided. "And because of that, she's no longer interested in your father."

"Jesus!" Marty sat down in a nearby chair. "What are we gonna do?"

Marty stepped into the malt shop the next day, his eyes on Eileen and Madge, both sitting at the same table as they were the day before, once again talking and drinking ice cream sodas. He crossed the room and sat down with them, to Eileen's delight.

"How ya doing, Eileen?" he greeted her.

Eileen smiled. She and her friend exchanged a glance. "Hi, Marty!"

"Listen," Marty began, his hands under the table top, "Professor Brown told me you called last night and gave me your message...." He carefully taped the micro-cassette recorder to the bottom of the table and pressed the record button. Neither girl seemed to notice anything. "...and if you're still available, I'd like to take you to the dance Saturday night, so I'll pick you up around 8:30, okay?"

Eileen smiled and nodded as Marty stood up to leave. "Okay. See you later, Marty."

Marty gave her a cheerful wave as he left the malt shop. He pretended to walk away, then ducked behind a nearby building. A few minutes later, Eileen and Madge came out. He waited until they were out of sight before running in the shop and prying the recorder loose.

Later that night, in the Professor's garage, Marty played it back for the both of them. Professor Brown had been welding sheet lead metal into a large Philco Refrigerator. The time machine was now resting in the bed of an Army truck. The Professor had also modified the top of the refrigerator to hold the beam focusing unit so the time beam would shine directly into the fridge.

"...so I'll pick you up around 8:30, okay?" Marty heard himself say on the tape.

"Okay. See you later, Marty."

He heard the sounds of him walking away and leaving the shop. Almost as soon as the door shut behind him, the girls started talking about him. "Isn't he a dream?" Eileen asked with a giddy sigh.

"Boy, I've never seen you fall for anybody like that before," Madge said.

Eileen sighed again. "I know. I've never felt like this about anybody before. I really don't understand it, but I just feel like -- like mothering him."

Marty and the Professor exchanged a look.

"But what about George?" Madge asked Eileen. "I thought you wanted him to ask you."

"He did ask me....but I turned him down."

"Why?" Madge asked, sounding surprised. "You always thought George was cute because he was so shy."

"Well, that's what I thought. But he really isn't shy. He's just chicken."

The Professor suddenly grabbed the recorder from Marty's hands and rewound the last sentence.

"He's just chicken," Eileen said again.

"Come on, George," Marty said Saturday morning, facing off with him in his backyard. "Don't be such a chicken. Hit me in the stomach. Right here, go ahead." He held his arms away from his body, making himself an easy target. Behind him, a duffel bag packed with clothes swung from a tree, as a homemade body bag.

George didn't make a move. "I don't want to hit you in t