Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine, and no profits are made from this story. It is a work of fan fiction and for fan enjoyment only.
AN: If you like this story, be sure to check out my other Atlantis stories: Lessons in Leadership and The Tournament
What Dreams May Come...
By Kerr Avon
The Puddle Jumper headed back toward the Stargate, and their new home in Atlantis. All-in-all, it had been a successful mission, and the group was in an upbeat mood. They had managed to trade some extraneous items for foodstuffs and some basic medical supplies on the world they had just left, and the agrarian society had been so pleased with the barter that they had thrown in several barrels of their local alcoholic brew, which were now safely strapped down in back. Rather than grapes, the beverage contained a distillate of a local fruit which was violet in color and about the size and shape of a peach. It was slightly fuzzy, but the skin could be eaten without detracting from its taste, and it fermented into quite a nice wine. They had each consumed a ceremonial cup full at the beginning and end of negotiations, and had found it quite palatable.
"So, do you think Weir will let us throw a party?" Ford asked hopefully.
"I don't see why not." Sheppard tried to maintain the jovial atmosphere, but found himself distracted by piloting the Jumper. There was quite a bit more debris on the return trip to the gate than on the journey out, and it took all his concentration to avoid it.
Wrenching the ship aside to avoid a suddenly-streaking meteorite that had edged a little too close, he called out jokingly, "Please remain seated with your hands inside the ride at all times."
"What's going on?" Rodney immediately did the opposite, jumping up and standing between the two pilot's seats, trying to get a better view out the front. He hung on for dear life as Sheppard wrestled the vessel the opposite direction, barely avoiding a strike.
"Meteor storm." The Major was grim. "I mean it, McKay; sit down."
As the Jumper lurched to the left, the astrophysicist gulped and nodded, hurriedly resuming his seat across from Teyla and grabbing tightly to the packing cords on the supplies nearest him. He noted that Teyla had wound her arm into the straps near her, and copied the action. It did seem to add a little security to his hold.
The shuttle was buffeted by debris from a near-miss as Sheppard lined up the gate and Ford began dialing the code. Ford hung onto the console in front of him and began transmitting his ident as soon as the wormhole was established. They had almost made the point where the automatics kicked in, when one of the chunks of space detritus finally hit home and sent them spinning out of control.
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"What's happening?" Weir asked as she entered the control room. This was supposed to be a low-risk trading mission, nothing fancy. How much trouble could the Fearless Foursome get into? Of course, they had met the Genii on a trading mission...
Squashing that thought, she listened carefully to the reply. "There was an incoming gate from the area where the recon team deployed, and we got Ford's ident, but then nothing. We've tried hailing them but without success; at least they're not stuck again." That was another memory Weir suppressed with a shudder.
Just then the gate closed altogether. "It was cut off from their side." commented the man at the controls, swinging towards his commander.
"Let's give them thirty minutes to reestablish contact." Weir was determined. "In the meantime, get a rescue team suited up and ready to launch."
"Yes ma'am."
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"Ford, we've got structural damage on the starboard hull! I can't compensate for drift; try increasing the boost on that side." Sheppard was concentrating at the helm, directing it mentally to what was needed and in what order.
"No go; we're at maximum as it is on that engine. Any more and we'll blow it out."
"We need to set down somewhere we can patch up. I'm thinking about....the nearest safe place, preferably with a breathable atmosphere, to land and effect repairs." Diagrams and complex maps appeared on the viewscreen. "Right...there." Sheppard jabbed at a particular circle with his index finger. "That's it."
Ford nodded silently, lips set in a determined line, eyes fixed on his own monitors. Within minutes their objective hove into view; a greenish-white orb circling a small yellow sun. "Entering atmosphere," the major announced unnecessarily.
The ride got significantly rougher as the air currents circled and eddied irregularly over the gash in the hull. Sheppard had to use all his strength just to keep their trajectory level and concentrate on finding a clear landing site. By the time he spotted a relatively flat field in which to alight, he was covered in sweat. As strained systems gave up the ghost with a pop or bang, the task became exponentially more difficult.
"There." He pointed the spot out with his chin, as he couldn't spare his hands from the controls.
"Got it." Ford began cutting back the thrusters and applying reverse engine power to slow their descent. As the engines changed direction a plume of smoke rose from the control panel in front of Sheppard, which then exploded outwards in a shower of sparks and flame.
"Aarrrgggh!" Sheppard's hands reflexively flew to his face, leaving the Lieutenant to suddenly wrestle the Jumper to the ground on his own.
"Major! Sir, are you all right?" Ford cried out as a wind gust pushed the vessel sideways and he forced it back to target.
"Ah...ahh...yeah...just peachy...ah..." The major managed as he panted through the pain. His eyes were on fire, and his face felt shredded. He could hardly think through the red haze, but ground out, "Ford...can you...handle...this?'
"Yes, sir." Ford was steady. If he couldn't, they were dead; Sheppard was in no shape to assist. "Everybody hang on; this'll be rough."
McKay and Teyla tightened their grip on the netting as the ground rushed up to meet them, but Sheppard couldn't move his hands to brace himself. Ford managed to slam the Jumper down hard, but level. Still, the occupants were tossed about the compartment like crash test dummies. Sheppard's head struck his mangled console with a thud, and his world went mercifully black.