"Are you telling me that the people you know in the future are the sort of people who, if they found out that humanity understood the ultimate laws underlying the universe, would not throw an absolutely enormous party?"

"...perhaps the physicists would. I have not met many physicists."

"Your future sounds kind of garbage."

Kyeo is saved from having to respond to this statement by the arrival of Kars and the social worker, the latter of whom is another ambiguously-gendered person wearing a cloud of elaborately embroidered skirts and shawls and wraps. They kick the other two out, saying "I'm a sworn-secret-keeper and you're not."

Once they're out, they sit down a meter or two away from Kyeo and say, "Hello. I'm Tazz, I specialize in helping people deal with unprepared-for disasters. I can help you get set up with an apartment and a legal identity and a job and classes."

"Thank you, that all sounds important."

"You're welcome! Let's get started."

The first part of this process mostly involves Tazz typing on their handcomp a lot and occasionally asking Kyeo questions: how old is he ("I'll have to fudge your date of birth but I'll put an explanation in the comments"), his medical history ("What with how fast viruses evolve you should get re-vaccinated for everything just in case, that's free of course"), what does he want in an apartment ("Are you likely to want a dog or a cat or a parrot? Some places forbid those").

Kyeo can convert his age into Earth years and provide all his vaccination-relevant medical history and does not want pets.

Then he can pick from a selection of apartments! The nicest ones would have more than a third of his income going to rent, which Tazz disrecommends unless he plans to get a job quickly, but he can get one that's annoyingly far from the nearest grocery store or one that's annoyingly far from the central park or one that's only 300 square feet or one that has shared kitchens per floor or one that's designated as welcoming for people with small children or one that's right next to the industrial district. Most of them are between five and fifteen stories with no particular pattern to which ones have openings how high up. "They all have elevators, of course, you haven't gone that far back, and they all have roofdecks, but some people prefer high or low floors."

300 square feet sounds fine, since he will be living alone. "I have never been grocery shopping."

"Ooh, is everything delivery in the future? I guess that would make sense, minicopters keep getting better. And I can totally take you to the grocery store if you want a native guide."

"I was in school and then in the military, and when I was a child my mother did the grocery shopping."

"Rats, I was hoping it was the minicopters thing. Do you want to move in today or do you think you'll need another day in the hospital?"

"I can free up the bed today if the doctors believe that is best."

"Kars said you could go today if you wanted but recommended you not do anything too strenuous until tomorrow or the day after--no climbing or contact sports or anything in that reference class. And of course I'm assuming you'll want to go to a clothing store and a pharmacy as soon as possible since the time travel didn't let you pack a suitcase."

"Pharmacy? Do I need ongoing medication?"

"Oh, no, just a toothbrush and toothpaste and soap and shampoo and so on. The grocery store will probably have some of those things but the pharmacy will definitely have all of them."

"Oh, I see."

"So do you want to move into your apartment today? And whenever you do do you want to see it first or go shopping first?"

"I would like to see the apartment first." Check if it has a fridge, that's important.

"Sure thing. I can walk you through the discharge forms so you can get a sense of how we do formwork in the past."

"I won't be able to read it but I can watch."

"The translation software has your alphabet now, right? I can have your handcomp mirror mine and yours will translate." 

The hospital discharge is very simple, since he hasn't been prescribed anything; he just needs to acknowledge that he doesn't want any more treatment and that he knows he shouldn't immediately go do contact sports. Tazz has already convinced them to waive most of the bill.

Most of it?

His first three (24-day-long) months of negatax have been delivered and Tazz assures him he will definitely have enough left over after the medical bill, rent, utilities, and groceries for any other urgent expenses, and that if he wants to retrain for a different career he can get heavily subsidized tuition because he didn't get the standard 16 years of free public school. Also Tazz has a discretionary budget for people whose situations can be improved in the long term by some money in the short term and Kyeo definitely qualifies.

This is all rather overwhelming but Kyeo appreciates the help.

"Being sent back in time would stink for anyone. Let's go to your apartment and then you can be alone for a while before we go shopping if you want."