Star Trek: The Next Generation
Long Journey Home
Prologue
She was certain she was being watched. Somewhere in the bustling market she knew eyes were following her. After all, she hadn't gotten to be who she was—where she was—without developing a sixth sense when it came to things like this. Her childhood had been spent scurrying through tunnels, hiding, watching her back every instant, sensing when danger lurked in the nearby shadows. A couple of dozen years spent that way had helped her develop some kind of innate ability to detect a predator, and she knew with absolute certainty that there was a predator out there. It made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Yes. She was definitely being watched.
Fortunately, her Ferengi toady was oblivious to such subtle things. His customary inane chatter as they wandered through the Bazaar on their daily inspection of the latest black market technology gave an air of normalcy to their stroll that she hoped would lull her observer—whoever it was—into some level of complacency. The watcher would become the watched. First, though, she had to find them. She let the Ferengi ramble on, paying little heed to his words, her eyes searching the crowd for whoever it was who was observing her.
She finally spotted her. The female was seated in one of the cafés that lined the main market way, her face obscured by the shadows which fell from the high and misaligned artificial lights which tried in vain to mimic daylight in the giant tin can that was the Bazaar. Despite the shadows, however, there was no mistaking her bearing. Only one race in the galaxy could sit that straight and exude such self-confident arrogance without uttering a word.
Her observer was Romulan.
Finally the Ferengi's nasal voice detonated her last nerve.
"Drang…" she muttered with exasperation.
The lackey looked up at her expectantly, oblivious to her tone.
"Yes, Princess?"
"Shut up."
Instead of being offended, the Ferengi merely grinned.
"Of course, Princess," he replied. "I was merely attempting to explain to you…."
"Drang…" she threatened, in low voice. This time the Ferengi cowered and clamped his hands over his mouth. She nodded with satisfaction. However, when she glanced back at the café, she saw the Romulan was gone.
An expletive she'd learned on her home planet escaped her lips, causing Drang's eyes to widen. She wasn't sure who she was more angry at—the Ferengi for distracting her, or herself, for succumbing to the distraction. She glared at Drang for good measure, figuring it never hurt to remind him what his place was, and with a sigh continued her tour of the Bazaar. She glanced around periodically to see if she could catch sight of the Romulan woman, but she was gone. The sense of being watched did not return. A cold shiver ran through her nonetheless. The Romulan would reappear, of this she had no doubt. And if the rumors she had heard contained even a quark of truth, the Princess knew the feeling of dread blanketing her was well-founded. Her sixth sense told her that her already complicated life was about to triple in complexity.
She scowled again at the Ferengi and wished her sixth sense, for once, would shut up too.