"Well," says Isabella, peering at the disappointing results from the computer analysis of network activity on the planet below. "That's going to be... inconvenient."
"It's more fun than it sounds," Lalita says brightly, sliding his arm around Isabella's waist and kissing her on the cheek.
"There is no need to worry, Mother."
"Yes, and now she's not all alone anymore," says Lalita. "She has her - " he pauses deliberately, then finishes, "boyfriend."
"Lalita has been teaching me Klingon," offers Isabella.
"Oh, say something in Klingon!"
"This is a sentence in Klingon," recites Isabella obligingly.
"I said, 'this is a sentence in Klingon'," says Isabella.
"Awwwwww," says Renée.
"So there has been a fair amount of Klingon opera aboard the Prometheus," says Isabella when the display has concluded. "It is growing on me."
"Perhaps while we are here that can be remedied."
"I'll do the best I can, and where my knowledge is still spotty, Lalita will be able," replies Isabella.
The subway arrives at their stop, and out they go.
"A lot of it's about people killing each other over power or honour or both," says Lalita. "Sometimes they do it for love instead, just to switch it up."
"So is a fair amount of Earth fiction," Isabella points out.
"I suppose that's true," sighs Renée. "It's so much easier to judge, when it's from somewhere else, isn't it?"
"Welcome home, Bella."
"Thank you, Mother."
"Thank you!" laughs Renée. "I try to make it, you know, inviting." She pats a rose blossom as they pass through the yard into the building.
Inside, Renée has apparently anticipated guestly hunger; there's a crumb cake and a brewing pot of tea on the coffee table. She picks up the teapot and starts pouring. "I know how Isabella takes hers; Lalita?"