Free The Stars Down Under by Sandra McDonald

with the two of you?” Gooder asked, red faced and breathing hard. “You want to get fired? You want Captain Kuvik to bust you down to able technicians?”
    â€œHe fucking started it.” Talic spat out a bright wad of blood. “Came in here like a crazy person.”
    Myell had one arm pressed against his already bruised stomach. He too had blood in his mouth. “I’m finishing a conversation he started last night.”
    â€œEither of you need a doctor?” Etedgy asked, handing Myell some napkins from Talic’s desk.
    â€œThey’re fine,” Gooder snapped. “Sergeant, you stand outside and shoo the crowds away. Get someone to cover Senior Chief’s class. I’ll handle these two idiots.”
    Etedgy left with a backward, worried glance. Gooder planted himself in the middle of the room and said, “One of you start.”
    â€œI told you.” Talic was sullen. “He barged in here yelling gibberish.”
    Myell wiped blood from his lip. “He knows exactly what I’m talking about.”
    Gooder’s gaze shifted to Myell’s right arm. The sleeve of his sweater had ridden up, and the bruises around his wrist were livid in the overhead light. Myell pulled the sleeve down impatiently.
    â€œI want to press charges,” Talic said. “Assault. See how far a Silver Star gets him then.”
    â€œYou want to press charges, too?” Gooder asked Myell.
    Talic was indignant. “Against who?”
    â€œNo,” Myell said. “I’m handling it.”
    â€œI can see that,” Gooder said, dryly. “Come on, Phil. Let’s take a walk. Myell, you stay here.”
    â€œHe gets to stay in my office?” Talic asked, indignant, as Gooder steered him out the door. “What the hell—”
    Left alone, Myell probed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, relieved not to find any loose teeth. He sat in the chair, suddenly cold, and was gazing blankly at pictures of Talic and his three towheaded children when a nurse from the clinic came knocking.
    â€œSenior Chief Gooder asked me to check on you,” she said. She was a brusque woman in her fifties or so, dark skinned, with braided hair and civilian clothes. “I’m Sally Clark, in charge of all cuts and bruises and assorted maladies that befall sailors young and old.”
    â€œI don’t need medical attention,” he told her.
    â€œThat might be, but I don’t take orders from you.” Sally put her medical bag down. “He said you fell down. Naturally clumsy, are you?”
    Myell bit back a retort.
    â€œYou can make this easy or you can make this hard, but I’ve a job to do, Chief. You’re not the first to fall down some stairs, walk into a hatch, or suffer some other silly accident. Look into this scanner, please.”
    He glared at her.
    Sally didn’t back away. “Sooner you do it, sooner I leave. Otherwise you and I will be here all morning.”
    Reluctantly he gazed into the handheld device. Sally made a tsking noise in the back of her throat. She took his pulse and blood pressure. Without asking permission, she rolled up his sleeves to see the rope marks.
    â€œYou do these to yourself?” she asked.
    Myell rolled his sleeves back down. “None of your business.”
    â€œHurts when you breathe or piss?”
    â€œI think we’re done now,” Myell said.
    She handed him a small tube. “That’s antibiotic cream, with a bit of analgesic and skin sealant mixed in. Rub it on twice a day for any lacerations or cuts. For headaches, take whatever you normally do. Anything gets worse, come by and see us on the first deck.”
    She left without further instructions. Myell was left to sit alone until Senior Chief Gooder returned, this time carrying two cups of coffee.
    â€œCaptain’s rightly pissed,” Gooder said, handing one cup over.
    The coffee smelled heavenly. Myell said, “He