“Despite our differences of opinion I like you Reynolds. You’ve got chutzpah. But the facts are facts. Your ‘administration’ has been one fuckup after another. One of your recon teams ran into a giant lake monster and the other has disappeared completely.” The man in front of me had been a partner in a prestigious New York law firm. He was wearing a rumpled suit over his black skin with a yarmulke atop his head. And his Brooklyn accent was littered with Yiddish influences despite the fact his name was Tony Ferucci. We were standing in my improvised office in the small compartment above the main deck which in our airline was used for extra economy class seats. We had talked about moving the infirmary up above for more privacy. But it was decided the reclining seats, wider aisles and more central location made for a better hospital. In exchange a few people had set up sleeping pallets in the cargo hold. It was well insulated and spacious compared to the crowded main deck.

“Mr Ferucci I understand your concerns. I even agree with many of them. But I can’t in good conscience agree to stopping expeditions outside the camp. Regardless of the lack of success of previous operations; if we remain here we’ll starve. Even if we somehow last until summer; we have no seeds or livestock. And manna is not going to rain down from the heavens.”

“I’m not saying we have to sit here forever. My wife and kids are on the plane. The last thing I want is for them to starve. But what’s out there is dangerous. And it’s killing us faster than starvation. At the end of the day we have to cut our losses and try a different approach. Mine isn’t completely unreasonable. We still need to clear out the threats in close vicinity of the crash site. We can still fish in the stream and check snares. But no more sending good men and women out to die.”

I was starting to get annoyed. “The foraging five minutes outside of camp will be depleted within days. I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation we’re in. If you think your Saul Goodman impression will help you win the vote you’re gravely mistaken.”

The man half turned to walk away, sighed, and said in a flat tone. “My father was disowned from his Italian Catholic family for marrying a black woman after knocking her up. My mother died of cancer when I was five. The only people in the world who gave a shit about me were my father and the family of my best friend who had me over for dinner every Friday night. Since my father worked weekends I spent most Saturday mornings at the Synagogue as well. I officially converted when I married his cousin. “

He walked down the stairs without another word. Well that was a bit of a fuckup, I thought. Of course I felt horrid for making assumptions. But it didn’t change the fact that if he won the election it would end in disaster. Though in all fairness it could have been worse. The next runner up wanted to lock my ‘cronies’ and I in the cargo hold and take all our possessions as ‘restitution’ without any real plans for survival.

We had run out of tea and coffee and I had an awful headache. Along with half of the rest of the plane. And I was missing my wife terribly. She would have told me some old wives tale about how acting miserable makes you feel miserable and forced me to get up to do something. But I just sat there and waited for another disaster to rear up out of that hell.

After maybe an hour I heard a commotion on the main deck. Ten minutes later Melissa popped her head in.She was wiping tears from her eyes. “Meacham is back with a few survivors. Only about nine made it. But they brought people with them. I honestly don’t think I have it in me to explain it. You’ll have to come see for yourself.” I got up and followed Melissa out of the plane. I had to push my way through the crowd of survivors where I found a most unusual sight. Four individuals who would have looked too clean and gaudy for a Lord of the Rings movie with brightly coloured skin and prominent exotic features. And their equipment had a faint sheen that made me think they were covered in some sort of special varnish that repelled dirt. In front of them was a man I recognised as a professor in archaeology. I had tried to consult with him on possible survival tools but he had explained his specialty was Hellenic Greece and early Republican Rome. Not pre historic humanity.

By some miracle they were able to communicate despite the language barrier. The elf pointed at the sky and said “oros.” The professor replied with “ouranos.” The professor then pointed at the ground and said “terram, gaia.” The orc said “non. Firmament.” He then picked up a rock and said “petros.”

While they were engaging in the translation song and dance I brought Meacham over to the side for a debrief. “To be honest sir I have no idea what happened. According to Jeremy I was clubbed right in the head. He said I managed to drag him away before I passed out but my memory of the entire fight is completely non-existent. The dwarf healer seemed to have cured any brain damage I should have developed. But I honestly can’t be sure. You’d have to ask the kids or one of the other survivors. Of course I was in charge and take full responsibility for what happened. But I can’t report where things went wrong.”

“I was about to call up one of the kids who had survived I noticed the professor hovering about. “What is it?” I asked.

The professor replies, “The languages they speak are quite peculiar. I’m not a linguist; but from the little I’ve gleaned the grammar seems to be unrelated to either Latin or Koine Greek. The vocabulary seems to be derived from multiple languages around the eastern Mediterranean roughly two thousand years ago. I don’t recognise many of the words but they could be from languages that haven’t left any records we can decipher.”

I interrupted him during a pause in his ramblings. “So you think that there was another event in the eastern Mediterranean two thousand years ago?”

“Maybe? I have no idea. The equipment these beings are carrying is like nothing found in any dig sites. Maybe a similar event happened during the Bronze Age Collapse a few hundred years before that. But I can’t recall any credible piece of evidence suggesting large scale linguistic exchanges that would explain the vocabulary similarities. I can’t say anything conclusive at the moment.”

“Of course,” I replied. “We’ll give you what support you need. If we’re ever going to get home we can’t leave any stone unturned.”

I looked towards Jeremy. He was limping badly but didn’t seem to be in any pain. “Son, what happened?”

His voice was shaking as he answered.“ We were completely outmatched. We fought three of those brutes and only managed to kill one. By the time that happened our entire front line, including me and Meacham, had been clubbed half to death and our back ranks had fled. The only reason we survived was because the monsters decided not to chase us. My leg was fucked and Meacham had to drag me most of the way. But eventually he passed out. I did my best to drag him into some bushes and hope rescue was coming. The next day the girls showed up with the cavalry. The monsters had already been taken care of at that point. The dwarf then healed what remained of my foot and Meacham’s head injury.”

“Of course. I want to two of you to be examined by Mr. Singh just in case.”

“Mr. Singh?” Meacham asked.

“The surgeon.”

“Isn’t that Dr. Singh?”

“It’s not important. Just go for a check-up while I speak to our new guests.”

At that point the green skinned magician had grown bored with the naming game and started to juggle brightly coloured balls of fire. That was a good sign. If he was busy entertaining people he likely didn’t consider us a threat. The two women were more standoffish so I decided to approach the dwarf.

I pointed at myself. “Phillip,” I said. He returned the gesture with “Gorn Torvson af aete Heimskald.”

He then tilted his head onto his shoulder and made snoring sounds. I looked up at the sky. It couldn’t have been much passed midday. Shrugging I lead him towards one of the cargo holds where it would hopefully be quieter.