Blade Runner Blues

[Tyranus]

She had left in hurry, he figured, as he looked around the room. Pieces of unwanted clothing lay strewn across the rumpled, unmade bed; mostly pieces he had bought for her himself. There were dirty tires marks leading up to, and away from, the spot where the mood organ had been wheeled away.

He was certain she had packed it first. Various toiletries had been left where dropped as she had hastily cleared out her portion of the bathroom. After all, she was in a hurry to get onboard an off-world shuttle and be on her way to her new love. He picked up an unused luggage tag from beside the sink . . . Off-World Transports. He turned it over, noting the date from a week ago, and the flight number, 2187.

Deckard shook his head, running his fingers through his hair from front to back.

On the counter, near the sink was a photo of him and Iran when they had moved in. He lifted it up to see that it was the one of them standing on the porch out front and looking happy.

Try as he might, he could not remember who had snapped the picture that day.

As he put the picture back down he thought how funny it was that life was this twisting, undulating ride. Sometimes people got on, sometimes people got off, but the ride had no end, and you had no control over the coming or going.

Subconsciously he noticed the wallpaper they had picked out together and put up after moving in. It now curled away from the ceiling in several places defiantly. It had been so fresh and vibrant once; now all color seemed to have drained from it.

Turning to the window, he inserted a hand between the two hanging sheer curtains and parted them to one side, looking out into the back yard. There was no sheep there. He looked down to the sill and removed his hand from between the sheers, then turned and walked out into the hall.

The office had been rummaged through and emptied of anything useful or having value. A large pile of unpaid bills and receipts littered the floor, left behind for him. These walls . . . his house, his home seemed to twist and feel uncertain underfoot now, in a surreal, dream-like way. It was the right location but nothing was as it should have been.

A nauseating cacophony of memories and emotions fermented inside him now. The muscles in his left shoulder began to spasm slightly as he headed down the hall to the stairs.

[Tyranus]

The faintest hint of Iran’s perfume still hung in the air. It had been a gift, shortly after they moved in, a scent she adored and had to have. He shook his head as he plodded down the steps . . . she never once wore it for him. He noted the scrape marks dug along the walls, and ran his hand over them.

As preoccupied as she was with her awaiting off-world lover, she must have impatiently evacuated, dragging her suitcases along haphazardly. Evacuation certainly felt like the right description, to be certain. The house resembled a war zone, with their world . . . or rather what was left of his world, in shambles.

As mentally anticipated, the fourth step from the bottom reassuringly cracked loudly under his foot, just as it always had. Finally, a hint of unchanged, familiar normalcy surfaced for a moment.

Passing the small island counter, he grabbed a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker. The stripped kitchen was dark and silent, save the whirring of the refrigerator. With his free hand, he grasped its’ handle, tugging it open, hoping to find something to eat. He slammed the door shut quickly, jerking his head away, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away sharply, nearly hitting his head on an open cabinet door.

She either must have left a plate of fish uncovered in there, or some small animal had curled up in there and died. Either way, there was nothing to eat. He stepped away, shaking his head and moving in to the den.

The house, indeed, the very walls seemed to exude a drained darkness as he examined the cleared out den. Some of the furniture had gone to his apartment, but it looked as if she had either given the rest away or sold it. As he moved deeper into the room, the dim shape of his synthetic sheep came into view.

It lay motionless in the corner, its stiff, dry tongue hanging out on the dirty carpet. Deckard knelt over it, running his hand through the shaggy wool, feeling for the control panel. He carefully opened the small door, revealing several meters and knobs surrounding a charging port.

Both meter needles indicated a status well below the empty mark. All the training and learned patterns he had worked so hard to teach it were lost now, all memories purged and lost forever. All she had to do was keep it charged, he thought. An unseen chisel coldly claimed yet another small piece of who he was, as he felt his heart empty a bit more. He pushed himself to a standing position, still clinging to the squared bottle of amber alcohol.

There was no longer anything for him here now. Nodding his head silently, he glanced around slowly, then walked through the front foyer, out onto the porch and down into the rain, heading toward his car, leaving the front door open wide.

If he was going to sell exotic, synthetic animals off-world, he would need to learn more about them, and he knew a good place to start. A prior case had produced several contacts down on Animoid Row. All the best synthetic animals could be found there.

He pulled the door down on his sedan and started the engine. It idled as he stared out at his house, pausing just ever so slightly before accelerating away into the drizzling gloom.

* * *

[Tyranus]

Thread Updated with new pictures.

[Tyranus]

Gaff and Bryant hurried through the wide open, echoing police station heading toward the office ahead. Bryant fumed, slapping the folder in his hand against an open palm as he walked, “****. This happened to Off-World Transports almost two weeks ago and they just decide to let us know now? Six! Six of them on are their way here or here already. How difficult is it to pick up the goddamned vid-phone?”

He threw open the door to his office and entered the room, circled the cluttered desk while pulling off his hat and sat down in his creaky, wooden chair. He slapped the file folder he had been carrying on top of the small stack on the desk top before him as Gaff ambled into the office and closed the door.

A heavy metal fan oscillated back and forth, circulating the musty air. Bryant was shaking his head, “We can’t keep this information from him, we can’t; he has a right to know; and we’re gonna need him for this one. Holden’s good, but not like him. **** Tyrell . . . and his skin-jobs. Sure, they make colonizing easier and less risky, but they’re nothing but trouble for us back here; nothing but trouble. Talk about your illegal aliens. Those things are the perfect slave labor; especially the older, cyborg models. They don’t think independently, they don’t have families . . . they just do what they’re told. If the spec sheets on those new ones here are right, they’re rolling off the assembly line over there at the Tyrell Corporation with memories and emotions now! What are skinnies gonna do with emotions and fake memories?”

Gaff settled himself in the chair opposite Bryant saying nothing as he folded a small piece of paper. He quietly noted the yellowed shade of the desk lamp between them. Images of a much younger and slimmer Bryant standing over his kill on some big game hunting trip adorned each of the four panels making up the sides. They were clearly old photos of a hunting trip from when there were still real animals left to hunt. “Why do you keep these pictures?” he said, continuing to fold his paper.

Bryant looked up at him, “Huh?”

“These pictures . . . on your lamp”, Gaff indicated with a nod of his head, “Why do you keep them on display for everyone to see?”

“Aw ****, I sit in this office working right next to them every day and you know, I haven’t really seen or thought about them in a long time.” Bryant smiled, calming a bit. “Those were taken on a hunting trip my father and I took. **** of a trip that one was. I got a bear, an elk and a wild boar. He came away with a bear and several deer. . . and died the following March. Those are the last pictures I have of me with him. Why?”

Gaff finished folding and placed a paper origami bear on the edge of Bryant’s desk, “It seems that we humans have the need for memories and emotions in our lives to give us depth and understanding of who we are. If Tyrell is the genius we all think he is, he certainly would have wanted to figure out a way to give them the same mental support structure we have . . . to help stabilize them.”

Bryant scowled, “Huh. Yeah I guess I can see that.” He opened the file folder he had thrown on his desk and raised his eyes to peer over at Gaff, “Paperwork says the new ones, the Nexxus Sixes, have a four year lifespan . . . so they can be controlled. I guess old Tyrell hasn’t perfected his stabilizing support structure yet. Command is wrong on this one” said Bryant, shaking his head as he closed the folder, “Deck has a right to know his wife died on that shuttle.”

* * *

[Tyranus]

Here are PDF's of Blade Runner Blues so far. It does not include the most recent postings, as there has not been enough content yet for a new chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - The 'Runner

Chapter 2 - The Shoulder of Orion

Chapter 3 - Reality's Decay

[Tyranus]

Off toward the horizon the faint hint of a moon obscured by thick, foreboding clouds hung silently in the black sky, casting little to no light on the pitching waters below. Roy was jolted awake by a cracking bolt of lightning and the immediate percussive blast of thunder as the white-hot bolt of energy arced across the cockpit window on the sloped nose of the shuttle. Angrily swirling, heavy black clouds lay ahead sporadically illuminated from within with the glow of wild, erupting lightning. White bursts of spray blew from the crests of the waves below.

Leon was gripping the controls firmly as the small ship was buffeted by fierce crosswinds. He glanced over to Roy, “We had almost made it to Los Angeles when some auto-drone beacon hailed us asking for codes and landing permissions. I didn’t know what do say, so I pulled away, back out here over the water.”

Roy stared off into the fury of the storm ahead. The bright lights of LA were barely visible along the shoreline through the heavy rain and haze. His mind raced. “We’re going to get wet. Let me warn the others, then we need to ditch into the water. Get us closer to shore; about 200 yards out, that way the current will pull the ship south, down the coast and away from town.”

Leon’s eyes widened a bit and one began to twitch as he listened, “Ditch in this? I hate water, especially water at night.” He looked over to Roy, the pallor of fear smeared across his face.

Roy smirked a bit as he stood up, pausing with a hand on Leon’s shoulder, “We ditch. Facing your fears will help you overcome them. Is your fear real or imagined?” He paused a moment. “Don’t trouble yourself searching for the answer. The answer while find you while we’re swimming to shore.” With that, he turned and exited the cockpit to tell the others.

The ship slipped sideways with a jerk as it was caught in a powerful gust of wind. Everyone seated in the main passenger area was thrown jarringly sideways. Roy was pitched up against the bulkhead as another shuddering blast of air from the raging storm outside tracked through the shuttle, shaking it violently. He regained his footing and addressed the others. “Everyone needs to be at or near the main hatch when we set down.” He said pointing toward the door, “We’re putting down in the water.”

“What?” said Mary, “In the water?”

Roy held on to the wall as he responded, “Yes, Mary, in the water. We have to be smart. We can’t land legally at the shipyard. Not that that bothers me in the slightest, but they would match the ship’s identifier codes with that of the missing shuttle and we would be caught. We’ll be fine.”

Hodge appeared worried, but said nothing. Mary looked over at him, then momentarily back to Roy, over to Zhora and finally to came to rest her sights on Pris, who sat with hands gently resting on the flat of her belly, lost in thought . . . daydreaming . . .

“We were told you were the best in the aftermarket.” said Roy to the man behind the partially opened door. With yellowed eyes deeply set into a frail face he peered from behind the door, then pulled it open a bit further, stepping out to the sidewalk, glancing quickly one way and then the other. “Come in quickly, both of you.”

Pris followed the old man inside as Roy looked up and down the street himself, and then followed, closing the door behind.

The narrow foyer was intolerably dim and smelled of the ancient books and mildewed paper stacked along the left hand wall, but was out of the cold air. A narrow staircase led up and twisted around for several flights to levels above, but Pris had followed the good doctor into a closet beneath the stairs, through a door in the back wall and down roughly-hewn steps to a room cut from the solidly packed soil and stone beneath. A sterile smell washed over Roy as he descended the curved steps to the small room where they were.

“Have a seat” said the old man to Roy.

“Thank you, doctor” whispered Roy as he settled in the creaking chair.

“You my dear, come, sit up here” he said to Pris, patting the end of an examining table. “How did you find me?” he asked, as Pris settled onto the table.

Pris shot a glance to Roy who spoke up immediately, “A friend . . . suggested we contact you. She said you had been able to successfully render her sterile, but also had the ability to take existing organs and connect the dots, so to speak, to make reproduction possible.”

“For you two?” asked the old man looking a bit bewildered.

“Yes” said Pris.

“I’m a doctor that could possibly do such things, but Replicants reproducing introduces a whole new series of ripples in your synthesized gene pool.” He rubbed his head, staring off into space. “Each of you has only your own DNA strand and no others. A genetic cross-pairing of the two of you . . . I’m inclined to think that might be problematic at best, if they merged at all. There could be hideous birth defects.”

“But could it not also possibly take the best characteristics of each of us and merge into a superior, unique sequence?” asked Roy, with eyes opened just a bit too wide.

“Yes” began the doctor, “but why would you . . . “

Roy cut him off, grabbing the aging physician firmly by the arm, “There is no why. We’re running out of time. Can you do it? WILL YOU DO IT?”

The elder man’s eyes were wide with fear, not only of Roy, but at what his tinkering might possibly unleash. “I worked for Tyrell for years, my requests to work on just such a course of action denied. Then I learned another team headed by a colleague had been secretly working on that project all those years. They called the project, your friend . . . Mary. I wanted nothing to do with it. Too many religious implications if you ask me. Tyrell was playing God, and I’d had enough of being the man behind the curtain, so I left.” He nodded his head rapidly, “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it. I’d be happy to.”

The wide-eyed glare on Roy’s face receded a bit as he looked back over to Pris who smiled impishly and lay back, resting her elbows on the sterile, cloth-covered table.

“You okay?” Mary said, leaning closer to Pris, holding her around the shoulders.

Pris blinked, coming back to reality, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Roy watched her closely for a moment as the ship shook again, “Okay everyone, get ready. I’m going to tell Leon to put her down.”

[Tyranus]

I posted this same note on THE SANDTROOPER'S STORY thread, but it applies here too:

I'm sorry there have been no new postings lately.

My Father (78) has been sick most of this year, and was recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer and has had the prostate removed. I have been pretty involved with helping him and managing upkeep of his home while he is out of commission and recovering.

I want to write more on this, but can't seem to find the time to do so right now. Jotting ideas down here and there is all I seem to be able to manage.

More will come. I promise. I'm not abondoning this story.

Thanks for reading and for your comments.

[Pappy]

I posted this same note on THE SANDTROOPER'S STORY thread, but it applies here too:

I'm sorry there have been no new postings lately.

My Father (78) has been sick most of this year, and was recently been diagnosed with prostate cancer and has had the prostate removed. I have been pretty involved with helping him and managing upkeep of his home while he is out of commission and recovering.

I want to write more on this, but can't seem to find the time to do so right now. Jotting ideas down here and there is all I seem to be able to manage.

More will come. I promise. I'm not abondoning this story.

Thanks for reading and for your comments.

best wishes and my prayers goes to you too bro.........go,and take your time,its priority no 1,your hero needs your attention more than we do right now,say hello and a "get well soon!" quote from all of us

[Tyranus]

best wishes and my prayers goes to you too bro.........go,and take your time,its priority no 1,your hero needs your attention more than we do right now,say hello and a "get well soon!" quote from all of us

Thanks Pappy.

[Tyranus]

Andy’s eyes grew wide as he snapped the buckles of his restraint and braced himself against the bulkhead. Zhora strapped her restraint on and grabbed a pipe that ran down the side wall behind her with one hand, and placed the other hand on the snake draped around her shoulders.

Mary and Pris, in seats that lacked restraints, quickly moved from the top of the crate down to the floor, wedging themselves between two cargo containers that were tightly cabled to the deck.

Roy disappeared into the cockpit as they prepared for impact. He slipped beside Leon, into his seat and strapped in. Leon’s intense focus had taken on the air of tunnel vision as he put aside his instincts and his fears. His right eye twitched relentlessly as he fought the controls that wrenched his hands this way and that. The winds outside blasted persistently against the shuttle, rain coming down in sheets.

Leon eased the bucking shuttle in the direction of the shore, racing into the wind as lightning sliced through the sky above them, cleaving the night into two halves, searing all raindrops in its path instantly into steam. The bottom hull of the small ship barely skimmed the wave crests, spraying water to either side as they descended slowly.

The lights of the marina ahead on the shore were suddenly lost behind a large wave that rose up before them, slapping the nose of the shuttle and shoving it into a sharp downward angle, directly into the icy black waters. Roy’s head slammed hard against the side wall of the cockpit as he and Leon were thrust under the water into absolute blackness. Leon’s fear encompassed him now, and he began to scream as Roy blacked out.

The nose of the ship plowed through the wave hurling everyone inside violently forward against their harnesses as the ship unexpectedly plunged downward, flipping over and crashing to an abrupt stop, coming to rest on her top. Steam flooded out of her rear engines as the water boiled away from the hot metal into the night air.

The Interior lighting that had been lost on impact and the darkness that followed was replaced by dim emergency lighting flickering on. The brutal shaking had finally stopped, giving way now to the slow up and down rolling motion of the waves.

*

[Tyranus]

Roy’s heart pounded in his chest and ears like a war drum; his eyes darting across the dark, uneven ground ahead. A chorus of nocturnal insects chirping and clicking filled the thick, humid air. He cut a glance to the right and saw a group of ten or so other men from the transport moving on ahead through the dim moonlight.

To the left, twenty or more was also advancing toward their contact and his unregistered ship. Another transport of replicants had landed here an hour or so earlier. After two years of torturous servitude, their slave status and his own would be liberated tonight. He whispered to himself in the dark, “Let the enchained soul shut up in darkness and sighing, whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years; Rise and look out, his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open.”

The crowd of fifty or more behind him quickly pushed past toward the ship as he stood motionless and stunned, watching them go. He had been working the better part of the last four years nearly alone with a small group of other replicant soldiers, moving into and securing the frontiers of more planets than he could remember, setting up military terra-forming facilities and clearing the way for off-world colonization from Earth.

The inside of the transport had been dark, pitch dark. He knew there were others in there with him, but he had not seen . . .

He knew he was a replicant, a product churned out to fill the perilous needs; the boring or dirty jobs, so that humans might have a better life. Knowing that however, had not prepared him for this moment. They all looked like him. He touched his cheek; ran his hand through his hair. They ALL looked like him.

Unexpectedly, the silence was broken by the sound of small arms fire ahead, and an abrupt, explosive ejection of a thick liquid sprayed across his face and neck, as the replicant beside him was violently thrown into him, only to slide to the ground; a gaping, jagged wound in what was left of his skull.

Roy’s eyes grew wide as others around him fell. His face was covered in blood and brain matter. Then from somewhere overhead, blinding floodlights switched on, driving back the night and illuminating a horrific scene.

They had been set up. The crew member they had trusted to lead them to freedom had instead delivered them to ****. Hundreds of projectile and accelerated energy weapons of every sort now erupted in a deadly discharge storm, stabbing through the night as police guards from the Tannhauser Gate colony opened fire on them from rooftops, behind the protective corners of their awaiting freedom ship, and from the top of the massive Tannhauser Gate itself.

Ahead, through the smoke, he could see the mangled bodies of those from the first ship being slowly plowed into a huge mound by an enormous bulldozer. His mind raced, searching for a way to survive this. All around him bodies fell where they stood, their engineered blood soaking the ground.

He ran through the smoke filled horror, watching himself being gunned down everywhere he turned; piles of his body on the ground; his own lifeless eyes staring back from the fallen corpses. He tripped over another version of himself on the ground and fell headlong into the pile, smearing the blood and brain tissue already on his face. He was terrified, like a frightened child caught in a nightmare from which he could not awaken himself.

The guards were advancing now, moving into the thinning crowd, killing those that remained standing and fighting back. Roy lay still, eyes open wide and motionless, staring up into the crystal clear night sky as guards moved past him. One stepped on his hand as he made his way past. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he focused his attention far overhead, in the thinnest part of the atmosphere, to an iridescent shimmering against the starry backdrop. Way up high, C-beams were sparkling, ignited by solar radiation. It was a beautiful show; a peaceful glittering show that few took the time to notice.

The guards were now moving back through the dead, their task completed. Roy lay deathly still, taking in the beautiful display far above. One guard whistled loudly, and motioned the dozer driver this way. The heavy, clanking machine rolled over the ground, lowering its bucket to scoop the bodies out of its way.

When the bucket was full, it rose up and turned to where Roy lay before dumping the bodies on top of him. His view of the sky and the comforting C-beams disappeared as a cascade of corpses fell from above, their weight crushing down. Roy closed his eyes, picturing the C-beams in his mind, making an indelible memory of them.

After what seemed an eternity, the ‘dozer shut off, the floodlights winked off, and the guards began to disappear into the colony.

Two guards talked as the navigated the site of the massacre. One shouldered his rifle and laughed as he spoke to the other, “I’m sure the standard smokescreen ******** will reign supreme here too. You mark my words, tomorrow we’ll hear about a bloody mutiny at the Tannhauser Gate.”

The other guard nodded. “Yeah. History is always written by the victor. Who knows if any of it is true or not.”

Roy lay still, fighting to breathe under the pile, buried in a stack of his own bloody, mutilated body. The symphony of nocturnal insects chirping and clicking in the dark slowly resumed. When nearly an hour had passed, and he was sure no one was left, he pushed with all his might. Every bit of his strength shoved the heavy corpses off as he dug his way to the side of the pile.

He moved the last corpse aside and he broke into the air. Crawling out, he managed to get to one knee, breathing freely again. He was filthy. His hair was matted down; leaves and dirt stuck in the dried blood, The stench of death was everywhere. He took a breath, looking around at the victims of the massacre. He was alone.

Roy’s eyes fluttered open as Leon shook him. He was hanging upside down, pulling against the restraints in the cockpit of the shuttle. “Come on. The ship’s upside down, and we’ve got to get the others out of here before she sinks. The shore isn’t far. I got us pretty close.”

*

[Tyranus]

A little more . . .

Leon trembled uncontrollably as he knelt on the beach, water dripping from his hair and clothing. He had made it to shore, but his fear of being smothered in the black waters at night had been too much to process, and he had partially shut down. Clutched in his right hand was a stack of photos safely wrapped inside a small plastic bag. It was dark; the moon was completely obscured by the dense clouds of the storm they had flown through.

Behind him, Roy helped Pris out of the crashing waves onto the sand and put a hand on the trembling pilot’s shoulder. “Did you answer the question?” Salt water dripped from the end of his nose as he listened for a response.

Leon replied slowly without moving “The question?”

Roy smiled slightly. “Were your fears real or imagined?”

Leon slowly raised his head to look up at Roy, and his trembling began to calm a bit. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was dying. The black of the waves . . I couldn’t see anything . . .”

Roy patted him twice on the shoulder. “But you didn’t die . . . did you? The fear you had built up in your mind was far worse than the water ever could have been.” He removed his hand from Leon’s shoulder and looked briefly up to the dark sky overhead. Lightning sliced jaggedly across it, momentarily illuminating the boiling clouds; his eyes widened with the delight of a child watching wild animals at the circus.

He walked Pris a few steps further up the beach. She let go of his arm as Zhora pulled her close, resting her wet head on a waiting shoulder. Roy dropped his long coat to the sand beside them, then turned and walked back into the freezing waves to help Mary and Andy to shore.

The water was cold by human standards, but Roy waded in and began swimming back out to the others without a second thought. He was strong; superior to mere human limitations. Salty water washed over his head as he swam. The night sky suddenly illuminated with the plasma-light of a lightning crack. In the split-second illumination, Roy could see the underbelly of the overturned ship being pulled away down the coast by the relentless current.

Andy was helping Mary as best he could, but he was not designed for this kind of thing, and he was not nearly as strong as Roy. They swam together toward the shore as Batty made his way to them. He shook his head to clear the water from his eyes, and blew the salt water from his lips as he reached them.

“Give me Mary, and you go on ahead of us.”

Andy nodded, removing his arm from under Mary’s and handing her off as he swam away toward shore.

Roy reached around her holding her firmly, then rolled onto his back and began paddling with his free arm. He glanced back once to make sure he was still heading in toward the beach. The dim harbor lights of Marina Del Rey pierced the blackness and cold rain from beyond the beach sand.

A few moments more and he helped Mary out of the surf onto the sand. She dropped to her knees, water streaming down her wet hair. Pris came over, helping her up and moving her over to be with the others. Roy followed closely behind.

“*********!” cursed Zhora as she paced back and forth.

Roy glanced her way as Pris turned to him, “She lost her snake on the way in.”

He nodded, salt and rain water running off his face as he bent down to grab his long coat. He slapped Leon on the shoulder.

“Let’s get moving.”

Leon nodded, then stood up to help herd the others along.

*

[Tyranus]

Having made their way through the marina, the small band of skin-soaked replicants approached the streets of the city beyond. They held back as Roy carefully stuck his head out around a blind corner. He peered up and down the street, checking for any hazards; rain spattering on his face.

Several young children walking under umbrellas in a small pack on the far side of the street stopped at a restaurant’s door. It opened and an Asian man wearing an apron stepped out to the sidewalk and was bathed in the red neon light from the flickering sign in his window.

The little girl was dressed as a witch and several of the boys walking with her wore the grey face makeup of the undead, the others the sheets of a goblin. “Trick or Treat!” they all chimed in unison. He reached inside the door, retrieving a medium sized bowl, and then turned back to the children, their smiling faces faintly illuminated by the glow rods of their umbrellas.

Roy watched in absolute fascination as the man dropped a handful of candy into each of their sacks. The old man watched carefully as the kids made their way along the sidewalk to the next shop before returning inside.

Leon appeared impatiently beside Roy. “Everything OK?”

Batty turned slightly, eyes cutting sharply toward him; rain water running off his brow and down his face. “It is now. Tell the others to stay here, and you come with me.”

He started across the street as Leon motioned back to the others, and then followed across to the restaurant.

As he caught up to Batty, the two stepped up on the curb into the red glow of the sign. As they drew near, the man with the apron opened the door, bowing slightly and motioning for them to come in. Roy went through first as Leon closed the door.

The restaurant owner grabbed two menus from the stand beside the door. “You eat?”

Leon moved past them heading toward the kitchen. Roy shook his head slowly, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “Trick or Treat.”

He grabbed the man’s head and spun it hard around, shredding the spinal column inside. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped like a stone to the floor as Leon entered the kitchen to take care of the rest of the staff.

Roy turned to the window, grabbed the pull chain of the neon sign and switched it off. He then grabbed the COME IN, WE’RE OPEN sign and flipped it slowly over to the SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED side. The others across the street saw the store window go dark. They looked both ways to make sure they were alone, and then hurried through the rain toward him.

* * *

[Tyranus]

Throbbing sounds and strobing lights leaked from the smoky entrance to the Taffy Lewis Online bar, and were reflected in the wet sidewalk as the front doors were flung open. The bouncer standing outside in the rain looked over his shoulder toward the door. Rick Deckard pushed his way through the crowd of costumed Halloween patrons and out the opening into the cool of the night. He turned up his drink, finishing the last of it before placing the empty glass in the unbelievably large man’s hand. “Happy Halloween.”

“See ya later, Deck.”

As he stepped down to the sidewalk, the clearly intoxicated Blade Runner stopped a moment, squinting glassy eyes as he turned back. He barely noticed the steady rain as his face effortlessly drew itself up into a lopsided smile. He remembered having said ‘See you later’ once to his grandfather, and the joking reply that followed, as he finally was able to focus on the bouncer. He pointed at the large man, still smiling.

“Not . . . Not if I see you first.”

The big man chuckled as Deckard pulled the collar of his coat up against the back of his neck and managed to point himself in the direction of his car. The fogged exhalation of his breath drifted silently away on the cool night air as he walked.

Taffy’s wasn’t far from Animoid Row, and he soon found himself absent-mindedly window shopping as he made his way through crowds. Every synthetic animal imaginable could be found here. A tiger paced back and forth within one Indian storefront window while chattering monkeys swung from vines overhead.

Another Moroccan store specialized in smaller animals like dogs and cats. Horses, llamas, elephants, sheep, goats and cows could be purchased through their Vid-screen ordering kiosk, but delivery would be made several days later, batteries not included. However, most of the stores carried a fine array of long-life batteries and memory cards as well for an additional fee. Special order animals, such as rare or exotic snakes and birds took a bit more searching to locate among the Brazilian, Dominican and Egyptian dealers, but they were all there for the having if you had the means.

The lure he had felt for a new beginning had been powerful, but he now realized that the romantic thoughts he had had of dealing in these creatures off-world were a knee-jerk reaction to Iran’s sudden departure. He stood with his palms and forehead pressed to the thick glass pane, rain washed down in rippling waves that splashed against his skin. One of the synthetic monkeys on the other side threw synthetic feces at the glass. He couldn’t imagine the bottom of the barrel being any further down than this.

A large group of six pushed past him, stepping off the curb and crossing the street as he faltered for solid footing. One of the women in the group stopped several shops down, admiring the exotics in the window of the Egyptian dealer, and disappeared inside with the other two women. The three men waited outside. One of them pulled a carton of Chinese food to the top of a bag he was carrying and popped it open, eating from it with chopsticks while he waited outside for her.

Deckard was busy trying to keep his sea legs as things suddenly decided to pitch and roll again like the open ocean, and had taken no notice of her or the rest of her group. The alcohol had taken the edge off his irritable mood, but had also served to magnify his depression. He held on to the brick frame beside the window as the world took another sudden dip to the right. His drunken laughter almost imperceptibly transformed into silent weeping that shook him. Raindrops and tears streamed down his face as others walked by, not noticing the pain of his destroyed world. Everything he thought he had known was gone.

Swallowing his pain and pulling himself together, he pushed away from the window, angry at himself for letting it out. He walked on through the rain until he spotted the car. He fumbled with his keys as he walked around to the driver’s side and stopped short as he looked up. Dave Holden was leaning against the front fender, waiting for him.

He put one hand on the roof of the car to stabilize himself and wiped the rain water from his eyes with the other to make sure Dave was really there. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to find you, Deck. We need to talk. Bryant figured you might be down here. Look, you’re in no shape to . . . Give me the keys, let me drive you home.”

A dispatcher’s voice squawked out of the small radio on Dave’s belt, alerting any available police unit of a reported multiple homicide.

Deckard bent down to the car door, trying unsuccessfully to get his key in the lock opening. “What’d you want to talk about?”

Dave took the keys from his friend’s hands and walked him to the passenger side. “Bryant got some news he thought you should hear, but it can wait buddy. It can wait. Let’s get you home.”

* * *

[Tyranus]

Beneath the metal cage and glass that separated him from the six rain-soaked people standing in the lobby on the other side slid ten one hundred-dollar bills. The balding attendant’s mouth hung open a bit as it was pushed toward him. He slipped on his glasses and licked his lips, setting down the television remote and picking up the bills.

As he thumbed through them, he noticed several grains of rice stuck to one, and the red smear of fresh blood across Franklin’s face on another. He glanced up nervously, over the wire-framed reading glasses perched down low on his nose, into the face of the man on the other side.

“I want to rent a suite. That should cover two months, right?” said Leon, pointing to the sign of posted rates on his side of the glass.

The old man returned his gaze to the money. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. I just don’t want any trouble.”

Roy leaned forward, resting his chin on Leon’s shoulder, smiling. “Do we look like trouble?”

The old man spun slightly on the creaky stool and grabbed a set of keys from the wall rack to his left. “You just surprised me is all. Most folks that come in here just want a room for a few hours or days at most.”

He put a ring of two keys down on the counter and pulled up a ledger on his vid-screen. “What’s your name?”

Rainwater dripped in tiny splashes on the counter as the man replied. “Kowalski. Leon Kowalski.”

The attendant tapped the name into the touch-screen, keyed the room number and pressed enter, saving the registration. He slid the keys under the wire cage and glass toward Leon. “I put you in #1187. Welcome to The Hunterwasser Towers.”

* * *