Relda sensed movement through the comp lab window. She peered into the gray evening. The colors of sunset had passed. Darkness had not yet fallen. Towers, domes, hover ads, and towers with spheres mounted on top had not yet started heir nighttime lights.
The movement in Relda's perception belonged to an object on the distant horizon. It grew, and the cockpit housed Raylay's father.
"It's a Dialorian ship," she muttered.
A hand brushed against her shoulders.
"Mama." The gentle whisper belonged to Anniston. "We have to help them. They'll torture him. They'll kill him. They'll extract his memories, and the master memory chip has memories of us."
Relda felt a stabbing sensation behind her ribcage. Images entered her mind. The first time she hugged her adopted daughters. When the twins were born. When the quintuplets were born. She was a mother. It consumed every fiber of her being. Hers biologically, hers adopted, and young in general.
"We'll help you," she said. "Because it helps us, and well--"
She glanced over the heads of her twelve daughters, and added, "--because I am a mother. We'll bring him home to his parents. He will be alright. I will make sure he will."
She turned away and gazed into the cityscape. The Dialorian ship was lower now. Her stomach turned inside.
"I have your word then?" Dr. Trak questioned.
She nodded, still staring at the ship.
"You have my word," she assured him.
"I want my grandson safe," Dr. Trak admitted. "Even if you win the war, I've lost his parents. He will be a target regardless. I need you and your daughters to become his guardians. Raise him in obscurity."
"I will take care of him," she promised.
"You have twelve kids," Daly interjected. "I want him."