Half the Day Is Night by Maureen F. McHugh Read Free Book Online Page B

thong. The mask was supposed to mean something, it was some kind of rank. At least according to the vid.
    David was watching the boys, too. “Why aren’t they cold?”
    â€œPyroxin, probably.”
    He looked at her sideways, he didn’t understand.
    â€œIt’s a drug. Makes your metabolism burn higher. Divers take it.”
    He sort of sat up. “You don’t get cold?” Interested. Surface people were always cold.
    She shook her head, grinning. “It’s illegal. Don’t even think about it.”
    He gave an exaggerated sigh and she laughed. She liked him. He could be funny when he wanted to. Once his English got a little better he’d do fine.
    The metal door was the size of the door on her garage. As it pulled up, the boys ducked under, but everybody else waited until it was all the way up. The embarcadero was lined with advertisements and she could smell seawater from the surfacing pool.
    They walked through the door and there was a sharp crack and David shouted, a hoarse startled shout.
    â€œWhat—” Something red, bright arterial red, spattered the floor and her side. She shrieked. David crouched, one arm across his eyes and his whole front and left side was covered in red. She thought, Diós mio, he’s hurt. He’s been hurt, there was so much red, so much blood, all over him.
    This is bad, she thought.
    There was an acrid, eye-watering smell.
    Astoundingly he was crouching there, not fallen, but there was so much blood she didn’t want him to turn around. There had to be something bad if there was that much hurt and she didn’t want to see it, and she stepped back a bit more and her back was against the wall.
    She started coughing, David was coughing, still holding one arm over his eyes. Her eyes were watering furiously, tears blinding her.
    Pinche tear gas. It was the telltale. He had his right arm held straight out away and behind him. The telltale had gone off. It wasn’t a bomb.
    People in maroon were running towards them shouting at them in English and Creole. She saw a gun drawn. Mother of God don’t let them shoot, she thought, it wasn’t her fault. “It’s a mistake!” she wheezed. Her throat hurt and she kept coughing. David was shouting in French, still holding his right arm over his eyes, and three Marine Security officers had their guns drawn on him. But he was all right, she thought, as long as they didn’t shoot him he was all right.
    â€œIt’s a mistake,” she said and coughed again.
    â€œShut the fuck up!” an officer yelled, wheeling on her with gun drawn. Just like the vid, she thought, and shut up.
    *   *   *
    David’s wrist was burned where the telltale had gone off, and his eyes were bloody red from the gas. His suit was completely ruined. The Uncles gave him a pair of maroon overalls to wear and gave him his suit in a sealed plastic bag. He came out to the waiting room with his hair slicked down from the shower and his eyes on the floor.
    â€œAre you okay?” she asked.
    He looked up at her with his red eyes, furious, but didn’t say anything.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, thinking, it wasn’t really her fault. What could she have done? The Uncles had just lectured her for an hour on how they should have waited for the officer to come to the checkpoint. Her dress was ruined. She’d buy him a new goddamn suit.
    â€œThey said we can go now,” she said, her voice small.
    He nodded. His left hand was still faintly red from the dye.
    Maybe she should have said they should wait, but the woman at the checkpoint hadn’t said anything about sensors at the shuttle ports, just banks. He could have insisted they wait.
    Outside the station they stepped on the ped mover. He didn’t say anything the entire trip to the port. He glanced up at her once, with his red furious eyes. They looked ghastly. Her eyes ached, too. But his eyes hurt to