CHAPTER FORTY

So far, the Lynch clone and Kevin's plan had went perfectly. They knew the location where Tom and his mate lived and how to get it without detection.

Lynch was now working at a gas station, a job he detested as below his intellectual capabilities as he hated pretending to be human.

Now that did not mean that as a Dominant, he would have worn his hair long, painted his body with colors, wore a sleeveless jacket and looked barbaric with the usual knife, bandolier, and weapons. The ones that chased Attwood's men when they stole the Column did not look that way. They had shirts and pants on like everyone else and their hair was a reasonable length.

The women and girls, however, wore their skirts almost to ankle length, a necessary precaution when you mated at eight years old, or wanted to hide the babies you carried in your belly.

So what made a Dominant look different since they had their own style? For one thing, the Dominants wore scarves in weather where the Sapiens did not. You could spot a Dominant by him having on his jacket, vest, tie, and a scarf around his neck, while a Sapien wore a shirt open at the front because it was one hundred degrees in the shade. The Dominant did not feel the heat as much as the Sapien so there was no need for him to look casual.

The Dominants had just begun to develop a social class, necessary when you were a New Species. So far, it was the Chosen, the leaders, and the rest of them, but with the Progeny program, changes had to occur. The upper class, that is the Chosen and the Council, had their hair short. That included Lewis as well as Roderick and Paul. Now Lynch was a lower class Dominant, the original being a farmer worker back in Ireland who just happened to be descended from one of the original Celts who drove the original population back to oblivion, so he wore his hair shoulder length. That was another reason, the clone fumed. He was not good enough! And his anger grew with every imaginary offence. Now he had to look like the Sapien equivalent of what he really was, or what his original was.

It did not occur to him that with no jails for minor offences such as gambling, some Dominants were reduced to slavery and they could no longer cut their hair. To a Dominant male, more than Sapiens, this branded them more than a tattoo or an iron collar.

So Randall Clone looked in the mirror, comparing it with the typical casual Sapien shirt and pants of the working class shown in the Sears and Roebuck catalogue.

"How do I look?" he asked with obvious sarcasm.

"Like a human," Kevin said with contempt.

"That is what I aimed for."

There was another thing that made the Dominants appear different, the absence of any color rather than Caucasian. There never would be, unless Marcus decided to take an African American Sapien woman to wife, and their children marry other African Americans, be an African American leader much like those police chiefs in the television shows or bosses. And since Marcus's mate was an Italian Dominant, that was impossible.

The closest to Asians were those Dominants whose Homo Sapien ancestors the Allies recruited from Bulgaria or the former Soviet Union, or were the descendants of a Hun soldier who happened to settle in France, or Spain.

As for the Dominants in the future choosing a Black Chosen, that would never be. Part of the reason, they survived was that the Chosen looked like them. There would be no Black Chosen or Chinese Chosen because there were no Black Dominants or Chinese Dominants. They could hide better that way.

This meant the Limo ladies's execution of the Dominant peace leader was an exercise in futility. If she thought that a Black Dominant leader would arise, to ferment a racial war or get the liberals to accept them; she was mistaken.

Thinking of Marcus made the clone smile. He was out of harm's way, visiting his human ancestral home in Jamaica. Of course, he would have to dive into the bay, thought the Clone. Port Royal's underwater unless he went to Wales to find those who skedaddled back.

Marcus's great grandfather had been in Wales when MI-5 recruited him and his wife. His ancestor, John Davis, a pirate in the seventeenth century, witnessed the destruction of Port Royal from his ship and barely made it to safety. It appears he repented of his violent life for he took his mulatto wife back with him to Cardiff and started a clothier's shop.. It took only a few centuries for the Davis's to look white and Marcus was considered to be a throwback.

"So where are we going?" asked the boy.

"The Sapien minor criminal gangs, the Bloods and the Crips are having a meeting. I figure we should enjoy ourselves at their expense, but it is in a human bar. They don't; allow children there."

Kevin's eyes blazed. "A child?"

"To the humans, you are. Can you mask yet?"

"I can fool humans, but I have not been told how."

"I have no time to show you," said Randall Clone. This was a lie because as a Clone, Masking was not only forbidden to him, but if he had watched someone masking and learned their methods, the Medicals would take him to the Restoration Area where his memory would be wiped cleaned of that particular incident. In this he was worse off than Dominant male consorts or concubines. At least, they could watch and learn even though no one was allowed to teach them.

It was a short walk to the bar along the dark streets with the desert air and the music blaring from so many radios, and the television sets blaring with the news, late show, and other junk.

The bar, the Cresido, was located on a side street in a rather shady neighborhood. . Now Cresido, in spite of the regulations, did not cater to the law. For when the Clone entered by the front door, he could see that most of the clientele definitely would not reach eighteen or twenty-one for a few years. They mostly ignored him, being more interested into dividing territories and setting down the penalties for those who crossed the line.

The patrons, except for the neutral bartender, were divided almost equally, into the Bloods and the Crips and an invisible line in the place showed on what side each was on. They eyed each other with hostility, but there was a truce because you could not exactly divide the casinos unless it was by days.

"So it is agreed," said the leader of the Crips, "That on the first and third weekends of the month, the Crips go to the Silver Bullet Casino while the Bloods go to it on the second and fourth weekend."

"And what about February?" demanded a Blood, "there are not that many weekends. I don't intend to miss one Saturday."

"Yes and what about the Christmas week?"

"Oh Bones, everyone knows you spend it with you mo…" He swung around, his eyes lowering. "Can you believe it? That gringo, Señor Roderick told us about."

"Sí," said the Crip leader as he took out his knife, "The one whose with you!"

"But he's not with us, he's with you," said the Blood who repeated the story the Los Angeles faction told him.

I think we're in trouble, thought the Clone, and whispered to Kevin who had sneaked in the back. "Get out of here! There's too many of them!"

With that Kevin rushed out the back, while Randall Clone rushed out the front with at least two dozen of very angry gang members armed with the usual knives, chains, and gins after them.

"Pablo, cut them off!" yelled one.

A Crip took out an Ozzie from inside his belt and started shooting, hitting a car parked across the street and injuring the two necking inside.

The boy got out the driver's seat, pulling the girl after him. She had a horrible gash in her cheek and shrieked uncontrollably.

Meanwhile Randall Clone and Kevin had made to their house. "We can't take much," he told the boy, "Taking what is necessary."

Kevin ran inside, grabbing what was essential for a Dominant, that is, he left the money and electrical equipment and went for whatever they could use as weapons. Meanwhile, the Clone, being more practical, rummaged the drawers for the dollar bills and coins they had hidden and stuffed them in their pocket.

"We need some clothes," he told Kevin, "Got back and get a couple of jackets, shirts, pants, and undergarments in both our sizes. We also need cosmetics, toiletries, shaving utensils. Our species still shaves."

"Yes sir."

"Get in the truck and wait for me."

The Clone went to the garage, taking out a gas can. After pouring the gas around the house, he lit a match. In a moment, the whole place was an inferno and then they lit out for the country where they would in turn be a prey for Roderick, Paul, and the other Dominants.