The man reads it aloud to Judith, before nodding.

"It's just a diary with brief snippets. I don't see see why this would mean anything. Presumably, it was this snake herald that sent you here somehow."

"It means I did actually write things in the section I thought was a vision - you can't sensibly write things down during a vision, even if you're still in it they don't read back properly. Maybe in a true liao vision but you'd have to be acting as your past life, which I wasn't.

I still want a helicopter ride though, it sounds awesome."

She now gets in the elevator. Walking up a ridiculous number of stairs isn't going to mean any more than walking past all those streets.

It... probably is reality, or at least something significantly weirder than Ylenrith deciding to kidnap her to a research facility. But she really, really does not want to think through the implications of that right now.

"How does a helicopter work, anyway?" she asks cheerfully, hoping to get them chatting before the aura can sink its teeth in about her responsibilities. Building rapport is an important part of it, after all.

"Helicopter rides are awesome! I'm so sad that people so rarely have the ability to appreciate how amazing they are."

"To explain helicopters: a paper plane works because because when it's sent through the air, it pushes against the air below it, just like how you push against water when you swim. A helicopter works by forcing a wing to strike the air, like when you wave a fan, so quickly that it can lift itself up into the air, rather than moving the entire vehicle together with its attached wings."

The elevator is very quick; it takes well under a minute before it opens onto a rooftop with several large helicopters strewn across it. 

"These are ear-splittingly loud, so you'll have to wear ear protection to protect your hearing."

He just puts a pair of earmuffs on Judith, giddy to send her on the first helicopter ride of her life. This is probably the last gift he'll provide Judith; he wouldn't want to explain the boring money situation until she comes back again. He leads Judith to one of the seats, explaining to the pilot that somebody wanted to rent the helicopter for a brief ride, before asking Judith to sit down in one of the helicopter's impressively comfortable seats.

"Ready to see the world from the sky?", the pilot asked, using his microphone.

"Absolutely!" calls back Judith. This is an incredibly impressive contraption, like one of the League's little clockwork toys writ large, and while she has a bit of an eye on intelligence gathering it also looks like it's going to be great fun.

The helicopter starts flying directly up, giving her a view of Newton from above. The city is amazingly compact, with skyscrapers even on the outskirts. Virtually every roof is covered in greenery, and from a sufficient distance, it might give the impression of the city being acres of beautiful parks in the middle of nowhere.

"How much more do you want to see? Our range is quite spectacular, just to let you know."

"How close is the nearest other settlement? Do you have, like, farmland? Coastline? What other sizes of city are in range? Do they all look kind of like this one?"

"The closest other settlement is maybe 200 miles that-a-way; this is a really remote area that's fairly far inland, and the coastline would be barely outside my range. We have a relatively small amount of farmland, but nothing within hundreds of miles of here. We think it's cool to grow food under artificial lights, so farmland is fairly rare, but there are several relatively large farms in certain parts of the world. The biggest city in range has a million residents in it; not too big. Again, it's a really remote area. Basically every city looks quite similar to this one; it's just the way that people prefer to live. Parents' cities can look somewhat different, fewer buildings, more spaced out. But they too have these super-tall towers that people live and work in."

"Okay, let's go back then." Without any other major landmarks in range, she'd just be trying these nice people's patience in order to stall some more on having to work out what to do about all this.

It sounded like they lived a lot like the Terunael, which made sense, given their stupendous technology; she vaguely wondered if she'd end up turning a spring winder or hauling a lift rope with their other slaves once she'd stopped being an interesting curiosity.

The helicopter lands back at the hospital. The same man that led Judith to the helicopter returned, with a tense look on his face.

"Because you arrived here suddenly, you have no access to a currency account or a basic income. This means that you're in a very awkward financial situation. I have a suggestion that I recommend in the strongest terms: give me permission to make it public knowledge that someone who teleported from another world has spontaneously appeared, and wants to be paid for sharing her knowledge. Charities will gladly pay you for teaching us everything you know about the world you came from."

"In addition, you'll want to find someone trustworthy to receive the money into a currency account on your behalf, as well as to introduce you to everyday life in this world. Nurses like me are required to sign oaths of omnibenevolence, and we are generally considered highly trustworthy; I would gladly help you find housing and introduce you to this world, at least for the length of your time in quarantine. I'll be explicit that this, unlike everything you've received so far, wouldn't be a gift; I will expect the charity money you eventually receive to go towards repaying me for lodging and all other expenses. I'm quite certain that you don't have any better options, at the moment; there's little else to do without a currency account, so I again strongly recommend you find someone to be your agent who can spend your charity money on your behalf. Getting one will likely be an involved process."

Ah, here's the other shoe - this gentleman would like to own her. 

"I realise I'm not in the best negotiating position. But, if you don't mind, I'd like to see a copy of the oath, or you can recite it to me?"

That should give her a few moments to think - if they are so benevolent, they'll probably settle for spending at least a little time thrashing out a written contract?

It's a bit Freeborn to demand that, but she doesn't have the shared context to be sure that any verbal commitments she makes mean what she thinks they mean, and standard Highborn deal making is rather high on needing shared context and established systems of trust. 

"Absolutely. We don't do comprehensive contracts here in thomassia; they're seen as too vulnerable to loopholes and the inevitable complexity of the world. I'll try to get something reasonable off the top of my head. Let's see if we can get a reasonable beginning of an oath, at the very least:"

"I, Ronald, son of Augusta, shall receive the charitable donations intended for the benefit of the lady before me in her stead, and exclusively use these funds for her benefit and in her stead. I shall refuse to divert even the tiniest fraction of the money meant for her, and surrender the wealth held in her trust to her the instant doing so proves practicable, extinguishing this contract. Were it at all possible, I shall fulfill the entirety of this contract every moment it remains active."

"Does that sound like a fine contract? I can have it in writing, too; although recordings of oral contracts are generally considered superior."

"I actually meant the benevolence oath? You're considering your own access to my information your reward, right? I don't want to damage your Prosperity by - obliging you to do work without getting anything out it? If it's for the Wisdom of finding things out, or the Loyalty to your cause, that's fine.

I'm happy to, like, informally undertake to speak to people about my world for a reasonable period of time each day? As long as I don't suddenly discover that by 'reasonable' you mean, like, 'ten hours a day without breaks every day in perpetuity', or 'expected to not decline any question even if it's somebody else's secret' - this is the kind of shared assumption we just don't currently have, that I was thinking a written contract might be better at making explicit."

"My benevolence oath is 'I shall never enjoy the fruits of someone else's labor unwillingly, see every person as fully deserving of joy and happiness, and preserve the autonomy of others by my every action'."

"The contract isn't really me accessing your information; I'll just receive the payments from your work, on your behalf. That I'd gladly do for free, as a gift; it's essentially no effort on my part. There's a chance I'll charge you for doing other work, like teaching you about our world or doing some other service that might prove necessary, but I'll tell you in advance."

"Any contracts about how much you'd tell them would come later; I'll tell you now, there'll be a line of people showing up to ask you about your world for an hour or so. You won't need any kind of onerous long-term contract for that. I think it'd be best if you had somewhere to stay and for you to be somewhat settled in your life before finding out how to be paid for your unusual knowledge."

"Right. So. I can essentially - appoint you proxy for my bank account, which doesn't exist yet - by accepting your oath? What are you asking me to agree to right now, in return for your help getting me - 'settled in my life', as you put it?"

"Well, at the moment, I'm only asking you to agree to me becoming a proxy for your bank account; that I'll do just to help you, as a gift. Afterwards, I'm thinking that I'll charge rent for one of the rooms in my apartment; it would be very hard to find an apartment that the owner is willing to rent out to someone being quarantined."

"If explaining how things work would take me at least an hour, I'll probably also charge you the rate of an unskilled worked for teaching you how to navigate life in this world. I'm thinking, largely, that it'd be really interesting to hear your reactions and thoughts to how we do things here, and that it's sufficient reward for doing the trivial work of being a proxy and teaching you how to navigate everyday life."

"What happens if my earnings don't cover the rent - or the wages I owe you? I'm not trying to be difficult, I just want enough context." Enough context to be sure you're not setting up a cunning ruse to enslave me, 'autonomy of others' or no, she doesn't add.

"If that happens, I'll evict you and you'll have to find another way of supporting yourself. I happen to be extremely trusting of your ability to earn enough to repay me, however, and will offer you quite a generous amount of credit."

"Can we agree that - I'll make a good faith effort, at least at the suggested level of - chatting to people, at least four hours a day, about my world, assuming you have - arranged to provide opportunity? In return you'll take payment for, services and rent and, like, food and things, out of what I make for that; administer my money, until I request you to transfer it to me; and not hold me liable for those payments if they exceed my takings, except by refusing further goods or services?" She checks things off on her fingers as she's saying this.

"Then I'm confident that I'm not going to end up in debt, you're confident I'm not going to end up in debt, everything's fine, and we can - move on to actually sorting things out?

I don't expect I'm very expensive to feed or so on, by the standards of a world that makes twenty story buildings and helicopters."

"Four hours a day is quite sufficient, yes. The terms you're proposing are a pleasant surprise on my end; the terms I had in mind weren't quite so specific or demanding on your part. And yes, I'm expecting that you won't be much of an expense on my end at all. I'm quite convinced that we both have the same expectations for what would be considered a fulfillment of our contract, and you seem interested in moving on to sorting things out, so I'll be so bold as to start sorting things out."

"My shift ended a few minutes before you arrived, so I can start showing you around now. The first thing I'd want to do, at least, is to let you at least know where you'll sleep for the night. My apartment is the type with an additional bedroom, so it'll prove an excellent place to stay. Follow me, if you would."

He specifies a relatively low number as the rent, charged daily; it's reassuring, even though Judith doesn't know enough to know just how low that rent is. Ron's apartment is only a couple of blocks from the hospital, in a building with seemingly no doors. As he approaches, however, a grey panel starts retracting into the ground, revealing another spacious elevator, perhaps 3 meters by 3 meters. It ascends lightning-quick before opening directly into a spacious living room, with no corridor or anything else between the elevator and the apartment.

"This apartment has 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. The larger bathroom is the one further away from the entrance. You're free to explore and ask anything about the apartment."

The living room is rectangular and stretches quite far, having a dining table easily seating 4. There's a confusing absence of a stove or oven, with only a small, rectangular box placed on a counter along one side of the living room that looks like a microscopic kitchen, with its cupboards and drawers. The walls are universally painted in inoffensive colors, whites and grays, but much of the furniture is wooden and colored in a variety of browns. There's a blank white wall, with a sofa pushed against the opposite wall. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, but the view is just of the surrounding, intimidatingly tall apartments.

Ron suggests Judith explore the apartment herself. She walks into the closer bathroom, seeing a shower alcove slightly smaller than the one in the hospital, as well as a porcelain toilet (without a chain? or toilet paper or bidet??) and a relatively wide sink only meant for 1 person. She also checks the bedroom closest to the elevator, a room with a bed barely smaller than a king-size bed. The second bedroom also has a dresser that perfectly fits against the wall, almost camouflaged against it.

Finally, she takes a look through the other bathroom and bedroom. The larger bathroom has a spacious, squarish bathtub placed in a corner, opposite a shower alcove that's slightly larger than the one in the hospital; the bathtub is deep and large enough for her to easily be submerged up to her neck when sitting down. The larger bedroom has another large bed, together with 2 quite big dressers on either side of the bed. Everything seems to be made with a frankly bizarre level of precision, and there's an extremely high level of fit and finish in everything, whenever Judith took a closer look.

Ugh. This is why she tries not to negotiate with Leaguers; she's no good at it and always digs herself into a hole.

At least this time it's probably a hole she wants, she tries to reassure herself; she wants to be introduced to a wide range of people to talk to, she needs to get her bearings as soon as possible so these poor people can stop fearing death, and dooming themselves to long stays in the Labyrinth...

The hidden door is somewhat startling! The elevators still kind of feel like going between Day chambers, but if this is a Day realm operation, it is sufficiently vast that she doesn't think she has any real chance of dealing with that, so she might as well live in the world where she actually can do some good.

"How does the door work?" is her first question; if she's living here, she's extremely keen on not getting stuck outside.

Lack of cooking facilities isn't very surprising - individual places to live, especially in cities, tend not to have them, it's a fire risk and you can just get food delivered - from the lack of food stalls, she assumes delivery food is the main model here, anyway. As she's been invited to explore, she has a look in some of the kitchen cupboards.

"Is the sink in the bathroom drinking water, or is there another place we get that from? And, uh, what's the protocol for me drinking, eating, using the toilet?" If she phrases it like a quarantine thing, then hopefully he'll explain the toilet before she has to admit she can't work out how to, uh, clean up afterwards.

Everything is ridiculously well made, but, well, twenty stories is a short building and they have flying machines.

"The door actually doesn't actually work in a particular way. It just automatically goes down whenever you stand in front of it and there isn't anyone wanting to go up. And just in case, we also have emergency stairs that can be accessed with a key; I'll give you my key, if you're worried. I've never needed to use it, because elevators are built to be spectacularly reliable."

The bottom cupboards have a garbage can and some laundry; the laundry bag is basically empty, it just has a few articles of clothing in it at the moment. Among the upper cupboards, you notice the absolute absence of food of any kind, but there is plenty of silverware, plates and a variety of items that seem to fit snugly within the rectangular cooking device on the table.

"The bathroom sink is drinking water, that's right. You're expected to have your food and drink delivered. For the toilet, just do your business and press the little grey button. It might be a bit camouflaged, but it's sort of near the top and right of the upper section. It uses sensors and things, so you don't need to hold it; it automatically uses just enough water when doing the flushing."

"I mean, I expect you won't want me, like, out of the quarantine suit, in rooms you're using?

I'd... like the key, if that's okay?" She considers asking "how do the elevators work", but she doesn't quite want to get into the whole 'finding out who they've enslaved to run all their ridiculously tall buildings' thing yet.

"I assume you've got, some kind of catalogue, and you'll order for me while I still don't have a bank account?"

The other thing that's missing, thinking about it, is - books. Pamphlets. Newspapers. Things with writing on, in general.

Maybe they just always take a shower after using the toilet. That would track with how... immaculate... everything is.

"Take my key! I'm pretty sure it'll prove unnecessary."

"Yep, until we can be sure that you're not a real risk, I'll have to insist that you keep the quarantine suit on outside of your own bedroom and the smaller bathroom. It means that you won't be officially allowed to have a proper sit-down bath for at least a week, but I'm sure you can survive just showering in the secondary bathroom."

"And speaking of catalogues - I'm just kind of stupid, I'm so used to using the phone and projector system for everything. Here, let me show you a catalogue."

Ron walks up to the couch and sits down. He says "Hello, World!" in a very deliberate tone, and an image appears on the opposite wall.

"Mr. H, please show me an old-school catalogue with a broad selection fit for someone who has arrived very recently with essentially nothing."

The wall is replaced by a catalogue full of vibrant, charming images, all of them illustrations like you'd have seen in ads included in old comics magazines.

"Now, just look around, and the catalogue will flip over the pages for you!"

Ron moves his eyes to the right side of the wall, and an animation of the catalog pages flipping begins to turn. The catalogue is full of clothing, food, furniture... it seems like it's completely random, rather than any kind of rational organization.

"I feel like actually trying to ask Mr. H is the better option, but this is probably as close as you're getting to a paper-based catalog of options. Unfortunately, catalogues are now a thing of the past. Although I can get some books ordered here, if you insist on reading things on physical paper."

"Oh, is the - magic focus, the 'phone' - that summoned help, something that - sends messages to Mr H here?

Should we work out - some kind of budget? I guess I'm not going to need much in the way of - how often does the quarantine suit need washing, I'm assuming you send away laundry too?"

"You don't need a phone for Mr. H, you can just stand near the couch to summon his help. You'll absolutely want your own phone, too, although they're very expensive and complicated, and you really won't be needing a phone as long as you have access to Mr H."

"This is a lucrative opportunity for you, you won't need to budget much, really."

"We wash all clothing, including the quarantine suit, daily. Washing clothes in need of quarantine is a pain of its own, but I'll order the necessary equipment and everything else, as well as 2 extra quarantine suits now. They'll be here by next morning, promise."  

He taps a few buttons on his phone, before nodding to himself.

"I think it might be a while, still, before people agree on the kinds of questions they'd want to ask you. If you have any questions, this is a truly excellent time to ask them; you don't have much else to do, right now."