Chapter 9

March 22, 1926, A small apartment in New York City, Unified States

I stood in front of the mirror and studied my reflection. This was the person I used to be. Tall, well-built, male, black hair neatly styled, black eyes, Akinese... no. Not Akinese, but Japanese. In a full three-piece Armani that I kept for special occasions.

At my feet rested a barbell weighing almost 45 kilos... no, I was in America now. One hundred pounds. Ugh, I really hated the Imperial system. Truly, a testament to irrational stubbornness. I'd hated it during my stay in Londinium, and I hated it now.

Still, it was amusing to see my suit-clad form reach down, and after taking a moment to brace, smoothly life the weight off the ground. As I did it, I kept a careful eye on the illusion in the mirror. Not so much as a flicker. Excellent.

During the fight against the thugs sent against me in Londinium, I'd been so focused on fending them off that I hadn't realized I'd momentarily dropped my disguise. True, I'd re-established it the moment I had things under control, and my precaution of dyeing my hair meant no one had noticed, but the fact remained that in a moment of stress I'd started channeling reinforcement spells through my orb, letting my disguise fall to the wayside.

At the time it had been necessary as a disguise wouldn't help me if I was dead. What bothered me was that I hadn't even noticed doing it. Considering what I was going to be facing today, my parallel casting needed to be flawless. Even when under physical stress, I needed to be able to keep up the illusion while relying on my orbless magic for any other spells. Nothing short of actual life-threatening danger should cause me to drop my illusion. To aid in this, I'd been going through magically reinforced morning exercises for the last week, deliberately stressing my self-reinforcement while keeping up as complex an illusion as I could.

Hopefully, it would be enough for any challenge I might face. Exercises done, I carefully restored the appearance of Moana Kane, collected my backpack, and headed out to the apartment's tiny kitchen/dining area. The smell of fried eggs filled the room, and Lena looked up from the skillet as I came in. She gave me a smile that had definite amusement in it as she asked sweetly, "Good morning, Moana dear! Ready for your first day of school?"

The glare I gave Lena would've had any of the 203rd curling up into an apologetic cringe, but alas, I no longer had my reputation as an ace and my rank as CO backing me. All she did was chuckle and say, "Smile, dear! You don't want your face getting stuck that way."

Grumbling under my breath, I sat down at the table. Lena was having way too much fun with my current situation. In fact, she had been taking inordinate pleasure in treating me like a child ever since she got appointed my guardian thanks to our immigration paperwork. Never mind that I was the one in charge and I had brought several times more funding to our escape than what Murdoch had spared for her. This is why a leader can't afford to show weakness even as part of a strategy - give a rebellious subordinate an inch and they'll take a mile. In this particular case, she was drawing amusement from how, after repeatedly blowing off her suggestions on attending school while in Londinium, I was forced to attend school, however briefly, here in New York.

The whole drama started because of my own need to build a decent resume. At this point in time a high school education, much less college, was a privilege rather than a necessity. So, since we had almost $4000 between the two of us (after converting our pounds), I'd thought of investing some of that into getting a high school certificate. In theory, it should have been easy. Outside of the social studies like American History, I already knew everything that an American high school would offer. Unfortunately, at this point in history the Unified States lacked anything approaching a standardized school-leaving test. That meant I had to go around the various high schools, and try and convince their administration to test me and give me a diploma - maybe with a suitable donation to grease the wheels.

That's when I ran into something that I really should have considered when settling on my current identity - right now, racial discrimination and segregation was alive and well in the Unified States. The minute they saw the non-Caucasian features of Moana Kane, most of the schools immediately starting finding all sorts of excuses not to cooperate. Some were more polite about it than others, but in the end my practical choices boiled down to a poorly funded institution on the borders of the slums calling itself Harlem River Secondary.

Now, given the poverty-stricken nature of the place, you'd think the school administration would be happy to rubber-stamp my diploma for a suitable consideration. Unfortunately, the Principal of this school was cursed with that peculiar combination of idealism and integrity that doesn't actually help anyone. Instead of taking my money and using it to improve the school, he took only a modest amount as administrative expense for testing me and then insisted I attend the remainder of the school year as a senior student to show I could handle a formal educational environment.

What a joke. War College had been far more demanding. At least Lena was able to negotiate my having to attend only twice a week as long as I did all the homework and assignments. The excuse being that on the other days I would be homeschooled. Seeing as how this theoretical homeschooling had allowed a 13-year-old (I'd changed my birthday to February 6 for this identity) to test right into senior year, that officious Principal couldn't really refuse without looking silly.

So here I was, getting ready to attend school for the third time in this life. And unlike OCS and War College, I wouldn't have the structure and discipline of the army to protect me. My memories of high school in my last life were faded, but I still recalled how teenagers would pounce on the strange and unusual like a school of hungry piranha - and I was a 13-year-old Polynesian attending senior year in a high school populated almost exclusively by those of African descent. Even my morning cup of coffee couldn't soothe me. Lena brewed a decent cup, but at times like this I found myself nostalgic for Visha's magic touch with the brewer.

Telling myself I was being irrational, I quickly wrapped up breakfast and got ready to leave for the day. "Lena, what time do you get off shift at the diner?"

"Today I'm closing up, so ten-thirty. I should be home by eleven-thirty."

"I'll be there to escort you. Don't leave without me."

"You don't have to keep doing that, you know."

"Yes, I do. I promised I'd look out for you until you got settled in, and that means escorting you until you find a job that doesn't involve staying out late in the bad part of a strange town."

She didn't argue further, but I admit I had some ulterior motives for being so solicitous of her health. Unless I wanted to go back to being a juvenile delinquent, I needed someone to play the role of guardian, and Lena was convenient. Without her, I might end up in the foster system again, and once was more than enough.

As I was leaving though, she said something else, "You need new clothes."

I glanced down at my sleeves and nodded. "Yes, I'll pick something up when I'm out."

I don't know what it was, all the running around in the Londinium smog or eating something better than army and prison food, but I'd grown quite a bit during the last few months. I was up to 140cm now, which while still short for a girl my age, was no longer in the realm of 'midget'. This was the second time I'd have to replace my wardrobe, and I was too happy about it to begrudge the expense.

As I had expected, I was very much an object of curiosity at Harlem River. In spite of my best efforts to avoid interaction by hiding behind a history text, I still found myself in the center of a group of curious teenagers at lunch. Knowing that deliberately ignoring them might turn them malicious, I forced myself to interact with them politely and not roll my eyes at the idiocy of some of their questions.

Eventually they turned to their own conversation and I could go back to my book, but then the topic of aerial mages came up and I found myself listening in. And then I heard something that forced me to interject.

"Wait, you mean none of you have been tested for mage potential?"

"Naw, they only bother testing the white boys in their fancy schools up in the better parts of town. Why, you been tested?" asked Jake, an excitable skinny junior.

"In Europe it's pretty much mandatory. I'm not one myself, but I knew this girl who got measured a C-rank."

"Really? Cool! Did she get to be one o' them flying aces?"

This time I did roll my eyes. "Flying takes B-rank and above. A C-rank could become a magical doctor or engineer, but I don't know if it's worth the bother. Plenty of jobs even without magic."

"Maybe if you're a white boy," growled Solomon. A rangy six-foot senior, he seemed to be constantly upset at the social injustice he labored under. If he'd been born a few decades later, I had no doubt he'd end up in the Civil Rights movement.

"Well, maybe you could get tested? Mages are rare enough that if you are one, I doubt they'll look too closely at your skin," I pointed out.

He snorted. "Sure. Great idea. I'll get right on that. Got thirty bucks I can borrow?"

The conversation turned to other things after that, but I couldn't help chew over what I'd learned. Free government testing for mage potential was only provided to those with the right skin color and from the right part of town. Anyone else would have to spend cash, which given the rarity of mage potential meant blowing money on an extremely expensive lottery ticket. Frankly, the situation was absurd. I didn't know how many blacks there were in America, but there had to be enough to get at least a handful of aerial mages, and maybe hundreds of C-rank mages. And yet the US government ignored them! I couldn't but shake my head at this typical American extravagance. True, with their wealth and population they didn't need the few extra aerial mages the black population could provide, but I wondered how many potential Vishas (or me) they were ignoring like this.

Still, it was not my concern. I'd been honest when I said I wasn't sure if I would bother going into a magical line of work. What I wanted was a safe steady job, and if I could get it in the non-magical fields, that was one more thing protecting me from all the people looking for Tanya von Degurechaff.

March 25, 1926

It was a few days later that late evening found me wandering the New York port area. Lena was once more working late, and I was on the streets looking for inspiration. The problem was the Great Depression. While I had no idea if the forces that had caused the Depression in my past life were still in play, I couldn't rule it out. That meant if I wanted safe, steady employment, I needed to get into a line of work that was recession-proof. Unfortunately, from what I remembered, just about all parts of American life - industry, agriculture, trade - had been hit hard by the Depression. The best I could hope for was some job in a service industry of some kind, then hope I got high enough up the ladder to not be laid off when the next recession hit.

I sighed and looked around. The night was dark, but I could still hear the sounds of trade being carried out. It was a reminder to me not to get ahead of myself. With any luck, the Great Depression was still years off, assuming it would even happen. I should have more than enough time to establish myself and make myself invaluable to the captains of industry. Instead of wallowing in what-ifs, I should keep an eye out for opportunities.

Thus enthused, I decided to head towards where I could hear the faint sounds of goods being moved. It didn't matter what they were doing, I was going to offer my services and try and get a job for the few hours I had left until I had to go pick up Lena. They'd most likely turn me down, but I had to get back into the habits of job-hunting and now was as good a time as any.

I headed towards the warehouse where the sounds were emanating from. I spotted a man that looked to be standing guard outside. As I approached, I decided to increase the odds of getting hired. My Polynesian persona was replaced by another face I'd been working on. Red hair, green eyes, freckles, and looking closer to fifteen than thirteen. I'd have loved to present myself as an adult, but even fifteen was pushing it with my non-existent height. At least I won't be fighting against my skin color when I presented myself to my potential employer.

I had just gotten close enough that the guard seemed ready to challenge me when the sound of an approaching motor vehicle broke on the scene. The car - an aging Ford Model T - pulled up next to the warehouse, and five gun-waving men piled out.

At first I thought I was witnessing a police raid, but the way the lead gunman clubbed the guard to the ground and confiscated his weapon without so much as a word proved me wrong. A policeman would have certainly identified himself as such. Just my luck, I'd stumbled on what looked like an armed robbery in progress. Four of the five men rushed into the open warehouse, while the fifth took guard. I was just sidling off when the guard spotted me and screamed, "Stop there!" while waving his pistol in my general direction.

I immediately obeyed. With any luck, they'd prove reasonable and would let me walk away once they realized I had nothing to do with any of this. A voice came from within over the sounds of people in pain. "What is it?"

"Some ginger bitch right out here!"

"Yeah? What she doing?"

"Not much." He looked me up and down. "Nice looker though. Think they ordered entertainment?"

An ugly laugh came from within. "Bring her in. If she cute we might just show her a good time after we done here."

So. Not just robbers, but also kidnappers and potential rapists. That simplified my decision enormously.

When the gunman beckoned me forward, I obeyed slowly. When I got close, as I expected, he reached out to grab me. I didn't slow down. Instead, I took one large step forward, getting within his guard. As expected, he instinctively jabbed his gun at me. That's when I brought my hands down, one hand grabbing the barrel and the other his wrist, and I twisted. In one smooth motion, I'd disarmed the man and had left him staring down at his own gun. At this point I'd normally demand surrender but there were four others to deal with. So I shot him in the heart.

The shot told me quite a bit. I'd already noticed I was holding a semi-automatic. The recoil told me it had a powerful cartridge, and the smooth way it cycled told me it was in good condition. Semi-autos of this time held anywhere from 7 to 10 rounds, but judging by its size and the recoil I'd better err on the side of the minimum. That meant I had six rounds to deal with four opponents. Tricky, but doable. Smiling, I brought up my reflex enhancement.

Fortunately for me, from where I was standing I could see all four of the robbers. Two had been busy beating up the workers, while the other two had been covering them. Now, all four were turning towards me, but they were still lined side by side like a shooting gallery. One of the men was armed with an iconic tommy-gun, so I shot him first, as close to his heart and lungs as I could make it. He crumpled. The second man who'd been covering the workers had almost drawn a bead on me when he met a similar fate.

This left the two who had been laying into the workers. One was just staring, horrified. The other started bringing his revolver around, but he really gave me way too much time. Enough for me to line up and deliver a headshot. Then I had to hurriedly bring the gun around to my first victim. In spite of what had to be a debilitating wound, he had gotten to his knees and was bringing his submachine gun around for another go, so I shot him in the head as well. A string of gunshots shattered the night as his fingers squeezed on the trigger of his weapon in his death throes. Luckily the bullets came nowhere near me or the workers.

As the echoes faded, I took stock. At least two bullets left, no enemies active. Two were bleeding out, two had sustained headshots and most likely already dead, and one was frozen sufficiently stiff that I could mark it as a surrender.

While I initially had no intention of getting involved, now that I had, I should reap what benefits I can. Introducing myself to the people I rescued and cashing in on their gratitude seemed like a good start. "Evening all. Everyone all right here?"

"Uh... yeah. Who're you?" The response came after a long moment of silence from a man in the back of the warehouse. Stepping around from the rows of casks populating the space, he was a well-built man of almost six feet with what in the dim light from the warehouse lamp looked like curly brown hair and a thick mustache.

"Jenny," I shot back with the first name that came to my head. "And you are."

"Will Brady," came the response. "I take it you ain't one of Lucy's boys?"

I assumed 'Lucy' was a nickname for whoever had sent the thugs. I decided to inject a bit of humor into the proceedings as I closed into conversational range. "Do I look like a boy to you?"

Before he could answer, I snapped my gun up, pointing at the last standing robber. He froze along with the rest of the warehouse. I gave him my absolute best glare as I growled, "You do not move a goddamn muscle until I tell you, you got that?"

The man, who had before seemed on the verge of doing something clever, froze up stiff as a statue except for his head which nodded frantically. Satisfied, I turned back to Brady.

"We really need to clear this mess up. Can someone sit on this joker? How long until the cops get here?"

I observed as several of the people grabbed the survivor and dragged him outside, presumably to wait for the law. Then I turned back as Brady spoke, "The cops? Hah, don't worry. They know not to poke their noses here tonight. Even with the gunshots, we got an hour, easy."

Strange, he seemed almost pleased about that. I put it down to the adventurous American spirit that saw virtue in doing dangerous things just because it was dangerous. Seriously, trying to move valuable cargo at night in a location with no police presence? I ended up giving voice to my incredulity, "And what would you have done if I hadn't been here?"

There was no answer. Scoffing, I looked around at all the casks no doubt containing valuable goods, and I said, "Seriously, is it like this all over? No police for miles around?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Good grief. And all you have is one incompetent guard with a gun. It's a miracle every one of your shipments don't get robbed. You really need to invest in some professional security."

"What, like you?"

I opened my mouth to answer in the negative, then I froze. My brain went into overdrive as I dropped as much magic as I could into reflex enhancement to give myself time to think. This was it. This was the opportunity I'd been looking for. A job as a security specialist was much closer to my core competency that almost anything else. And here was an entire swath of territory where police response was low, crime was high, and business was thriving. An ideal place for a security specialist to make hay. But I couldn't admit I was working on my own. No one would take a teenager like me seriously, not unless I was part of something bigger.

"Not just me, Mr. Brady. Rather, people like me. I failed to mention, but I'm a senior agent for Velvet and Iron Protection, premiere security specialists. Our people include ex-military, veteran law enforcement, and other exceptional talents such as yours truly. I was sent down here to see if I could do a bit of advertising for our services." I looked around at the dead and bleeding assailants, then back to Brady with a raised eyebrow. "Good enough?"

Brady scowled. "So, what? We pay you to 'protect' us?"

He almost made 'protect' sound like a dirty word. I guess his pride was still hurting that he needed protection at all. I couldn't back down now, though. So I shrugged. "Our services are purely voluntary, Mr. Brady. If you don't want us, we won't force ourselves on you. I'm sure there are other customers out there."

His scowl deepened even further. Chewing on his mustache for a moment, he snarled, "Fine. How much?"

Damn it, this was moving too fast, but I couldn't stop now. How much would be appropriate? Daily wages was between 7 and 15 dollars. $10 seemed appropriate. Multiply by 25, add a bit for expenses... "$400 a month, per agent. That entitles you to protection of up to 8 hours a day, any day of the week, at times of your choosing. More hours or agents will cost more."

Brady pondered this, then said, "So we owe you $400? Alright, that works." Then he began reaching for his wallet.

I smiled at this display of honesty and said, "No need for that. We'll just bill you at the end of the month. And since it's already the 25th, you'll only be billed for the seven days."

"What, really?"

"Of course. What sort of charlatans do you take us for? We are professionals!" I snarled, annoyed he would question my integrity.

"Right, right! Got it, absolute pros at this business, sorry if I suggested otherwise!" came the somewhat frantic response. Good, he got the message.

The next few minutes was spend hashing out my new work schedule. Thankfully, he only asked for the one agent. I had no idea what I'd have done if he asked for more than one guard. I offered to stick around and make a statement to the police, since I was confident of being let go as a case of self-defense. However, Brady insisted he could 'deal with the cops' on his own and I was not to bother myself.

Since I did have Lena to pick up from her work, I didn't fight too hard, making myself scarce as the sirens sounded.

I idly wondered what exactly had been in the casks Brady had been moving, then decided against thinking about it further. Velvet and Iron Protection would not break the confidentiality of their clients. I had much bigger problems to contend with. Like how I was going to explain all this to Lena. And where I was going to find more agents from.

"Velvet and Irons Protection? And they want you as a messenger girl?" asked Lena as we sat around our little dining table.

"Pretty much." I confirmed to Lena. "So I'll be travelling around the city quite a bit. They also want me to keep an eye out for any useful muscle they can hire, since they're expanding right now."

"Really?" The skepticism in her tone was clear. "'Cos I don't know if you can find mages out on the street like that."

I blinked. "Who said anything about mages?"

"Well I figured that's the kind of muscle you'd be most useful for finding, seeing as you're one yourself."

I felt my stomach fall into my shoes. "Who said I was a mage?"

Lean gave me a flat look. "Remember how you freaked out when you first bled?"

"Yes...?"

"You trashed your room looking for something you could use. When I tidied up after... well, I know a computation jewel when I see one. Benefits of going to University."

Shit! My spare orb! I can't believe I'd gotten so careless as to leave it out where someone else could find it! What do I do?

"Relax. I don't care who you are or what you did before. Like I told you, you're my friend. I don't leave friends out to dry."

"Oh... so you know who I am?"

"Can't be two kids your age that know enough magic to need a jewel. Though you gotta tell me how you managed to learn enough Akinese to pass yourself off as one."

"Long story..." I muttered, sitting down heavily. I couldn't believe it. I'd blown my own cover weeks ago, yet nothing bad had happened because of it. That made no sense. My life just didn't get that convenient! One thing was for sure, I had to be much more cautious going forward. "So, it really doesn't bother you? About me?"

"It might have before we met. But then I got months to get to know you. You're crazy, you're dangerous, but you look out for your friends and you keep your promises. Besides," and here she suddenly laughed. "I remember reading about that amazing rant you gave on the Kingdom's foreign policy. I figure half the reason they went after you is to shut you up."

I started breathing easier. Everything about Lena sounded sincere. It sounded like I wouldn't have to go on the run after murdering my guardian just yet. No, killing Lena is a bad idea all round. That would have drawn immediate attention. If I do have to leave her behind, I'd have to try and intimidate or bribe her into silence first.

Lena was speaking again. "I honestly didn't mind leaving it alone. But this whole Velvet Iron thing is beginning to sound like trouble, and I remember what happened the last time you brought trouble to my doorstep. So, tell me what you're really up to?"

That stung. Did she really take me for some kind of career criminal? "All right, so I may have decided to found Velvet and Irons instead of getting hired by them. It's still a perfectly legitimate enterprise! We're going to provide protection and security to those who pay for it. Starting with the dock and warehouse areas north of here."

She stared at me. "You're going to be providing protection... to the businesses in that part of the city."

"It's the best place. They really need some kind of professional security, it takes the police literally hours to respond to trouble there."

"And you found this out, how?"

I waved that question aside. Telling her I got caught up in an armed robbery might just let her decide hanging around with me was too risky. "The point is, there is a need and I'm going to fulfill it. But I need employees to really get this off the ground. And not just mages, though it'll be amazing if I can recruit a few. Even regular guards will work just fine, if they have the right training."

"And where are they getting this training from?"

"Why, from me! It might not have been mentioned during my trial, but I was the one who trained the 203rd Imperial Mage Battalion. Trust me, I know how to train and motivate employees."

"Oh, I know that all right. I've met Red Jenny."

"Yes, good example! She was so much more effective after I got done with her! So that's what I'll be doing. Finding talent, training them, arming them, and expanding the company's protection services to whoever will pay for it."

"And you're sure this is actually legal?"

I wish Lena would stop using that skeptical tone, but I couldn't really blame her. All her previous experience with me had been as the head of a gang of juvenile delinquents. "Well, if you're so worried, you can just come work for me."

"Me? Doing what?"

"You've got training as an accountant. I'll need someone to keep track of business expenses and invoices, and make sure the taxes get paid on time." Plus, if I give her a stake in my success, it'll make it that much harder for her to change her mind about not selling me out.

"You're going to pay your taxes?"

"Well, maybe not me personally seeing as how I'm officially a child. But my company, certainly. Last thing we need is the government coming after us for tax evasion."

"Oh yes, that is absolutely the last thing we need." Why was there a sarcastic lilt to her words? "You know what? Fuck it, fine. I'll do it. Someone's gotta keep an eye out on you, or you just might end up blowing up New York."

"One time! That was one time! And they were shooting at me! And it was by accident!"

"That is not nearly as reassuring as you think."

"That's rich coming from someone who's best friends with mob bosses and jumps in front of loaded weapons."

"Which is the only reason I didn't jump off the boat screaming when I figured out who you were."

"Very funny. I hope you're a better accountant than you are a comedian..."

A\N: Some very important setup and relationship stuff in the chapter. Comment, would you kindly?