Nothing Yet
It wasn't so much that the Deus computer lab was all that much like a public library--nothing on Deus had any exact real-world parallels, as far as he was concerned--so much as that the general feeling of a bank of computers and distracted faces brought up recent memories of paper towel baths in public bathrooms and suspicious looks from behind the circulation desk. He felt positive that at any minute someone was going to come stand behind him making significant noises in the back of their throat for him to please leave.
But it wasn't like that any more, was it? He'd had an actual shower now, and wasn't sporting that awful beard (although the stubble, it seemed, was permanent). And maybe his clothes were stained forever, but they didn't smell like anything worse than cigarette smoke, any more. And this was Deus. There wasn't a street outside for people to wander in from. Somehow that was easier to believe than being clean and having fresh laundry.
So they wanted him to make himself useful? OK. He could do that.
He had backspaced and retyped the same sentence five times. He should be looking for someone to help him, someone who knew things. He should be networking. He entertained the thought of texting Gale, and was galled by the idea of asking him for help. Without much hope, he lifted his eyes from the screen.
