"So what do we have here?", Jack heard a cultured voice ask through his delirium.
"No idea Sir, the last guard detail dragged em' in here yesterday afternoon" a much less cultured voice answered. "Says they 'eard a noise, saw a plume 'o sand not too far out. Found this poor sod 'alf buried in a dune, drier than a sand cat's arse and just about done up nice and crispy", the gruff voice continued. "Resilient little rat, I'll give 'em that though".
Jack drifted in and out of consciousness, until the feel of a cold wet cloth being applied to his forehead woke him fully. "Aah", he gave out a little cry of effort, opening his eyes that were gummed closed.
"Welcome back, sunshine!", the gruff voice from earlier boomed in his ears. The voice was attached to a short, stocky man with a face devouring beard, wearing a blood stained apron.
"Where am I? Who are you?", Jack asked. Followed quickly by "Why can I understand you?" as his brain caught up with his circumstances.
"I'm the company medic, where you are is... that'd be a secret. As fer yer last question, I reckon it has a lot to do with that language orb you've been clutching this whole time.", the self proclaimed medic replied good naturedly.
He realised that he did have the 'language orb' clutched in his right hand. Apparently it did a lot more than just act as a fancy visual dictionary. It could translate as well? Company medic? Why did that sound military? And where was he that was a secret?
The "Company Medic" left his side and headed out of the tent flaps, grunting something to a uniformed fellow just visible outside. Jack propped himself up, looking around the inside of the tent he found himself in.
There were four beds in the tent, three unoccupied; a cabinet to one side filled with an assortment of jars; and a workbench near the entrance covered with a variety of rather medieval looking tools. His throat was parched by the dry heat, and he felt like a boiled lobster. Where was he?
After a few minutes, the Company Medic returned, following a bespectacled man in a crisp military uniform that wouldn't have looked out of place in a civil war reenactment.
"I am Captain Ishmeal, and who might you be?", asked the bespectacled man. It was the cultured voice he'd heard from earlier.
Clearing his throat, "My name's Jack. Can you tell me where I am?", Jack replied with a question of his own.
"And how did you get here, Jack?", asked the Captain, ignoring Jack's question.
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"How should I know? I don't know where here is, I don't know where there was, and I sure as hell don't know how to explain the void", Jack thought. "I don't know. One minute I was somewhere else, and then I woke up here", is what came out of his mouth.
"Interesting. And where was this somewhere else you came from?", persisted the Captain.
"I... I don't.. I don't know", stammered Jack. He couldn't exactly tell them that he thought he'd died, woken up in a freezing cold nowhere, and then fallen out of nowhere to wake up here. He was pretty sure that would sound crazy, even here.
"Must'a taken a knock and lost his memory, I reckon" interjected the Company Medic. "Too pale to be local", he added.
"Yeah", Jack added. The truth was too unbelievable and he simply didn't know enough to make up a plausible story. He sincerely doubted that these people would know where Earth was, never mind America.
Captain Ishmeal stood for several moments, his face emotionless. "We can't take any chances. Get him patched up and then send him down to the mine. Let me know if his memory suddenly returns and he's willing to talk", he eventually turned and addressed the Medic, before striding out of the tent.
"Sorry lad, Captain's not a bad sort but you picked the wrong place to stumble in to", he said pityingly. "Be best if ye' could remember how you came to be out here where ye' shouldn't be". He looked at Jack meaningfully.
"I really don't know. What mine was he talking about?", Jack asked helplessly. What mine had Captain Ishmeal been talking about?
"You'll find out soon enough lad", the Medic sighed.
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Jack awoke from a deep slumber
The tent was silent, although an occasional shuffling could be heard as the guard near the entrance adjusted his position. Despite the heat that he'd experienced when he was last awake, someone had covered him with a thick blanket as he'd slept - it was remarkably cold.
He lay there, thinking about his current situation, but that just led his mind in circles.
What was the void?
Did he go there when he died?
Did that mean that he'd died twice already?
Soon after he woke up, he noticed that it was getting lighter. Soon, he was distracted from his insanity inducing thoughts by the Medic entering the tent, with what appeared to be a steaming bowl of food. Some kind of grain, from the looks of it. He was looking forward to having a full plate of food after a week of nibbling at Mìngmài!
Jack sat up to accept the bowl, but did not expect that the Medic would also fish something else out of his pocket.
"Mornin'.", the medic drawled, passing Jack a round enclosure attached to a leather thong. "That's fer keeping yer Orb o’ Language close to ye’. It'll work fine as long as it's close enough to ye" he explained.
Jack put the bowl down and worked the clasp, placing the orb in the enclosure before hanging it around his neck. "Like this?", he said tentatively. It would make his life easier if he didn't have to always hold it when someone was talking to him.
"Yep", the medic responded. "Now eat yer slop, the Captain wants you down with the others soonish. And ye' wouldn't want to make the Captain angry. Ye' wouldn't like him when he's angry!".