Joy had stepped to one side, letting the soldiers hash out their plans while she talked to some of the others, beginning the process of getting the other survivors up and organized- whatever their plans, they couldn't stay here.
Then the man's 'enthusiastic' pronouncement caught her attention- for a moment her own mind was filled with all the tales she had heard over her years traveling the world. Witch doctors, shamans, witches- whatever the word, she had heard of similar folk in many different cultures, different settings. Sure, it sounded crazy to any kind of rational mind- but so did other things that turned out to be true.
She turned away from the organizing committee and walked back towards the man with the book. "
You're not talking about those old Harry Potter vids we watched as kids, are you? You really mean it." She paused, not really expecting an answer, and looked at the blank looks or simple disbelief on the other faces. "
He might have something, though I'm not sure how well the terminology fits with our evolving reality. No, listen... Every culture on earth has tales something like this- some of it is myth, some religion, some corrupted tales; but they all have it. What if this was part of human biology, human experience- this 'energy'... If we lost it, or were cut off from it somehow- whether when Atlantis sank, or the earth passed out of range somehow, or the energy reservoir on Earth simply ran dry, like the petroleum reserves did... Even so, the ability to sense it, to work it, would still be buried in our DNA- if we found more of that energy, those who had the proper genes would be able to sense it, even if it was not at a conscious level, or if we didn't know what it was we were feeling; with the right information or training, we might be able to use it. Put that way, it makes some kind of sense. Maybe when those hyperdrives hatched, they released some of the energy, or passing through that hyperspace tapped it- and those who have the genetic heritage can feel it. Certainly, at least on our ship, some percentage of people felt SOMETHING change- or felt themselves change, perhaps."
She smiled, looking around the group again. "
Or maybe it is simply stress and environment, and some of us had gone just a bit crazy- though I think a few of the folk in this room might have some compelling evidence for what he calls magic..." And with that, the small woman began to hum- in this case it was not a haka, a song of her mother's people; it was a Native American song of power, one she had learned while stalking grizzlies in Montana- and as she finished a few bars of the tune she waved her hand in a languid gesture, drawing a fleeting sigil of sparks and light behind her fingers for a brief second...
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OOC:
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Prestidigitation cantrip, for effect
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