Legend To The Future

By Sarah O'Donoghue

 

This story originally appeared on The Unofficial Nicodemus Legend Homepage www.nicodemuslegend.web.com

 

The Legend characters are copyrighted by Paramount Television and by Gekko Film Corp. The Back To The Futurecharacters are owned by Universal and Amblin. This story is in no way intended as an infringement upon those rights. This story is written solely for the entertainment of others. Story copyright Sarah O'Donoghue 1999.

 

Acknowledgments

I've wanted to write this story for a long time and I hope that anyone who enjoyed the Back To The Future movies and Legend likes it - I thought it was about time our two favorite mad scientists got a chance to work together!

With thanks to Paul M. and Mark W. for their practical help and great ideas for this story and special thanks to my husband Steve whose twisted logic and sense of humor never fails to be a great inspiration.

Thanks also to the Back To The Future Fan Club page for their complete Back To The Future time travel chronology which saved me a lot of time and guesswork.

 

Part One

The long silver wrench toppled off the bench as if in slow motion, bouncing off the various glass jars of strange colored powders with a musical clang. The owner looked at the wrench through tired eyes. He had been up for over twenty four hours and even the simple act of standing up and bending over to retrieve the tool seemed like too much effort to him.

Outside the confines of the wooden building a storm was brewing in the cold winter air. The man glanced across at the calendar pinned to the wall. It was New Years Eve, 1884. Within a few hours a new year, 1885, would have begun, but the man was too tired to notice. Wind whistled through the slats causing the piles of chemicals on the workbench to move and swirl. As soon as he noticed, the owner grabbed the nearest jar he could find and slammed it over open petri dishes: he may have been exhausted, but this particular scientist knew only too well the dangers of allowing these chemicals to mix in the wrong quantities and at the wrong time.

An ominous rumble of thunder suddenly echoed around the room. The storm was getting closer, the man reasoned. If he was going to move any further forward in his research, he knew that he had to have a successful test tonight.

Eyeing the wrench on the ground, Professor Janos Kristoff Bartok, late of the University of Budapest and the Western Union Laboratories, stood with a sigh and crossed to where the tool had fallen. Although now in his mid forties, he had not really aged all that much in the last few years, except for his hair greying at the temples. He stooped down, picked up the tool and crossed back over to the bench. Various parts of his rocket prototype were strewn about and he knew that if he was going to try to further his cloud seeding experiments, his "rain making," if you will, he had to move fast. With practiced hands the scientist deftly assembled the complex mechanisms and fitted them inside the rocket casing. Pulling his black woollen cloak tightly around his body to guard against. the ever stronger drafts in the laboratory, he retrieved the chemical powders on the workbench and carefully mixed them in the required quantities. For a fleeting moment, he wished that his old colleague and friend Huitzilopochtli Ramos was still there. The work he was attempting alone had always been quicker and easier with two pairs of hands, but their successful partnership had been dissolved for several years now and the Hungarian scientist had worked in solitude ever since.

Bartok smiled. It had been ten years since he had agreed to work with an eager young scientist fresh out of Harvard. Bartok had only just come to the west after the horrible incident with Thomas Edison that had driven him out of fashionable society. In Ramos he saw much of himself as a younger man: a keen intellect desperate to be taken seriously. While Bartok had suffered because of a colleague's jealousy and manipulation, Ramos was mistreated merely because he came from the wrong country: Mexico, and because he had the wrong ancestry: Aztec. Bartok's sense of justice abhorred prejudice in all of its forms and he had readily agreed to give the young Ramos a chance. Their partnership had yielded some extraordinary advances in their initial months together, but with the arrival of the writer Ernest Pratt, the three had literally become 'Legendary,' with the collaboration of science and imagination proving to be a potent combination.

Bartok thought back to the day when he realized that the days of Legend might be over. The three of them had worked together for just over five years when Ernest Pratt had just dried up. He had suffered from writer's block before, but as the weeks turned into months, he knew that he had to get away for a while. After much deliberation with his friends, Ernest had reluctantly decided that he needed a break and had left Sheridan with a vague plan to travel, possibly to Europe. It was soon after this that Ramos had also decided that it was time to move on.

After making final checks, Bartok carried his rocket mechanism outside and crossed to the lightning tower, the focus and symbol of so much of his work since he had come to Sheridan, Colorado all those years before. He looked up into the heavens and saw that the storm was drawing ever closer: the occasional flash of lightning could be seen on the horizon. After making final checks Bartok could do nothing but simply stand and wait. He couldn't launch his rocket until the storm was directly overhead.

He reached into his pocket, idly hoping to find a stray piece of candy to eat while he was waiting. Instead, his hand closed around paper. Suddenly Bartok remembered that it was a letter he had received only this morning from Ramos, but he had been so wrapped up in his investigations he had not even thought to open it. Letters from his old friends were so rare he was usually eager to find out what they were doing, but recently Bartok had become more and more obsessed with his line of research and had begun to lose interest in the outside world, and even with his neighbors in the town of Sheridan near his Compound.

Without the focus and sense of purpose provided by the exploits of 'Legend,' Bartok had begun to lose his way.

He drew out the envelope and immediately recognized the elegant hand of Ramos, now a Professor himself in the field of Literature at Harvard. While still keeping an interest in science, Ramos had decided nearly three years ago to switch disciplines and go back to his first love. With his quick intellect, Ramos had climbed the academic ladder at the prestigious college, where he had originally studied before meeting Professor Bartok.

With a long finger Bartok slit the envelope, and, in the weak light of the lamps by the laboratory behind him, Bartok began to read.

Dear Janos

I trust that this letter finds you in good health. Harvard is winding down for the Christmas vacation as I write, and this year I have been asked to provide the end of semester address to my college.

One of the other professors, a pompous ass who would not know a scientific discovery if it bit him on the nose, recently dismissed the work that you, Mr. Pratt, and I accomplished as 'scientific dabblings and publicity stunts to sell brain-deadening fairy stories.' I am going to take great pleasure in publicly humiliating him in my speech. Rest easy, friend. As long as I have any say in the matter, our reputations, and those of the great Nicodemus Legend, will remain untainted and remembered with honor.

I recently received a communication from Mr. Pratt. Since I know that news from him is so rare, I thought I should convey his news in case it has not yet reached you. As you undoubtedly remember, he managed to get himself deported from England after that embarrassing incident with Prime Minister Gladstone's niece. He is now living in one of the more questionable areas of Paris trying to "rediscover his creative muse."

One good piece of news from Mr. Pratt is that his writer's block may be finally breaking down. Along with his letter he sent me an intriguing writing of fantasy where Nicodemus Legend travels back to the beginning of the Civil War in a time machine. I have heard that Mr. Jules Verne is also speculating on the dramatic possibilities of time travel along with several other European authors.

World literature may finally be starting to catch up with what we were doing nearly ten years ago, seeing the possibilities that the combination of imagination and science present.

Have a good Christmas and New Year, my friend. I have some free time in March and would very much like to come and see you then. Mr. Pratt hinted that he may be tiring of Europe and could be coming home at sometime this year. In any case, I firmly believe that 1885 will prove to be a remarkable year for us all.

With very best wishes, your friend,

Huitzilopochtli Ramos

Bartok sighed. 'Well', he reasoned, '1885 cannot be any less fruitful that 1884.' He carefully folded up the letter and looked up into the sky. The storm was definitely nearer now. While there was little chance of rain (There rarely is these days, he thought ruefully.), lightning was flashing all around him punctuated by the occasional crash of thunder. It was almost time. If all went well, the cloud seeding rockets he was about to fire would detonate in the black clouds above him, and pour desperately needed rain onto this dry valley.

Even though Bartok had become increasingly isolated from his neighbors, their needs had become his primary focus since the Legend dream had gone. Bartok had continually labored on his old pet project of rain production, and it had become his obsession. Subconsciously, his hand brushed the letter in his pocket once more. He thought about Pratt's ideas that Ramos had reported to him. Time travel. Now there was an intriguing concept. Once this night was over, and he had gotten some much needed rest, he would give this idea further thought. A time machine would be a wondrous thing, but what was the nature of time? How could one navigate through a medium whose nature could not even be grasped? If a person traveled back in time and met himself, what would happen? If he changed an event in the past, would the present be affected? Was the future a fixed entity?

So many questions suddenly flooded Bartok's mind that he could hardly think. Yes, tomorrow he would embark on a thorough study and investigation into time and time travel.

He quickly shook himself out of his reverie. The storm became ever louder above him and the lightning was so powerful now that the lightning tower glowed. It was time. Bartok quickly rechecked the trajectory of his rockets and lit the fuses, praying that the powers of the storm he was unleashing would not prove fatal to him. Suddenly he heard a huge explosion: the rockets detonating above him, he assumed. He raised his head to look for any signs of rain, but suddenly there was a second explosion, and then a third. Then Bartok felt a huge force bowl him off his feet, and he found himself flat on his back looking up at his lightning tower. Suddenly, there was total silence. The storm had dissipated within seconds. That in itself was an unheard of phenomena, but Bartok noticed something even stranger. In his tower, or rather in what was left of his tower, there was a large rectangular black box with what looked like wheels protruding from each bottom corner. Icy steam was hissing from its metallic surface. It looked like some kind of carriage, thought Bartok as he struggled to his feet, but where had it come from?

Part Two

Strong winds from the approaching storm were making driving very difficult by the time Doctor Emmett Brown drew near to where Lyon Estates would one day be built. He gently lowered his young friend Marty McFly to the ground so that he could let go of the bunting he had been grabbing onto for dear life for the last couple of miles.

The weather was deteriorating by the second and Doc knew that he had to get on the ground soon or he could be in real trouble. "I'll have to circle around and make a lower approach from the south", he told Marty over his walkie-talkie. He looked down and could just about see Marty on the ground below. "Have you got the book?" he asked.

Marty could barely hear the scientists voice coming from the tinny speaker in his hand. "In my hand Doc, I got it in my hand!"

"Burn it!"

"Check!"

Doc gingerly eased the steering wheel around and could see a small orange glow as Marty set fire to the sports almanac. One little book, he thought, almost destroyed the space time continuum. He couldn't wait to get back to 1985, the real, good, sane 1985, so that he could destroy this infernal time machine.

Suddenly a sharp gust of wind knocked the car sideways. Even a lower approach was proving to be far more hazardous than he had anticipated.

Suddenly the walkie-talkie in the car sprang to life once more:

"Doc! Doc, the newspaper changed. Doc, my father's alive!"

Doc let out a huge breath of relief. Maybe they were going to get out of this after all. He picked up the newspaper in the passenger seat that he had picked up from the alternate 1985, the headline had filled him with horror: "EMMETT BROWN COMMITTED" but, in front of his very eyes the headline blurred and changed to "EMMETT BROWN, COMMENDED." He smiled. "Mission accomplished."

"That means Jennifer' s OK and Einnie's OK, right?" shouted Marty.

"That's right Marty. It's the ripple effect. The future is back, now lets go home!"

Doc started his final approach. He could just about hear Marty's voice over the speaker but he couldn't make out the words. Suddenly a huge bright flash blinded him and he could feel an

electrical charge go through him as the car was thrown a good extra ten feet in the air. Below him, Doc could see a tree had exploded in a shower of sparks.

"Doc! Doc, are you OK?"

Doc tried to slow his heart rate back down. He tried to reassure Marty, but he couldn't completely keep the shake out of his voice. "That was a close one Marty, I almost bought the farm".

He quickly shifted the gearstick. It was now or never. He HAD to land.

"Be careful, warned Marty, "You don't want to get struck by light...."

CRASH ! ! ! ! !

All Doc saw was blinding white light. Everything fizzed and popped around him.

He screamed and then he knew no more.

*****************

Consciousness was a long time in coming, and when it came, it was painful. Doc groaned and tried to open his eyes. They hurt. He tried to move his head. That hurt too. He managed to glance down at the time display on the dashboard. It was flickering and fizzing, but it was still legible:

MONTHDATEYEARAM HOURMIN0JAN01 1885PM12 00DESTINATION TIME

MONTHDATEYEARAMHOURMIN0JAN011885PM1202PRESENT TIME

MONTHDATEYEARAMHOURMINNOV121955PM 09450LAST TIME DEPARTED

Was he really back in the Old West?

Brown tried to take a breath. His ribs were in pain, but apparently not broken.

All around him circuits were fizzling and crackling. Sparks flew out from the time circuits, which had apparently shorted out, and he could see, by very painfully turning his head, that the flying circuits were totally fried. However he got out of this, the DeLorean time machine would never fly again.

The windscreen was, thankfully, unbroken. Whatever had broken the car's fall had not smashed thought it. Brown could see that he was several dozen feet up, and that there was a figure below him, prone on the ground.

"Looks like I wasn't the only one to get the worst of the lightning" he thought.

He tried the door of the car and froze as the DeLorean began to rock wildly. It was balanced precariously, and it would appear that any movement could probably send it crashing to the ground, taking Brown to his death.

"This is heavy... " he muttered.

Professor Bartok got up, and cautiously made his way over to the wrecked remains of his tower. Now that the tower and the strange object had stopped fizzing and steaming, he could get a clearer view.

There appeared to be a glass front to the machine (for Bartok was now sure that was what it was). Suddenly he saw a movement within it. Someone was trapped inside! Perhaps a pilot or driver? As the person moved, the machine rocked and tilted: the twisted remains of the tower protesting loudly. Bartok thought quickly. He had to get the person out before the machine toppled.

Mind racing, he rushed back to the laboratory and located the Bartok Instant Expanding Gravity Inhibitor. He quickly gathered up the huge canvas bag and a canister of gas and raced outside. Quickly putting the top of the canister into the open mouth of the canvas bag he opened the gas valve. Within seconds the Bartok Instantly Expanding Gravity Inhibitor was at full size: a large gas filled canvas cushion which should comfortably break the poor unfortunate's fall. Bartok quickly estimated trajectory and inertia and placed the Inhibitor in what seemed the optimum position and then, without a second thought, he began to climb up the lightning tower to rescue the pilot of the strange machine.

Brown tried to watch was happening on the ground, but his eyes kept refusing to focus. The strange man had placed what looked like a large crash bag on the ground and was now climbing up the strange rigging the time machine had become ensnared in. Suddenly he felt a shake as the door was tugged. He looked out of the driver's side window and saw a tall man, a little younger than him trying to pull the door open. "Pull it UP, not back." he shouted. The man evidently understood and the next moment the door was open.

A sudden shriek of metal made Brown jump. This was it. The DeLorean was going to fall.

"Quickly, Sir, we must move," said the strange man. He had a thick accent but Brown couldn't place it.

Bartok grabbed the injured man's arm. "Can you stand?" he asked. "We must get you out of here now!"

Brown nodded his head and managed to move his legs. "I have placed a Gravity Inhibitor below us," explained the strange man. "This craft is about to fall. When I say 'now,' I want you to jump with me onto the Inhibitor. If my calculations are correct, it will break the fall quite adequately."

Brown didn't have time to think. He stood with the stranger's help.

"Now!" shouted Bartok and the two men jumped, plummeted and landed in a tangle of billowing canvas.

"Excellent," shouted Bartok as he pulled Brown from the material.

They both looked around, just in time to see the DeLorean finally break free of the tower and fall to the ground with a crash.

"Great Scott," mumbled Brown. "How am I going to get back to the future now?"

The strange man didn't appear to hear him. "Come Sir, you need to rest. My laboratory is just here. We need to get inside."

Laboratory? thought Brown. Is this man a scientist? Who is he? Where am I? And, more importantly, when am I?

Part Three

Brown yawned and turned over, snuggling further into the pillow on the bed. He knew he'd have to get up soon. Einstein would be wanting breakfast and Marty would probably be coming over to practice his guitar playing with the amplification system. A small smile tugged at the corner of the Doc's lips. He could smell the delicious aroma of coffee coming from his breakfast and wake up equipment system, but he knew he could squeeze a few more minutes pleasant dozing.

The coffee smell became stronger. The Doc opened his eyes and nearly let out another terrified scream. He struggled to focus on the mug of steaming brown liquid which was literally right under his nose. He looked up. There was a strange man standing over him holding out what he now realized was a coffee cup. The man smiled.

"Good morning sir," he said.

Brown frantically looked around trying to remember where he was and who this fellow could be. He grabbed the coffee cup, set it down on the floor and sprung up from the couch where he had apparently spent the night. The room spun for a few seconds, and he frantically grabbed the couch for support. The other man was at his side in an instant.

"Careful now. I believe you suffered a mild concussion last night when you crashed. The dizziness will pass, but you should not make any sudden movements."

The Doc ignored him, his thoughts racing at a thousand miles per hour. Once he could stand upright again, he began pacing, frantically trying to reason out his situation in a logical manner.

"Now I must surmise that the electrical charges in the air last night overloaded the synapse activity in my brain, causing me to black out. That, in turn, must have caused me to crash, after which I assume Marty went to get help. He evidently found a nearby barn in which to make me comfortable, and is probably out now getting us breakfast. Of course, the lightning could have also caused a gigawatt overload, scrambled the time circuits and activated the flux capacitor in which case.... "

He spun around wild eyed and faced the other man who had evidently taken exception to his comments.

"I'll have you know, sir, that this is most definitely not a barn. This is the research laboratory of Professor Janos Kristoff Bartok!"

"And where is this Bartok fellow then?" asked Brown.

Bartok glared, and was about to say something sharp when he suddenly realized that the other man had obviously been through a lot and was probably confused. He took a deep breath, and decided to begin again.

"I am Janos Bartok", he began, "and this is my laboratory, situated on my research Compound. I was conducting precipitation research last night when your ... machine crashed into my lightning tower."

Brown quickly looked around the room and began to take in the contraptions strewn on the workbenches around him. This evidently was a laboratory, but this couldn't possibly be a laboratory in the 1950's. In fact, it looked like something out of a Jules Verne novel. A horrible cold feeling began to clench his stomach.

The memories of last night's crash were beginning to come back to him: the storm, his efforts to land the DeLorean in the field ... Marty waiting below him ... and then a white flash, and nothing. Perhaps there had been a gigawatt overload and perhaps he had been thrown hack in time. By the looks of the equipment and level of technology around him, he had been thrown quite a way back.

In a quiet voice he asked "Could you tell me sir, what year this is?" He looked up.

Brown expected a sharp retort or a snort of disbelief. Instead, this Bartok looked at him with a satisfied smile.

"Yes, I surmised as much. That machine out there is a time machine, is it not? Well, Happy New Year, sir, this is January the first, eighteen hundred and eighty five."

Brown sat down on the couch. 1885? He had traveled back seventy more years.

"Great Scott!" he muttered.

Bartok took a seat on the wooden bench across the room. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Doctor Emmett L. Brown," muttered the Doc.

"Well, Doctor Brown, it seems that we may be of some assistance to each other here. You are obviously a man of science like myself, and a scientist out of his own time. There are so many questions I would like to ask you about..."

"I can't answer them." Brown shook his head sadly. "The space-time continuum might well be already damaged beyond repair. If I tell you about the future, I may never get back at all."

"Well, Doctor Brown, I would at least like to discuss the nature of the space time continuum with you. You know this is so strange", Bartok mused, breaking off, "only last night, moments before you appeared I was speculating on the fundamentals of time travel and the nature of time. I have a writer friend who had speculated on such matters and it had given me the idea that I might like to attempt to build a machine for traveling through time."

"Of course," shouted Brown, leaping up again. "That must be it! Tell me Professor, where are we? Geographically?"

"We are just outside of Sheridan, Colorado," answered Bartok, obviously puzzled.

"Colorado!? But the DeLorean is supposed to remain in the same physical location when it travels through time." Bartok had no idea what Brown was talking about. "Something must have happened to cause me to appear in Colorado. But what could it be?" He thought for a second, and then an idea struck him. "The weather! That's IT! That's the answer! That's why I'm here!" he shouted. "There was a storm in Hill Valley, California, in 1955 and a storm in Sheridan, Colorado, in 1885. Identical atmospheric conditions. Add to this your musings on time travel, ideas you are obviously brilliant enough to realize... "

"Thank you," said Bartok with irony.

Brown continued "...and this moment has become a pivotal moment in history! Great Scott man! The continuum could be shattered by this event. You could destroy the universe, or at least our galaxy! Such a fundamental quantum leap in science at this time could be the end of everything!" Brown took a breath and resumed his speech in a more reasonable tone as he began to reason.

"If this moment in history were to become so pivotal, the time machine could well have been snapped through time, and also in this case, space, almost as if it were a piece of elastic. I must have been forcibly drawn here to plug a vacuum in the very fabric of reality! A time machine this early could endanger the existence of everyone and cause a paradox at every point that Marty and I have traveled so far. This is heavy!"

"Heavy?" asked Bartok in a bemused voice. This eccentric scientist was bounding around his laboratory ruminating over his very existence at this point in space and time. The day was definitely taking on a most surreal edge, Bartok thought.

"Well," Bartok continued, "I cannot pretend to understand all of your reasoning, but I do understand the gravity of the situation. Much as I would like to learn about the future, I would imagine that the sooner you can return to your own time and place, the better."

"Agreed," said Brown, flopping onto the couch once more.

"I would like to assist you though, Doctor," said Bartok, with a friendly smile. "Despite the obvious antiquity of my laboratory to your futuristic mind, I may well be able to help."

Brown returned the smile, stood, and shook Bartok's hand. "I would appreciate that a great deal Professor."

He turned. "Could I see my time machine?" he asked.

"It appeared to have sustained a lot of damage last night, Doctor," began Bartok. "I would suggest that you have breakfast and freshen up, and then we will commence the salvage of your machine." He gestured over to the breakfast making equipment on one of the benches. Brown marveled. It wasn't a world away from his own breakfast making equipment back in 1985. The huge electrical generators in the back area of the laboratory were obviously capable of being harnessed for many different purposes. He may have a hope of getting back to the future after all.

Bartok gestured to the small wooden table by the bench. He popped a piece of bread between two heating lamps. A Victorian toaster, thought Brown. Bartok held up an egg. "Scrambled? sautéed? poached?" he grimaced, "boiled?"

After an amicable breakfast the two scientists adjourned to the lightening tower outside of the laboratory. Bartok had lent Brown a thick woollen cloak and the white haired scientist was very thankful, as a cold wind whipped across the ground. The sky was an ominous slate grey. While it seemed unlikely that another storm was imminent, the cold day indicated the likelihood of snow. That wouldn't do the damaged DeLorean any good at all.

Bartok and Brown cautiously approached the twisted scaffold. The DeLorean was upended; the back wheels still caught in what was left of the tower, the front end crumpled into the ground. Ironically, the amber hazard lights were blinking. Brown sighed. It looked bad.

Brown approached the vehicle and began to make an assessment of the damage. He remembered that the time circuits and flying circuits had been heavily damaged, and only a glance was needed to determine that the flying circuits were irreparable. However....

He looked at Bartok. "Is there any way we can get this inside?" he asked.

"Certainly," replied Bartok. "Wait here." He set off for the far side of the Compound. Within a few minutes Brown could see a thin line of steam climbing into the cold air. Suddenly a strange vehicle rounded the corner of the nearest building.

Bartok smiled and stepped out. "May I present the Bartok town and country quadrovelocipede!" he said.

"I'm impressed Professor", said Brown as he approached. He quickly looked over the vehicle. "Does it run on steam?," he enquired.

"Yes. I have found that it is a most useful vehicle. It is rather old now but it can pull quite heavy weights."

Brown thought for a moment. "The DeLorean has a light body. This should be easy," he replied.

It wasn't quite as easy as Brown had predicted, but within an hour they had been able to tow the DeLorean inside a large barn at the other end of the Compound. ("My Vehicular Workshop" Bartok had explained.)

Brown had reservations about letting Bartok near the time machine, as he had no idea how much the Professor would understand, and didn't want to give him further ideas for his own experiments, but he soon realized that the DeLorean had been so badly damaged that he needed all the help he could get. He was careful not to explain any more than was strictly necessary to Bartok as they worked., but the other man was remarkably astute and was able to deduce the functions of far more components than Brown would have thought. Doc Brown was amazed and intrigued that he had never seen any record of this amazing scientist in the history books.

The two men worked all morning; evaluating and cataloguing damage and trying to mend what they could. As they worked, they compared notes on the state of the scientific communities in their respective times, and about their own paths to the scientific vocation. As Brown listened to the Professor, he began to understand why this remarkable man had chosen anonymity. Brown had always loved the West, and could remember reading some ancient worn dime novels about Nicodemus Legend when he was a boy. As the morning wore on, Brown realized that he was working alongside the intellect that had made this dime novel hero a reality. It was an amazing experience.

In turn, Bartok was equally impressed with his time traveler from the future. While it was obvious that Brown was hiding certain crucial future facts from him, Bartok was able to deduce that the Doctor was as much misunderstood in his own time as he was in this. Brown was obviously an exuberant, eccentric man: traits that could be interpreted as lunacy by the unenlightened. It would appear that neither of them truly belonged in either of their times.

The sun was high in the sky when Brown suggested that they take a break. "To be honest, Professor, I'm not sure how much more I can accomplish here. Your lab is remarkable, but I need parts that aren't going to be available for decades."

"Why don't we take a break?" suggested Bartok. "I'm sure you would like to make the most of your time here. I'll show you the town."

Brown was tempted, but he remembered the lecture he'd given Marty about the dangers of interacting with people in the past. He voiced these fears to Bartok.

"But surely you won't run into anybody who will directly affect your future?" Bartok reasoned. "You're what, forty years before birth? "

"About that," agreed Brown. "And," he brightened, "My family didn't even come to America until 1908."

"Well, that's settled," said Bartok. "Let's go!"

Part Four

Sheridan had changed a great deal in the four years since Pratt had left. Bartok hardly ever came into town these days, his rainmaking research had occupied his every waking thought for months; but the arrival of Doctor Brown had shaken him from his reverie. Less than twenty four hours ago he had never even considered the possibility of time travel, but now he was not only considering the possibility, he was with living, breathing proof of the phenomena.

Bartok steered the velocipede down Main Street, a Main Street that had become a lot cleaner and more refined in the last few years. Denver had begun to extend its borders as more and more well-to-do Easterners flooded to the West, and it now appeared that Sheridan would one day be swallowed up by the advancing city. Many people were traveling through Sheridan to get there, and bringing their money with them. Sheridan had itself expanded, and was now filled with bright, clean hotels and an entire block devoted to various stores. Unfortunately decadence was already beginning to creep into the fashionable, reborn town. In the scant years since Ernest Pratt had stopped writing Legend books, an entire out-of-control mythos had grown up around this old resident of the town. Bartok had tried desperately to stem the tide, but there was now a Legend hotel, Legend Street, and even the Legend Town Hall. Add to this the multitude of Legend memorabilia shops, and a Legend Magic Lantern show, and anyone could see that the town had lost its way. It was now neither one thing nor the other: a fashionable, refined resort, or a cheap tourist attraction.

Of course, Doctor Emmett L. Brown knew none of this. To him Sheridan was an exciting, lively place struggling to get through the birth pains survival at the end of the Nineteenth Century necessitated. He was extremely glad that his new friend had persuaded him to get out and interact with the people of this exciting time.

Bartok's gloom suddenly lifted as he saw a familiar face. He pulled the velocipede over and waved to a man in his mid twenties.

"Skeeter!" he shouted.

The man walked over, hand in hand with a pretty young lady who had a baby in her arms.

"Professor Bartok!" he greeted Brown's companion. "We hardly see you anymore, Professor," he continued, "You shouldn't hide yourself away at your compound."

Bartok smiled and stepped out of the velocipede. He took the woman's hand and shook it warmly. "My dear Lucy, how are you?" he asked.

The young woman smiled. "We're just fine, thank you, Professor. Little Ernest here is growing up fast. I just know he's going to be just as handsome as his namesake!"

Bartok smirked. "Mr. Pratt will be ecstatic when he finds out you named your son after him, Skeeter!"

Suddenly Bartok remembered himself. He turned Brown. Skeeter, Lucy, may I introduce Doctor Emmett L. Brown, a fellow scientist who is visiting me for a few days."

Skeeter stepped over to the vehicle and Brown got out to shake his hand. Brown genially greeted this young man, but he couldn't take his eyes off the man's remarkable hair, which seemed to stick out at all angles and appeared to be uncontrollable.

Skeeter seemed to read the other man's mind. "Don't worry, Doc," he reassured as he looked at. Brown's own unruly white hair, "It's good to see I'm not the only one allergic to electricity around here!"

After a few minutes of pleasant chatting, the two scientists adjourned to the Buffalo Head Saloon, one of the older buildings in town, it appeared to the Doc, but a reassuringly familiar presence for Bartok. After a good lunch they began to scout around some of the stores and the blacksmith's shop in town to see if they could find any parts that could be adapted for use in the DeLorean.

Brown was particularly fascinated by the blacksmith's workshop. Y'know, if I'm going to be stuck in the Old West, I couldn't think of a better job than being a blacksmith, he thought to himself.

After a few hours of searching, the two men had some partial success and returned to the Compound to work.

Over the next two weeks Brown began to come to terms with his predicament. The reality of the West didn't seem nearly as bad as it could have been, he reasoned. It was certainly tough, dangerous and dirty, but it was also a time of fabulous scientific advances. He enjoyed being in the wide open spaces and would frequently leave the Compound for long drives in one of Bartok's velocipedes, which he soon mastered.

Bartok and Brown had been able to repair a great deal of the DeLorean: all except for one tiny, yet crucial component: the time circuit control microchip. Without that there was absolutely no way of getting out of this time period.

Bartok had been conducting a great deal of research into electricity and steam. He suggested that since a bolt of lightening had brought Brown here, perhaps a bolt of lightening could be channeled into the Flux Capacitor to send him home, an idea that Brown quickly rejected - He wasn't going to try that dangerous stunt again!

So, they switched their research to steam. Bartok began to formulate fabulous plans for a steam driven time travel mechanism that Brown secretly thought were very promising, but he warned the other scientist that he must not work on even the concept of time travel in case the space time continuum was irrevocably damaged.

By this time, Brown had happily accepted his fate. He liked the West, and could easily see himself living out his years in the Nineteenth Century but, despite contentment, a nagging worry kept creeping into his mind: Marty. Poor Marty was stuck in 1955, thirty years away from his own time. Even though Brown knew his 1955 self would look after Marty, he knew that Marty's continuing presence in 1955 was an even greater danger to the continuum than his own presence in the Old West. Marty was far closer to his own time, and despite being a bright, talented kid, had proven to be very unlucky and careless with the rules of time travel, first by nearly preventing his own existence, and then with the sports almanac business. No, even if Brown was going to stay here, he had to work on a way of getting Marty home.

Brown shared his fears with Bartok, who heartily agreed with his thinking. "I suggest that we get the time machine back to California," he began. "Perhaps if you leave it in a safe place, your friend will be able to find it in the time period he is trapped in."

Brown was amazed. "You have a better grasp of four dimensional thinking than I do, Janos. Of course! That has got to be the answer!"

By the middle of January the two scientists had repaired as much of the time machine as they could. Brown knew that it was time to leave, but spent several days trying to work out how he was doing to get the DeLorean all the way to California. Even though it had a full tank of gas, Brown knew that there was no way that amount of fuel would get him to his destination, and besides, if anyone saw him driving such a futuristic car he could be forced to answer some very awkward questions. He knew that even Bartok's vehicles caused a lot of raised eyebrows.

Finally, the two men came up with the only possible solution. Since the DeLorean was relatively light, it was conceivable that it could be flown to California suspended under Bartok's huge, cylindrical Legend Balloon.

Bartok had not used the balloon in years, but had kept it carefully in yet another of his large wooden buildings. Once it had been repaired and reinflated, Brown caught his breath. "It's a zeppelin!" he breathed. He had seen line drawings of the original Legend balloon in many of the old dime novels and knew that it had been destroyed and replaced at some point during the Legend stories, but he had no idea what the new balloon had looked like, or that it had been so big.

On the last day of January, the two scientists prepared the Legend balloon for it's long journey. The large basket that was suspended under the balloon was more than adequate for the two passengers, and through an ingenious set of pulleys and ropes a method was devised for suspending the time machine underneath. At 8:45 am on the 31st of January, 1885 Dr. Emmett L. Brown, Professor Janos Kristoff Bartok and a broken time traveling DeLorean set off for Hill Valley, California.

Part Five

Bartok calculated that the journey would take no more than four or five days and, with a fair wind behind them, Brown thought that the estimate was more than generous. As they ascended away from the Compound, Brown felt more and more like the hero of a Jules Verne or H. G. Wells novel. The Legend Balloon (or Legend Zeppelin, as he liked to think of it) was a technological marvel for its time and, as the day wore on, Brown began to enjoy himself. Bartok busied himself with the continual adjustment of the ropes under the canvas cylinder, minor course corrections and with the checking of the pieces of equipment that were anchored to the wide lip of the basket. The Doc was intrigued by many of these gadgets, particularly with the ball lightning generator and, when time allowed, Bartok showed him how they worked.

"It always pays to he ready for emergencies, Doctor," said Bartok as he instructed him in the use of a harpoon-like contraption, you never know what the future might bring."

"Don't I know it," said Brown ruefully, and they both laughed.

Every so often Brown peeked over the side the of the basket to look at the DeLorean - he knew that it must be an incredibly strange sight to anyone on the ground. Even he thought it was an incredibly surreal view. And I thought the DeLorean would never fly again! he thought to himself.

The two scientists charted the sun's gradual procession across the sky as the day wore on, but Brown was keeping half an eye on the continually changing landscape below him. He saw the distant spires of Pikes Peak and Blanca Peak off to the west, and they passed over rivers and plains, as well as the occasional homestead. Brown was thrilled when he suddenly spotted one of the railroads.

"Isn't that the Santa Fe, Professor?" he asked.

"Yes, that's correct. I believe that it was only completed about 18 months ago. We'll follow the railroad down into New Mexico and as it turns west into Arizona and California. That way we'll avoid the worst of the Rockies and won't have to ascend too high. The oxygen can become very thin at those altitudes. Of course, there will be a slightly higher chance of someone seeing us, but I think that is preferable to altitude sickness, don't you?"

As they moved South, Brown was fascinated to observe glimpses of western life through Bartok's telescope. Following the railroad, with every aspect of the Old West being represented in the cattle towns, Indian reservations, military forts and homesteads, he fell more and more in love with this time. Yes, he mused, he was going to be very happy here.

Sunset over the New Mexico border was indescribably beautiful and, as dusk approached, Bartok brought the balloon in to land. Although he had flown the balloon at night on several occasions, a feat made even easier with the larger balloon as torches could be fitted along the sides, he preferred to restrict them to daytime flying. He brought the balloon down slowly and they could see the DeLorean land with a gentle bounce. The basket came down 20 feet further along the ground and the two scientists carefully lashed the balloon down for the night.

The two men busied themselves setting up camp for the night. Brown went off to scavenge wood for the fire, only to return ten minutes later with a small pile of twigs to see that Bartok had already started a blazing fire.

"How did you do that?" he asked.

Bartok smiled and brought out a bright green log from his shoulder bag. "It is a chemically treated log," he announced proudly. It burns far hotter and longer than conventional wood. I accidentally discovered the formula when conducting research into my precipitation rockets, and it has proved to be very useful.

This opened up a whole new conversation for them, and the two scientists spent a merry evening eating rations and discussing chemical formulae and Brown's ideas for even further improvements on the chemically treated logs.

Emmett Brown must have been asleep for hours when the gentle whinnying of a horse roused him from his slumber. He turned over on the bedroll and sleepily opened his eyes, only to see a pair of dirty leather boots almost in his face.

A knife was pressed to his throat and he drew a sharp breath.

"Don't say a word or I'll gut you like a frog!" said a low male voice.

"I think you mean you'll gut him like a fish, Buford," whispered a fellow stranger from across the camp. Brown scarcely dared move his head, but by the light of the full moon. He could see several other shadowy figures surrounding himself and the Professor, who had been similarly awakened and held at knife-point. Slowly, Brown looked up from his seated position to be confronted with a familiar face.

"Tannen!" he tried to shout.

"Shut up, old man, you don't know me," said his assailant in a cocky voice.

"You know this scoundrel?" asked Bartok in a worried voice.

"Kind of, Professor. If I'm not mistaken I've had the misfortune of running into one or two of this fellow's descendants."

He took a chance, raised his voice and directly addressed his captor. "I see that the Tannens have been crooks and bullies for even longer than I thought."

The face over him took on an even more menacing scowl.

"Shut up, old man, and get up!" He dragged Brown out of his bedroll, and Bartok was hauled up at the same time.

"So, what's your game, Tannen?" asked Brown, gambling that this member of the disreputable clan was as susceptible to insults as the others he had met. To his surprise one of the others piped up.

"You give Buford Tannen a bit of respect now. He's the best bank robber this side of Texas."

"Shut UP!" shouted Tannen as he spit out a wad of foul tobacco into the dirt.

Brown could see Bartok's face suddenly change. "You' re Mad Dog Tannen!" he brightly exclaimed.

Tannen moved so fast he became a blur. Brown was impressed. One moment a knife was at the Doc's throat, the next a deadly looking revolver was pointed at Bartok's head.

"NOBODY CALLS ME MAD DOG!!!" he bellowed.

Bartok backed off. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tannen," he backpedaled, "but your fame has preceded you. I myself have studied your use of explosives in a number of bank robberies. An enlightened harnessing some of the finer points of Physics, I can assure you."

It was obvious that the robber didn't understand the words of the eloquent speech, but Bartok's tone did at least placate him enough to lower the gun.

The campfire was rekindled and the two scientists were forced to sit down with their captors to await dawn, which was still an hour or so away. Tannen's men spent their time laughing and drinking, but Bartok and Brown knew that Tannen could be trouble. While Brown hadn't come across this particular incarnation before, he knew that the Tannens were generally of an unpleasant character.

Bartok managed to doze as they waited for first light, but Doc Brown became more and more worried as he saw Buford snooping around the grounded balloon and car. He watched as one of the gang tried to pull some equipment off the balloon, something Buford stopped by bellowing and punching him out. What a pleasant character, thought the scientist.

Bartok stirred and Brown tried to give him an encouraging smile. "They seem to be quite interested in our gadgets don't, they Doctor?" said Bartok grimly.

"Believe me, you don't want to let them get hold of any of our work," replied Brown. "One of Buford's descendants caused nearly irreparable damage to the space time continuurn when he got hold of the time machine."

Their conversation was cut short as, after much head scratching, the outlaws came over to the scientists and once again hauled them onto their feet.

Brown was impressed at Bartok's courage as the Professor tried to get more information from their captors. "What are you doing this far East, Mr. Tannen?" he asked mildly. "I was led to understand that you spent most of your time in California."

To their surprise, Buford actually answered the inquiry. "Pickings have been pretty lean over there lately," he said. "Albuquerque has banks full of gold begging to be carried away," he continued, "and your fancy stuff is going to help us to do it."

He walked over to the Balloon and the DeLorean with his lackeys dragging two scientists across the dirt.

"Now this flying contraption would be mighty useful, but I really want this carriage." He pointed to the time machine. "Looks fast and real dangerous. How does it work?" Buford grinned at them yellowing teeth.

Bartok and Brown exchanged glances. They knew that they had to get out of here as fast as they could, and that they must take all of their technology with them. Bartok surreptitiously signaled that he had an idea. Brown nodded slightly and began to talk to provide a diversion.

"You know, Tannen," he began, "I'm new to the West and I'm trying to find somewhere to settle down. I want to be a blacksmith, and some of that Albuquerque gold could sure help me get set up." He smiled and began to circle in front of the outlaws. He pointed to the balloon. "My colleague here, Professor Bartok, has invented some wonderful devices that could make the robberies a lot easier, including this," he gestured to Bartok who had been able to work his way around to the trigger on the Lightning Ball Generator that was fixed on the side of the balloon. "the Bartok Light Enhancing Lamp System."

"Professor," said Brown grandly, "could you demonstrate your wonderful lighting system for us?"

"Delighted, Doctor Brown," said Bartok gleefully, and before the Tannen gang could react he had hit the trigger and sent no less than three bolts of ball lightning towards them. The first exploded three feet to the left of one of the outlaws, who yelped as he was propelled ten feet into the air. The second ball hit the ground between two men, while the third landed a direct hit on Tannen himself.

"I'll get you for this, blacksmith!" he yelled as he was thrown into the air. He came down, a few seconds later, in an unconscious heap, by which time his men had scattered and jumped up onto their horses ready to make their escape. The two scientists ducked inside the balloon and took off as quickly as they could.

When Buford came to, he found that he had landed face down into a pile of horse droppings. "I hate manure," he proclaimed.

On the balloon, the scientists were enjoying their escape. "I told you that it was worth being prepared, didn't I, Doctor?" laughed Bartok as the Legend balloon, with its strange cargo swinging underneath journeyed to California once more.

"Somehow, I don't think I've seen the last Mad Dog Tannen," said Brown. "But time will tell, it always does! On to Hill Valley, California!"

Part Six

After their adventure just outside of Albuquerque, both scientists were relieved when it became apparent that the rest of their journey would be blissfully uneventful. As Bartok had promised, they followed the railroad all the way into California and up to Hill Valley. Brown was thrilled to be able to see his newly founded hometown from the air: a view that no one else would have the benefit of for several decades. He was quite sad when Bartok finally landed the balloon just behind a high ridge. It was the fourth day of their journey, and the third of February: just over a month had passed since the fateful storm that had brought Brown to the West.

After Bartok had got them down safely, Brown sprung out of the balloon and across to the DeLorean to see how it had faired after their long journey. Both men had decided that it would be best to leave the time machine outside of town, and Bartok had landed them near an old mine that Brown had recalled. Even in 1885, the Delgado mine was long abandoned. It had originally been opened during the great Gold Rush nearly forty years earlier, but was now so derelict that only the deceased citizens of Hill Valley went near it: Boot Hill cemetery was a stone's throw away from the entrance. Brown knew that it would still be in existence in 1955 where Marty and Brown's future counterpart could claim it, once he'd figured out how they could get the machine to work again.

Unfortunately, Bartok didn't have his Bartok Pressurized Steam Load Transporter with him (it weighed nearly a ton), so the two scientists pushed the DeLorean down the main tunnel into an old side tunnel and hurriedly covered the entrance with broken beams. Brown figured that he could make a better job of camouflage later, but he knew that he would have to return several times before he could seal up the machine entirely. This work took much of the morning, and sun was high in the sky before they were finally ready to head into Hill Valley.

They had just left the mine and were already speculating on a good meal and drink in the town when Brown stopped dead in his tracks. "Great Scott! Why didn't I think of it before?" He turned and raced back to the mine, reappearing a few moments later and rejoining Bartok.

Bartok said nothing but raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I suddenly remembered that I had ready currency for this time period in the DeLorean" said the Doc by way of explanation. "I always carry dollar bills from various time periods for emergencies." He lifted up a wad of money. "I'm certainly going to need this if I'm going to be buying some property in the town!"

Although having traveled to California on a number of occasions, Bartok had never visited Hill Valley and, through his natural curiosity, decided that he might like to stay around for a few days. After passing the Legend balloon once more, they skirted the ridge and began to head in the direction of the town.

Hill Valley, California, had always been a small, homely kind of town (Well, at least when Biff isn't running it, thought Brown.), and even at its very beginnings, the friendly atmosphere that Brown had noticed all of his life could be felt. People they met on the street were openly curious, of course, but no one was hostile or rude. After a pleasant rest in the saloon, the two scientists went about securing lodgings for the night.

Bartok remained in Hill Valley for the week, both to keep Brown company and also to have a well needed rest. The remarkable last month had done much to shake him out of his obsession and melancholy, and had shown Bartok a new scientific direction in which he could go. Despite Brown's concerns, he knew that he had to look into time travel. The subject fascinated, frightened, and excited him. After studying the DeLorean time machine for so long, Bartok's remarkable mind had deduced the fundamentals of the crucial element of the time machine: the flux capacitor. Furthermore, despite the limitations of the current level of technology in his own time, he knew he could improve upon Brown's ideas. He decided it would be best not to tell his new friend of his plans immediately, but rather to return home and begin preliminary experiments and tests. Then, once he had begun to make progress, he would share his ideas with Brown. Besides, he rationalized, if the Doctor was going to help his young friend who was stuck in the future, but in his own past (and how his brain spun when he thought of that confusing situation), he would need all the help he could get.

Brown said farewell to Bartok the next week, with promises to stay in contact, and set about finding a permanent place to live. After spending some time in the town, Brown realized that there was a very real need for a blacksmith within the community, and decided that he would pursue this new ambition.

He found a suitable property, a stable that had recently been put up for sale by a man who'd decided to go back East, and greatly impressed the owner by buying it with ready cash.

Brown set to building his new life with as much passion as he had built his old one. Despite being cut off from everything he knew by an unbreakable barrier of time, he was determined to enjoy himself, and soon became a valued member of the community. Over the next few months he adapted his thorough grasp of chemistry and physics to the art of the smithy with relative ease, and was soon able to not only shoe horses and fix wagons, but also start to build new inventions to make his life easier.

Late winter crept into spring and then early summer. By the beginning of June, Doc had spent six months in exile (or 'retirement' as he preferred to think of it), and had become a well recognized figure in the local community. Several of the townspeople had discovered his 'hobby' of inventing and tinkering with machines, and he was able to establish many a friendship over mending a pump, plough, or even a telescope. Only two things marred his new life: his constant worrying over his friend Marty, and Mad Dog Tannen.

Tannen had arrived back in Hill Valley a couple of months after Brown had moved in and had tried to stir up trouble against the new blacksmith, but to no avail. Despite only having been around for a few months, Brown was already well liked, whereas Tannen was a well known troublemaker. After a few half hearted attempts to get him put into jail, Tannen and his gang settled for giving him dirty looks at every opportunity.

Doc was relieved that the trouble grew no worse, but he knew that Mad Dog would come after him at the slightest opportunity, and that he would need to be prepared.

As to the problem of Marty's predicament, Brown worked day and night to devise a way for his past self (who was in the future) to send Marty home. He finally settled on a plan and spent many long nights writing out complex schematics which he could leave in the car, and eventually sealed up the mine side tunnel where the DeLorean was stored for the final time. Even though he had only visited the DeLorean a few times since he and Bartok had pushed it in there, he still found the moment sobering. He knew that this was his final severance from his old life: anything even remotely anachronistic was sealed up along with the car for safety to avoid further pollution of the timeline.

As a final, whimsical touch The Doc carved his initials into the wooden boards he had nailed over the tunnel: "E.L.B." Just like "Journey to the Center of the Earth," he smiled to himself. Despite some sadness, Brown left the Delgado mine with a lighter heart. He had now solved much of the problem of sending his friend Marty home. Now he could relax for a while.

Part Seven

Bartok woke with a start; warm summer sun beams streaming across his bed. He shook his head, and groggily got out of bed, glancing at the calendar pinned on the wall as he passed by. He did a double take. It was the Fourth of July! Independence Day! Where had the time gone?

It was not surprising that the Professor had lost track of time, as he was more caught up than ever in his scientific studies. He had reached new heights of dedication in the last few months, but instead of the unhealthy obsession that had dominated him for so long, he was now caught up in the most exciting and inspirational project of his life: time travel.

Despite being separated by such large distance, Bartok and Brown had stayed in regular contact since Brown had settled in Hill Valley and, even though he didn't like it one bit, Brown had given the Hungarian scientist his permission to pursue his dream of constructing a time machine with the strict proviso that he didn't actually time travel. Now that Bartok knew that there was a way to satisfy his scientific curiosity without really damaging the space time continuum, he was working in real earnest.

After a hurried breakfast, Bartok took a velocipede down into Sheridan to run some errands, first going to the Silver King Hotel.

He pulled up outside and saw the person he was looking for coming out to meet him.

"Morning, Professor," shouted Skeeter as he strode out on long legs to meet the velocipede.

The passing of the years had been kind to Skeeter. Not only did he now have a wife and baby but he was now owner of the Silver King Hotel. Mrs. Grady, the former owner, had given Skeeter the hotel when she retired, as he was the closest thing she had ever had to a son. Skeeter had proven himself to be a good and surprisingly responsible owner, and had gained a lot of respect around the town, so much so that he had run (successfully) for the post of Mayor two years ago.

Skeeter had a small smile playing across his face and Bartok filled with hope. "Have you got it?" he barely whispered.

Skeeter couldn't help but break into a huge grin. "I got it, Professor," he smiled. "I know it's taken a while and, believe me, I had to call in a lot of favors, but after all the help you've given me over the years, I had to try."

Bartok almost jumped out of the velocipede with a childlike excitement. "Where is it Skeeter?" he asked.

"Behind the hotel, Professor." My friends dragged it in here last night. It took a huge team of horses, but it was the only way. The hotel's the largest building in this part of town so we thought it was best place to hide it."

Bartok followed Skeeter around to the back of the hotel, and there was the object he'd been after for so long, the thing that was going to play the central part of the Bartok Temporal Displacement Transporter, his time machine.

A huge, beautiful gleaming steam train towered over Skeeter and Bartok, catching the occasional glint of summer sun on its pot black surface, despite being in the shadow of the hotel. It was exactly what Bartok wanted.

"How can I ever thank you Skeeter?" he breathed.

"Think nothing of it, Professor. You, Mr. Pratt, and Mr. Ramos helped me so much in the past, it's been great to be able to help you out. The Denver Pacific Railroad didn't want to part with it, but we spun them a grand story and they were more than happy to let it go. We dragged it over from Denver last night."

Bartok's mind was racing. "It should be covered up, Skeeter. It could raise too many questions and I want to keep my work secret for now. We can drag it up to the Compound after dark tonight, if you wouldn't mind assisting me. We should be able to relocate the steam engine with the Bartok Pressurized Steam Load Transporter."

Skeeter shrugged. "No can do, Professor. It's Independence Day, remember? The town is going to be full of people celebrating, and the Mayor of Denver is coming over so that we can show people how close Sheridan and Denver are becoming. " He grinned. "Its going to be some party. In fact," he said hesitantly, "we were hoping that you could help us, Professor. We know that you've been real busy lately, but we were wondering if you could help us with a fireworks display? You're atmospheric rockets have worked a treat in the past."

"Sorry, Skeeter," said Bartok, "but I'm finished with those. I have spent over a decade of my life working on rain production, and I have achieved a good level of success. I was trying for perfection, but I've finally realized that I can never achieve that. Better to he satisfied with what I have and adopt new goals." He looked across at Skeeter. "I think I have finally learned that only Nicodemus Legend is perfect."

Skeeter laughed. "Have you heard from Mr. Pratt, recently?" he asked. "The town council and I were wondering when he would be back. There's talk of a new wing on the Legend museum and I really want to ask Mr. Pratt's advice."

Bartok sighed. "Skeeter, you know very well what Ernest would say. He hated the way Legend was exploited by the town when he was here. He would be horrified to see how things are now. The way you," he added gently, "have allowed things to get out of control."

"Professor, that's not fair", said Skeeter hotly. "I have done my absolute best to stop the Legend name from being exploited, but I have to do what's best for the town. Since Mr. Pratt stopped writing and left, the town has been dying. You can see it, I can see it. The townspeople need Legend, and without him they're trying to fill the void any way they can. I'm sorry things have got this way, but the people of Sheridan think that they've been abandoned."

Bartok was taken aback by the outburst. Skeeter had never raised his voice within Bartok's hearing before, and by the very tone of his voice, Bartok knew that he was right. Ernest Pratt had lost faith in himself and had walked away from the best influence he could possibly have on his life: the good people of this town.

The writer needed the town as much as the town needed the writer.

"I'm sorry, Skeeter, " said Bartok. "You have done a remarkable job in this town. You should be proud. You are having to make some very hard decisions and I know you are doing your best. Its just hard to see things change."

"It's not the same town anymore," agreed Skeeter, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. He had a sudden idea.

"Professor," he asked formally, "even though you're unable to provide us with fireworks, would you at least come to the Independence Day celebrations this evening?"

Bartok considered declining for a moment, but he had to admit that he had missed being a part of Sheridan's social events.

"I'll be there," he smiled at the young mayor. "But what about the train?"

"Don't worry, Professor. I'll drape it with some sheets from the hotel, paint a 'Danger: Scientific Equipment' sign on the side, and everyone will give it a wide berth. If anyone asks we'll say that it's some specialized weather sensing equipment that you've had shipped in. We can move it tomorrow morning."

"Agreed," said Bartok happily. Now that he had the steam train, the main housing for his concept of a time machine, he could move on with his work. After picking up supplies, he headed back to the Compound to compose a letter to Doctor Brown. He thought that his fellow scientist would be amused by his choice of vehicle, but it really was most logical: while the strange DeLorean motor vehicle might be the epitome of 1980's transport, the majestic steam locomotive was the ultimate example of tenacious late Nineteenth Century design and, Bartok thought, far more powerful and beautiful. He knew that with enough work and research, he may even be able to surpass the future scientist's work. Even though he knew that history would never record this achievement, Bartok knew that he had to try, if only for himself. The inspirational glimpse of the future that he had been privy to would help him to push onwards with his scientific research, and he knew that he would never be the same again.

*****

While Bartok was having a worthwhile and enjoyable Independence Day, Doctor Emmett L. Brown in Hill Valley, California was having what he thought must be the worst day of his life. First he had been kicked in a very painful place by an agitated horse that he'd been trying to shoe, and then the disgruntled owner had refused to pay him suggesting that Brown had actually upset the horse. After that things had gone from bad to worse, as he had been called in to help right a train that had been derailed two miles out of town, and then, to top it all, he had been reminded that he was needed to help with the evening's festivities, and this was all before lunchtime.

Just after lunch one of Buford Tannen's men had come in to his shop on the pretense of needing a new pair of spurs, but afterwards Brown had found a particularly nasty (and badly spelled) letter nailed to his door reminding him that Tannen was going to get his revenge soon. The Doc had sighed, pulled it down and thrown it on a pile of similar letters in the corner of his workshop. He had found that Buford Tannen was largely bluster, and as long as Brown was careful, he knew that he could avoid the worst of the outlaw's wrath. Besides, he'd found that the letters made particularly good kindling for the fire in his forge.

At six o'clock sharp he locked up his workshop and headed out to the far end of Main Street for the beginning of the Independence Day celebrations.

It proved to be a most enjoyable night. Everyone in the town had turned out, as well as many of the homesteaders who fell within the Hill Valley District. As Doc wove in and out of the crowd he kept an eye out for Marty's ancestors, Seamus and Maggie McFly, whom he had met on several occasions. He had almost fainted the first time he had seen the red haired Seamus: he looked so much like Marty it was uncanny. But since that day he had tried to help the Irishman and his young pregnant wife as much as he could. He knew that Maggie was expecting soon, and guessed that Seamus had stayed home to look after her as she was so near her time. Even so, he was soon caught up in conversation with many of his new friends, and was even able to get a smile out of the stern Marshall Strickland, who was in a rare good mood after catching Buford's gang in a drunken street brawl earlier in the day and being able to lock them up for a week. As the evening drew on, torches were lit around the edges of the street and, as eight o'clock approached, the Mayor called for attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I hope that you are having a good evening."

Cheers went up from the street.

"As many of you know, the town council has been considering all of your wonderful suggestions for a fitting celebration of our wonderful town's achievements over the last few years. We have all seen wonderful advances since our town was founded. Everyone I see in front of me tonight has contributed to our town in marvelous ways. With the coming of the railroad we have been able to push on in new directions, and Hill Valley is a truly exciting place to be. I just want to thank you all for making Hill Valley the best town in the whole of California!"

Another cheer went up, and the Mayor smiled. He nodded to Marshall Strickland, who stepped up and gave him an envelope.

"I have here the top three suggestions for a monument or building. He ripped open the envelope."

"In third place, is Mrs. Baines for her wonderful idea of a Hill Valley water garden."

Brown looked around and saw the portly Mrs. Baines blush and smile. She was a lovely lady, and, he was amazed how much of a resemblance she bore to Marty's mother.

The mayor continued. "In second place is Marshall Strickland's suggestion for an armory and military museum." He looked down at the Marshall who was smiling, oblivious to the horror his idea had provoked.

"Thank you, Marshall. And now, for the winning suggestion and the project that we will build to symbolize the progress of Hill Valley. The winner is...."

The Mayor hesitated as one of the town council rushed up to the front and whispered in his ear. The Mayor continued. "I'm afraid that our winner is not here tonight, but has asked that we continue with the ceremonies in his absence. Ladies and Gentlemen, our winner is Seamus McFly, who has suggested that we build a courthouse and clock tower to symbolize the forward progress of our little town!"

The crowd broke into applause. Seamus McFly was well liked, and everyone agreed that a courthouse was a wonderful idea, but Brown was stunned. The clock tower! For a moment Brown felt a pit of fear in his stomach. The clock tower had been at the center of almost all of his and Marty's trips through time. It could well he the central point of the space time continuum, and his very presence at the birth of the clock tower could cause a cataclysmic temporal paradox!

The Mayor held up his hand to quiet the crowd once more.

"Of course, the courthouse is going to take a while to construct, but on this Independence day we want to start the work with a special ceremony. In Mr. McFly's absence, I'd like to ask our new friend, Emmett Brown to help me out here."

Great Scott, thought Brown. This could be it! I could cause the destruction of the Space-Time Continuum!

On shaking legs he walked to the front where the Mayor gave him a mallet and a large wooden post. He addressed the petrified scientist and the crowd simultaneously.

"Now, Emmett, I want you to drive this post into the ground. It's the first piece of our new courthouse, and I want everyone here to yell and shout encouragement."

Everyone cheered and Brown held up the mallet bracing himself for the end of the universe.

He swung the mallet down, hit the post the Mayor was holding straight on, and held his breath.

Nothing happened!

Brown found himself grinning like an idiot as he finished the job, marveling that he was not only present at the foundation of the clock tower, but integral to its very beginnings as well. He may have had a bad day but at least he hadn't destroyed reality as he knew it.

Someone passed him a shot glass of whiskey as he finished, and he stepped forward to the mayor's side, seeing that everyone else was holding a glass up as well in a toast.

"To Independence Day and our courthouse!" shouted the Mayor.

"'To Independence Day and our courthouse!" echoed the crowd and Emmett Brown as they drank the toast.

It was at the very moment that Brown tipped back his glass that he remembered, too late, that he couldn't drink alcohol. As the acidic liquid burned down his gullet he saw his world turn black and found the ground rushing up to greet him.

"Great Scott!" he muttered as the ground came up to meet him and all was blackness.

The Mayor and the entire population of Hill Valley looked on as their new blacksmith passed out from one sip of whisky in front of their eyes.

"Now there's a man who can't take his liquor," remarked a small voice from the back of the stunned crowd.

Part Eight

It was the first of September. The door to Emmett Brown's blacksmith's shop opened with a groan matched by its owner, who had just returned from a town meeting where he had been pressured into meeting the new schoolteacher when she arrived the next week. It was only early afternoon, but Brown was tired. He had been up since first light, and had several more jobs to do before he could finish for the day.

He had just collapsed into an overstuffed armchair in his laboratory area when he heard a knock at the door.

He sighed. It was probably Marshall Strickland coming to complain about his horse throwing another shoe. Well what did he expect, thought the retired scientist. He always drove his horses so hard that he brought out a bad temper in even the mildest creatures.

Brown was just about to get up and answer it when a voice shouted "Doctor? Doctor Brown? May I come in?" Brown frowned. The voice was familiar...it suddenly came to him: that heavily accented voice could only belong to one person.

The door opened and Janos Kristoff Bartok walked in. He spied Brown immediately and strode across the workshop to greet his old friend. The two men warmly shook hands, and while Brown switched on his automatic tea making equipment, Bartok explained what had brought him to Hill Valley.

"I've literally just arrived from Sheridan, Doctor," he began. "I could have written to you, but the news I have is far too important to convey with a letter." Brown turned around from what he was doing and saw that Bartok was smiling. His jaw dropped.

"You haven't succeeded, have you Bartok?" he asked.

Bartok's smile became a huge grin. "I have, Doctor. I ran final tests last week and I can now say with certainty that I have successfully constructed the Bartok Temporal Displacement Transporter. My time machine is complete!"

Brown collapsed in his chair once more. "I can't believe it, Janos. It took me thirty years and my entire family fortune to realize my dream of building a time machine. How did you accomplish it in such a short time?"

"Well, once one has accepted that time travel is actually possible it is relatively easy to formulate the necessary equations," admitted Bartok. "Your very existence here is definite proof that time travel is possible. I learned a great deal from assisting you with repairs on your time machine back in January and, I must confess, I made a great number of notes while you were my guest. Since then," he shrugged, "I have been able to deduce most of the power requirements and have been able to adapt my work on steam powered propulsion to meet the need, so no lightning bolts or plutonium will be required. Will you come back with me and give me your opinion on my work?"

Brown was stunned. Bartok had achieved a terrific amount in the eight months since he had seen him last, and he desperately wanted to see what Bartok had achieved, but knew that he had to finish some very important business before he considered leaving Hill Valley for any length of time. He thought for a moment.

"Janos, I don't know what to say. I would be thrilled to see what you have achieved, but I hope you grasp the very dangerous position you are now in. Any time machine is a violation against nature. I still believe that it was your ruminations about time that must have brought me back here in the first place, and the existence of two time machines, even one that is broken, is extremely hazardous. You remember that I told you that any time machine you were able to construct would be merely an academic exercise?"

"Of course, Doctor," agreed Bartok. "Even if I never have the opportunity to use my machine, I have gained so much in the last few months. I have learned to dream again, and to strive for the fantastic. That was something I had lost since Mr. Pratt stopped writing his Legend stories, and it is so good to have that back again. I want to thank you for that."

Brown smiled. He had hoped that this Hungarian scientist would understand when the time came, and he was very glad that this was the case. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, Janos, I haven't been able to think of any other way to help my 1955 counterpart, so the plans that I have left in the DeLorean will have to be enough. I still need to somehow contact Marty and myself in the future. I've done all that I can here, and it is up to them to do the rest, but I have no way to tell them. I'm stranded here. Happy, to be sure, but I need to do everything I can to get my friend home."

Bartok thought for a moment. "Perhaps a letter?" he suggested.

"No," replied Brown, "I've already thought of sending a letter to Western Union to be kept for the necessary time, and delivered to Marty in 1955, but there's no guarantee that would work. Western Union exists in that time, but I can't believe they'd keep a letter for that long."

"I wouldn't worry, Doctor, " said Bartok. "I used to work for Western Union Laboratories in New York. Despite the bad terms on which I left the company, I do have some good friends in high places there. If you will entrust a letter to me, I can guarantee that the letter will be kept and delivered according to any instructions you give."

Brown smiled. "Thank you, Professor," he said. "That solves my final problem. I'll write the letter now!"

Brown turned and began to head over to his writing desk. "Doctor?" asked Bartok gently. "Do you think your time machine can be repaired?"

"I hope so," said Brown, turning. "I'm going to tell Marty to go back to 1985 as soon as the DeLorean is repaired, but however strongly I warn him to go straight back and not try to rescue me, I expect that he will. I need to stay around Hill Valley for at least a few weeks to see if he'll show up. As I write this letter, a new future will be created, and my past self, in the future, will receive it and hopefully be able to repair the machine. If Marty hasn't appeared within a few weeks, I'll just have to hope that he was successful in getting home."

Brown turned to the Hungarian scientist with a wry smile.

"The future is what we make of it Janos, and it isn't written yet. After I've written this letter, anything could happen. It's probably best if you go home as soon as you can and wait to hear from me."

Bartok smiled. "Very well, Doctor." He agreed. "As soon as you have written your letter and any instructions I will take my leave. I need to buy some supplies before I make the return journey, so I'll return here in a few hours."

"Thank you, Janos," said Brown seriously.

"Don't mention it, my friend," said Bartok, smiling. "I will return in a few hours."

After he had left, Brown assembled everything that he needed for his letter: paper, a large package envelope and the map and schematics that he had been working on for months. He had already left repair schematics in the DeLorean when he had sealed it up, but over the subsequent months had constructed additional notes to help his 1955 counterpart. He poured over them once again. There really was nothing else that he could add.

Brown got up again from his chair, and wandered around his laboratory and shop, trying to think what he should write. He took in the paper schematics that were pinned around haphazardly on every available surface, his new clock collection that he was still putting together, his new lab equipment scattered on one of his many tables, and his magnificent refrigerator that spanned a whole wall of his blacksmiths shop.

Where to begin?

Finally, he got out a beautiful ink pen, that he had treated himself to after actually being paid by Buford Tannen for shoeing his horse and settled down to begin:

Dear Marty

If my calculations are correct you will receive this letter immediately after you saw the DeLorean struck by lightning.

First let me assure you that I am alive and well and have been living happily these past eight months in the year 1885. The lightning bolt that hit the DeLorean caused a gigawatt overload which scrambled the time circuits, activated the flux capacitor and sent me back to 1885. The overload shorted out the time circuits and destroyed the flying circuits. Unfortunately the car will never fly again.

I've set myself up as a blacksmith as a front while I attempted to repair the damage to the time circuits. Unfortunately this proved impossible, because suitable replacement parts will not be invented until 1947. However I've gotten quite adept at shoeing horses and fixing wagons.

I have buried the DeLorean in the abandoned Delgado mine adjacent to the old Boot Hill cemetery, as shown on the enclosed map. Hopefully, it should remain undisturbed and preserved until you uncover it in 1955. Inside, you will find repair instructions. My 1955 counterpart should have no problem repairing it so that you can drive it back to the future. Once you have returned to 1985, destroy the time machine.

Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to come back here to get me. I am perfectly happy living in the fresh air and wide open spaces and I fear that unnecessary time travel only risks further disruption of the space-time continuum.

And take care of Einstein for me. I know that you will give him a good home. Remember to walk him twice a day and that he only likes canned dog food. These are my wishes. Please respect them and follow them.

Brown put down the pen and swallowed hard. He'd tried to tell Marty as much of the truth as he dared, and suddenly realized that if his friend actually did as he was told, this would be his only chance to say goodbye.

He picked up the pen again.

And so, Marty, I now say farewell and wish you Godspeed. You have been a good, kind, and loyal friend to me, and you made a real difference in my life. I will always treasure our relationship and think of you with fond memories, warm feelings, and a special place in my heart.

Your friend in time,

"Doc" Emmett L, Brown

September 1 1885

Brown finally put down the pen and sighed. It was done. He picked up the letter and the map he had prepared, and was just checking the instructions that had to go with the letter when he heard Bartok returning. The hot late summer day was turning into a sultry evening, and Brown knew that rest would not come easy tonight. As soon as the letter was out of his hands, anything could happen. Hopefully, Marty would heed his instructions and go home, but he had an awful feeling that Marty would try to be heroic and knew he had to be prepared.

Bartok was equally aware of the importance of Brown's letter and knew that, now that it had been written and dated, Brown's friend could potentially appear at any time. Brown was impressed at his grasp of four-dimensional thinking and agreed with Bartok when he suggested that he leave the area that very night to return home. His presence and his knowledge of time travel, and where Brown came from, could stretch the space time continuum to its breaking point if he was there if and when Marty appeared.

After he collected the letter, Brown walked to the edge of town with Bartok, and helped him to make final preparations to the Legend Balloon, which Bartok had decided to permanently bring out of retirement.

"I'll come to Sheridan as soon as I can, Professor," promised Brown. "If my calculations are correct, if Marty doesn't appear within the next month all will be well and I will be able to see your own time machine. You realize, of course, that if I find that it indeed works, we'll have to destroy it."

"I understand Doctor, and I will ensure this letter gets to the right people," Bartok promised, and with that, he left.

Brown returned to his shop with a heavy heart, so distracted that he virtually ignored the breathtaking sunset which made the sky look as if it was on fire. Sleep was long in coming that night. He was too worried what the future was going to bring.

Part Nine

September 2nd had come and gone, and now September 3rd had arrived. Brown tried to get on with his work, but knew that it was going to be very hard to concentrate for a long time to come. He almost went down to the saloon for a drink to calm his nerves, but decided against it after remembering the embarrassment of the 4th of July.

By mid-morning he had abandoned his work and resorted to sweeping out the stables. It was a job he hated, but it kept his mind off worrying. Suddenly he heard shouting, and gunfire coming from the saloon and went outside to see what was going on, Suddenly a blur of bright colors raced by with several horses right behind him. Tannen's gang, thought Brown ruefully. He looked again for the poor wretch who was being chased, and saw that he had been roped like a steer and was being dragged down the main street. Suddenly, the figure hit and bounced through some of the building materials being used on construction of the court house and as he bounced out the other side Brown caught a glimpse of the face: it was Marty!

He couldn't stop shaking as he raced back inside. He couldn't believe that Marty had actually risked everything to come back and get him, and he was stunned that he'd already fallen afoul of the biggest bully in this part of the west. His mind raced and he scooped up his customized rifle with telescopic sight that he had only finished building recently.

By the time he got back outside, everyone was crowded around the new courthouse, and as Brown looked, he could see Tannen high on his horse and heard him yelling to the crowd.

"We've got ourselves a courthouse. High time we had a hanging!" he shouted as one of his men strung the teenager up. Striding out purposefully and looking a lot calmer than he felt, Brown lifted his rifle to his shoulder, lined up his sights with the rope that was choking his friend and fired. Marty fell to the ground like a sack of flour, and began to cough and splutter. Brown let out a breath of relief but remained poker faced. It was time to have his inevitable showdown with Mad Dog Tannen.

"It'll shoot the fleas off a dog's back at five hundred yards, Tannen," he boasted.

Tannen slowly approached.

And so it began.

***********

Bartok let out an explosive curse: an extremely unusual event for the calm and polite scientist. He hauled himself out from under the steam engine housing of the Bartok Temporal Displacement Transporter and rubbed his sore thumb. He sighed.

Bartok had arrived back in Sheridan two weeks ago, and was anxiously waiting to hear from Doctor Brown as to whether his machine would have to be dismantled. Optimistic as ever, he had decided to further refine and expand on his work, reasoning that even if the time circuits and flux capacitor had to be destroyed, he would at least have a remarkable new means of transportation. Just for fun, he climbed inside the carriage behind the engine and switched on the flux capacitor, jumped out, stood back, and marveled at the vivid blue and orange flashes of light that coursed along the machine as the time circuits came alive.

"What have you been building this time, Bartok?" Came a voice from behind him.

Bartok whirled round to see Ernest Pratt standing behind him, looking typically scruffy and much like his old self.

"Ernest," he shouted rushing over and warmly shaking his friend's hand. "It's been far too long. Why didn't you tell me you were back in America?"

Pratt shrugged and smiled. "Weeell, I wanted to surprise you. " He noted Bartok's overjoyed expression and nodded. "It was worth it," he smirked.

"I only got into New York last Wednesday," he began, "and I got the first train out that I could. The current railroad system is incredible. I've only been traveling for a few days, and here I am!"

"What have you been doing?" asked Bartok. "I've had occasional news, through either your most irregular letters, or via Ramos, have but no real idea what you've been up to."

"Well, after I left England, in rather a hurry, I traveled around Europe for a little while," began Pratt. "I stopped off to see my old friend Hauptman, my German publisher, who you probably remember, but he only wanted to complain about my recent lack of productivity, so I didn't stay there long."

Bartok smiled. He remembered the overbearing German only too well from his trip to Sheridan, when he had wanted to do nothing but hunt buffalo for sport. "Go on," he encouraged.

"After that, I found myself in Paris where I boarded with a most charming mademoiselle who was a big fan of my books." said Pratt trying to feign an innocent air. "Do you know, Janos, I didn't even know my books had been translated into the language of love."

Bartok rolled his eyes.

"Well, after a particularly wild party with some fellow academics, I woke up to find myself with the worst hangover of my life, and an idea for a brand new story," he beamed. "I believe that Ramos told you all about it."

"Oh yes, " chuckled Bartok, "and believe me, my speculations on your ideas of a time machine have lead me into a most interesting adventure. Why don't we go over to the laboratory and 1'11 make us something to eat." He sighed. "This is all going to take a bit of explaining."

After relating the events of the past few months, Bartok was quite surprised that Pratt took it all so well. Pratt could have reacted in a number of ways, mused the scientist, and laughing at Bartok's face was a far milder reaction than he had anticipated.

Finally, Pratt was able to speak again. He wiped away the tears of laughter. "Oh, Janos. I think you should be writing the Legend stories! That's the best bit of fiction I think I've ever heard!"

Bartok stood up. "It is most certainly not fiction!" he declared. "I assure you that every word of it is true. That remarkable machine in my new workshop is the culmination of months of hard work based upon Doctor Brown's own time machine. I should be hearing from him again soon, one way or the other, and then you will see."

Pratt held his hands up in surrender. "OK, OK, Janos, I believe you, but it really is an incredible story." He sobered. "I only wish I could imagine a story as good as that myself."

"I thought you said that you were over the writer's block?" said Bartok gently.

"Oh, I don't know," sighed Pratt. "It's been so long since I wrote anything, I don't think I remember how. And as for the town," he continued, "I can't believe what they've done with Legend since I left."

"I know Ernest, and believe me, Skeeter and I did everything we could when you left, but the people needed Nicodemus Legend. With you gone, they tried to fill the vacuum, but with Denver expanding and the new fashionable end of town..." Bartok looked his friend in the eye. "Everything has changed, my friend, and not much for the better."

Pratt sighed, thinking of all the things he'd done since he left Sheridan so long ago. His work with Ramos, Bartok, and Skeeter, seemed a lifetime away.

Suddenly there was a rap at the door. The two men started out of their chairs, and Bartok strode over to see who his next visitor would be. For the second time in as many hours Bartok was stunned. "Doctor Brown! Welcome!" he finally said, warmly shaking Brown's hand.

"It's good to see you again, Bartok," said Brown.

"What' s been happening?" asked Bartok anxiously. "Did your young friend come back in time? Would you like to see my time machine?"

"Well," said Brown scratching his head, "It's a little bit more complicated than that..."

Suddenly a lady stepped forward from behind Brown. Pratt was at Bartok's side in an instant. "Hello!" he said, grabbing her hand and kissing it gallantly.

Brown gave him a bemused look. "This is Clara Brown, formerly Clara Clayton. My wife." Bartok was again stunned. Pratt tried casually back away and smiled awkwardly to the couple.

Clara smiled. "It's so good to finally meet you, Professor. Emmett has told me how much you've helped him. I want to thank you," she said gracefully.

Bartok returned her warm smile and gestured at Pratt to complete the introductions.

"Doctor, Mrs Brown. This is Ernest Pratt, my friend, and creator of Nicodemus Legend."

After the introductions, all four went inside to catch up on all that had been happening in the time since Bartok had left Hill Valley. It turned out that Marty had indeed returned to fetch Brown, as Marty had discovered that Buford Tannen was planning to kill the Doctor. After accidentally damaging the DeLorean, Brown thought that they may need Bartok's time machine to get the both of them home, but had eventually solved the problem, coming up with a novel way of pushing the DeLorean up to the required 88 miles per hour. Along the way they had foiled Tannen's plans, changed history, and the Doc had fallen in love with the lovely Clara. It had been a busy few days. Eventually Marty had been able to get hack to the future, but Brown had been left behind. Although he had originally planned to stay in 1885, he had realized how much more he needed to do in his own time. Clara had readily agreed to marry him, and here they now were, with a request to make of Bartok.

"You see, Professor, I was wondering if you would let me take your time machine to the future. I need to check that Marty got back safely, and that he's not worried about me, and. . . well, I think I need to get back to my own time. I know that we originally planned to destroy both machines as soon as Marty was back in his rightful time, but I've finally realized that you were right when you said to me a few weeks ago that you had learned to dream again and to strive for the fantastic. I think that both of us have been too frightened and got caught up in our rigid ways, forgetting why we became scientists: to explore the impossible and to dream of the future!"

Bartok was overjoyed. "Of course you can have it. The Bartok Temporal Displacement Transporter is yours. Come. I'll show it to you."

The four adjourned to Bartok's largest workshop. As before, Bartok leaped into the carriage and switched on the circuits. The other three almost jumped back in amazement as they saw the modified steam engine come to life. The blue and orange lights flashed up and down the sides and, all over the steam train, strange mechanisms whirred, twisted and spun. A coil of metal spun around the central boiler and the whole machine hummed.

"Its like something out of a Jules Verne novel" breathed Brown.

"It's all yours," called Bartok from the open carriage. He jumped down the collapsible steps and shut the door up. Brown was amused to note that it had been based upon the gull wing doors of the DeLorean. As Bartok stepped away, Clara nudged Brown. "Look," she pointed. The Doctor was amazed as he noticed the paintwork on the door. Where the name of the engine would normally be, Bartok had painted the initials "E.L.B."

Bartok noticed his smile. "It was yours all along, Doctor " he said. "It was going to be your decision whether to destroy it or not, but I am rather glad that you are going to keep it!"

The four friends, old and new, talked long into the night, catching up on old stories and new dreams. At first light, Clara and Doctor Brown said their farewells to Pratt and Bartok.

"Where are you going to go?" asked Bartok.

"The future," smiled the Doc, "and then, who knows? But first, Clara and I are going to have our honeymoon!"

"Almost every mechanism is based upon your designs in the DeLorean", explained Bartok as they readied for departure, "with just one exception. As soon as you are ready to time travel, push the green button."

"What'll happen?" asked the Doctor, intrigued.

Bartok smiled. "Magic!" he answered with a glint in his eye.

Finally, they were ready to leave. Bartok and Pratt stepped well back as Brown brought all of the circuits online. Clara waved out of the window in farewell, as Brown made sure that they had enough track space to reach the required 88 miles per hour.

As Pratt and Bartok were watching, Pratt leaned over to the scientist and whispered, "So what's the green button do, Janos?"

"You'll see." was the only reply he got.

"Are you ready?" asked Brown.

Clara took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be, Emmett!"

"OK! Let's go back to the future." He pushed the green button, and braced himself for the long run out as the train gathered speed. Instead, he heard new servos coming on line, felt a slight jolt and realized that the train was rising into the air.

He raced to the open window of the carriage, his face one huge question mark.

Bartok looked up as the astonished scientist rose up into the air. "I thought you'd like to be able to fly again, Doctor!" he shouted, "It's based on my newest work on steam propulsion engines!"

"I think you'd better keep that knowledge safe, Professor," shouted back a smiling Brown. "The world isn't ready for a flying steam train just yet."

With that, they rose fully up into the air, the steam train gradually gathering speed. As it raced into the distance, the two men on the ground could hear the whistle being sounded in salute and farewell.

Three earth shattering sonic booms sounded, followed by a blinding flash, and Bartok's time machine had gone.

"Well, I'll be!" whispered Pratt. "Bartok, what have I been missing?"

The Professor smiled at his long lost friend. "The same thing that I was missing, Ernest. Amazement, wonder, and a little bit of magic."

"D'you know, Janos," said Pratt thoughtfully, "I think I'm ready to start over. I want to start writing again. The world has been without Nicodemus Legend for too long."

"I agree!" said Bartok firmly. "It's good to have you back, my friend."

"Do you think Ramos would be interested in moving back to Sheridan?" asked Pratt. "It wouldn't be the same without him here. And what about Skeeter? What's he up to these days?"

"Oh, that's another long story for you, Ernest," smiled Bartok, " I think he's going to have an interesting future as mayor."

Ernest did a double take. "Well," he shrugged, ''as your friend Brown said, who knows what the future will bring."

"The future is most definitely not set," agreed Bartok, "But whatever happens, I think that future of Nicodemus Legend is looking a lot brighter than it has for a long time!"

THE END.
 

 

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