Free Stargate SG1 - Roswell by Jennifer Fallon, Sonny Whitelaw

the worst shape, she noted as he floated past. A portion of his torso bore some gruesome scorch marks, but SG-1 didn't look all that good, either. And that smell... Something akin to a rotting swamp, was the closest she could come to describing it. The new arrivals also appeared to be covered in numerous bleeding bites of some kind. Bayou was home to either swarms of extraordinarily vicious insects or they'd found a bizarre health spa featuring beds of nails and mudpacks in dire need of perfumed additives, all of which left Vala with only one option. With no time to explain, she hauled herself out of the chair, and, pushing off the windshield, barreled through the jumper between Teal'c and Mitchell, to the rear compartment.
     
    “What the hell is going on?” Mitchell called between gasps. His face was a bloodied mess, and there appeared to be a piece missing out of his nose.
     
    “That cultural reference Daniel was talking about. The one with frying-pans and fires?” Vala went to grab the First Aid kit—which was not where she'd last seen it. Along with half the other so-called 'stowed' equipment, it was floating, or more accurately, tumbling around in free flight in the cargo bay.
     
    “You call this a rescue?” Daniel gasped.
     
    “A bit of gratitude wouldn't be misplaced, you know.”
     
    Something collided with her wrist, knocking her grip free and sending her bumping into the time machine. Inside the cockpit, arms and legs were flaying around, trying to get a grip on something in the microgravity. It was like watching a badly choreographed dance in free fall, laced with pearls of burgundy spiraling around the cabin. More worrisome was the brief glimpse of the magenta hue through the windshield. The jumper's shields might protect them from the heat of reentry, but she doubted they would help much when the ship banged into the ground.
     
    Carter pulled off her pack, grabbed the back of a chair behind General O'Neill and lowered herself into the copilot's chair. Typically, she seemed to grasp the urgency of the situation faster than the others. “The inertial dampeners must still partially be operational otherwise we wouldn't be tumbling.”
     
    “Can you get this thing operational?” Mitchell demanded, shrugging out of his own pack and jamming it beside the seat and the bulkhead, before giving Teal'c a hand. In the micro-gravity Carter's pack just added to the confusion of things floating around inside the jumper.
     
    “I can't fly a jumper,” Carter said in the closest thing to a panicky voice that Vala had ever heard her use. “I don't have the Ancient gene.”
     
    “Ford never had the gene, either, but he stole one from Atlantis.”
     
    “Maybe, but then it didn't have a time machine installed.”
     
    A red cross on a large white box tumbled past Vala's field of vision. She snatched at it while Mitchell and Carter continued in argue the finer points of what should and should not be possible. As far as Vala was concerned, the subject of discussion was rather moot. Fact was, with O'Neill out of commission, they were all rather royally screwed.
     
    After several aborted attempts, she finally latched onto the First Aid kit, and pulled open the lid. The sight of the Goa'uld hand device resting on top of the contents didn't come as much of a surprise as it should have. She batted away the useless bits in plastic bags floating out of the box and slipped the device over her fingers. Catapulting through the crowd of bodies, packs and weapons cluttering up the tiny jumper's main cabin, she zeroed in on the person wearing the least amount of pukey-greengunk. What had the others been doing on Bayou?
     
    Someone grabbed her from behind. She was about to object when she realized it was Teal'c. He must have understood her intent because he was trying to steady her while Daniel positioned O'Neill into the pilot's seat and placed the General's hands on the controls. Carter was working on the Asgard transport.