Zash has to cover his lips and look away to hide his grin. "That sounds like Dr. Marlowe alright." Then he looks at the man again. "Give me a minute then I'll be ready for you to take me to the plant room."

"Thank you, Mr., ah..."

"Evanson. Vernon Evanson."

He shuts the door and twiddles his thumbs for a minute because being immediately ready to go would've been minorly suspicious and it's out of a series of minorly suspicious things that suspicion arises so one should minimise those. Then he opens the door again and nods to the man and is escorted to the plant room even though he very much doesn't need to be, once again to prevent suspicion.

The man is much more relaxed now that someone competent and possessed of relevant context and expertise (in managing bitchy haughty spoiled plant engineers) is in charge. When they get to the wide hallway that leads to the plant room there are three other people there looking anxious.

...Zash tsks. "This won't do. All of you, out."

"...but—"

"Did I stutter? I said out. If Dr. Marlowe finds a crowd of anxious people at the door when she decides to leave she will be most put off. Shoo, go away, I'll come find someone if I need them."

...yeah okay they're very good at obeying orders and very used to rich people's demandingness so they can scoot. Someone will manage this so they don't need to think about it.

Good, good. And then into the room he goes.

Yvette is indeed looking very unhappy, and also like she hasn’t gotten up from this console for anything but angry pacing for seven hours.

“What is it now, go away leave me alone! I’m trying to do my job, do I barge into your work and start telling you how to do it —“ she begins, this clearly being the welcome she gives anyone doesn’t know. Because, of course, she doesn’t recognize Zash right now. He’s got a different face.

Then her brain catches up with her and she connects the dots. “Oh. Z-Vernon, hi.”

"Hello, Dr. Marlowe. I wouldn't dream of telling you how to do your job, but I did in fact tell them," thumb hiked towards the door, "how to do their job, which is to say stop hovering around the door like anxious bees around a particularly succulent flower.

"How is it going, my dear?"

In lieu of using words, she makes a sound. It goes: “Auuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

"Mmhm. The plant hasn't been able to properly translate exactly what you've been thinking and feeling but I got the gist of it," he says, crossing the distance between them.

“I can’t tell if the last engineer they had just didn’t leave them instructions or if they ignored them entirely or or or what, it’s, I am absolutely doing the worst scut work, I hate it here take me back to the desert and find me a plant that has been at least left alone to its own devices because that would have been better than this atrocity!!!!”

She looks a bit like she’s about to cry, actually.

...yeah, it's hug time. He is no longer smelly goo so he can hug her. Maybe without using the painted arm.

Oh. Right. Hugs are a thing, aren’t they. Yes. Okay. Sure.

She’s just going to burst into tears on him, then.

He can send some psychic reassurance from both himself and the plant. She doesn't need to worry so much, doesn't need to work so hard, they'll have many days on the ship and the plant really is very happy that they're here to chat to, and she really likes her job. This is a good thing! She should be happy, not sad.

“That makes it worse, they’re wasting her and just, just, treating her like an infinite expensive novelty dispenser and the percentage of stuff here that was fast lined by someone with a lot of money and not a lot of sense is, is,” she wails, sobbing.

The plant is really confused by why Yvette is less reassured and not more! Zash isn't, and can try to translate it to her, though it's not likely to go incredibly well. And as for Yvette, Zash can continue to hug her and pet her and just be there for her. She'll be okay. They'll be okay. It'll be okay. Maybe it wouldn't have been before but now Yvette and Zash are both here and it will be fine.

“I don’t, though! Think it will be fine. I-I-I at best I can get her another five years, maybe, if I’m very optimistic and everyone listens to what I’m saying which they won’t because this place has been made to extract commercial value at the expense of all else and and and.”

The poor sweet little plant who is just doing her best and wants to help everyone is going to get driven to red state, and then from there have everything left wrung out of her in a Last Run, and then they’ll use all of the money they’ve earned to just buy another one and do it all again.

"Dr. Marlowe," Zash says, gently. "I think you need some food and rest, maybe to sleep a bit, you haven't slept since before we boarded. She'll still be here in the morning."

“Technically speaking I don’t have a doctorate I have several certifications in plant engineering which is admittedly equivalent but also not the same thing, and. … yeah probably that’s why all of my ability to not be a wailing bitchy mess has gone out of the window. Shit. … But there’s still so much left to do!”

That last sentence comes out rather like a child who knows it’s bedtime but doesn’t want to go, even though she’s very tired.

"This is a—does this saying even still exist, 'this is a marathon not a race'? Anyway, you need to pace yourself, not run yourself ragged on day zero and then be unable to help later. She will still be here, you're doing amazing, you need to take care of yourself, too."