Children of the Sun

It was a perfect day. The cerulean sky above was completely cloudless and the late morning sun burned bright above; the wind was calm, little more than a gentle breeze. Behind me, I could hear the sounds of brunch being served over by the hotel’s opulent outdoor dining area; the clinking of silverware and soft, indecipherable speech dotted with superficial laughter.

Directly in front of me, however, was the serenity of the sea.

Stumbling down the embankment, my bare feet slipping and gliding with each step as the sand below gave way; warm and shifting between my toes. When I reached the bottom, I held one arm up to block the burning light of the summer sun.

The sunlight glistened off what was once my flesh. Golden light refracted into a thousand prismatic colours as it hit the shiny, snakeskin-like surface of my new skin.

They called it Heliodermis.

It was the latest in high-tech body mods, derived from the latest world-changing technology - a durable nanomaterial grafted directly over the skin that could absorb sunlight and turn it into energy, just like photosynthesis for plants. The technology was so efficient that you only needed to cover about 10% of your body to completely negate the need to eat.

It had changed humankind instantly. For our entire existence, the necessity to eat had been at the forefront. To hunt, to gather, to provide for ourselves and our families - none of that was a concern anymore. Now all we needed was water and sunlight.

I loved my new skin. It extended up my forearms, and I had a T-shaped swathe of it across my back and spine to make up the threshold required to thrive solely off sunlight.

Some had chosen to only have small patches of heliodermis grafted, which meant they still needed ‘traditional’ food to live, but barely had to eat more than once a day - some only once a week. Heliodermis was still a nascent innovation, but it would continue to elevate humankind and change the world. It was the beginning of something big. We all knew it.

I scanned the horizon atop the endless blue sea, searching for what I'd come to this beach for. Before long, I saw it - a small sailboat, and sitting in it was a young woman - my partner, Nimue. I could tell by her shimmering copper hair, visible even from the shore.

I saw her wave me over, and knew she wasn’t heading any further inland to meet me. It was a playful challenge; I'd have to earn my spot on the boat.

I grinned and awkwardly removed my shirt as I waded out into the sea. After dipping under the water a few times to acclimate, I began the long swim out to where she had anchored.

Another side-effect of heliodermis was that being sustained only by sunlight meant that a lot of the negative effects of eating were gone; no more obesity, no more diabetes, no more foodborne illnesses of any kind. The energy gained from sunlight even helped in muscle development; anyone with helio grafting was in peak physical form. Myself included.

By the time I reached the boat, Nimue had unfurled the sail, which gleamed a magnificent golden colour - a sunsail. It was the same tech as heliodermis, like a modern iteration of solar panels except a hundredfold more efficient. It still looked like an old fabric sail like those of centuries past, but this was just for the aesthetic. The boat wasn't actually powered by wind, but a small motor at the back that was linked to the sail, which drew power from the sunlight.

Nimue leaned against the mast. The sun gleamed off her copper hair almost as brilliantly as it did off the heliodermis that framed her hairline; a strip of it ran across her forehead and down the sides of her face, ending just before the ear. She also had it grafted to accentuate her collarbone, as well as some artfully installed patterns on her sternum.

I always thought she looked beautiful, but her helio made her into a goddess, especially the parts of it that resembled a crown upon her head.

“Ready for an adventure?” She asked with a smile, offering me her hand as I clambered into the boat, a lot less graciously than I would've liked.

“Sure, another lap of the island?” I replied, getting to my feet.

New Pella was the name of the city we’d been visiting, situated on a beautiful island out in the gulf. We’d been here for a few days on holiday, rented a boat and spent much of our time here out on the water and in the sun. That was how most of us with helio spent our free time now. In the sun.

“I was thinking something else, actually.” Nimue mused. “There are other islands in this archipelago, wanna check them out?”

I was a little apprehensive about that. Tour guides had warned against it; New Pella was the most populated island by far, and the only one with any sort of infrastructure or amenities. The rest were far more destitute, if they were even habitable anymore.

“I thought they were all abandoned…” I said hesitantly.

“Good, then nobody will know we stopped by. Besides, I just want to look at them, I don’t actually want to land somewhere.”

“Fiiiine.” I said with a sigh. “You've won me over. Again.”

Nimue laughed and headed for the helm, switching the engine on. It gurgled and croaked, but the power drawn from the glittering golden sail soon had it roaring to life.

We sped out into the open ocean, the salty spray of the ocean kicking up around us. The sunlight, which would once have singed our skin and left us with a nasty sunburn, now only fuelled us. We felt invincible under those golden rays.

It wasn't long before another landmass loomed before us.

Unlike New Pella, there were no hotel skyscrapers or manicured beachfront parks to welcome us in. Instead it was a rickety old wharf from which a dozen fishing lines criss-crossed the shallows, segmenting it like farmland. A cluster of short, squat wooden buildings lay further inland, looking entirely devoid of life. Almost.

“Abandoned, like the tour guides said.” I muttered, but Nimue was entranced.

“What was this place?” She said softly.

“Some old settlement, doesn't matter now.” I replied, sounding dismissive. I really did not want to go explore this place, but it was no use. I’d seen the wanderlust in her eyes, and I knew what she was about to say.

“Let’s get a closer look. We can moor the boat at the pier there, it looks sturdy enough.” she said excitedly.

“Nim…” I groaned.

“Come on, we’re on holiday. We’re here to make memories, to have adventures!” she urged, nudging me in the ribs.

I sighed and let out a defeated shrug. I could never say no to her beautiful golden face.

As we homed in on the wharf, Nimue readied herself by the stern, a long coil of rope in her hands. When we were only a couple metres away, she leaped out with the rope in her hand, landing with a neat roll on the rickety wooden planks of the wharf. She quickly wrapped the rope around a beam and pulled the ship flush, all in one fluid motion.

I was momentarily starstruck at her physical strength and agility, but quickly remembered that it was all the helio energy. She must have been out charging in the sun all morning, no wonder she could pull off moves like that.

Killing the engine and furling the sunsail, I joined her on the wharf, still reluctant to step foot on this forsaken island. Whatever people lived here, whatever industry once inhabited this wharf, it was gone now. As far as I was concerned, there was no reason to be here. Our unsanctioned intrusion felt akin to poking a dead body with a stick.

But Nim didn't see it that way. To her, this place was like a playground, a treasure trove of fascinating relics of a long-past era. She practically dragged me up the wharf, the planks creaking precariously under our feet - a detail she wouldn't have noticed, but I definitely did. Even when we reached the end of the rotting wooden wharf and stepped foot on the island proper, I didn’t feel any better about coming here.

All around us were empty buildings. Old signage identified them as general stores, fisherman’s offices, ferry operators, and even a couple cafes and a tavern with a sign out the front reading: The Best Buttered Crab in the Gulf.

From within that tavern, I saw movement.

“Nim, I don't think this place is abandoned…” I murmured.

“It isn't.” came a voice from behind us.

We both whirled around to see an old man, probably in his late fifties, carrying a small bucket in each hand.

“Who are you?” Nimue gasped, startled. The old man crouched down and placed his buckets on the ground, then he stood upright, puffed out his chest and crossed his arms indignantly.

“Someone who lives here. Unlike you.” He said with a scoff.

“Come now dear, that's not very welcoming.” another voice sung out from the tavern. Emerging from a small side door was a woman of the same age, likely his wife.

“Pah. Welcoming.” he grumbled, mostly to himself. “Why be welcoming…”

“Because that's who we are.” The old lady countered sternly.

Nim and I, caught in between this exchange about our presence but without being part of it, were silent. At least until the woman addressed us directly.

“Have you had lunch yet, dears?” she asked kindly.

We shook our heads.

“Well, it's a good thing my husband caught a couple extra crabs this morning then.” She grinned.

The man looked about to protest, but closed his mouth and scowled instead.

The four of us shuffled into the old tavern, with our hosts disappearing behind the bar and into what was presumably the kitchen.

Nim and I took in our surroundings.

It was a beautiful old building, with glossy wooden detailing, sky blue wallpaper and plenty of memorabilia hung on the walls. Old posters for events in town, some fishing gear, a few newspaper clippings featuring this very tavern, and a series of photos of people who I imagined were important to this place.

Those photos in particular stood out to me. The glass had been polished, kept free of dust or smudges, but the photos themselves were not recent. Dates had been carved into the wooden frames. The last was over a year ago.

“Take a seat, take a seat!” the woman said, reappearing from the kitchen and ushering us gently into a booth. We fell into it, noticing the fading paint and the dirty windows beside us.

“What happened here?’ Nim blurted out, her tone dangerously close to revulsion. She was never one to contain herself.

“What do you mean, dear?” said the older woman, sliding into the booth opposite us.

“Well, I just mean, the town… Are you the only ones here?”

The woman didn’t answer straight away, and instead looked to her husband, who had emerged from the kitchen. He grumbled under his breath as he struggled to take a seat next to his wife. I couldn’t tell if it was his knees or his back, but something was giving out.

“The town...” the man muttered. “What do you think, child?”

Nim stiffened, and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t like feeling patronised, and in fairness, even I had a hard time ignoring the resentment in his tone.

“I’m not a child, thankyou.” She said frostily. “And I-”

“Fishing village, wasn’t it?” I cut in, trying my best to sound amenable and respectful.

The man grunted in the affirmative. His wife laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“Yes, that’s who we were.” she said, taking over the conversation. She looked sad all of a sudden, and paired with her husband’s bitter disposition, it didn’t take me long to put the pieces together. Nimue, on the other hand…

“So? Are you going to tell us what happened?” She pressed, earning another scowl out of the man. The old lady sighed, and forced a smile.

“Well, dear, it’s like your friend said. We were a fishing village. That was our livelihood, the livelihood of the whole town. Once everyone stopped needing to eat, the industry… it just dried up.”

She uttered a soft, almost pitiful laugh.

“Oh, the irony of it all. Now, there’s more fish than ever out in those waters. I suppose that’s something to be thankful for.”

“I’d prefer our town back.” The man said resolutely, straightening his back and glaring balefully at us.

“They won’t understand. Look at them, with their golden skin. Sickens me.”

Nimue glared right back at him, opening her mouth to quip back, but the man had already launched his tirade.

“You never even considered the cost, have you? Destroying entire industries overnight, industries that have been around for millenia. Then all of a sudden, gone.”

Nimue didn’t respond; she was too taken aback. The man leaned back and shook his head.

“We’ve overstepped, as a species. Trying to repress our basest instincts… it isn’t right.” He exchanged a glance with his wife, who looked reproachful but understanding. They’d had this conversation before.

“I think we should go.” Nimue muttered, getting to her feet.

“No, no. You haven’t yet eaten-” the woman started, cutting herself off when she realised that what she was offering wasn’t what it once was in generations past. Not to us.

“Remember this, Children of the Sun,” the man called out to us hauntingly as we moved for the door.

“People have appetites. They always will. Don’t think that because of your golden skin, you’re beyond that hunger."

"You will never be free of it.”