The Solars

My feet, inside my knee high tight fitting black and turquoise electroboots, pad the black granite floors of the aircraft. I am a pilot in training. The cockpit calls me as I make my way through two rows of passenger seats.

I reached the cockpit and sat in and oversized, yet comfortable black leather pilot's seat. When I settled down in the chair, my arm beeped. I was getting a call. I look to my left arm and tapped one of the turquoise plates on the tight fitting pilot suit.

"Charge up before you lift off, Asia." It's my dad. He smiled and the message finished.

"Great. Right before the best part, I have to charge," I thought to myself.

My parents adopted me when I was a baby. They adopted me as a solar, a type human that they had bred genetically in the past. Solars don't need food or water, or even sleep. They were made in the past to reduce the use of water and food. Something went wrong and they stopped making them. Somewhere in history, my ancestors were solars. In a one in a million chance, being a solar got passed onto me after over three hundred years of no one in my descent being a solar.

My parents carted me off to the orphanage when I was still a baby. Christina and Jeremiah said they couldn't take their eyes off my fiery red hair and piercing green eyes. They adopted me as soon as they had the chance.

They'd had me since I was two, and I'm sixteen now. Dad has taught me a lot about flying.

I press a button on the large selection of buttons and dials on the dashboard and a slide of glass shifted down and opened me up to the sun and fresh air. It was a feature that dad put into the aircraft for me. I stretch out my palms to the sun and open my mouth. I feel instantly revived.