A/N: This is my first posted fic. I'm going to try to post as I go, so there may be long periods between postings. I promise that I'll eventually finish this story, but I'm not entirely sure when or how far away that is chapter-wise. And just so you know, this is going to be a variant of the self insertion fic. Not that I'm actually like my original character, but I'm writing from her viewpoint in places. The ships will probably be Sheyla and Rodney/OFC. If that doesn't appeal, go read something else instead of flaming me. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the first installment!
Chapter 1: Paradigm Shift, Again?
I was going to die. After surviving countless weeks of torture, physical and mental (mostly mental), by a race of xenophobic aliens whose megalomaniacal leader rivaled even the fictional Scorpius…after running around with a big fat virtual bullseye painted on my back…after running from previously mentioned aliens in an ugly little ship and being—in the words of the sadly fictional John Crichton—"shot through a wormhole," which later developed severe gastrointestinal issues, I was going to die. The whole dimension-hopping thing was getting kinda old, but the being hurled through the vacuum toward a giant object felt new every time I did it. And now, zipping through the atmosphere of a world that looked like a glass ball, I was definitely going to die, because the engines on the piece of crap I was calling a ship had been torn off. Meaning that as I plummeted toward certain doom on this waterlogged ball, I couldn't steer, couldn't even try to get the craft to skim the water instead of plunging through it.
As my crappy little ship continued to cut and burn through the atmosphere, I moved out of the 'panic' stage and into full-blown denial, with a side order of anger. I wasn't going to let some stupid lack of engines prevent me from trying to make the ship do something other than drop, and I certainly wasn't even going to entertain the possibility of burning up in entry, despite the groaning racket the tin can around me was making. It didn't help my state of mind when, as I glared out the viewport, I saw something that I really shouldn't be seeing. I had to remind myself that reality is only relative after all, and that it would be better to grasp at a possible hallucination than sit back and do nothing.
Having made up my mind, I started exploring the control panel in front of me. I found the comm. section on the sparking board to my left, somehow managed to grasp the precise switch I was looking for, and proceeded to broadcast on all the channels the ship would allow. First, I took a deep breath. Sure, I was only a matter of seconds away from a nasty death, but I still had to figure out what to say. I tried to ignore the loose junk that pelted me and rolled around the insides of this deathtrap as it continued to fall. I really didn't want to screw this up.
"This is incoming ship to…big floating city." I winced, didn't want to give too much away quite yet. "I've, ah, got a problem with the engines on this thing. As in, the engines fell off a while ago. And I'm going to be crashing into the water pretty soon, so, if I could get some help, I'd really like to not drown or be crushed." The control board exploded in my face, cutting off my contact. The sparks hit my face, skittering across like bugs on crack. Not that I'd seen bugs on crack, but right now I could definitely imagine them. Have I mentioned yet how much I hate bugs?
My biggest problem was still the whole hurtling towards certain death…probably…but now the fact that I couldn't even talk to anyone while doing so hit me like a linebacker in a pink, frilly tutu. Sure, it hurt like hell, but it was damn funny too. Here I was muttering away, pounding consoles and flicking switches in the stupid hope that sheer dumb luck might kick in and save the day. I must have looked positively stark raving mad, laughing and muttering and twitching while the ancient, Ancient city watched and the sea loomed up to swallow me. After the impact that sent my head snapping—bouncing back and forth like that of a rag doll shaken by an inconsiderate, irate toddler—everything blurred. At one point I became aware of the jets of water streaming through innumerable holes and cracks in the badly damaged hull of my craft. The sudden jerk as my ship inexplicably came to a stop beneath who knows how many feet of water caused corresponding flares of hope and pain, in my heart and neck respectively. The faint, microscopic spark of hope began growing once the ship broke the surface of the water. And when, after a sudden transition in time and space (I must have blacked out), I found myself on the floor of what looked like a hangar bay surrounded by medical personnel, I felt a strange tingling. The last thing I saw before slipping into the abyss of concussed (drugged?) unconsciousness were two shocking blue eyes, set back from the crowd, staring into mine with concern.
A/N: So, what do you think? I'm planning on switching viewpoints for the next chapter, show the Atlantean POV for this bit of time. I greatly appreciate feedback, but I don't pay much attention to insults. IE: flames will be ignored, or read for the purpose of entertainment. Constructive criticism, on the other hand, is greatly valued.