Scipia stared down at her rations with a deep frown. Slowly but surely, the Turians were losing rations and Terran food wasn't as nutritious for Turians unless the Turians took supplements to counter-balance it. The problems were brought forward to the leaders of the barracks, ex-officers of the Hierarchy before they defected. The group came ahead over the individual, but..none of them knew what to do to. The Terrans had huge gardens outside and some had goats for their own uses (meat, milk, etc.) that, along with cow trade from other cities and hunting in the forest, kept the town rather well stocked with food.
One of the officers, deciding to take the initiative, just opened the door to walk out and call upon the Terrans for help. Pride be damned, he couldn't let his people go hungry.
He froze when he saw the sight walking up the dark grey street to their barracks.
An android, hauling a few long handled garden hoes, a burlap sack, and a hand cart with him, found the Turian barracks nearest him. The android had a look not unlike that of a car engine, with a flat head-esque skull frame housing two bright brown eyes, some synthetic flesh allowing ease of expression on his face, with two piston heads bolted to him one to a side. They acted as ears.
The defectees, while slowly coming around to the Mechanoids existance, still were standoffish when the machine arrived.
"What do you want?" asked a Turian, who once was a sergeant, as he stood before the android who gave a snort and spoke with a slightly tinny voice. "For you to get off your asses and work for your food. You work, you eat. Simple as that." The android certainly didn't mince words.
The Turian nodded "Where do we work?" The other defectees, knowing of their dispairing ration count, lisntened intently.
"Your own backyard. You're going to learn how to take care of a garden, how to grow your own food, and you're going to earn your keep if you're going to be a drain on us." The Turians quickly became indignant at that.
"A drain? How so?"
"It's taxpayer dollars that's keeping your barracks here, you know. Taxes and donations keeping the local mayor from collapsing it and telling you to get bent with a barge pole." The ex-sergeat listened intently at that "But you're contributing nothing. The military may've taken pity on you in the war, but it's been awhile now and you need to start giving something back and being useful or you're going to be out in the woods." Flathead crossed his mechanical arms, a white and blue striped shirt underneath denim overalls "You Turians are collectivist, aren't you? What one does reflects the group? The Group over the individual and all that, I've read your codex. Currently, you're being rather bad Turians by doing nothing here." The ex-sergeant nodded a bit, shame forming a bit in his belly.
"What do we do?"
"Follow me," Flathead took the cart with him leading the Turians around the back through a gate. There was a flat backyard there, nothing really special, but plenty of open space. It was fenced off by recently placed, recently lacquered wooden posts put in by a combined effort of a construction crew and the Turians.
Already, Flathead took one of the hoes from his cart and held it, the bladed part up and the handle planted in the ground. With a sigh, he smiled. "See? This is gonna be a great farm, more than you could need really! But good for surplus." The ex-sergeant looked around the blank area with an attempt at Flathead's own vision, but was failing rather spectacularly.
All he saw was a yard of 50 feet long and 50 wide.
"Raised beds here and here," Flathead pointed at certain points of the yard with metal fingers "Rain barrels for collection under the gutters here," He pointed behind himself and under the gutters, which had a white metal tube leading down. There was a split in one of them, indicating it could be removed "Aquaponics if you're into fish." Flathead pointed at a shaded part to the right of the gutter tube which acted as either a back porch or just a shaded area for protection from the sun.
"Could knock a door in for easy access," Flathead wondered as the Turians began piecing together the vision in their heads "But first thing's first!" Flathead turned to his cart and reached in after giving the hoe to one of the Turians who looked at the instrument like it was utterly alien to him.
Flathead retrieved four long wooden boards, some nails, and a hammer.
"One of you get that bag," one of them did indeed get that bag "Bring it here." Flathead ordered as he set down his tools and turned.
"What is this?" Asked the Turian who hefted the bag over her shoulder receiving a semi-offensive smell meeting her nose "It smells like.."
"Manure. It's soil and compost from right here in town," Flathead nodded his head, helping with the bag once she was close enough "It'll help start your crops." The bag was set down on the ground while the other Turians spread out amongst the yard.
"What's your name?" asked the ex-sergeant, feeling he already knew the answer.
"Flathead," Flathead knocked his knuckles against his head with a 'ding ding' and a chuckle.
"I should've figured," The Turian chuckled softly, mandibles spread showing his amusement. "What do you want us to do?" He inquired watching as Flathead and the Turian female, Vibiria, set up the boards after digging in a slight trench and burying them in and hammering them together at the joints creating a hollow box.
After, Flathead used a three pronged garden hoe to disturb the soil and pull it over, softening it up. Using his fingers, a small shovel, and some foreknowledge Flathead leaned back and pulled up the bag as he looked up at the ex-sergeant "Do what I just did. What's your name, anyhow?"
"Proctis."
"Good to meet you, Proctis. All of you, get to work! If you need more boards, go to the shop down the road and tell 'em Flathead sent you. They'll get you hooked up."
Some of the Turians left to do just that after the others pulled up boards, nails, hammers and hoes.
Proctis didn't mince words, helping his people with their own trenches, boxes and soil disturbing as Flathead and Vibiria poured in some of the soil into the box and created a fine layer of dirt.
After the other Turians returned with sod, boards and other supplies the boxes were set up. 6 medium ones and one long one at the end. Space was left between the porch area and the boxes, about 20 feet worth of. Between the boxes in each row was 18 inches worth's space in a stack, and two feet between each row. Each box and row had plenty of space around and between for maneuvering and picking.
After the boxes were set up, Flathead produced seed packets from a pocket in his overalls and began pressing seeds into the upturned soil.
Corn, tomatos, and other crops were planted with the Turians' help. A good start, they had to admit.
But there was one problem.
"These crops aren't going to grow that quickly to stop our problem," Proctis frowned as Flathead listened intently "By the time they grow, we'll be out."
"I had that planned," Flathead retrived his cart "You're going to work at one of the gardens. For now, the Mayor has agreed to let you use it until your own crop is up and running. Most people have pantries full of canned food, so it was a rather easy decision."
Proctis and the other Turians, whispering amongst themselves, felt joy upon hearing this. So the Terrans weren't ignoring them.
"Your people are too kind, Flathead," Proctis said as he and the others followed "Thank you."
"You were being a drain on the community, needed to do something to get you active." Flathead grinned back at Proctis good naturedly as the Turians were led to a much, much larger garden.
With so much food that it'd solve their ration problem rather quickly.
"You've also got a few people looking to teach you how to can and the different techniques of," Flathead said, letting his cart down and turning completely to the Turians. "If you're gonna make the most of your harvest, ya gotta know how to can. Eventually, you'll have enough to trade. Maybe, just maybe, it'll go farther than that. But, until that day, let's get in there and start identifying what is and isn't ready for harvest."
By the Gods they did, as well.
It took the better part of the day, but the Turians began to learn quickly and carried basketfulls of crops back to their shelter. As Flathead promised, a few other Humans came by to show the Turians how to do canning, breaking down some of the crops for the process and properly sealing them in mason jars.
The Turians were surprised to find that while they put plenty into the jars for canning, there was still plenty left over.
The Humans left out the obvious expectation of the Turians that they'd contribute right back, it was made clear enough with Flathead and the general attitude the Terrans held.
The Turians weren't ones to dissapoint.
(Poor Turians, unsure what to do in an alien environment. Not feeling the beginning of this chapter, but bugger it, I'm thinking on what's gonna happen in the future. I hope you enjoyed!)
