That's been the word around the water coolers. Or, well, the word around the dismal halls, since this hotel seems to be rather lacking in anything resembling water coolers. Sam casts a weary look at his suitcase. He hasn't even opened it, though the combination is curiously obvious in his head. He'd just gotten the strong sense of possession radiating from the thing, the unmistakeable sensation that it was his, and picking it up had seemed, more or less, like it was simply The Right Thing To Do. If the 'tablet' people have been mentioning - god, that word is never going to be the same to him, is it? - is anywhere, he guesses it'd be there.

"Sam," he answers absently. "I'm thinking those'll have to be my mainline to the real world while I, uh. Get over it." He waves an equivocal hand in a loose circle that's somehow meant to indicate him, sickness included. You know. 'It.'