"Andromeda was always a little less like a city. Fewer civilians and recreational facilities." He shrugs. Like he'd said, warship. The Enterprise does have the feel of a city around her, with the bar and gymnasium and who knows what other facilities that he hasn't explored yet. There are very few purely recreational areas on the Andromeda beyond the observation deck. Dylan and his previous -- and current -- crew have very much claimed the hydroponics garden, but it has a vital role in the functioning of the ship as well as being an area where the crew can be surrounded by the garden, green and alive and providing them with oxygen and food.

"But ... we're running on a skeleton crew, so she's not very densely populated anymore."

He misses his crew, still. Andromeda's corridors are too empty, her capabilities underutilized, and they'd been good people, people he cared about.

He keeps himself smiling at her, trying to ignore the swelling ache that's always there, in his heart, since Hephaistos.

She gets it. Not everyone does, especially not in the time he's found himself in when life is harder and the militaries of, for example, the Drago-Kazov, are used to oppress and attack, not to protect.

"Even in times of peace," he agrees. "We were always needed. We did a lot of humanitarian work, too, but you ... always need the capability to protect the peace."

And enforce it. Much of the later part of his career was spent in and out of the Quarantine Zone protecting Commonwealth interests from the Magog. Sometimes ... quite aggressively.

If Marion knows enough to read that in what he's said, then she'll understand. If she doesn't ... he's not planning to elaborate. Una salus victus runs deep.