The Next Step: Prologue

CAVEAT: I do not own the characters from 'Back to the Future'; furthermore, I owe a degree of gratitude to Bruce Gordon for his story "The Other Marty McFly" from Starlog #108 (July 1986).

---

Doc was dead.

Marty knew it wasn’t “his” Doc, but that really didn’t matter at the moment. Having just returned to the scene of his first time travel experience, an accident resulting from his attempt to outrun the Libyans, he surveyed the mayhem that occurred in the moments surrounding that event. The Libyans, having obtained the vengeance they sought after Doc had tricked them by providing a fake nuclear bomb, were long gone. In the days and weeks leading up to this night, "his" Doc always seem to be nervous about what was to come. Marty had no idea that 'his' Doc had foreknowledge that all of this would be happening tonight. Sadly, it appears that 'this' Doc did not.

He knelt at the side of his fallen friend; his best friend, after Jennifer. He had taught him so much about life and how to live it, about having a dream and not letting anything stand in his way to achieve it. In this way, Doc was much like his second father; the two shared a similar mindset in that regard. The two of them, along with his mother, always encourage him to be the best he could be, and his academic achievements certainly reflected that: valedictorian of his class, as well as class president.

A small burst from the still-burning PhotoHut brought Marty's attention back to the here and now. He knew that the gunfire, explosion, and fire would draw unwanted attention from the authorities, so he had to act quickly. First order of business was to get the DeLorean out of the way, and by “the way”, he meant “the present time”. He first programmed the car's time circuits for 3-1/2 years in the future, so it would reappear shortly after he had turned 21, then he proceeded to refuel the flux capacity with one of the plutonium canisters. Once that was complete, and the protective suit was stashed in the car, he picked up the remote control from where it had skittered on the pavement. He used it to back up the car, and repeated the same process he just witnessed Doc perform: locking the front brakes, revving the rear tires, then releasing the pent-up acceleration until the car hit 88 miles per hour, sending it out of sight, aside from the characteristic dual trails of flame extending forward along the path the tires would have taken.

He turned one last time to his fallen friend, said a small prayer, and rode his skateboard back 'home'. He got to 'his' room, and fell into a restless sleep.

To be continued...