Fic: The Haunted Ship

[aurora_novarum]

Title: The Haunted Ship
Rating: PG
Category: Gen, Ship (no canon chars), Mystery, Drama
Word Count: ~16,100
Spoilers/Warnings: Set between Unending and Ark of Truth; no warnings

Summary: The crew of Odyssey notice something strange about their ship after the events of "Unending."

Author's Notes: This story has been my personal labor of hair tearing frustration love off and on for almost two years (predating SGU) and couldn't have been pushed to its current state without the help of my alphas/betas annerb, abyssinia, and redbyrd. Any errors still my own.

---

"So some of you probably heard the rumors during your orientation at Nellis that you're aboard the black ship of the 304 fleet. She has a bit of history for sure. She's been around longer than the new shiny Apollo, and on more diverse missions than Daedalus's Pegasus shuttle runs. After all, 'Big D' just faces off with space vampires." Major Marks tapped the bulkhead beside him with affection and smiled. "Odyssey here has fought snakeheads, pirates, the Ori, travelled to three different galaxies...and counting, of course. So she's got a few more scrapes on her hull, but she's gotten her 200-man crew home every time. That's not a curse, that's a blessing, and that's what counts."

The other new transfers chuckled at the good-natured dissing of sister ships, but Captain Brandon McAllister felt a hint of unease. Major Marks's casual comments were the dark humor of a combat veteran. He'd initially thought transferring out of Afghanistan--dodging sniper fire while setting up power grids--was getting him to a safer duty. But these offhand remarks were the morbid humor of someone who'd been through the hell of combat and survived. Brandon was still on the front line–this time meeting aliens from outer space, and not all the little green men were like Spielberg's "E.T."

He turned to his seatmate, Tommy Jordan. Like Brandon, his old friend was excited at being assigned to an honest-to-God spaceship that put NASA to shame. Brandon had knuckled down, trying to learn everything possible about ZPMs and DHDs and all sorts of inconceivable power sources and crystal mechanics in their two month crash course. Tommy seemed to spend most of his free time hanging out in the lounge catching up on all the stories of this whole "visiting other planets" program the USAF had been keeping secret for over a decade. Right now, Tommy's expression was half amusement, half wonder, and he hadn't returned Brandon's sidelong glance. He probably already knew this "cursed ship" rumor. Maybe Marks's comments hadn't fazed him a bit.

While Brandon was lost in thought, the Major continued his briefing: "Which brings me to the next reason Odyssey's a bit special. This ship has the Asgard Core Room. As you may have already heard, it's very advanced alien technology. We've been Earthside two months now to copy and glean as much information as we could, but Odyssey's needed out there with the fleet, especially since she's the most advanced weapon we've now got against the Ori. We're going to have to keep learning as we go on missions. The core room itself is obviously a restricted area. Only a few of you will have direct access and clearance to it. But the core has been integrated with every system on this ship, so you all have to be aware of its relationship with standard operations on board."

Brandon listened to the overview of the core room with rapt attention, but the remarks were more cursory than anything else. Marks soon moved on to other topics, and the lecture became the standard military drone of regulations Brandon had heard at every base he'd served. It was almost as if that hint of adventure had never been discussed. Brandon noticed Tommy starting to doodle in his notepad. But Marks's comments were not forgotten. After the talk was finished, the room buzzed once again with excited murmurings. Brandon exchanged a smile with Tommy.

"We made it, bro!" Tommy held up his hand for a high-five. "It's a long way from Clarkson, isn't it? I always told you we'd reach the stars."

"Here, I thought you'd meant Hollywood stars." Brandon said the line from their old joke. Tommy had the same grin Brandon remembered from school. They'd always been opposites--Tommy gregarious and a city boy, and Brandon the bookworm from the small New England town, but they'd hit it off from the start. After graduation, Tommy and he hadn't been stationed together. Just once when their stints at Eglin partially overlapped, but they'd stayed in touch as much as possible. Meeting up at Nellis was a pleasant surprise, and they relaxed as if graduation was last week instead of years ago.

On their way out of the room, they got caught in the bottleneck of people leaving. Directly in front of them, a redheaded man was laughing at his dark haired colleague. "Curses in the briefing, and now you're telling ghost stories, Cho? C'mon."

His friend retorted. "I swear, the ship's totally haunted. I've heard that there's a blood spot on the deck of the bridge that no amount of scrubbing can ever wash off."

"You've been watching too many horror flicks."

"No, I swear, Dutch." Cho repeated. "Their first commander got killed on the bridge, execution style. They say his blood still runs through the ship, and you can hear his cries of vengeance."

Dutch snorted, and Brandon heard a woman nearby snicker, "Melodramatic, much?"

Cho was not swayed. "No other commander's stayed aboard for more than six months. Plus on Deck Five..."

Brandon was jostled from behind. He opened his mouth to protest, but his voice caught in his throat as he realized it was Major Marks. The Major reached out and pulled the hapless Lieutenant Cho back from the crowd. The Major had not struck Brandon as a particularly intimidating man before. But at this moment, the fire of a drill sergeant seemed to be possessing the man as he loomed over the subordinate.

"The murdered commander you so brazenly toss off as a ghost was Colonel Paul Emerson, a man who gave his life for this ship and her crew, and one of the best officers I've ever had the honor of serving under, Lieutenant."

"I meant no offense, sir." Cho was obviously flustered, looking around for some kind of support to help dig him out of this hole. Everyone had backed away, giving the pair wide berth.

Marks was giving no quarter. "Offense, taken. Every man and woman aboard this ship does their duty. We depend on each other, because the stakes are too high if we don't. Perhaps you don't appreciate that, Lieutenant. Relegating the Colonel's sacrifice to a ghost story demeans his memory and cheapens the lives of every crew member who owes their lives to his command. Every officer who we've been honored to follow has kept to that example, no matter how long their tour...I trust they don't have to explain themselves to you!" Marks looked around at their audience as if spotting them for the first time, but Brandon had no doubt he not only was aware, but wanted his lecture heard. "I believe I dismissed you all?"

A chorus of muttered "sirs" were heard as everyone scattered. Only after they were a deck away and Tommy triple checked no one else was nearby did he speak up. "That Marks is one to talk. There's stories about him too, you know."

Brandon looked around as well before responding. Tommy was confirming his own impressions of the nerdy-looking officer–there was more to him then met the eye. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's considered the luckiest dude in the fleet. Been on at least one mission with every 304 made to date. Plus, he was one of Prometheus's crew. You know, that 303?"

Brandon vaguely remembered the history of the predecessor class vessel. "I, um, it got blown up by an Ori satellite, right?"

"Yeah, but not before most of the crew was evacuated by its commander. Marks was bridge crew there, got injured, but survived. You heard him mention Colonel Emerson? Hostage situation with those pirates--the Luchan Allies or something like that. Anyway, after the Colonel's death, Marks led the crew with SG-1 to take back the ship. Another time, he fought in the battle of 229 and survived. There were lots of casualties there, not to mention the Russians' cruiser destroyed. Plus, he went from captain to major in record time. Actually, there was a whole group of guys that got accelerated promotions. Rumors are they went through some kind of time warp, but everything's hush hush."

Brandon looked at his friend with incredulity. "And people are saying he's lucky from that? Sounds like more of a curse to me. Forced to abandon ship twice? Losing Prometheus, and several commanders?"

Tommy shrugged. "This duty's pretty weird. I mean, back at Nellis, I was berthed with a guy who used to be stationed at Cheyenne, and since coming on board have met a couple guys on their second tour. When they heard we were getting briefed by Marks, they called him the Odyssey's Daniel Jackson."

"Who's Daniel Jackson?"

Tommy looked at him and shook his head. "This is what you get for spending so much time studying engineering manuals instead of finding out the real scoop of what's out there, bro. You've got a lot to learn."

Before Brandon could counter his friend's jibe, he was distracted by the sight before him. The corner they turned revealed a row of exterior windows. They could see the blue oceans of Earth and the peninsula of India peeking out amongst the swirl of clouds. Brandon didn't realize he was holding his breath until he heard Tommy's sigh next to him.

Brandon turned to his old friend and smiled. "We've got the coolest jobs."

---

It was surprising how quickly the extraordinary settled into the mundane. Before he knew it, Brandon was adjusting to the routine of daily life on board a space cruiser. There were idiosyncracies, like how the artificial gravity gave just a bit of bounce to your step, or the radiation waves of deep space could create a slight rocking motion when the ship was in subspace. Brandon found it was actually a lot like being on the sea.

He smiled at the irony. He'd come from a family of sailors. His dad was career Coast Guard, and his grandfather only just retired from fishing. The family had teased Brandon for taking the sky-boy route of Air Force, but now his heritage as a mariner stood him in good stead sailing across the galaxy. The movement and sounds of the vessel were a comfort to him, and he didn't suffer the motion sickness some of the other new personnel had to deal with as they adjusted to minor discrepancies in the inertial dampeners.

Brandon was pulling the graveyard shift. He headed to the Asgard core enjoying having most of the section to himself. Only the odd groans and rattles of Odyssey kept him company. Gran-da used to say, "Every vessel speaks to you, boy. Listen to her voice, and she'll keep you safe." He'd found it worked for aircraft as well as his grandfather's fishing boat. It seemed true of spacecraft as well. Tommy would laugh if Brandon ever explained it, but he liked these times of feeling like it was just him and the ship.

A woman's laughter in the next corridor caught his attention. The raucousness was surprising in this area. He waited at the corner a moment, listening as her voice drew closer. But just when he thought someone or at least something would appear, the sounds stopped. Brandon went to investigate.

When he turned the corner, he saw he was not alone, but that didn't alleviate the mystery. A staff sergeant was at the far end of the corridor mopping the floor in a lazy pattern and oblivious to Brandon's presence. The bucket beside the man betraying a telltale squeak as the Sergeant moved it. Brandon doubted the middle aged man laughed like a girl.

The janitor stood back to Brandon, oblivious to his approach. He was humming his own tune, swaying the mop to an imagined beat...or maybe not so imagined.

Brandon lunged forward and pulled the ear pods away. "Sergeant?"

"Lo, Cap'n. Just got my tunes to wile away the time." The Sergeant didn't seem startled. He had a very laid-back manner about him, standing both at attention and seeming to slouch at the same time.

Brandon blinked at the juxtaposition. He glanced at the name tag, reading "Bailey" along his chest. "And if general quarters sounded?"

"It's no problem this time of night, Cap'n."

"The point is you never know when things will happen. And if you're wearing these...," he waved the ear pod he still had in his hand. "Then you don't realize what's happening around you. You didn't know I was here, until I came up to you."

The Sergeant shrugged. "I knew you were around, sir. Some officer always swings by round about now."

"And you didn't think that being out of uniform and engaging in non-regulation activities in the presence of a superior officer would get you in trouble?"

"They're camo earpods, sir."

He felt like he was going in circles with this real-life "Beetle" Bailey. How did the Sergeant even get on board this ship? Brandon was distracted from his tirade by movement out of the corner of his eye. Over the man's shoulder, another large man stood further down the hall, surrounded by light. Brandon turned, but the figure he had spotted in his peripheral vision was now gone.

"Did you see that?" he was surprised at how hoarse his voice came out.

The Sergeant blinked and looked down the hallway. "Hmm?"

Brandon walked to where he had seen the figure. Nothing. The nearest hatch was several feet away, and it could never have opened and closed before Brandon got here. The deck was solid. There was no place the man could've disappeared without Brandon seeing him leave.

The Sergeant followed him and stared at the empty space before giving Brandon an appraising look. "New aboard, ain't ya, Cap'n?"

"I–uh..." Brandon was confused by the question.

"You're on Deck Five, sir. Stuff happens 'round here. Mind you, it wasn't always like this. No different from any other deck. But...it's my third tour. Gotta roll with the punches around here." He shrugged and pointed at the headphone set. "Sometimes a blind eye to the small issues is better than the alternative."

Brandon looked down at the man's music player he still held in his hand. Bailey winked at him. "Maybe you better keep that, sir. I've gotta get back to the swabbin'. We'll be droppin' out of hyperspace in a couple minutes."

Bailey turned back to his mop, whistling as he worked his way down the hall, shifting the rolling bucket with difficulty as one wheel kept catching, making a tremendous squeak. Brandon watched him work, still mulling over the strange sights and sounds he'd just experienced. A little over a minute later, he felt the roll in his stomach indicating the Odyssey had dropped out of hyperspace, just as Bailey predicted. Brandon continued on his way, trying to dismiss the experience and realizing that life aboard a space ship was even more bizarre than he had expected.

---

Brandon grabbed a cup of coffee, muffin, and piece of fruit and swung into a seat in the mess hall. He wasn't surprised when Tommy grabbed the seat across from him. What threw him off was the plate of spaghetti in front of his friend. "So, I guess this isn't breakfast for you?"

Tommy grinned and stabbed what would ostensibly be called a meatball. "You're the one on swing shift. It's messing with your internal clock."

Brandon sighed and nodded, trying not to let the smell of marinara spoil his appetite for breakfast. "It's not like there's a difference between day and night in hyperspace anyway, is there? So, how's life on the bridge?"

"A helluva lot different than being navigator on a Hercules, that's for sure. I'm just backup nav behind the main bridge charting courses, but next week I'm supposed to fill in for Marks at the main station. What about you? How's engineering?"

"Well, actually, I didn't end up down that far. I'm working with the Asgard Core."

Tommy reached across and slapped Brandon's arm. "See what comes from all your studying? What a sweet gig."

"Yeah, you'd think so. But trying to get alien technology to talk to Earth's, even one as intuitive as the Asgard's, is a nightmare." Brandon grinned. "I'd tell you more about it, but then I'd have to kill you."

"I'd probably die of boredom from the explanation."

Brandon watched his friend eat for a moment. Tommy tended to have a pulse on anything rumor related and a basic knack for picking out patterns. "Tommy, what have you heard about Deck Five? I mean, specifically?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows. "Why, did something happen down there?"

Brandon shrugged. Sailor superstition kept him from actually voicing his experience about the disembodied laugh and shadow of a man who he'd seen walk the halls. "I dunno. Just, that whole thing during orientation I guess, and..."

"You mean the ghosts?" Tommy leaned back, quirking a smile. "That stuff about Emerson was a complete load of b.s. The bridge crew is really sensitive about it, but there's nothing on the deck."

"Strange how these stories get started, isn't it? I wonder if that's how things happened on Deck Five? You ever hear anything happening with the crew down there?"

"Why would I have heard?" Tommy asked between bites of garlic bread. In response, Brandon only looked at him.

"Okay, okay. I do hear things. But..." Tommy stopped chewing for a moment, thinking back. "I don't recall hearing anything in particular happening in that area of the ship. Do you want me to ask around?"

Brandon poked at his food, shredding his muffin paper in the process. "Uh, it's not that important, I guess. More curiosity than anything. I mean, looks like I'm spending a lot of time down there. Be nice to know the history."

Tommy's eyes widened. "You saw something freaky."

"I was just trying to figure out what the deal was with these stories. There has to be a reason they've cropped up." Brandon started thinking aloud, anxious to try and change the subject from what he may or may not have seen or heard. "What if it's just the acoustics of the ship? Like sound carrying across this odd metal?"

"Well, I don't know the properties of this trinium, but I've noticed sound seems more buffered than at other stations. I dunno. Acoustics is beyond me. You're the engineer."

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me." Brandon finished his muffin and got up. "Speaking of, time for me to get back on duty."

---

"I'm still finding a lot of these runes look just like each other," Suarez complained as their duty ended. Suarez, like Brandon, was new to the core room detail, and the pair had become study buddies in trying to figure out the mysteries of Asgard computer core over the past couple weeks.

One thing about the Asgard, they never did things by halves. When the aliens set up the core to integrate to Odyssey, it leeched into every system: super efficient in some ways, but a maintenance headache in others, not to mention trying to copy the information to download to Earth or integrate the tech to the other 304s in the fleet. Most of the instructions were in English, or at least translated by that Thor hologram. But there were some secondary systems that were just too technical for English translation, and with no Asgard around anymore to operate things, the grunt engineers and techs like Brandon and Suarez had to piecemeal rudimentary linguistic and alien tech knowledge with their problem solving skills. Thus, long night sessions studying lines on little screens.

"You've seen one rune, you've seen them all I'm finding. I'm hoping Captain Hougland over in linguistics can give a few tips," Brandon sighed.

Suarez nudged him. "Are you sure it's Gertie Hougland's language skills you're interested in? I sure find myself distracted when she's giving us the Asgard language lectures."

"Hey, that's inappro--"

"Besides, don't think I haven't noticed the way she looks at you."

"...pria...How does she look at me?"

Suarez just gave his Latin Lothario grin. A moment later, the grin widened and he pointed to the wall of the corridor as they reached the door. "Maybe you can even get her to explain that?"

Brandon looked to where Suarez was pointing, then smirked. While the code key panels were long overdue, everyone had mocked the recently installed signs to the Core Room section, labeled inside and outside the sealed area. It must've been worded by committee because instead of standard "Restricted Area" or "Top Secret Access", this one said "Severely Restricted Access." Brandon shook his head. "As talented as Hougland is, I doubt even she can translate bureaucrat-speak."

Suarez punched the code to exit the area--nothing like the military to double up on everything. "What do you think they'll come up with next? 'Tippy Top Secret' labels for our reports?"

"Who knows?" Brandon shrugged. He waited for the buzz of all clear to open, but Suarez was pausing, leaning against the console and punching buttons slowly.

"Forget your code?" Brandon started to reach for his own access key to swipe out.

"Nah, it's just...it's sounding weird." Suarez paused again. "The music's throwin' off my rhythm."

"Music?"

"I remember my code to tonal beats, and...you don't hear it do you?" Suarez frowned.

"Sorry." The hairs on the back of Brandon's head prickled, and he turned around, half expecting to see the shadowy man again. Nothing was there. He thought about Bailey's comments about Deck Five and wondered if Tommy had found anything out. Should he say something to Suarez about his experience, or would that be spreading unfounded rumors? Or, worse yet, naming the devil so it appears? Superstition won out over reason, and he cautiously answered with his half-hearted scientific theory. "Sometimes there's strange...acoustics in this area. Maybe you're hearing something from another spot and it's traveling here."

Suarez lifted his hand off the wall. "Maybe you're right. I don't hear it now." He pressed his buttons quickly with a light touch, humming under his breath.

"What kind of music was it?"

"Hmm?" Suarez broke off mid-hum as the buzzer finally sounded and the door unsealed to the unclassified section of the ship.

"The music you were hearing? What did it sound like?"

"I dunno, man," Suarez seemed to want to drop the subject now that they were out of the Core Room region. "It was just...music. Not a song I knew, not any Latin rhythm."

"Right...not Latin music." Brandon didn't know whether to be relieved or sorry Suarez wasn't sharing more. The idle thought passed of what would his grandfather make of these events. In the meantime, Suarez obviously hadn't been aware he was humming out loud. "Like your code. I didn't know the theme to Gilligan's Island was Latin."

Suarez scowled. "I am so changing that."

---

Dear Gran-da,

Hope you are well, and the winds are with you. I'm not able to enjoy the fresh air so much, right now.. "Understatement", Brandon muttered to himself as he glanced at the stars flashing past the officers' lounge window. He went back to writing. They keep me working pretty hard. But your lessons growing up have served me well. I've been thinking about you a lot and miss you. Keep an eye on Ma for me, I know you try to. Is she trying to get you to eat more again? I started thinking of your old sea tales the other day. There's a sense of a...well I just remember your stories and how you'd tell me to listen with your nose and see with your ears. Sometimes I feel as if I'm doing that and....

"Writing to your family?" Tommy entered the lounge and plopped on the couch next to him, his long legs taking up most of the coffee table as he opened a bag of corn chips. "It's not your sister by any chance?"

"It's to my grandfather," Brandon said sternly. "You're not still pining over Katie, are you?"

"Why, did your sister mention me?" Tommy tried too hard to sound casual in his deflected response.

"Yes, Tommy, ever since she saw you when they visited me at Nellis, she's been constantly talking about you." Brandon snorted and rolled his eyes. "What made you think I was writing to them anyway?"

"You're using pen and paper instead of email. You've always done that when writing them, and you never write anything else longhand. No one else can read your chicken scratch." Tommy snickered at Brandon. "How do you plan to mail that? Post office doesn't exactly deliver, and I'm not sure the Stargate does special delivery."

"Actually, SG-8's heading home via the 'gate tomorrow, and Lt. Pitcher promised she'd drop the letters in the mail when they got back to Colorado."

"You met SG-8?" Tommy's feet hit the floor with a thud. Brandon should've realized his comment would garner this reaction. Tommy had been fascinated by the SGC field teams since orientation. "When...how...? I mean I saw them when they beamed onto the bridge day before yesterday, but you...you talked with them?"

"Just Lt. Pitcher and Sgt. Rollings." The two team members had come by the core room to get the Asgard scanner to figure out this strange device they'd picked up on M3J-5C3. "So anyway, if I can get this out, then..."

His voice trailed off as two new figures entered, speaking heatedly. "I'm telling you, it was chasing me down the hall, man."

"But there was nothing..."

"You could hear the footsteps following, steady-like. I was waiting to yell at someone, and...there was no one there. I mean, no one. I finally stopped, and it went past me. It was right there, and then Sergeant Bailey just shakes his head at me and says 'I best be gettin' on my routine as if nothing happened'."

Brandon didn't laugh at the on-spot impersonation of Bailey. He was too fascinated by the ghostly footsteps. He vaguely recognized the guy as someone who worked in one of the other departments that would coordinate with the core room.

The Lieutenant's friend was scoffing. "Dude, you were just hearing an echo..."

"This wasn't some kind of pipe rattle or hull shifting. It was on Deck Five. You know what they say about it. And I'm telling you: This. Was. Footsteps." The guy spun around, seeming to realize for the first time that everyone in the officer's lounge was watching them. "C'mon..." He dragged his friend out of the room. No one spoke for several moments before a more hushed conversation started amongst the various people in the room.

Brandon turned to Tommy. "Well, that was..."

"Yeah. You work in Spooky Central, bro. Is that what you weren't telling me before?"

"The footsteps are new," Brandon demurred. "I'm more interested on what you found out."

"Scooby's on the case," Tommy leaned close. "So, I went through the basic logs and aside from some guy breaking his leg once, there's been no casualties. But there's been talk."

"What sort of talk?"

"Shadows, sounds, but nothing really there. But get this, it's only started within the last six months."

"Six months?" Brandon's throat was dry at the talk of shadows and sounds.

"Yeah, it's hard to get an exact date, but a lot of anomalous reports started with the Earth crews doing quick repairs and setup before we came aboard, and it coincides to right when the Asgard dropped off their little farewell present."

"So you think it's the ghosts of the Asgard?" Brandon shook his head in denial. He knew what the Asgard looked like from that Thor hologram he loved to alternately praise and curse while on duty. Shadow man was not the right height or build. This was definitely more...human shaped.

"Who knows? I mean, that section was just storage beforehand, maybe it just wasn't travelled enough for anyone to notice anything weird before." Tommy narrowed his eyes, studying Brandon's face. "Are you doing your spooky Ancient Mariner thing?"

Brandon blinked. "What spooky Ancient Mariner thing?"

Tommy waved his hands. "Like when you were in college, you'd get...witchy, telling us when class would get canceled."

"I predicted the weather." Brandon blinked and tried to joke. "Meteorologists do that on the news every night. It's not even alien."

"Yeah, but you were more accurate than the 6:00 news, with your whole 'watch the sun red at dawn...'"

"Red sun at morning, sailors take warning." Brandon recited by rote. "Tommy, you know that's atmospheric conditions..."

Tommy interrupted. "Yeah, yeah, but you would do other things too. Predictions, superstitions amongst scientists...and they would come out right more than odds of coincidence. You know what I mean. Don't play coy."

Brandon only scoffed, but as his eyes alighted on his letter, he had to admit the truth of Tommy's comments. He'd noticed how he'd tapped into his "sailor's familiarity" of being on the spaceship. Probably psychological studies on submariners would work in treating the cabin fevered crew of Odyssey. Perhaps that's why he wanted so badly to communicate with Gran-da. The man had been on a sea vessel for twice Brandon's life, and a lot of it as a captain. He knew the sea, and, more than that, he knew people. Brandon couldn't explain these strange things--strange even by this ship's standards. The mysterious woman's laughter he named Joy, or Suarez's music, or now this comment about invisible footsteps. Perhaps he thought his grandfather could shed light on this strange mystery.

"What did you see, Brandon? What do you know? Do you think you're in danger down there?"

"No," Brandon answered automatically, before he'd fully thought it through. It was just a gut reaction, not bravado. Of course it was fine to say that here in the brightly lit and crowded lounge, but as much as his nerves got to him during these spooky sightings, he didn't feel any malice. "No, they're not dangerous."

Tommy seemed to recognize Brandon's sincerity. He leaned back, pointing a corn chip at Brandon. "See? See what I mean? 'Witchy.' It's just...weird, bro."

Brandon looked down at his half-finished letter. Half to himself, he spoke aloud. "Yeah...weird."

---

A couple weeks later, Brandon and Suarez were yawning their way into the mess hall, looking for some grub before collapsing into their bunks. Brandon was surprised, but pleased, to see Gertie motioning he and Suarez over to a table she shared with another captain. Gertie introduced her friend as her roommate Tonya Chriss from hydroponics.

They'd barely gotten introductions done before Tommy and a couple other guys, one Brandon recognized as Tommy's roommate, a guy name Lightman also came to the table. The mess was starting to fill up as various people came off duty. The buzz of the room was excited. Apparently, there were rumors an Ori ship was in the same area of space Odyssey was headed into, and there was an undercurrent of equal nervousness and excitement that they might be having a battle soon. It would be one of Odyssey's first tests since SG-1 brought the ship back from the Orilla galaxy.

"Of course it could all be rumor," Tommy shrugged. "We've had half a dozen false alarms in the last month, and that's just while I've been on duty."

"One of the natures of ship living," Brandon shrugged. He didn't want to admit the excited murmuring was making him nervous. A spaceship was not going to be like the desert sands of Afghanistan. Despite his concerns from orientation, to date his biggest battle on Odyssey had been trying to figure out what the Asgard system had done to power flows. And he was finding he liked it that way. "Gossip spreads like wildfire, whether or not there's truth to it."

"Speaking of gossip, did you hear? It looks like Marks is getting transferred again. He's training me up for his position on the bridge deck." Tommy's eyes were dancing with the news. Brandon offered his congratulations. Tommy was a great navigator, but he still didn't expect his buddy to make it to primary bridge crew so soon.

"Marks does that do-se-do ship hopping from time to time," another bridge crew member, Johnson acknowledged. "He and Mack down in engineering are the most experienced officers we've got. Anytime one of the ships goes through retrofit or upgrades, they always request them and a half dozen others to help shake out the kinks."

"I've actually heard stories about poker matches amongst the 304 commanders as to who gets them next," said Lightman.

Tommy exchanged a knowing look with Brandon. Brandon hadn't forgotten Tommy's stories about Marks from their orientation.

"In any case, all the better for Tommy boy here. Promise us you won't put the ship through any Immelmans, okay?"

"I make no promises." Tommy grinned as the others laughed. Odyssey was no fighter craft, not like the F-302s down in the bay, but she was sure to have her own share of aeronautic feats under her belt. Brandon was lulled by the gossip that ensued over maneuvers the ship had done in its history.

Somehow the conversation shifted from ship heroics to the ground teams that used the actual Stargate. Tommy wasn't the only one who had a fascination with the SG-teams. Anything to distract from the underlying tension of a possible impending battle.

"Oh man, this is a tough choice." Lightman rocked his chair back--which took some doing considering they were magnetically set to the floor. "I'm going to have to go with Seven."

"Seven?!" Tommy looked at him incredulously. "Why Seven?"

"SG-7 has the best record. Least amount of casualties, most successful trade negotiations..."

"Fewest adventures. They're Team Boring!" Chriss countered.

Gertie stifled her laugh by digging down into her Jell-o again. Brandon liked the way the blush flattered her cheeks.

Tonya Chriss was continuing. "Me, I'd go with SG-13. Have you seen their dossier pics? Dixon is dreamy."

"Yeah, and father to the Waltons clan. Have you heard how many kids he's had so far?" Tommy shook his head. "'Dreamy'. Like that's the best determining factor."

Gertie rose to her roommate's defense. "Suarez said he liked SG-15 just because the translator on the team had a nice rack!"

"I didn't say that!" Suarez protested. "I said she had a nice..."

"Dude," Tommy raised a hand. "Quit while you're behind."

"Behind, yes...yes. Right." Suarez deflated as the rest of the table laughed at the inadvertent pun.

"I'm going to have go with SG-3."

"SG-3?!" Lightman's outrage made inhabitants of some nearby tables glance over. "But...they're marines!"

"Not anymore...or at least, not half of them. Reynolds is Air Force. I knew him at Area 51 years ago. He's good people. And then Balinsky is on the team now too, and he's from the Academy. I mean it's not like I picked SG-5. I do have Air Force pride."

"I suppose," Tommy answered dubiously.

"And you, Jordan? Who's your favorite?" Johnson asked.

"As if there's any question." Lightman spoke up before Tommy could give his predictable answer. Brandon smiled and had to agree. He chorused with Lightman, "SG-1, of course!"

"Am I that easy to read?" Tommy raised his eyebrows in mock innocence.

"You know their missions better than me," Lightman picked off on his fingers.

"You constantly refer to their exploits," said Brandon.

Johnson entered the fray, "You mention Carter's upgrades to the navigation systems half a dozen times a week."

Brandon finished. "And you've practically got your autograph book ready for when they may come aboard."

"Hey, they've always been led by pilots. O'Neill, Carter, and Mitchell...and Mitchell was one of the F-302 flyboys on the old 303. Practically one of us! And they're the first and oldest team. How can you not think they're great?" Tommy grinned, then turned his sights of revenge on Brandon. Maybe he had gone too far with the autograph comment. "All right, fine. What about you, Brandon?"

"Me, I guess I'd go with SG-8. They really helped out a lot with Ger–Hougland's translations and helped our team out with some difficult projects." Sgt. Rollings had been a big help in giving insight into how the Asgard thought to help their team figure out how the crystals connected with Earth technology.

"Plus SG-8 delivers your mail." Tommy gave a sly, knowing grin.

Brandon dutifully rolled his eyes, absently tapping his pocket where the still unread letter from his grandfather now rested. He'd left Rollings and the core room to come straight to the mess. "And there's that."

"Girl back home, McAllister?" Gertie Hougland asked. Was Brandon flattering himself that he imagined a note of jealousy in her tone?

He shook his head. "Just family."

Chriss bit into a too greasy fry and grimaced. "What about you, G?"

Brandon definitely didn't imagine the look Gertie gave him before she turned to her friend. "Oh, I'd go with SG-8 too."

Distracted by Gertie, Brandon didn't notice Johnson staring out the window until just before the guy bolted out of his chair, knocking his tray and chair to the floor with a clatter.

Shock seemed to have stolen Johnson's breath, because whatever words he was trying to say just came out as faint huffs. Brandon looked around, instantly alert, but saw no danger. He'd felt no shift in the hull to break the equilibrium. The only disruption was the neighboring tables who'd turned at the noise Johnson caused.

Johnson blinked while Suarez and Chriss reached him. Johnson stuttered, "I...I thought...we were under attack. Thought I saw..."

Several people around galvanized into action, looking out the window. Brandon did the same but saw nothing but an ordinary starfield. In the background, he heard someone calling to the bridge. No alarms sounded as a result, only a page for a medic to come to the mess hall.

"You all right, Johnson?" Chriss was asking solicitously.

"It's those double time shifts, getting to you, man. You need some rack time," Tommy's tone was light, but Brandon recognized his old friend's nervousness. He was trying to give Johnson a way to save face. "We've been staring at stars so long, it's a wonder they're not all going supernova in front of our eyes."

Johnson swallowed and nodded, seeming to recognize Tommy's lifeline for what it was. "Yeah, yeah. That must be it." He managed a wan smile, and tried to wave off the medic who arrived and wanted him to go to the infirmary.

"Maybe you should go. Think of all those cute nurses that could be swooning over a pilot like you there," Lightman said.

"They'll probably go more for the 302 boys than a charter dude like me," Johnson countered, but made no further protest as the medic led him away.

The rest of them took their seats, but Brandon at least had no further appetite after the strange incident, and the way everyone else was pushing their food around on their plates, no one else did either. The conversation had died. Tommy gave Brandon a look, but Brandon shook his head. He didn't want to discuss "Scooby investigations" or "witchy feelings" with the group. Of course, it could have nothing to do with anything. Maybe he was misinterpreting Tommy's expression, or projecting his own thoughts about what Johnson saw. Because seeing a blast of light that disappeared sounded an awful lot like the ghosts from his work section. And that meant it wasn't restricted to the Asgard or the Core Room.

"I think Jordan's got the right idea," Lightman dropped his spoon with a clatter and stood up. "The rack sounds like a good enough place after a long shift."

"Er, yeah...I'd better hit the head before I go on duty."

The others nodded and mumbled similar excuses, gathering their trays and quietly heading out of the mess. Suarez mirrored Brandon's footsteps, heading back to quarters. "Strange, huh?"

"Yeah." Brandon was still lost in his own thoughts.

"It's just..." Suarez bit his lip and moved his hand in a gesture that was probably meant to look like he was just brushing off his uniform, but anyone watching for more than a second would recognize a Catholic sign of the cross. Brandon had to lean close to catch his new friend's muttering. "It's just that when I first looked up, out of the corner of my eye, I could've sworn I saw a blast coming straight for us too. Blink, and it was gone."

As Brandon got ready for bed, he continued to mull over what Johnson and Suarez had claimed to see. Granted, there were lots of possible explanations. People could get stir-crazy stuck on a ship for long periods. Heck, there could've been some kind of shielding issue. Or it may have just been a reflection or trick of light from some random bit of space junk outside. No matter what ideas Brandon came up with, his mind kept relating the mess hall incident to the ghosts of Section Five. The mess was on the complete opposite side of the ship. It shouldn't relate. But he couldn't shake that feeling in his gut.

Remembering the letter, Brandon finally opened it, but was disappointed to find no insights from Gran-da, just stories and well wishes from all the family and hopes he'd be home on leave sometime soon. Sighing, he climbed into his bunk and tried to think of better things, like how Gertie's nose scrunched when she sipped through her straw. Falling asleep to that thought, he'd forgotten about Johnson and Suarez's strange sighting by the time general quarters sounded for battle an hour later. Seems Odyssey had finally found that Ori ship.

It wasn't much of a battle. Odyssey had jumped away by the time Brandon reached his duty station, but when he climbed back into his bunk, even thoughts of Gertie weren't enough to soothe his troubled mind.

---

Brandon ran a hand through his hair as he approached the door to the Asgard Archive Room. It was one floor directly below his usual station in the Core Room, but it served as basically the instruction manual for all the technology now intertwined with Odyssey. It's unofficial name was the Asgard Wiki.

But it wasn't his attempts to figure out the complicated Norse runes of coding that had Brandon nervous. He wet his lips again as he tried to steel his courage. This tutoring session with Gertie was going to be one on one, the perfect opportunity to ask her out. He cursed himself for feeling like he was back in junior high with study hall, but for one thing, off-ship, he'd definitely consider a Norwegian beauty like Gertie out of his league, and for the other, he really liked her and didn't want to screw this up. She was smart, witty, and most of all, she laughed at his jokes. A girl who could laugh at corny jokes about little grey men and their stick looking language was a keeper in Brandon's books.

And this would be his last chance for a while. He had a week's leave coming in two days, when Odyssey was back on Earth for routine maintenance checks. Oddly enough, the letter from Gran-da not only mentioned the family looking forward to seeing him, but also mentioned looking forward to ol'Tommy-boy joining him on leave. Brandon hadn't found out Tommy was free until after he'd sent his last letter, so how did Gran know? Brandon was starting to question his old pal's intentions towards his sister. In any case, those would be issues for next week. For now, he had his own love life to take care of, and hopefully after tonight, there would be something to take care of.

He paused outside the doorway to give himself the once-over, noticing his shoe was untied. He kneeled down, snugged against the wall to avoid tripping wayward passerby.

"Why?!"

The plaintive cry snapped Brandon's head upright; he was alone in the hallway. He realized then the sound was muffled, a male voice in the room with Gertie.

His suspicion was confirmed as he heard the man continue. "You preserved all this, you moved each consciousness across galaxies, and then you destroyed it all. Left us with this-this mere shadow. As if holograms are a substitute. Why didn't you share even a-a-a tenth of this with us before? The culture, the history...all coldly filed in this electronic box with no context, no life.

"Generations of information. Ernest was right. What good is knowledge if you can't share it?" There was a strangled noise that almost sounded like a sob. "I've done this dance before with the Others. I didn't expect it of you."

Brandon couldn't hear any reply from Gertie to this voice that sounded so...so betrayed. He couldn't even make sense of the man's pained statements. Had there been an accident? If not to Gertie, who was this man talking to? Would Brandon be interrupting something? Jealousy warred with discretion in his mind as the man spoke again.

"Now we're-we're trapped in eternal stagnation, watching moments drift by in decades. And all your gift, your...legacy, it's going to be wasted. All this...this sacrifice for nothing. To hell with it all. To hell with you!"

A violent slam shuddered against the door. Discretion be damned. Brandon slammed his keycard through the slot and jammed his pin to the keyboard, his hand instinctively forming into a fist.

The door opened to reveal Gertie calmly standing before the hologram display, studying the three dimensional runes. She looked over and smiled. "Brandon, you're early!"

Brandon concentrated on closing his slack jaw, looking around the chamber. Gertie was alone in the room.

"Were you...playing a recording?" The voice from the hall had been muffled, but definitely sounded human. There was a strange intonation to the Asgard holograms that was not present in the voice he heard.

"No, just reading." Gertie shook her head, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. "Are you okay?"

"Um yeah." Brandon ran a hand through his hair, only realizing too late he probably messed up his attempted coif. He debated telling her about the voice, but talking about the ghosts was not his idea of starting a heart-to-heart conversation. He was too shaken up, and perhaps it was macho pride, but he really didn't want Gertie to think he was nuts when he was trying to impress her. Brandon wondered what Gran-da would've thought of the plaintive cries coming from the room. His grandfather hadn't given any real good advice on ghosts in that last letter either, just hopes that he'd see his boy soon. No good romantic tips either...but Brandon wasn't sure his crusty old sailor Gran was the best advisor in that department. No, in this Brandon would just have to trust his own gut. "Just...so, ready to get started?"

"Sure." Gertie looked at him curiously for a moment, but started pulling up new tableaus on the monitor, running through a couple different directories to find what she needed. "It's a shame you know? The Asgard left us all of this knowledge, more than we can study in a lifetime, but they couldn't help themselves."

Brandon blinked, trying not to show too odd a reaction at hearing her echo the sentiment of the nameless voice he'd heard before. "Yeah, yeah...a real shame."

---

The fresh salt air teased at his nose, the slight crispness of the breeze causing him to brace against the expected cold. He had missed this. The rocky shoreline, the smell of pine. He leaned back on the Adirondack chair, sipping Ma's Irish coffee. Ah, the sweet taste of home.

His grandfather sat down on the porch next to him. "Methinks Tommy-boy and Katie surprised you."

"No, not surprised, exactly. I just didn't realize things were so serious."

"Aye, they've been writing each other on the computer for months, even before ye tol' us ye were stationed together." They watched Tommy and Katie walk down through the woods towards the rocky shoreline, both almost silhouettes now. "He's not an Irishman by blood, that be sure, but he's one of the heart. The worse of it is, he's not a sailor, but for Katie's sake, that's probably a good thing. Then again...neither are you."

Brandon laughed at his grandfather's jibe. "You've taught me to be sailor enough. Your training and tales have helped me stand in good stead throughout my career."

"Aye, to be sure. And ye would'a been a fine one. All yer life, never meeting an engine you couldn't fix or reassemble. Finest in any fleet ye'd be. But I knew from the start, you staring at the stars or the sky, and more than to navigate by, you wanted to travel to them. The sky is as far as ye've gone, I know. But I imagine those rockets or whatever they have 'ye be puttin together is a help, in its way."

Brandon smiled. That was the longest speech his grandfather had given about his joining the Air Force. He must've missed him. Brandon had been on longer assignments. He wondered why now Gran-da had chosen to speak of it.

As usual, his grandfather seemed to read his mind. "You seem more troubled in letters of late. Like from the bad times in the desert. Are they...haunting ye now?" They didn't speak much of his time in Afghanistan. Everyone knew it was difficult for Brandon to think about. "Ye asking me about the spirits of ships. I dinna know what to say in a letter. I waited until ye came home. What is it, la?"

"La". His grandfather hadn't used that nickname for him since he was a "lad". "No, Gran. I'm...those years are behind me." Mostly anyway. Hard to dwell on desert woes when you're fighting aliens as your day job. How to explain life on Odyssey when he couldn't even explain he was on a ship. "This is something...different. The...place we're stationed at. There's sometimes a strange vibe. Some even say it's haunted. I just, it reminded me of the ghost tales you'd tell when Kate and I were little."

"Hah. So sailors of sky are like sailors of sea. A superstitious bunch of fools. No wonder ye feel so at home in your Air Force." He elbowed his grandson. "So you want an ol' salt's take on yer ghosts."

"Aye." Brandon smiled and told his grandfather about the shadows and voices. The music that haunted the hall. Everything he could explain about the atmosphere aboard Odyssey without compromising security. "I remembered what you told me about a ship's voice. To listen. But for this...station. I don't know what it's trying to say, or if it's trying to say anything at all."

His grandfather was frowning in thought. "Do ye feel frightened by the spirits, la?"

Brandon thought hard. He was concerned for Gertie that one time, but the voice was more saddened than angry, despairing. Most of the ghosts had a melancholy feel to them. "No. Not frightened. More troubled. It frightens the others, but for me...it's like...it's like that tale Da-Da told from the war."

"You remember your ma's da? You were a wee chil' when he died."

Brandon explained. "I remember more of your tales you told Katie and me growing up. Of the Flying Dutchman ghost ship crossing the sea. And the Mary Celeste, the ship discovered adrift with food in the galley and no sign of a living soul. But I remember Da-da's ghost story of Achilles, and the mission with the strange Nazi sub that tried to blow a hole in their hold and the stranger who saved them all."

"Oh, aye. He rarely talked of those days. I recall that story, when we traded war tales. He was older than me, Korea versus WWII, but a sailor's a sailor. He even showed a picture of the crew with the captain's strange doppleganger. Spirit or stowaway, he believed the fella saved his life. Strange tale to be sure, but not a ghost story per se. But you think of that tale for your ghosties? Are there stories to these spirits? For how they passed this Earth?"

"Nothing corroborated. In fact, Tommy's found nothing but a broken leg in injuries for the whole section."

"Oh, aye?" Gran'da looked down to the shore again, chewing on his lip. "Ye need not be dying in a place to leave your spirit."

Brandon considered this, not sure what to make of it. He wished he could tell Gran-da about the self-sacrifice of the Asgard and their legacy. Perhaps there was something to Tommy's theories after all, despite Brandon's sense the ghosts were human in origin. "Tommy has scientific theories, a new one a week at this point to explain things. He loves a good yarn, but when all is said and done, he likes the facts and facts alone to seek the truth."

"Hmph. Maybe not such a sailor after all then," Gran'pa sniffed. "Well, perhaps it's not ghosts ye be seeking, Brandon, but the soul of your station."

"The soul?"

"You've been raised on the sea, la, and you question that ships have souls? You've heard its voice all your life, creaking in harmony with the water and the wind..."

"In a song of its voice. Yes, I remember, Gran." Brandon chuckled. "But the voice here is a bit more literal."

"Well, perhaps it has more to say. Is there a rhythm to its tales?"

Brandon thought back to how the voice he'd heard outside the Archive Room echoed Gertie's thoughts from within, and how the woman's laughter echoed Sergeant Bailey's humming as he mopped. Even the blast that appeared outside the window seemed precognizant of the upcoming battle. Were the ghosts of Odyssey reflecting the emotions of the ship? "Perhaps there is, Gran."

His grandfather nodded and sipped his own Irish coffee. "Then listen to her, la. Listen to what she has to say."

---

Back on board, Brandon settled into the routine with added verve. It wasn't that the work got easier. If anything, since the latest trip to Earth, it was becoming more complicated, and Brandon hadn't thought that was possible. Coming off duty after one long day, he was looking forward to a shower, a bite to eat, and most of all, some blissful peace and quiet.

But coming out of the room into the corridor, no peace and quiet was to be found. He and Suarez found themselves in the midst of a construction zone. Sergeant Bailey was shaking his head at the efforts of one of the construction engineers and a team of workers pulling up the floor panel just outside the core room. Brandon tripped over himself trying to leap an opening just past the threshold to get onto solid flooring.

"I'm sayin', it makes no mind, sir," Bailey was explaining to the engineer, the man Brandon vaguely recognized as "Dutch" from orientation. He read the man's nametag: Lt. Fisher.

"Understood, Sergeant," Fisher said, looking like they'd already been through as trying a day as Brandon. "But this metal is warped and aged."

"What's going on?" Suarez hopped the opening to join Brandon, and looked as tired as Brandon felt, in no mood to detour his way to his bed. The way the floor had been broken up, they'd have to unseal the emergency egress and take the long way through the ship...or wait.

The lieutenant turned to Suarez. "Sir, we're having to buttress the beams in this section."

"It's been like this for months," Sergeant Bailey warned. "They've painted, they've welded. It canna be helped. No 'spection's found a way. It's just what is."

"There's a weakness in this section of the ship?" Suarez spoke up, echoing Brandon's own thoughts as he yelled over the power tools. "Do they have a cause?"

"There's been a few theories," Fisher sighed, "but nothing that leads to solutions." He glared at the Core Room for several moments and Brandon suspected he knew what Fisher's pet theory involved. "In any case it's like the metal here is aged more than the rest of the ship. But there's no way that could be. This is a support beam from the ship's creation, just like all the rest. There's no way to replace it without a retrofit of a lot of the ship. There's no reason this particular area should have more age weakening than the rest. It's not even an exterior wall and hasn't been put through undue stress that I know of. This beam runs across the whole midships, too, but it's only this area that shows the sign of excessive wear and tear. Brass just tell me to come down and fix it. But how can I fix it if I don't know why?"

Brandon caught the Sergeant's eye, and Bailey gave him an inscrutable look. One of the workers on the floor finishing work with his welding torch spoke up. "That's as best we can fix it, sir. It's definitely not bad steel. Just seems to have developed more wear and tear than other places."

"Right. Okay, well, we'll look at Six's ceiling to verify after we close this up." He glared at Brandon and Suarez as if they had personally made his job harder. "There's nothing...radioactive or something going on in there, is there? I mean, I know we're in a secured section, but..."

"Have to make note of it up the ladder, Lieutenant, I'm sorry. We can't discuss it." Suarez spoke up first, and Brandon kept a united front with him.

The Lieutenant looked skeptical, but redirected his attention to ordering his team about. Brandon and Suarez left the group to make the long trek around to the crew quarters.

Keeping his voice low, Suarez leaned into Brandon. "Okay, I remember that Fisher from Nellis. Pain in the ass, so it was fun yanking his chain about the radiation, but...he may have had a point. You, er, don't think there's something funny going on in the Core Room do you? I mean, those Asgard died off because of reproductive issues, and...well I still want to have kids, McAllister."

Brandon couldn't stop the smile. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure we're safe from that, Suarez."

"Are you sure?"

"They've checked the radiation levels constantly." That was one of the theories he and Tommy checked out a few weeks ago with no result. Everything around the Asgard core that Brandon could find was clear.

"But what if it's some kind of freaky alien radiation?"

"Suarez, we've spent three straight weeks trying to parse out crystal integration of secondary and primary systems and you think there's radiation the Asgard didn't discover?"

"You're not the one seeing lights and hearing melancholy music." Brandon could tell how much this was affecting Suarez by how much he was admitting. He hadn't talked about either incident since it happened.

"You're not the only one who's seen or heard things. They've been happening all over the ship..." Brandon's voice trailed off as his thoughts continued. They hadn't really been all over the ship after all, had they? Suarez was right, everything traced back to when the Asgard core came aboard. And now there the Lieutenant's comments about how the beams ran the breadth of the ship: from the strange sights here, to the floor below where the Asgard Wiki was, and directly across...to the mess hall. He recalled his conversation with his grandfather and his thoughts of the soul of Odyssey. Maybe Deck Five with its worn decking was the source of the ship's shifting moods after all.

"McAllister? Brandon?"

Brandon absently slapped Suarez on the shoulder as he left him outside mess hall and headed towards the officers' lounge where he suspected Tommy would be. "I'll catch you later, Suarez."

---

Brandon and Tommy were getting nowhere on their warped decking theory, except for the fact that it too seemed to track back to when the Asgard core and database were integrated to the ship. There was no cause listed in official entries either could access from their stations, and even Tommy's gift of gab had gotten them nowhere with the rumors. People either didn't know, or weren't talking.

"Maybe the Asgard stuff is deceptively heavy. Sure they say it's superlight space alloy, but it's really wearing the ship out."

"But it's not even affecting the core area. That deck plating and beams are fine under the actual rooms. We saw the report. It's just that section outside."

"So the effect happens further out? What can I tell you, bro? I'm just a nav man." Tommy thought for a minute. "Maybe it's an alternate dimension."

Brandon scowled. He hadn't shared with Tommy his grandfather's theory about the soul of the ship. Tommy would've just scoffed. But it's not like Tommy's ideas straight out of Star Trek were that helpful either. "That doesn't explain why it's the same type of events. That music."

"Cello music," Gertie spoke up from behind Brandon, making him jump. She wrapped her arms around him. "Is this a private ghost talk or can anyone join in?"

"How long have you been back there?" Brandon glared at Tommy for the lack of warning, but Tommy looked similarly surprised.

"Long enough to realize you two are investigating the ghosties."

Brandon turned to face her as she sat on the couch next to him. "What were you saying about the cello?"

"The mysterious music, it's classic cello. I find it soothing."

"You've heard it? Really?" Tommy asked. Brandon wasn't sure what shocked him more: that Suarez had never mentioned the instrument itself or that Gertie admitted to hearing it herself.

"Sure, I think everyone that works in our sections have, haven't they, Brandon?" Gertie blinked. "That's why you looked so strange when you came in that one day just before we started dating. You heard something."

"Did you hear him as well?" Brandon had felt a fool then, but he'd feel an even bigger fool if he hadn't realized Gertie had heard the man after all.

"A him? No. I never hear a man's voice. And never anything in the Wiki room, it's sound proofed. It's only in the corridors. Well, there and in that storage room off the port side."

"What storage room?"

"The orchid room. Well, it's not really an orchid room. It's a storage room they use. Every time it's empty, Tonya ends up getting called there to identify some kind of floral smell. She says its orchids and there's not only no orchids in the room, there's none on the ship that could account for it. They've tracked the vents and everything."

Tommy looked down at the ship schematic they had on the computer. "Where is this exactly?"

"Port side, Level...actually I guess it's Level Five, but the other side of the ship."

"Directly across from the core room?" Brandon pressed.

"Um, I'd have to ask Tonya, but probably." Gertie looked from one to the other. "Why are you guys keeping track of all this anyway?"

"We're trying to figure out why it's happening."

"Oh. I always just figured they were just trying to communicate."

Brandon and Tommy blinked at her. She continued, "Well, come on, I'm a linguist. I specialize in old dead languages. I figure they're ghosts; they want to communicate."

Brandon looked at Tommy who shook his head as if to say, she's your girl. Brandon had to admit, Gertie's theory coincided with his own. "What do you think they're trying to say?"

"I don't know. It's too esoteric. I mean the Jogging guy isn't tapping out a morse code message, he's just running around the corridors. And the music is just music–usually the same song. Maybe the message is just to remember their lives. You know, a residual haunt."

"A what?" Tommy said.

Gertie smiled at them. "You're doing all this investigation, and you boys haven't watched 'Ghost Hunters'? A residual haunt means the ghosts just repeat an action from its past, like playback on a recording. They're not actually interacting with us."

Something must've shown on their faces because Gertie sighed and stood again, giving Brandon a quick peck as she passed. "All right, I've gotta go for now. I'll leave you boys to your hunt. I just stopped by to check about the time tonight. 1700?"

"Picnic dinner at the panorama window. Haven't forgotten." Brandon watched her leave with an appreciative eye, ignoring Tommy's knowing smirk when he looked back to his friend.

"You know, Gertie has a point, these hauntings are usually the same things repeating themselves." He couldn't shake the fact that the events didn't just seem residual though. It wasn't an intelligence per se, but there was a correlation to emotions or something. The light showed when everyone was nervous about the battle. The cello music happened when Suarez was humming. That voice outside the Wiki was following Gertie's thoughts. Brandon was sure they were connected, but how to explain it. "If it was an alternate dimension, it wouldn't be the same things over and over, would it?"

Tommy thought a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, you're right. At least that's not how it worked on Trek. Man, if we could access more of the SG missions..."

"Yeah, because I'm sure reading SG-1's exploits would be the answer,"

"You're getting cynical, bro. 'There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy'."

Brandon felt insulted at the jibe, then realized his friend's point. For all his worries Tommy would laugh at his theories, he realized he was doing the same thing to Tommy. But SG-1 holding the answer? They were only human...well, mostly, from what he heard. "I've seen nature's fury on the open sea, and could probably explain every meteorological factor, but living through it is something else. There's a reason sailors are amongst the most superstitious people you meet."

"Which is why you're not telling me all that you know? Or are you following your girlfriend's theory this is just ghosts after all? The only problem with that, we already know no one died in the area. So...what is it? Your witchy feeling again?"

"I've told you all that I know, Tommy," Brandon admitted. "I just don't know how to explain the rest. It's just a feeling. Like the ship is trying to tell us something."

"Okay, so what do you think Odyssey's saying?"

"I don't know. I don't know if she's speaking or if she's just...reflecting the ship's moods, or what."

Tommy raised his eyebrows. "The ship is a giant mood ring?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid."

"No more than anything else," Tommy closed down his laptop and leaned back. "But I think we're stymied for now. I don't know how to prove such a thing, and I feel the need for caffeine. C'mon, I'm buying."

Brandon sighed but got up as well. "That would have more meaning if you had to actually pay, you know. I hope you're not so cheap when taking out my sister."

"Only the best for fair Katie, bro. I wouldn't dare incur your Gran's wrath."

"Nor mine."

"Nah, you I could take." He easily dodged Brandon's attempted cuff to his head and grinned. "Besides, you have to pack for your pic-a-nic with the fair Captain Hougland...ouch!"

Tommy hadn't been able to dodge Brandon's next playful cuff.

---

Seven months into his tour, Brandon got his first look at the bridge. There was always friendly rivalry amongst the different duty stations, each claiming their section was the most important. Brandon loved teasing Tommy that the Asgard's integration made every command have to run through his station as the "real brains" of the ship. But joking aside, Brandon still held his breath in awe at entering Odyssey's bridge. It didn't matter if it was a 60 foot fishing trawler, an aircraft carrier, or a big space cruiser, there was always an added caché to being on the command deck of the ship.

It was darker than he expected, with the smell of too much equipment running. He'd gotten used to the light and more efficient Asgard crystal and stone technology, so the bulkier Earth tech surprised him for a minute. He looked around for Tommy, anxiously fingering the report he was delivering and trying not to look like he was an excited tourist, but couldn't spot his friend amongst the milling crew.

His eyes scanned past the side viewscreen to the front window. It wasn't the best view on the ship, but it was one of the more striking. Even though Tommy had dismissed it, and it was a pretty outrageous tale, he couldn't help looking down at the foredeck where Cho's story about Emerson took place. He didn't know if he felt relieved or disappointed to see the grey steel looked clean and smooth.

"Captain?" Brandon jumped at the stern voice by his shoulder and spun to find Colonel Davidson, the ship's commander, staring at him. From the expression, it was as if Davidson could tell exactly what he'd been thinking. To make matters worse, another full bird colonel and Major Marks were standing nearby. Marks had one eyebrow raised as he glanced between Brandon and the floor. Brandon wanted to crawl under the deck plating in embarrassment.

Stammering something unintelligible even to his own ears except for the "sir" at the end, Brandon handed Davidson the tablet computer he'd carried.

Davidson glanced over it. "This is the report on Asgard integration?"

"Yes, sir." Brandon nodded a bit too vigorously, feeling like some sort of odd bobble head doll. He cursed at himself to regain his composure before the senior officers. Three teams of the engineers and scientists had been working night and day for the three months, working on the final touches on what systems could be copied and integrated into the other 304 ships, especially with the new Apollo not out of dry dock and the Sun Tzu just being built. Brandon was proud of the work done. It had been the most challenging project he'd had in years, and the team's breakthrough of teaching their pet "Thor" USAF core engineering design standards had been the key. Make the Asgard hologram and tech do most of the work. And now he was blowing the delivery of the project by being a nervous wreck.

"Looks like my Core team has some tips for your engineers, Abe. They'll turn your shiny Apollo into a working ship yet." Davidson handed off the tablet to the other colonel. In the dim light, Brandon could read the nametag as Ellis. Brandon was terrible with names, always had been. One thing he liked about the military was everyone mostly wore their nametags all the time. Even at that, he thought he remembered the name "Ellis" as being the Apollo's commander.

Davidson turned back to Brandon. "You're...one of the main team on this, right, McAllister? Level Five?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not scared of the ghosts, are you?" Ellis chuckled. Brandon noticed the Davidson stiffen and Marks looking wary. Marks had transferred over to the Apollo by now and probably had split loyalties. But it looked to Brandon as if Davidson disapproved of the ghost legend. Ellis appeared to notice the coolness, but shrugged it off, probably thinking he was getting back at the "working ship" dig Davidson had made. "Oh come on, the whole fleet's heard about your spooky deck."

Brandon felt protective of his corner of the ship and with a bravado he didn't realize he'd had, spoke up. "All ships have their quirks and moods, sir. It's part of their character. Odyssey's been through enough to earn a few more creaks than most, I'd say."

Thankfully, Col. Ellis didn't seem to take offense at Brandon's unsolicited comments. He merely smiled again. Marks gave an almost imperceptible nod to Brandon

"Still creaking enough to pull your ass out of the fire, Abe. Don't forget who backed up who in that run in with the Xixibo last month." Davidson clapped Ellis on the shoulder and after giving Brandon an appraising look, made a dismissive nod at him. Brandon didn't need to be told twice. He turned about face and headed out of the bridge.

---

Brandon was still thinking about last night's date with Gertie. Since the Asgard project schedule was back on a more normal keel with less-double shifts, he and Gertie had a regular pattern to their dating, such as they were. Only so much you could do on board, and very little in private. Of course, that was to be expected, since fraternizing wasn't technically against regs, it wasn't encouraged either. Gertie was worth it. They'd spent the evening together at their favorite haunt, the panoramic windows on ten. Brandon tried to discuss her ghost theories more, and while she appreciated his ideas about the soul of the ship and emotions as a way of communicating, she was much more interested in a completely different conversation. Brandon didn't mind the change of the subject.

When he rounded the corner to the Core Room corridor, all thoughts of Gertie fled from his head at the appearance of the shadowy man, appearing in full dark silhouette. Shadow Man was the one ghost Brandon had never been able to pinpoint to any of Odyssey's moods.

What frightened Brandon as he approached was that Shadow Man stayed present, if anything more starkly contrasted with lights surrounding him. There was more than a general feeling of melancholy often associated with any of the ghosts, Brandon could...smell danger. That was the only way to describe it.

He hastened to run his id card through the slot and enter the Core Room. Suarez and Benfield were already hard at work.

"What's going on?" Brandon asked, immediately scanning the readings.

"Just trying to be prepared for anything," Benfield had a slight catch in her voice, something that always happened when she was under stress.

As he took his place next to Suarez, his friend whispered, "The flare showed up outside the mess hall window at lunch today. "

Ah, that explained the nervousness. No matter how hard Brandon found his mood ring theory was to prove, one superstition that had persisted throughout the ship was that the four times anyone had seen that odd light flash outside that window, a battle hadn't been far behind.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, general quarters sounded. Suarez manned the communications console, coordinating with orders from the bridge and engineering, while Brandon watched the power levels, especially amongst shields and weapons. Benfield kept their own areas from overloading, but whatever was happening outside was too fast to keep on top of. Brandon tried to boost the shields from scavenging backsystems and Benfield even tried one of her little backdoor tricks.

Brandon found space battle so strange, down in the lower parts of the ship. While the people on the bridge or with window views could see the battle and the blasts, people like Brandon's team had to go by random shakes in the hull and watching consoles for damage, outages, and surges, trying to predict and protect where the next blast would come. Unless communicated by others, there was no way to know what or who was out there, and what would happen next.

Suarez finally got some intel. "It's the Lucian Alliance...all sides. Eight motherships."

"Wait, it's ha'taks? Aren't their pulse blasts more modulated than Ori?" Brandon tried to do some quick thinking of how to counter the effects, noting from his console main engineering was already trying to boost shields along a similar vein.

As abruptly as it started, the battle stopped. There was no jump to hyperspace, which was just as well, because engineering had diverted too much energy to weapons to shift to propulsion immediately. The klaxons had ended, but tension still filled the air. There was no way to know who won or lost. Brandon had half an idea to go out and ask Shadow Man, as if the silent warrior could explain.

A few minutes later, Suarez got intel. "Allies to the rescue. Free Jaffa. Odds turned even and those pirates did a bunk. We're clear."

They all exchanged relieved sighs, but Suarez's smile faltered and he glanced worriedly at Brandon. "What?"

"Getting casualty reports now. McAllister, it's Jordan. He got injured on the bridge in an overload fire."

---

If it had been up to Brandon, he would've met the gurney in sick bay, but that was not where his duty lay. Now that the battle was over, the real work in fixing up everything that was broken began. It was hours before Brandon could go off-shift and head over to the medical wing. No Shadow Man greeted him leaving the Core Room, no happy laughter echoed the hall to waylay his fears.

At least Suarez had been able to suss out that most of the burns were superficial, and there was some kind of alien aloe-vera or something in stock that was going to help...but Brandon wouldn't be satisfied until he saw his old friend for himself.

His first view was not good. One side of Tommy's face was mottled and covered with what he assumed was the alien goo. Tommy was playing gallant gentleman to the nurse, but Brandon could see the strain. Still, Tommy's distraction gave Brandon enough time to put on his most cheerful game face for when the guy's attention finally turned to him.

Brandon was pleased he could muster a bright, if fixed smile. "You're not trying to two-time my baby sister, are you there, Jordan? Because if so, you may end up staying in that sickbed a lot longer."

Tommy raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smile was more wan than Brandon had hoped, and when he spoke his voice was raspy. "No harm in looking, bro. No harm in looking. Besides, you think Kate will want me now that I've played a matchstick?"

"Chicks dig scars." Brandon shrugged, licking his lips to hide his concern. "So, how long you planning on lollygagging now that the battle's done?"

Tommy swallowed "I figured I was carrying all of you long enough. Time for some others to play."

"Yeah, well, it's nice of you to let the second stringers get a go at things." Brandon gave up on the facade of joking. He stared his old friend down. "How are you, Tommy, really?"

"Fine..."

Brandon nodded pointedly at the mottled skin flowing up Tommy's arm to where it met his hospital scrubs and peeking out through his neck and part of his face.

"Hey, with this stuff on, it doesn't even hurt..." Tommy shrugged, then winced, "...much. Seriously, bro, Doc says this alien goo is a miracle worker. You won't be able to visit me as an excuse to hit on the nurses very long'."

"Hey, I'm a one lady guy now."

"Oh yes, I forgot." Tommy's smile remained wan, but Brandon caught the mischievous sparkle in his eye. "How is Capt. Hougland, anyway?"

Brandon countered by picking up the tablet computer on the bedside table. "So what are you doing here? Replying to fan mail? Writing to Katie?"

"Deleting hard work." Tommy grimaced. "I guess my questions caught Davidson's attention. He just paid me a visit."

Brandon didn't know how much of his shock he was revealing, but Tommy hacked a laugh. "Yeah, that was how I felt. I'd been working on a cool new time travel theory to share with you too, based off a couple anomalies of double data from just a few days after we'd gotten the core. Davidson politely suggested I share my theory with him. He thought it was great investigative initiative and followed it up with the suggestion I delete it all." The implication that the request was an order remained unsaid.

"Why does he want the investigation to stop?" Brandon thought back to Davidson's disapproval when he'd visited the bridge a few weeks back. "He shouldn't just dismiss these ghost stories as silly superstition."

"All I can say is, there's no mistaking he shut us, or at least me, down. I kept your name out of it, for better or worse. I couldn't quite read how much he was giving me the sympathy chastisement based on my current charcoal briquette imitation." Tommy coughed, and Brandon winced in sympathy. Sipping from the beverage by his side, Tommy insisted on continuing, his raspy voice becoming less understood. "The only thing that worries me, bro, this leads back to the Core Room again. This whole mystery and...dammit Brandon, you're my friend. I don't want to see something happen to you."

"Like getting laid up in sick bay?" Brandon scanned the length of Tommy's supine form again with a raised eyebrow.

Tommy glared. "You know what I mean. Doesn't it worry you?"

"What bothers me is that you're lying in this bed covered with alien gook coming up with crap for a Crichton movie."

Tommy was able to crack a smile then. "Bro, you do realize we're living in a Jules Verne novel, right?"

Brandon's laugh wasn't forced at all this time. "All the more reason to stop chasing ghosts, literal or figurative and get on your feet again. You need to get better, so I don't have to worry my sister." Maybe Peterson had a point. The ship still had to be run, haunted or no. They had the living to take care of. It wasn't ghosts that hurt Tommy. Flesh and blood enemies did that.

"God, your 'Mom' tone is worse than Kate's. Orders to 'get well soon' received. Believe me, I want to get out of here ASAP. Have you heard?"

Brandon only raised his eyebrows, not sure what of the ship's gossip Tommy was about to report. Even in the infirmary, Tommy probably heard more than Brandon had stuck repairing systems.

"SG-1 is coming on board! Supposed to be within the next couple 'a days for a week long mission. Hopefully I'll be back on duty in time to meet the lovely Col. Carter...or even that alien lady that's new to the team. She's supposed to have piloted at least two dozen different kinds of ships. Not to mention Mitchell, oh and I bet Gertie would be drooling to meet the infamous Dr. Jackson. He is a linguist, after all..."

"If you want to get better in time for that, you better stop that jaw from yapping." A stern nurse arrived at Tommy's bedside. With a kindly look to Brandon, she said, "it's time to change Capt. Jordan's dressings."

Brandon took the cue and didn't even have to feign a yawn. "I need to hit the sack myself. You take care, Tommy." With a final, relieved smile at Tommy's spirits, he left sick bay.

---

Brandon was still thinking about what happened with Tommy and the not so subtle orders to stop looking into the ghosts of Odyssey when he encountered another one. There were several people walking, but amongst the crowd, if you listened close, you could hear the regular rhythm of the footsteps. Brandon had heard it enough by this point to recognize the distinctive footfall of the jogging ghost. The footsteps shadowed him as he encountered Sgt. Bailey repairing some of the damaged lights from the surges of the last battle. Bailey, for all his quirks on being lax with the more cosmetic regulations, knew his job, and also seemed to be aware of more than most about the odd quirks of this ship. If anyone would know why the brass was so dismissive of the strange happenings, Bailey would be the one. He detoured to approach the man.

"'Lo, Cap'n. Need some help?" The Sergeant barely looked up from his work.

"Some information at least, Bailey. You said this was your third tour."

"Fourth now, sir."

"So you've been seeing, or at least experiencing the strangeness of Deck Five for quite a while."

"It's best to keep your head down from the distractions, sir," Bailey scolded, pointedly turning back to his work.

"But there's got to be a reason for this. You said it wasn't always like this, right? So something happened, and what if after the core came aboard, the ship is somehow...tuned into the crew's moods or...there's a shift in time, or..." Brandon hadn't planned on revealing so much of their theories to the enlisted man, and saying it out loud made it sound ridiculous.

"You best not think on it so much, sir. It bears no mind, 'cept a bit 'a company on lonely shifts."

"But, Bailey, don't you want to know?"

Bailey stared at Brandon, so much so that Bailey reminded Brandon of his grandfather--that way of seeing to heart of people. "I never said I didn't know, Cap'n."

"Wait, you know why the ship's like this?" Brandon was incredulous. "You know what the ghosts are? You know why the higher ups don't like it discussed?"

"Suspect, know. Same diff'rence. Anyone who's been here from back enough a ways knows enough to at least figure it out. The rookies get a benign shock to the oddness of space through the ghosts. It does no harm." Bailey shrugged. "You've been around long enough now, Cap'n. Strange things happen out here. The floor still needs to be mopped, the lightbulbs changed."

"But...it has something to do with the Core being on aboard? You know why the brass doesn't like it discussed."

"More'n my pay grade to answer that yay or nay, sir. I may be a fool, but I ain't fool 'nuff for that. I don't question the kinds of orders that tell me to say nothing. It's kept me alive too many times."

"So...what, there was a mission? Something classified? Everyone knows?"

Bailey looked on him with an expression of pity. "You're a good officer, sir. You treat people fairly and got a quick mind. You know how to keep a secret, based on where you work. The ship even seems to like ya, best I can tell, and she's a sharp ol' girl. Course you think I'm likely mad, talkin' bout the ship this way."

Brandon sighed in frustration but smiled at the man who'd unconsciously echoed Gran-da. "No, Sergeant, I feel the same way. Old sailor's tradition."

"Really?" Bailey seemed to ponder that. "Never been on the ocean, myself. But if it's like bein' on Odyssey, I could see the truth of it."

"Yeah." Brandon tried not to show his frustration at being stymied. Peterson's reactions to Tommy's investigation had a whole new side to them now that he ascribed a new motivation. They weren't dismissing the hauntings, they were just keeping the reason secret. Apparently the mystery of the ghosts was better than the crew knowing the truth? Like Bailey said, they were decisions above pay grade. But Brandon couldn't help but wonder about it.

---

Heading to his shift at the core room, he was still thinking Tommy and his conversation with Bailey. Brandon ran a hand along the bulkhead, not surprised when he caught the distant whisper of the cello; it fit his mood so perfectly. Time travel, mood ring, or just company on lonely shifts as Bailey had called it, the ghosts were in sync with him this morning. He absently hummed along with the tune, registering without consciously noticing when he heard the laughter of the joyful ghost harmonizing with the music. It was unusual, but not unheard of for more than one of the ghosts to show up concurrently with the other, so Brandon just accepted this strange juxtaposition as he made his way to the Core Room.

What surprised him was when a flesh and blood, living woman, still laughing, rounded the corner backwards and slammed into him. His balance gave way, slamming both him and the dark haired woman against the side, clanging disharmony to the music reverberating in the walls. He recovered enough before both of them slid all the way to the floor, but had to use one arm to grip the ship.

Other people came to their rescue. "Whoa there!" Someone he didn't recognize pulled the woman off and set her squarely on her feet. Another man offered his arm to help Brandon upright.

"Vala, you have to watch where you're going." The second man's voice sounded familiar--something about the piqued tone, but Brandon couldn't quite place it.

"Where's the adventure in that, darling?" the woman with Joy's laugh, "Vala" presumably, flashed a toothy smile at the man while winking at Brandon. "You get to meet the most interesting people my way."

Brandon blinked, feeling his mouth open but his brain still unable to form words. Another woman, this one blonde, also smiled at Brandon, but it was more gentle. "You okay, Airman?"

"Um...y-yeah. Fine." Before he could say anything more, including asking what these strangers were doing in this secure section of the ship, the group started down the hall again, heading towards the elevator banks.

Still trying to shake the odd sense of deja vu he felt at seeing this group. Brandon turned the corner that Vala and her colleagues had just passed through. He didn't know if he should be shocked or not that he could see Shadow Man again. This time there were no sparks or danger emanating from the man. In fact, unlike any other time he'd seen the silhouetted figure, this time the shape was leaning on the oddly worn spot of the bulkhead. And instead of fading, Shadow Man grew sharper into colored three dimensional features. This was no mere silhouette, this was a solid living man before him.

Brandon hesitated in his step, feeling more off balance than when he'd collided with that woman. The figure was definitely the exact shape of Shadow Man. He blinked a few times, but the view never changed. The man was standing near the entrance to the Core Room. If this was–it had to be–a living breathing person, then his presence in this corridor needed to be explained. Brandon cleared his throat. "Sir? This is a restricted area..."

The man's eyes had been closed, but at Brandon's voice, he looked up. The expression was stern, quelling, so the rest of Brandon's lecture died on his lips. The expression was so sad. The man's arm was trembling slightly from where it leaned against the bulkhead. He seemed to be Atlas holding up the prematurely aged section of ship; or perhaps it was the ship holding him up. The cello music, still soft, barely audible, seemed to echo in Brandon's ears. He looked at the man's arm, leaning on the beam Fisher had complained was prematurely aged; that was when he noticed the patch on the man's shoulder. An SG-team patch from Cheyenne Mountain, with the number 1 emblazoned in the center. In an instant, Brandon knew who this man with the gold tattoo must be, belatedly realizing the other people he'd run into must have been the rest of the famous team. Tommy had mentioned their impending arrival. He should've realized, but the shock of the individuals' similarity to the ghosts had confused him.

Brandon was about to ask the man if he needed assistance, when he noticed the man wasn't leaning on the ship, he was...listening to it, and instead of looking surprised or disturbed, he looked...wistful. Gently, Brandon asked, "You hear the music?"

Teal'c blinked, seeming to truly be aware of Brandon for the first time. "It has been...a lifetime."

The pain in Teal'c's voice was so tangible, it seemed to reverberate through Brandon's own bones. All the sorrow and fear and anger and adrenaline the Shadow Man usually evoked in him echoed through the words, as if the silhouette was speaking them, not this living, breathing person. Teal'c appeared to be Shadow Man personified. What if...

It was impossible. He could not be the Shadow Man. This Jaffa was no ghost, although the expression on his face looked older than time itself. Tommy's latest time travel idea bounced around in his head, mixing with his own theories. Brandon couldn't stop his thoughts any more than his grandfather could stop a wave from cresting. You just had to turn the bow to meet it.

"You know, they say Odyssey is haunted." Brandon watched Teal'c for any reaction, any hint that his hypothesis could be true. Teal'c's eyebrow lifted--an invitation to continue, but the alien either had the best poker face Brandon had ever encountered or he was still too overwhelmed with his own pain to show other emotion. Brandon decided to press forward, even as the jogging ghost could be heard heading towards them.

"I think it's something else..." Brandon swallowed, unable to explain further.

The Jogger's footfalls had become inescapable now. Brandon waited for its thrumming to move past, but the Doppler effect stopped and instead a voice called out. "Hey, Teal'c, we thought we'd lost you there!"

Brandon jumped as he spun. One of Teal'c's teammates stood in the corridor, looking at them both with a cautious smile, the hint of worry in his expression. Another ghost made flesh as a living man.

"I am fine, Colonel Mitchell." Teal'c spoke again, a low powerful baritone that brooked no argument. "I will be along shortly."

"Yeah, um, okay. Don't take too long, or you'll miss the best part of Sam's briefing." Mitchell's grin grew brighter for a moment in some sort of shared SG-1 joke, but he was casting a long, puzzled look at them both. Then the Colonel turned around and started jogging back at that same too familiar pace.

Seeing the Jogger's ghost alive and well in the form of the very human Colonel Mitchell did not make Brandon feel satisfied at being proven correct. Instead, he felt confused and overwhelmed. He turned back to Teal'c, only to find Teal'c's expression had turned, if anything sadder, as if grieving a loss.

"He...he doesn't..." Know? Remember? Could he not hear the cello? Not everyone noticed the ghosts, Brandon knew. And if the impossible was true, that somehow SG-1 were the ghosts...

Teal'c shook his head in response to the half-asked question. Or perhaps he wasn't listening to Brandon at all. Teal'c turned to the bulkhead he still touched, his hand rubbing downward in a soft caress as he seemed to address Odyssey herself. "No. He would not remember. But we do, don't we, old friend?"

Brandon felt like an intruder to something intimate between Teal'c and the ship. He started to back away and leave them in peace when Teal'c spoke again. "Daniel Jackson once told me that Earth sailing vessels were referred to as 'ladies' and took on anthropomorphic properties."

"Aye," Brandon unconsciously adopted the speaking pattern of his grandfather. "Each ship has her own mind. A personality infused by the crew, or perhaps vice versa." Never had he felt that was more true than today, standing on the floor that had seen some history that perhaps didn't happen at all.

Teal'c nodded. "Odyssey is a good ship. She watches over her crew." He stared at Brandon and spoke with such authority that although he wasn't sure what official rank Teal'c held, he did not doubt it was an order. "Take care of her accordingly."

"I will." Brandon breathed out the oath, which made him realize for the first time he'd been holding his breath a lot during this encounter. But something must have shown in his face, because Teal'c nodded, clapping his heavy hand on Brandon's shoulder before following the path of the rest of SG-1, the echoes of ghosts of memories following in Teal'c's shadow.

Fin.

Endnote: The "Tippy Top Secret" line was used with permission from original comments by Codger/extrabadpenguin's after the reallife vet watched Ark of Truth's "Severely" Restricted Access.