Die To Be of Utility
Dan's Comments
DISCLAIMER: My Little Pony is the property of Hasbro, Inc. Harry Dresden is the property of Jim Butcher, Carl Kolchak is the property of ABC/Universal Television, Ranma Saotome is the property of Rumiko Takahashi, Sailor Jupiter is the property of Naoko Takeuchi.

I was glad they were taking our 'wounded' with some care. The apparent horror on the faces of the natives on the realization that the screams of their victims were not simply existential agony, but the accompanying smell of cooked/burning meat was a direct result of their actions. Even the Speciesists seemed disconcerted by the violent reaction of the pair to the attack. I suspect that the technique was meant as a 'police' action, intent on subdual and capture for later questioning and perhaps trial. The idea that it had suddenly become a military one, where the aim was to injure or kill, barring intervention such as I provided, seemed to have stricken the moral superiority of the natives.

The Arboreal who had wisely fled with surprising alacrity the instant the attack had powered up, an atavistic sense of the source, or a good reading of body language I do not know, it had and continued to evade all pursuit, and shadowed us with a degree of invisibility or with the tacit approval of our captors. The Speciesist was not happy. I suspected from his body language, and incessant muttering that if I had been the victim of the natives' attack he would have felt little remorse, that our two peacemakers were, and that I and not he was the instrument of their survival, had likewise stripped him of his patina of moral superiority.

The last member of our group seemed to have a positive talent for irritating the Speciesist. Some revelation by the Speciesist seemed to have turned He-who-writes from gadfly to overt hostility, something I should not have enjoyed so much, but I did. He also seemed to take it personally that while everyone else was discomfited by the attack, he emerged completely unscathed. I'm no military expert, but if a potentially hostile group deployed a weapon against me with an air of total confidence, and that weapon hadn't the slightest effect, I'd muffle my outrage.

I physically separated the pair, before the natives were forced to do the same. I earned the begrudging thanks of the Speciesist, and the ire of the He-who-writes, but I had other priorities. He was none-too-happy to be brought closer to the two wounded peacemakers. The smell of scorched flesh as nauseating to him as it was to the natives. Unfortunately, pantomime was the only way I could currently communicate. I recognized none of the languages spoken by my colleagues or captors, and trying to convey the message through gestures proved irritatingly difficult.

To both our credit, He-who-writes immediately understood I was attempting to communicate, and did his best to attempt to communicate back. Once he realized I was not attempting to get him to do something about the pair's deplorable, and doubtlessly worsening condition, and that I was in fact trying to get his permission to aid them myself, he became much less agitated. Or differently agitated in that now he wanted me to move with alacrity.

The spells were both low-intensity, and the largest I thought I could get away with, both from us being captives, and the delicate condition of the pair. The squirming that reminded me too much of a soft-bodied invertebrate in a drying environment and the faintly disturbing sounds they had emitted both ended. He-who-writes seemed to approve of the new condition and separated from me to again attempt conversation with one of our captors, who stoically refused to respond. Whether they understood or not I could only speculate. Although the tone and manner of the He-who-writes would have had me feigning incomprehension, deafness or aphonia if we hadn't been thrown together as captives.

Brief and minor as my spell casting was, it brought the attention of one of the natives: the leader of our attackers, who'd been essentially hiding from us since the attack had been called off. It charged over and began making noise at me that seemed oddly similar to He-who-writes with the Speciesist. I did not engage. If they were questions, I did not understand them, and if they were admonishments, they were not backed by force or the threat of force, moral, violent or otherwise. In either case, I could dismiss them, although I retreated as if I were being attacked/admonished. The native's pursuit and continuing barrage answered by my retreat seemed to amuse the other natives as we circled the wounded-bearers like a mottle trying to catch a flitter around a rock.

One of the Neithers yelled at my assailant, who reluctantly walked away in what I guessed was the picture of chagrin.

We arrived at the building we had been headed to. I note that it is marked with a malk, a pair of short, superimposed, perpendicular dashes. Done surprisingly in the color of the two peacemaker's blood. I hoped it was a case of parallel evolution, because the thought of their medical buildings, personnel and supplies essentially being labeled with a punctuation mark denoting sarcasm, written in blood, gave all manner of unfortunate implications.

We were permitted to accompany our comrades, and the interior had the same color scheme as the rest of the place. The bars on the doors to the section we were being placed in could not be ignored. This was the prison wing. Although if they expected to hold me, they would need stronger bars, more complicated locks, thicker walls and vastly more powerful pex and vulog shielding. I would remain here out of courtesy, and to oversee the treatment of the fallen pair. Once they were well, I intended to leave and do some investigating into where I was.

He-who-writes was predictable in his loud protestations before being enveloped in a pex field and thrust inside. The Speciesist was more subdued, but likewise complained, before a row of spears convinced him. Since I'd rather obsessively touched the bars, and still followed the pair and the medical team, I hoped I portrayed a reasonable rather than a gullible person.

The beds were of course ill-sized for the pair. And I'll admit to a mischievous streak when I picked up a trio of beds and arranged them beside another and gave a narrow space, but long enough for the pair, and then placed them together in the rather close confines. A bit of placement of arms and legs had them unconsciously drawing each other together. The expression on the faces of the natives reminded me of the expression most get from grandsires and granddames on seeing a particularly cute grandchild, theirs or another's. I made a mental note for later.

After the medical teams trooped out and locked the gates behind them, I became aware of how hungry I was. On glancing around I noted they had left several large bowls of snacks lying about the room. Presumably some of the other items were for other physiologies. Quite thoughtful of them providing a wide variety. I just wish they hadn't 'dressed them up', it's always vaguely embarrassing when the centerpiece is more appetizing than the meal. These were brightly colored, as was everything else here, and while quite delicious, they lacked the satisfying crunch that better ingredients would have provided.

Hospital food, I relaxed and ate. At seeing the bowl half empty, I realized how hungry I'd actually been, and that I was monopolizing it. I held the bowl out to He-who-writes, and the Speciesist. He-who-writes was writing, but held up his hands vertically and shook his head, I assumed it meant negation. The Speciesist looked horrified, presumably the idea of consuming food I might have touched revolted him at a primal level.

I made the offer. The rest of the bowl emptied quickly, and I was feeling more at ease with these aliens. There was paper, and writing tools left behind. The book with the pictures in it I scanned and handed over to He-who-writes. The wax marking tools and blank paper I kept, making several simple geometric designs and proofs. The perpendicular triangle, the ratio of perimeter to radius, the equivalence of local universe frequency to the pex field. Stuff that every kid knows. I left the Speciesist and He-who-writes to discuss, often loudly, the markings/proofs and I looked in on the peacemakers, who slept peacefully, entwining of limbs and a look of contentment on their faces. Said look eerily similar to the expression worn by the medical staff earlier on seeing them together.

An analysis of the room, its furnishing and fixtures made me extremely uneasy. Neither the Speciesist nor He-who-writes had any trouble not only recognizing but manipulating various objects, without the disconnect and need for analysis I was suffering. A look out the clear door panels revealed this wasn't peculiar to the holding cell. It was repeated throughout the visible area of the medical building, and the natives took the morphology of these objects in stride. Either we weren't the first, or . . . something far darker was amiss.

Attracting their attention to this proved both more difficult and easier than I'd feared. Communicating the incongruity was the difficult part: pantomime, multiple drawn images and diagrams, the hostility between the two, and the Speciesist's mistrust of me all made the initial attempts fruitless. Finally, I created the illusion of a drinking cup we'd all seen the medical staff using or carrying, and added a rendition of their hands, my tentacles and the natives' hooves and made the incongruity manifest. He-who-writes indicated the cup and pointed to me. I showed them the usual drinking bowl used by my people and how the tentacles would grip it. The design was not so alien to them, that they understood that what they'd been taking in stride became sinister. The pair examined all the fixtures that had been providing them a sense of familiarity, and upon confirming that the fixtures throughout the portion of the facility they could see were the same, both took on an expression of what I guess was a deep concern. What they thought was the genesis of the similarity and their place/fate in it became the topic of their discussion until the planet's rotation put the daystar out of our line of sight.
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He took out his recorder and looked out the window, "Addendum, 'Curiouser and Curiouser'. Having met one of the cabal of, ahem, people desperate to pull the wool over the peoples' eyes about what lurks one step outside their comfortable sphere, it seems he is as easily duped as the rest of us. Only our most outre, yet forthcoming fellow prisoner brought to our attention that the room, and even the hospital beyond being fitted out for humans. Not the height of the corridors, but coffee mugs, coloring books, even the tacky decorations in the hospital room. Although our outre prisoner seemed to think a pile of glued-together stones made a tasty hors d'oeuvres tray with an digestif of a floral arrangement. Although given our captors the latter may have been accurate. The nearly perfect simulation of ordinary human, modern conveniences makes one wonder about the place.

"Our wounded are recovering, and Harry has decided not to use his powers to assist them. Claiming inability. I suspect that his distaste for their choice of friends makes him unwilling to assist. Also, his blithe assumptions that people can't handle the truth about the wider world rings hollow since our outre companion seems utterly inoffensive despite possessing powers to rival Harry's. And it was Harry who initiated the attack on him. Who's the small-minded fool here?

"As to our captors, aside from their one, vicious attack, which they either didn't anticipate or are truly sorry for, they have let us alone. To have such power and have so little understanding or control of it, is a truly terrifying prospect for either us staying here, or attempting to leave without their permission.

"On a side note, the similarity to human facial expressions seems an oddity now, who made them, for what purpose and what will happen when the boss arrives? Harry made vague claims about the infinity of universes, but a world obviously made for short humans, suddenly being populated by equally short horses gives lie to the assumption of parallel evolution. One or two commonalities is one thing, an entire suite that are not optimized for the inventors makes no sense. The most benign explanation is they are somehow watching us, stealing, well, copying our devices and mannerisms for their own use without the ability to adapt them to their form and culture. The question that must be raised is: Are they training themselves to be at home when they usurp our world? Do they even know if that's their purpose? The powers we've seen would seem to give them the advantage, and from what I've pried out of Harry, our defenders are few and far between. And from my own numerous experiences, incompetent or uncaring. The Masquerade is the thing, what must be defended, not the lives of those going through their existences." He switched off the recorder and considered the camera and film in his pocket.