“Of the situation, Captain? Of the team? Of the preparations?”

“Of the team, for now.”

“I don’t think they like me much,” Tirdal said slowly. He said everything slowly. His voice wasn’t taciturn or filtered to be deep and empty, that was just how Darhel spoke. His only expression was a flip of his right ear.

The pictures to either side of them were more formal, line drawings and holos of battles and locales. Bell Toll appeared to study them as he walked, though he’d no doubt seen them thousands of times before.

“They may not like you,” the captain said, frowning. “Yet. But small teams require trust and teamwork. Since you’re new and haven’t been with the team in their exercises, or missions for that matter, you’re naturally going to experience a bit of standoffishness. This is just the nature of being new to a team. Don’t let it worry you. Do your job and everyone will forget that…”

“That I’m a shiftless Darhel freak?” Tirdal supplied with an ear flick.

“If you take that point of view things will be very rough indeed,” the captain said, stopping to lock eyes with the Darhel. “And I won’t tolerate discrimination.”

“Yes, sir,” Tirdal agreed, tasting the forceful honesty in the statement. For a wonder, the team commander seemed to accept him at face value: as a “newbie” team member, not a Darhel, not an evil demon Shylock. Still, the captain was keeping him separated from the rest of the team at present. Tirdal partly appreciated that because there was less stress in their thoughts when he wasn’t around, but it wasn’t a good sign. They’d have to learn to be comfortable to function.