March was always one of the hot months in Los Angeles.
The warm wind tossed small bits of kipple into the air. The small
particles turned and seemed to dance in the wind.
High over the industrial sector of the city, and high over the
bellowing, flaming stacks above, Rick Deckard’s spinner whizzed through
the air.
Four and half-hours later he touched down on a small patch of
dry, dust ground.
As he was about to exit the spinner he noticed a small brown
dog running towards him. He got out of the car; the dog ran up to him.
Bearing its teeth admitting a low, harsh growl. It’s legs spread. He looked
at it. A piece of its hide flapped up and down in the March winds. The
metallic gleam of the dog’s circuitry exposed.
He continued to walk forward, past the dog, which didn’t seem
to overly mind.
Ahead was a small, wooden house. He approached it and entered.
The dog following him, wagging it’s tail happily after just acting defensive
towards him, obviously a flaw in its emotional programming.
He looked at the surrounding. Nothing more than a mere cot, table,
and kitchen facilities. He walked over and sat down at the table. The dog
marched over and curled down next to him.
He looked out the window, out into the dead wheat fields. Over
the horizon he could see a large mechanical wheat collector coming through
the fields at a pacing speed.
Moments later the collector slowed to a stop a few feet from
the house. High atop the collector the red-iron door wearily banged open
and a rather large man began his decent down the rung latter.
Deckard watched with fascination. He’d never actually seen one
of these wheat collectors before and marvelled at the size of the thing.
He could hear the sound of footsteps coming near the door. Suddenly
the dog perked up, his ears raised. It got up and ran towards the door.
As the door began to open, Deckard got up from the chair and
moved his hand closed to his jacket, reaching for his gun.
The door swung open. A large man, wearing a plastic, black gas-mask-like
face cover entered. He looked at Deckard, but made no reaction. He walked
over to the kitchen and put a pot on the stove.
He then looked at Deckard. Slowly he removed his facemask. Underneath
bore a grim muscular face of a man with brown, crew cut hair.
The man then fished his hand around in the sink and pulled out
a pare of spectacles, dripping with condensation. He pulled a cloth from
the sink and began to dry them.
He then spied the dog, sitting in the corner of the room. He
slipped on his glasses, walked over to the dog, and grabbing it by its
collar and ushered it out the door.
He then turned to Deckard, strode over to the table and sat down.
He motioned for Deckard to do the same.
Deckard sat down.
“You and your buddies can’t just go around and kill two of your
human employers and expect to get away with it.” Deckard said.
The man didn’t reply.
Suddenly the kettle of the stove began to bellow steam. The man
rose, fetching two cups from the cabinet he poured hot water into them.
He then opened another cabinet and produced two lichen tea bags.
He set them all neatly on a little tray and slowly brought them before
Deckard.
Before he had time to react the bullet pierced through his artificial
heart.
Cups crashed to the ground, cracking into splinters.
Deckard strode up to him, putting the gun back into his holster, bent
down, half leaning over the broken cups and fished his hand into its mouth.
He starring into its blunt, stunned face. Its eyes open and blood shot.
He felt around inside the mouth, searching around for the latch. Finally
finding it, he flipped it up and removed the lower jawbone.
Lifting it out he read the incept data.
N2AD121310—
If they’d put life spans on these things it’d make my work a hell of
a lot easier. Deckard thought to himself.
Leaving the body where it was he strode outside. The dog ran up to
him and started barking. Ignoring it he walked to his spinner. Still clutching
the jawbone, and entered the spinner.
The dog ran up to the spinner as it lifted off, but the smoke and sound
of the spinner’s lift off muffled its rabid barks.
Finally hours later, he was home. He rode the elevator down to floor
97.
As he went down, he recalled some of the events at the station:
“Here,” he’d said, slapping the jawbone on Bryant’s desk.
“Christ.” Byrant muttered. “Could have taken it to the lab. Come on
have a drink.” He said fetching out a bottle of fine Scotch.
“Thanks.” He’d replied. “You’re gonna get a liver problem if
you keep that up.”
“All be burning in hell before they tell me I’ve got a problem.”
Byrant said.
“I’m going home, ok Cap?”
“Fine. See ya tomorrow Deck.”
“Yea, see ya later.”
The doors slid open, he walked into the hallway.
Fishing out his keycard he slid it through the lock. The door
opened, he entered.
The apartment was empty. Empty now that Iran had left.
He again recalled the event that had started the whole thing…
Dimly he heard the faint sound of Buster Friendly on the TV. Iran had
turned it down to low.
As he walked into the living room he saw Iran sitting on the
sofa asleep. The TV, still glowing with Buster Friendly. He switched it
off and strode into the bedroom.
Dropping he coat onto the bed he went to use his mood organ.
He didn’t see it anywhere. Iran must have put them in the drawer. He went
over and opened it. Empty.
Puzzled he went into the living room and woke Iran.
She opened her eyes. “Rick?” she murmured.
“Where’s my mood organ?” he replied.
“Mood organ?” she mused. “I got rid of them.”
“What!” he said, roughly grabbing her and seating her up right
on the sofa, “You did what? Why?” he shouted into her face.
“I hate those things! They’re pointless. The news said we don’t
need them anymore. Just like Mercerism. They’re all pointless things. Just
like Mercer! Look,” she picked up something from the other end of the sofa
and handed it to him. “It came when you were gone so I followed their instructions.”
He picked it from her hand and read it.
GOVERNMENT REPORT UPDATE:
This is to inform you that series of tests have been conducted over
the past ten years proving that—
He broke of from there; he didn’t want to here it. He didn’t want
to know the truth.
He slapped her across the face. “IT’S NOT TRUE!”
She was talking crazy.
“Sonovabitch…” Iran muttered. She got up and walked away looked serious
pissed off.
But did it have a slight ring of truth to it, what she’d said?
He walked to the corner of the room. There, sat their empathy box.
Corroded with kipple and unused sense 1992, when it was proved to be fraud.
Iran had set a small houseplant on top of it, which had long since died.
Mercer, mood organs. All those things and more in his life were proving
to be false these days.
“I’ve have it,” Iran started. “This isn’t working. It’s
time this marriage ended…”
He sat down on the couch. The apartment was now his. He could
do what he wanted. Deckard missed his wife at the very, and maybe only
moment. Had it only been a month sense they had got divorced?
The unicorn emerged from behind the trees. Raising it’s main, it tossed
its head up. Trotting on through the forest thought the shrubs and trees.
It then came out into an opening in the forest, the warm sun gleamed and
reflected off it making it glow. It looked up, above the trees--
Deckard opened his eyes. Had he been dreaming?
He looked around. He was seated on the sofa. He looked at the clock
on top of the TV, 8:00AM.
He was late. He shot up from the sofa, without changing his cloths,
he ran into the bedroom where he’d left his coat the night before.
He ran out the door, through the hallway and into the elevator, which
he took up to the roof.
The Hall Of Justice on Lombard Street had stood there for more than
forty years, even after that long the building was only now starting to
show slight signing of wear.
As Deckard walked down the high ceiling, blue lobby he wondered
what he was going to be assigned to now.
He enter Captain Bryant’s office.
“Morning Deck.” Greated Bryant.
“Hey Bryant.” Deckard replied.
“You want a drink?”
“No.” He hastily replied.
Looking taken back Bryant shifted his weigh. “On to business.”
He stated.
“What now?” Deckard asked.
“Got three skin-job walking the streets.” He replied. “Two of
them Nexus-4, the other a 3 on the account of murder. Together they killed
6 specials, meatheads. They were all friends. The fours worked out of the
same employment, Kaiser Plastics. Oh and Deck… and--”
“What?” he cut in.
“I want you to take a rookie out with ya.” He replied.
Before Deckard had the chance to object Bryant cut back in. “It’s
only three Deck, take him out for the first one okay. Just one all right?”
“Who is he.” He asked.
“Ray McCoy. Just upped to the unit. Kid seems sharp enough. Had
him doing routine schizoids until you were done. I want him to learn from
the best Deck. You are the best.”
“David Holden’s the best.” He replied.
“Holden getting on in age. Not as fast as he was. He’ll have
to retire soon enough.” Byrant replied.
Deckard let out a faint laugh. Holden will have to retire. Maybe
a rep could retire him? A bad joke and he knew it.
“Okay where’s the kid. I’ll get the info from my car’s esper.”
He replied.
“Just wait Deck. I want to show you something first.” He opened
his desk drawer and fished out a few papers.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Nexus-6 info.” Bryant replied.
“Sixes?” he answered.
“Not on Terra yet. Dominguez colony has been using them for about
a year now. Seeing how they run. Tests are over soon and they’re gonna
ship them in six months. Take a look.” He passed Deckard the papers.
He leafed through them. Lots of legal stuff, few pictures. “Interesting.”
He replied.
“Look, don’t tell anyone yet ok, you’re the first one to know
other than Holden. Don’t spread it around yet.”
“Got it.” Deckard replied. “Mum’s the word.” He patted his nose.
“The kid’s up in the esper room. Go get him and kick some rep
ass ok?”
“Right Bryant.” He replied.
He set the papers back on Bryant’s desk.
Deckard rode the elevator up to the forth floor where the esper room
was.
When the doors opened he looked around at the musty, smoke scented
hallway. He followed it along until he came to a room clearly marked ‘Esper
Room’. He walked in through the open door.
As her entered a man in the esper chair turned to face him.
“Hello.” He said.
He got up from the seat and extended his hand.
“Raymond McCoy, but call me Ray. You must be Rick Deckard.” He
replied.
Deckard took his hand and shook it. “Yea, but you can call me
Mr. Deckard.”
At that remark, Ray looked taken back. “Sorry Mr. Deckard.” He
quietly murmured. “I’ve uploaded our orders from the esper in advance for
you,” he said passing Deckard two onion skin papers.
“Good work kid.” Deckard said.
He looked at the info. First on the list was the Nexus-3, Luba
Luft.
“Okay look kid,” Deckard replied. “These are my orders. You’re
tagging along. After the first kill you’re done ok, let’s get that straight.”
“Alright.” Ray replied. “So let’s go kill the rep.”
“It’s retire. Get it right kid.”
Again Ray shook his head to show he understood.
“Okay the first is the 3, Mrs. Luft. It gives an address here.
Let’s get started ok.”
“I’m ready.” Ray said.
Mrs. Luba Luft lived out in the first sector in a newly built apartment
complex.
As the spinner touched down on the roof, Deckard explained to
Ray that he was to administer the Voigt-Kampff empathy test on her.
“You know how to run this?” he asked Ray.
“Yea. Ask the questions, measure the gages.”
“Not as easy at that, I’ll be watching the machine too, but don’t
mess up anyhow.” Deckard replied.
“Why are we doing the test anyway? We know she’s a rep.” He said.
“We have to use it for legal reasons. Say we kill her and find
out she wasn’t a rep, we’d be in shit.”
“We know she’s a rep.” Ray repeated.
“Only if she admits it, but you never know.”
They strode down the hallway on the 20th floor until they came
to room 2020. Deckard knocked on the door. Abruptly a cheeky face appeared
as the door swung open.
“Yes,” the cheeky woman asked.
“Hello Miss,” Deckard said in his classic high tones voice. “My
associate and I represent the LA health standards and regulations association,
we are here to give to a personality test.”
“Personality test?” she asked. “I already had a physical this
year if that’s what this is about.”
“No, not at all.” Ray said stepping in. “Different matter, we
just administer personality tests every ten years as a census to file personal
information in health records more accurately.”
“Okay. Come in then.” she replied.
As they walked in both Deckard and Ray were stunned to see tons
of cats sitting all over the apartment. “Are those real?” Ray asked.
“No.” she admitted rather sadly. “All artificial. I love cats,
but there aren’t enough real ones anymore, so I had to turn to animoids.”
“Oh.” was all Ray could say in reply.
“Please, sit down here.” she said gesturing to the table next
to her.
She sat down, Ray seated himself at the other end and set-up
the test.
“Okay now, I’m just going to ask you a series of questions involving
social situation. Reaction time is a factor in this so please answer as
quickly as possible. Shall we begin.”
“Fine.” She replied.
“Okay now, what is you name?”
“Mrs. Luba Luft.” She answered.
“Where do you live?”
“1276 Encrust Avenue, Apartment 2020.”
The test was running smoothly and Deckard’s mind started to wander.
Ray was doing a good job.
He noticed one of the cats in the room was quite close to him. He walked
over to it, sat down on the sofa and began to stroke the cat’s head.
He turned to see how Ray was doing.
“You’re reading a magazine,” Ray started. “You come across a
full page nude photo of a girl laying on a bear skin rug. You show it to
your husband, he likes it so much he hangs it in his study.”
“My- m-my husband wouldn’t do that, we don’t even have a study.”
Luba replied.
The gages registered a little low. It was common. Deckard went
back to stroking the cat.
He must of lost track of the time because before he knew it Ray
got up, put the machine away and said to her rather nervously. “Okay Mrs.
Luft—um, thank you.”
Hearing this Deckard stood up and went to Ray, “What happened?”
he whispered.
“She registered human.” Ray replied.
“What?” Deckard replied. “Mrs. Luft, what if I were to tell you
we are from the LAPD and that you, and your husband are under suspicion
of being malfunctioning Replicants.”
At that Luba took off. Quicker than Deckard had suspected. Out
the door she sprinted, Deckard and Ray on her heels.
That what Deckard has suspected to happen. Typical Replicant
reaction.
“How’d you know?” Ray asked.
“2’s and 3’s always flee. It’s a flaw in their programming. Once
they’ve been found out they either gives up or run.”
“Then what was the point of me giving the test?” Ray asked.
“Legal reasons!” he replied.
Running down the nineteen flights of stairs, Deckard and Ray were starting
to close in.
Out the main doors she went. Her physical level must have been
and A. They followed her into the streets.
Through the crowds she made here way. Deckard was close now,
he aimed and fired, just missing, hitting a street pole.
They were on the highway now. She ran onto the streets. A car
swerved by Deckard blocking his way. Suddenly he heard a thump. The sound
of the car alarms, and the sound of horns. He hopped a parked car to see
the site of Luba’s head paved into the asphalt, her left arm snapped completely
back. Bits of her head all over the road.
“Great! Just great!” Deckard yelled as Ray approached.
“What?” Ray said, then spying Luba he turned pale.
“That’s at least a thousand dollars bounty money gone.” Deckard
said. “Do you not know how in hell to use a Voigt-Kampff McCoy?!”
“I don’t know what went wrong,” he started.
“Damn right you don’t.” Deckard said cutting in. “Bryant’s gonna
be pissed off.”
“What in god’s name were you doing McCoy?” Bryant yelled. “Learn nothing
in training! Voigt-Kampff’s are not toys!”
“I- I don’t know what happened—“ Ray started.
“Damn right you don’t!” Bryant snapped. “Get the hell out McCoy.”
Ray left the office. Deckard sat in Bryant chair sipping more
scotch for him.
“Were lucky the bone marrow test proved her a rep.” Bryant said.
“Or we’d sure have something to deal with.”
“I don’t know about the kid.” Deckard replied.
“Not the brightest BR out there is he?”
“He seemed to be doing the test fine—“ Deckard started.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook too Deck!” Bryant cut in. “You
should have been watching!”
“I know.”
“I know you know. Come-on Deck you’re best. Don’t mess up. I’m
not overly pissed at you. McCoy is another story though.” Bryant glanced
around the room, looking for what he was trying to say. “Okay Deck, go
home. Work on the case tomorrow, alright?”
“Bryant!” Deckard replied.
“Do it.” He looked around again. “Go.”
When he got home he fished open his briefcase and pulled out the
onion-skins about the Replicants. The next was Luba’s husband, Steven Luft.
He didn’t want to go back there yet so he decided to tackle the next one.
The last was Alexander Frife.
He decided he’d disobey Bryant’s orders and finish him tonight and
take Steven in the morning.
After a quick shower and a drink he walked out the door again.
Alexander Frife lived out in the eighth sector, one of the worst in
LA.
As his spinner flew through the sky, Deckard observed the many
decaying and toppled building strewn about the sector.
123 Abert Complex was where Alexander spends his time.
Deckard landed the spinner on the roof and walked out onto the
slick, rain soaked pavement of the roof.
He wasn’t going to blow this one.
Not like Luba.
This was one of the old buildings, one without elevators. Deckard had
to climb the stairs.
Luckily Alexander lived one floor below the penthouse.
He walk down the concrete hallway, dripping with condensation, he found
the room he was looking for: 1203. He entered.
“You’re the Blade Runner?”
Deckard turned to see Alexander standing in the apartment hallway.
“You’re the Blade Runner that killed Luba and Steven?” he asked.
“Not Steven.” Deckard replied.
“Oh.” He replied. He seemed surprised and the littlest bit annoyed.
“You should have killed him. He’ll be mad when you go to finish him.”
He hesitated. “I’m admitting to being a rep up-front. I’ll spare you doing
the test on me.”
“Thanks.” Deckard replied. This was a first, he through.
Alexander walked up to him, right to his face and said: “Just kill
me now ok.”
“What?!” Deckard replied, stunned.
“I loved Luba, Steven and I both did. If she’s gone there’s no point.
Steven knew her better than me. I wanted to marry her, but…” he trailed
“You reps give up too easy in time of crisis.”
He pulled out his gun.
“Thank you.” He replied.
He blew off his head.
This was the fastest kill he’d ever made.
He needed the bounty money. He didn’t want to lose this one.
“Maybe those two will be happy together, wherever they go.”
No, he though. Replicants don’t have souls.
He looked down at the body. Pieces of it all over the floor.
He couldn’t help feel sorry for him.
What was he thinking!? Feeling sorry for them? This was how it started.
He was heading towards the curve. He was loosing it.
“No.” he said. “This isn’t happening to me.”
He opened his eyes. It was the next morning. He was on the sofa again.
He looked around; sunlight was piercing through the blinds.
He got up and went into the bedroom, and put on a change of cloths.
He then proceeded into the hallway were he had left his briefcase.
Picking it up he exited the room.
After leaving the apartemnt, Deckard got back into his spinner and headed
out to the first sector, to the newly built apartment complex where Luba
(or at least) Steven Luft now, lived.
He headed back to room 2020.
He opened the door, which was strangely unlocked, and entered.
He looked around. “My god.” He whispered. The animoid cats lay
everywhere. Each of their heads decapitated by some sort of blunt object.
He walked over to one and looked at it. It was the same on he’d
been patting while Ray had done the VK test. Even without its head he was
sure it was the same cat.
Suddenly he heard the sound of a gun.
Quickly he turned to see Steven, holding a 9mm Magnum. His face
was stern, and extremely angry.
“What have you done with Luba.” He asked.
Deckard didn’t feel like lying to Steven so he admitted to truth
to him. “She’s dead.” He replied.
“You killed her!” he cried.
“No!” Deckard blurted. “No. She killed herself. Ran into traffic.
I couldn’t stop her in time.”
“But you were going to kill her anyway!” Steven replied. “You
bastard Blade Runners don’t have any feelings do you?!”
He lowered his gun a bit, but Deckard didn’t chance reaching
for his gun yet.
“She was my wife. I loved her. Maybe not real love but as real
a love as replicant feel. Don’t you understand that! Couldn’t you spare
her?”
“You murdered people, specials. You just can’t do that. You’ve
obviously malfunctioned. It’s my job to stop you.” Deckard replied.
“You don’t understand do you.” Steven answered.
“I do.” Deckard replied.
He though of Iran again. He could tell how Steven felt.
“I lost my wife too.”
“Don’t try to trick me by being sympathetic. I don’t believe
you.” Steven replied.
“Fine.” Deckard said.
Then without warning, Steven dropped to his knees, dropping the
gun inches from him and began to cry.
Tears streamed down his face. He face strained.
“You know Alexander loved her too.” Steven said, catching his
breath. “He wanted to marry her, but Luba turned him down for me. I felt
special because of that. Or at least I believed I did.”
Deckard looked down at him. These were the sorriest bunch of
reps he’d ever come across.
“I have to finish this now.” Steven said.
Deckard grabbed for his gun.
Steven picked up his gun, and put it to his head and said: “Perhaps
it was better to have loved and lost, than to never love at all.”
“NO!” Deckard cried.
Steven’s body fell to the ground. The bullet when right through
one ear and out the other.
For a moment he stood there and looked at him. What he’d said really
touched him. It made him think of Iran.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered.
EPOLOGUE:
Ten days later…
“Get this!” Buster Friendly boomed. “In Dominguez the government was
testing new Nexus-6 Replicants under supervision of the UN and Tyrell Corporation.
“Two days ago an unmonitored Nexus-6 combat team assassinated six members
of the Dominguez colony. One of the victims happened to be the one and
only President Ryo Haying.
“It looks like bad news for Nexus-6 coming to earth friends.
“Wait!” there was a suspenseful pause. “Late breaking bulletin! UN
and Dominguez councils have reached final verdict on this startling matter.
“The Dominguez colony has decided to take matters to the supreme court
to declare Replicants illegal on other colonies, under penalty of death
and to give Replicants a limited life span.
“Friends believe it because it is true! You heard it first on the Buster
Friendly Program!
“What is this going to mean for the future of Tyrell, Terra, and the
entire state of the colonies?
“Also, can these Nexus-6 models be perfectly safe. I mean I’m not talking
combat models, but what about our standard work labour? That’s why Dominguez
decided to take it to courts I would assume.
“Will the limited life span be affective?…”
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