THE NIGHT OF THE TIME TRAVEL PORTAL

By Andamogirl

CHAPTER THREE

The next morning, in the parlor car

Rodney looked at all the different dishes placed on the table, salivating. "Oh my!"

The table was occupied by various dishes and plates containing pancakes, waffles, cinnamon rolls, biscuits and scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon, ham, sausages, fried potatoes, cream cheese, fruit compote and bread/toast/brioche with butter / jam / marmalade / caramel. Plus a pot of fresh coffee.

The Canadian looked at John sitting beside him and said, "I'm going to stay here. I never saw a breakfast like this one. It's fantastic!"

Jim chuckled. "Artie loves cooking. His greatest pleasure is to see people enjoy his cuisine. He could have been a Chef. I have each day the privilege to eat gourmet food. Two missions ago, he was impersonating a pastry cook and made a cake that size." He lifted his hand high above his head. "He wasn't too happy when I ruined his creamy chef-d'oeuvre tackling Judge M'Guigan on top of it. But pieces of it were very good."

John smiled. "As for Rodney, he loves eating."

McKay looked at his best friend again. "I have a medical condition, as you know, called hypoglycaemia. I have to eat more often than others, and more." He piled perfect pancakes, slices of brioche and waffles on his plate and poured caramel on top of them, licking his lips. "That looks absolutely de-li-cious. My compliments to the Chef. By the way, where is he?"

Taking some toast, Jim said, "Artie's taking care of his horse. Chestnut was injured in our last mission. He'll join us in a moment. Please, enjoy your breakfast gentlemen."

Rodney took a swallow of coffee, closed his eyes and let out a moan of pleasure and said, "It's the best coffee I ever drank. I'm going to settle here, that's decided. I'm not that bad with a gun, I could stay here and be your new partner. We'll form a trio."

Jim shook his head. "I'm not sharing Artemus with anyone. I'm pretty possessive."

John added, "And you're stuck with me, Rodney."

The swing door opened and the said Artemus entered the parlor car, crutch-less. Instead he was walking with the aid of his cane. "Hiya, Jim!"

Jim smiled. "Hi Artie, how are your ankle and your foot?"

He sat on a chair and stretched his leg to the side. "It still hurts, but less." He looked at the two 21st century men and said, "Good morning, gentlemen." Amused, he smiled, watching Rodney wolf down his food. "I can see that you're hungry, Rodney."

Rodney said hello, his mouth full of pancakes. Immediately John slapped his best friend's arm. "Don't talk with your mouth full!"

The Canadian glared at him. "Yes, mom."

The Colonel poured himself a second cup of coffee. "Good morning, Artemus," He said. "Rodney's always hungry and eating – even at night. I'm still surprised he has only one stomach." Then he smirked.

Rodney took a cinnamon roll. "I have a very happy metabolism."

Suddenly the telegraph key clicked alive, signalling an incoming message. Jim stood up, picked up a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote it down. Once the message finished he tapped an acknowledgment and read it: "It's from Colonel Richmond. Our leaves are cancelled. We have a new assignment. We have to escort Graham Ellison, the number one of the West Coast syndicate to Washington D.C. where he will be tried for the murders of Governor Robert Williams and his secretary Henry Masters. Police officers will bring him here at night for better discretion."

Frowning in concern, Artie said, "I'm predicting serious trouble coming our way Jim. The ride back to Washington is not going to easy. His men tried to free him from prison, twice, killing a dozen people in the process. And you know the old saying: troubles come in threes."

Sheppard proposed, "I know that we're not secret agents, but Rodney and I would like to assist your mission. We have had more dangerous missions."

Rodney nodded. "I never visited Washington – in the 19th century."

Jim shook his head. "I appreciate your offer, but you could be killed. I don't want to be responsible for your deaths. So it's a no. I'm sorry, but we have to go separate ways. I hope that you can go back home soon."

Artie nodded. "Jim is right."

Rodney swallowed a mouthful of coffee and said, "We've faced the Wraith, the replicators, the Genii and hundreds of various natives armed with all kind of pointy deadly weapons – and we're still alive. It's not a few bandits from the 19th century that can kill us."

Sheppard followed suit: "We're going to help you. So we stay. And we disclaim all liability to you about us, we do this on our own accord, while perfectly knowing the risks we are taking."

McKay added, "Could I have more coffee please? It's delicious. Perhaps we could visit the old San Francisco after breakfast?"

Artemus smiled. "Alright, alright. We accept your help with pleasure. Visiting San Francisco is a good idea, but you need a change of clothes first."

Embarrassed, John nodded. "But we don't have any money to buy clothes."

Artie waved his hand. "Don't worry, it's not a problem. Jim and have an unlimited budget and can buy anything we need, food, cartridges, horses, saddles, etc. and clothes of course."

"We'll be dressed like cowboys, that's so cool!" John said before grinning like a boy in a toys store.

Rodney rolled his eyes heavenward. "It's hopeless!"

WWW

Later in the Silver Mermaid saloon

After a complete sightseeing tour of San Francisco in a rented carriage (and after a picnic in the park), Jim and Artie decided to bring their guests to a 'typical' saloon, to spend the late afternoon drinking beer, enjoying the shows, chatting, smoking cigars, playing poker, and well - relaxing.

They took place at a round table placed not far from the bar. the décor was complete: the batwing doors, the long bar with an ornamental mirror at the back, the tables covered with cow skin, the uncomfortable chairs, poker tables, a piano player and a stage with painted décor and curtains – where dancing girls were taking a pause before their next show and a few musicians gathered around a table.

Sheppard looked around him in awe, very excited. "It's like in the old westerns I watched on TV when I was a boy. That's so cool."

Rodney huffed. "That's probably why you love guns so much."

Intrigued, Jim frowned. "What's a western?"

John explained, "A western tells stories set in later half of the 19th century in the American Old West, hence the name. The films I watched when I was a boy were filmed between 1950s and 1960. Many feature Indians, soldiers, cowboys, trappers, gamblers, lawmen and outlaws, etc. My preference goes to the classical westerns and to the Italo-westerns of the 70s."

Rodney was far less enthusiastic, despite the presence of six lovely and short-dressed dancing girls on the stage who he found 'exotic'. "Saloons are not cool, if you think that people fight here and shoot at each other all the time," he said. "Besides, it's dirty, noisy, crowded, smoky…"

Sheppard smiled. "It's just perfect!"

Artie nodded. "What's a film?"

Rodney explained, "A film is a series of still images which, when shown on a screen, creates the illusion of moving images due to an optical illusion. This optical illusion called phi phenomenon causes the audience to perceive continuous motion between separate objects viewed rapidly in succession. It's like a very advanced kinetoscope."

Gordon beamed. "Fascinating!" He pulled out a cigar case from the inside pocket of his jacket, opened it and pulled out four cigars.

Rodney shook his head. "No thanks, those things can kill you, you know? I don't want to die young, but very, very old. I intend to win the Nobel Price, at least twice."

John accepted the cigar. "Thank you."

Soon the table was enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke. A blond waitress in a very short dress brought four beers, looked at John, smiled at him, fluttering her lashes in outrageous flirtation and left reluctantly to serve other clients.

Rodney rolled his eyes, whispered "Kirk", then he took a sip of beer. "Mmmm… it's not bad. It's better than the beer we usually drink." Then he took a swallow.

John nodded. "Than you usually drink. And with more alcohol I suppose. Be careful Rodney, you're accustomed to drink your Canadian 'lite' beer."

Rodney rolled his eyes again. "Yes mom."

The two agents giggled. The two time travellers acted like brothers, they both thought. Then they exchanged a long look. Them too.

Sheppard took a swallow of beer and then put his cigar back in his mouth, relaxing. "We should have a place like this in Atlantis," he said.

Jim was surprised. "You don't have any saloon?"

Rodney shook his head and took another swig of beer. "No, but we have a rec room – a recreation room where people can watch TV, listen to music, play video games, read books, etc. John and I, we usually relax drinking a beer at the end of the south-east pier."

Musicians gathered next to the stage and soon after the music, a loud and dynamic French can-can, resounded.

WWW

Half an hour later, after the first show, Artemus ordered another round of drinks eliciting mockery from the hulking customers sitting at a table nearby. He ignored them. "It's sarsaparilla, my favourite beverage. You probably never drank that. It's a soft drink, usually sweet, foamy, non-alcoholic, and made from the Smilax Regelii plant. It's really delicious."

Rodney took a swallow and smiled. "That's root beer! We have the same thing in Canada. We have dozens of breweries and brands!"

Suddenly a mountain-sized sailor moved towards Rodney and sniggered. "I'm not surprised you drink that girly drink! All Canadian men are sissy and wimps!"

Rodney looked up at the bulky blond man and gave him his patented McKay glare. "You sound German, right? German beer tastes like cat pee."

Before the sailor could do anything but growl angrily, Jim took his gun in a flash and pointed it at the other man menacingly. "Go back to your seat or you won't like what happens."

The brute hesitated, red-faced with anger and finally complied.

Artie chuckled. "Cat pee? Oh, that's excellent."

Jim put his gun back in place, keeping an eye on the sailor who was talking animatedly to the men seated at his table. "Trouble ahead," he simply said.

Two seconds later, the German sailor and his two friends headed towards Jim, Artemus, Rodney and John, not relaxed anymore.

Jim and Artemus slid their chairs back and stood up, hands resting on their guns. That didn't stop the other men, who approached, ready to fight dirty.

Rodney and John took a prudent step back. The Colonel moved in front of Rodney, protecting him. It didn't escape the hulking German.

He smirked. "Is that man here your mate? You little wimp!"

Rodney moved into the giant's personal space and said, "You have big muscles but just a tiny pea in your big head!" Looking at John he added, "No, he's not my mate and I have a girlfriend – I rectify, I had a girlfriend. I'm not gay. He's my team mate – and brother." Then he looked at the bulky man again. "See those men on the other side of the table? They're federal agents, so if I were you I…"

Rodney didn't finish his sentence. The German thug lunged over to the scientist, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hit him square on his jaw before punching his mouth right after.

The physicist crashed to his knees and sprawled face down on the parquet floor, passed out. After that, all Hell broke loose. Fists and furniture began to fly in the saloon.

The sailor snarled and swung one of his massive fists and Sheppard dodged and shot a bone-rattling punch in the other man's face. The brute slammed all of his weight into the Colonel, sending him into an empty table. John regained his balance and threw himself at the giant. He hit the German again, hard, and then he thrust his knee into the sailor's unprotected groin, and then followed up with a chop to the throat. The man shrieked and gurgled as he tottered sideways to crash through a table.

Rodney regained consciousness and moved to his knees, spitting blood. John slung an arm around the Canadian's shoulders and helped him upright. "You okay?" he asked, concerned.

McKay nodded, "Yes, I'm fine." But he knew he had a split lip and a bruised cheek. "You enjoyed yourself, right? It's a saloon bar fight."

Sheppard smiled broadly. "That was fun!"

In another corner of the room West and Gordon were fighting too: Jim hit his target in the face and abdomen, throwing punch after punch, using the thug like a human punch bag. Artemus meanwhile, swung a fist at his opponent, but gasped as he was grabbed roughly by his front and lifted up to his toes. Artie immediately reacted. He head-butted the brute hard and seeing stars dancing in front of his eyes, he landed a blow on the side of the other man's bearded jaw. Then he punched him in the throat, once, twice, pummelling his windpipe and the thug finally released him, letting out wheezing sounds.

Jim watched his adversary topple sideways, unconscious; then glanced at his partner who had just delivered a bone-crushing right hook to his opponent. The brute crumpled to the floor.

The two agents exchanged a smile, brushed the dust from their clothes and sat down at the table. Rodney and John joined them.

Artie raised his glass of sarsaparilla. "To new friends," he said.

Tbc