I think of Redeemer as a sci-fi gangster epic. Some say I have created “the perfect bridge” between urban fiction and science fiction and call it “Urban Science Fiction”. And some simply call it Science Fiction.
I dunno. You tell me what it is after you read it.
Think American Gangster or Goodfellas meets The Time Machine.
Here is an excerpt:
His movement was swift…silent.
He found himself thanking God again – this time, for Chagga Mutwa, patriarch of the Tokoloshe guild of assassins and expert in the arts of invisibility and quiescence.
Ezekiel had spent two years of harsh training, at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro, under the tutelage of the sapient old master.
In those two years, he had learned much.
Ezekiel tested the front door. The steel entryway creaked open. No surprise. Engineers’ Row – or, ‘The Twilight Zone’, as the youth called it – was patrolled and protected by fearsome and efficient Nano-Drones.
Swarming an intruder by the thousands, these nearly microscopic, cybernetic organisms invaded a victim’s body through his orifices. The minuscule drones would then connect to the victim’s nervous system and shut the intruder down, rendering him comatose until the arrival of the police.
Of course, when your boss is Danny Sweet – owner of the company that created the Drones – the little terrors presented no problem at all.
Ezekiel crept into the warehouse. Through the dim light, he could see rows of crates, filled with wires, computer parts, electronic gadgets, rods, gears and motors of various sizes. The hangar-sized warehouse reeked with the smell of copper and axle grease.
Suddenly, voices came – low and in a staccato rhythm. Ezekiel crouched low and tilted his head toward the sound, as if to bring his right ear closer to it. No, not voices, Ezekiel realized. A voice. A woman’s voice…rapping a tune from his early childhood.
His father would play the song and talk about the rapper performing it as if the man was a god. “Biggie is a genius!” His father would proclaim. “The mad scientist of hip-hop!”
The name of the song came to Ezekiel – ‘Warning’.
The assassin moved across the warehouse in a quick, zigzagging shuffle.
The woman’s voice grew louder.
“…I got the Calico with the black talons loaded in the clip.”
The voice was coming from a small office at the rear of the warehouse. Ezekiel rushed toward the office door, aimed his pistol and snatched the door wide open.
He rolled into the room, quickly popping up to a kneeling position, with his pistol at the ready.
The room, however, was empty, save a large plasma television in the corner of the room. On top of the television sat what appeared to be a gold watch.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut. Ezekiel whirled around to face it.
The low click that followed told him that the door had locked.
Ezekiel aimed his pistol at the doorknob.
The television came to life with a soft hum. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”
Once Upon A Time In Afrika is Sword & Soul.
Here is an excerpt:
Tayewo sailed through the air, thrashing like a mackerel on the floor of a fisherman’s boat. He landed on a row of large, wooden bata drums – his buttocks, elbows and the back of his head pounding out a thunderous tune before he slid to the floor. Tayewo grunted as his ebony-toned back smacked the cold marble.
Ṣeeke smiled. It was the first time she had thrown someone with a wheel kick and she had executed it perfectly. “Mistress Oyabakin would be proud,” she thought.
Ṣeeke’s smile faded as she found herself hoisted into the air by her brother, Kehinde, who had trapped her in a powerful bear-hug from behind.
Though identical in size and appearance to Tayewo, Kehinde was nearly twice as strong and knew how to use his strength to do damage.
Ṣeeke hooked her left foot around Kehinde’s left ankle and then reached behind her, pressing her palm into the middle of Kehinde’s back.
Try as he might, Kehinde could not throw his sister, who seemed to be stuck to him like palm oil to white cloth.
Suddenly, Ṣeeke bent forward, grabbing Kehinde’s right ankle with both hands. She continued her forward momentum, rolling over into a seated position, which sent Kehinde careening over Ṣeeke and onto his back, beside his sister, with his right leg trapped between both of hers.
Ṣeeke held Kehinde’s foot tightly to her chest as she propelled herself backward, until she lay beside her brother. She then thrust her pelvis upward, against Kehinde’s knee, as she arched her back and expanded her chest.
Kehinde screamed in agony as his knee hyper-extended and the ligaments stretched to their limits.
“Release him Ṣeeke! Now!”
Ṣeeke immediately recognized the bellowing, baritone voice. “Yes, Baba.”
Ṣeeke released her grip on her brother’s ankle.
Kehinde rolled onto his side, massaging his aching knee.
“Is Kehinde’s knee dislocated?” The Alaafin asked.
“No, father,” Ṣeeke said, as she sprang to her feet. “He should be fine in a day or two.”
“How does the knee feel?” The Alaafin asked Kehinde.
“It hurts when I do this, Baba,” Kehinde replied, extending and then bending his knee in a stiff, choppy rhythm.
“Then, don’t do that,” the Alaafin said.
After you read these novels, please, give me feedback and honest critique. I want your experience, when reading my books, to be nothing short of Blacknificent!