Heart of Truth

 A long time from now, in a galaxy just a bit farther away than you think, a beautiful, shape-shifting thief has just broken into the crystalline castle that is the seat of the galactic Empire and stolen their most prized possession, a legendary gem with mystical properties. Now all Cillian has to do is find the infamous Gastardian Bandit and convince him to aid in his escape. But first he'll have to deal with a sexy garbage man with a secret, the garbage man's diminutive cat-man sidekick, cross-dressing, laser rifles and a daring chase through the wastes on the outskirts of the city. Sounds easy, right?
 

 

Cillian pulled the workman’s cap down over his pointed ears as he inched closer to the service entrance of the palace. Weeks of research and preparation brought him to this moment, and he’d be damned if his Traminian ears would spoil it now. He chanced a look at the palace. It was built by the Carmasan masons from bricks quarried on the gem world Philzan, according to the designs of the great master architect, Bennus Mal-von. It caught the morning light from the capitol world’s only sun, turning the palace into a sparkling beacon of hope for the empire. Cillian sniffed at the thought, watching the vague, distorted shapes moving within the iridescent walls as dignitaries from all across the empire conducted important state business, this being the very center of the empire’s rule and the place the Emperor Elect called home. None of this interested Cillian. He’d been hired to retrieve the Heart of Truth, the nigh-legendary gem that had brought about peace and prosperity throughout the empire. At least that was the official story. The rogue nation who had hired him to steal it felt otherwise, which was why he had taken a job with a custodial operation and now donned the noble, if scratchy, garments of the royal janitorial staff.

Cillian was beautiful and obsessed over his appearance. Like most Traminians, he had a lithe, lean body. His skin was soft and pale and as smooth as Pheneron silk. His people were a hedonistic race of near androgynous beings that lived on the very outskirts of the empire. There they had colonized several idyllic worlds on which they operated a number of the galaxy’s top vacation spots, where luxury and comfort could be found in abundance but adventure was sorely lacking.

Cillian edged closer to the guards in their shining, red metal armor, feeling nervous about his recently acquired identification papers. Luckily for Cillian, Traminians perspired only during sexual activity, and even then it was slight and smelled faintly of cinnamon. He took a breath to steady himself and stepped up to the gate. A soldier stood on either side of him and he knew if they had any suspicion, they were well within their rights to fry him on the spot with one of the Solar Radiation Emitters, the Sun Guns that were standard issue for all Empiric Soldiers.

“State your name and business.” The soldier’s voice sounded tinny and electric, filtering through the helmet.

“Carnop Sheed, I’m from ThenoKleen. Here to do the floors,” Cillian tried to sound calm, knowing that the helmets of the soldiers were equipped with sensors to detect heart rates and breathing to determine if someone were lying.

“Identification, please.” The other guard held out his hand, while the first studied Cillian intently.

“Here y’go,” he said, handing the papers to the guard, trying not to look too pretty for a janitor under the scrutiny. The second guard looked at the small ID and passed it to his counterpart.

“It says here you live down Harkin. You ever been to the Tarnished Crucible, Mr. Sheed?”

Cillian pushed up the dirty spectacles he wore to conceal his brilliant, violet eyes, before looking at the eye lens of the guard.

“Sure,” he said, not smiling too brightly. “Got my first round of the Clamp from Shirli.”

The soldiers regarded each other for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity and Cillian wondered if he had gone too far. Just as panic threatened to overtake him, electronically filtered laughter burst forth from the guards. The first slapped him on the shoulder, handing him back his ID.

“If I had a dollar for every time she gave one of us the Clamp, I could retire!” he said, still chuckling inside his helmet.

“How ‘bout it?” Cillian chuckled in return.

“Have a good day, buddy,” the guard said as he waved Cillian into the palace.

* * * *

Near the outskirts of town, where the buildings grew shabbier, Thaniel M’Callam was already three hours into his day of collecting the refuse of the city, and it was promising to be a hot one. Than could already see the light reflecting off the palace, throwing rainbows of color into the sky. He pressed a button and the window slid away, allowing a breeze that carried the scents of fried foods, ale houses and despair: the scent of Low Town. He closed his eyes and let the air ruffle his slightly shaggy, spiky, brazil nut-colored hair. When he opened his deep green eyes he turned them toward the driver, his partner, Mansard. Manny was a Buntar, a furry, vaguely cat-like creature about two and half feet tall. Buntars were renowned for their fighting skills, acrobatic prowess and acuity in the art of stealth. Manny’s eyes were an amazing deep orange that faded to yellow but were covered with a pair of goggles, protecting them from the morning sun. His shiny black fur moved slightly in the air now circulating in the cab.

“What’s on the agenda for today, Manny?” Than rested his elbow out the window.

“Thaniel, each day you ask me that and each day I tell you the same thing. ‘Today, my dearest friend, we are collecting the rubbish of the capital. We will start in Low Town and slowly work our way towards High Town and finally, the palace,’ and inevitably you will say-“

“In my most sarcastic voice, ‘Another day in paradise’.” Than heaved a great sigh.

“Chin up, old fellow. It could be a million times worse and has been. We have good honest jobs. We make a decent wage. We have job security. Gods know, people will never stop making garbage and that garbage will need collecting,” Mansard said, trying to cheer his friend.

“I know, Manny. But sometimes—” Than pulled his goggles down as he turned back to the window.

“You miss it as do I, but we are where we are and we should count ourselves lucky that our lungs still draw breath.” Mansard finished Than’s thought as he pulled the transport up to the curb. Than grabbed the handle and swung his door open. “Thaniel, let the ‘Bots do the heavy lifting. There’s no need for you to subject yourself to that dreadful sun.”

Than hopped from the cab. He unzipped his coverall and tied the arms about his waist, revealing a finely sculpted torso beneath a fitted, sleeveless shirt. His tanned, muscular arms flexed as he cracked his knuckles inside his work gloves.

“I think some good, honest work will clear my head. What do you think?” Than cocked his head to the side just enough that his spiky bangs tumbled down over one goggled eye to rest on his stubbled chin.

“Honestly? I think you’re much too handsome to be a Rubbish Collector. I think you would fit right in as an infamous, intergalactic rapscallion.” Mansard waited for Than’s reaction. To his immense relief, his partner began to laugh. Mansard smiled, his fangs peeking over his bottom lip, while Than emptied the refuse containers into the back of the transport.

 

Buy here: http://www.king-cart.com/Phaze/product=Heart+of+Truth/exact_match=exact

 

[http://www.examiner.com/x-5465-San-Diego-Erotica-Books-Examiner~y2009m6d13-Heart-of-Truth]