They had always been weaker in places where there was no life, but never had she felt such an anorexic and underused magical field, even in the void near her own planet. It had obviously been centuries, if not millennia, since anyone on the planet below had used a significant amount of magic. She would be hard pressed to do much other than the most basic of spells with so little to draw on.
Finally, she turned to Neil. “I understand why your species believes magic is a fiction,” she said slowly. “It is my belief that for some reason, the use of magic died out many hundreds of years ago, and the fields which accommodate magical energies have atrophied so far as to be rendered unusable to any but those with the strongest magical talent. Even then, it would be parlor tricks and small happenings, nothing like what an exercised field would be capable of.”
“Exercised?” Neil asked. “I get the whole ‘No-one’s-used-magic-in-forever’ thing, and why that causes problems, but how can a field be exercised?”
Luna thought deeply for a moment. How do you explain magic to someone with no prior knowledge of it? “The first thing is,” she began, “magic is not sleight-of-hand or mirrors and smoke, nor is it the use of believed divine power or miracles or anything of that ilk. Rather, it is a documented use of simply using a form of energy which can’t be used any other way to do things which normally don’t apply. This magical energy is present everywhere, though it’s stronger around life.” She waved her hooves around. “Anyone with the proper training and inclination can use this energy, though it is easier for certain individuals and species.
“Take, for example, this horn.” She tapped the object in question. “Several species on my world have developed hornlike organs which allow for the more effective channeling, storing, and direction of said energy.”
Neil and Buzz both looked fascinated, leaning forwards unconsciously and listening intently. Collins, however, was furiously penciling down her words verbatim.
“This magical field, however, is not inert. In fact, it’s almost... alive,” she said. “The more of this field you draw upon for a certain task, the more it seems to anticipate what you’re attempting and streamlines the process itself, almost like gathering enough of the energy together creates an intelligent mind.” She paused for a second. “Do you have another piece of paper and pencil?”
Wordlessly, Buzz handed her one of each, and carefully she gripped the awkwardly-small writing utensil in hoof and hastily sketched the two axes of a graph, followed by a familiar curve she had known since her foalhood.
Then, she slowly made each character of the unfamiliar English script, so blocky compared to her own language. Hers were blockier than most, she noted with dissatisfaction. Was there not a way to make them more appealing to the eye?
After finishing, she showed the two astronauts her graph, pointing to each piece as she explained it. “Here is a graph of the magical energy one should use from internal stores—oh, yes, creatures can store this energy and use it later or, in extreme circumstances, use their own life force as energy—from these stores for a task or spell, x, and the energy actually used, y.”
She let them look at the graph for several seconds. “As you can see, there are two distinct curves where the energy use tapers down below a 1:1 ratio like you would expect. These curves are where it’s believed this force reaches certain levels of intelligence.”
Neil shook his head. “That’s a bit hard to stomach—a universal force that, when used, can think intelligently?” He smiled good-naturedly. “But, when you consider that today, I’ve walked on the moon, seen an alien—who’s a unicorn, no less!—and then talked to an alien. So sure, there’s a universal force that’s intelligent.”
Buzz barked a short burst of laughter. “Just when you think it couldn’t get any stranger, it jumps to a whole new level of weird, doesn’t it?”
Neil nodded. “I’m not sure what else could surprise me at this point—but,” he continued, directing his smile to Luna, “I’m sure I’ll find out before too long.”
Luna chuckled. “The day has been no less strange for me,” she admitted, “But there have been stranger days—not many, but a few.”
Collins whistled, heretofore squiet as he took a double whammy—he’d had no time to acclimate to Luna on the ride here, so he was obviously still reeling. “I’d hate to see those days, then,” he said.
“Indeed, they weren’t pleasant days,” Luna said, for a moment returning back to memories of fire and void, moon and sun, and a world turned upside down.
Shaking herself out of her momentary lapse in concentration, she continued, “Anyway, because this field can be intelligent, it also exhibits some characteristics of creatures. Most prominent is its strength. If not used, it will atrophy and weaken, just like a muscle, and if used often or with great power, it will strengthen for a time. As such, the field around your world has not seen serious usage for so long, it’s nearly powerless.” She thought of a similar analogy. “Say, someone was hurt badly and had to wear casts on their legs for many months. They can’t walk afterwards, because their muscles are so weak that they cannot support any weight, and must be carefully nursed back to health.”
“Right,” Neil agreed. “That makes sense.”
Buzz asked, “So, you said some species have evolved horns—how many species, exactly? Are they intelligent?”
Luna smiled, preparing to delve into her element—unadulterated factoids, statistics, and information. Her grin was predatory enough that Buzz instantly regretted what he suspected was akin to opening a floodgate.