The Phlorans heard a distress call, a actual distress call as a lifepod was shooting through the atmosphere from a ship that had been badly damaged from a micrometeoroid that hit what was, essentially, a ship made of the proverbial "chicken wire and string". They opened the pod to find an injured individual and managed, at least, to keep them healthy with printed foods, and clean water, but due to solar storms, could not signal out for at least a week or so that this person needed to be picked up. Fortunately, this person was not a "baby eater" and accepted the offered nutrients. They were thin, filthy, unwell, and desperately grateful for the plant-people's kindness. And while waiting for help, even though they couldn't do much, at least would carefully, despite the braces and splints holding their broken bones in place, try to repair the damage their skidding pod did. Albeit, slowly and painfully, though they did rest when scolded for pushing too hard. -- Anon Guest
[AN: In reference to @internutter/challenge-03170-h261-nothing-was-hurt ]
Human Don was the polar opposite of Human Lass. Thin where Lass was robust, nervous where Lass was confident. Quiet where Lass was vocal. Ze was obviously in distress when the guards came to investigate. Hir ship was barely that. Held together with gum, ductape and wire, the shocking part was that it had been capable of interstellar travel.
And, still in a form of armour designed to help hir bones heal, Human Don was doing what ze could to fix the damage caused by hir crash onto their world.
Only the fact that ze got upset when prevented from doing so actually made the Phlorans let hir. The manuals insisted they could use this as a form of physical therapy. What they didn't expect was Don's toxic work ethic.
Don was gasping, sweating, and trembling. Applying mortar under the direction of the therapist. Simply because ze could not lift the lightest of Fungabricks[1]. The syrupy mortar was too heavy for hir too, and now spreading it on the wall was sapping what little remained of hir energy.
"It is time to rest," insisted Therapist Blyte. "You are exhausted."
"I'm... still... conscious." Don almost dropped their super-light mortar spoon. "I... can still... work..." Ze blinked. Drooped. Dropped the spoon.
Something had to be done. The therapy was bordering on damaging, and it was all because of Don's insistence. They never complained. Merely accepted whatever the Phlorans told hir.
Which may yet work in their favour.
Don shook hirself awake. "I didn't finish... I'll be fined. I didn't finish..."
"Mandatory enjoyment time has commenced," announced Therapist Blyte, wheeling Don away from the work site. "You must contemplate flowers in the breeze to the accompanyment of relaxing sounds for one hour. Then it is time for massage and warm bath. Following this... treat nutrients."
"But I haven't paid for what I got already," said Don. "I don't know what my bill is like."
Ah. Things became clear. Don must be what the manuals referred to as a... 'Deregger'.
Now. The only problem remaining was how to make therapeutic relaxation seem like work.
[1] Fungus can be an amazing building material, especially when it's made to be food for the parasitic ironwood vine that actually makes the structure in progress, here. When the vine runs out of food, it perishes, leaving the rigid structure behind.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / totalpics]
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