Rystole and Bert sat in the locked town hall office they'd called home for the past week. It was the best the town could do for a jail and Grisham was dead set on not letting the boys roam free in the town.

Rystole's father often visited on his lunch break and gave his son updates about how his mother was doing.

All the news was good, it seemed like she was already back to her old chores on the ranch. She occasionally came to visit in the evenings. The time was nice but not nearly as long as Rystole wished it could be.

However, their stay in this small office would end today. One way or another. The Minister from the Central System had landed last night.

They would make a judgment on whether or not Rystole and Bert would be deported and if the submatter radio would have to go back up.

It'd stayed down, for some reason. Rystole had no idea why and worried he'd done more damage than he meant to.

Based on his description of the wires he'd cut Bert assured him that was unlikely the radio was irreparable. But that didn't stop the engineer from coming up with theories of how Rystole could've messed up.

Which didn't ease Rystole's concerns.

A man Rystole didn't recognize came in, that alone was a clue he was from the Central System. The long white robes of his position as a minister only further gave him away.

He had dark hair a sharp chin and hazel eyes that seemed compassionate for someone who had to make so many harsh judgments across so many planets.

The minister unlocked the office door and asked the boys to come with him. He led them down the hall to a small office that was almost identical to the one they'd just spent a week in.

This one had three plastic seats and a wooden table in the center. Some crates were piled in the corner of the room.

The minister shuffled some files on a portable terminal he had set up before addressing the boys.

"I'm Minister Mayhew," the man said. "And I've been told you two are responsible for the events of last week."

"He's not. I am." Rystole said.

"No," Bert protested. "I helped a little. If anything I'm the mastermind. He's just a farm boy caught up in my plans."

The minister rolled his eyes as if he'd seen this conversation play out a dozen times before.

"Look, neither of you are in trouble. I'm not going to be deporting you to some black-site prison facility or even off this planet. If anything, with your design Mr. Morris I should be trying to recruit you to do CS R&D. Your weapon, and more importantly, the translation radio you designed, will be helpful on this planet and others like it."

"Thank you," Bert said, but not as thrilled as expected.

"So if we're not in trouble, what are you going to do?" Rystole asked still nervous to get the the point. "Did you bring a militia and more weapons?"

"There's an improved version of Mr. Morris' design that we can manufacture here. I brought a few commandos. In case you needed help dealing with the immediate threat. They would train you colonists long term... but after the situation last week I'm not sure that's going to work out."

"What do you mean?" Bert asked.

"I've watched the footage of the entire..." the minister paused looking for the right word, couldn't find one then settled on, "event. How many slugs do you think you saw in the infirmary?"

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Maybe a thousand?" Rystole replied.

"I've done the calculations a few times in the past week," Bert replied. "If they filled the infirmary up to our waist and the slugs are just under liter each it'd be something like 50 thousand slugs in that room alone."

"The entire town hall was filled like that room," the minister said. "And footage shows the entire town square and streets were flooded with a quarter meter layer of them. The only safe place was the houses, and I think that was just because they weren't interested in them."

"That's," Rystole paused to fathom how many that was, "so many."

"They aren't dumb, based on the transcripts. You'll agree with that, no?"

"We agree," Bert said on behalf of them both.

"They were trying to show us their true strength. And I'm unwilling to believe that was their entire colony. I would certainly leave a reserve of people if I was doing an operation like that. If only to avoid tipping my hand."

"The slugs we spoke to said they wrapped all around the planet," Rystole added.

"Yes," the minister seemed concerned but not displeased. "I worry this was just the numbers they could mobilize in the short amount of time the tower was down."

He paused to let that sink in with the boys.

"We couldn't kill them with your weapons if we tried," Mayhew finally said. "They'd put everyone in a comma in an instant. Or worse."

"Which is why the tower hasn't been turned on again?" Bert concluded.

"Exactly," the minister said. "We're beginning plans to set up a satellite with a submatter radio in orbit. For now, my ship is working as a relay. You're not completely cut off but you'll have to use traditional means to access my ship and you'll be cut off while it's on the far side of the planet."

"So we can live in harmony with them?" Rystole asked, shocked that that could even be a possibility.

The minister shrugged. "They have the numbers. But humanity needs this planet to be a hub to continue its expansion into the stars. That's still a generation or two away but it's coming."

"And a hub can't run efficiently with an orbital submatter radio," Bert pointed out.

The minister nodded his head. "To be frank, if you hadn't established communications we would have just designed a toxin, or something, to wipe them out. But, the Elders aren't keen on wiping out sapient life. It sets a bad precedent. So, you two have made my job a lot harder."

"Can we relocate them?" Rystole asked.

"It's a step up from genocide," the minister said. "But we'd have to find, or make, a planet that will hold them. There's no simple solution to this."

"Yeah and Speaker Grisham isn't going to do anything more complicated than genocide," Rystole said, but it felt harsher than he meant it to.

"I can't speak to that," the minister said. "But he has stepped down as speaker and will be leaving this colony. Along with a few other families unwilling to live on a planet with so many, once hostile, creatures."

"So, who's in charge?" Bert asked.

"For now I am interim speaker. Although I will the reviewing applications for a new speaker."

"You could apply," Bert said, nudging Rystole's arm.

Rystole gave a half-hearted grin. It was often difficult to tell when his friend was being serious.

"I can't honestly recommend a career in politics any more than a butcher can recommend sausages," the minister said with a shrug. "You would have to learn a thing or two about following procedures and not jumping immediately into action."

"I'll think about it," Rystole said, uneager to abandon a trait that'd served him well so recently.

Right now he was only interested in returning to the ranch and seeing his family in their home. Luckily, after a few more questions the minister let them go.

Bert headed to his house, the two friends had spent enough quality time together over the past week of being locked up.

Rystole passed under the tall concrete walls of the town and headed back to the farm. The day was cool, fall was here. Tall black storm clouds hung in the horizon, fall thunderstorms would be here soon.

Rystole began to think of the work that needed to be done on the farm to close out summer. Then about how he was glad to be able to stay on Dale Cannon, keep it his home. It was far more familiar and comfortable than the distant Feldman's station.

And he was more than willing to share the planet with the slugs. He didn't know how many other colonists would agree with that view and how many would be leaving with Grisham.

But his thoughts were interrupted by dozens of brown spots moving across the dirt path and in the tall grass along its edge.

There were slugs everywhere. No longer needing to hide from the humans.

Rystole kneeled next to one at the edge of the path. It was munching on a blade of grass. He hesitantly ran a knuckle down the slug's back.

The slug's skin was gooey but harmless. The slug arched its back pressing against Rystole's knuckle. The light brown rings on its back rotated with small waves.

He wasn't going to apply for speaker. At least not right now. It was far too demanding of a job and he could barely herd a pack of buffcows in a straight line, let alone a town of people.

Nonetheless, there was another herd on this planet. They hid underground.

And that herd needed someone willing to support and back them. Even willing to go outside of Central System's slow procedure sometimes.

After all this planet was their home first.