McGuire's Luck

By A. M. Jordan

They took something from Dorian McGuire, something precious, and he wants it back.

He also wants his father to leave him be in Armstrong City on Luna, but old Gustave has other plans for his younger son.

Soon Dorian can count on only three things: his precious something, a lovely green-haired space captain, and what he has always relied on—his McGuire’s Luck.

About the Author:
A. M. Jordan is the author of contemporary fantasy Weird Canyon and has brought his wit and cynicism to his first science fiction novel. He is currently working on a sequel to Weird Canyon

• Language: English
• Publisher: DX Varos Publishing
• Release date: Jan 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201398859

A. M. Jordan

The son of a printer and a waitress and born in Colorado in 1967, A.M. Jordan grew up camping throughout the Front Range. He is married to Laura, who somehow puts up with him, and is owned by three cats. They all live together in the not-so-wilds of metro Denver. He is passionate about books, railroads, history, and baseball. Weird Canyon is Mr. Jordan's debut novel.

Book preview

McGuire’s Luck

A. M. Jordan

Copyright © 2022, A. M. Jordan

Original copyright © 2012

Published by:

Thursday Night Press

an imprint of

DX Varos Publishing, Inc.

7665 E. Eastman Ave. #B101

Denver, CO 80231

This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

Book cover design and layout

© Thursday Night Press

Printed in the United States of America

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I would like to thank my Thursday Night Compatriots

Karen

Elisabeth

Jean

Michael

Eric

Daniel

But without my wife

Laura

None of this would have even been possible.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

ONE

Of all the things Dorian McGuire feared, death was not one of them. Failure, on the other hand, loomed large. He tried not to worry too much about it as he stripped off the white custodian uniform. Without thinking, he shoved the coat and matching flat-topped hat into an incinerator.

Somewhere behind him, the Radelix Corporate Security Team was already mobilized, and he didn’t know if he could even get out of the R&D block before they caught him.

Beneath the uniform, he wore his favorite suit like a talisman. The coat was blue with long tails. It also came with a tight vest and corduroy trousers of a lighter hue. He pulled black kid gloves from the back of his belt and put them on. From the large Gladstone bag at his feet, he pulled out his boots and spats.

He wiped the boots with a handkerchief and slipped them on. He buttoned the spats over them and shoved the white canvas work shoes into the incinerator.

It was a pity he didn’t have room in his bag for a respectable hat. He combed his fingers through his hair and patted it into shape as well as he could.

He was about to open the door when he remembered something. He slowly peeled the moustache from his lip. He also peeled the sideburns from his jaw. The fake hair followed the uniform into the incinerator. With a small smile, he hefted the Gladstone bag and stepped out of the utility room.

He’d been lucky so far. Luck had been with him every step of the way since he had first entered Radelix’s New Shanghai lab. That luck continued as no one looked at him as he stepped around a corner and stood in line with several other late workers. Who cared what one more office drone looked like?

There were no alarms, so when it came Dorian’s time to sign out for the night, he used his actual name.

Was that a good idea?

He didn’t answer. He was out of invention for the moment. Now, he had to figure out where to go. He smiled to himself as the idea came to him, and he headed for the transport tubes.

They’re going to catch us if you keep this up.

He grimaced at the voice in his head. It was inhuman but friendly. He glared down at the bag in his hand. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.

Or when we’re on it.

He came to an intersection and stopped. Peering around the corner, he sighed. The party was bigger than he had expected. There was a line stretching from the front door, past the doors of several other apartments. The line was filled with young students, which was why they were cooling their heels in the corridor. There were only so many drunken sophomores you wanted at a party. Whoever was at the door knew what they were doing.

Well? What are you going to do now?

He grinned to himself and nonchalantly walked as if he were going somewhere beyond the party. Occasionally, he would look over his shoulder to check for tails.

Suddenly, he turned toward a pair of boys. They were dressed in the latest shabby style. One wore a flat-toped cap, much like the one Dorian had incinerated, while the other wore a gray bandanna tied around his head. Both wore simulated greasy leather vests and torn dungarees.

Dorian grabbed their bottle and pressed a hundred credit note into their hands. Ignoring their protests, he hurried along.

A few feet from the entrance, he found a girl who defied the latest bustle fad and was instead wearing a light black sheath dress and a wide-brimmed hat with a veil protecting the back of her neck. Without compunction, Dorian pinched her on the rear. As she jumped, he stepped into line behind her. The girl spun around and shoved him, and he grinned back at her as brightly as he could. The kids behind him snickered, and she stopped and looked at him. She smiled shyly as he winked. Coolly, he noted the red blush rising along her neck.

Excellent! I didn’t know you had it in you.

Shut up! he whispered to the bag.

The girl looked back at him suspiciously. He groaned inwardly. It was going to be a long night.

A short man wearing red and gold footman livery leaned out into the corridor. He snapped his fingers at Dorian. Hey! Hey, you! With the bottle! I’m talking to you!

Dorian looked at the bottle in his hand in surprise. Who? Me?

Yeah, you! Come here, kid!

He looked around and left the line. A lump grew in his throat. Had Radelix managed to find him already?

The footman plucked the bottle from his hands and examined it. Old Doc Mars? Not exactly Jameson’s, you know?

I got what I could get at the time.

The footman examined him as if weighing how he was dressed versus his action in line. Coming to a decision, he motioned with a jerk of his head. Go on in. I like your moxie, kid.

He leaned against the wall and checked out the line for the bathroom. Something caught his eye and, for the first time, he saw the girl with the poison-green Pompadour Mohawk. His breath slowed, and his mouth went dry. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen.

She wore a white silk top with a plunging neckline. Around her middle, she wore a brown leather corset with a series of brass buckles at the sides rather than the usual laces. Unwilling to follow the bustle fad, she wore tight gray trousers and knee-high, shiny, black boots with six-inch heels. Around her throat floated a translucent scarf.

He watched her with his arms crossed. Occasionally, he sipped his drink. She might have been close to his age. ’Juve treatments could make anyone look like they were in their twenties while they were closer to their first century, but she was missing the telltale hardness around her mouth and the subtle distortions around her eyes denoting treatment.

He wanted to go and talk to her. Or did he?

For Fiona Starling, it was the worst day of her life.

Her Father, Max Starling, had contracted an atypical and energetic form of cancer, one the doctors were unable to treat. There had been discussion about sending him to the University of Mars for treatment. Before anything could move past a few nebulous plans, he simply…died.

Fiona’s tears were short, the way Max’s always were.

It’s pointless to cry over the clay, he told her at her mother’s funeral. She lives on in our memory and our heart.

It was difficult to remember that she found out at the memorial service. It was short and sweet but sparsely attended. Max had a billion friends but wished for an intimate service. She went with those wishes but still felt that he had been cheated of his final glory. It grieved her that some of his better known friends couldn’t attend a service they didn’t know about.

Her former college roommate, Lidia Matos, called and suggested the party. Lidia subsequently disappeared upon entry, which made Fiona suspicious of her motives.

Now she watched the party like the typical wallflower. For once, it was okay; she wasn’t in any kind of mood to dance or sing. She held a glass of punch in her hand but drinking was something she wanted to avoid.

She noticed the tall, young man leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. His dark hair and darker than average complexion added to his beauty. His suit and the way he held himself screamed money, which did not impress her.

There was also something wrong about him. It showed in the way he held a death grip on the weird, old bag he was carrying.

Part of her wanted to cross the room and speak with him. Another part wanted to avoid him at all costs.

She looked away for a moment. When she came back to him, she was pleased to discover him moving across the room. Toward her.

Before he got there, a boy wearing a neo-grunge outfit, complete with a tie-dyed flannel shirt, stepped in front of her.

Hey, Babe, you a low-flyin’ angel?

She could have slapped him. No one would have blamed her. However, it was a party and others were having fun. It would be a shame to ruin it.

Sorry, not available.

Oh, come on, Baby! Everyone’s available here. Come with me and you’ll have a good time. I promise.

She looked away. I’m not interested.

The plague-dripping-son-of-a-bootlicker grabbed her arm. His face and voice turned ugly. "I’ll make you interested."

Max taught her well. It was too easy. She pulled her arm free and grabbed his wrist. Before anyone could interfere, he was on his knees. She held his hand twisted at a peculiar angle.

He eyes went wide. His face went from ugly to frightened, drained of color.

She merely smiled at him. Do you want to lose it?

He shook his head.

Later, she would admit, but only in private, that she had a sadistic impulse for a moment that made her twist his hand.

I can’t hear you.

His eyes were riveted to his wrist. He was thinking of the odds of getting it back in once piece. No.

She let him go. He gasped and grabbed the wrist with his other hand. Her glare could take paint off a bulkhead.

Push off. Next time, I’ll break it off and feed it to you.

Right, no problem.

He got to his feet and backed away slowly. His eyes never left hers. A short man, wearing footman livery identical to the bouncer’s, appeared at the edge of the crowd.

He clamped a hand onto the kid’s shoulder. Is there a problem here, Miss?

It was nothing I couldn’t take care of.

If you have any more trouble, call out. Our host wants everyone to have a good time.

I’m sure.

The footman steered his charge toward the front door. All the while he whispered fiercely in the kid’s ear.

Fiona turned toward the pretty man in the pretty suit. "Like I told him, I’m not available."

He raised his hands. I believe you.

To her relief, he didn’t push it but he also didn’t go away. Instead, he eased around to one side and leaned again the same wall. She noted how careful he was not to invade her personal space. A lot of people were avoiding her personal space, none quite as closely as he was.

He lowered the Gladstone bag to the floor and placed it between his feet.

They stood there, side-by-side. Once in a while, they would exchange glances, mostly because the rest of the party was so boring.

So, what brings you here? Pretty-boy asked.

It seemed like a safe topic to break the ice. At least she didn’t have an urge to break his wrist. She mulled it over in her head.

Pretty-boy decided to make another attempt. You seem lonely.

She sighed. Bored is the word.

I admit to have been at better parties.

She smiled and took a drink of punch.

Pretty-boy took a deep breath.

So, do you have a name? she asked.

He looked startled. He didn’t expect the ice to break just like that.

What? Oh. My name is Dorian.

So, Dorian, do you live around here?

He looked embarrassed. It was cute to see the blush rising in his face.

Uh, no. My place is out by the university.

Great, another playguy student. Oh, hell, why not?

It’s a pity you’re the most interesting person in the room.

Why is that a pity?

She turned to him and made her most smoldering expression. Like I said, I’m bored. We could always try to find an empty room somewhere.

Dorian’s mouth went dry. He wasn’t used to women being so direct. His roommate was, but she was different, somehow. He didn’t know there were other women like her. Secretly, he liked it.

Uh…

She laughed. Sorry if I shorted your little brain. You can run along now.

He took a long sip from his punch as he tried to gather his wits. "But now I don’t want to run along. You’re the most interesting person in the room."

The bag shifted and bumped into his foot.

He glanced at it. Knock it off and go back to sleep.

She looked at the bag. What’s inside?

He looked at her like she was threatening to space him. It was the same look her cousin had given her when she caught her watching porn on the ship’s monitor. For a second his mouth hung open.

Satan! Did I say that out loud? Uh, I was talking to the bag. It fell over and I—

She rolled her eyes. Right. You talk to bags. No, I’m leaving. Alone.

He held out his hands. Hold on. I’m all right. It’s this little habit—

She’s not buying it.

Will you shut up?

She pushed away from the wall. Okay, I won’t be seeing you. She headed for the door.

Dorian glared at the bag. Oh, that’s just perfect. I was getting to like her.

Go after her, Idiot! She was interested before you started berating me.

Dorian grabbed the bag and moved through the crowd. It was like all the times he fought his way across transport platforms. Small gap there, shoulder here, and he was moving.

He could see she was already at the door and he despaired of catching her. Ignoring the cries of protest, she shot through the dancers.

He lost sight of her when he moved around a small table. Cursing under his breath, he arrived at the door and threw himself through it.

She was already hallway to the lift when he emerged.

Hey! Wait!

The bouncer clapped him on the back. Good luck, Moxie!

Yeah, good luck, Idiot. We don’t know if she’s a Radelix agent. We could be walking right into a trap.

Shut up! They didn’t have time to set this up, yet.

Well, try to keep from speaking to me this time around.

Then go back to sleep!

Fine! I will!

Saying a prayer of thanksgiving, he hurried after Fiona, catching her as she waited for the lift.

She looked at him with a smirk. I thought you’d catch up, eventually.

What was this all about?

She smiled widely. I wanted to test your persistence. Come on, let’s go get a room.

Remember to be careful. We still don’t know if it’s a trap.

I know!

She raised an eyebrow. He grinned at her.

Never mind. So, let me see if I get this straight. You want to go and get a room. I don’t even know your name.

She smiled slowly. All you need to know is my name is Fiona and I’m bored. We’re a couple of lonely people leaving a dull party. Why worry? It might be worth it for the laugh.

All right, but only because you interest me.

New Shanghai followed the Conventional Calendar, and so it was Spring. The flowers in the center of the walkways were in full bloom and birdsong filled the air. Somewhere, in the heights of the atrium, the source of the song flitted from tree to tree.

About the millionth time Dorian had stopped and peered around a corner before going around it, Fiona grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face her.

What’s going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?

Let’s just say there are people I don’t want to meet and leave it at that.

Are you going to tell me anything more?

He closed his mouth until it was a sad, thin line. No.

She shrugged. Well, I guess I’ll have to leave it at that.

She kissed him on the cheek before leading him around the corner.

The hotel room wasn’t skeevy, Fiona had to admit. Dorian seemed to have some kind of taste. There was an apparently comfortable bed with clean sheets and kept in immaculate condition by human maids.

As they came through the door, she shoved him toward the bed. Before he could catch his balance, she shut off the lights. As he sprawled out, fully dressed, she dropped lightly next to him.

The Gladstone rested quietly on the floor nearby. It moved slightly as if whatever was inside had been disturbed by the sudden drop. Dorian winced.

After a few minutes, she rested her head on his shoulder. I could get used to this.

So could I. What do you do when you’re not hanging around parties, threatening to break arms and picking up total strangers?

She laughed. I normally don’t threaten people. I’ve been avoiding horny, young men since I got out of college. A friend roped me into the party. Thanks for rescuing me.

You rescued yourself.

What do you do when you’re not hanging around parties and contemplating your mortality? Does it have anything to do with talking to inanimate objects?

I’m a student at New Shang U. A permanent student. I do it mostly to irritate my old man. It keeps me out of the family business.

What’s the family business? You’re not related to a crime family, are you? Not that it would matter.

He laughed. No. It’s not all that important. He wants me to join my older brother in the family firm, and I don’t want to.

That I can understand. I inherited my business from my Dad. While I love doing it, I don’t think I’m ready for it.

Inherited? Oh, that explains a lot. I’m very sorry for your loss.

Instead of saying anything more, and to avoid talking, she kissed him. As the kiss lingered, they felt their skin heat up. She pulled back with a mischievous smile and then looked down demurely.

His eyes were wide. Wow. Fantastic.

I’m glad you liked it.

She unlatched one of her corset buckles.

Instead of telling boring life stories, maybe you can give me a hand over here?

It took a long, pleasurable while for them to undress. At one point, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him again. Soon they were exploring each other on the bed. Her hands left fiery tracks across his skin. From her moan, he knew he was doing the same for her. She slung a leg over him and straddled him.

They took it slow, savoring every second of sensation as if it would be their last. Gasping and moaning, they climaxed together and slowly collapsed into each other’s arms.

Catching their breaths, they lazily petted one another.

So, you have done this a few times, she said.

So have you.

She kissed his chest. Shut up.

Cuddling next to him, she whispered in his ear. This, I could get used to.

Dorian slowly pulled his clothes on.

Fiona lay across the bed wearing nothing but a jubilant smile. Why are you leaving?

Remember those people I was talking about? I want to try and get home before any of them find me.

What kind of trouble are you in? Maybe I can help.

He held up a hand. No. I appreciate the offer. You’re wonderful but this is something I’ve gotten into myself and I’m going to get out of myself. Trust me, you’re better off not getting involved.

He watched with great interest as she rolled over and fumbled with her clothes for a moment before rolling over with her personal comm in hand. His comm buzzed an acceptance signal.

My number. Don’t lose it. I want a rematch, and if you need help, let me know.

He smiled as her number appeared on the display. A rematch would be fun but I don’t know if we’ll ever be in the same place at the same time again.

He soon slipped through the door and was gone.

She laid back and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. He had been an interesting distraction but she needed to get back to work. She rolled off the bed and gathered her clothes.

After a shower, she wrapped her hair in a towel. The worst part of her outfit was the damned corset. If it hadn’t been a party, she would have left it off. She could barely tolerate them, which was why she refused to wear a dress and one of those stupid bustles.

There came a knock at the door.

Yes?

Room service.

Wrong room.

The door rattled for a second before opening. Two men in while and black uniforms entered. Each was armed with a short-barreled Taser. Their coats were short with black Sam Brown belts wrapped around them. The patches on their shoulders proclaimed them to be members of the Radelix Corporate Security Team. They took positions flanking the door as two more men entered.

Both were tall, with blonde hair, and wore dark glasses. One took off his glasses and looked around the room. We’re looking for Dorian McGuire.

McGuire? He was a McGuire? Now what have I gotten into? Ah, no. He’s not here.

Pardon us if we don’t take your word.

One of the uniformed men went into the ’fresher, and the other suit went to the closet and opened it. The other uniform never wavered from pointing his Taser at her.

She started to get pissed off. Who the hell are you?

The leader put his glasses back on. We are—Provosts of New Shanghai University. We’re here to arrest Mr. McGuire for academic failure.

Right.

You can finish getting dressed, Miss.

Fine.

They ignored her while she dressed. However, she caught one of them glancing at her with a smile.

Look while you can, pervert.

She finished buckling her corset and adjusted her hair.

The leader stepped aside to allow her to leave. She heard a short buzz from her comm.

Our comm number. Please call us if you run into Mr. McGuire again. The Dean would like to have a little talk with him. He’s very concerned about his failure.

I’m sure.

Dorian had paid for the room, she found to her relief. Looking back, as she headed toward the transport platform, she could see the leader standing at the door, watching her.

If I never see you again, Dorian McGuire, it’ll be too soon.

TWO

Natalie Strim posed in the mirror and smiled. She wore a curve hugging, blue dress. She played with her long, platinum hair, holding it in different ways to see if she could improve her look.

You’re seeing him tonight? Again?

She turned around and smiled. Standing in the doorway was a raven-haired woman wrapped in a red bathrobe. Her disheveled hair hung over her eyes as she peered through a pair of thick spectacles. Veronica was one of the rare Solarians whose body rejected bio-implants. Natalie would pity her if she wasn’t so fierce. She refused to see it as an affliction and wore her glasses as a badge of honor.

Natalie nodded, Yes, we have an appointment at Angelina’s.

Veronica folded her harms across her chest. Oh. Angelina’s. Pretty fashionable place for a simple meeting, don’t you think?

Jealous, my love?

She walked over to Natalie and kissed her hard.

You’re damn right I’m jealous, Nat. You belong to me, and don’t forget it!

There’s nothing romantic about this meeting, you know.

"Sure, as long as he knows it, too. I’m expecting you home before nine."

Natalie grinned at her. No promises, love. He has certain things I need. and you can’t give them to me.

Veronica looked away. As long as you remember where you live, I don’t care. I’ll wait for you. Spare me the messy details.

It’s a date.

Before the Revolution, New Shanghai was built, populated and promoted by the People’s Republic of China. It was their proof they were as powerful as the rest of the United Nations. Despite, or because of, the labor in building it, New Shanghai became the largest Orbital Habitat.

Ironically, during the Revolution, the habitat became a city and then the last bastion of the United Nations. There were thousands, if not millions, of plaques welded into the walls of the concourses. Each was a simple metal slab bearing a name and a date: the name of a fallen Revolutionary and the date and time, to the minute, when they fell. Of all the old orbital cities—New Manhattan, Greater Brasilia, Higher London, and all the others—only New Shanghai remained. Even its namesake was nothing more than a glassed crater on Earth.

The men and women who gained their freedom at such a cost were the forebears of the Old Families. The Old Families controlled the Solarian Council, ruled New Shanghai, and—some ran restaurants.

Angelina’s was the swankest restaurant in the city. Although Natalie was dressed in her finest, she felt positively dowdy when she entered. The maître d’ was dressed as if he was in an awards ceremony. His suit was a maroon silk number she was sure she had seen in a fashion magazine recently. Except for the fact that she worked with