Rystole sat on the porch of his family's empty timber frame home. The boards squeaked as he leaned back and forth in the rocking chair. The motion was uneven and hesitant from the rough boards underneath and the hand-carved slope of the chair's rocker feet.

His father had carved it when his youngest sister was born. He remembered his mother holding her, and later his youngest brother Harry, in it to get her to fall asleep.

The sun had all but set. The evening was cool but not chilly. Bugs chirped in the grass and the buffcows hemmed and hawed in their pen getting comfortable for the evening. Barley fields that were painted orange and yellow in midday sun looked blue and purple thanks to the planet's first moon already being in the sky.

The house was empty. His mother was in the infirmary and the rest of his family was safe inside of the town's walls.

Where he was supposed to be.

Safe from the slugs.

Rystole didn't feel like the slugs were much of a threat anymore. Not with Grisham undermining Rystole and the colony's progress at every point.

The colony's speaker, and the ways he thwarted Rystole, used to remind the boy of a vice principal character in a classic comedy movie he watched on Feldman's station. The vice principal would chase after this wily student to try to get him to attend class or prove the boy was up to something devious.

Tonight, and Rystole expected for the foreseeable future, Grisham felt like he was the villain of a space station noir film. One who was always one step ahead of the detective. Putting him in a worse position every other scene.

Rystole noticed someone on the horizon. A bright white flashlight wagged back and forth. Whoever held it was approaching the house.

Probably yet another authority figure, out to bring him to justice.

Or at least drag him to a concrete bedroom built by a machine, not a family.

Rystole rocked defiantly in his chair. The boards creaked under him. The nails that he'd handed to his dad when they were building the place held the deck together.

Which was more than Rystole could say for the rest of the life they'd built here.

The flashlight-carrying traveler was in fact another authority figure: Rystole's father.

The man stood at the base of the porch's two steps and leaned on the post that held the roof up.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked.

Rystole shrugged at the dumb question. The porch belonged to his father just as much as Rystole. Hell, technically more since he was the adult.

His father flipped the flashlight off. There was just enough light in the sky to navigate the familiar porch.

The man sat in an old printed chair. One they'd brought out from town when they were constructing the house. They left it on the porch since it could withstand the elements.

"Heard about the town hall meeting," his father said. He kicked his feet onto the low railing. It was only high enough to keep the toddlers from falling off the platform. To everyone else, the half-meter fall was merely a large step.

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The creaking of Rystole's rocking chair was the only reply his father received.

"Sounds like Dr. Yu and the speaker have some ideas of how to make things better."

"Not that it's going to get us very far."

"We're in a better spot than we were yesterday. Better off than ever before."

"Mom's still—" Rystole's voice caught, "—not here."

"Dr. Yu and Speaker are smart people and they got where they were because they care about the colony. We wouldn't put people in charge that didn't."

"I didn't put anyone in charge. Neither did you. They were appointed by some bureaucrat who saw that their application fit the job's specifications."

Grisham was just a peg that fit in a hole. And after tonight it was clear Yu was just an automaton following orders.

"They're here. They know us. They care. They have skin in the game. They're not some bureaucrat a few dozen jumps away."

"They might as well be," Rystole said. He kicked his feet up on the banister and stopped his rocking. "We've got an answer sitting right in front of us. But they're not willing to do anything about it."

"There are countless things Grisham has to consider with this decision. He can't just go promising everyone their family members back on the statement of an, up to now, aggressive alien slug."

"He barely heard Dr. Yu out. Didn't seem like he was taking countless things into consideration."

"Your great-grandmother was religious," his father said, meandering and detouring from the conversation at hand.

Rystole hated it when he did this.

"She was Christian, probably. She always said 'God works in mysterious ways' whenever something bad happened."

Rystole kicked back into the chair. Let it rock slowly until it loses its momentum. The creaking sound didn't cut his father off.

"I never found it particularly satisfying," his father said, more reminiscent than frustrated. "Felt like it was biased towards hindsight rather than genuine fact."

"Yeah and what? Now Grisham's god?" Rystole asked. The question was seething and sarcastic.

"No. More that I finally think I understand why she said it. It's because there's nothing better to say in moments like this."

His father gave Rystole a subtle grin like he'd told a joke and expected Rystole to burst out in laughter once the punchline landed.

Rystole wanted to burst out in a dozen curses.

"We have a solution. We have a cure." Rystole was almost shouting as he spoke. It echoed through the quiet night. "Montgomery is up. Mom could be here tomorrow. The slugs could be out of our hair. I can't believe anyone who cares about the colony is willing to ignore such an obvious solution."

"The Central System has protocols for handling intelligent extraterrestrials who have acted aggressively against us.

"But the slugs want to help now."

Rystole heard that he sounded like Juniper whining about being a sore loser. Hated himself for it. Didn't know how to stop.

"They explained why they were doing it," Rystole continued. "They're willing to stop if we agree to take down the tower. It's so simple. We don't use the thing!"

"Then it sounds like we have the means to eventually heal mom and all the others that were hurt." His father was frustratingly calm as he spoke. "This isn't a negotiation that the Speaker, or Dr. Yu, can handle out of process or on their own—"

"She could be back tomorrow!" A buffcow groaned from its pen startled by Rystole's shout.

"No one wants your mother back as much as I do," his father said. "You kids change and grow so much every day. And I hate that she's missing it."

"Then we do something to fix it." Rystole no longer sounded like his whining sister and he was glad about it.

"No Rye. We don't." It was a suggestion, not a command. "We can't rush the barley, we can't rush a pie, and we can't rush the herd without starting a stampede. So, we wait."

His father stood up and rubbed his hands together to fight off the chilly night air.

"I'm headed back to town. Stay here if you want. The herd will appreciate not having to wait 'til the pack of ranchers make their way out here."

Rystole crinkled his nose in frustration and avoided looking up at his father.

"But I want a hug before I go," his father said.

The man tugged on his son's hands. The rocking chair tipped forward betraying Rystole and he fell out of it and onto his feet.

His father wrapped his arms around Rystole and squeezed him tight.

There once was a time when his father would have picked him up while hugging. But now Rystole was nearly the same height and a good ten kilos of muscle heavier than his lean father.

Rystole had to settle for wrapping his arms around his dad and burring his chilly nose into the man's shoulder.