“You didn’t quit, did you?” He wondered just how old this guy was, exactly. “Either the Tyrell Corporation or the places before that. They fired you. Put you out to pasture.”
Batty shot him a fierce glance. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re just finding out what it’s like.”
An almost childish Bulkiness twisted in his voice. “Maybe the reason Bryant went in on the conspiracy to get rid of you guys is just because he wanted to bring in some new blood. Replace you jerks who’ve gotten your minds all warped out on the Curve. Useless dildos.”
“The Curve was never a problem for me.” Holden set his own gaze hard. “Once I’ve got the territory scoped out, I can take care of myself.”
“Man, you don’t even know. I tell you one thing, that your ass was set up for a fall. and now you think you’re a walking encyclopedia.” The mean smile showed again. “There’s stuff going on, levels of conspiracy, that I haven’t even started to bend your head with yet.”
The realization had come to him some time ago that Batty got off on the whole conspiracy notion. “Such as?”
“Bryant was lying to you from the beginning. To you, and then to Deckard, when he sent you out hunting that batch of replicants.” A smug expression showed on Batty’s face. “There was one more escaped replicant that he didn’t tell either one of you about. A sixth replicant.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Another memory, from when he’d been back there at the hospital. Bryant had told him that all the escapees-all five of them—had been taken care of.
Holden shook his head. “Why would Bryant cover up for a replicant?”
“Ah. There’s the mystery, all right.” Batty’s face showed once more how much he was enjoying this process. “When you combine that with the supposition he was involved in a conspiracy to get rid of the blade runners . . . makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Just whose side Bryant is on.”
Holden fell silent, musing over everything Batty had told him, trying to fit the loose bits and pieces together.
“A sixth replicant . . .” He spoke aloud. Something moved deep inside his being, other than his prowling, restless thoughts. “Number six.” The old blade runner instinct, the desire, that had stirred into life every time he’d gotten an assignment from Bryant. To hunt, to track down and locate, and then to retire the quarry. He’d never really understood why wimps like Deckard and some of the other blade runners bitched and crabbed about this job. To him, it’d always been his whole reason for existing. Like that old high-wire artist had said, long ago-everything else was just waiting. “One more to get . . .”
“Take it easy,” said Batty. “I know the idea gets you all revved up, but you still gotta take it easy for a little while. That artificial heart-and-lung implant’s still settling in.”
Holden didn’t care about that. He knew that bagging the sixth replicant would solve a lot of things. It’d prove, he thought with grim satisfaction, that I’m still on top of the game. He’d been set up by that fat, lying bastard Bryant; that’d been the only way that they—the big they of the antiblade runner conspiracy—had been able to nail him. It still rankled to think of people hearing about him lying there in the hospital, a limp little bag of fluids hooked up to pumps and aerators, and feeling sorry for him. Now there was the chance to show them all.
Plus, it seemed logical there must be something special about this one remaining replicant; why else would Bryant have let the others be hunted down and retired, while covering the tracks for number six? When I find this oneHolden already knew he would-171 have to be careful not to retire it too soon, Not until he’d pumped it for every scrap of information about the conspiracy. The key to why Bryant and those mysterious, unknown others had tried to kill him-he didn’t care about all the rest of the blade runners; this was personal—was walking around Los Angeles right now, passing for human, wearing some face that could be just about anybody’s.
“This isn’t going to be a piece of cake.” Holden nodded slowly, laying out everything neatly and efficiently inside his head. He knew he’d have to be careful, operate while keeping his own head low—the conspirators had to know that he’d been busted out of the hospital, and Batty had made such a circus out of the break, there’d be no doubt that he was hooked up with him as well. Loose cannon, he thought. That loony smile and crazy eyes made him wonder how far he could trust Batty. Or whether he’d have to find some way to cut free of him—
He suddenly felt tired, a wave of fatigue deep and powerful enough to buckle his knees.
He had to steady himself against the bank of monitors and other electronic equipment, to keep from falling.
“See? I told you.” Batty’s voice came from somewhere nearby. “You gotta take it slow for right now. It’s going to be a while before you’re back up to your old operating speed. If ever.”
“Screw that.” He summoned enough willpower to stand upright. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to let having a bio-mech heart-and-lung set cramp my action.” He gave a quick, harsh laugh. “Hey, it just struck me—” Turning his own smile toward Batty. “With what your doctor pals out here stuck inside me, I’m not all human anymore. What a thought.”
“ ‘Not all human . . .” Batty peered at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t you get it?” Maybe this guy was so old, he was turning senile; maybe that was why Tyrell had fired him. “You know, because of the new heart and lungs being machines and stuff—”
“You poor sonuvabitch. You’re the one who doesn’t get it.” Batty slowly shook his head.
“I thought you knew. That’s why it was such a good joke a while back when you thought i was a replicant.”
Holden felt a chill lock on to his vertebrae, climbing upward one by one. “What’re you talking about?”
“You were never human, Holden.” The smile, the pitying gaze. “You’re the one who’s a replicant. You’ve always been one.”
9 . . . . .
“All right, all right; now I know you’re bullshitting me.” Holden felt both weary and disgusted. “You told me part of your brain was wired in backward, and now I believe it. You got a sense of humor that could only come from a couple of fritzed lobes.”
“Bullshit, it’s not.” Batty folded his arms across his chest. In the space bound by the equipment shack’s corrugated-steel walls, the monitor’s glow laced an icy blue through his colorless hair. “I’m not joking with you. Why should I? About something like this? Trust me. You’re a replicant.”
“Trust you . . . yeah, right.” The guy was either yanking his chain, figured Holden, or really was as crazy as the frequent smile and weird cast to his gaze indicated. “Give it up, Batty. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re accomplishing with all this fun-and-games line, but I’m not falling for any more of it.”
“Aw, man, the games haven’t even started. Let’s go back over to the medical unit.” He reached over and switched off the monitor. In darkness, he headed for the dim rectangle of the door and the starlit night outside. “You want proof I’m not jerking you around, then come on. Got something else to show you.”
Outside the larger building, the disheveled doctor looked the same as he had when he’d wheeled Holden’s gurney into the operating room. He couldn’t tell if any of the blood spots on the white coat were his own. The hot night air had pulled darker crescents of sweat under the man’s arms.