BLADE RUNNER



Screenplay by

HAMPTON FANCHER




July 24, 1980 Brighton Productions Inc.
1420 No. Beachwood Drive
Hollywood, Calif. 90028

****************

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM - DAY 1

THE EYE 2

It's magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of green
and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy filaments
surround the undulating center.

The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic
surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely
etched. There's a touch-light panel across the top
and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers
fluctuations of the iris.

The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits
on a table between two men. The man talking is big,
looks like an over-stuffed kid. "LEON" it says on
his breast pocket. He's dressed in a warehouseman's
uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in
his lap. Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.

The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed
in gray. Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop
or an accountant. His name is HOLDEN and he's all
business, except for the sweat on his face.

The room is large and humid. Rows of salvaged junk
are stacked neatly against the walls. Two large fans
whir above their heads.

LEON
Okay if I talk?

Holden doesn't answer. He's centering Leon's eye on
the machine.
 LEON
I kinda get nervous when I
take tests.

HOLDEN
Don't move.

LEON
Sorry.

He tries not to move but finally his lips can't help
a sheepish smile.

LEON
Already had I.Q. test this year --
but I don't think I never had a...

HOLDEN
(cutting in)
Reaction time is a factor in this,
so please pay attention. Answer
quickly as you can.

Leon compresses his lips and nods his big head eagerly.
Holden's voice is cold, geared to intimidate and evoke
response.

HOLDEN
You're in a desert, walking along
in the sand when all of a sudden
you look down and see a...

LEON
What one?

It was a timid interruption, hardly audible.

HOLDEN
What?

LEON
What desert?

HOLDEN
Doesn't make any difference what
desert -- it's completely
hypothetical.

LEON
But how come I'd be there?

HOLDEN
Maybe you're fed up, maybe you
want to be by yourself -- who
knows. So you look down and
see a tortoise. It's crawling
 towards you...

LEON
A tortoise. What's that?

HOLDEN
Know what a turtle is?

LEON
Of course.

HOLDEN
Same thing.

LEON
I never seen a turtle.

He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.

LEON
But I understand what you mean.

HOLDEN
You reach down and flip the
tortoise over on its back, Leon.

Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials
in the Voight-Kampff. One of the needles quivers
slightly.

LEON
You make these questions, Mr.
Holden, or they write 'em down
for you?

Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking
up the pace.

HOLDEN
The tortoise lays on its back,
its belly baking in the hot sun,
beating its legs trying to turn
itself over. But it can't. Not
without your help. But you're
not helping.

Leon's upper lip is quivering.

LEON
Whatcha mean, I'm not helping?

HOLDEN
I mean you're not helping!
Why is that, Leon?

Leon looks shocked, surprised. But the needles in
the computer barely move. Holden goes for the inside
of his coat. But big Leon is faster. His LASER BURNS
a hole the size of a nickel through Holden's stomach.
Unlike a bullet, a laser causes no impact. It goes
through Holden's spine and comes out his back, clean
as a whistle. Like a rag doll he falls back off the
bench from the waist up. By the time he hits the
floor, big slow Leon is already walking away. But he
stops, turns and with a little smile of satisfaction,
FIRES at the machine on the table.

There's a flash and a puff of smoke. The Voight-Kampff
is hit dead center, crippled but not destroyed; as
Leon walks out of the room, one of its lights begins
to blink, faint but steady.

EXT. DESERT - NIGHT 3

The horizon marked by a thin copper line that maybe
the end, of the beginning of a day.

The train that follows, cuts through the night at 400
miles an hour.

INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 4

No clickitty-clack of track-bound noise, it's a long,
insulated Pullman of contoured seats and low-keyed
lighting, coloured to soothe,and empty, except for
the passenger half way down.

His eyes closed, head rested against the glass. Ten
years ago, DECKARD might have been an athlete, a
track man or a welter-weight. The body looks it, but
the face has seen some time -- not all of it good.

INT. TRAIN - REFRESHMENT DISPENSER - NIGHT 5

Deckard comes down the aisle, slips a coin into the
mechanism, receives a beer and returns to his seat.

INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 6

Tired of the program, he takes off the headset and
drops it next to three empty beer bottles and a
sandwich wrapper, adjusts his position and winds up
staring at his reflection in the window. Runs a
hand over his face, it could use a shave. He leans
closer and peers through the glass.

Out there in the black a sign flashes past: SAN
ANGELES, THREE MINUTES.

EXT. PLATFORM - NIGHT 7

The train slides in, smooth as an eel, and stops with-
out a sound. Carrying a bag and umbrella, Deckard
disembarks ahead of the other passengers and into the
sweltering night.

INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT 8

Deckard has got his coat swung over his shoulder, his
shirt already damp, as he walks down the long, hollow
passage under orbs of yellow light.

EXT. TERMINAL - NIGHT 9

Deckard unlocks his car and gets in. Turns the ig-
nition and hits a sensor. The dash console glows
and Deckard sits back waiting for the air unit to cool
things off.

DECKARD (V.O.)
It was 97 degrees in the city and
no hope of improvement. Not bad
if you're a lizard. But two hours
earlier I was drinking Acquavit
with an Eskimo lady in North East
Alaska. That's a tough change to
make. It was so good, I didn't
want to leave, so I left a day
early.

A little detached, Deckard taps another sensor on the
panel, lights up a cigarette and watches as his mes-
sages flash across the viewer stating date, time and
caller. The last one is repeated five times. Deckard
sighs, switches off the viewer and gets on the radio.

DECKARD
Contact. This is Blade Runner One
calling Com-fast 27.

The SOUND OF A CHIME precedes the mechanical female
voice that answers.

VOICE
Blade Runner One, stand by please.

A pause. Followed by a husky male voice.

VOICE
Deckard.

DECKARD
Yah, Gaff.

GAFF (VOICE)
Where the hell you been?

DECKARD
You know where I been. I been on
vacation.
 GAFF
Next time you go on vacation,
do me a favor, let us know where
it is.

DECKARD
What's up?

GAFF
Holden got hit.

There is a pause. That was bad news.

DECKARD
Bad?

GAFF
Severed spine. You'd better get
in here. Bryant's waiting for you.

DECKARD
I'll see you in a minute.

The ENGINE REVS, the wipers rake two weeks of dust off
the windshield and Deckard jams out of the lot.

INT. THE HALL OF JUSTICE - NIGHT 10

An enormous grey vault of a building. A businesslike
Deckard strides down a long corridor with his brief-
case and police ID pinned to his coat.

DECKARD (V.O.)
I-X-4-P-D referred to as a Nexus-6,
The Tyrell Corporation's new pride
and joy. Holden was administering
the Voight-Kampff test when one
nailed him.

The door in front of Deckard slides open and he walks
through.

DECKARD (V.O.)
The Nexus-6 must be fast because
Holden was as quick as they come.
The report said there were six of
them. Three males and three female.
Led by a combat model called Roy
Batty.

INT. INSPECTOR BRYANT'S OFFICE - NIGHT 11

The INSPECTOR is in his fifties. The deep creases in
his face, the broken capillaries in his nose say
brawler, spoiler, drinker, but the diplomas on the
wall say something else. Bryant's kneeled at his safe
trying to open it. Deckard it sitting on the edge of
the desk reading the print-out.

DECKARD (V.O.)
They escaped from the colonies
two weeks ago. Killed twenty-
three people and jumped a shuttle.
An aerial patrol found the ship
in the desert. No crew.

Bryant gets the safe open and brings out a bottle of
whiskey.

DECKARD (V.O.)
Bryant's got a liver problem. A
couple years back he handed me a
bottle and said have a drink for
another man. I been drinking
for him ever since.

Deckard sets down the report and takes the shot Bryant
just poured for him.

DECKARD
Six, huh?

BRYANT
Five. Three nights ago one of
them managed to break into the
Tyrell Corporation. Killed two
guards and got as far as the
Genetic Sector before he got
fried going through an electro-
field.

DECKARD
What was he after?

BRYANT
There wasn't much left of him,
so we can't be sure. But bio-
chemical data and morphology records
of the Nexus-6 were reported
missing. Going on the possibility
they might try to infiltrate we
send Holden in to run Voight-Kampff
tests on the new employees. Guess
he found himself one.

A grim pause.

DECKARD
You got a machine on it yet?

BRYANT
We're using Esper -- a 231 -- that
picked up Holden's alarm. Its
guess is that all five are in
 the city.

DECKARD
Where do we start?

Bryant's back at the safe locking up his bottle.

BRYANT
The Tyrell Corporation has a
demo model. Check it out on the
Voight-Kampff. There's a chance
the Nexus-6 is beyond out ability
to detect. If that's the case,
everybody's up shit creek.

DECKARD
What was the cover on the one that
got Holden?

BRYANT
Industrial refuse.

DECKARD
Garbage man?

Bryant nods.

DECKARD
Did personnel have an address on
him?

Bryant fishes a piece of paper out of his pocket,
copies down a number and hands it over.

DECKARD
I'll go take a look.

Deckard stands and holds up his drink.

DECKARD
Thanks.

Like a sick boy looking out of the window, Bryant
watches Deckard down the whiskey. Deckard puts down
the glass and turns to leave.

DECKARD (V.O.)
The big incentive to emigrate was
still free labor. If the public
found out that their door-prizes
might kill them, they might not be
so hot to go up there. This was
one of the worst one's we had and
Bryant was worried. He wanted to
tell me to be discrete or something.
But I didn't give him a chance.
EXT. LEON'S HOTEL ENTRANCE - NIGHT 12

An electrical storm is brewing. Deckard stands out-
side the entrance to an old hotel holding an umbrella,
as people scuttle into doorways to avoid the sudden
downpour.

INT. LEON'S HOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT 13

A heavy metal maze of cubicles and perilous iron
balconies, peopled with rejects from the surface world;
Mato Grosso Indians in white man's clothes and other
lower echelon welfare recipients. Drop city is crowded,
cramped and darkly alive.

Deckard steps out of an elevator and moves through the
crowd. A cloud of steam drifts up through a grating
as two old men, clad in towels descend a flight of
stairs under a neon sign that says bath house.

A musty subterranean wind ripples Deckard's clothes as
he turns into an alcove. He stops in front of a door
that says, MANAGER and pushes the buzzer. It's opened
by an emphysema victim with an oxygen tank lashed to
his hip. Deckard flashes his ID and speaks some words
which are inaudible due to the TUBA MUSIC down the hall.
The man grabs a key from his wall, hands it over and
shuts the door.

INT. LEON'S HOTEL CORRIDOR - NIGHT 14

The companion ways below deck of a big ship are no
more bewildering than the ups and downs and ins and
outs of this establishment. But Deckard finds the door
he's looking for. He pauses a moment, listens, then
knocks. He inserts the key and with a hand on his gun
opens it.

INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 15

An empty room. A cot and not much else. He steps in
and stands quiet as a hunter sensing the signs. For a
place surrounded by greasy hovels it is surprisingly
clean. Spartan in fact. The towel by the spotless
basin is perfectly folded.

Deckard runs two fingers over a shelf. No dust. He
looks in the waste basket. Wadded up candy wrappers.
The bed by the window is neatly made. Deckard looks
under it, then runs his hands along both sides of the
mattress.

The closet. There's one suit in it. He pats it down.
Nothing. A show box on the floor. He stoops, takes
out what looks like a pen from his pocket and care-
fully traces it over the box. Assured of its harm-
lessness, he lifts off the lid.
It contains a little stack of photos bound with a
rubber band. Deckard removes them, goes to the lamp
by the balcony window and turns it on.

A touching collection of family snapshots. The kind of
anonymous stuff sold by the bunch in dusty junk shops.
The family dog. Junior on the pony squinting in the
sun. Uncle Ben clowning with the kids. The faded
polaroid of Christmas morning. Simple pictures of
simple folks celebrating the family bond. A curious
collection for the likes of Leon and Deckard studies
them with interest.

EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 16

Oblivious to the cloudburst, a blue-eyed albino stands
in the doorway, peddling candy and artificial flowers
looking like he'd never been touched by the light of
day.

Leon is standing behind him, staring up at his room,
watching Deckard at the window. He's still wearing
his coveralls, but he looks different. His face is
more intent, smarter and angry.

EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 17

For one seething moment it looks like Leon might mash
something, but suddenly he swings away and disappears
into the crowd.

INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 18

Deckard pockets the pictures and moves away from the
window.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 19

Leon's got a neck like a fire hydrant and legs to
match, but he's a graceful runner. Looks like he could
do it for days. And he could. He's put a lot of alley
behind him and he's not out of breath.

EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT 20

Slowing down he cuts into an opening and comes out onto
a narrow street. The Asian Quarter.

INT. CHOP SUEY HOUSE - NIGHT 21

A seamy as well as steamy little place. Counter and
small tables. Old slant-eyed enders humped over their
fuming bowls jabbering and slurping.

The only voice coming out clear is from the big three-
D TV on the back wall. As the mellow-mouthed TV
announcer delivers the message, a Latin-looking beauty
in a well-fitted maids uniform does a twirl, flashes
a beguiling smile and glides OUT OF FRAME.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Choose from a variety of seventy
nine different personality types.
Each and every one a loyal trouble-
free companion given to you upon
your arrival absolutely free...

The Latin beauty is replaced by an impeccable Ray
Bolger type gentleman's gentleman who clicks his heels,
snaps to attention and struts off to make room for the
next.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
To use as personal body servant
to tireless field hand -- the
custom tailored humanoid robot,
designed especially for your
needs.

The Chinese are paying no attention, but the man and
the woman seated at the table by the window are.

The woman is pretty, a touch of gray in her hair, kind
and blue-eyed. MARY looks like an American dream mom,
right out of "Father Knows Best."

The man also resembles a tradition: the gym instructor,
short cropped hair with the body of a drill sergeant,
but the eyes are grey and chilling. ROY BATTY is a
presence of force with a lazy, but acute sense of what
goes on around him.

Leon has just come through the door behind them. Try-
ing not to be the bull in a china shop, he approaches
their table and kneels . Batty doesn't bother to look
at him, which amplifies the note of sarcasm in his
quiet voice.

BATTY
Did you get your precious 'things'?

LEON
Somebody was already there.

BATTY
Police.

LEON
Just a man.

BATTY
Police man.
Leon looks sullen.

BATTY
Why don't you have a seat.

There's one next to him. Leon pulls it over and sits.

BATTY
Enjoy the view.

From the pot on the table, Mary pours tea and they sit
so quiet and still in this noisy place that they seem
almost invisible. The view they're "enjoying" is
through the window. Outside the neon side in the win-
dow directly across the street says: HANNIBAL CHEW,
MEMBERS.

INT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S SHOP - NIGHT 22

Chew is a spindly old man of precision, his veiled
eyes are shrewd and Chinese, but the rest of him
looks like a Charles Dickens invention.

He's got a jewelers' glass stuck in his eye, lurched
over a lamp, squinting at something in his hand. After
a moment his lips peal back into a sour, belligerent
smile.

CHEW
Well, you're right. This little
honey has a couple of defective cones.

He snaps off the lamp and swings round to face his
client.

SEBASTIAN'S face is almost young, but something has
gone too far, too fast. Premature old age has made
his bones brittle and his co-ordination slow. The
house may be dark but there's a light on in it. Se-
bastian is a closet genius.

CHEW
You're a regular perfectionist,
Sebastian.

Sebastian's apologetic, especially around the acerbic
Mr. Chew.

SEBASTIAN
It's gotta be right for my
customer.

CHEW
Your customer, eh?

Chew snickers and beckons. Sebastian follows his down
a high narrow hall to a heavy insulated door. There's
a moth-eaten full length fur coat hanging by it. Chew
tugs it on and they go through. The big door slams
shut behind them.

INT. COLD STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT 23

Except for the work table with its sharp gleaming in-
struments, the room is as barren and sterile as a
morgue. The glass-doored compartments in the walls
look like crypts. Some of them small as post office
boxes. From one of the Chew removes a vacuum, packed
box. Carefully separating the seal, he reaches into
the purple jell and with a pair of tweezers extracts
an eye.

Through the jeweler's glass, which he has not bothered
to remove, Chew holds the eye up to the light and
studies it a moment. His other hand searches through
his pockets.

CHEW
You got a pocket-charger, boy?

Quick to accommodate, Sebastian removes a pencil-like
device from a row of such things in his breast pocket
and steps closer. The back of the eye is touched with
the pencil and the pupil moves. Suddenly its staring
back at them.

CHEW
Is that good enough for your
customer?

Anxious to leave, Sebastian nods. Chew reseals the
eye taking his time. He can afford to, he's wearing
his coat.

CHEW
How much is he paying you?

In place of an answer, Sebastian clears his throat,
stares at the bag like he didn't hear.

CHEW
Well, when do you get paid?

SEBASTIAN
Soon as I finish the job.

CHEW
When might that be?

SEBASTIAN
Day after tomorrow.

CHEW
Oh! Day after tomorrow.
Sebastian nods. Chew stares at the poor bastard, con-
cerned in spite of himself.

CHEW
The rich hate to pay, Sebastian.
A guy like Tyrell keeps you waiting.
Pay the little guy last. You should
charge twice as much. It'll make
him feel better.

Sebastian nods his head like that's exactly what he'll
do. Chew sees it's hopeless and hands him the bag.

SEBASTIAN
Thanks, Mr. Chew.

Chew pulls the door open for him and Sebastian goes
through quick as a dog.

EXT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S STORE - STREET - NIGHT 24

Sebastian may lack co-ordination but he got what he
came for and there's a hopeful spring to his walk as
he heads for his truck.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S AMBULANCE - NIGHT 25

It's an old panel job with ambulance siren and lights.
The lettering on the side reads "J.R. SEBASTIAN -
ANIMOID EXPRESS." Sebastian gets in, starts up the
engine and suddenly realizes he's not alone. It's a
jolt that causes him to yelp.

PRIS is sprawled on the seat next to him, and wakes up
with a yelp of her own. They stare at one another for
a startled instant, and she jumps out and starts walk-
ing.

But she's forgotten her little beat-up overnight case.
Sebastian puts the truck in gear, drives next to her
and opens the door.

SEBASTIAN
Hey! You forgot your...

He holds up the bag. Hesitantly she reaches for it.

SEBASTIAN
How come you were in my truck?

PRIS
I was tired and didn't have any
place to go.

She stares at him, hand on her case, looking lost.
Sebastian isn't good at this, but he tries.
 SEBASTIAN
You can get back in if you want...

She can't make up her mind.

SEBASTIAN
Don't worry, I won't hurt you.

She gets in. Both of them are silent. People are not
Sebastian's medium -- usually he's too shy, but this
girl is shyer still, plus they're about the same age --
it gives him courage.

SEBASTIAN
What's your name?

PRIS
Pris.

SEBASTIAN
Mine's J.F. Sebastian.

PRIS
Hi.

So pleased with the way that went, he forgets for a
while what comes next.

SEBASTIAN
Oh! Where do you want to go?

She shrugs. That leaves him a lot of responsibility.
He throws her side-long glances, but she's not helping.

SEBASTIAN
You want to go home?

PRIS
I don't have one.

SEBASTIAN
Oh.

What do you do with a teenage beauty who looks like
she's lost out of some "Welcome to Sunny Arizona"
poster?

SEBASTIAN
Where are your folks?

PRIS
They left.

SEBASTIAN
What about friends?
 PRIS
I have some, but I have to find
out where they are staying.

She leans forward and rests her elbows on the dash.
Her body would win prizes, from any angle.

SEBASTIAN
Well, where should I take you?

She looks at him,a shadow of enticement in her clear
blue eyes.

PRIS
We scared each other pretty good
didn't we?

SEBASTIAN
We sure did.

She giggles and laughs.

PRIS
I'm hungry, J.F.

SEBASTIAN
I've got stuff. If you wanna go
to my place?

PRIS
I was hoping you'd say that.

Sebastian's face is normally on the grey side, but it
just turned red. He turns on the ignition and they
pull away from the curb.

INT. DECKARD'S CAR - FREEWAY - NIGHT 26

Speeding along the freeway. The terminal in the com-
munications console lit. Deckard's right hand just
finished a punch-up. The screen flashes back.

REQUEST

Deckard punches up. Letters flash across the screen:

ESPER

Screen flashes back:

CLEARANCE

Deckard punches up.

BLADE RUNNER ONE CODE ML-33

Pause.
Screen flashes:

STAND BY.

Deckard's voice has been heard over the preceding.

DECKARD (V.O.)
Machines can be helpful sometimes,
but they can also be a pain in the
ass. Ask for a trace on a forger
and you might wind up at a steel-
mill. I don't mind a bum-steer once
in a while -- it's their personalities
that usually get me. Somebody once
said that man makes machines in his own
image. If that's true, whoever made
Esper should have been shot.

ESPER
This is Esper and I'm ready. Go
ahead please.

Esper's deep melodious voice is anxious to please, and
oiled with a touch of self-pity.

DECKARD
You equipped for random questions?

ESPER
Why, yes, of course.

DECKARD
You start.

ESPER
The five in question are third
generation Nexus Sixes, constructed
of skin-flesh culture, selected
enogenic transfer conversion
capable of self-perpetuating
thought, para-physical abilities
and developed for emigration
program. Are you with me?

DECKARD
How do I stop one?

ESPER
Unlike a five, they can sustain
massive traumas to several parts
of the body without debilitating
another. Sever a leg and it will
perform quicker on the remaining leg
than the fastest man can run,

DECKARD
 Okay, but...

ESPER
I'm coming to that. Vulnerable
zone is the base of the skull,
the occipital bone. A direct hit
is a positive retirement.

The communication is interrupted by a BELL which is
immediately followed by a stern, MECHANICAL VOICE.

VOICE
You are in violation of traffic
ordinance M-139 statutory freeway
limit restricted by one-hundred
and eighty kilometers.

In his rear view mirror Deckard sees two black-clad
motorcycle cops coming up behind him like the hounds
of hell. They draw silently alongside. Deckard
presses his I.D. to the window.

The cop tosses a salute to Deckard and he and his
partner accelerate, vanish in the night. And Deckard's
car does too.

EXT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT 27

A district of silence and ruin. The street is strewn
with refuse. The building looks vacant. A ten storey
condo gone to shit. The vandals have come and gone
long ago.

Sebastian's little white ambulance parked at the curb.
MR. DEETCHUM, the old Watchman, sitting in the building
entry in a straight backed chair, is reading a comic
book.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 28

Well stocked with items of survival, all labeled and
stacked. And shelved along the walls and hung from the
ceiling is a menagerie of animoids. Like so many broken
toys awaiting resurrection from Sebastian's wise hands.

Sebastian is seated at a large work-table, bent over a
stereo scope. The tool in his right hand is a sensor
probe and he's using it with the delicacy of an en-
graver.

The object of his concentration is a maze-like chip
configuration no bigger than a thumbnail, but magnified
under the scope, it looks like an aerial view of a
large city. The needle-like sensor probe moves care-
fully over the contours of the configuration, testing
the bonds.
Suddenly a blue flash erupts from one of the junctures.

SEBASTIAN
Oh!

Pris is light on her feet. She's standing behind him
with a half-eaten sandwich in her hand.

PRIS
Whatcha doin'?

SEBASTIAN
You scared me.

But he's happy to see her.

SEBASTIAN
I'm working.

She's changed her dress and made up her face. Looks a
little older and sexier.

SEBASTIAN
You look... better.

PRIS
Just better.

SEBASTIAN
Beautiful.

PRIS
Thanks.

He watches her as she prowls around the room, looking
at this and that, eating her sandwich.

PRIS
And you live in this building all
by yourself?

SEBASTIAN
Yeah, I live here pretty much
alone right now...

Trying to make light of it.

SEBASTIAN
No housing shortage around here...
plenty of room for everybody.

She sprawls on the couch studying him.

PRIS
How old are you?

He can't meet her eyes.
 SEBASTIAN
Twenty.

PRIS
What's your problem?

It's not an easy subject. His voice is barely audible.

SEBASTIAN
Methuselah Syndrome.

PRIS
What's that?

SEBASTIAN
My glands. They grow old too fast.

PRIS
Is that why you're still here?

SEBASTIAN
Yes. I couldn't pass the test.

There is a silence. He steals a glance at her.

PRIS
I like you just the way you are.

Under the desk he bats his knees together.

SEBASTIAN
Ah, you get hold of your friends?

PRIS
As a matter of fact I did. They've
got some work to do tonight, but
they're gonna come tomorrow.

SEBASTIAN
Good.

The implications catch up.

SEBASTIAN
I can sleep on the couch.

A little gray mouse on the shelf above his head bobs
up.

MOUSE
Don't let the bed bugs bite!

Taking their cue from the mouse, some of the more
talented animoids toot, flap and wheel about.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 29
It's dark except for the glow of the terminal. A tired
Deckard sits in front of it. Esper sounds like he's
been talking for hours.

ESPER
Nexus designated Leon: incept
date April 10th, 2015 -- to be
used in military experiments to
determine how hyper metabolism
functions in deep space.
Nexus designated Batty incept
data April 10th, 2015, combat
model, level of self-sufficiency,
optimum.

A long pause.

ESPER
Here's something you might find
interesting. They have been built
to emulate the human in every way
except in its emotional spectrum.
However, after a period of time
it is only logical that such a
'mechanism' would create its own
emotional responses, hate, love,
fear, anger, envy.

DECKARD
I know all that.

ESPER
What about a summary then.

DECKARD
I think we're through for the night.

Deckard starts to reach for the panel.

ESPER
Mr. Deckard.

Hesitates.

DECKARD
Yes?

ESPER
Do you have something against
science?

DECKARD
Not if it works.

ESPER
And what in your estimation works?
 DECKARD
The umbrella.

Deckard picks up the umbrella and with it stabs the
terminal off button before Esper can respond and the
machine goes dead. He sits there for a moment then
flips on the lamp. Leon's snap-shots are spread out
before him.

INT. SPINNER - DAY 30

A police marked spinner makes a sharp bank, drops into
a steep curve and slides towards the Tyrell Corporation.

DECKARD (V.O.)
Every government that could was
racing to populate their colonial
territory. But emigrants needed
incentive. Over-population and
the greenhouse factor didn't seem
to be enough; but owning a human
look-a-like had lots of appeal.
It was big industry, the competition
was stiff and Tyrell was top of the
line.

EXT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 31

The spinner gently touches down. The hatch drops open
and Deckard steps out.

DECKARD (V.O.)
His claim to fame was making a
product more human than human and
sometimes the 'more' turned out to
be a problem. This wasn't just an
escaped andy who broke his owner's
arm -- there were twenty-eight
people dead and the pressure was
on.

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 32

Deckard walks up to a desk, hands his I.D. to a guard
who checks it against a list on a screen.

DECKARD (V.O.)
But so far they'd always managed
to keep it quiet. Not to say
that once in a while there wasn't
bad publicity. Some fanatic
bitching about equal rights for
andies or an occasional trade union
proclaiming it was aun-American for
automatons to take jobs away from
humans on the colony.
The guard hands Deckard back his I.D., pushed a button
and Deckard walks away.

DECKARD (V.O.)
But what's more American than good
old supply and demand? The
Government needed them, industry
made them and the church backed
them. The big religious boys
said that Androids, no matter how
human, were objects; only God
could make people. I'm not religious,
but I was inclined to agree.
Otherwise I'd be out of a job.

The elevator door slides open. The young lady inside
would look right standing on a cliff, hair blowing in
the wind, looking out to sea in a 19th Century painting.

RACHAEL
Hello, Mr. Deckard. My name is
Rachael.

Deckard tips his head to her and steps in.

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION ELEVATOR - DAY 33

No woman can be all things to all men, the Rachael comes
closer than most. The only trouble is she's all busi-
ness. Formidable without really trying. Some beauty
is better avoided and Deckard looks straight ahead.

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION CORRIDOR - DAY 33A

The door slides open and they continue down the corri-
dor.

RACHAEL
It seems your department doesn't
believe out new unit is to the
public benefit.

DECKARD
A humanoid robot is like any other
machine, it can be a benefit or a
hazard. If it's a benefit, it's
not our problem.

RACHAEL
But because your department can't
do an adequate job in detecting
the miniscule number at large,
it's a problem. Correct, Mr.
Deckard?

INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - AIR-FILTERED CORRIDOR - DAY 33B
They pass into a canopied, air-filtered corridor.
Deckard doesn't answer the question because he's looking
at the animals. Small northern animals in neat "en-
vironmental" cages. He looks at the rabbit, the raccoon
and the squirrel, but the owl asleep on its perch stops
him. The armed guard at the exit never takes his eyes
off them.

RACHAEL
You like our owl?

Deckard nods. Rachael claps her hands. The owl opens
its yellow eyes and blinks at them.

DECKARD
It's artificial?

RACHAEL
Of course not.

Hands thrust in her pockets, she strides off towards
the exit without looking back.

The exit is another tube. Just big enough for two. No
room for excess. He tries to ignore her cool appraising
stare.

RACHAEL
You're in a very unique position,
Mr. Deckard. You could affect the
future of this entire organization
according to how you work your
little test.

Deckard has nothing to say.

RACHAEL
Are you apprehensive?

DECKARD
Why should I be?

RACHAEL
For the responsibility of your
power. Being a police bureaucrat,
you've got more than your share.

The door slides open. Deckard looks down at her.

DECKARD
You got it wrong, girl. I work
with the bureau not for them.

He lets it sink in.

DECKARD
 My job isn't to detect
malfunctioning andies, it's to
eliminate them. The more the
better.

He walks out of the elevator first.

INT. INNER SANCTUM OF DR. TYRELL - DAY 34

The office is dimly lit, but highlights of resilience
reside in the luster of the antique furnishings, like
glimmers of gold in a darkened mine. Dr. Tyrell is a
fragile man of power, with that look of "youth" obtained
from steroids and surgery. Dapper and trim, he leans
against the desk looking at an old fashioned pocket
watch. The only sound is the insidious PERKING of COFFEE
BREWING in the background.

Tyrell taps a sensor on his desk. The door in front of
Deckard and Rachael slides open. They enter a vestibule
and face another door, this one befitting the decor of
the office, Tyrell slips the watch into his pocket as
they enter.

RACHAEL
Mr. Deckard. Dr. Eldon Tyrell.

TYRELL
How do you do, Mr. Deckard. Please
sit down. Would you care for a cup
of coffee?

DECKARD
Thanks.

TYRELL
Black?

DECKARD
Please.

Tyrell pours from an old time sylex into small china
cups and hands one to Deckard. The congenial light in
his eyes could almost pass for warmth -- dragon warmth.

TYRELL
Somehow, I didn't expect that the
man who did the dirty work would
be the man to do the technical
work. Here you are, Mr. Deckard.

He hands Deckard a cup of coffee.

TYRELL
Is this to be an empathy test?

DECKARD
 Yes.

TYRELL
Capillary dilation of the so-called
blush response? Plus fluctuation
of the pupil, plus involuntary
dilation of the iris?

Deckard nods.

TYRELL
May I ask a personal question?

DECKARD
Go ahead.

TYRELL
Have you ever retired a human by
mistake?

DECKARD
No.

TYRELL
But in your profession that is a
risk.

DECKARD
Nothing is infallible, but so far
the Voight-Kampff scale bas been
foolproof.

TYRELL
Like you said, Mr. Deckard, a
machine can be a hazard. The
Voight-Kampff scale is a machine,
isn't it?

DECKARD
One that relies on human
interpretation. Where's the
subject?

TYRELL
Sitting next to you.

Deckard stares at Rachael, then back at Tyrell. Delighted,
Tyrell takes a cup of coffee.

Accepting the challenge, Deckard opens his briefcase and
starts fishing out the apparatus.

THE VOIGHT-KAMPFF 35

Rachael's eye fills the screen, the iris brilliant, shot
with light, the pupil contracting.
 DECKARD'S VOICE
Ready.

RACHAEL
Go ahead.

In the soft green glow of the dials, the needles in both
gauges are at rest. Dr. Tyrell stands silhouetted behind
Deckard, who sits in front of Rachael, a pencil beam
trained on her eye. Wire mesh discs are attached to her
cheeks.

DECKARD
You're given a calfskin wallet
for your birthday.

The needles in both gauges swing violently past green to
red, then subside.

RACHAEL
I wouldn't accept it. Also, I'd
report the person who gave it to
me to the police.

DECKARD
You have a little boy. He shows
you his butterfly collection, plus
the killing jar.

Again the gauges register, but not so far.

RACHAEL
I'd take him to the doctor.

DECKARD
You're watching T.V. and suddenly
you notice a wasp crawling on your
wrist.

RACHAEL
I'd kill it.

Both needles go to red. Deckard makes a note, takes a
sip of coffee and continues.

DECKARD
In a magazine you come across a
full-page photo of a nude girl.

RACHAEL
Is this testing whether I'm an
android or a lesbian?

DECKARD
You show the picture to your husband.
He likes it and hangs it on the wall.
The girl is lying on a bearskin rug.
 RACHEL
I wouldn't let him.

DECKARD
Why not?

RACHAEL
I should be enough for him.

Deckard frowns, then smiles. His smile looks a little
like a grimace or the other way around.

DECKARD
You become pregnant by a man who
runs off with your best friend,
and you decide to get an abortion.

RACHAEL
I'd never get an abortion.

DECKARD
Why not?

RACHAEL
That would be murder, Mr. Deckard.

DECKARD
In your opinion.

RACHAEL
It would be my child.

DECKARD
Sounds like you speaks from
experience.

He notes the needles. One goes green and the other
remains inert.

DECKARD
Last question. You're watching
an old movie. It shows a banquet in
progress, the guests are enjoying
raw oysters.

RACHAEL
Ugh.

Both needles swing swiftly.

DECKARD
The entree consists of boiled
dog stuffed with rice.

Needles move less.
 DECKARD
The raw oysters are less acceptable
to you than a dish of boiled dog.

Deckard moves the adhesive discs from her cheeks and
switches off his beam.

DECKARD
Lights please.

The lights come on.

TYRELL
Well?

DECKARD
If she is, the machine works.

TYRELL
The machine works. She is.

Rachael sits very still. Except her eyes -- they go to
Tyrell and hang on. He stares back at her as he speaks.

TYRELL
How many questions did it take?

DECKARD
Thirteen.

Rachael sits rigidly in her chair, as the ground crumbles
around her, her big mermaid eyes locked with Tyrell.
His voice is quiet and strong, mesmerizing. She's hang-
ing by a thread.

Deckard watches with a bas taste in his mouth.

DECKARD
She didn't know?

TYRELL
Memory implant. She was programmed.
But I think she has transcended
her conditioning. I think she was
beginning to suspect.

Rachael nods fixedly. Careful not to let go her grasp.

TYRELL
How many questions does it usually
take, Mr. Deckard?

DECKARD
Five, maybe six.

Slowly, carefully, Tyrell unlocks his gaze from Rachael
and turns towards Deckard, who is starting to put away
his equipment.

TYRELL
You're going to have to be on your
toes, my friend.

Deckard glances back at him.

TYRELL
It's a complex problem and we
wouldn't want anything to happen
to you.

Less of a man might shrink at the end of Deckard's look,
but not Tyrell.

TYRELL
For the good of all, I recommend
you take Rachael with you.
Considering her uniqueness, I'm
sure she could prove quite helpful.

Deckard almost smiles at the nasty power of Tyrell's
style. He turns away and starts packing up the Voight-
Kampff.

DECKARD
No thanks.

Deckard is ready to go.

TYRELL
And how is it one man will be able
to cover so much ground?

DECKARD
Discreetly.

TYRELL
All pertinent information is
being fed into your departmental
computer, an Esper 231 -- I
believe -- and a photo over-lay
packet is being produced.

Deckard opens the door.

TYRELL
Mr. Deckard, I think it would be
wise to reconsider my offer.

Rachael sits there very pale and expressionless, her
feet flat on the floor, alone is the word.

Trying to keep the fury out of it, Deckard's voice
comes out in a whisper.
 DECKARD
I work alone.

On the last word, Rachael glances up at him and Deckard
turns away. The outer door slides open and he goes
through it.

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 36

As seen through the windshield from the passenger side
of a vintage Dusenberg. The headlights cut through the
dark, illuminating a narrow strip of mountain road. A
downgrade.

A sign slides by stating: "Caution Curves Ahead."
Good advice considering the sheer nightmare of a drop
to the right and the wall of solid rock to the left.

The steady HUM of the ENGINE and the HISS of the TIRES
will remain, but the location suddenly changes to:

INT. ROOM - NIGHT 37

A pleasant place of soft light and domestic charm. The
young lady in the short dress is vacuuming the rug.
Her back to the viewer. As she bends over to vacuum
beneath the couch, exposing her beautiful ass, an
admonishment from a resonant and slightly tired MALE
VOICE intercedes.

VOICE
Let's keep our eyes on the road,
Deckard.

DECKARD'S VOICE
Sorry.

Abruptly the VIEW FLASHES BACK TO:

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 38

The moon is up there slicing through the trees, strobing
over the hood of the car. The road is getting steeper
and the corners sharper. Rags of mist skim by as the
Dusenberg picks up speed. It is becoming a riveting
ride, but the passenger's mind moves elsewhere.

EXT. WOODS - DAY 39

Swift, soft clouds overhead. In the cold shine of
the icy light,the viewer walks down an aisle of maples
and beeches, their clean hard limbs deflecting the
frosty light, and underfoot the crisp, blue-white snow,
melted through in spots, exposing soggy patches of rich
brown earth.

VOICE
 Come on, stay with the machine.

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 40

The Dusenberg is going faster now, headlights eating
up the road. Rushing the corners in gut wrenching four-
wheel drifts. Not a pleasant sensation if you don't
like roller-coasters.

The Dusenberg slides out of a corner and faces a couple
hundred yards of straightway leading to the next bend.

Good place for a breather, but the driver shifts into
high and screws on.

EXT. LAKE - DAY 41

Cold and gray. The current running strong. The nose
of a kayak points through the swells, the viewer paddling
for the shore.

This is cold remote country, wild and untouched. A sky
bluer than the Madonna's cloak. The kayak banks and
the viewer steps out, moving over the sandy beach
towards a little camp.

VOICE
We're going to have to start the
sequence again if you don't stay
with me, Deckard. Concentrate.

DECKARD'S VOICE
How do you know I'm not?

VOICE
You're not responding to the
stimulus. I can see right here,
I'm not getting a reading.

DECKARD'S VOICE
I'm tired of this.

VOICE
Almost through.

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 42

In the Dusenberg the driver turns to look at the passen-
ger, his specter-like face obscured by shadow, but by
the glint of teeth, he must have just smiled. And the
passenger's view snaps back to the road.

Suddenly another pair of headlights round the approach-
ing bend. Large ones, of a bus or a truck. Blinding.

The Dusenberg is going too fast to stop. No room to
pass. HORNS BLAST. The Dusenberg brakes, goes into a
broadside skid. The hands of the passenger reach out
and grip the mahogany dash. Brakes locked, TIRES
SCREAMING, skidding. The Dusenberg tears through the
railing and plunges into space. The last view of the
passenger is pure vertigo. Silence.

INT. DOCTOR WHEELER'S OFFICE - AFTERNOON 43

The good doctor is bending over his glass-top desk which
resembles a pin-ball machine. Displayed under its
surface is a network of crisp electronic symbols and
read-outs indicating the results of the test.

Deckard detached the patches from his forehead, which
it a little damp, but other than that, he looks no
worse for wear, stands up to stretch and walks over to
the doctor's desk.

DECKARD
So how did I do?

Dr. Wheeler is a thin boney man, aloof but a promise
of compassion in his sunken eyes.

WHEELER
Nerves of steel.

DECKARD
No rust?

WHEELER
I didn't say that. Your motivity
rate checked out a little slower
than last time.

DECKARD
Meaning?

WHEELER
Meaning you don't run as fast as
you used to.

Deckard starts to dress.

WHEELER
During the road test...

DECKARD
Yeah?

WHEELER
Your mind kept wandering. That
bothered me.

DECKARD
Huh huh.
 WHEELER
Considering the nature of your
work, that could be unhealthy.

DECKARD
True.

Wheeler studies his "desk" for a moment and his finger
comes down on the section illuminating Deckard's simple
statistics.

WHEELER
You got a birthday coming up.

Deckard bends over slipping on his shoes. Wheeler looks
up, concerned.

WHEELER
But you haven't put in for
emigration.

DECKARD
Nope.

WHEELER
You're going to be over the limit.

DECKARD
Listen, I could make you a long
list of complaints about this
fucken city but I still rather be
here than up there.

WHEELER
What if you change your mind?

DECKARD
They'll change the limit before
I change my mind.

WHEELER
You sure?

DECKARD
Never been more sure of anything
in my life.

Deckard is ready to go. Looking at Wheeler, a little
touched with his concern.

DECKARD
Why didn't you go?

WHEELER
Too old.

DECKARD
 But if you could?

Wheeler considers it a moment, smiles and shakes his head.

WHEELER
My job is here.

DECKARD
Me too.

They shake hands and Deckard walks.

INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTERNOON 44

The referee is bouncing around the ring, trying to keep
up with the two Mexican light-weights pounding the shit
out of each other. If not for the fuzz and the silence,
the audio on the holoscope is off, you might think
you were ringside at the Garden. It's a good fight but
Pris isn't watching.

She's got her feet up on the couch painting her toe
nails. The room is so quiet you can almost hear the
polish. She starts on her fourth toe when a NOISE
form above STOPS HER

It sounded like a CREAKING of a FLOOR, but so quiet,
sudden and over so fast it's hard to be sure. She
stares at the ceiling a moment, then glances at
Sebastian.

On the other side of the room, in his own world,
Sebastian is peering into his magnifier, soldering
gossamer strands with a laser.

Pris has crossed the floor and is closing the door
quietly behind her. If the animoids nestled around
the ledges of the room are capable of noticing, they'd
be the only ones in the room who did.

INT. CORRIDOR - SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTER- 45
NOON

Pris moving smoothly past the doors, some of them open
and warped offering sights and shadow and decay.

INT. FIRE STAIRS - SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTER- 46
NOON

The gloom in here is like the light of the empty well.
Her feet against the metal steps reverberate in the
hollow silence.

INT. THE FLOOR ABOVE SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE 47
AFTERNOON

She's running now, down the hall, stops at the apart-
ment directly above Sebastian's and opens the door.

INT. APARTMENT ABOVE SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - LATE 48
AFTERNOON

Mary turns her head as Pris comes in. She's sitting in
a chair. The only piece of furniture in the room.
It's broken and tilts at a funny angle. She nods and
Pris nods back.

Batty is lying on his back, rolling his head slightly
from side to side like he's soothing a stiff neck.

BATTY
What's going on down there?

PRIS
He's not ready yet.

BATTY
When?

PRIS
Tomorrow, he says.

Batty nods he can't wait. Pris glances at Mary and
gives a frigid little smile. Pris backs out and closes
the door behind her. Batty blows air through his
nostrils. Like an animal.

EXT. DECKARD'S CAR - FREEWAY - NIGHT 49

The sky is streaked with remnants of a lingering dusk.
Prisms of light flash over the sheen of Deckard's car
as he cuts off the freeway and sweeps down the off-
ramp curve.

EXT./INT. CAR - STREETS - NIGHT 50

Moving through the dark city streets. Deckard turns a
corner and guns it up a long, steep hill.

EXT. STREET - DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 51

At the top of the hill the car pulls into a drive and
disappears into the subterranean garage of a high-rise.

INT. CORRIDOR DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 52

He's coming down the hall carrying a foil wrapped
plastic plate and stops in front of his door. It's
riddled with locks. He slips a small device out of
his pocket, aims it at the door and the locks unlock,
the bolts slide open. He walks in and kicks the door
shut behind him.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 53
He slips on the light and crosses the front room.
Deckard is a pack rat -- hard to tell if he just moved
in or is just moving out.

As he enters the kitchen, the SOUND of SOMEBODY BEHIND
him causes him to whirl around fast, hand snapped out
in front of him, gun already in it. Rachael almost got
shot. But she's unruffled, a little pale maybe, but
direct as ever. There's a long, chilly moment, then
she almost smiles as her eyes move to the plate on the
floor.

RACHAEL
Was that your dinner?

Deckard looks down at the over-turned plate and nods.

RACHAEL
I'm sorry. I called and found out
you were on your way home. These
were already delivered to your
department but I thought you
should have copies as soon as
possible.

She's holding out a cassette the size of a cigarette
pack. But it's taking Deckard's adrenalin time to
recede.

RACHAEL
It's the Nexus information you
wanted.

He takes the cassette, but a man with so many locks
must be wondering how they were gotten through so easily.
He doesn't even want to ask.

DECKARD
Thanks.

He realizes he's still got the gun aimed at her and
sticks it back in his belt and they're left staring
at each other. The situation makes awkward silence.
At least for him. She's looking at him like she's
got something to say but isn't saying it.

DECKARD
Is there anything else?

RACHAEL
I know you think it complicates
your work, but I'm here to help.

DECKARD
I've already got more help than
I need.
 RACHAEL
I think you need more help than
you've got.

He doesn't, but she's not backing off.

RACHAEL
There's two reasons a man rejects
help. Either because he's so good
at what he does he doesn't think
he needs it, or he's so insecure
he can't admit it.

DECKARD
Sounds like I'm an ass-hole either
way, but the answer is still no.

RACHAEL
Two of us might be more effective
than one.

DECKARD
I work alone.

She smiles.

RACHAEL
No you don't.

She lets it sink in.

RACHAEL
You use your equipment, don't you?

DECKARD
So?

RACHAEL
So, I'm a piece of equipment.
Use me.

It's a strong look that passes between them -- a long
one. Maybe if he were on firmer ground he might do
something about such an offer but...

Deckard's eyes follow her down as Rachael bends to
the floor and starts picking the food off the rug, put-
ting it back on the plate.

DECKARD
That's okay, I'll get it...

He bends down to help, but she's already done it.
Their heads a few inches apart. Something in her eyes
diminishes the distance even more.
 RACHAEL
Do I make you nervous?

DECKARD
Yeah.

RACHAEL
I'm sorry.

And she is. And suddenly he is too. She hands him the
plate and they stand. She's looking at the floor,
almost shy, then she looks up and he's watching her.
She says it plain and simple.

RACHAEL
It's strange to suddenly realize
that what you thought was your
life is actually someone else's
fabrication.

Deckard nods. He feels it, but doesn't know what to
do about it.

DECKARD
I can imagine.

RACHAEL
Can you? I couldn't.

These are not some of Deckard's finer moments. But she
doesn't seem to notice.

RACHAEL
A part of me is glad. I think I
feel more. I don't like who I was
before.

Deckard nods, waits the respectable interval and is
glad to have a plate to take into the kitchen.

In the scrambled sanctuary of his kitchen Deckard looks
around for a place to put the plate, but things have
piled up on him in here. He contemplates the refrig-
erator.

DECKARD
So why do you think they were
after their records.

He's a lot more comfortable talking shop.

RACHAEL
They probably want to find out
when they were made.

DECKARD
Right.
He dumps his dinner in the garbage and comes back out.
She's writing something on a card.

RACHAEL
I guess the date of your birth is
important if you know you're not
made to last.

No way he can keep his foot out of it. She looks up and
hands him the card.

RACHAEL
That's my number. If you need me.

She goes to the door, opens it but hesitates before
going through.

RACHAEL
You better get better locks --
if you want to keep me out.

She looks back at him and smiles -- the smile says
she's talking about all kinds of locks. Deckard looks
like he might ask her to stay, but...

RACHAEL
Good night.

And she's gone.

DECKARD
Night.

He looks down at the number. It's the back side of a
snapshot. He turns it over. The picture of a man
and a woman. The little girl between them looks like
a six-year old Rachael.

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 54

He's sitting in front of his console studying pictures
of Nexus Sixes at they appear, blank-faced, hairless
and unadorned on his monitor.

The over-lay machine is transforming each image with
instant attributes; hair, moustaches, teeth, eye colors,
age, youth, hats, glasses, etc. All in rapid succession,
running the gambit from ominous to beautiful.

DECKARD (V.O.)
The possibilities were infinite.
They could change their appearances
but not their future.
Like she said, it was short.
Longevity is what they were after.
The garbage man even wanted a past.
 Poor fuck. I'd check it out but
I knew she was right. The market
worked on turn-over. Built-in
obsolescence was the name of the
game. That meant her too. It
was something I didn't want to
think about.

On top of the monitor there's an open can of beans with
a spoon stuck in it. Deckard puts out his cigarette
and reaches for them as the PHONE RINGS.

DECKARD
Yeah.

BRYANT
Bryant here. Regarding the
rundown you requested on job
applicants, Esper's concluded that
the only irregular category that
Tyrell's got is the entertainment
section. You better get on it.

DECKARD
I was just about to have my dinner.

BRYANT
If you hurry you'll get back
before it gets cold. I got a
spinner on your roof in five
minutes. Good luck.

Deckard hangs up and looks at the beans. He didn't
want them anyway. He gets up and walks to the bedroom.
Looks through the pile of clothes on the floor, finds
his ankle laser and straps it on.

EXT. CITY - BIRD'S EYE VIEW - NIGHT 55

The spinner skirts through the canyons of the city.
Deckard, sitting in the contoured seat, watches the
maze of suspension bridges, platforms and catwalks
swing by below. The tops of larger buildings shimmer
with advertisements and weather announcements.

INT. SPINNER - OVER CITY - NIGHT 56

Deckard is cruising low and slow over the city listen-
ing to Esper.

EPSER
Nexus designated Rachael is a
prototype. Created for in-house
use by special mandate form the
Scientific Development Regulatory
Committee. Will live conventional
term -- no para-physical abilities.
 DECKARD
What is a conventional term?

ESPER
Four years. Which would make her
termination date...

DECKARD
Never mind. Do they have that
knowledge?

ESPER
Longevity is classified. No.

Back to business.

DECKARD
Okay, gimme a run-down on the
three females.

ESPER
Nexus designated Mary: incept
November 1 2017, domestic
conditioning non competitive,
trained for day care position.

DECKARD
Next.

ESPER
Nexus designated Pris: incept
data December 13 2017, competitive,
programmed to provide pleasure
for long term spacers.

DECKARD
Number three.

ESPER
Nexus designated Zhora: incept
June 13th 2017, athletic
conditioning, highly competitive,
special abilities in the
entertainment field.

EXT./INT. SPINNER - LANDING AREA - NIGHT 57

Deckard taking it down. About to pull it in an already
crowded lot, but the sign flashes "FULL." Deckard
doesn't believe in signs; is about to set it down any-
way when a Chicano in a fluorescent coat runs out and
waves him off.

DECKARD
Fuck.
Pissed, Deckard veers away and buzzes low over and
around the roof tops, all dark and cramped -- not a
lot of room around here.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 58

Finally brings it down between two buildings hardly
enough clearance, but he jockeys the machine into an
alley, touches down and runs it slowly along the surface
-- parking it by a sign that says "NO PARKING."

EXT. STREET - TAFFEY'S BAR - NIGHT 59

Not many people. Wind blowing. A nest of garish
small-time clubs.

Deckard emerges from one, goes into the next. The
pulsing neon over the entry says "TAFFEY'S BAR."

INT. TAFFEY'S BAR - NIGHT 60

Crowded in here. BONGO MUSIC. Deckard is at the bar
sitting next to a big-bellied man in a black beard who's
looking through a viewer. On the small stage in the
background AMAZING RAMA is eating razor blades, a part
of her juggling routine.

Deckard leaves the bar and walks down a hall towards a
door at the rear.

INT. TAFFEY'S OFFICE - NIGHT 61

Taffey's what's referred to in the trade as a "Chicken
Hawk" collector of young girls.

It must be so, there's one in the bed. Thin, pale,
about thirteen years old, eyes rolled up under her
fluttering eyelids, wires attached to her forehead,
lying flat on her back in Taffey's crowded little
room.

Taffey's a little fella with wide hips and narrow
shoulders, wears a jet black toupe and has a face like
a seal. But at the moment he's not present.

There's a KNOCK at the DOOR, then the SOUND of a TOILET
FLUSHING. Taffey comes out of the bathroom, heart
pounding under his polyester bathrobe, and approaches
the door like the guilty fucker he is. He looks through
the peeper.

Deckard is out there holding up his I.D.

DECKARD
Taffey Lewis?

TAFFEY
 Yes?

DECKARD
Can I come in?

There is a pause lasting the time it takes Taffey not
to think of a way to say no. The door opens and Deckard
enters. Except for the drool coming out of the corner of
her mouth, and the fluttering eye-lids, Venus doesn't
move a muscle.

TAFFEY
Excuse my niece there... She's
studying for an exam.

Deckard takes the Identikit hard copies our of his
pocket and pushing some junk out of the way, fans them
out on the table.

DECKARD
I'd like you to take a look at
these pictures.

TAFFEY
Of course.

Taffey bends down really close, peering at the pictures
from about two inches away.

TAFFEY
You see I lost my contacts a
couple of days ago around here
somewhere and my sight is a
little... What am I supposed
to be looking for?

DECKARD
Do you recognize any of
them?

He stops at Zhora.

TAFFEY
This one looks familiar, but
I don't know. Naw. There's
one came in today looks a
little like this one but...

DECKARD
What did she want?

TAFFEY
Who?

DECKARD
The girl that doesn't look
like that girl.
 TAFFEY
Nothing. She wanted to know
about suck night.

DECKARD
What night?

TAFFEY
I didn't know if I wanted to
handle her -- I already got
a snake act. But my partner
goes down there to the Opera
House on suck night to book
the good ones.

DECKARD
What's suck night?

TAFFEY
That's what we call in the
trade, audition free-for-
alls and most of it sucks.
Bit I don't think that's
her.

DECKARD
You talking about the Opera
House on the Main?

Taffey nods. Deckard goes to the door and turns.

DECKARD
Book the good ones for where?

TAFFEY
Lots of places. The tours,
the clubs, the Silicone shows,
private parties.

DECKARD
What shows?

TAFFEY
Silicone Valley. Lots of
these science guys never
leave that place. We book
two shows a month in there.
Those big time techs and bio-
guys might be real high zoners
up here, but when it comes
to the arts, they like it loud
and lewd.

It's starting to get a little gooey. Deckard tips his
head good night and backs out of the door.
INT. THE OLD OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT 62

Onstage four Mexican acrobats, in matching metallic
jumpsuits roll head over heels in their rendition of
a human wheel. From the P.A. system the Announcer's
voice blares through the cavernous theatre.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Let's hear it for the Hermano
Brothers.

Scattered APPLAUSE. Hand in hand, the Hermano Brothers
bow deeply, spring up and trot offstage.

ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Next we're gonna see a little
charmer who keeps her dancing
partner in a basket! She
comes to us all the way from
exotic Casablanca. 'Salome.'

The old boys in the pit strike up a tinny version
of "In a Persian Market" as SALOME dances onstage.
She's a black-haired beauty in a scant belly dancer
costume, a couple of pounds overweight but all in
the right places. She kneels ceremoniously center
stage and sets the basket down before her. Carefully
removing the lid, she reaches in and lifts out a four-
foot harlequin-patterned python. Grinding her hips
to the music, she rises, holding the coiling snake out
like an offering. Sounds of approval from the audience.
The gold coins covering her breasts jingle and shimmer,
as she weaves sensuously around the floor.

INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT 63

To scattered APPLAUSE, HOOTS and WHISTLES, Salome
flounces offstage, the snake hung around her shoul-
ders, looking limp, and makes her way through the
narrow corridor to her dressing room. She's about
to enter when:

DECKARD
Excuse me, Miss Salome.

She turns. Deckard's posture and attitude suggest hum-
ble, sleazy persistence. He comes closer with his
shit-eating grin.

DECKARD
I'd like to have a word with you
if I could.

Salome stands almost six feet high in her high heels
-- she looks down on him with the haughty suspicion
of a chick who knows how to handle cheap hits.
 SALOME
Yeah?

DECKARD
I'm with the American Federation
of Variety Artists...

He holds up a hand as if to stop her from protesting.

DECKARD
Don't worry, I'm not here to make
you join -- that's not my department.

He glances around like a guy who's not supposed to be
there.

DECKARD
I'm an investigator for the
Confidential Committee on Moral
Abuses.

She nods, taking it a little more seriously.

DECKARD
There's been reports of management
sexually abusing the artists in
this place.

SALOME
I don't know nothing about it.

DECKARD
You haven't felt yourself to be
exploited by the management in any
way?

She's definitely puzzled.

SALOME
How do you mean 'exploited'?

DECKARD
Like to get this position. Did
you or were you asked to do anything
lewd or unsavory or otherwise
repulsive to your person?

SALOME
Are you for real?

DECKARD
Oh, yeah.
You'd be surprised what goes on
around here. I'd like to check
the dressing room if I could.

SALOME
 What the fuck for?

DECKARD
For holes.

This guy might be an asshole but he's funny.

SALOME
I don't believe this.

She shrugs and they go in.

INT. DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT 64

Musty and cramped. A portable shower, a dressing table
and not much else. Salome takes the snake from around
her shoulders and lays it on the dressing table. Deck-
ard watches it undulate into the warmth of the lights.

DECKARD
It that mother real?

SALOME
Of course he's not real. You think
I'd be working here if I could
afford a real snake?

DECKARD
It's a good job.

SALOME
You mean the snake.

Deckard nods. There's not much costume to take off but
she's doing it.

SALOME
The best.

DECKARD
Does it eat?

SALOME
Come on.

His hand reaches out to touch it. As his fingers make
contact there's an electric "snap." He jerks his hand
back from the shock.

SALOME
Jeezus!

DECKARD
Sorry.

SALOME
Hey! Do your job but don't wreck
 mine, huh?

She slides behind the screen and turns on the shower.
Deckard starts creeping around pacing around the room
like he's inspecting the walls.

DECKARD
They have their ways of doing
their dirty work without the
victim knowing what's going on.

His eyes are moving over everything she's got.

DECKARD
You'd be surprised what a guy'll
go through to get a glimpse of a
beautiful body.

SALOME
I bet I would.

DECKARD
Little dirty holes the bastards
drill in the wall so they can
watch a lady undress.

And to his amazement he actually spots one. It's down
low on the wall. Not a good idea to turn his back on
work but he can't resist.

SALOME
And what if somebody did try to
'exploit' me? Who do I go to?

Through the hole Deckard is looking at a pair of fat
legs.

DECKARD
Me.

SALOME
And who do I go to about you?

He looks back. She's some out of the shower dripping
nude. She's taken off her black wig. Her hair is
short and blonde.

Deckard recognizes her immediately from the identikit.
He stares at her a moment too long.

DECKARD
Hmmmmm?

Deckard grins and she returns it.

She takes a towel off the table and starts to dry her
body. The snake noses through the cosmetics, tongue
flicking trying to get back to its mistress. Absently,
she reaches out to stroke the snake and suddenly laughs.

ZHORA
You ever get the feeling things
aren't the way they seem?

Her hand closes around the snake's head. Deckard sees
it coming but can't move fast enough. She strikes him
so hard it knocks him off his feet. Before he hits the
floor, she kicks him in the stomach. The snake whistles
through the air again as Deckard rolls out of the way.
It slams down so hard it ruptures against the floor.
He goes for his laser, but she's already out the door.

INT. PASSAGEWAY - NIGHT 65

Deckard bounds out of the room and sees her go through
a door at the other end of the hall. He sprints after
her, arrives at the door and flings it open. Black-
ness. The SOUND of her high heels CLATTER down the
metal steps.

EXT. STREET - OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT 66

It's raining heavily.

The front of the Opera House is open only to foot traf-
fic these days. A bizarre place on a Friday night,
hawkers and whores, the rabble, the poor and the cur-
ious mill around the randy-built platforms and brightly
lit stands. Zhora, in just a raincoat, is not out of
place in this flea market atmosphere. Trying not to
run, she slices through the mob as quickly as she can.
Deckard is not far behind, dodging and side-stepping,
trying to move against the tide of people scurrying for
shelter.

She comes to an intersection and turns out of the mall
onto a less crowded street. She glances over her
shoulder as she breaks into a run and runs right into
a couple of pedestrians. All three go down.

Deckard comes out of the crowd in time to spot her get-
ting to her feet. She sees him and runs. The two ped-
estrians are in his line of fire. He runs past them
and drops to one knee, leveling his laser.

DECKARD
Stop or you're dead!

She doesn't. The beam flashes through the air, but
she's already around the corner.

With his bottom lip between his teeth, it hurts to move
so fast, Deckard jack-legs it into the street and jumps
in front of the first car coming. It screeches to a
stop. Deckard scrambles for the door, but the guy be-
hind the wheel has other ideas. He peels out fast.

The next car slows down and swerves trying not to hit
him. Deckard goes for the door and before the old ma-
tron inside can lock it, Deckard's yanked it open and
jumps in. She screams as he pushes her into the pas-
senger seat and jams the car into a wrenching about
face. The lady squeals like a pig as the momentum
plasters her against the door.

Deckard slams it around the corner and guns it down the
street. It's long and it's empty and it's going by fast.
Nothing the old lady cares to see -- she's got her hands
over her eyes, whimpering, hoping she'll faint before
she dies.

Deckard takes the next left so hard he almost lays it
over. As the car bounces off the curb he floors it.

Zhora's a hundred yards ahead, halfway down the street,
trying to make it back into the crowded mall. She's
running fast, but the car is faster.

As he passes her, Deckard hits the brakes and skids
broadside seventy feet. The door flies open and he
rolls out FIRING.

Zhora's ducking it with no where to go, except...

The showcase window on her left EXPLODES as she crashes
through.

It's a corner shop joined to a series of stores, front-
ing the mall. Deckard runs to the opening she's made
and pours FIRE through the tunnel of her jagged wake as
Zhora breaks through one window after another, getting
sliced, getting shot, trying to get away from Deckard's
laser. But she doesn't.

His last shot burns a hole through the base of her
skull. It kills her but doesn't stop her. Her speed
takes what's left of her through the last two windows
and into the street where she runs into a parked car
with such force that she embeds herself in the side of
it.

Hunched over, breathing hard, Deckard comes slowly for-
ward. The crowd starting to gather. There's something
for everybody and they're coming from all directions.

Deckard moves through them, edging to have a look.

It's not a good thing to see. It looks like Salome
and the car tries to eat each other. A bloody feast
of metal and flesh.
Deckard bows his head, sick, exhausted. So much commo-
tion he doesn't notice THREE COPS closing in from
behind.

COP
Drop it!

Deckard has his back to them. They're fanned out and
crouched, ready to fire. Deckard drops his laser. Two
of them rush up, spin him around while the third does a
frisk.

TWO MORE COPS arrive, wary and wild-eyed, pushing the
people back -- his is not a good place for cops.

Deckard's ankle laser is discovered by the Cop frisking
him. With a snarl he pulls it out and hands it back to
the SERGEANT covering the action.

SERGEANT
On your belly!

Deckard's not in the mood for it.

DECKARD
Listen, Sergeant...

He's reaching for his ID. The Cop with the rubber
billy hits him in the head.

One thrill after another. Somebody in the crowd YEOWLS.
The last thing Deckard hears as he falls. The Cop
reaches inside Deckard's coat for the concealed weapon
they missed, but it's an ID card. He looks at it for a
moment, then looks up.

COP
Hey, Sarge, this guy's a cop.

An embarrassing situation.

SERGEANT
Clear this fuckin' crowd.

The Cops start pushing. And for one split second one
of the crowd looks a lot like Leon.

INT. OLD OPERA HOUSE - MEN'S ROOM - NIGHT 67

Your standard low class crapper. Bryant is planted
firmly on the cracked tile floor next to the urinals
rubbing his face, trying not to pop the clutch in his
anger. This is a public place, he doesn't want to
yell.

BRYANT
Just because it's a Nexus 6 doesn't
 change procedure. A little known
fact can become a well-known fact
and part of our job, Deckard, is
to make sure that doesn't happen.
Now how can be do that if you blow
one away in front of a fuckin'
audience.

It's not the sort of question that expects an answer.
Deckard's washing his face in the basin hoping it'll
all go away.

BRYANT
Well?

Deckard looks up dripping, reaches for a paper towel.
Bryant slaps one in his hand.

DECKARD
She was gonna get away.

BRYANT
Then let her get away. I thought
you were a pro -- you're supposed
to be a fuckin' tracker!

Bryant takes a couple of deep breaths.

BRYANT
I'd say you got a little carried
away.

Deckard's voice is barely audible.

DECKARD
I didn't like her.

BRYANT
You didn't like her!?

He slams the handle on one of the urinals.

BRYANT
You start liking or disliking
andies it's time to hang it up.

The PLUMPING ROARS and SUCKS and DIES. There's nothing
to do but nod. Deckard nods. Poor bastard has had a
rough night. Bryant pulls a flask out of his coat and
hands it to him. Deckard puts it to his mouth and
Bryant watches Deckard's Adam's apple like he's count-
ing the swallows. Deckard hands it back empty. Bryant
caps it, puts it back in his pocket.

BRYANT
Look, go home. Get some rest.
Take an aspirin.
 DECKARD
Yeah.

Bryant shuffles out like an old bear.

INT. OLD OPERA HOUSE - BAR - NIGHT 68

Cheap whiskey and bad wine. That's the kind of place
this is. It's near closing. But still a few at the
bar. Alcoholic silhouettes.

In the b.g. Deckard comes down the passage from the
men's room and stops at the phone. He gets a number
out of his pocket and calls it. As he talks he leans
against the wall, his body language intimate and chummy.

Not much action at the bar other than somebody snoring
and a dipso down at the end having a conversation with
himself.

Deckard hangs up, walks to the bar and straggles a
stool. The BARTENDER's a big lady with tits like sand
bags and a voice that plays no favorites.

BARTENDER
I can't protect your drinks,
mister; while you was in the
potty, this hummer snatched it.

Deckard glances at his stool-mate. A huge MAN, slumped
over the bar like a beached whale.

DECKARD
No problem. Gimme another.

The whale doesn't move, but it speaks, with a gravelly
Russian accent.

RUSSIAN
Forgive me. I thought was free
drink. I will pay.

DECKARD
Forget it.

But the big man's digging through his pockets. Deck-
ard's drink arrives and the Russian raises his head.
It's a big melancholy face with a glint of warmth in
his red-rimmed eyes and a smile that could melt your
heart. But it's Leon.

LEON
I think I have no money.

DECKARD
It's okay. Forget it.
 LEON
But I would like to buy you drink.

DECKARD
I'll but you one. What'll you
have?

LEON
Vodka!

DECKARD
Shot of vodka, please.

LEON
Thank you very much.

DECKARD
My pleasure.

Deckard brings out his smokes. Offers one. Leon takes
it and they light up. The drinks come.

LEON
Prosit.

DECKARD
Prosit.

Down the hatch. Leon slaps his glass on the bar, reach-
es into his pocket, brings out a little match box and
slaps that down too. It's done with such pride that
Deckard has to look.

LEON
You want to see my friends?

DECKARD
Sorry, don't have the time.

LEON
No problem.

Leon smiles broadly and with ceremonious care opens the
box and dumps three live cockroaches on the bar.

DECKARD
Those cockroaches?

LEON
Ya.

Deckard looks interested. One of them starts to scamp-
er away, but Leon walls off the next with his huge hand.

DECKARD
How long you had these guys?
 LEON
Two months. But this one is not
guy. It is girl. His girl.

Leon leans closer like he doesn't want the cockroaches
to hear.

LEON
Usually Blackie waits until Igor
is eating; then, when his back is
turned, he tries to take advantage
of Anna.

Deckard nods, definitely interested. He signals the
bartender for another round. The drinks arrive.

LEON
Prosit.

DECKARD
Prosit.

Down the hatch. Their eyes meet at the bottom.

LEON
You never saw a cockroach make
love?

Deckard shakes his head, but he'd like to.

Leon smiles slyly.

LEON
We will try.

Leon brings a cube of sugar out of his pocket and puts
it on the bar. They both lean down and watch intently.
The drinks come and are put away, but the cockroaches
are not cooperating.

LEON
It must be that he is not hungry
or maybe she is not hot.

Leon is catching the roaches and one by one puts them
back in their box. He holds up the last and kisses it.

LEON
You like to kiss her goodbye.

DECKARD
No thanks.

BARTENDER
Make sure you take your girlfriends
with you when you leave.
What neither of them notices is that between Leon's
fingers, his stub of his cigarette is burning his flesh.

Deckard lifts his glass, it is empty.

LEON
I like you.

DECKARD
I like you too.

LEON
One more, eh?

DECKARD
I gotta piss.

Deckard gets on his feet, leans forward like a man in
a stiff wind and stops.

DECKARD
I think I'll piss outside.

Leon watches his walk a perfect straight line through
the bar down the passage and out of the rear exit.

EXT. ALLEY - OLD OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT 69

Deckard reels out. The door swings shut and he's sober
as hell and moving fast. Around the big trash dumpster
alongside the building, he plasters himself against the
wall and his gun is out, aimed at the door. He's in a
good spot with a perfect line of fire. Moments go by
and he's glad for the time to steady himself. The
SOUND of his BREATHING, the HUM of the city and the
quiet.

Suddenly from behind, Deckard is swept off his feet and
twirled around in Leon's bear-trap embrace.

Leon lets go and Deckard hits the pavement, skidding
hard enough to tear clothes and burn skin, but he rolls
out of it and comes up with gun in hand; but Leon is so
fast he's already there and kicks it out of his hand.

Leon moves towards him, backing Deckard against the wall.

LEON
How come you know where Zhora was
so quick?

His hand is lightning. It shoots out, grabs Deckard's
hair.

DECKARD
I showed pictures. Somebody
 recognized her. I went to see.

Deckard is pale. The sweat is starting to run.

LEON
How old am I?

DECKARD
I don't know.

The grip tightens and twists.

LEON
My birthday is April 10, 2015.
How long do I live?

DECKARD
Four years.

He lets go.

LEON
More than you.

Deckard's knees come up fast. Leon's fist comes down
faster, like a hammer.

LEON
Painful to live in fear, isn't it.

Deckard is doubled over, hugging his thigh.

LEON
But that's how it is to be a
slave. The future is sealed off,
he grovels, he waits.

Even hurt, Deckard is fast. He goes for his ankle gun,
but Leon's got it out of his hand before he can even
raise it and throws it down the alley.

Deckard hurls forward, knocking him off balance, and
scrambles to get away. Leon grabs him by the foot,
drags him back and jerks him off the ground.

LEON
Sex, reproduction, security, the
simple things. But no way to
satisfy them. To be homesick
with no place to go. Potential
with no way to use it. Lots of
little oversights in the Nexus 6.

He slams Deckard into the wall.

LEON
I tell you, nothing is worse
 than having an itch you can never
scratch.

Deckard slides down the wall to his knees and huddles,
protecting his head with his arms, waiting for the next
one.

Leon folds his big hands together and raises them over
his head, pausing just a second to savor the satisfac-
tion of smashing Deckard's skull.

The spasm that runs through Leon's face is not from
satisfaction. It's the bullet that went through his
neck. He hits the ground hard, his big teeth biting
the air like a rabid dog. Dead.

Rachael is standing in the alley. Deckard lies there
looking at her. She comes slowly and quietly forward
and drops Deckard's gun by his side.

Deckard gets to his hands and knees and tries to get
up, but can't quite manage it. He looks up at her,
panting, spits blood and almost smiles.

DECKARD
Like I said, I don't need your
help.

After a long moment, she bends down to touch him.

RACHAEL
You look terrible, you know that?

INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT 70

He's lying in the tub with a drink, eyes half mast,
water up to his chin, bruised and beat, but looking
just a little wicked in his balmy luxury.

DECKARD (V.O.)
I knew a cop once who was involved
in a high-speed chase. They shot
out one of his tires and he went
over a cliff at hundred and fifty
miles an hour. They found him in
the morning with a broken skull,
six fractured ribs and second-
degree burns. On the way to the
hospital he made a play for the
nurse.

He takes a drink and clears his throat.

DECKARD
Hey! I thought you were supposed
to be taking care of me.
 RACHAEL'S VOICE
What do you need?

He doesn't answer. Lies there sipping his drink.
Rachael comes in a little uncertain, a little droll,
and stands there looking down at him.

DECKARD
Don't just stand there looking at
me. It's not polite.

RACHAEL
What do you want me to do?

DECKARD
Sit.

She sits on the edge of the tub.

DECKARD
Gimme your arm.

She's wearing a short-sleeved dress. It's a long, del-
icate arm and Deckard holds it, inspecting it like a
maestro with a Stradivarius. He looks up at her.

DECKARD
You ever take a bath with a man
before?

RACHAEL
There's a lot I haven't done with
a man before.

He's got her hand in the water and had begun to soap
her arm. Starting with her wrist and running the bar
to her elbow, up and down, slow and slippery. She
watches, not quite sure of the ritual.

He pulls her closer, and runs his hand up higher, mould-
ing and pressing, working around her flesh, up and under
her arm into the privacy of her dress.

RACHAEL
You're getting me wet.

Oh, yes. For a moment Deckard stares at her like some
furry-legged satyr in rut, the fingers of his other
hand rake through her hair and into the water she comes.