There had been sightings of strange lights in the sky in the backroads of the Darling downs, going back over a century. Theories ranged from micrometeoroids to radon gas escaping from coal seams, and—of course—aliens.
Following the story all the way to the bottom of the rabbit hole got me the mundane truth. It was totally aliens.
When your starhopper drive is glitching out, and the manufacturer won’t sell you the needed part (“we only sell complete drivetrains; no user serviceable parts inside”) the solution is, as ever, “consult a farm mechanic”. My investigation revealed that an underground economy of weather-control for ship repairs has been sustaining farming on the downs for generations. Come in on the dark hemisphere, avoid cities, find a ute on a dark road, follow it home, ask for help. Pay in kind by seeding some clouds or deflecting a cyclone on the way out of the atmosphere.
I won’t be publishing this story; having a virtuosa mechanic on tap is far more valuable to me than the commission on one article.