He hands over a billfold. "It would be fucking stupid for teaching me this to be held up at all something as simple as money. I'll fetch the rest later."

"You...really needn't rush so," she can't help but protest, weakly.  "Really, if this succeeds, it is reward enough - that the doctors of Cincinnati will be able to carry on an Archon's dream farther than she would have ever imagined..."  She trails off, clearly experiencing some indescribable emotion.  Perhaps it is wonder, or awe, or maybe even grief.

"Not that I am...inclined to turn away the lever by which this world can be moved.  But it is...neither urgent nor a hard requirement.

"A master must supply their apprentice's tools, and all this costs me in making is time."

"Time is money. This is - immense, it really is. This is the most important single, specific thing to happen to me in my life. I don't know that it's more important than the rest of my life combined, but- Money is not the least I can do, but it's- This is not, actually, a large amount of money." He shuffles guiltily. "Really good doctors can earn twice this much in a day. I'm not that good, but I'm not bad. By that account I'm spending a lot more on the Mercy Crew than this. And, I've heard people say that you don't really care about something unless you'd be willing to put money into it. And, well." He shrugs. "Getting paid for a gig is only right and proper. There's a cultural weight to it, money or goods changing hands."

"Then I'd be a fool to turn down the weight of that belief, no matter that my mind stutters upon the sight of a four-digit amount of anything held by a single person on their own merit.  For a day's work.  ...Except, oddly enough, for that person with the mechanic shop over there," she bemusedly lets slip.  "...Regardless.

"It's going to be a pleasure working with you, Doctor Anno."

...The staff is, with much abuse of Vigor spells and careful use of some thirdhand power tools, ready in fifteen days.  Ophelia is still present for the bad hours of triage - but only those hours.

Dr. Anno diligently studies the reference material she offers. Even if he remains deeply skeptical. The chance is certainly worth a shot.

She can get more familiar with the Bordertown as days pass- The ebb and flow of people out here, who's important and who's not, the norms and styles of the itinerants and derelicts who hang out here.

...She can also notice some other places of interest during her trips into the nearest parts of the Badlands:

A highly fortified gas station with land mines, barbed wire, and drones overhead, that is apparently owned by Roland.

A Puma rest stop-slash-shrine or some sort, depicting a flaming skull and well cared for.

Another cult, or well, plausible cult? Their fortification is pretty meh, but they have built a suspiciously altar-like pile of junk in the center of their camp and there's one building that seems to be equipped as a prison cell.

...That prison cell makes it damn well cultlike enough that she lets the kids know that she's pretty confident she won't like what she finds out about them.

Their cover is horrible.  She's not even a general and she sees some obvious holes in their defenses when she's looking; how much more will the professionals find?  And that's not even considering bullets.

Kyra Smith's cover...

Actually seems pretty solid, if she pitches herself as a bleeding heart who finally had a chance to do something about it with the Mercy Crew, after stumbling upon some training manuals by chance.  She puts off the city visit that the border pass suggests would keep with its pattern, for just one interval more.  She'll finish up her business out here, first.

She meets with Dr. Anno, the night they plan on his first casting.

She really hopes that this works.  She believes this will work.  It has to.  This can't die with her.  These people need it, and by Kyros' name she's going to provide, as the Midwife has and will again, damn it.

Someday, they'll raise their own Spires, these people, this planet - and then, perhaps, she might rest.

He holds the staff and focuses on the impulse to do good that wells in his heart. The crushing misery that pervades healthcare professions, and how it Should Not Be. The evolutionary impulse to charity, to fairness, to aid and relief, in all of humanity. However deeply buried. How life is a chain of meaning from the first primal cell to today.

Is this any different than new-age meditation and wishful thinking? It is- It's had measurable effects. He's not deluding himself with spiritualism, he's applying a new principle.

Life.

And the small cut she made, for him to test himself upon, seals at his touch.

"...You did it, Doctor Anno.  Even if I hadn't known, the moment you invoked the sigil, that you had successfully reached the right state of mind, you have indisputable proof before you.

"Congratulations.  You've successfully cast magic."

There is an ineffable quality present - that Doctor Samuel Anno has never before seen in Ophelia's expression - as she permits herself a soft, proud smile.  It is hope.

He focuses, thinks, and - does it again.

A deep breath.

A third time.

And then he holds the staff out high and bursts out laughing. "O cancer, o plague, o the ravages of age and stress, how you torment us all. But the final enemy that will be defeated is death. And so let us place these tortuous specters where they belong- The history books!"

Would he like a hug?  She feels - despite her normal reserve - like now is the time for a good triumphant hug.

"Doctor Samuel Anno, Archon-Presumptive of Life.  I am honored, both as a Fatebinder, and dare I say a friend, to have been a part of the events leading up to this moment.

"We have not fixed the world yet.  But today...

"Today we've made a visible, undeniable start."

It surely must be raining.  She can't explain the water on her cheeks as anything else; surely she's not crying, and if she was, it couldn't possibly be happy tears at the success of her momentary apprentice, who, she so solidly believes, means every word he just said.

"I may have declared your staff ready for use as a channeling focus, before now - but, spires and stars, I think we could make your staff into an artifact, with the way you felt that."

The final enemy that will be defeated is death.

It rings through her head, as sincere as a clarion call.

"The final enemy that will be defeated is death.  Oh, I think I'm in love with this.  Please, allow me to commemorate this moment.  It sha'n't take long.  This staff stays with you, when we leave."  She's - she's positively giddy.

"I'm not one for big displays, usually," He rubs the back of his head. "And this... It's going to be complicated. But still, who in their right minds complains about such a wonderful new tool in the kit?"

He's grinning, for all that he prevaricates.

"Do go ahead, yes."

Then she will, ever-so-carefully, etch those words into the spirals of his staff; the snake shall bear O cancer, o plague, o the ravages of age and stress, how you torment us all, along the smaller scales of its underside, while But the final enemy to be defeated is death is proudly scored atop its raised and perhaps rearing head; And so let us place these tortuous monsters where they belong - in the history books! wraps precisely around his grip.

"Your staff, Doctor Anno.  It may well bring Life to the world on its own, if you care for it well."

"Magnificent... I wish I understood this phenomenon of belief, but you will have to serve as the expert on that. For me it's time to stop being Sisyphus. Now, I can't tell you too much about my plans going forward, but I'm going to be doing some very careful work inside the city. And the Mercy Crew will continue out here. You can consider me a good contact."

She nods, solemnly.  "I've copied some pretty thorough notes on Life, Vigor, and some relevant augmentation exercises, out for you, as well as a specific advanced trick that - will, in essence, give you time, twelve seconds per unaugmented casting; it puts patients into total stasis, through the Sigil of Illusion, which I've also included - minimal - notes upon.  ...Be careful with that one, it's dangerous in a security sense.  I have also been experimenting with whether I can make the Sigil of Lightning emulate a defibrillator.  So far, no."

She hands him a notebook, one he remembers her scribbling away in as she taught.  "...Consider it a journeyman gift."

"...I'm certain I don't have to tell you to be careful.  I'd be very upset if I had to rescue you from hostile megacorps; I'd have to go to war ahead of schedule."  ...She's probably joking.

"...Any thoughts on who amongst the Crew to teach next?"

"Every one taught is probably a leak waiting to happen, the key will be rumor management. Too many would run their mouths, or buckle under the pressure - I feel like I might, even. Or sell out. The key will be momentum. Don't be a threat to a small crew until you're bigger than that. Don't be a threat to a medium crew until... Et cetera. It's not just the big sharks at the top, but the barracudas - the big gangs - and even vicious carp, organizations the size of Roland's crew. I'll think about it."

She nods.  "You won't, Doctor.  You have my trust.  And, undoubtedly, your own potent capabilities."

"...Rumor management, and momentum.

"...You know, I think I know just the thing.

"I think what we might want to do, is teach the kids.  Make it - games, stories.

"Because kids talking about magic - even in a world where the adults have magic - is often something the adults overlook.

"...And, they need the help."

"...Mm. I don't have children. I wouldn't know what to do with one, and wouldn't want to bring them into this- Mess. I think it's worth a chance if you believe you can do it, though."

"Oh, I've long since known that unless a miracle occurs, my bloodline is ending with me.  I might be pretty enough, but I have duties that bear too heavily upon me for hard labor.  I think my lineage, though, could stretch longer, and really, I don't intend to be having with any of this 'dying' stuff in the first place.  I'd rather no-one have to.

"...I think I can teach these kids, and I think they know the risks of involving themselves in this far better than I could.  You and I - neither of us grew up out here.  We don't know the hunger in our bones.  And these kids - they do.  They've been scrabbling for one more day, every day of their lives.

"...I can just imagine Verse making some horrible quip.  She'd fit right in, out here - and it's from her that I derive the impetus to...

"Give them a tool to pull themselves out of the hole that fickle fate has dropped them in, by the accident of birth.

"Though, speaking of, d'you think Roland's idealistic enough to..."

Not immediately flip her to the big corporate fuckers, she doesn't need to say.

"He knows some things already, though not necessarily this one.  Been selling some of my old stuff."

"You have a point about the internalization of desperation. Though some Bordertown residents haven't always been so. I think Roland... Should not be presented overmuch with temptation. He might or might not be an idealist; But I'm pretty sure he has loyalties outside the city. Showed up one day and became established too quickly. Built the gas station. Found the smugglers. Makes a small fortune buying and selling drugs and spikes on the street. Known in the bordertown, in his corner of the slums, in the dump, in the airport... He's a bit too competent, and his history too vague."

"Bloody Archons.

"...To clarify, you would not recommend him, yes?"

"I'd trust him about as far as you can throw a baseball, and no further than that. Sigils are a secret the size of Cinci, though. So no."

She nods.  "It's a shame, he is competent.  But I wouldn't trust someone with an undisclosed allegiance with a secret of this magnitude, and he certainly hasn't disclosed his.  I suppose I could ask sometime, but even then..."

She shakes her head.  "Verse was more luck than I deserved."