Ok. Check the 8/03/02 12:41 post; I fixed some of the bad grammar and added a bit of detail here and there. Nothing's changed but the ease of reading.
EDIT: Changed Cantrell's destination in this one.
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Exactly three point eight miles away, the most controversial woman in modern politics left her son with the nanny and joined the Narn Regime's resident prophet for a business dinner. If David Martel knew of what they spoke - knew, actually, that he was the unofficial topic of that evening's conversation - he might have then passed Mural with nary a blink.
But the ratlike Minbari had already stood, intent on confrontation, carefully folding his napkin and leaving it in the seat he had just vacated. As he stepped into the aisle, trainees realized what was happening. They poked and prodded their fellows out of flarn-induced lethargy, whispered intently in various sets of ears, and adopted the general pallor of a crowd witnessing the passage of a pivotal, historical moment.
And, all of a sudden, Martel found that he was no longer hungry. Behind Mural, Malcolm straightened, and locked eyes with his Captain.
"Good evening," Mural sneered. "I thought you would still be in... debriefing." He rocked from one foot to the other before adopting that particularly aggressive stance peculiar to a confronted warrior-caste.
"Evening, Mural," Martel replied, carefully. "I'm afraid I don't know why you're blocking my way."
The aide - wiry and nasal, dressed in the nearly-formal robes that were almost foreign to the sensibilities of active-duty Rangers, extended his hands in the Minbari equivalent of a shrug. "We," he said, indicating the similarly-garbed Minbari at his table, "were just inquisitive as to why you even came to Tannier's death celebration."
A muted hum of voices struck the crowd.
"Stuck in that office of yours, Mural," Martel replied, choosing his words carefully, "you might not know of the human custom of paying one's respects to the honored dead."
If Mural's face turned any more sour, Cantrell thought, he'd turn into a lemon.
"The Rangers have no place for human customs," Mural replied. "We have no place for human cowardice. You - you, Martel - dared to dishonor his sacrifice with your incestuous hands."
This caused a minor sensation amongst the trainees. They'd heard the stories, but they hadn't thought that a Captain would - even could -
Ah, thought Martel. The gossip round robin's faster than I thought.
"Let it go, Mural - the past is the past," Cantrell said. At times like this, Martel swore he could see the anger boiling behind her eyes - and, while this was a very good thing in the weapons pod, he'd recieved a black eye the last time he attempted to extricate Sarah from a bar brawl. And Mural, for all the desk-work he did, remained an excellent fighter.
"The past?" Mural hooted, a glint in his eyes. "You should have no memories past that day on the Enfalli, Cantrell. That was your time to die. The One called you to serve. And, yet - you walk - you walk here, and Tannier is lost."
Martel spread his hands, hoping that, by staying calm, the rest of the mess hall would see just how irrational Sindell's aide was becoming. "Mural, please. I should get back to my ship."
"Your ship," he said, quietly. "Your crew are unworthy to be called Rangers. Back from Beta Durani, and how? By becoming judge and executioner for Minister Kafta. Yes, we all know who he was. What he did. But you are a Ranger, Martel; you serve the One; you are not the One. You had no right."
"Perhaps I should have died there," Martel continued, trying to rein in his contempt. "Perhaps I should have offered up the Liandra, and allowed Kafta's secret to be buried under the ruins of the Beta Durani colony. Would that have filled your need for vengeance?"
Mural sputtered. "Go on, get out of here," he answered, in quick Adronato. "You and your woman."
He hadn't seen Malcolm. The intelligence officer slid through the back door as Martel managed, with great difficulty, to put one foot in front of the other, to open the door, to close it behind him, to collapse against the wall. As the door slammed, Martel felt the incredulous eyes of the entire mess hall shift their focus to Mural.
There was a moment. Just a moment, a silent few seconds, and then Cantrell erupted into a litany of swear words. Martel leaned back against the wall, fighting a roaring headache. Malcolm stood between them, as yet silent.
"You don't deserve that, Sarah," Martel said, hoarsely, as he straightened.
"Like hell I don't," she answered, staring at him. "So, is that where it comes from? Mural? Tannier? The goddamned Ranger Council?"
He deflated slightly. "You shouldn't have stayed with me after the Enfalli. I wouldn'tve blamed you for requesting a transfer." He reached out, placed his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "Either of you. I'm an albatross."
She softened a bit. "No. No, David. You're not. I'll go and help Na'feel. I'll have the array done by five hundred. No problem."
He nodded his dismissal, and she was off, leaving him with Malcolm. And one question.
That wasn't very like Mural, he thought. He was a rat, he was a fink, but he kept his head in front of others. What happened back there to make him fly off the handle like that?
