It Was, All Things Considered, a Bad Day to Injure an Ankle, Part I
Posted on Thu Mar 12th, 2026 @ 1:00pm by Ensign Iozhara & 1st Lieutenant Ángel Martinez
1,357 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
The Menagerie II
Location: Sickbay, Deck 12, USS Astrea
Timeline: 1515 Hours
1st Lieutenant Martinez knew they should probably be more embarrassed as they limped down the corridor. But things happened in training. That was the point of having medics in a squad. Of making sure even the newest trooper, or Marine, could patch a bleed or brace a limb. Accidents didn’t only happen in combat. Sometimes they happened when you were training alone and landed wrong. Which was what had happened this time. A poor landing, a sharp jolt, pain flaring from ankle to knee.
The foot was swelling. Not ideal. But they could still put weight on it. Enough to get to sickbay. Not enough to ask for help.
There was a balance in that, and Martinez still had a little pride left. Not much. But enough.
They had taken a breath, tightened the lace on their boot for extra support, knowing full well someone in Medical would frown at it later. Then they headed out, still in combat trousers and boots. Vest top soaked dark at the seams with sweat. Short hair messy. Fingerless gloves still on, though they were only decoration now.
They entered sickbay carefully, brown eyes scanning the room. They had heard the scuttlebutt. Something about a dead Vulcan. Rumours spread quickly on ships. Sickbay was busy even on a good day. Today, it was chaos. Martinez shifted to one side on instinct, keeping clear of the traffic. They moved towards the first person who wasn’t sprinting or had an aura of needing to be somewhere else. A Barzan woman. Tall. Auburn hair that caught the light. Ensign pip on her collar.
“Hey,” Martinez said, giving a small nod and a smile. Not wide. Just enough to mask the pain of shifting their weight. “Is there anyone I can talk to about a sprained ankle?”
Iozhara had just finished submitting another report on events surrounding Ambassador T'Varel and Doctor Blackstone--it would be a day she would never forget. She set the data PADD down on a tray and turned just in time to see the brown-eyed human in combat boots. They had the look of one of the Astrea's marines.
"You can talk to me," Iozhara said sweetly.
She glanced down at the boot as Martinez spoke. Even in thick boots, Iozhara could see the swelling showing. If they had left the laces untied or loose, they could have fooled anybody. However, the bulge that showed in the high-ankle area was far too conspicuous.
Iozhara stepped closer, not crowding but enough to take control. "Let's get you off that ankle," she said, guiding Martinez to an open biobed. "Right there. Take it slow."
Martinez gave a nod and moved to the biobed. “It’s not that bad,” they said, half out of habit, half out of truth weighed against a different past. They climbed up without much trouble, though their breathing caught for a moment. Sweat had gathered along their upper lip, and their eyes were dark with effort. Still, they leaned forward to start untying the laces of the offending boot. “I’m Martinez. First Lieutenant. Starfleet Marine Corps.” Part of it was an introduction. The rest was the kind of thing you said as a soldier, so someone like Iozhara could call up your file without fuss. They gave a slight raised eyebrow. “I’d give you my blood type, but... don’t think we’re there yet.”
Iozhara found herself smiling while she reached in to help Martinez remove the boot. "If this were head trauma, I'd probably ask for it." Her breathing apparatus hissed softly while she squinted at the laces.
Slowly and carefully, Iozhara peeled back the tongue of the boot to reveal an angry red and swollen ankle. "Tell me, Martinez," she said, gently wiggling the the heel. "How attached are you to these boots?"
Martinez made a show of sucking air through their teeth, an imitation of their father back in the shipyards, looking at a bulkhead that needed more than just a plate replaced. The sort of sound that made shift foremen shudder. “Tough to say. They’re my shiniest pair...” They glanced at her and gave a small nod. “I’ve got others. And I can replicate more. Good thing about being an officer. No Sergeant around to shout at me for doing that.” They shifted slightly, hands still on their knees. “Do what you’ve got to do.” It wouldn’t be the first bit of uniform they’d had cut off. Not by a long shot.
The Barzan nurse nodded once, setting to the task in the way all medical professionals do when permission has been granted--the rest being a ritual.
"Good," she said. "Boots are replaceable and I want to ensure you're comfortable."
She reached for a cylindrical device and verified the settings by pressing a series of buttons on one side. Satisfied, she leaned down while holding the Lieutenant's shin. There was no rush and no need to hurry. Iozhara pointed the device--a trauma shear--at the point where she judged the navicular bone to be located. A fine orange beam shot-out from the shear and cut through the boot like a hot butter knife slicing through butter.
"Were you training alone, Lieutenant?" Iozhara asked, moving the shear around the boot while she spoke.
Martinez watched the beam work its way through the boot, eyes tracking the slow melt of material with something close to resignation. “Yeah,” they said, voice low but clear. “Training alone.” They shifted slightly on the biobed, careful not to move the injured foot. Just enough to settle a hand on their opposite knee. “I do the squad drills. Full kit, obstacle runs, zero-g prep, all of it. I show up.” They met her eyes as they said it, steady and direct. Not defensive. Just making sure she didn’t mistake solitude for slack.
Their jaw tightened for a moment. Then came the breath, and the smile....small, dry, a little self-deprecating. “Sometimes I run the old sets. Ground Forces conditioning. Doesn’t need much space. Just grit and repetition.” A beat passed, just to...set it up. “Clearly not my brightest move today. But I’ve done worse damage trying to fold a cot in low gravity.”
The beam had completed a full circumference of the boot and Iozhara was now moving it down the tongue of the boot toward Martinez's toes. A faint scent--warm polymer and ozone--came from the device's incision.
"We're all victims of bad days," she said softly, deeply concentrating on liberating the marine's foot.
Iozhara had noted they're mention of zero-g training and felt a small smile creep onto her lips. She adjusted the shear's angle as it approached their toes.
"Zero-g," she said, not looking up. "When I have the time, I like to climb. I have a few holodeck programs saved."
“I used to play zero-g handball at my last posting,” Martinez said, voice light. Sickbay chatter wasn’t their usual rhythm. Most of the time, if a nurse or doctor was involved, it meant a full medical or someone had been dragged in half-conscious. If they were lucky. Still, it made sense, talking while she worked. Kept the focus elsewhere, helped distract from the discomfort. That faint pulse of sensation that said they’d pushed something a step too far.
“Don’t suppose there’s a team here,” they added, glancing down as the device moved. “Might have to find a new hobby.” Could have been worse. Some people broke actual bones doing this kind of thing.Martinez hadn’t...not this time. A lifetime of supplements and an adult life lived in Earth-standard gravity had made up for what Mars hadn’t given them.
Iozhara deactivated the shear and set it aside. The boot was now perfectly sliced open length-wise and with several crisscrosses. "Moment of truth, Martinez," she said, placing one hand on their calf and the other holding the carved boot steady.
~To Be Continued in: It Was, All Things Considered, a Bad Day to Injure an Ankle, Part II~
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