Like most of her kind, the Seersa foxine was a petite individual barely five feet high at the tip of her pointed ears, densely-built with heavy wrists and digitigrade legs neatly crossed at the ankle. She was a striking member of that race, with her white fur and delicately pointed muzzle; the stark black and cobalt blue of her Fleet uniform matched her dark eyes and the black tips of her ears and soft tail.
She was also—
/Nervous?/ Vasiht'h guessed over their mindline.
/More than we are,/ Jahir replied, his wry humor filling the link with the taste of iron filings.
"I imagine you find this somewhat irregular," she said.
"Just a little, alet...?" Vasiht'h said, settling down across from her. Jahir sat next to his partner in the chair facing the couch where their client perched.
"Nisia," she said. "Nisia Baker, lieutenant commander." She made a face. "I don't suppose Commander Hutchins told you anything."
"Nothing more than that one of his officers had requested us, and the instructions—the detailed instructions—on how we were to present ourselves for admission to the Fleet section of the base," Jahir said.
"You must have been surprised," she said, smiling suddenly. She had a good smile, impish. It made the hollows under her eyes more noticeable.
/Not sleeping much,/ Vasiht'h said.
/The question is why,/ Jahir answered and said to her, "Lieutenant Commander, you have no idea."
She laughed. "That's a mouthful. Please, just call me Nisia." She settled then. "You two are listed now as acceptable external contractors in the medical category. I requested you... specifically because of that."
"Because we're not Fleet?" Vasiht'h asked. "I would have thought you'd be more comfortable discussing your issues with someone who shared the context of your work with you."