The Sunpeople

“Come on, let’s get these lines pulled.”

Brady checked his watch. “You still want to get this delivery done today?”

“I do. They’re waiting for us, and I don’t want to disappoint them. I feel sorry for them in a way.”

“Who? The sunpeople? Or the staff having to deal with them?”

She sighed. It was a conversation that would no doubt turn into a debate, and she was in no mood. It was almost 10:30 and they only had ninety minutes before the sun came up and her to do list was longer than she would have liked. She decided to just let the comment slide. For now.

“Yeah, the crazy sunpeople.” It was easier to go along with him and keep her opinions to herself.

“Let’s do it. I’ll take the odds, you take the evens. We’ll be done in an hour.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, smiling as she pulled on her rubber gloves and boots before approaching the icy waters with her controls.

They worked in silence concentrating on getting the drones in perfect coordination with the pulleys on the landing pads. Hopefully the buckets were full, and the pulleys didn’t jam. She looked out at the gray waters in dread. Was it her imagination or were the ice chunks getting larger? She didn’t want to say anything, she saw what happened to those who asked questions. She would just observe quietly and pray she was wrong.

Pads two, four and six went off surprisingly well. The buckets were full of fish, beautiful mouthwatering specimens that had kept her business afloat (no pun intended) for the last ten years. Her business fed the island families without competition. She gazed into the angry waters under the deep black sky and once again asked herself who in their right mind would want to do this job. It was no wonder she had no competition.

Drone eight hit a snag. “Damn it all,” she cursed. Drone eight had turned into her problem child after pulling up those freakish fish that made her stomach clench in fear. How long would the fish continue to burrow themselves into the ocean floor finding their way into the traps she had set? What would she do if the business dried up? More mutant fish was not a good sign. It was enough to keep her up at night terrified. 

She glanced over at Brady absorbed in his work. She thought of the community at the top of the hill looking forward to their delivery. She adored them, their quirky stories were secretly the highlight of her week. She knew they were somewhat ‘off’, living in their own world, but she was fascinated by the mass delusions they seemed to share. How was it possible? Some drug inadvertently ingested years ago? An experiment gone astray? She pondered it to the point of losing friends and family members who couldn’t or wouldn’t listen to her anymore. Her obsessive musings had turned her into Charlie Brown’s teacher.  ‘Whomp, whomp, whomp” was all they heard while staring at her as if she was going off the rails. Maybe she was.

One more attempt to connect at pad eight. Nope. Stuck again. “Fuck it.” She backed up her controls and set out for pad ten. She didn’t want to be there all morning, there was way too much to do during suntime.

Basket ten was full thankfully, and she breathed a sigh of relief while dumping the fish into the icy tank on the truck. “Brady, I beat your ass. Come on dude, shake a leg.” She didn’t have to tell him she skipped an entire pad, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Her nagging feeling was that it was not a failure of her equipment but rather another mutation of the fish. That kind of bad news could wait.

Brady looked at her with surprise then looked up to the sky seeing the first streaks of light appear. “Want to grab lunch?” he asked her.

“No thanks. Drop me off at home. My greenhouse desperately needs suntime today. Pick me up at two?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

They got into the cab of the truck hearing the sloshing coming from the tank in back. Was it her imagination or was there more ice in that water than usual? She shuddered.

***

She worked fast having little time to spare. Winding back her awning, she looked up through the glass ceiling of her greenhouse. Was it slightly darker than usual? She glanced at the double clocks hung overhead, 12:03 displayed on the main clock and 1 hour, 57 minutes flashed on the countdown clock.

After placing her devices on the table in the yard, she rushed to pull her car up the driveway and set it in the sunlight. It was getting too tight with the additional business lately. She hardly had the power in her truck to make rounds as it was, how was she going to manage the additional work load? Something was going to have to give. 

Her thoughts returned to the moon panels she had been researching. They were exorbitantly expensive but with the new business maybe she could afford them. As she switched on the irrigation and checked the vegetables, her mind worked on the problem, doing the math over and over again trying to find an equation that would work. Adding the salads to the seafood would increase her income tremendously but could she handle the extra work? Hiring additional staff would solve that, but the greenhouse was on her private property. Did she want to open her doors to workers? Relocating her indoor garden was out of the question, and relocating her personal living space was not something she wanted to consider either.

Making her way around the tight space she noticed the overflow of tomatoes in the corner, which was not surprising as that area received the most direct sunlight. The lamps helped of course, as they were the main source of light, but the proof was in the pudding so to speak. The actual sun was not easily replaced artificially. 

Checking the overhead clocks again she read 12:47 and 1 hour, 13 minutes. The residents at The Hilltop were expecting her at 2:30, allowing them thirty minutes to make the drive if Brady picked her up exactly at sundown. She made an executive decision. Grabbing a basket, she quickly picked the best tomatoes. If approved, she could easily add a collection to the greens she already delivered and put that money aside for the panels. The math could actually work.

The Hilltop residents fascinated her to no end. Despite being centenarians, they were surprisingly healthy, their cheeks always full of color, their dispositions upbeat. She thought of the dark circles under her own eyes, the sallow skin, the depression that threatened her daily, having to beat it back with a stick like a monster. How were those Hilltop people so happy and healthy?

She remembered a documentary she had watched as a child before they were banned. Random senior citizens from around the world were seated in nondescript rooms to be interviewed. All asked the same questions, all responded with the same answers. It was not possible. Did she imagine that study? There was no trace of it anywhere except her fading memory.

Had they all dreamed the same dream? Visited by aliens, programmed somehow? 

The first set of bells chimed alerting her to the fact that it was 1:00 and halfway through sunlight. Damn. Move faster, girl, move faster.

***

Brady showed up at precisely 2:00 and helped load the crates of greens onto the truck. She placed the baskets of tomatoes next to her on the front seat wanting to present them to the staff upon entering. Although Brady was precisely on time, something was off that she couldn’t put her finger on. Her clocks seemed to be inaccurate again, and with only two hours of sunlight a day it was imperative to be exact. She had been dismayed when at 1:58 it was already dark. The two minute discrepancy was troublesome. If her clocks failed, then her irrigation would fail, the domino effect disastrous. 

“What time do you have, Brady?” She asked as they drove down the dark road, headlights guiding the way through the narrow island roads.

“2:05 boss. Everything ok?” He gave her a worried look. 

“Sure thing. Just don’t want to keep the sunpeople waiting.” She hated throwing them under the bus like that, but he confirmed her fears. It was never pitch dark at 2:05. With the sunset at 2:00 it took more than five minutes to be engulfed into complete darkness. Her mind was spinning. What if? Was it possible? Was suntime getting shorter? 

***

“Ready for the looney bin, boss?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Hey, can you handle the fish on your own this time? I want to go over some paperwork, crunch the numbers with their office manager.”

“No problem. I’d rather be in the kitchen anyway. Those people really creep me out.”

***

“Rachel, come in! We’re always so glad to see you. Look who’s here, ladies and gentlemen!” Katie opened the door for her and stepped aside after announcing her arrival.

“Thanks, Katie. I have a surprise for everyone today. Fresh tomatoes from my greenhouse. Does anyone like tomatoes?”

She was greeted with enthusiasm by the group. They ran over to see the crop, marveling at the redness, the perfect ripeness. It had been years since anything new had been added to their diet as only a limited selection of businesses agreed to delivery.

“Would you like to see my painting, Miss Rachel?” Milly asked, her eyes glowing with excitement. “You can have it as my thank you gift for the tomatoes.”

“I would love to see your artwork. Please show me.” She accepted the old woman’s outstretched hand, allowing herself to be guided down the hallway. Once again she was surprised by the strength and steadiness of her gait. No one would believe she was 109 years old. 

Katie followed, obviously pleased with their interaction. “Their art class was a lot of fun today. I’m sure that being in the business you will appreciate the fishing theme.”

Reaching the art room Katie once again held open the door allowing the ladies entry. Rachel gasped at the easels set up around the room holding beautiful paintings, each almost identical to the others.

Looking around in amazement she took in the beauty of the vibrantly painted scenes of the ocean. The sun glistened on the horizon reflecting beautiful colors onto the water, gentle waves hinted by small ripples. Light puffy clouds were placed randomly in the sky. Some artists had painted small boats with people relaxing, their legs hanging over the sides, holding poles. The magnificent colors emanated a feeling of hope and warmth. She thought back to that morning struggling with choppy gray waters under a pitch dark sky. The contrast was shocking, disorientating.

“Milly, how is it possible that you all imagined identical scenes?”

“Oh, they are not imagined, my dear.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, holding her breath in anticipation.

“They’re our memories.”