Screenplay by


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



        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.

                  Okay if I talk?

        Holden doesn't answer.  He's centering Leon's eye on
        the machine.

                  I kinda get nervous when I
                  take tests.

                  Don't move.


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

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

                         (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

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

                  What one?

        It was a timid interruption, hardly audible.


                  What desert?

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

                  But how come I'd be there?

                  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...

                  A tortoise.  What's that?

                  Know what a turtle is?

                  Of course.

                  Same thing.

                  I never seen a turtle.

        He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.

                  But I understand what you mean.

                  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

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

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

                  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.

                  Whatcha mean, I'm not helping?

                  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.


        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

        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

        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.

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

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

                  Blade Runner One, stand by please.

        A pause.  Followed by a husky male voice.


                  Yah, Gaff.

                                GAFF (VOICE)
                  Where the hell you been?

                  You know where I been.  I been on

                  Next time you go on vacation,
                  do me a favor, let us know where
                  it is.

                  What's up?

                  Holden got hit.

        There is a pause.  That was bad news.


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

                  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

                                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

        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

                                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.

                  Six, huh?

                  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-

                  What was he after?

                  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.

                  You got a machine on it yet?

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

                  Where do we start?

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

                  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.

                  What was the cover on the one that
                  got Holden?

                  Industrial refuse.

                  Garbage man?

        Bryant nods.

                  Did personnel have an address on

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

                  I'll go take a look.

        Deckard stands and holds up his drink.


        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

        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

        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

        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

        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

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

        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.

                  Did you get your precious 'things'?

                  Somebody was already there.


                  Just a man.

                  Police man.

        Leon looks sullen.

                  Why don't you have a seat.

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

                  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,

        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

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

        He snaps off the lamp and swings round to face his

        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.

                  You're a regular perfectionist,

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

                  It's gotta be right for my

                  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.

                  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.

                  Is that good enough for your

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

                  How much is he paying you?

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

                  Well, when do you get paid?

                  Soon as I finish the job.

                  When might that be?

                  Day after tomorrow.

                  Oh!  Day after tomorrow.

        Sebastian nods.  Chew stares at the poor bastard, con-
        cerned in spite of himself.

                  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.

                  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-

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

                  Hey!  You forgot your...

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

                  How come you were in my truck?

                  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.

                  You can get back in if you want...

        She can't make up her mind.

                  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.

                  What's your name?


                  Mine's J.F. Sebastian.


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

                  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.

                  You want to go home?

                  I don't have one.


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

                  Where are your folks?

                  They left.

                  What about friends?

                  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.

                  Well, where should I take you?

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

                  We scared each other pretty good
                  didn't we?

                  We sure did.

        She giggles and laughs.

                  I'm hungry, J.F.

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

                  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.


        Deckard punches up.  Letters flash across the screen:


        Screen flashes back:


        Deckard punches up.



        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.

                  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.

                  You equipped for random questions?

                  Why, yes, of course.

                  You start.

                  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?

                  How do I stop one?

                  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,

                  Okay, but...

                  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.

                  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

        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-

        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.


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

                  Whatcha doin'?

                  You scared me.

        But he's happy to see her.

                  I'm working.

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

                  You look... better.

                  Just better.



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

                  And you live in this building all
                  by yourself?

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

        Trying to make light of it.

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

        She sprawls on the couch studying him.

                  How old are you?

        He can't meet her eyes.


                  What's your problem?

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

                  Methuselah Syndrome.

                  What's that?

                  My glands.  They grow old too fast.

                  Is that why you're still here?

                  Yes.  I couldn't pass the test.

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

                  I like you just the way you are.

        Under the desk he bats his knees together.

                  Ah, you get hold of your friends?

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


        The implications catch up.

                  I can sleep on the couch.

        A little gray mouse on the shelf above his head bobs

                  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.

                  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,

        A long pause.

                  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.

                  I know all that.

                  What about a summary then.

                  I think we're through for the night.

        Deckard starts to reach for the panel.

                  Mr. Deckard.



                  Do you have something against

                  Not if it works.

                  And what in your estimation works?

                  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

        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

        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.

                  Hello, Mr. Deckard.  My name is

        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-

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

                  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.

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


        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.

                  You like our owl?

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

                  It's artificial?

                  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

                  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.

                  Are you apprehensive?

                  Why should I be?

                  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.

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

        He lets it sink in.

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

        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.

                  Mr. Deckard.  Dr. Eldon Tyrell.

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




        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.

                  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.

                  Is this to be an empathy test?


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

        Deckard nods.

                  May I ask a personal question?

                  Go ahead.

                  Have you ever retired a human by


                  But in your profession that is a

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

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

                  One that relies on human
                  interpretation.  Where's the

                  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

                  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

                  You're given a calfskin wallet
                  for your birthday.

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

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

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

        Again the gauges register, but not so far.

                  I'd take him to the doctor.

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

                  I'd kill it.

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

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

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

                  You show the picture to your husband.
                  He likes it and hangs it on the wall.
                  The girl is lying on a bearskin rug.

                  I wouldn't let him.

                  Why not?

                  I should be enough for him.

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

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

                  I'd never get an abortion.

                  Why not?

                  That would be murder, Mr. Deckard.

                  In your opinion.

                  It would be my child.

                  Sounds like you speaks from

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

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


        Both needles swing swiftly.

                  The entree consists of boiled
                  dog stuffed with rice.

        Needles move less.

                  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.

                  Lights please.

        The lights come on.


                  If she is, the machine works.

                  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.

                  How many questions did it take?


        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.

                  She didn't know?

                  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.

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

                  Five, maybe six.

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

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

        Deckard glances back at him.

                  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.

                  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-

                  No thanks.

        Deckard is ready to go.

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


                  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.

                  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.

                  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

        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.

                  Let's keep our eyes on the road,

                                DECKARD'S VOICE

        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.

                  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.

                  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?

                  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.

                  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.

                  So how did I do?

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

                  Nerves of steel.

                  No rust?

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


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

        Deckard starts to dress.

                  During the road test...


                  Your mind kept wandering.  That
                  bothered me.

                  Huh huh.

                  Considering the nature of your
                  work, that could be unhealthy.


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

                  You got a birthday coming up.

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

                  But you haven't put in for


                  You're going to be over the limit.

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

                  What if you change your mind?

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