This is the mytho-scientific premise underlying a madcap, rapid-fire tale of South Africa in the year 2064, where a handful of individuals are suddenly plagued by godhood. One, Nomvula, is a lonely little township girl born with power. Several others acquire their abilities from godsend, to varying degrees of trauma or delight: Muzi, a gay teenager facing multiple tests of manhood; Stoker, a politician struggling with identity and idealism; and Riya, a diva with a magical voice and a hidden disability. Meanwhile Sydney, a nail technician who was born powerful like Nomvula but is much older and more ruthless, decides it’s time to reclaim her birthright as a bloodthirsty, vengeful demi-goddess. As a genetically engineered virus spreads and threatens to awaken the latent godhood of billions, these few special individuals come together to decide, ultimately, what manner of gods will rule the future. Oh — and also, the technological apocalypse looms as personal robots all over the world quietly become self-aware.

Nomvula’s and Muzi’s tales end up being the most compelling of this lot, if only because those are coming-of-age arcs, while Stoker’s and Riya’s are more single-note. Villainous Sydney is the novel’s weak point, although she is hilariously horrific, but her monotonous evil serves well as a foil for the more complex main characters. Drayden’s delivery of all this is subtly poignant and slap-in-the-face deadpan — perfect for this novel-length thought exercise about what kinds of gods a cynical, self-absorbed postmodern society really deserves. Lots of fun.

A generation or two after a plague of fake news and societal polarization brought America to the brink of another civil war, most major cities in Brenda Cooper’s WILDERS (Pyr/Prometheus, paper, $18) have sealed themselves off from the rest of the country as sovereign states. Now the megacity of Seacouver (the combined metropolitan areas of Seattle and Vancouver) is a technological superpower, sending forth “ecobots” and “rewilding” crews to transform ecologically damaged land back into forest. The teenager Coryn Williams, a citizen of Seacouver who lost her parents to tragedy, decides to venture forth from the city in order to find her older sister, Lou, who abandoned her and went Outside two years before.

The first half of the story is more engaging, as it follows Coryn’s quest; she’s completely unprepared for the world beyond the city, where she finds murderous warlords and patriarchal cults, among other horrors. Yet the second half, after Coryn finds Lou and finally begins to wonder who’s behind the curtain both within the cities and Outside, is where Cooper’s world feels most real. Here is the rest of America, left behind by its urbanized technocracy: the descendants of farmers and rural people displaced by rewilding efforts, people of color in an echo of the digital divide, and religious groups. Unfortunately, here too the novel’s characterization falters, because for some reason these disparate people all sound alike; even the subcultures of today don’t all talk like English-speaking middle-class Middle Americans. The story’s pace also suffers in this half, mostly because Cooper tends to have characters pause and give expository speeches. Also, Coryn’s coming-of-age arc is left somewhat incomplete — but since this book is the first of a planned series, maybe Cooper is saving a fuller characterization for later. Another visit to this world and its characters may be worthwhile, in the next book.

The first 20 percent of Steven R. Boyett and Ken Mitchroney’s unusual new portal fantasy, FATA MORGANA (Blackstone, $26.99), feels a bit like the movie “Stand by Me,” except starring grown men who only talk like pubescent boys and set during World War II instead of the 1950s. Amid harrowing yet realistic descriptions of flak fields and how to successfully arm 8,000-pound bombs, readers are treated to a loving character study of the crew of the Fata Morgana, a B-17 bomber about to face its first combat mission. There’s Farley, the captain, a no-nonsense fellow who is nevertheless haunted by visions of a mysterious woman; he has her painted onto the bomber, pinup style. There’s also Broben, the chain-smoking co-pilot; Boney, the nimble bombardier; Martin Proud Horse, the Lakota ball gunner; and more — all of them wisecracking, scared young soldiers just hoping to make it through the Big One intact. The story’s pace between missions is as leisurely as a coming-of-age journey. There’s even a lengthy digression for the tale of Martin’s previous, fateful posting aboard the Ill Wind, whose namers clearly never heard of an omen. It’s a good campfire story.