"I have been a very dedicated learner for most of my life," she says, pulling her mask of composure back on with a sweep of her hand, "from even those who wished to not teach me.  I imagine Bleden Mark would be vaguely annoyed I first started learning to hide from prying eyes by watching him. 

"If you're trying, I'm sure I'll manage.  And goodness knows I've learned a lot from books.  I certainly did not learn my style of drafting from any other Fatebinder."

She hasn't spent too much time contemplating it, but she believes that it actually derives mostly from formal logic.  Premises laid out, and followed to conclusions.

"I suppose I could start rambling about technology in general but I'm kind of paying attention to the road."

"Ah.  Yes, that would be important.  Perhaps you could ramble about medicine?  As you might suspect, I know very little of what electrification and mass manufacture has brought to the field.  There's also clearly a much more profound understanding of alchemy than was available to myself; we hardly have anything but pieces of leather to bite, for pain, though occasionally we had poppy-syrup.  ...I imagine you actually know why that works, if there's sufficient inquiry made here as to understand - not just understand but replicate - the interior of a star."

He can explain the biochemical pathways of opioids, tolerance, and addiction, sure. With a sidetrack into organic chemistry too.

"...Kyros preserve us, there are people living lives so intolerable - not even from physical causes - that they prefer to drug themselves insensate and risk death rather than further live them?"

It sounds absurdly like a prayer.  (Because it is.  Ophelia takes Kyros's Name seriously.  Not only because of the law, but because Kyros, Archon of Archons, Overlord of the Empire, is powerful enough to likely mean it when they say it is blasphemy to speak it falsely or with derogative intent.)

"A bad life definitely contributes but I don't know that I would classify addiction as an entirely psychological malady. There are real physical effects that make it hard to throw, and it's a form of entrenched habit. I also think there would be people like that where you're from if addictive drugs were cheaply and freely available."

"I'm sure, but - you should be living in abundance, not - in this deep suffering!  At least the Empire's suffering happens for reasons, even if the reasons are stupid ones like 'Kyros unleashed constant earthquakes on a breadbasket territory because Cairn decided to revolt while he was there'!  ...Okay, actually, 'Civilization is in the same stranglehold that the Bastard City was in before Tunon wrecked three districts and took over to massive popular acclaim' is a - reasonable - reason, but I'm still - baffled.  Where is freedom from hunger, hostility, and hopelessness?  Surely someone must be trying to achieve it!  You've the resources!"

"Europe still mostly has what most of the world did in the late 21st by all accounts. Climate change was the big one. And the resource wars when rare earth metals started running out. And America is worse off than many other places- I can't really say how we got here though. We're here. And I have sick and injured to help."

She nods.  Then she double-takes.  "Thought you closed up - or do you have a different job you're heading to, now?"

"Oh, no- More philosophically, I mean. I'm not delving into the hows and whys as much as the what nows."

"Ahhh.  I see."

...Are they actually back yet?  It's been a long enough day that she's ready to rest.

They're driving through Bordertown, not Badlands, at this point. The Mercy Crew's hill is up ahead. It's getting dark.

Doctor Anno pulls up and parks, then speaks briefly with a man who seems to be a night guard. Then gets back in and drives off without her.

The guard waves her to follow and then summarily points at one of the tents that were left behind.

"Thank you."

And she will sleep, and prepare for the coming day.

The first thing to bother her is an unfamiliar face depositing a cup of coffee and a bagel in her tent at 6 AM or so and saying, "Hey overnighting head. Shower's up, need you out in half an hour." And vanishing straight away.

Mrgh.  Well, she can do that.  She shall...investigate the shower, after she scarfs down the bagel.

And - hmm.  This is a strangely bitter brew of tchocolatl but it sure is.  She sets it aside to drink once it's cooled - there's no reason to drink it hot in this weather.

The shower is a set of plastic dividers hooked up to a big tank on a trailer. Looks like private changing areas and spigots dropping water from above. A sign says 'good hygiene saves lives'. Another says '3 minutes, cold: Go down to Chief Lane if you want it hot'. There's a push soap dispenser hanging on a board. A volunteer comes out, donning his blue uniform, as she approaches. He gives her an odd glance but doesn't say anything.

"Good morning."

Politeness costs nothing, even if he's staring at her for whatever reason (and, frankly, inviting her to scrutinize him in return.)

"When do we open?  Being as I'm new here."

"Officially seven, but it doesn't usually get busy 'till eight or nine. You new?" He blinks and face-palms. "Right, you literally just said that. I thought I'd get used to EMT hours, and yet here I am."

...He can get a stealthy touch of Vigor - spread out from how she does it in combat, so it will last him a few hours at a much smaller 'dose'.  "It's difficult, but I trust that you'll manage.  To do this job at all means you're stronger than you think.  But do be careful how you treat your body while you're doing it; you look like you're halfway dead, and trust me, I've an eye for that."

"There's people who have it so much worse. Hard to not push yourself, knowing that. But always good to see more people coming to help." He gives an approving nod. "I'd better go help set up the drug cart."

"You'll help more people in the long run if you don't die of it.  Goodness knows I've had to deal with that tradeoff.  ...I'd best get myself ready, and you have things to do."

And she will shower (carefully conserving the water she is rationed) and - if no-one indicates otherwise; she's still not sure how anything's organized here - take up her 'post' at triage.

There's about two dozen people waiting patiently at the little marked perimeter. A cold, a jaw issue, various aches and pains. The relatively sparse staff this early starts on processing them by priority, but nobody else shows up once she's through them. Someone, a woman, seems to be moving around and checking things. She approaches Ophelia after a while.

"Hey. Call me Heron, I'm running sanity checks this morning. We're usually not very busy for the first while aside from the first bump, people who were waiting. That's why it's just three tents open this early. The time of day we need triage help, in particular, the most is around nine to noon and two to six- So if you want to relax until then, that would make sense."

"A pleasure to meet you, Heron.  You may call me Kyra.  What are you checking for?  I must admit, I'm still uncertain how things are organized around here."

"That's because they're barely organized. More on the fact that medical training's pretty standardized than anything else, we all know each others' jargon. See, if something looks organized, it looks official, it invites official censure. A bunch of heads doing this shit out of the goodness of their poor, sucker hearts- Who cares? There's dozens of outfits like this one in the slums proper, we're just the lucky few who serve Bordertown."