With a slug captured and dissected and Bert’s weapon a proven success things are looking up for Rystole and the rest of the colony. Surely nothing will go wrong!
If you missed last weeks installment, want to share with friends, or just reread old chapters you can find the table of contents at: https://stepintotheroad.com/slugs-of-dale-cannon-table-of-contents/
The town hall meeting was held in the auditorium of the town hall building and the room was about as empty as usual. Even if the entire town showed up the room would only be half full at most.
The stage was made of raw wooden boards that creaked as people walked across the stage. There were stairs on each side of the stage that led down into the seating area.
The seats themselves were printed plastic, as hard and comfortable as rocks. They closed up like a clam if you stood up, often making a loud snapping sound.
The whole room had been put together in a week or less. It was a priority for Speaker Grisham to have a meeting place for the town. So he pushed to have the project done as soon as the colony landed. Everyone pitched in, even if they had their own houses to build and furnish, but once it was good enough, the citizens of Dale Cannon moved on to the real priorities.
Despite this, Grisham often insisted that the town hall’s auditorium would eventually be considered a historic place, maybe even a playhouse. Somewhere visitors would remember the original colonists that made the trading hub possible.
Rystole thought those people, even if some were his ancestors, were as far away and meaningless as the off-world citizens of the Central System.
Speaker Grisham walked onto the stage and stood behind a plastic podium that had been printed early on as well. Despite the intricate decorative designs printed onto its front the podium still looked cheap. But Grisham hadn’t bothered to make a nicer one out of wood.
Rystole sat close to the stage. His sisters and father were to his right. Harry sat in his father’s lap playing with a plastic key chain. Bert was on his left, his parents next to him.
Normally Rystole would sneak in late and sit in the back or skip the meeting altogether. Tonight he sat close to the stage awaiting his recognition for catching a slug.
Grisham, with his neatly combed mustache and long brown hair with streaks of grey in it, read over the meeting’s agenda. It had the same boring things on it about production values, weather predictions, and updates from the Central System. All of them were accessible through a radio or hand terminal.
But the meeting covered these items thanks to tradition. Grisham was a sucker for traditions.
Rystole tried not to doze off during those rote announcements. He was exhausted, and despite the plastic auditorium seat being uncomfortable he felt like he could nap anywhere.
Then the speaker got to the announcement portion of the meeting, where Rystole and his friend would be mentioned.
“We are all aware of the havoc the brown-ringed slugs have brought to this community,” Grisham said in his most official tone of voice. “Nearly a dozen farms have been attacked and I’ve been working constantly with the Central System to look into what can be done to resolve this issue”
Rystole had heard Grisham use that line in every town meeting since the first attack but had yet to see any fruit from the comment.
“As announced in the previous four town hall meetings the Central System has agreed to send a minister, who is in transit. Additional officials are traveling on the same ship. Those professionals will help us resolve this issue. They will be here in two to three weeks’ time.”
Grisham softly cleared his throat before continuing.
“Which is why it’s disappointing to hear that some of our younger citizens have decided to take the matter into their own hands and attacked a creature in the wild.”
Rystole checked the nice collared shirt he’d put on to make sure it was lying flat. He did not doubt that if this auditorium became a historical place, a picture from this night would be hanging on the walls.
Unfortunately, the shirt itself was littered with wrinkles and covered in patches. He’d truthfully only worn it twice and finally found it this evening in the bottom of his dresser drawer.
“I want to make it clear that neither the Central System nor I condone this kind of behavior,” Speaker Grisham said. “The slugs have been identified as a semi-critical threat to the colony and the only reason we haven’t abandoned the colony yet is because victims are still alive.
“If things get worse, and we believe they could if we continue to antagonize them, then the abandonment of this colony will be imminent and that would be a waste of all our hard work.”
“There’s no way he knows that for sure,” Bert whispered to Rystole.
“This is buff turds,” Rystole said.
“He’s implying that they’re intelligent in some way,” Bert continued. “He and his superiors might know something we don’t.”
“I would like to propose a mandatory curfew,” Grisham continued. “For everyone’s protection. Cabins outside the town are welcome to shelter within the town walls if desired. Hopefully, the Central System and I can come up with a solution soon and this curfew will become unnecessary.”
Bert raised his hand shouting out the question before the speaker acknowledged him. “You say if we antagonize them this could get worse, are you implying that the slugs are intelligent?”
“At this time, we have no—“ the speaker began but was cut off by the scream of a man in the audience.
“Turn on the lights!” a woman shouted.
“Slugs!” another audience member shouted as the entire auditorium erupted in panic.
Rystole and Bert looked behind them. They were sitting, with their families, near the front of the auditorium, expecting to be on stage shortly. From the chaotic movement of the crowd, the slugs seemed to be invading from the back.
Rystole’s father lifted Harry and his youngest sister onto the stage gesturing at an emergency exit. Juniper climbed up on her own leading her sister, likely in the same way she had when the slugs invaded the house so recently.
The speaker was still using the microphone now directing people to use the emergency fire exits but the lights still hadn’t come up in the auditorium.
Bert began climbing up on the stage but Rystole grabbed his sleeve.
“The gun. Let’s use it,” Rystole said.
“Grisham just said we shouldn’t.” Bert’s face protested longing for the exit.
“Grisham would tell us not to herd buffcows if that’s what the Central System told him to do,” Rystole said.
There were at least two people in the audience who were still in their seats. The only excuse for that was that the slugs already got them.
“They’re attacking us,” Rystole said. “We’re not hunting or antagonizing them.”
It was clear that this line of logic wouldn’t convince Bert.
“Just give me your keycard. I’ll do it myself.” Rystole was determined to do something and did little to hide it on his face.
“No, no, I’ll go,” Bert relented.
Rystole and Bert dipped through the backstage hallway that exited near the offices. Rystole kept checking over his shoulder but the slugs weren’t quick enough to keep up with them.
They barged into Bert’s office and Rystole immediately realized the reason he couldn’t have gone alone.
“You took it apart!?”
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