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This novel is a science fiction adventure with aliens and mutants and immigrants struggling for survival in East Africa, where deception, savagery and death are an inherent part of daily life. Where the indigenous hatred and unimaginable horrors fuel anarchy and rebellion.
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This novel is a science fiction adventure with aliens and mutants and immigrants struggling for survival in East Africa, where deception, savagery and death are an inherent part of daily life. Where the indigenous hatred and unimaginable horrors fuel anarchy and rebellion.
The Mbili are the ruling class. The Ine the underclass. In a land populated by these grotesque mutants, one thing is clear. They will never live together in peace. It is not peace the Mbili seek. It is total domination.
When Paul Henry, an accountant for an international accounting firm, decides to immigrate to Uhuru, he knows only that he can never return once exposed to the deadly Lassa fever, that Oneida, the love of his life, is scheduled to join him in two weeks, and that his life is pretty damn good. He is disavowed of the latter even before Uhuruan Airways Flight 100 lands in Mombasa, when he sees things out the window of the unmanned Tristar that challenge his sanity.
How does an outsider like Paul Henry cope in this environment? He is no ordinary immigrant. He is a survivor. And his every instinct is to fight back. Not only to escape, but to keep his fiancée Oneida from flying down to join him in the Hell that is Uhuru.
Unknown to the mutants and immigrants, there is an alien spacecraft circling Earth, which has more than a passing interest in the events unfolding in the Rift Valley. Will these visitors from another planet stop Paul Henry if the Mbili and Ine prove incapable? And what is their plan for the civilized world? Especially Great Britain?
Excerpt
Aboard Uhuruan Airways Flight 100 to Uhuru, East Africa. January,1990.
The dream gas wore off and I awoke ravenously hungry.
Hunger was a well publicized side effect of the gas, but not one I generally experienced. The sexual component of the dream sleep was also more intense than usual: I had an orgasm. I concluded that Uhuruan Airways, since their flights were invariably longer due to the slower aircraft, used a slightly more potent mixture than the other international airlines and wondered why none of the Information Bureau's introductory material had mentioned it. It seemed a curious oversight, since the Uhuruans took great pains to see that everything, even the most trivial detail, was thoroughly explained before they accepted anyone for emigration to Uhuru.
Most of the window shades were drawn and locked in place, but bright sunlight streamed in through the few that were up. They had been torn free, apparently by irate passengers unwilling to fly blind. Why the Uhuruans bothered to fasten them down puzzled me. What didn't they want us to see? And why, if it was so important, didn't they repair them afterwards? I had no answers, but I was glad to have peepholes to see out, to perhaps glimpse my new world before we landed.
The cockpit door stood ajar, as it had when we took off, and inside was the green glow of the control lights. No one was inside. I shook my head, still refusing to believe that no one was piloting the aircraft.
Directly across the aisle from me was Mrs. Johnson--an English woman--and her two young children, a boy and a girl, all fast asleep, presumably enjoying their last few minutes of dream sleep. I felt a strange kinship for these three strangers embarking on the same odyssey as myself and was glad they were there.
I looked around the cabin at the mass of empty seats, reminded that there weren't any other passengers. Uhuruan Airways couldn't be making any money on this flight, not with four paying passengers--even with prices what they were! Luckily, RACE--Royal Accounting Enterprises--was paying my fare; I couldn't have afforded it on my own--not even the one-way ticket!
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