"Of course I'm coming," Alanna retorted, although in truth she hadn't expected to be asked. But who would pass up a chance to travel through time? Not many engineers got the opportunity to actually use what they had built - but if she didn't, it might seem that she wasn't confident in her handiwork. The only drawback was that she might die in the process. Still, one had to take a few risks. "Besides, who else is going to make sure you all get back in one piece? There was a reason Jules Verne included engineers in his novels."

This was no "From the Earth to the Moon," though. It was more like "From the Moon to the Earth", with a little of H.G. Wells' "Time Machine" thrown in to spice things up.

"Any special instructions?"

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

((Good idea- why didn't I think of that? lol))

Carson coughed- politely, he hoped. "Not to barge in, but I was kind of hoping I'd be able to come along too. It's not every day I'll get the chance to travel through time."
<i>He's not going to take you along just because you asked.</i> he told himself.
"Besides," the scientist continued, "I can use a weapon, and what if something happens to Alanna and you need help with the Portal or crystal?"

Carson blinked. That was easier than he thought it would be. He hurried back to one of the toppled desks and grabbed a box of ammo for his pistol. He stuffed it in one pocket of his jeans, and tucked the pistol into his belt.

"I'm ready." he said, walking back over to the Portal.

"Not leaving without me!" said Holly, sounding affronted, and snagged a random weapon for the look of it. Her value was really more in her computer skills. "Come on, it's the Wild West. Not gonna pass that up."

She seemed to think asking was redundant, and likely it was - knowing Holly, she'd come whether you told her she could or not. Hunting aliens in America, year 1867, still sounded like a bad novel. But sometimes life was bad novels.

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Alanna tossed the pistol up and down in her hand, familiarizing herself with its weight. Idly flicking the safety on and off a few times, she checked the power and energy storage settings. The weapon was a VectorPro 4000 series model, although which one she wasn't sure. It didn't really matter - VP knew how to make sidearms.

She watched, this time with awe and a pleasant tingle of anticipation, as the glowing blue surface flashed into existance, translucent aqua swirls hiding the blank nothingness of a temporal and spacial singularity. Slowly stepping onto the platform, Alanna extended a hand toward the Portal and watched, half-mesmerized, as it sank through.

She pulled it back and turned towards the others. "We should go - we can't overtax the crystal. The sooner the better."

(hehe ... couldn't resist doing a Daniel Jackson)

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((lol, Valera! I was thinking about pulling an Aiden Ford and having Carson jump through backwards-but that's sort of out of character for him. lol))

Carson walked up to the Portal next, watching Cortez vanish into it. He took a deep breath and tried not to think about just what the Portal did to bodies that it transported. He stepped through.
He was only vaguely aware of the transport. He felt weightless and drifting, but no other sensations. He abruptly dropped out of the Portal, also on his hands and knees. His stomach and head spun for a moment and he closed his eyes till he felt better. He stood up and moved over next to Cortez. "That wasn't as bad as I was expecting." he said.

Alanna, on the other hand, felt as if she were being flushed down a pipe. A toilet, to be precise, and seeing her colleagues vanish, combined with the dizzying, weightless spinning, made her feel quite ill as she fell the last meter to a wooden floor. It took her a minute to recover, just lying there motionless. As she began approaching her normal state of equilibrium, she turned her head - to face the puddle that was the result of the sergeant's reaction.

That did it.

When she was done, the engineer wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her blouse, which was by now fairly unrecognizable. "Anybody have any water?" She needed to get the taste out of her mouth. "And where are we, precisely?"

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Carson offered Alanna a hand. "Sorry, I don't have any water with me." he said. He looked back at Cortez. "Where do you think we are? Besides in some hallway in the Wild West."

Holly was the last to step through, and seemed remarkably unaffected by the kinks of the Portal. Her expression said quite plainly that a caustic comment about the boons of youth would not be received graciously at the moment. She scanned the hallway, then those occupying it.

"We really need to dress for the Wild West, you know," she pointed out with a remarkable lack of tact.

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Alanna accepted Carson's hand and got to her feet, checking to make sure that the equipment tote she had thoughtfully brought along hadn't suffered any damage. "Thanks."

Reaching into an outer pocket, the engineer pulled out a hand-sized gadget and extended the antenna. In doing so, she got a glimpse of her sleeve and grimaced. Holly had a point - they should really change clothes, and not just because they were slightly avant guarde.

Sweeping the scanner in a circle, she picked up on the direction easily, since the walls were wooden and didn't interfere with the reception. "Northwest." Collapsing the antenna, she found to her satisfaction that she could still detect the crystal. "It's within fifteen miles of our position. We lack any sort of global tracking system, so I can't tell you any more than that."

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Carson was relieved at Alanna's news. "At least it's close." he said.

He glanced down at his own clothes. His blue jeans might be passable, but his t-shirt definitly wouldn't fit in. "We don't have any way to buy clothes." he pointed out. There wasn't much need for money on the moon base, and what financial transactions did take place were all electronic.

Carson shot Cortez a quick, rather poisonous look, but slipped out the door into the saloon. <i>A distraction...</i> The scientist had only seen one or two of the old Western movies, and most of what he remembered from them had involved guns and barroom fights.

Carson strode up to the bar, hoping he looked more confindent than he felt. He purposely choose a spot near the door he had come out of, and near a rather unsteady-looking man. He caught the bartender's attention and said, "Give me- some of that." he motioned to a bottle sitting on the bar. The man next to Carson gave him a hard look out of bleary eyes.

"That's mine." he said.

"Well, I'm sure you won't mind sharing." the scientist responded brightly.

The man wrapped an arm protectively around the bottle. "Oh, come on now." Carson plucked the bottle from the man's grasp and motioned for the bartender to bring him a glass. The bartender, however, and decided he had pressing business on the other side of the bar.

The man was still trying to give Carson a threatening stare. Carson found an empty shot glass sitting on the bar and grabbed it, then poured some of the drink into it. He held up the glass in a quick toast to the man, then downed it.

"That's it!" the drunk man jumped at Carson, fists swinging. Carson fought back, and the men tumbled to the floor, rolling under tables and knocking over chairs. Other patrons jumped to get out of their way, enjoying the show.

<i>Well, they're distracted now.</i> Carson thought as he got a fist in his mouth. He sincerely hoped that Cortez and the others would hurry and "dispatch" some people of their clothes, or get whatever they were planning done.

Thanfield had serious doubts about pulling out his plasma handgun and going trigger happy, so he tucked it into his belt. Flipping his kevlar vest over it to hide the handle, he decided to enter this the old-fashioned way.

Having Winter around did give him a bit of practice.

He slipped out the door and pressed against the wall, smartly rapping his head on a hanging beer rack in the process. Rubbing his sore temple, he crept up behind the thug similarly creeping up behind Carson. A deft strike to the back of his neck sent the drunk into a nice nap.

And then he caught sight of one coward slipping out the front door, no doubt to go tattle to the sheriff. Matters were going to get very nasty very soon.

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Alanna rolled her eyes at Holly as the men enthusiastically dove into the fray. "That's all very well for them. Unfortunately, a woman in pants would draw more attention than a bug-eyed alien swimming in a puddle of goo. Come on."

Backing down the hall a couple of paces, she opened the door there and peered inside. It led into the kitchen, which appeared to be empty. The engineer scanned the room until she found what she was looking for - several sacks of laundry, probably from the guests and travellers staying on the second floor of the saloon/tavern. She walked quietly over and rifled through their contents. One of the sacks obviously held a woman's garments - dresses, shifts, petticoats, and stays, in lieu of a more impractical corset.

Grabbing the entire sack, Alanna ducked into the pantry and changed, wondering how anyone could stand the heat wearing so many layers. People didn't give women of the old west enough credit. She finally finished fumbling with the thirty tiny buttons on the back of the dress and emerged, tossing the laundry bag to Holly. "Knock yourself out. And put up your hair." The dress, she noted with satisfaction, was long enough to cover her boots, which were decidedly anachronistic.

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Carson quickly buttoned his shirt and tightened his belt, then followed Cortez out the door.

His "distraction" hadn't worked out the way he had planned at all. In the western movies he had seen, when two people started fighting in a bar, soon everyone in the bar was fighting. Nobody snuck out to find the sheriff, either. Oh well, at least they had the clothes.

Clad in an archaic brown jacket and breeches, complete with cowboy boots, Thanfield ducked through the saloon door after his sergeant. Infinitesimal shafts of sunlight filtering through the boarded up windows illuminated a bar unlike the one they'd just left. The entire place had been conquered by glass shards and dust bunnies.

Clicking footsteps outside. A gravelly voice issuing orders. Thanfield peered through a crack in the boards to see the sheriff in question, two lackeys in tow, entering the bar. "Sheriff's in town," he muttered, resisting the urge to give the barrel of his revolver a dramatic puff like he'd seen in the western movies.

It was then that he happened to glance at his two companions. Two. His heart skipped a beat. "Where are the girls?" he hissed at Cortez.

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