Doc Brown smiled modestly. “The way I figure it,” he replied, “if you’re gonna build a time machine, why not do it with some style and imagination? Besides, there’s a practical aspect. The stainless steel construction of the DeLorean made the flux dispersal—”
He stopped as his digital clock began to beep.
“Ten seconds,” Doc Brown said. “Keep that tape rolling, Marty.”
“It’s never stopped.”
“Five seconds. Brace yourself for a sudden displacement of air.”
Marty held the camera tighter, aimed it at the spot where the DeLorean had disappeared.
“Four…three…two…one…” Doc Brown counted down, his voice filled with anticipation.
Exactly on schedule, a sharp blast of wind struck them, followed immediately by a deafening sonic boom, causing their hair to stand on end. No sooner had the shock registered than the DeLorean reappeared in the same spot it had last been seen. But it was not standing. It was moving at the same high speed as before.
“Eighty-eight miles an hour!” Doc Brown shouted above the surge of thunderous air.
Looking down at the remote control unit, he hit the brake button, causing the car to come to a screeching halt, smoke pouring from the body.
Doc Brown immediately started for the vehicle. Marty locked the camera in position and followed. He arrived at the DeLorean a few seconds after Brown, who pulled up to approach it cautiously. Indicating that Marty should wait until he examined it, he gently touched the door handle. To Marty and Doc’s surprise, he recoiled with a shout of pain.
“Is it hot?” Marty asked.
“No. It’s cold. Damned cold,” Brown said, shaking his fingers back and forth.
He waited a few seconds, then raised the door on the driver’s side. Einstein peeked out at them, his tail wagging against the back of the seat. Marty was relieved to see that no apparent harm had come to him. Doc was also pleased that his pet was in good condition, although his attitude was more clinical. Instead of petting the dog, he reached down to turn the collar so that he could read the digital clock inset into the surface of it.
The clock read 1:20:10. Doc Brown looked at it and smiled. His own watch read 1:21:10.
‘There’s exactly one minute difference,” he said triumphantly. “And Einstein’s clock is still clicking. It didn’t stop.”
“Is he all right?” Marty asked.
“He looks fine to me.”
Brown unbuckled the shoulder harness. Einstein bounded out of the car, playful and happy. Doc Brown reached into his pocket and gave him a milk bone as a reward. “A small price to pay for such invaluable research,” he said. “You’re sure he’s O.K.?”
“Yes,” Brown replied. “And he’s completely unaware that anything happened. As far as he’s concerned, the trip was instantaneous. That’s why his watch is a minute behind mine. He ‘skipped over’ that minute to instantly arrive at this minute in time…”
Seeing Marty’s frown, Doc Brown indicated that he should move closer to the DeLorean. “Come here, let me show you how it works,” he offered, sticking his own head into the cockpit of the car.
Marty edged closer, looked inside at the still-blinking array of dials and gadgets.
Like a kid showing off a new toy, Doc Brown began to flip switches and talk at the same time. “First you turn the time circuits on,” he said. A colorful battery of indicator lights went on inside as he pushed a button.
“This readout tells you where you’re going, this one tells you where you are, and this one tells you where you were,” he continued.
Marty looked at the readouts closely. They were labeled DESTINATION TIME, PRESENT TIME, and LAST TIME DEPARTED.
Without waiting to find out if Marty had any questions, Brown went on at a rapid pace. “You input your destination time on this keyboard,” he said. “Want to see the signing of the Declaration of Independence?”
Marty stared blankly, his mind abuzz. Was he kidding? Could this machine, however sophisticated, perform such miracles?
Again without waiting for an answer, Doc Brown punched up a date on the destination time board: 7-4-1776. “Then all we have to do is head for Philadelphia. Or perhaps you’d care to witness the birth of Christ.”
With that, he changed the dial to read 12-25-0.
“Of course,” he added didactically, “there’s some dispute about that date. Some scholars say Christ was born in the year 4 B.C. and that somebody made a mistake in what year it was during the Dark Ages. But assuming 12-25-0 is correct, all we’d have to do is find our way to Bethlehem.”