“What did that old guy just say?" young Doc Brown demanded. “Let me see that again.”
Marty rewound the tape and repeated the segment in question.
“…1.21 gigawatts of electricity I need. The flux capacitor—“
“Holy cow!” Doc Brown interjected, stepping on his own voice. “Did he say 1.21 gigawatts? Jumping Jehovah—1.21 gigawatts!”
With that, he turned and raced from the garage.
Marty stopped the tape and charged after him. “Doc!” he yelled. “Hey, Doc! What is it?”
By the time he caught up with him, Doc was already in a large room of his house which he used for painting. The walls were decorated with portraits of famous inventors and scientists such as Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin, Isaac Newton, and Thomas Edison. The centerpiece of the basically bare room was a large upright artist's easel on which a huge canvas was resting. Doc Brown stood next to the easel now, his features very agitated as he attacked the canvas with a paint brush, his arms whirling in great arcs like a malfunctioning windmill. Each time the brush struck the canvas a huge red streak appeared.
"One-point-two-one gigawatts," he mumbled over and over as he continued his nervous dance.
Marty stood and watched, certain that his friend had gone quite mad. A frightening thought struck him: suppose seeing himself on tape had been enough to send Doc Brown of 1955 over the edge? If the shock had been too great, might this not mean that all bets were off for the future? A 1955 Doc Brown gone insane would not be able to invent the time machine thirty years later. Would this leave Marty McFly stranded in 1955 or mean that the Marty of 1985 simply wouldn’t meet Doc Brown?
He shook his head. The fact was he didn’t really comprehend who or where he was. Was the real Marty McFly standing here at this point in time; or was this just a clone, as it were, thrown off from his later self? If something happened to him now, would he be reborn again in 1968? Was it even possible that there might be two Marty McFlys, separated by thirty years of age, who could meet in the future?
Doc Brown had stopped painting for a moment and was now looking up at the portrait of Thomas Edison.
“Tom!” he shouted. “How am I gonna generate that kind of power? It can’t be done, can it?”
Abruptly, he dipped his brush on the palette and made another foray on the painting.
Marty stepped close to him. “Doc, what’s wrong?” he asked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m painting! I always paint when I can’t understand a problem.”
Marty decided to humor him. “Well, use green,” he suggested softly. “Green’s your color.”
“Is it? How did you know that?”
“I just know. Trust me.”
Brown looked at him a moment, then swabbed a mass of green onto the palette and transferred several broad strokes of it onto the canvas.
He was almost immediately calmed.
“Why, yes…yes, you’re right,” he breathed. “That’s much better.”
Marty nodded. “I knew it would be,” he said.
He waited a few moments before bringing up the problem again. The idea of sending Doc Brown into another tantrum was not appealing but Marty was desperate for information now.
“Is it possible for me to get back to 1985?” he demanded.
Doc Brown put his brush down and sighed. “Marty,” he said, “I’m sorry this had to happen. But 1.21 gigawatts is just too much power. I can’t get that kind of power. I’m afraid you’re stuck here.”
? Chapter Eight ?
Marty looked for a chair. The statement by Doc Brown made his entire body feel so weak he actually thought there was a chance he might faint.
“No…” he murmured.
“I would like to help but I don’t know how,” Doc said. “It’s outside the range of my capabilities.”
“Plutonium, Doc,” Marty said. “All we need is plutonium, right?”