The Pomona

“Now, Lesia,” the man croons, “is that any way to talk to your…friends?”

Lesia stands from her spot on the floor. “You have no right and no room to tell me how to speak- much less right and room to be here.”

The man laughs - a hollow sound that sounds like a twisted version of Father Christmas. “You’re a criminal, my dear. You have no right and room to be anywhere but a cell. Yet, in the spirit of Christmas, the Government and I have agreed to give you a second chance. All of you, a second chance.”

“We don’t _need_ a second chance,” Phoebe says, rushing forward to grab Lesia’s elbow. “We’re fine. Much better off than you, from what I understand.” 

Roman raises his hand in fiery retaliation, but clenches his fist as Lesia stands in front of Phoebe, hands ready to shield the girl. “You would really give up everything? Everything that I built, everything that I worked for, everything that I made happen for you? You would give it all up- for what? Selfish, selfish desires? For criminals? You would give up justice? You would give up Pattrick?”

Roman stepped to the side, revealing the young man that stood behind him, fingers wrapped around a phaser. 

Lesia went slack jawed for a moment.

The room went silent for a moment.

Lesia closed her eyes, and raised a hand. “You will not come onto this ship, threaten my friends, and expect me to walk away with you.”

Roman thought for a moment. Chewed on the words that Lesia spoke.