“Should we get started?” A spindly man sporting a long greying beard asked as he gazed across the smaller team of villagers who’d gathered at the corner of the misshapen field. With such an oddly small team he knew the faster they got started the better.

“Apparently we’re just explaining things?” Another of the older farmers who’d briefly heard the plan filled in for the man. “That’s why it’s just us old-timers, Gyst.”

Gyst, the first farmer scoffed at the liver spotted speakers response. But before his witty response could land a loud rabble filled the air and distracted both men away.

“What in the hells?” Gyst muttered as the distant black cloud of vehicles bore down the narrow path. One by one a trio of massive machines stopped a short distance away in the dormant field.

As the older men slowly made their way to meet the three who stepped down from the vehicles, they used each slow step to inspect the machines further.

Each had a similar but slightly varied design, the farmers hadn’t buried their heads in the sand, so they knew of the bus the frequented the village, and they had all personally considered the possibilities of using similar horseless carriages to ease their farming burden. But this was beyond their imaginations.

“What’d say old boys?” A thickly accented man who lead the caravan of tractors asked as he slapped the massive rubber tires. “Engine’s a Royce 406 turboshaft. Awesome efficiency for the horses. Gallon’a fuel should get you ten acres seeding, maybe twenty spraying if designs work out.”

“Dude, you’re speaking Japanese to ‘em.” Another of the Arna and Reynolds interrupted with a nudge. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you all. We’re looking forward to getting your insight into some of the implements we’re planning on using this season. If you have any questions or suggestions, we are all ears. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Three crops were primary in the region, as soil conditions dictated, the first was of course grain, in this case a short growing variety that often-formed in clumps, making the replanting process extremely tiresome. Beside that was the lesser grown, but highly profitable Herald’s pea, it was used across the region as a spice but it would only yield well if weather conditions were perfect which rarely occurred. It was typically seen as a gamble crop. Small fields scattered across the valley would be planted in the hope that one might get lucky.

The third and most specialized one was Carapace Root. The plant itself was a byproduct, what mattered was the root system, and the insects that feed from it. A field of a hundred acres could sell for thousands of coins depending on the vibrancy of the blue pigment extracted from their desiccated remains.

Two machines were demonstrated for the experienced men. The first, once unfolded and lowered would stab dozens of sharped metal blades into carefully spaced rows while a mechanical device would slowly drop seeds into each as it drove. It was clearly a work in progress and the men kicked themselves internally as a rock nearly immediately mangled one of the sharpened steel blades. After fifteen minutes of running more than four of the components needed repairs, but even in that short demonstration, the tractor had completed more than the farmers had expected to finish in the entire day.

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They were stunned and they’d only witnessed the first machine.

The second machine demo’d had hundreds of thin steel discs jutting in all different directions, the farmers didn’t take long to understand the capabilities as the thick patches of root mass and leftover grain stems were minced and rolled deep into the soil leaving a soft lush black planting surface in its wake.

Celebratory noises and prayers were shouted as the soil was picked through by the farmers behind the machine. They’d never seen such a beautifully prepared field. The plows they ran behind oxen often merely skimmed the surface or even deflected when running through the thick masses of roots. Yet now they could press their arms almost a foot deep into the warm soil without feeling resistance.

The prospect of seeding the valley had never seemed so bright in the minds of the older villagers. They chomped at the bit to get behind the wheel of the huge machine, but the Arna and Reynolds Engineers were hesitant to hand over the keys so easily to the beasts they’d hand-built over the past six weeks.

In the end, although gathered to give insights, apart from a small mention about spacing on the seed drill, there wasn’t much the old-timers could suggest.

The next point of business the engineers brought up was the issue of water that had always plagued that valley. This brought the engineers finally to the last machine which towed a load much different than the other tractors.

On it were stacks and stacks of metal pipes and series of tall metal spoked wheels. At a closer glance, as the engineers pointed out, the pipes had countless holes drilled along their lengths and threaded sections on each side.

With the help of a few of the farmers, two of the pipes were carefully threaded together into the hub of the large wheel. When a second wheel was added the farmers began to land upon the use of such a device.

When attached to a central hub with a specialized bearing, the entire apparatus could slowly rotate, wheeling around in a circle and dribbling a constant flow of water from the thousands of holes running its length. Entire fields could be outfitted with a specially sized boom and rain would become a worry of the past for the entire field.

“Now that we got permission, we’ll have wells drilled over the next few days and hubs installed. After that we can start dropping some seed.” The engineer concluded after answering a few questions from the farmers.

With the old men now fired up, they were hesitant to accept any more delay, but they could only nod with anticipations clearly dripping off their faces.

“Then all we need for now is someone to come fly up with us to help get an idea of where we should be installing these hubs.” The engineer plainly added as an afterthought. “For instance, which fields dry out in summer, which areas get swampy, washouts, that kinda stuff.”

Most of the farmers knew and could easily spot out the mentioned areas but a portion of the request had thrown them all off.

“Fly?” Gyst asked, unaware of the bullet he was biting.

“Yeah. You in?” The engineer asked rhetorically as he motions him over. “Alright, it’s been good. Appreciate all the insight, unless things change, we’ll be seeing the rest of you bright and early Thursday.”

“You did say fly?” Gyst again asked as the other men begin milling around the field or making their way back towards their homes.

The question only elicited a few smiles from the three strangers.