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Vernon is regretting directing his boss to buy this hunk of junk ostensibly known as a vehicle. Not very much, but a little. Mostly because she then made him drive it, and this is a finicky and temperamental beast that keeps listing to the left, but in amounts that change a bit on every single bump. They are driving through what is colloquially called 'the wasteland,' which is a desert about half as hospitable and twice as rocky as it sounds. He is having to adjust often. It's annoying. Not very, and honestly, having a functioning vehicle that is not potentially going to explode is a bit of a novelty for him, but enough that he will think fondly of that other vehicle boss-lady had been eyeing before he steered her this way. That sure would have been nice to drive. It would have been painting a gigantic target on their backs, but still. He can dream.
"Eh, it's fine. We're selling the married couple act very well, they understand that I should come check on my wife.
"...so, how are you doing?"
“About the violence? A bit freaked out, but fine. Honestly the notion of casual betrayal from people that seemed like friends freaks me out more than everyone around me being armed and dangerous, but.” She starts shuffling through her papers to find something she doesn’t immediately have at hand. “…. I mean I was kind of aware I was going to die out here, so.”
"Statistics? Lifespan outside of the seven cities is tragic. People live short, sad, violent lives out here and I do not expect that being a valuable learned engineer will actually change that for me."
He needs to look away so she won't misinterpret his smile. Statistics. "Not that short."
"I'm not expecting to die tomorrow or anything, just. I am aware that I'm doing something crazy and risky and it'll probably get me killed. I don't think lying to myself about my chances will help anything? It's still worth it."
"So what exactly is it that you're doing, that's crazy? Is the plan to fix every plant you run into?"
"To the people of civilization who aren't, themselves, willing to help the common people."
"Not directly or quickly, but if the information on how to fix them is more easily available, then it will be easier for someone else to. For the common people to figure it out themselves or for corporate sellouts to think it's financially worth the risk, either one."
He shakes his head. "I understand the logic but that's not quite what I meant. Someone like you is much more likely to be able to serve as a force multiplier on that data. If you just collect data until something happens to you then, sure, eventually people will use it for good. But wouldn't it be better if you collected some data, didn't die, and then went on to use that data for something better?"
"Well, sure. And I will obviously do that if I see an opening, I'm not stupid. But realistically it might not happen, I might not get lucky enough to pull it off, so."
She snorts. "Eh. It's fine, I like people questioning my logic and telling me if I'm missing something. Speaking of."
She holds up several data points from the past hundred-odd years. The ones where plants blipped red and then back when someone happened to flail at them the right way to get them fixed again.
"Zash. Were these you?"
"Ahuh. Which ones were you, and can you give me additional information about them and what was going on?"
"I don't remember all of the details of them all," he says, which is only not a lie because that would be many and he does in fact not remember them all. He remembers most, though. "But I can try." Starting with the more recent ones.
"Okay. That'd be appreciated, thank you."
Does she just so happen to have a template made for him to fill out for each instance? Yes. Yes she does. In about a dozen copies. Here he is, get writing, bud.
Technically speaking she is not going to breathe a word about how he's probably over a hundred years old to the general public. So whatever trouble he's in will not be of the 'people calling him a monster' variety.
But she will be over there, smugly going back to work. She knew it.
"I can hear your smugness, you know," he says from where he's working on her worksheets.
"I'm not trying very hard to disguise it, but I don't see how it could possibly be audible."
"So I've noticed! Is there a trick to it so that I could hear when plants tell you what's wrong?"