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Chapter 2 -Umbra

"Get up, boy." His voice was rough, like a heavy smoker, husky with a slight country twang. "Get up, we have to go now. Where is your father?" 

"He didn't make it. Who the hell are you?" I tried to sound tougher than I was. Then I threw up. He moved. 

"It will burn all night. The Light makes for fine kindling. Gives us cover." He wore a black trenchcoat made from some strangely slick matte-black leather. It was thick, coarse and had a weird animal smell. His clothes were hard to make out as if they defied my ability to focus on them. His shoes were a serviceable boot with hard metal studs all the way to the kneecap. "Get it out, because in two minutes we will be in the wind." The firefighters gathered around the fire were not having any luck putting out the fires. 

"They have my governess. My father said I had to find her." I started to feel a bit better.  

"I don't care two bits about your nanny. Your father called me and told me to come and get you. I got you. My job is to keep you alive. You are my priority now." 

I did not appreciate his tone. I grabbed his jacket and pulled myself to my feet. I leaned in close. "She is the closest thing I have to a family. I don't know you and couldn't give a damn about what your job is. So you help me or I will do this by myself." My chest hurt but I could feel this strange power trying to gather itself. 

"Alright, there is no need for that kind of talk. Do you have anything that belongs to her?" I thought about it and reached into the holster on my hip.  

"This was hers." He took off his jacket and threw it to the ground. 

"Give me that." He snatched the gun from my hand and released the clip. Then he threw the gun on the jacket. I watched him move his hands and with a ritual movement he touched his jacket. It became dark, shrouded in shadow and then the shadow stood. It had the shape of an alligator or crocodile, low to the ground long and masked completely in shadow. Except for its exceptionally white teeth. The gun was in front of it and it was sniffing the gun. It turned as if to smile, showing off its teeth floating in a shadow body, then it shot off into the dark. "If she's still here, he will find her." 

"What do we do in the meantime?" 

"We hope they don't find us first. How much do you know?" 

"About what?" 

"The Life, boy. How much did your father tell you?" 

"Nothing he didn't have to. Which was basically nothing at all." 

"Did you get any schooling at all?" 

"Yes, I got plenty of education, can speak a dozen languages, can use basic magic signs and sigils. I can fly anything, drive anything, fix anything and shoot anything." 

"Okay, so you're not a complete idiot." 

"Are you going to tell me what is going on?" 

"Eventually, but now is not the time. I reloaded your gun. Do not shoot unless I tell you so. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Let's go. He's found something." 

"Your jacket?" 

"Yeah, kid, my jacket." 

We ran out of the alley away from the fire and the only home I would ever likely care about. Once we got to the street we didn't run but maintained a brisk pace as we headed toward the local boulevard. I could feel the tension draining out of me and I felt suddenly tired. 

"You know, I don't even know your name." 

"Umbra, kid. Keep up, pay attention. If you see anything out of the corner of your eye, you tell me, right quick." 

"Okay, Mister Umbra." He pulled up short and turned toward me. He towered over me and looked me in the eyes. His eyes, previously hidden under his hat were suddenly visible. There was nothing but darkness in them. No iris, no sclera, just an sense of a never-ending night with tiny glimmerings of light.

"Umbra, no mister, no title. Just Umbra. I know you are working with a lot of stress and handicaps right now but I need you to focus. You are a man now, and you are one of us. We don't take titles, we don't use 'em. We have our name and that is the most important thing about us. Your father was Equinox. And now, that is your name. Whatever he used to call you is not important." 

He turned and kept walking up the street, focused on something far away. "He didn't used to call me anything but Boy. I think I may have had a name we used when we introduced ourselves but it changed every time we changed towns." 

I was about to say something else when I saw it. There was a flickering in the corner of my eye. When I turned my head, I couldn't see anything, but as soon as I stopped looking at it, I felt a distinct awareness of something on the side of my vision. The boulevard was almost completely quiet, with only a few people coming home from their night jobs, heads down, focused on getting home.  

"Umbra..." 

"Good, you saw them. Get ready, they are surrounding us. She is up ahead and still fighting." In this section of the Bronx there was an overhead train system and there were pillars of steel holding the train above the city streets. I was able to ride the trains a few times. It was noisy but fun. There was a station ahead and she was still alive fighting there, but I could not see her, directly, only sense her. No one else seemed to see or hear her either. 

"You can't see them can you?" He stared at me and then grabbed my head. He turned it left, than right, looking into my eyes. "You have not had it long enough." He turned and bent over to pick up his alligator-cum-jacket. "Put this on. Its the only way you will be of any use to me. Don't take it off for any reason." 

I gripped the jacket like I expected it to come to live in my hands, but it seemed to have returned to its jacket state, inert and still creepy. As I slid into it, I noticed its coldness, its seemed to suck away my heat and sweat and re-sized itself to fit my much smaller proportions. It was only then I noticed how big Umbra was. I was also aware, I could no longer see anyone on the street. Okay, that wasn't true. I couldn't easily see anyone on the street. It was if I was seeing them through a gossamer veil. 

"Stop gawking. Get your head in the game." With just a few more seconds. I became aware of them. Then I wondered how I could have missed them. They were massive, much bigger than the things that attacked the house. They had that same alien feeling about them, but they did not have wings. They made up for that by having two sets of arms. They were also surprisingly fast, much faster than their size would have you think. Their bodies had that same luminescent mother-of-pearl look to them and they did not have any kind of clothing, armor or weapons, save their wickedly clawed arms; all four of them. 

Then I saw her; Ms. Hart. She was beautiful. And she still fought with the creatures. She wore a silver body suit, similar to the one she trained me in. While she had it on, she was faster and stronger than she had any right to be. I had never seen her as fast and as deadly as she was tonight. I realized she was always taking her time with me. She could have destroyed me, at any time during our training.

She looked tired. She was covered in blood, some bright red, some black. The blood of the creatures splashed on a nearby shadow person and they dissolved into a green and gaseous cloud, accompanied by a baleful scream of sheer terror.  

She was using a metal shod spear made of the same shiny silver, with a blade at the tip and whipped it around her slicing away the limbs of the much larger creatures. But the loss of an arm did not seem to incapacitate them as well as I thought it should. But they were not asking me. I would have suggested rolling around on the ground.

She saw us approaching and instead of looking relieved she appeared to be far more angry. Her rage cost three of the glowing giants their heads. She vaulted over their bodies she strode toward us as the creatures used her break to completely surround us. 

"What do you think you are doing?" Her voice was sharp like a knife. 

"Rescuing you," I began. 

"You stupid boy, I lead them away so you could escape." Her emphasis seemed to focus her will. Her words cut me. Literally. A slash opened on my cheek. Using my sleeve, I wiped away my blood and her rage. Where Umbra's jacket touched, the injury was just as easily healed. But it hurt. 

"And you, you ought to know better." Her gaze fell on Umbra, who lit a cigarette and apparently ignored her. 

The circle closed around us. The giants began to move toward us, a light in their eyes. The streets were clear, and a chill wind blew past me. I drew my pistol. 

"Feel free to shoot any time, kid." He blew out his match.

Jump to Chapter 3

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 1 - Equinox

Did I mention that I hated my father? 

No, I probably didn't. Lying face down in an alley would not give me much time to explain that. Okay, since we have a minute, I think I can give you the Reader's Digest version. 

I think my father was a demon or something. He did not explain everything. Okay, he didn't explain anything. He and I had not always had the best relationship, as far as I can tell we did not really have any relationship. Unless you consider pain a relationship. That was something we had in common. From as far back as I can remember, we did painful things together. I learned to walk in a week, and I remember it vividly. The whole time, he was right there pushing me. Things did not get easier as I got older. He was constantly there drilling me in everything. I didn't get to learn one language when three was better. I spoke six well by the time I was ten.  

I worked out every day of my life.  

Every day.  

On days when he was not home, he left me in the capable hands of my governess, Ms. Hart. She did not have one, though. She was even more cruel than he was. She would train me in fighting skills, endurance training, rock climbing, mountain biking, from sunrise to sunset. When he came home, battered, and bruised, she would bandage him, talk with him and once he was covered in bandages, he would see how much I had learned. By the time I was thirteen, I had broken nearly every bone in my body.  

Here is where it got strange. We never went to the hospital. They would take me into the basement, put me on a table covered with cuniforms. They would wrap my wounds and leave me there during the night. Come the dawn, I was whole again. He had no problem breaking me again the next day and would leave me with my pain until sunset. We would fight while I was broken, punishing me, pushing me until sometimes I think my mind would break as well. The Slab did nothing for that. 

My life progressed from that point forward, we trained, he broke me, he left, she trained me, she homeschooled me. I never went to a real school and rarely met the neighbors anywhere we ever lived. We would move every two years, so it was just as well I never met anyone. 

When I turned eighteen which was only a few days ago, we had been settled in New York City in the Bronx, hidden away in the poorer neighborhoods, where we were seen but not noticed. People avoided us and we avoided them. But not for the same reasons. I did not know what my father did for a living, but I began to realize it was more dangerous than I believed. I always imagined he was a secret agent or something but I never gave it much thought since we seemed to have everything we needed and while Ms. Hart was not my mother, she was the closest, scariest thing I had to one. She would occasionally even talk to me, when she was not trying to kill me or teach me to read Erdu. Life was relatively good and while my father and I rarely had long conversations, I did not think anything was out of the norm. Until today. 

He came into the house and locked the door. But when you lock our doors, we had a variety of mechanisms that needed to be activated. Deadbolts that covered all four corners of the door. Steel reinforced doors, covered in sigils. Each window was also able to be sealed with lightproof, bulletproof and layered glass. He was hurt bad. I had never seen the kind of injuries he had today before. Once he locked the door, he turned around and looked at Ms. Hart and she grabbed me and pulled me into the safe room below the primary household structure. This room also doubled as our weapons room and the walls were festooned with a variety of hand to hand and ranged weapons. A Special Forces operative would think he had died and gone to Heaven. 

"Take this." She handed me a beautiful handgun, covered in silver except for the black metallic handgrip. She pulled the clip and I saw the silver bullets, all fourteen gleaming in the clip. Driving the clip back, she pulled the slide and armed the weapon. "Take your time. Make every bullet count." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"You were my best student. Don't you dare die." 

That was the last time I saw Ms. Hart. She closed the door behind her and I could hear the muffled sounds of combat, bullets flying, explosions, and the sounds of something I have never heard before, a scream of unnatural proportions, it filled the room despite the fact it was outside of the locked space. The battle lasted for several minutes. Then it was quiet, but only for a moment.  

Then the door was being shaken. I could see the sealing sigils on my side of the door glowing brightly. And then one by one, they went out. When the last one died, I could hear the door being ripped off of its hinges by a hideous strength. I heard the footfall of something touching each step. And with each step, a flare of a sigil would flash and the creature would release a terrible sound, but it did not stop coming. As it approached I was less than fifteen feet from it. I could see it had been injured and I remember the first rule of fighting. If you can injure, you can kill it. So I waited. 

As it came down the stairs, and more of it came into view, the room grew brighter. I had always noticed, night had never been a hindrance to me. I never had a problem with darkness of any kind. When this thing came into the room, it was as if my vision was being blocked by its brightness. Would not stop me from putting a bullet in it. 

The creature saw me, turned its head as if it were surprised, roared and rushed toward me, with its strange wings flashing light, its wicked claws outstretched, its muscular but strangely proportioned body causing the ground beneath its feet to crumple with its weight. 

To me: it appeared to be moving in slow motion. 

Each shot was perfect. One in each eye. two in what ever passed for a brain, two in both sides of the chest, two in each knee. The gun was a thing of beauty, the shell casings flew through the air, hanging there as each bullet struck home. I dove to the side at the last second, holding my last six rounds. Each bullet struck the creature and when it hit, a black blood stood out against its radiant body and rained around the room. Where each drop of that blood struck, the object simply disappeared into a cloud of dust. The creature struck the wall on the other side of the room and lay still. 

Not dropping my guard or my weapon, I backed out of the stairwell and climbed to the top of the stairs. At least two dozen of these things were all over the building, ripped to shreds by bullets, or weapons or magick. I did not feel anything for them. Even dead, they caused revulsion but they reminded me of something. I just wasn't sure what. When I got to my father's study, I found him barely alive with six of the creatures lying around him. 

"You have to go. They weren't here for me. They were here for you." His breathing was ragged. His chest was ripped by the claws of these creatures down to the rib cage. I could feel his body's heat, he was like a furnace. "They were here for this." He points at his chest. 

"What?" I didn't see anything. 

"Equinox." He spits up blood.  "You have to find her. She is still alive. They can't kill her." 

"What is Equinox? Ms. Hart? I don't understand." 

"I thought we would have more time... Please forgive me. This will hurt."  He reaches into his chest, ripping past his ribcage with both hands. His scream fills me with more terror than anything I had heard this evening. Until today, I had never heard him make a sound related to pain. He pulls out a blob of darkness from his chest where his heart should have been; it felt sinister, terrible and alive. 

He grabs my neck with one hand and with the other presses the darkness against my chest. No pain I had ever felt even came close to this. It was as if everything I had ever lived though was happening at the same time. Every injury flared with renewed trauma, every break screamed a vigorous shout as if to say, "I'm back!'" I wanted to run, to push away, but there was nothing that could be done. I screamed until my voice broke and nothing but my whimpering filled the room. The last thing I remember was his warning. "Stay away from the Light." 

And that was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in this alley. The building I was in was still within my line of sight and was currently burning down. In my hand was a small black stone covered in cuneiform. It felt heavy as hell.

Jump to Chapter 2

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

I highly recommend putting this on your “next book to read” list. Definitely five star material here.

This is available for Kindle, which is great, because you will definitely want to take this book with you and steal time to read it at every opportunity until you are done. Then you will want more.

Malcolm “Rage” Petteway

Owner, Rage Books Publishing LLC

This review is posted on amazon.com and www.ragebooks.blogspot.com

BSFS has some of the most brilliant writers in the world. So I decided to list my favorite authors that I found right here:) Centuries from today they will still be spoken of.

Charles Saunders author of the Imaro series... his most recent release is Damballah

Edward Uzzle author of Neters and Retro-KM

Quinton Veal author of Her Black Body I Treasure

Milton Davis author of Meji I and Meji II... his most recent release is Changa's Safari

Joe Bonadonna author of Mad Shadows

B. Sharise Moore author of Taste: An Erotic Fantasy Series

Ronald Jones his most recent release is Warriors of the Four Worlds

Angela Nicole Parker her most recent release is Specter of War: Guardians of Destiny

D.K. Gaston author of The Friday House

Larry Winfield author of Banjo Strings

"Valdar is city of swordslingers and necromancers, witch cults and half-human races. It's a city in a world of darkness... This is my city. This is my world." Mad Shadows, Joe Bonadonna 

Take a wisecracking detective who's handy with both sword and dowsing rod. Take a mosaic of deadly villages with evil lurking in every alleyway. Take a hoard of supernatural villains. Take all this and more and you've got Joe Bonadonna's Mad Shadows, one of the most amazing reads of my summer! 

I had a blast matching swords with "Dorgo's" enemies, hunting down treacherous beasties and seeking out magic with his dowsing rod. In short, I give Mad Shadows an enthusiastic five stars as a thoroughly enjoyable and exciting read!!! Check it out and tell them Sister moon sent you :)! 

Pick up Mad Shadows here

This event is about bringing the Black Age to the masses.  To this end we will be at the Annual free outdoor "Back To Our Roots" Arts & Crafts Festival at the DuSable Museum in Chicago July 9th & 10th.  This will expose several thousand folks to the Black Age over the week end.  Plus Friday July 8th we will host signings at Graham Crackers and the First Aid Comic Book stores.  One in downtown Chicago the other in the same 'hood as President Obama & Minister Farrakhan's personal homes and the birthplace of the Black Age movement.

After 30 plus years of Black Aging I see that progress, profits & pride are winning in this war for minds & marketshares!!!!

Along with my 12 years of being an Art Therapist plus over twenty of being a Public School Teacher and Coach I am glad to be so honored to be in this struggle. Indie today: Black Age forever!!

What it do BSF folks?! This community is growing so quickly its beautiful to see. i could see some great things blossoming from so many minds. A Black Science Fiction event? Online store w/ books from all the members who are already there w/ their game? Maybe a distribution company? Anyways, love and light to you all. here is the 7th in a series of short stories Im working on. Please let me know what you think.

-Rob (live from the Bay Area-California!)

To see more of the process please check out my blog, and add me here on BSFS!

Being an artist is hard at times. Try being a scientist, heck, the bottles of chemicals, the clash of molecules, the expectation, the failures but damn that's fun. “Dude, it's time to take your pills!” “OK”, I say to my companion. “We doing the blood check today?” “No, all your systems are stable”.

It started innocently, a blog about PCs being too slow. People have a hunger for instantaneous response from their PCs, even talk of anticipation response. It was the topic of all conversations and being the sci- er, artist that I am, I coaxed a stem cell into boot-strapping some personal DNA. It produced a mini-brain sort of a four function calculator version a full size brain. When the paper was published I got slapped with a restraining order to cease development and ethics violations got me this house arrest. Damn those creative judges, incarcerated me with my device to learn the error of my ways. It would have worked except a near by lighting strike ramped up the energy potential in my yard. I ran out holding a Blackberry and the “Stem-D'NA device. Man, I blacked out, hit by I don't know what. I awoke in a clinic, my stuff in a box. While the nurses scurried about I cleaned the Blackberry but the Stem-D'NA device was fused to the back. I made it home and while watching the news realized only my blood was spilled. My blood, I thought, “Yeah, and you oozed all over me!”, in a muffled voice that sounded a lot like myself. I am hearing myself think, “No, not really!” My eyes open wide, taking a deep pondering breath, started to laugh. “No, wait, let me do it, Wwhhoowawaahaaaa!” Where'd you learned to do that? “It's a standard backyard sci- er, artist talk, everybody knows.....” Never mind.

Just saw this one on PBS' "The History Detectives."  Very touching story about Douglas Roach, an African-American who volunteered to fight against the fascists during the Spanish Civil War. He was killed in action in 1938, I believe it was. His touching eulogy was written and delivered by his friend and comrade-in-arms, Sol Feldman. It's a sad and wonderful story.

You can read the eulogy at www.kpbs.org 

If you Google Douglas Roach Spanish Civil War, you can read all about this formerly unsung hero who, thanks to "The History Detectives" and the InterNet, will no longer be forgotten. He was a member of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade -- all American volunteers who risked life and U.S. citizenship to fight in Spain against the DeFranco Fascist Regime.

Check out -- video.pbs.org/video for more info.

"I can't believe what they called it; Vampirism. They even equated it with mysticism and the supernatural." The Doctor stood over the supine human form in commiseration with a Technician.

"How did the therapy even get to their planet?" The technician was interrupting a virtuality session.

"We had established a base there some centuries ago during a more primitive time in their development. At that point, our stardrives were far slower and a trip between the Outer Colonies and their world took nearly a thousand years round trip. We used the gene therapy to enhance our physiology and make it possible to survive the long voyage. We had tried cryonic methods of hibernation but our water content made it too dangerous, so this was the only way."

"So, somehow, the natives got hold of the gene therapy and used it on themselves." The technician had begun the awakening sequence and monitored the slowly rising body temperature of the man in front of her. He was a big man, more than two meters tall with a powerful build. His skin was blue black and shone with highlights from the operating theater. He was covered in a variety of scars, many resembling an animal attack, his hands were large and strong with carbon-steel tipped fingernails. His full lips, partially open, showed his large, white teeth and with a set of fangs, comfortably set to the sides of his mouth. 

"From what we could tell, they had only gotten access to part of the technology, so they were stronger and faster and occasionally would be psychically operant, but without the proper activating radiant technology, sunlight or strong ultraviolet radiation could cause severe or toxic events, killing them. Those who developed psionic powers were unfortunately, not properly trained, and their extreme levels of superstition caused their powers to feedback on them due to their belief systems. Many died that way as well. Some developed other allergies to allicin found in several of their more pungent flora, metallic poisoning was common, cold iron, silver or other highly pure metals were also able to disrupt their untrained psychic auras causing more feedback."

"Did we ever trace the original event which released the gene therapy in the first place? I had read something about the event in the medical journals which caused significant restructuring of our protocols for administration of the therapies."

"Yes, they did trace it back to a containment error in one of the Great Pyramid structures used as a landing facility and research center. The material not only escaped containment but was flown between several continents before anyone was aware of the lapse. The gene therapy caused mutations depending on which environment it found itself in, so many of the planets indigenous populations have wild myths of mutated beasts roaming the countryside."

"Doctor, why would you say they were myths if there were actually such creatures possible in the literature given their rich genetic heritage? Their planet shares a strong genetic connection with all of the animals on their planet, making it possible the gene recombination sequences did affect plant and animal life on their planet in ways we had never seen." The technician was watching the doctor as she performed a series of micro-manipulations of nanoscopic surgeons within the blood stream of the human. There were several aortic tears she was repairing, and restoring them to the smooth appearance of the undamaged tissue.

"Officially, no information regarding the transformation of their plants and animals has be put on record because it would cause a scandal if it were known that our gene therapy not only worked on their primary species but dozens of their subspecies as well. The therapy was supposedly tailored to make it possible for us to survive the trip to their world and for them to make it to their new home. If it were possible for the therapy to escape, they would be consigned to their new home without any possibility of leaving in the future. Complete this regeneration, please."

"Certainly, Doctor. Why are we trying to save this species anyway, there are several very similar to it, that were recovered over ten thousand years ago. These were the weakest and tolerated the gene therapy the worst, that is why they were originally left behind."

"That's true but those other samples have shown less variability and technical acumen than this one has. All of the cities of their forebears, are simple, unsophisticated structures. We need to know, was it their home environment, that caused their jump in development or was it our tampering that made the difference. If we are the cause, it happened to benefit them now that their sun is going through a deadly radiation phase, lethal to all life on their world. Their genetic deviation and an accident may end up saving their species."

 
"He's the last one Doctor. When will we be arriving? The technician returned the black man to his slumbers and his tube slid back into the wall bearing hundreds of thousands of tubes just like it.

"We have finished all of their physical repairs from the hasty retrieval from their world, cleaned up any genetic damage and restored reproductive viability to the thirty thousand species stored within this ship. Their cellular structure is far more primitive than ours, so manipulating their genome with such a wide sample, was child's play. It is unfortunate we could not gather more of their genetic materials from their world. Most of this material will not be sent to their new home."

"I understand, Doctor, I have made the arrangements at the new genetic archive where we will scan, encode and store the samples we saved from their world until we can determine if the species is fit to deposit to a world more suited to them. We collectively only managed to save thirty million of their members, many of them in varying states of mental and physical disrepair."

"How effective has the simulation of their new habitat going? Are they adjusting?" The doctor sat down onto her cilia cluster, wiping her central brain sack with a long and multicolored tentacle.

"In the early days, most simply were unable to handle the idea their world was gone. So we have introduced a model we believe has been more acceptable. They now believe their world was invaded by aliens who have begun colonizing and terraforming it. All traces of their former existence has been eradicated. They believe they were infected with an alien parasite, common to many of the fictions of their world, and have now be irrevocably transformed into a race of vampiric humans. Forced to feast on the flesh of the aliens to live, most were revolted and many died, but subsequent genetic replacements took to the simulation and are doing well."

"I would like to call this genetic harvesting and relocation program a success, Technician. Central Command says there are dozens of other stars having a similar solar transition and the source is still unknown. If we can say with some level of assurance this species will transplant well, we can begin other operations to extend the quality of life of other burgeoning races in the galaxy which might otherwise be exterminated before becoming part of the galactic community."

"Take a look for yourself, Doctor. We monitor their development and consider this more than effective, it is a rousing success. My virtuality is so perfect, no single on of them suspects and they will not be able to tell the difference. The planet they are headed to is sending live telemetry which is folded directly into their virtuality. They have virtually lived there already for over three hundred years. Once transplanted, it will be a home they have always known."

Decker stood up, his black skin hidden in the shadows of the invader trees and their purple and red leaves. His pack stopped to look into the red sky and saw the Cintuan flying overhead. There was no way they could hope to compete with a Cintuan group this large, so they stayed low to the ground, avoiding the predator tangle-trees and the wildvines common to this part of the continent. They had just feasted on the blood, meat and bones of a Malulac and the troop was strong and vital. Decker was convinced they were making headway against the Cintuan threat and with the help of the southern tribes retake the Earth under its new terrible red sun. No one has died today, we have feasted, found a new series of organic weapons and the enemy is in retreat for a change. Today was a very good day.

Gene Therapy © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Peace everybody, just sharing the latest illustration in a series of characters Im drawing. Was checking out Ghost Dad and had to do this one. What do you think?

 The heyday of the pulp magazines was before my time. I was born during the dying days of that era, and by the time I was old enough to read and appreciate the fiction those magazines published, they were long gone -- in spirit, at least. But I did delve heavily into paperback books, which are the modern-day descendants of the pulps.

 Some of the old pulp stories and characters were revived in the 1960s, including Robert E. Howard's Conan character, which inspired my own warrior-hero, Imaro. But of course there were plenty of other adventurers that survived the pulps' demise, such as Doc Savage and The Shadow. Of course, none of these superstars of the printed page were black. This is the 1920s-40s we're talking about here, and in the vast majority of those stories, black characters were relegated to stereotyped background roles if they were present at all.

 There were some exceptions. Jericho Druke, described as an "African giant of immense strength," was an agent of The Shadow. Joshua and Rosabel Newton were part of the team of The Avenger, who was similar to Doc Savage. In conformity with the times, Josh and Rosabel posed as servants, though they had both earned degrees from Tuskegee University. But The Avenger treated them as trusted equals.

 Maybe there were other characters like Jericho and the Newtons. If so, they were few and far between.

 Ron Fortier of Airship 27 Productions publishes what is known as "New Pulp" -- new stories in 1930s settings, minus the ethnic excesses of the past. When Ron suggested that I write a New Pulp story of my own, I came up with Damballa.  Damballa is the type of black hero character who should have been -- but could not have been -- published in the '30s. He is inspired by The Shadow, but is no more an imitation of The Shadow than Imaro is of Conan. 

 The newly released novel, Damballa, tells the story of how the mysterious African-American protector of Harlem foils a plot to sabotage a heavyweight boxing championship bout between a black American champion and a German challenger who represents the Nazis. The time is 1938, a year before the beginning of World War II. Similarities between this fictional fight and the real-life 1938 title bout between Joe Louis and Max Schmeling are entirely intentional.

 Damballa features action, suspense, a mad scientist, gangsters, beautiful women, and evocations of the highs and lows of life in 1930s Harlem. It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope readers will enjoy it. I am glad to have had the opportunity to make a needed addition to the New Pulp genre, as I did to sword-and-sorcery way back when.

 Damballa can be ordered from lulu.com and gopulp.info. On Monday, it will be available at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble. 

I have been given the go ahead to ask NYC based Black Comic Book Artists to join

me at a proposed book signing at Hue- Man book store , courtesy of Michael

Bannerman, the manager of the shop. Located at 2319 Frederick Douglas Blvd.

near ( W.125).

We need 3 or 4 Comic Artists who write and are self- publishers of their own

Comics or Graphic Novels. Please contact me at pozitronman@gmail.com or

call me at 718-665-8099 for more information.

Let's make this a great event for all.

Thanks!!

He hadn't eaten a thing all day. Hadn't spoken with anyone since early that morning. Shared his nightmare vision.
The research laboratory had been cleared before the crucial final test. Expunged of spectators and colleagues alike. "I'll call you when the procedure is complete." he promised to one and all; ushering all humanoids past radiation-proof molybdenum /boron /titanium composite doors. Shielding ports securely locked.

Mathematical models and scaled tests indicated significant leakage of exogenous radiation far up the Gamma and Theta bands. It had been decided to limit risk. His design, his baby - his was the honor and the liability. Captain of the ship.

The robotic sensors would be there - of course. Silent sentinels - like the statues of Easter Island, waiting to greet the dawn. Waiting to greet the unknown with wonder and awe. Waiting to herald the terror!

They were the first casualties of the truth. Disabled by a single act. A circuit board, light impulse input conduit, urgently ripped from its housing. Silenced before proclaiming the advent. Perhaps, the greatest event in human history. Scuttled by a desperate captain -desperate for time to think. Time to check his facts carefully, review calculations. Consider the implications, ramifications.

A hoax! That could be it, easily explainable. But the small figure stared back at him with unblinking eyes; perched on smooth pedestal of unknown material. One which defied all analysis, except that it reeked of Plutonium 235, 237. Tri-coboltritium and even more esoteric isotopes. Complex mixtures of sub-atomic material unfathomable to his equipment. All with half-lives spanning from nanoseconds to hundreds of thousands of years.

The monochrome figurine which mocked him, indeed all the achievements of mankind was simple, almost elegant in simplicity. Epochal changes almost always were. The captain of this particular ship searched his mind in frenzied pandemonium. 'Should he destroy the lab?' 'Himself? In the process the evidence of this monstrosity?' All that he held dear had, in an instant, been swept away. Head buried in hands he was unsure of his next move.

Ironically, he thought of Charlton Heston in the last iconic scene from the original "Planet of the Apes". He remembered seeing it in the holographic imager at the Museum of Ancient Culture. The dialogue scrawled across his brain: "You did it!" "You really blew it all up!" "You damn stupid apes!"
He refused all entreaties for the remainder of the afternoon.

On the pedestal of the quantum flux generator the little image transported through the portal from the future continued to unblinkingly greet the world. The two foot high image of a cockroach standing tall, tool belt hanging proudly around its waist. Etchings across the base proclaimed a secret message.

The Keeper from Star Trek's: The Cage addressed the dreamer, "That was from a story you once heard in childhood. From deeper in the recesses of your mind there are other even more fantastic tales!"

Love the new stuff on the site!!!!  Love the Cafe Press shop, love the mag, and when I get on, im buying everything out!!!

Got many stories to share, and so much new stuff in my brain its unreal.  First things first though, This Friday its Going down!!!  New show, new attitude:  http://youtu.be/Gj1qOp8kvsE

Its good to be back....

I’ve always been a science fiction buff. From my elementary school days with Bruce Coville’s “My Teacher Is An Alien” series, to my teenage obsession with “X-Files,” to my current RSS feed of the Cyberpunk Review, throughout my life I’ve been fascinated by all things out of this world, beyond this galaxy, and foreign to this dimension. But growing up a person of color, I’ve always felt that the stories that tickle my imagination seldom speak to my identity. For a genre known for depicting obscure creatures, new concepts of civilization, and future predictions for humanity, sci-fi sure has a hard time being about more than white people.

It seems that when it comes to sci-fi, cultural experiences of the melanin-inclined are merely reserved for exotic backdrop (ahem, “Stargate”) and half-assed tokenization (ahem, the horrible Mandarin in “Firefly”). But fear not! I have scoured the cosmos and unearthed 10 fantasmic films, books, and records to transport you to the unreal—while still letting you keep it real. Keep in mind, this is no “Billy Dee in Star Wars” list—I’ve chosen stories by people of color and about people of color. So enjoy. This is for all the disappointed moviegoers who felt the title “Minority Report” was misleading.

PS: I’ve taken the liberty to step outside the zone of the obvious, by excluding from this list Octavia E. Butler. Not because I don’t absolutely love her work about vampires, shapeshifters, and post-apocalyptic telepathy, but because every other minorities-in-sci-fi list I found online is basically a cut-and-paste of her bibliography. If you haven’t checked her out, I recommend the “Imago” series.

For all the rest of my geeks in the struggle, I hope you find something new in this...