“Don’t speak or get out of bed!” the alien ordered. “My heat ray will vaporize you if you do not obey me!” George raised his hands above his head.
“All right,” he whined. “I surrender.”
A strange beeping sound came from the alien. Lowering the heat ray, the creature lifted its right arm to listen to the sounds.
“What’s—” George began.
“Silence! I am receiving a transmission from the Battlestar Galactica!”
After emitting several more beeps, the object on the alien’s arm lapsed into silence.
“You, George McFly, have created a rift in the spacetime continuum—” the creature said.
“I’m sorry,” George whispered. “I’ll repair any damage I did—”
“I said, silence! The Supreme Klingon hereby commands you to take the female earth person called ‘Baines, Lorraine’ to the—”
“You mean Lorraine Baines?”
“Of course, earthling! You are hereby ordered to take this Baines female person to the location known as Hill Valley High School exactly four earth cycles from now—”
“Earth cycles?”
“Days, stupid!”
“That’s Saturday. School’s closed on Saturday.”
“There is an event at school Saturday!”
“Oh, you mean the dance?”
“Exactly!”
“I’m ordered to take Lorraine to the dance?”
“Affirmative!”
“Does she know about this?”
“No. It is not necessary.”
“But I don’t know if I’ll be able to—”
The creature made a movement with his hands, causing the avalanche of sound to start again in George’s ears. He screamed.
“Stop! Please stop it!” The noise was stopped.
“You must not protest our decisions or you will be made to hear the brain-paralyzing sound all the time,” the alien threatened. “It will melt your brain.”
“No,” George moaned. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t know how to approach Lorraine.”
“You will know at the time. We will give you the necessary confidence.”
“You will?”
“Yes.”
“You mean I’ll be able to do magic?” George asked, brightening.
“No. Our power will be behind you, to guide you. That is all, but it will make a difference.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I can do it with your help.”
“Very good, earthling,” the creature said. “You will close your eyes now and sleep. When you awaken, you will tell no one of this visit.”
“O.K.,” George murmured.
He closed his eyes, lay back against the pillow. The creature moved closer to him, reached out to hold something under his nose. In less than a minute, young George McFly was snoring like a truck driver. Gently removing the featherweight earphones from his head, the alien figure walked to the window, paused to take a long look back at the sleeping figure, then disappeared into the night.
Doc Brown, waiting in his Packard convertible near the McFly house, opened the door as Marty approached and helped him into the car. The hood of the radiation suit was down and Marty was smiling.
“I guess it went all right,” Doc Brown said, starting the engine and pulling away.
“Yeah. It was great. He swallowed everything like a ton of bricks.”
“You mix metaphors beautifully, my friend. How did the chloroform work?”
“Fine. He’s out like a light.”
“Good. I’ve had it a while. I don’t know whether chloroform gets weaker or stronger the longer it’s kept.”
“Well, it did the job,” Marty smiled. “Let’s hope he remembers everything when he wakes up.”
“That’s our only danger,” Doc Brown nodded. “Sometimes things which are vivid and frightening at night lose their strength when the sun comes up. Your father-to-be, I’m afraid, is the perfect candidate for doing a mental flip-flop.”
“God,” Marty said. “You mean after all that trouble he’s liable to chicken out?”
“Even with supernatural or extraterrestrial help, some people screw up. My knowledge of human psychology tells me that with George McFly it will be touch-and-go all the way.”
Marty sighed.
Nearly twelve hours later, he was still sighing—and alternately cursing George. Marty got to school bright and early, despite his loss of sleep from the night before, but George McFly was nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately, Marty had no copy of his schedule, so he was forced to waste a great deal of time looking into classrooms before he found out that George hadn’t shown up at all. By that time, it was midday and Marty hoped he would show up for afternoon classes. Part of him—the more sanguine part—reasoned that George had spent the morning planning strategy for his meeting with Lorraine; another part of him knew that George had just plain chickened out. He was presently surprised to discover that both parts of him had been mistaken.
School was over and Marty was loitering around the town square when he suddenly spotted George running toward him. He looked even more disheveled than usual and his eyes were wild and a little glassy.
“George!” Marty cried. “Are you all right?”
George stopped, nodded.
“You weren’t at school. Where’ve you been all day?”
“I just woke up. I overslept.”
Marty’s jaw dropped. Had the chloroform been that powerful? If so, was there a possibility he could have killed George? The thought sent a shiver of terror racing through his system.
“What time did you go to bed last night?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound calm.
“About ten or eleven o’clock,” George said. “I don’t know what happened. My folks slept a little late, so when they got up, they assumed I’d already left. I had some strange dreams. Maybe that did it.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“Never mind. Just fantastic stuff.”
It would not do to have George dismiss the careful scenario he had executed as “fantastic stuff,” of course. The wimp’s talking himself out of it already, Marty thought, but even as he began to despair, a new plan of action crossed his mind.
“By the way,” he said, “did you happen to see the flying saucer last night?”
“What?” George cried, his eyes wide.
“It was about one o’clock,” Marty continued. “After everybody was in bed. I guess that’s why there wasn’t much talk about it at school. Although a dozen kids did see it. They all agreed it was in your neighborhood.”
“Really?”
Marty nodded. “Nothing much happened. The saucer just hovered in the air over one house for about ten minutes and then took off like a shot. I guess maybe a space man had to go to the bathroom.”
“Holy cow…” George whispered.
“Too bad you weren’t awake,” Marty said. “You could have gotten some great material for those science fiction stories you write.”
George nodded. A glint of energy seemed to come into his eyes.
“Look, you’ve gotta help me,” he said suddenly. “I want to ask Lorraine out, but I don’t know how to do it.”
“All right,” Marty nodded. “She’s over there in the soda shop.”
As they turned and headed toward the local teen hangout, two kids on homemade scooters—roller skates nailed to a two-by-four with an orange crate on top—rattled past them. Marty smiled at the crude prototypes of the sleeker and speedier skateboards that would come later.
“There she is…” he said a moment later.
Lorraine, seated with girlfriends Betty and Babs, was seated in a booth sipping an ice cream soda and talking.
The moment of truth at hand, George felt his resolve beginning to slip away. Where was the help the alien had promised him? He thought it would be a lot easier than this. In fact, he was every bit as tongue-tied and nervous as before last night’s apparition assured him everything would be all right. Was it possible space people were even more sophisticated bullshitters than his fellow earthlings? If not, where was the magic phrase or surge of power that would carry him through this ordeal?
Marty sensed George’s indecisiveness. “It’s simple,” he said. “You just go in there and invite her. I promise you, she won’t throw anything at you. The worst that can happen is she’ll say no.”
“No. The worst than can happen is she throws up or laughs when I ask for the date.”
“She won’t. Believe me.”
“Maybe I’d better wait until she’s alone. You know how girls are when they’re together.”
“George,” Marty said softly. “There are only a few days until the dance. Lorraine will probably be snapped up by tomorrow morning. This may be your last chance.”
The threat had its effect. George swallowed, nodded slowly, and took several steps toward the entrance of the store. “What should I say to her?” he asked.
“Say whatever feels natural, whatever comes to your mind.”
George took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Nothing’s coming to my mind,” he said.
“Christ, it’s a miracle I was even born,” Marty muttered acidly.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“If I had just one clever thing to say, it would help a lot.”
“All right,” Marty replied. “Just tell her destiny has brought you to her and you think she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Girls like to hear that—What the hell are you doing, putting me on?”
George had taken a pencil and pad from his pocket and was meticulously writing down Marty’s words.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m putting it down. I mean, this is good stuff.”
“Well, don’t recite it like a speech, for God’s sake,” Marty cautioned. “At least memorize it.”
George nodded briskly, looked the words over, his lips moving softly. “O.K.,” he said finally.
“Good. Relax. Just go and ask her. It’ll all be over in a minute. Unless she invites you to spend tonight at her house.”
George blushed. “No chance of that,” he smiled.
A moment later, he was in the store. He took nearly a dozen steps directly toward Lorraine, then suddenly veered off to the counter. The counterman appeared, waiting for his order.
“Gimme a milk,” George said. “Chocolate.”
He hoped it would take a long time, but the milk arrived with disappointing speed. He took a slurp to fortify himself, then literally hurled himself toward the booth where the three girls sat.
“Uh, Lorraine,” he began in a rapid, strident voice. “My density has brought me to you.”
Lorraine looked up, heard the words almost before she realized who had delivered them. She recognized the young man whom she’d been introduced to yesterday by Marty.
He looked approximately the same, except that now he was wearing a brown mustache of chocolate milk. She did her best not to giggle.
“I beg your pardon?” she managed to say with feminine dignity.
“Oh,” George muttered. “What I mean to say id—”
“Id?”
“Is…”
His mind a blank, George reached into his pocket for the notepad.
Lorraine filled the conversational void. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?” she asked.
George smiled broadly. So far, she had neither thrown up nor laughed and he was optimistic. If he could just remember those words!
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m George. George McFly. I’m your density. I mean, destiny.”
Now Lorraine did giggle. Babs and Betty joined her. But to George, the sound wasn’t as demoralizing as he thought it would be. The errant notion even crossed his mind that they might think his goofing up was part of his normal routine, that he actually intended to amuse them. Their laughter was, after all, relatively noncommittal. Those seated in nearby booths probably thought he had said something quite amusing to the girls and admired him for it. For the first time since he had awakened in a cold sweat an hour earlier, George actually believed he had the help promised by the creature who had appeared to him last night either in a dream or in the extraterrestrial flesh. A surge of confidence took hold of him. Say it, his mind urged. Just tell her you want to take her to the dance and it’ll all be over in a second.
“Lorraine,” he began, the word emerging with a tonal strength that surprised even George. “I want—”
“McFly, I thought I told you never to come in here!” a familiar voice bellowed, interrupting George’s speech as effectively as someone yelling “Fire.”
Biff Tannen and his henchmen were at the door, leering at George, their hands on their hips. Slowly, deliberately, like gunfighters taking over a small Western town, they strode into the store toward George McFly.
Marty had seen them arrive just at the worst possible time—when George actually seemed on the verge of popping the question to Lorraine. “Damn!” he muttered.
He then did the only thing he could—walked in behind them so that he could help if necessary.
George, his resolute and happy expression melting into his usual mask of misery, stared slack-jawed at the approaching Biff.
“Well, your showing up here after I told you to stay out is gonna cost you, McFly,” Biff grated, making no attempt to keep his voice down. “How much money you got on you?”
It was blatant bullying and outright extortion but no one in the soda shop made a move to come to George’s assistance. After a long moment, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet.
His beefy hand outstretched, Biff took several long strides toward George, a look of malicious greed on his face.
Then, suddenly, his face had disappeared from view and was resting against the tile floor.
Marty withdrew his foot, inwardly congratulating himself on the best-timed trip he had ever executed.
Biff looked up from the floor.
“You!” he thundered, getting up quickly as a titter of derision circulated throughout the shop.
“All right, wiseass,” he spat, taking a step toward Marty. “It’s fat-lip time.”
Marty moved his body into position, preparing for action.
Lumbering toward him, Biff threw a roundhouse right which he was able to avoid easily, countering with a hard left to Biff’s gut and a right to the temple. Staggering drunkenly, Biff fell backwards into a table.
Seeing that their leader was in trouble, Match, 3-D and Skinhead started toward Marty.
Oh-oh, he thought, these aren’t good odds unless you happen to be Superman. In midstride as he moved forward to finish off Biff, Marty suddenly spun on his toe and headed out the front door. Biff’s lackies pulled him to his feet and rushed after him.
“That’s Calvin Klein!” Lorraine shouted to her girlfriends, “I mean, Marty! Oh, God, he’s a dream!”