Space Noir by Mike Marino (Chapter One)

Calling Earth! Calling Earth! Come in Earth! Do you read me? Atomic lasers ready to
launch from the outer fringes and outer limits of outer space. Flying disc's attacking every
capital on earth from Bejing to London to Moscow to Washington. It was an age of sci fi
action..giant saucers, 50 foot women, Amazons from Mars, mutants and nuclear bad asses all
on a rampage to ravage earth.
That was the accepted perception of space in the long ago forgotten 20th Century. It was the
race for space coupled with the arms race to see who could bluff the best..the east or the west.
I had spent time viewing historical holographic discs that were re-mastered from archaic
outdated records from something called the television museum. It was required viewing
during my orientation once I had passed the exams to get my Promethean credentials to earn
a living in my chosen profession as a professional gumshoe. (I had read that term while
reading and absorbing one of the outlawed books by Raymond Chandler, an obscure writer
of the 20th Cent. I had also read 1984 by George Orwell along with Animal Farm and got
a laugh now of how the future was envisioned back then. They were wrong..it is worse..but is
the deck we as a society have to play or pass with and do the best we can with the hand we are
dealt.

Next to fucking, reading is sexy to me, almost ejaculatory in fact as orgasm is reached when the last
period takes a bow and places itself on the page, end of the performance, SRO, applause applause.
So what can match your first fuck? To me it was the first books I ever read as a child. The wonder of
words and stories, and admittedly I started reading 20th Century lit as that was the pivotal point in
Earths history.(You dont know who you truly are until you know where you came from) I would
read bootlegs of encyclopedias from A - Zed and was hungry for this knowledge as each page turned
and revealed Parisian poets long forgotten, Austrian composers whose concertos are no longer
heard,what a great bird the phoenix must have been had it existed, what hieroglyphs were and why and
what, and why was the War of 1812 called the War of 1812 and why wasnt World War One called the
War of 1914?
Tom Swift Collections of real boy adventures in airships and radio electronics and all manner of
other electro-wizardry today we only acknowledge with a yawn. But I didnt yawn at these yarns...I
wanted more, I was an adventure junkie, addicted, a young wino lying face down in a gutter of
literature waiting for my connection to supply me with the lit fix a junkie requires..Tom Sawyer and
secret caves,, Huck Finn and riverboat pirates,
I soon graduated to Jack London and his books of tales of sea wolves and storms and I became a
pirate now and soon became a tattooed Queequeq searching for Moby Dick with one legged Ahabs,

while enjoying the pages of Sinbads travels and travails, while Jules Verne launched me in a rocket to
the moon and then back to earth to begin my travels to fight and defeat the mighty H G Wells Morlocks
in moral time machine combat. the books were pounding into me with the force of a Pacific Ocean
rogue wave...then along came Tolkien and Kerouac...hobbits are habit forming on the road..Then
Burgess and his bears looking for honey and Vonneguts flashback time travels...travel, adventure,
freedom books led me on my own path of travel and adventure and I can only blame the written
word, or thank the written word

That was long ago...a forgotten time...no one alive today remembers those days...its all on visdiscs now. No one reads books anymore (its illegal) and illiteracy is the law of the land if you
dont count texting which was used as a government tool to destroy our language..libraries do
not exist (they were shut down) ..

Hell this is the 30th Century, as we mark time, and for me the galaxy is my turf. I m Doc
Yucatan. I am an underground amateur mystery writer (new books are forbidden unless
approved by the Senior Censors for content so I write under an assumed name) and I also
have my own detective agency. In addition to my private practice, I freelance as a private
investigator for the Prometheus division of the Inter-Galaxy Congress of Councils ...space
detective... planetary private eye...and the story I am about to tell is true...even though now in
retrospect it seems like a dream (a dream that soon turned into a nightmare that haunts me to
this 24 hour Earth day) of the search for a client for a missing sister who had been abducted
by a race of eroti-bots half-woman/half machine...real Inna Gadda Da Vida stuff...but let me
start at the beginning..

1947...Roswell, New Mexico, Earth Sci-fi hi-fi so high saucers from spaced out outer space, stonehenged, stoned age and crashing just outside of Roswell with a klaatu, barada, nicto thud, loaded with
debris and Michael Rennie-gades who now become the alienated of the alien nation born in lunarcy,
and cloaked in secrecy with lunar cretin secretions giving birth to bugged eyed, anal probers and wild
eyed UFOologists
This all on the helter skelter heels of Rockin Robert Goddards rocketry revelry and associated atomic
badda - bing badda boom boom bomb tests near A-Bomb Alamogordo, Flashback Gordo!
Waitress, could I get a big ass plateful of radiation and isotopes with a side order of mushroom clouds
please? Muchas Garcias, MartinezHoly Hiroshima, Batman! Nagasaki nuked, Fatboy Wonder
duck and cover, duck and cover..and damn, do I miss the cold war. The bomb wasnt all bad after all
hell it gave us silver screen scream direct from the new mex white sands wilderness, giving birth to
Gojira and the 50 foot wo-myn, the atomic hula with large, massive coconut breasts the size of Jupitor,
cleavage as deep as the Grand Canyon and as delicious as Venus in a wet sweat of passion. Outer
space implodes, explodes and exposes inner space with Aldous Huxley Little House on the Mental
Prairie, windows wide and doors unlocked and open.

In the 20th Cent, every kid wanted to be an astronaut thanks to television as it was known
then then. A box filled with Saturday morning cartoon shows with Space Commanders with
decoder rings and garish clowns in bizarre regalia regaling them with a saturnalia of commercial
blatherings competing headlong with puppets and cartoons for the attention and cash of the Jetsons
gen who were hopped up like junkies on smack cooked up by the corporate oy manufacturers.
Something called Hula hoops as large as flying saucers making an orbit around the non-hula female
waist while yo yo's ran up and down on a string like a dead body floating in the water. It was the age of
mechanical toys and space age plastic dolls that did everything but fuck.
Before holographic toys of my century, boys in the 20th Cent were game for Robots from outerspace
with armies of rock 'em sock 'em robots invading toy train earth and fighting off the legions of
Amazon Barbie women with Commander Cody Decoder Rings. Led into battle by General
Mattel..."they're swell!" great bastions were made from Erector sets to keep out little rubber cowboys
and indians while GI Joe went into battle with a Buck Rogers battery powered ray gun from Ronald
Ray-Gun to storm Fort Apache and and Rin Tin Tin. Cap pistols exploded and Lionel trains crashed
into lincoln log buildings...long ago in a toy retro galaxy far, far away...a time before Atari...a time
before the internet...when imaginations ran wild and Betsy was wetsy and Cathy was chatty and Barbie
and Ken were an item before Ken got gay...and Barbie jumped under the covers with Skipper....action
figures with rubber legs and arms that could be twisted sister by your mean little brother....train sets
and turntables....mechanical robots and talking dolls...Cowboys and Indians and Good guys and Bad
guys all tossed into the toybox cabaret at night to see the stripping Barbie in a Peep Show Betty Boop
Booth playing with her own erector set....it was the age of Retropolis...yo yo's, Pee Wee Herman
bicycles with the emphasis on bi- as it goes in cycles...flashlight tag and dodgeball...Barbie and
Barbie...doll on doll action ...action figure on action figure action...Gi Joe and GI
Jane....ah...Retropolis..wind me up Sparky...my batteries are full and I'm on cruise control...

The only planet I had been to so far had been Mars. The casinos and whorehouses of the
moon dont count. The moon had been colonized for centuries and although the freedom

movement to have it reclassified for economic reasons has gone underground as most of its
leaders have been Asteroided to the isolated penal colony A-11.

Mars, The Red Planet had been occupied and colonized in the 25th Century after the zero-bomb had
been used to obliterate half the planets native population by the Earth Council of War. After victory we
subjugated the defeated Martians and annexed the planet to the sphere of influence of the larger
Interplanetary Human Space Council comprised of all occupied Earth territories acquired by force. It
was a victory of good versus evil. Evil, of course, being anything which we do not understand. The
Roswell Act would then be put into place, a pitbull edict that regulated daily life on the surface of the
seething angry red planet. Laws, that in time would turn it into one angry pissed off planet.
Martial and Marital Laws governing Martians would fall like shooting stars onto the barren landscape
of daily life. Segregation would integrate itself into the social fabric. Drinking fountains and lunch
counters would be separated now by species. Over here, anal probers, Martians Only. Over there,
Earthlings Only. Big white and blue rednecks would start launching a lynching campaign of pain on
three foot tall, two toed little green men in the night time glow of burning crosses. Cometized chestnuts
roasting on an open funeral pyre.
A messiah from Mars...code-named on the wanted Tel-Vis as Martian Luther King (named after a
forgotten civil rights worker from Earths own past) rose from the planetary plantation pulpits to lead
the masses in a series of Freedom Marches on a scale seldom seen in any of Earths occupied orbs.
Then, as quietly as it began, the Masters would sweep Martian racial and cultural differences aside,
they would fall in love and mate with a green Martian woman with three three breasts and two
vaginas. Now you could actually say, and mean it..a bird in the hand is not better than two in her
bush!
After sweating up the space blanket, they would soon produce an afterburner afterbirth of a pleasant
placenta that would produce little green umbilical children and buy a little suburban green dog and
tanks of multi-colored fish. Physical differences would melt away like american cheese, with
interspecies copulation and in time, light years maybe from now, the fornicated population wouldn't be
white, black, yellow, red or green...but a soft, quiet, gentle faded grey.
My next interplanetary journey would take me light years beyond Andromeda and mental stability. I
would need a lot of sedation on Lobototranqs & Peyoticite on this. A journey that began on a cold,
grey Centauri (November) Earth day..

The Centauri Equinox always brings a drop in business for those in my line of work, not that
my agency was doing very well. More time is spent drinking and drugging (it was all legal
now) Drunk, drugged or sober, it was all the same to me. My partner, Sky Hunter and I were
barely hanging on by a thread. While most agencies go the juice we got the leftover cases...the
back alley stuff no one else wanted, we were the alley dumpster where junkies toss their used
needles, gangs dumped their incriminating weapons and winos threw up on the Chinese
restaurant scraps that no one was ever sure of their origin...an organic farm or the local dog
pound or worse...body parts from the local flop. Losers that no one would miss who would
disappear into a won ton soup disguised until you noticed one of the wons or one of the tons,
never sure which was what would end up staring straight at you from the bowl...may even
wink at you when you realized it was a human eye looking for a fortune cookie.

In my line of work, sleep does not make peace with reality after defeating it. Dark shadows fall tall on
the floor and the wall. The night becomes a hypodermic needle filled with sleaze, and greed. Money,
sex, adultery! Choose one from column A or jump into bed with all three...what the hell a romp with a
foursome for foreplay, but don't forget to take a gun and blast away at the demons The Sex is
Free...the bullets cost a nickel each but well worth it for the big payoff.
Soon it's early morning, dark clouds rolling in..now if this were Chicago, the dark black-thick clouds
would be a deep blue, like the dark in an underground cavern, or the dank cigarette stale beer interior
of some Earth saloon with hustlers and pimps and faded hookers and lost dreams. the jukebox stands
lonely in the wee small hours of the morning corner, forgotten its promise of three plays for a quarter,
a cheap street whore to say the least at that price, the kind with needle tracks up and down her arm,
greenish hue with bruises and a shot of whiskey with a syphilis chaser and together, they all sitstony
silence until someone, probably from Cincinnati jams a quarter into the jukethe ancient 45 rpm

takes its place on the spindle, while the needle takes its place in its waiting groove, moving gently c
and almost lovingly, more black vinyl foreplay then anything else..the mojo goes east-west, and keeps
on moving, gyrating actually, in its own dream, not shared, the dream is an erection, blues from the
alley straight to the soul like a junkie jamming needle for a quick fixclose your eyes..enjoys the rush
of making love on a dark and rainy Sunday to the stench of stale cigs in an ashtray, ..narcolepsy,
necromancy, nothing fancy..just sex with the grateful dead smile nowits a dark blue black
morning, with a full mind sky of blues sunshine, and what the fuck, you got your blues on and his
rocks offyou promise to call again..
and the line is always busy when you dial, the line is always busy so you may as well head on down
near the old faded opium dens in Chinatown. Charles Bukowski is waiting and Tom waits..both have a
gun hidden...and damned if those pianos are drinking while the drunken barfly sings a song off
key...and then the lights go dim...and it's last call for alcohol.and the dark night...the coal jet black
night light flickers...it's time to wake up from your dream and face another day in another century,
another time, another place..and this day would prove to be anything but ordinary

I had closed the office early for the day, but I had made a last minute appointment with a
woman who called me earlier in the day about a missing sister she suspected was missing and
feared she had had been abducted to a distant planet I had only heard of. A planet of wanton
sex and eroticism and a ecstasy producing midnight blue drink called Soma.

Good soma (drinking or smoking varieties) was hard to find, too much Soma had a kick that
caused a Jekyll Hyde transformation causing a frenzy of murder and rampaging rape, no
longer gender specific that could go on for hours on end until the effects had worn off. There
were never any criminal charges brought against a person or perp as they used to be called in
pulp novels of the 20th Cent..on Robotia...you could murder, rape and engage in extreme
BDSM legally...all you had to do was pick a gender or both and enjoy the macabre fantasy
turned reality
To come down off a soma high you needed a huge combo amount of tranqs, cannabis and
peyoticite and the planet Robotia to where I was about set a course for was the Soma and drug
vortex of the universe which to me was my Cibola...I was Coronado searching for the lost city
of sex and drugs...my pot of gold...did it exist? Was the phone call a mere illusion? Was
someone, perhaps one of my drunken friends having a go at me to have fun at my expense...

The fog that dusk was as thick and heavy as steel reinforced nylons on an overweight hooker
from the bordellos of Venus. As the fog thickened outside my window, I could make out her
shadow back lit in the hallway closing in on the door of my office in down and out downtown
Detroit..once proud..now a gang war zone that even cops were part of mayhem.
I was behind in the rent and utilities, last place on the race rack and flat on cash..I couldnt
afford a $50 back alley blow job by a Neptunian nymph dressed up as a Catholic school girl,
every mans fantasy even no in the 30th Cent Catholic girls had it down to a science. they were ,
over easy, and we were hungry, so together it as a sexual plate of eggs and sausage. You dont have to
be Fellini to figure this one out.
These girls dressed in plaid skirts the catholic girls you saw in the hallway everyday who were damn
near virginal but these were real ass kickers! Catholic schools still existed (The Pope was part of the
Planetary Congress as church and state were now one) I went to one and in class I would drop a pencil
or pad of notebook paper so I could bend down and grab a quick peek of paradise..I thought I was real
nonchalant...well, forget about it..those girls were way ahead of us or at least was way ahead of me...as
I would bend low to be subtle and unnoticed..I noticed that she noticed too and at the appropriate
moment..her legs would part as wide as the Red Sea..yes, it was a miracle. A goddamned Catholic
Miracle...bless me father for I have sinned..over and over again and again...when I die I may go to the
Ninth Gate of Hell but in my life Ive already been to paradise and back ready as always to bite the
forbidden fruit...so to all of you in plaid skirts who walked the holy halls of Catholic School...you are
the Eves the world...hold out an apple and well follow you anywhere your estros leads us.

The agency was faltering and my secretary, wasn't faring much better as she hadn't received a
check either for weeks and she was a Czech, a real one from what used to be called Czech

Republic, an autonomous republic no more, world geo autonomy was over, it was one world
now. She was also a former shot put champ of that old Eastern Bloc (now Europa) so you
know what they say...never bounce a check on a Czech. Thankfully she had a crush on me
and could crush me with her thighs alone . She thrived on the atmosphere of our office and
the lack of pay didnt matter to her (she had two husbands that were filthy rich..and yes
planetary polygamy was also now legal for both genders!) She had nothing better to do with
her time or I'd have to answer my own phone.
Now I was in another frame of mine as the shadowy female figure in the hallway loomed
larger, closer and began to take shape, I heard the door open gently, quietly, as only a
frightened person will do. Fear makes us all cautious

As she entered. I noticed that she had quite a set of upper knobs on her and legs! Damn those
legs...they could stretch from Earth to the moon and I was ready to ride her rocket all the way
from one end to the other. I also noticed, she wasn't the usual brunette that walks into a
cheap detectives office, in fact she was quite attractive with that Oriental look that brings a
man to his knees. I sized her up and guessed she was probably an Asian from the Northwest
Territories in Canada where you cant really gauge a body shape due to the fact of the all the
fur they wear...ever see an Eskimo Pinup Girl? Well ,beneath all that layering when stripped
away along with pretense you'll find some awesome flesh with a hidden pubic pot of gold...I
digress...and diverge...but I am diverse..
I could see she was a hot package, dynamite in fact, and could smell trouble, or was it that
near tuna aroma emanating from somewhere south of her bodys equator where Brazil would

be? It attracted me like a shark to a human happy meal. She dropped her coat to the floor
seductively, I sat there immobile, she pulled out a cigarette, fancy French brand from Quebec
or the nearby reservation where they're sold at discount prices. I was right...she was Asian,
Indonesian in fact, with Eskimo blood that made my blood rush to all the right parts of my
body
She walked seductively to my desk to take a seat, and what a fine seat she had. I could go seal
hunting in her warm inviting igloo everyday if she invited me. She said very calmly but with a
slight accent I couldn't place, (when it comes to the Bering Straits, accents have no bearing
anyway) "Got a match?" I wanted to flick her Bic where I sat so played with my lighter, which
you shouldn't do in public but I did anyway until it flamed up and ignited...I leaned in closer
to her and her intoxication aroma, her perfume, the fish probably, had me on my knees...my
flame met her tobacco and the room was on fire..or at least the region south of my pants
pockets and belt.
She introduced herselfLauren, ah a beautiful name..she was Bacall to my Bogart. The
lights flickered in the office...right on cue? For effect? or just bad wiring. Ill have to get that
fixed someday I told myself and made a note on a greasy page of an old notepad that had seen
better days. It wasn't my pad anyway, it was a prescription pad I had lifted from my doctors
desk the last time I was in her office for a full nude exam and to get a refill of my
amphetamine. Which reminds me...my script for Loboto-tranqs was due for an illegal refill.
(She was what we call a hymen happy sex addict..so as long as you fucked her often and well
you got your tranqs. I had been addicted to them since the Big War and had grown quite fond
of them...hell, I needed them to function.
Lauren relaxed, she inhaled, and then exhaled, inhale exhale, her chest heaving out forming
massive canyons of cleavage you could mush huskies in...then in her low sexy voice began
her tale of intrigue and asked for my help in retrieving her sister from the clutches of space
pimps
I was hooked by this mesmerising nanook of the north and told her my expenses were 300
space dollars a day ($200 in 21st Century money)...she didn't bat an eye and pulled out 100
from her purse and handed it to me as a down payment..I knew this was going to be
trouble..she was beautiful, and smelled like tuna, pungent and intoxicating as a ladies roller
derby locker room after a sweaty hour on the track. This sexy little Asian Eskimo was the kind
of woman who could make a man an explorer and I wanted to be Henry Hudson and search
her Northwest Territory for the fabled Northwest Passage.
I wanted to find her sister now at all costs. I loved the thought of 300 plus space bucks a day
and the taste of Canadian tuna..so together we set off for Erotibotia the last known location of

the sister and the course we set for the madness and adventure that lay ahead for me and this
exquisite mesmerizing Canadian.

My journey now would take me to his mechanical planet that ended up in one hell of a romance as hot
as a sun flare with this rich Canuck Goddess. Her heat could melt the polar bears polar ice caps along
with their sizable polar bear balls and freeze the hard-ons in the bordellos of Bangkok..ever been
banged in Bangkok before? It's a rustic whorehouse where a blow job is mere pennies on the
dollar...use Space Bucks and she'll go 'round the world' in less than 80 days, minutes, seconds....she
was beautiful and talented and had a vagina as strong as a steel trap.
Robotia...it had the market on vice cornered in this teeming space colony, aliens from all four
quadrants could fornicate furiously with machines and machinas legally and openly with pubic pelts
woven from the genitals of their customers as it was customary to donate some. ... Con artists, hookers
from Hale Bopp II, and pickpockets make fantastic promises to eager visitors who are promptly taken
advantage of.

I knew about Rotibotia but had never been there or knew of anyone who had been there. It
was an artificial planet where humans were transformed into half machine (the men) and
Machina (females). I was the one planet in place in space where machines and machinas will
end masturbation for ever!But also one of sexual pleasures at the hardware hands and sex
organs of artificially intelligent mechanical Intel processor prostitutes where female and male
robots which will be called Eroti-bots come fully equipped with amazingly lifelike vaginas,
electro-labias and the genitals will be hard-on happy and hard wired to emit an electronic
pulse that will be transmitted through sensors of the heavy metal hymen and designed to
deliver a 220 volt jolt the human penis. The future of the Eroti-bots is not just a lap dancing
A-I sex kitten for men. There will be eroti-bots for females as well. You've been using vibrators
for decades anyway for that all pleasing "batteries not included" stimulation of sexual
stimulation. Now you could lay back and let the Danger Will Robinson Eroti-bot do his work
mechanically putting some real mecha-he-man push into his pulsating AI penis where you
can adjust settings to orgasm, multi-orgasim, mega orgasm or even get juiced up and soaking
wet by putting the penis pedal to the metal by setting it to a very intense Orbital Orgasm where

you can run sexual rings around Saturn as his member explodes and expands to the size of
Jupitor!
The nice thing about the Will Robinson model is that once it ejects its load of synth-cum it will
automatically refill itself, and while doing so the timer says, "I'll be back!" The Terminator is
now the Orgasimator. The machines will have names, be voice activated and disease free.
Pregnancy? A thing of the past, unless you opt for the accessory package that includes frozen
sperm from a sperm bank that can be injected and loaded into the load of your mecha-male,
and then, through the act of intercourse, of course, voila! You can now give birth to a little
R2D2 of your own!
The Female models will also have an Oral setting for one hell of Hoover vacuum blow job.
The mouth, as the vagina will be composed of a fleshy realistic sexy synthetic material that
will be able to gauge the pleasure level being attained, and in the case of the vagina, it can get
tighter have more pull if it's warranted and the synth-mouth will have separate settings much
as the penis on the male model has. It will have a low blow job setting of Gentle Genitalia and
progress upwards on the sex scale to the tempestuous Tornado Vortex that could to suck a
hockey puck inside out!
There will of course be various male and female bots that come in variety of racial models
including Asian, so you can bang a gong or at least an Eroti-bot from Bangkok. Then there is
the ever popular Black model male with adjustable penis size control from small, medium all
the way to Biggie Size just as though you were ordering from Wendys! The Black Female
Booty-Bot has one hell of motor hidden discreetly in her "trunk" or rear end and comes with
a 300 horsepower thrust and four gears. There are also Lesbi-Bots and Gay-bots and even
Trans-bots that have interchangeable sex organs and orientation settings. The Lesbi-bots
come with AI strap-on technology devoloped my Microhard in Seattle, and Gay-bot has
multiple settings from Oh Boy! to Lets Go Shopping! It comes in two models, Top or Bottom.
The Jetsons Models are a whole family of Eroti-bots that come as a complete set and you can
have a robot romp with Judy or Elroy, they are machines so do not fall into the category of
Pedi-bots, and will be legal in most countries, you can even have a robot go with Rosie the
Maid, and if youre lucky George and Jane Jetson can be set to "menage a trois" and you can
frolic with both at once!
The eroti-bots are coming...the rise of the machines as they say...artificial intelligence and
mechanical sex...disease free...emotion free...pregnancy free unless you opt for it, and some
will even enter into marriage with their machines and their mates can be recycled in time for
environmental reasons, and replaced at the local hobby shop.