[Wasn't going to. Jackson says Brian can drive you to the airport, and the English installation should've kicked in overnight, you wanna take that for a spin?]

"Whoa," Thellim says out loud, experimentally, also trying to transmit the thoughts.  "I know English."

She'd - honestly she'd rather have been awake while something this large happened to her brain-state but Thellim will not complain at the moment.

"What happens if I try to say something with a longer symbol message length in English because it contains multiple concepts that have shorter codes in my native language?  It comes out as a longer but grammatical sentence.  That feels very odd.  Does it help me think things that are shorter codes in English?  It would help if I had an example of a problem whose answer was a short code in English but a long code in Baseline."  Thellim stops trying to speak in English, it's weirdly awkward and she can already feel her thoughts containing less discourse about probability-theoretic concepts that don't have single-syllable names in English.

[You will probably have an accent because the installer is herself Swedish and English isn't her native language, but it'll at least let you read airport signage and conduct conversations.]

There's a knock on her door.

"Permission given freely and cheerfully!" Thellim calls out, in what was supposed to be a three-syllable standard polite phrase meaning he could come in.  Eh, she'll get used to this.

In comes Jackson. "Uh, I made breakfast," he says. "Isabella says you speak English now?"

She totally understood that!  "I do!  Thank you so much for being cooperative with me!  Brian too!"

"Yeah, 'course. Uh, I made French toast and bacon."

French toast proves to be bread soaked in something and fried and served with strawberries and powdered sugar on top.

Thellim takes a tentative nibble.  Not what she's used to, but no stranger than any of a hundred weird foods you can get delivered in dath ilan on days when you want to try somebody's bizarre invention instead of eating more accustomed food, and like those strange foods it's put together with care for her taste-buds.  She'll devour it with gusto.

Jackson eats more than her and Brian put together even though he's very skinny, and then Brian ushers her into his car, which is a slightly dented black Chrysler.

Is that a car?  It's probably a car, it's on a paved flat surface suitable for driving.  Interesting!  Maybe with higher technology they've gotten the noise down to zero and the self-driving can handle the full complexity of surface conditions.  That would save money on underground tunneling, though at cost of valuable surface area, but maybe their urban areas just aren't that dense.

When they are both in and have their seat belts on Brian demonstrates that the car is not self-driving or quiet at all.

"D'you mind if I turn on the radio?" he asks.

"Yes.  No.  What?  How does this language - it's okay for you to turn on the radio.  Is there - I assume there are - magical safeguards - against a human error causing this car to drive directly into a solid object?"

"...uh, I don't think my insurance covers precognition warnings but somebody'd stop me if I was about to cause a big pileup probably." He flicks on the radio. Music she has not heard before thumps into the car.

Okay, so there is a magical reason they're not going to die in an enormous fireball spawned from the fuel tank of what sounds like an internal combustion engine which, like, why but never mind.  Thellim will attempt to enjoy the unfamiliar music, and the sight of wooshing right through a city at speeds faster than even a powered-trampoline-avenue.

They drive through some city, and past some random cornfields, and then there is an airport! He pulls up to the curb to drop her off, makes sure she has her bag of her civilizational artifact clothes, and waves to her.

Thellim imitates the wave back, and adds a dath ilani salute meaning that much has been received and much is owed-in-a-friendly-way.  There's some sweat inside her new clothes now and it's not drying quite as fast as in carefully optimized dath ilani clothing, but it will no doubt dry soon.  She doesn't know why she was so nervous; this world has precognitives and if experience has taught her anything, it's taught her that dying in a giant fireball just means you end up somewhere else.

[Hey, you there yet?]

[I'm at the airport, heading towards a place where I see lots of other people entering with a sign that says "ENTER" over it.  Entrances aren't obviously organized by destination even if I knew my destination - what piece of info do I need to find my next waypoint?]

[You actually need to go to the desk that says American Airlines and get them to print you a boarding pass. That'll have a gate number and then you go to the gate. You don't have an ID, which complicates things, but please do not try to tell your entire life story to the airline agent, tell them you're Thalia Jones and you're traveling under section 114 sponsor Isabella Swan and then they'll confirm with me.]

[Rogerroger.]  Thellim enters the huge building, and then has to look up at a lot of signs and read them individually instead of being able to just scan through them and let "American Airlines" leap to her attention.  Seems like the sort of thing that will fix itself with more experience, so she's not worried.

The desk with "American Airlines" over it has what looks like a queuing line... yeah, Thellim is pretty sure that's a queuing line.  She goes to the end of the line, waits, and pays attention to what the people before her do.

The people in front of her go to whoever says "I can help who's next" and then they present their identification and luggage and get papers for themselves and their luggage and then move on.

Thellim goes to the next available helper.  [I'm up,] she brainvoices, and echoes her next words back to Isabella.  "Thalia Jones, journeying under section 114, sponsored by Isabella Swan," she says out loud.

"114, ugh - Barb, do you know how to do a 114 -"

"Yeah, I can help you in a sec," says the presumable Barb.

Barb switches kiosks temporarily with Thellim's helper and does computer things and prints her a boarding pass and writes something on it in purple marker. "Line's shorter right now in that security checkpoint," she says, pointing.

"Thank you very much for your game-theoretic cooperation!" says Thellim.  Whoops, that probably didn't sound like colloquial English, but in her defense what kind of post-apocalyptic language lacks a short word for that.  Thellim quickly turns and heads toward the indicated 'security checkpoint'.