Mallex Caveran had been deployed to what felt like every back-country planet in known space at least twice: The first time around to do his duty to Home and Hierarchy by putting would-be rebels back in their correct place, and the second as an embedded reporter watching the next generation of soldiers fight the next generation of rebels.

To many of his colleagues, it was disheartening. But why should it be? The Hierarchy endured, peace in the galaxy continued, and he got paid to tour known space more extensively than even the most spoiled Asari university student. It was only fair that each generation got their chance at such a privilege.

This was the first time, though, that he was sent to a planet that he hadn't set boots on beforehand, and a "Citadel Core World," at that. Hah. If the Council hadn't intervened back then, though, things may have gone differently.

The shuttle flared, gravity in the cabin jumping by perhaps a third as the pilot decelerated for landing. Mallex tensed, feet scratching at the soles of his boots. Proper civilian shuttles managed their gravity better – the last time he'd felt such rough handling, the pilot had at least had the excuse of being shot at.

"On behalf of our captain and crew, thank you for flying Trans-Orbital, and welcome to Vancouver."

He waited in-line to disembark with more patience than he thought he had in him. Admittedly, it was no worse a wait than he'd been through many times over a long career — "Hurry up and wait" was the life of any soldier, even if the humans had phrased it the best.

Still, he finally worked his way clear of the shuttle with a happy cant to his mandibles, stepping out into the concourse. Now that he had room, he could read his omni-tool's latest message without someone peering over his shoulder.

Or around his shoulder; humans were short when they weren't in armor.

The message turned out to be exactly what he was expecting, meaning that he wouldn't have to wait once more for his friend to arrive. She was in the main parking lot, several stories above on the roof of the passenger terminal.

He laughed to himself as he strode off to the nearest elevator. She probably couldn't leave her car for long enough to meet him outside the gate; some enterprising museum custodian would snatch up the lovingly-maintained old crate for their collection.

The elevator was somehow more packed than the tiny shuttle had been, although it was more tolerable now that he was closer to getting away from the crowds. The plates atop his head kept prickling, telling him that his sergeant was a half-second away from shouting a reminder about proper spacing to the flat-faced recruits under the veteran's care.

Mallex shook his head, causing the nervous businessman to his right to duck away from his fringe as the spikes whistled overhead. Sergeant Kamastis had unexpectedly retired well over a decade ago, what with his bondmate surprising him with a daughter.

Probably still more work than riding herd on a dozen fledgling soldiers, come to think of it. Mallex did occasionally give thanks that his own future didn't promise children any time soon.

The elevator doors opened atop the spaceport hub to show the exact old skycar that he had expected, with the after-market raised roof above the passenger's seat just tall enough for him to fit.

This time, he did shoulder his way through the small crowd squeezing out of the elevator, marching forwards to the car as eagerly as a fledgling recruit on his first day of leave. The black-furred woman pretended to stay focused on her own omni-tool, but he knew that her grandfather had raised her better than that.

"Williams."

"It's 'Ash,' or you're 'Sir,'…Mal" She said, glancing up with the grin he knew she'd been hiding, and paused. After looking him up and down, she raised one eyebrow. "You're in uniform."

"Know a better way to have some breathing room in a human shuttle than wearing a Hierarchy hardsuit?" He flicked one mandible wide to take the bite out of his words. "Besides, it seemed…fitting, for your tour."

"It might, at that." Ash reached up and pulled his head down to hers, foreheads resting against each other for a few heartbeats. Then she ducked away and patted the roof of her car. "You know which seat's yours."

Ten minutes later, and they were outside the first stop. Well, the one that Mallex suspected would end up taking up the whole day's schedule, and the one he'd dressed up for.

The War museum. The only war in human history, even nearly two centuries later, that needed no other descriptor. Just 'the War,' no matter how much Terra Firma may prattle on about Shanxi.

He still didn't quite know how to feel about it, even as a Turian. The rest of the galaxy agreed that the humans had just made-up the Abyssal War to explain away the nuclear scars that still marked their homeworld. Only the sons and daughters of Palaven went so far as to even entertain the notion of sentient warships. Admittedly, it stung many Turians that the humans' Spirits had visited them so much more openly than had their own, but then again Palaven had never strayed so perilously close to collapse as Earth had.

Not even during the Rebellions.

Of course the Spirits hadn't stayed around for long afterwards; they knew well enough that mortals were best left alone when possible. His father had certainly drilled it into his head how the Spirits would judge any person's life only when it had played out in full. All accomplishments were weighed against future misdeeds; sins could be absolved by proper atonement.

Either way, it had seemed fitting to Mallex that he wear his old armor to the museum, a view seemingly shared by the older human who manned the kiosk at the entrance. The man nodded respectfully to the Turian as he handed over an archaic wax-paper brochure. The human's well-kept uniform was unfamiliar: definitely not present-day Alliance, and not in service during Shanxi. An old veteran, then, for all that the man was likely younger than Mallex himself. Mallex returned a nod of his own before letting Ash lead him inside the building.

Given that it was the middle of a work-day, local time, it was unsurprising that the museum was all-but-empty. The darkened main hall soared upwards and stretched back into the shadows, lit only by towering holograms of humanity's protectors.

Gazing up at the faces of humans long-past — sort-of, at any rate — he was struck by how much the museum reminded him of a Remembrance Hall back home. Perhaps somewhat over-sized and lacking the cushioned booths that would line the main room, but it did remind him of why the Hierarchy had found a cultural friend in the Alliance despite their rocky start. The respectful silence of the double-handful of other visitors — and Ash, most surprisingly — further served to remind him of childhood visits to the family Hall.

As the holograms changed to a different set of 'ship-girls,' an idle thought struck Mallex. Did they count as 'larger-than-life' renditions if their non-human bodies had been larger than the museum itself?

Regardless, he made a note to see about finding clothes like that for Ash. She might deck him for suggesting it, but if she wore them even half as well as this — he glanced down at the name below the projection — 'Musashi' did, it would be well-worth the pain.

The tour inevitably led outside, to the small wharf that jutted out into the harbor. The display-board helpfully informed him that the museum stood on the site of a hastily-built naval base from the War, and that the wooden planks which sagged worryingly underfoot had been preserved from that era.

At least the single ship moored at the edge of the waterfront was well-maintained, if somewhat small. A single handful of humans were applying a new coat of paint, with two of them hanging over the side on a small platform while the third — a gray-furred old-timer — leaned over the railing above.

Stopping to read the information panel, Mallex tried to fit the vowel-dense human words out through a mouth utterly unsuited for them. After a few tries that sounded wrong and left his jaw aching, Mallex's pride was not mollified in the slightest when Ash patted him on the upper arm.

Especially not given the smirk that he could hear in her voice. "You'll get it eventually."

He did not dignify that with a response, instead leaning in closer to the weather-beaten placard and squinting. Underneath the borderline-opaque plastiglass, the English text must have been hard to read even for a native speaker. But this was his first visit to one of humanity's holy sites, and he'd not shame his own Spirits by getting the name wrong.

That being said, hopefully this human Spirit would be somewhat understanding. He turned to admit defeat and ask Ash to pronounce the name for him.

But the wharf leading back to the museum was empty of everything save for a few tendrils of fog rolling in from offshore. Metal clinked from behind him, and he turned to see Ash standing by the gangplank, unclipping the rope which hung across it to bar the way. She looked over her shoulder and beckoned him closer with a grin. "You can squint at a placard meant for those who slept through history class, or you can come aboard."

He hesitantly walked over, mandibles wide in surprise. "Are you sure?" He nodded at the prominent sign next to the gangplank which advertised in large, bold letters that even he could read 'STAFF ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT'.

"Of course!" Ash crossed her arms and leaned back against the bannister, grin deepening. "Spectre credentials get you into the best parts of museums."

"But she is more than a museum, I should say. Would not her Spirit object? Should we not ask someone first?"

"I cleared it with the curator before we got here; don't worry." As he drew closer, Ash leaned forwards and snagged one hand, pulling him onto the gangplank with the sort of energy that had always endeared her to him. "Besides, you're forgetting two points."

"Is that so?"

"One, she fought alongside great-great-grandmother back during the War, so I think I would know her wishes a bit better than you do." She held up his hand, unfolding two of his fingers using the perplexing jungle of fingers on her own hands. "Two, she's 'Canada's Fightingest Ship,' and if even half of the stories you've told me and granddad over the years are true, you're the 'Citadel's Fightingest Turian.'" She shrugged. "Honestly, from what I've read about her, I think she would have liked to meet you."

He let out a huff of laughter despite himself. "I'll do my best to live up to that honor, then." With a glance around to ensure that nobody else was nearby, he added "From what you've told me, we might just live long enough to meet her, after all." He held up two hands, making the air-quotes gesture that he knew would get Ash to see red. "What with the 'Geth Dreadnoughts' that everybody's all worried about."

As expected, Ashley flinched as if struck, glaring at him momentarily before relenting. "You wouldn't find that half as funny if you'd had to put up with some of the idiots that I have. The Council's been sitting on their fucking thumbs for years—" with visible effort, she cut herself off and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a few heartbeats, and when she opened them again Happy Ash was back. "All of which can wait for tomorrow, and the skipper's trial. For now, there's you, me, and great-great-grandma's best friend to visit. So, welcome aboard HMCS Haida!"

More than an hour later, and they emerged back on-deck after touring through what felt like every last compartment below. As short as humans were now, they must have been downright child-sized when they built ships like this, either that or just resigned to a lifetime of back-pain. Mallex dearly hoped that the ship's Spirit wouldn't mind the scratch marks that the top of his fringe had left on what felt like every hatchway.

Blinking at the intensified sunlight — it must be near mid-day, by Sol's position above — he stretched luxuriantly, cartilage popping up and down his spine now that it could finally straighten up once more.

Ash crossed her arms and rested her weight on one hip as she smirked up at him wordlessly.

He smirked and half-muttered "Don't look at me; you're the one with flexibility." A cheeky waggle of the mandibles got the message through, judging by how Ash's face reddened.

"Hush!" She clapped one hand over his mandibles and glanced around quickly, but nobody was nearby. Spectre access or no, he'd have thought that someone would have been around by now to check on the two soldiers poking around such a valuable site.

Before he could catch himself, he collapsed his mandibles inwards as his head darted forwards to plant a kiss on her palm. Maybe all the endorphins released from his back-stretching were getting to his head.

Ah, to the hells with it. He was effectively on vacation until tomorrow.

Ashley squeaked in surprise, and then her face reddened even further in embarrassment. "Someone could see!" Her voice was several octaves above its usual calm tone as she smacked one hand against his chest in mock-outrage.

Mallex only smiled in response – the sheer range of sounds that a human could make could be downright endearing, at times. Like a fledgling whose voicebox hadn't solidified, yet. Certainly a far cry from the veteran warrior that he knew Ash to be, even if he'd never seen her in action with his own eyes.

Of course, that only made it all the more endearing. "And who would that be, exactly? The sailors working on the other side of the ship?" He leaned in again, and Ashley met him halfway in an embrace. With his chin resting atop her soft, furry head, he muttered "The second — and only, for the time being — human Spectre can't normally enjoy much privacy, I would think."

Ash hummed in agreement. "Less than I'd like, that's for sure."

"Coming from a Navy brat, that is a strong condemnation."

With a chuckle, she moved her head to the side and pulled his hands down to her hips in a signal they'd first worked out almost a year ago. Obligingly, he pulled her upwards and off her feet, his own head moving down in preparation for a kiss—

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" A new voice interjected.

He dropped Ashley to the deck with a muted clang and quickly spun to face the newcomer. He'd seen the way that her grandfather's name had been dragged through the human news broadcasts for forming a friendship with a Shanxi veteran; he certainly didn't want to see what would happen to Ash for this. Gossip shows all over Council space had jumped on the first human Spectre's 'quarian connection' hard enough; he didn't want to see what would happen to the second Spectre.

Thankfully, the red-furred human woman who had spoken was several meters away, leaning against the guardrail and gazing out across the harbor. Maybe she hadn't seen anything, or just didn't want to make a point of it.

Either way, best to move away from that possibility. "A bit cold for my taste, but a beautiful view, to be sure." He nonchalantly leaned against the railing himself. A quick glance down at the water below — far too deep to see the bottom — and he jerked back upright. If the Spirits had meant for Turians to travel on the water, They would have made them float.

Now the other woman did look over, gaze flicking from Mallex to the water, and back. A lopsided grin slid onto her face as the woman — more of a girl, really; certainly younger than Ash if he was correct — nodded slowly. "Fair enough. Most of the folks we see around the museum here are human, and it's still cold for most of them."

Now Ashley joined the conversation, having now gained control over her voice from the earlier surprise. She slid around Mallex on the narrow walkway between the superstructure and the guardrail. "Well, some of us are used to it, Miss —?"

"Oh, of course." The newcomer extended her hand to Ashley in a handshake. "I'm Helen, a tour-guide here at the museum."

"Ah, I was beginning to wonder if Ms. Williams had gotten us a private tour of the ship." Said Mallex, stepping up and offering his own hand.

After a split-second of a pause, Helen shook his hand as well, five slender fingers rather inexpertly grasping three larger ones. Definitely not someone who had much experience meeting Turians, indeed. Mallex congratulated himself for remembering to file the edge off of his talons this morning — the sort of vakar-headed determination that humanity was known for across the galaxy tended to make one forget how fragile their bodies actually were.

"Sorry about that – I was a bit late in getting news of our VIP visitor, and by the time I showed up you had gone belowdecks." Helen said. "And I know quite well how close-quarters it can get down there. Much more fun with two people than with three." She smiled knowingly at Ashley, and winked.

Mallex sighed. So much for not seeing anything. "No problem, Miss." In an obvious-even-to-him attempt to move the conversation elsewhere, he added "This is a very fascinating ship that you have, here. Built…what, two-hundred years ago?"

Ashley interjected "Two-forty-one, actually. Almost a century before the War."

And just towards the trailing years of the Geth Wars, before the quarians gave up — unofficially, of course — and retreated from the Veil. There were a few ships still in service from that era — almost all in the Migrant Fleet, of course — but none of them looked as well-looked-after as Haida. "She looks good for her age."

"Thank you; we take good care of her." Replied Helen with a blush. She looked to Ash. "You're familiar with our old girl?"

"Had an ancestor who worked with her, during the War. Granddad told me all of the old family stories as I grew up."

Helen nodded. "Fought from the first year of the War 'till the last. Forty years of service, sunk eight times and came back in less than a month each time, asking for more."

Spirits certainly wouldn't have been deterred by anything as simple as death, naturally. "It is humbling how determinedly humanity's Spirits fought for them."

"'Spirits, huh?'" Helen shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess that's as good a term as any. And besides, any good ship — human or alien — would have fought for their people and country during something like the War."

Before he could catch himself, Mallex blurted out "Tell that to the quarians."

Ashley elbowed him in the side, hard — which hurt her more than it hurt him, but it caught his attention. Helen just smiled wanly. "From what I've read, who's to say that they didn't? It sounds like it was an awful confusion, the evacuations. All sorts of records must have been lost in all that. Fighting a hopeless war without allied support." A shadow flickered over the woman's face, but then she brightened somewhat. "They didn't win, either way, and I wouldn't blame a ship for keeping a low profile afterwards, out of shame or despair."

The mournful echo of a foghorn echoed across the water as if in agreement.

Before Mallex could make another blunder, Ashley interjected "Besides, look at the average age of the ships in the Migrant Fleet. They've got good engineers over there, but nobody's that good." Only Mallux could hear the whispered "Well, besides Tali."

"She gets it." Responded Helen. "Must be that family connection, yes?"

Before Ashley could respond, Mallux's omni-tool chirped at him. Both women looked at him, and he quickly checked the new-message notice. "Sorry, I've got to check this one. I'll be back in a moment."

He backed away from the two, who shrugged and descended into their own conversation. Mallex took a few steps away and brought up the full message. It was short, and not too unexpected. The Alliance was putting on a varren-and-vakar show for the press and to keep the Council from losing face, but everybody knew what the verdict would be. It was only Batarians, after all, versus the Saviour of the Citadel.

No, the only mystery had been whether things would even get as far as a public show-trial before the charges were dismissed. Whatever the Citadel might say was true, the Alliance had thrown their full support behind the 'Mad Spectre's' warnings. If Shepard said that a Batarian planet was a needed sacrifice to buy time, then who on Earth would disagree?

That being said, Alliance military structure wasn't too different from that of the Hierarchy. There would be an actual court-martial, if only so that Shepard could report on his actions and thoughts to the brass directly. And now Mallex's contact had told him when that trial would be held – exactly what the veteran, reporter, and veteran reporter needed to get the scoop on the other networks.

Unfortunately, that 'when' was more 'right now.' The Turian checked his map, and peered across the harbor. Just above the thickening fog, he could just barely make out which of the buildings in the naval base there held the specified courtroom. No way was he going to be able to get onto the base in-time to catch even the end of the trial, what with having to get his press license moved to an earlier day.

Maybe if he asked Ashley really nicely — and made a few promises that they'd both enjoy — he could ride her tailwind into the scoop of the decade, if not the century. He looked up from his omni-tool and over at the two women.

Both of whom were utterly lost in conversation, Helen pointing out the finer details of one of the clunky weapons systems above to a rapt audience.

Mallex shrugged. He'd taken the reporting job more as an excuse to travel than out of any real ambition. Let some younger reporter with a career to build get the story. He closed his omni-tool, but not after setting it to do-not-disturb.

Ashley was not so distracted talking to Helen that she did not hear a 200-kilogram armored Turian walk across the metal deck to her. "Anything important?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "Enjoying the view?"

"Immensely. It's like she just got out of an overhaul, all clean equipment and shining paint."

"She does most of the work for us, honestly." Said Helen. "We just keep her supplies lockers stocked, and Haida does the rest."

Ashley frowned, but Mallex responded first. "What about those men we saw over the side, painting?"

Helen frowned. "Who? Oh, ah, there are a few old volunteers from around the area who like to come over and give Haida some personal touch. Old-timers, mostly, and a few with even older family connections to her. I guess they must have finished up before I got here." She shrugged. "As I was saying, Haida loves being a museum ship, I reckon. She came back after the War just for that purpose, you know."

Ashley just nodded, but Mallex hadn't heard this particular story. "How do you know?"

Helen gestured to Ashley, who spoke. "The War ended with the Counterattack — I know I've told you about that one; the Krell-canal and all that. Haida was part of the first wave to enter the device, leading the operation along with many of the other most-accomplished ships."

"And it worked." Mallex nodded along.

"Well, we assume it worked." Interjected Helen. "The Abyssals never returned, at least. But neither did almost all of the ships sent in after them. A few ships had stayed behind, but they all chose to follow their comrades eventually. Only a few dozen ships came back, spread out over years afterwards. Most of them had been museum ships before the War; I guess they liked the job."

"Anyways, so over a decade after the Counterattack, everybody's just about packed up shop here." Ashley waved to the base around them. "Great-great-grandma said that she was about the last to stay behind as the base was demilitarized. And then one day, out of the fog comes Haida, as fresh-looking as she is today." Ashley smiled to herself, gazing off into the distance. "As great-great-grandma put it, the old girl sidled up to her favorite spot by the wharf — where she can watch the whole harbor-front and especially the dockyards opposite — and drops anchor, signal flags crowding her lines to spell out 'IM HOME'."

She visibly blinked away tears before continuing. "Great-great-grandma ended up living just down the street for the rest of her life, staying with her old friend. Haida stayed in her steel hull, but granddad said that that never bothered great-great-grandma."

Helen opened her mouth to speak, but Ashley continued speaking, lost to the world. "Granddad sold the house back in the '40s when the family moved out to the colonies, of course." Now she did turn her head, to catch Mallex's gaze. "Maybe if he hadn't, I'd have been in her place." She nodded at Helen, who wisely kept quiet.

"Then I wouldn't have met Alex, nor eventually his granddaughter." Mallex smiled wanly, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "And for what it's worth, I know that nobody else would have done as good a job at Shanxi — before or after the shooting stopped — as he did."

Ashley smiled warmly up at him, and Mallex was lost to the world.

Until a deep groan echoed up from below their feet. While Ashley and Mallex frowned, glancing around them, Helen instead blushed deeply before turning and pointing angrily at the base of the smokestack a few meters aft. "I know that was sweet and sappy! You don't need to complain about it so loudly!" To the two guests, she added "Sorry. Haida may be sleeping, but she gets a word or two in from time to time."

Ash and Mallex glanced at each other for a moment with eyebrows raised before breaking out in laughter.

Laughter which was interrupted a few seconds later by a much louder bass roar that boomed down from over the harbor, throwing spray into the air as dark shadows descended through the mid-day fog.