yustyoking

Martin A, the Mad Martian

****************** Martin A, the Mad Martian ********************

******************* A Sci-Fi Murder Mystery **********************

“This,” thought Martin, “is going to be a lot harder than I expected.”

The sun was setting at Nancy Reagan Space Port. Originally just called Gravelly Point, Martin pumped furiously at the metal handles of the silver-colored pump. The rear wheel of his bicycle ballooned comically.

A black cube appeared on the rust-speckled horizon. Approaching ominously, it turned out to be the Ronnie Reagan Omnibus. Fitting his bike into the two metal prongs on the front, Martin boarded the bus.

“Oh, gee, aren’t we lucky to be living in a Martian colony in the 22^nd Century,” chanted the automated bus driver helpfully, its voice pure velvet, kind and sweet.

“I got a flat tire,” groused Martin.

“Why didn’t you call a transport tech?” peeped the machine. Unobtrusively, it flashed a warm, gentle green light that read the barcode stamped on Martin’s spacesuit. Extending a sponge-tipped metal arm, it rubbed Martin’s crotch invitingly. “Ooh, big boy, doesn’t that feel good?” it crooned.

A planet without any women, the menfolk had to make do as best they could.

“How can I call a transport tech when the government is shut down?!” fumed Martin.

“They had to shut down the government to prevent more immigrants from flooding the colony,” sang the machine soothingly. Diodes blinking, it batted its electronic eyelashes at him sympathetically.

Where were all the women? You might well ask. On Venus.

“Yeah, insha’Allah,” muttered Martin under his breath. “Whoever killed this gov should be castigo… puni… punished.” He was plenty mad.