The school day couldn't pass by quickly enough for Rystole and he was eager to see what Bert was working on. He wandered into the town hall seeing himself to Bert's office which was more of a workshop or unkempt mess depending on who you asked.

It matched Bert’s current appearance. His long sandy hair was slicked back and gleamed with oily grease. His shirt, still the patched collared one from yesterday, now had more wrinkles and the topmost button undone.

"What have you got for me?" Rystole asked as walked into the room.

Bert was startled by the interruption and he jumped at his workbench knocking over a few items sitting nearby.

"Are you cutting class for this? You should still be in school," Bert jested talking like an adult despite being the same age as Rystole.

"Check your terminal. I've been out of school for a few minutes."

Bert cursed under his breath. "I thought I had more time."

"At least tell me what you're doing," Rystole said. He looked over Bert's shoulder at the project.

The device Bert was working on seemed to have the same components as the radio, just not in the same position and with a few other circuits added in. The shape was unsettlingly familiar to Rystole.

"It's a…” Bert paused for a minute to think of the right word.

"It's a gun," Rystole pointed out in shock.

"Well not exactly,” Bert said in his defense.

Both the boys had grown up as friends on Feldman’s station, a bond that linked them even though their interests and personalities differed. Feldman’s station was a large, but still cramped, space station deep inside of the Central System.

There wasn’t enough room there for Bert and Rystole’s parents so they decided to try their hand a colonizing a new planet. It was a common story among Dale Cannon’s colonists—and colonists throughout the Central System.

Guns could be printed on the matter printer that hummed away in the corner of Bert’s workshop. But having a gun on Feldman’s would’ve been considered a crime.

Not only could a gun hurt others but more importantly it could damage the delicate station that millions of people lived on.

Most people in the colony, including Rystole, still held that association in their minds. Which is why even if it became necessary for the residents of Dale Cannon to arm themselves against wildlife, pirates, or other threats, Rystole doubted many people would be able or willing to take up arms. And Rystole was pretty sure he’d include himself in that group.

Despite multiple attacks from slugs no one had been willing to publicly request a firearm at any of Dale Cannon’s town hall meetings.

Not that Rystole thought shooting the slugs would do much more good than stabbing them with a pitchfork.

"That's the barrel, there's the trigger and the handle,” Rystole said while pointing at Bert’s device. It had the distinct L shape that Rystole had seen in the few action movies he'd watched.

"It doesn't shoot projectiles so I wouldn't consider it a gun,” Bert continued.

There were standard designs for a lot of the colony’s equipment including a few designs for guns. If Bert had used one of those designs on the matter printer Speaker Grisham would be notified. And designing one without the use of the standard file would look like Bert was going behind the speaker’s back.

"If it looks like a ducken, quacks like a ducken, but can't fly like a ducken—” Rystole started.

"Fine it's a gun,” Bert relented. “But it won't actually hurt any humans. It should only affect the slugs."

Bert then went into explaining the gun in far more detail than Rystole needed. The broad strokes that Rystole understood were that Bert had used the research paper’s amplification circuit on the sub-matter crystal and enabled that amplification through a trigger circuit.

"Does it work?" Rystole asked, cutting to the chase.

"Well, not yet I need to integrate one or two more things. And once it's done being wired we won't actually know if it affects the slugs. Like I can probe the output and know if it's running hot but won't know if this is really what the slugs were fleeing."

Rystole smiled a devilish grin. "We can figure that out easy enough."

"I don't like where you're going with this."

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"It's simple. When you're done we'll just go looking for a slug or two. Hit ‘em with this. See if it works."

"No one knows where the slugs are."

"But there are reports of them being spotted on the outskirts of the farms."

"It's not a guarantee. And what happens if we do find them and they touch you? I can’t carry your coma’d ass back to town.” Bert eyed Rystole who was significantly taller than Bert and mostly muscle from working on the farm.

"It’ll be fine. We’ll stay out in the open. We can run if we need to. They only get people because they're cornered in their house."

"Montgomery was in his field."

"Montgomery couldn’t outrun a log cabin. Besides, we'll have the gun."

"A gun that might fire blanks," Bert protested weakly.

Rystole was a hound with a bone. He looked at his friend, determined to get his way. A familiar gaze that always seemed to convince Bert to see things his way.

"Come back tonight,” Bert said with resignation. “I'll have the thing done then.”

----------------------------------------

Rystole returned after what felt like a grueling evening of wrapping up chores on the farm and fixing his father and sister's mistakes they'd made without his mother there. Dinner was quick and he excused himself after little Harry was put to bed and the cabin had been cleaned up.

The whole family had a bit of a gloomy mood about them, for obvious reasons, and Rystole, while he shared their feelings, didn't enjoy lingering in them.

He had hope: Bert's gun. Their ability to kill or capture some slugs could be the breakthrough that would bring his mother back to the farm and solve the family’s problems.

Rystole returned to Bert's lab at the town hall having to tap on the window to be let in since the place was locked after hours.

Always a poor judge of time, Bert informed Rystole that it wasn't quite done yet but it was close and would be ready shortly. Rystole took a seat on one of the wooden benches in the town hall’s hallway.

Bert shook Rystole awake excitedly, "I've got it working!"

Rystole's back was sore from falling asleep on the hard bench but he soon matched his friend's excitement. Bert showed him several tests that he'd run to prove to him it worked but Rystole was only interested in one thing.

"Let's go find a slug,” he said.

"It's the middle of the night."

Rystole shrugged. "Take a caffeine pill. If we come back with a slug I'm sure Speaker Grisham will give you the day off tomorrow."

"Yu is actually my boss."

"Then I'll give you the day off."

Bert groaned as if Rystole had told that joke a dozen times, which he had. Despite Bert’s reservations eventually Rystole dragged him out of the town hall.

They lit their way with a few headlamps and Rystole carried an emergency kit backpack they found in one of the supply rooms.

Leaving the tall printed concrete walls of the town undetected was easy. The gates opened for Rystole since his family's cabin was outside of the town walls.

Instead of taking the familiar path home Rystole led them down another led away from the town. When it was clear it would dead end into the land of the Tormund family Rystole stepped off the road and into the overgrown plants and forest.

Bert groaned the whole time. He pointed out he only had thin-soled shoes and he could feel every rock underfoot and thorn that grazed his legs.

Rystole, who was always wearing heavy work boots, suggested that his friend should avoid stepping on things that would hurt him.

The evening was cool and dry the long summer days were coming to an end. Rystole knew the cold air meant fall thunderstorms would be visiting soon.

The chirping of bugs and wind in the leaves startled to the boys since any sound could have been a slug. They didn't know if the slugs climbed trees and when there branches above them rustled Rystole shot the gun in that direction just to be safe.

After the third time, Bert told him to stop and mumbled something about battery life.

The moons were high in the sky by the time they found a specimen and it seemed to be crawling along eating the leaves and the grass.

As soon as Rystole spotted the mud-brown slug with its light brown rings rippling on its back. Rystole pointed the beast out Bert who immediately began to panic.

"What if there are more? Don't these things travel in packs?” Bert asked with a hoarse whisper.

Rystole shrugged his shoulders. "Just keep a lookout," he whispered in response.

He leveled the gun at the slug and pulled the trigger but the slug didn’t explode into pieces or flop over onto its back. Rystole realized he didn’t know what he’d expected to happen.

"Did it look like it shivered to you?" he asked Bert.

"Is that a slug over there?" Bert pointed.

Rystole didn't look in the direction Bert indicated. He was busy checking the gun’s battery level.

"No it's just a knot on a tree,” Bert answered his own question.

Rystole crept forward getting closer to the slug trying to step quietly through the grassy plain. It wasn't easy for him in his thick boots.

He pointed the gun at the slug again and pulled the trigger. The gun made no sound and neither did the slug. Rystole held the trigger down letting the radio run longer.

Suddenly the circle patterns on the slug's skin seemed to vibrate becoming looping wave patterns. Then as quickly as it began the patterns froze in their chaotic shape and the slug quit chewing on the grass in front of it.

"We did it!" Rystole shouted and was immediately hushed by his friend. Rystole approached the slug reaching out to poke it.

“Stop!” Bert shouted. The cry echoed through the quiet night and could probably be heard for kilometers, not that there was anyone this far out of town to hear it.

"What if it's still toxic?” Bert asked.

Rystole grabbed a nearby stick and poked the slug with it instead.

Nothing happened.

"It's dead,” Rystole said.

"There is no way you possibly know that."

"It's not moving."

"Your mom's not moving but she's not dead," Bert stated factually. "Sorry, that came out harsh."

"No, you're right.” Rystole slung the emergency pack off his back and rummaged around for a blanket or rope.

He was lucky enough to find a few feet of cordage and a thick synwool blanket. Carefully the boys wrapped up the slug and carried it back to town in the backpack.

Bert cursed the whole way back between yawns while Rystole hefted the slug-laden pack ecstatic about the successful hunt they'd just completed.

Finally, the colonists of Dale Cannon had a way to fight back.