Peabody started filling his plate, choosing to ignore the children until they stopped bothering him. The meal was largely a silent and sullen one, at the end of which everyone moved to different parts of the house and went to bed.
Several hours later, the object struck the barn.
Sherman, curled up in his bed reading the latest issue of Tales From Space comics, saw the rapidly moving vehicle first. He knew immediately by the shape and flashing lights that this was no ordinary earth machine. True, he had just finished reading a story entitled “Space Zombies from Pluto,” which dealt with aliens in radiation suits who enslaved human females and traveled around in a modernistic car with gull-wing doors. That may have made him more susceptible than usual, but Sherman was extraterrestrial all the time.
Space was his hobby and now his hobby seemed to be coming true. Grabbing the comic book, he rushed down the stairs.
His mother, father and sister were already at the back door, staring out toward the barn. In the dim light, they could see where the roof had caved in, but that wasn’t the most frightening thing. The stainless steel DeLorean faced them head-on, headlight beams shining through the dust and drifting straw fragments. With its wheels buried in the debris and amber hazard lights blinking, it looked exactly like the flying saucers they had been hearing about for nearly ten years.
“What is it, Pa?” Mrs. Peabody asked.
“Looks like an airplane…without wings,” Peabody said cautiously.
“Airplane?” Sherman whispered. “It’s a flying saucer, Pa. From outer space!”
The four Peabodys looked at each other, awe-stricken. Although it was illogical, they walked slowly toward the object. In Pa Peabody’s hand was a baseball bat, which he had grabbed from the basement closet moments after the vehicle plowed into the barn. Led by him, the rest of the family crossed the lawn and crusher-run driveway to the barn. A closer view provided no new clues as to the identity of their visitor.
Finally Sherman spoke. “In the movies and comics,” he said, “Earth people always try to act peacefully to the aliens. But it doesn’t usually work.”
“Quiet,” Peabody ordered.
His eyes were fixed on the gull-wing door, which had opened a crack and was starting to move upward. The family watched expectantly, uneasily, with expressions of curiosity mixed with fear.
“Something’s coming out,” Martha whispered.
“Don’t panic,” Sherman warned, noticing her feet which were doing a little dance. “Sudden movements may set them off.”
Inside the stalled DeLorean, Marty was unaware that he was being watched. He had his own problems, chief among them being a total disorientation as to his whereabouts. Had he blacked out during the chase? If so, how had he managed to get from the mall parking lot into a bam that was obviously nowhere near Hill Valley? If he had not blacked out, what had happened to the guard rail? Where were the Libyans? Was some weapon pointed at him this very moment, about to finish him off?
He shook his head. Despite the risks, it seemed best to go outside and see where the devil he was.
Reaching for the handle, he finally discovered how to open the strange door and pushed his way out. A light rain of dust fell on the shoulders and hood of his radiation suit as his upper body started to move out of the car.
“It’s an alien,” Sherman Peabody whispered.
Indeed, the emerging figure seemed to be just that. Pa Peabody stared at it, transfixed, the baseball bat still in his hands. Using such a flimsy weapon against an alien was out of the question. Logic and morality both dictated that, but his primary motivation was fear. Poor Pa Peabody’s mind had turned to jelly and all he could think of was self-preservation.
“Run, children!” he yelled. “Run for your lives!”
He then proceeded to show them exactly what he meant, streaking for the safety of the house. He had remembered the shotgun which he kept hidden under the bed in case he discovered a burglar in the middle of the night. This emergency qualified as sufficiently life-threatening for it to be used.
Sherman, seeing his father disappear into the house, realized that as the temporary male leader on the premises, it was up to him to find a way of preventing disaster. Having read up on human behavior when confronted
by space creatures, he was not sanguine about being able to deal with the alien, either via force or kindness. In the comics and movies, neither method seemed to pay off very well. He remembered most poignantly the scene in War of the Worlds when the clergyman walked gently toward the Martian space vehicle, only to be zapped into nothingness for his troubles.
Nevertheless, a quick evaluation of the situation suggested strongly that the humane approach rather than the belligerent one would be better. He possessed no weapon with which to threaten or attack the alien; fear probably showed in his eyes, if not on his entire face. Thus it seemed preferable to throw himself on the creature’s mercy.
He extended his hand gingerly. “Peace,” he murmured.
The alien was nearly all the way out of the space vehicle now. It was a biped, with arms and general body lines that resembled man’s configurations. Sherman wondered what it looked like under the hood, whether it could utter sounds that were at all comprehensible.
“Hey,” the alien said in perfect English. “Hello. Where am I?”
It took several steps toward them. Sherman, Martha, and his mother slowly retreated before it.
“Excuse me,” the creature said. “Who are you? Where am I? Is this Hill Valley?”
Pa Peabody’s footsteps sounded on the porch steps. Still clad in his red flannel underwear, he raced toward them with the shotgun held at near shoulder height.