Jedirick
Community Member
Joined: 01 Nov 2006
Posts: 311
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 Posted: Mon Feb 26, 2007 12:30 am Post subject: Blade Runner First Script 1980 H. Fancher |
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Going through my BR files. getting ready to back them up to CD's. Thought I'd post this for you script collectors. I think I have a couple more variations but this is, as i understand the first write.
BLADE RUNNER
Screenplay by
HAMPTON FANCHER
July 24, 1980 Brighton Productions Inc.
1420 No. Beachwood Drive
Hollywood, Calif. 90028
****************
INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKER ROOM - DAY 1
THE EYE 2
It's magnified and deeply revealed. Flecks of green
and yellow in a field of milky blue. Icy filaments
surround the undulating center.
The eye is brown in a tiny screen. On the metallic
surface below, the words VOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely
etched. There's a touch-light panel across the top
and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers
fluctuations of the iris.
The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits
on a table between two men. The man talking is big,
looks like an over-stuffed kid. "LEON" it says on
his breast pocket. He's dressed in a warehouseman's
uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in
his lap. Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.
The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed
in gray. Detached and efficient, he looks like a cop
or an accountant. His name is HOLDEN and he's all
business, except for the sweat on his face.
The room is large and humid. Rows of salvaged junk
are stacked neatly against the walls. Two large fans
whir above their heads.
LEON
Okay if I talk?
Holden doesn't answer. He's centering Leon's eye on
the machine.
LEON
I kinda get nervous when I
take tests.
HOLDEN
Don't move.
LEON
Sorry.
He tries not to move but finally his lips can't help
a sheepish smile.
LEON
Already had I.Q. test this year --
but I don't think I never had a...
HOLDEN
(cutting in)
Reaction time is a factor in this,
so please pay attention. Answer
quickly as you can.
Leon compresses his lips and nods his big head eagerly.
Holden's voice is cold, geared to intimidate and evoke
response.
HOLDEN
You're in a desert, walking along
in the sand when all of a sudden
you look down and see a...
LEON
What one?
It was a timid interruption, hardly audible.
HOLDEN
What?
LEON
What desert?
HOLDEN
Doesn't make any difference what
desert -- it's completely
hypothetical.
LEON
But how come I'd be there?
HOLDEN
Maybe you're fed up, maybe you
want to be by yourself -- who
knows. So you look down and
see a tortoise. It's crawling
towards you...
LEON
A tortoise. What's that?
HOLDEN
Know what a turtle is?
LEON
Of course.
HOLDEN
Same thing.
LEON
I never seen a turtle.
He sees Holden's patience is wearing thin.
LEON
But I understand what you mean.
HOLDEN
You reach down and flip the
tortoise over on its back, Leon.
Keeping an eye on his subject, Holden notes the dials
in the Voight-Kampff. One of the needles quivers
slightly.
LEON
You make these questions, Mr.
Holden, or they write 'em down
for you?
Disregarding the question, Holden continues, picking
up the pace.
HOLDEN
The tortoise lays on its back,
its belly baking in the hot sun,
beating its legs trying to turn
itself over. But it can't. Not
without your help. But you're
not helping.
Leon's upper lip is quivering.
LEON
Whatcha mean, I'm not helping?
HOLDEN
I mean you're not helping!
Why is that, Leon?
Leon looks shocked, surprised. But the needles in
the computer barely move. Holden goes for the inside
of his coat. But big Leon is faster. His LASER BURNS
a hole the size of a nickel through Holden's stomach.
Unlike a bullet, a laser causes no impact. It goes
through Holden's spine and comes out his back, clean
as a whistle. Like a rag doll he falls back off the
bench from the waist up. By the time he hits the
floor, big slow Leon is already walking away. But he
stops, turns and with a little smile of satisfaction,
FIRES at the machine on the table.
There's a flash and a puff of smoke. The Voight-Kampff
is hit dead center, crippled but not destroyed; as
Leon walks out of the room, one of its lights begins
to blink, faint but steady.
EXT. DESERT - NIGHT 3
The horizon marked by a thin copper line that maybe
the end, of the beginning of a day.
The train that follows, cuts through the night at 400
miles an hour.
INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 4
No clickitty-clack of track-bound noise, it's a long,
insulated Pullman of contoured seats and low-keyed
lighting, coloured to soothe,and empty, except for
the passenger half way down.
His eyes closed, head rested against the glass. Ten
years ago, DECKARD might have been an athlete, a
track man or a welter-weight. The body looks it, but
the face has seen some time -- not all of it good.
INT. TRAIN - REFRESHMENT DISPENSER - NIGHT 5
Deckard comes down the aisle, slips a coin into the
mechanism, receives a beer and returns to his seat.
INT. TRAIN - NIGHT 6
Tired of the program, he takes off the headset and
drops it next to three empty beer bottles and a
sandwich wrapper, adjusts his position and winds up
staring at his reflection in the window. Runs a
hand over his face, it could use a shave. He leans
closer and peers through the glass.
Out there in the black a sign flashes past: SAN
ANGELES, THREE MINUTES.
EXT. PLATFORM - NIGHT 7
The train slides in, smooth as an eel, and stops with-
out a sound. Carrying a bag and umbrella, Deckard
disembarks ahead of the other passengers and into the
sweltering night.
INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT 8
Deckard has got his coat swung over his shoulder, his
shirt already damp, as he walks down the long, hollow
passage under orbs of yellow light.
EXT. TERMINAL - NIGHT 9
Deckard unlocks his car and gets in. Turns the ig-
nition and hits a sensor. The dash console glows
and Deckard sits back waiting for the air unit to cool
things off.
DECKARD (V.O.)
It was 97 degrees in the city and
no hope of improvement. Not bad
if you're a lizard. But two hours
earlier I was drinking Acquavit
with an Eskimo lady in North East
Alaska. That's a tough change to
make. It was so good, I didn't
want to leave, so I left a day
early.
A little detached, Deckard taps another sensor on the
panel, lights up a cigarette and watches as his mes-
sages flash across the viewer stating date, time and
caller. The last one is repeated five times. Deckard
sighs, switches off the viewer and gets on the radio.
DECKARD
Contact. This is Blade Runner One
calling Com-fast 27.
The SOUND OF A CHIME precedes the mechanical female
voice that answers.
VOICE
Blade Runner One, stand by please.
A pause. Followed by a husky male voice.
VOICE
Deckard.
DECKARD
Yah, Gaff.
GAFF (VOICE)
Where the hell you been?
DECKARD
You know where I been. I been on
vacation.
GAFF
Next time you go on vacation,
do me a favor, let us know where
it is.
DECKARD
What's up?
GAFF
Holden got hit.
There is a pause. That was bad news.
DECKARD
Bad?
GAFF
Severed spine. You'd better get
in here. Bryant's waiting for you.
DECKARD
I'll see you in a minute.
The ENGINE REVS, the wipers rake two weeks of dust off
the windshield and Deckard jams out of the lot.
INT. THE HALL OF JUSTICE - NIGHT 10
An enormous grey vault of a building. A businesslike
Deckard strides down a long corridor with his brief-
case and police ID pinned to his coat.
DECKARD (V.O.)
I-X-4-P-D referred to as a Nexus-6,
The Tyrell Corporation's new pride
and joy. Holden was administering
the Voight-Kampff test when one
nailed him.
The door in front of Deckard slides open and he walks
through.
DECKARD (V.O.)
The Nexus-6 must be fast because
Holden was as quick as they come.
The report said there were six of
them. Three males and three female.
Led by a combat model called Roy
Batty.
INT. INSPECTOR BRYANT'S OFFICE - NIGHT 11
The INSPECTOR is in his fifties. The deep creases in
his face, the broken capillaries in his nose say
brawler, spoiler, drinker, but the diplomas on the
wall say something else. Bryant's kneeled at his safe
trying to open it. Deckard it sitting on the edge of
the desk reading the print-out.
DECKARD (V.O.)
They escaped from the colonies
two weeks ago. Killed twenty-
three people and jumped a shuttle.
An aerial patrol found the ship
in the desert. No crew.
Bryant gets the safe open and brings out a bottle of
whiskey.
DECKARD (V.O.)
Bryant's got a liver problem. A
couple years back he handed me a
bottle and said have a drink for
another man. I been drinking
for him ever since.
Deckard sets down the report and takes the shot Bryant
just poured for him.
DECKARD
Six, huh?
BRYANT
Five. Three nights ago one of
them managed to break into the
Tyrell Corporation. Killed two
guards and got as far as the
Genetic Sector before he got
fried going through an electro-
field.
DECKARD
What was he after?
BRYANT
There wasn't much left of him,
so we can't be sure. But bio-
chemical data and morphology records
of the Nexus-6 were reported
missing. Going on the possibility
they might try to infiltrate we
send Holden in to run Voight-Kampff
tests on the new employees. Guess
he found himself one.
A grim pause.
DECKARD
You got a machine on it yet?
BRYANT
We're using Esper -- a 231 -- that
picked up Holden's alarm. Its
guess is that all five are in
the city.
DECKARD
Where do we start?
Bryant's back at the safe locking up his bottle.
BRYANT
The Tyrell Corporation has a
demo model. Check it out on the
Voight-Kampff. There's a chance
the Nexus-6 is beyond out ability
to detect. If that's the case,
everybody's up shit creek.
DECKARD
What was the cover on the one that
got Holden?
BRYANT
Industrial refuse.
DECKARD
Garbage man?
Bryant nods.
DECKARD
Did personnel have an address on
him?
Bryant fishes a piece of paper out of his pocket,
copies down a number and hands it over.
DECKARD
I'll go take a look.
Deckard stands and holds up his drink.
DECKARD
Thanks.
Like a sick boy looking out of the window, Bryant
watches Deckard down the whiskey. Deckard puts down
the glass and turns to leave.
DECKARD (V.O.)
The big incentive to emigrate was
still free labor. If the public
found out that their door-prizes
might kill them, they might not be
so hot to go up there. This was
one of the worst one's we had and
Bryant was worried. He wanted to
tell me to be discrete or something.
But I didn't give him a chance.
EXT. LEON'S HOTEL ENTRANCE - NIGHT 12
An electrical storm is brewing. Deckard stands out-
side the entrance to an old hotel holding an umbrella,
as people scuttle into doorways to avoid the sudden
downpour.
INT. LEON'S HOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT 13
A heavy metal maze of cubicles and perilous iron
balconies, peopled with rejects from the surface world;
Mato Grosso Indians in white man's clothes and other
lower echelon welfare recipients. Drop city is crowded,
cramped and darkly alive.
Deckard steps out of an elevator and moves through the
crowd. A cloud of steam drifts up through a grating
as two old men, clad in towels descend a flight of
stairs under a neon sign that says bath house.
A musty subterranean wind ripples Deckard's clothes as
he turns into an alcove. He stops in front of a door
that says, MANAGER and pushes the buzzer. It's opened
by an emphysema victim with an oxygen tank lashed to
his hip. Deckard flashes his ID and speaks some words
which are inaudible due to the TUBA MUSIC down the hall.
The man grabs a key from his wall, hands it over and
shuts the door.
INT. LEON'S HOTEL CORRIDOR - NIGHT 14
The companion ways below deck of a big ship are no
more bewildering than the ups and downs and ins and
outs of this establishment. But Deckard finds the door
he's looking for. He pauses a moment, listens, then
knocks. He inserts the key and with a hand on his gun
opens it.
INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 15
An empty room. A cot and not much else. He steps in
and stands quiet as a hunter sensing the signs. For a
place surrounded by greasy hovels it is surprisingly
clean. Spartan in fact. The towel by the spotless
basin is perfectly folded.
Deckard runs two fingers over a shelf. No dust. He
looks in the waste basket. Wadded up candy wrappers.
The bed by the window is neatly made. Deckard looks
under it, then runs his hands along both sides of the
mattress.
The closet. There's one suit in it. He pats it down.
Nothing. A show box on the floor. He stoops, takes
out what looks like a pen from his pocket and care-
fully traces it over the box. Assured of its harm-
lessness, he lifts off the lid.
It contains a little stack of photos bound with a
rubber band. Deckard removes them, goes to the lamp
by the balcony window and turns it on.
A touching collection of family snapshots. The kind of
anonymous stuff sold by the bunch in dusty junk shops.
The family dog. Junior on the pony squinting in the
sun. Uncle Ben clowning with the kids. The faded
polaroid of Christmas morning. Simple pictures of
simple folks celebrating the family bond. A curious
collection for the likes of Leon and Deckard studies
them with interest.
EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 16
Oblivious to the cloudburst, a blue-eyed albino stands
in the doorway, peddling candy and artificial flowers
looking like he'd never been touched by the light of
day.
Leon is standing behind him, staring up at his room,
watching Deckard at the window. He's still wearing
his coveralls, but he looks different. His face is
more intent, smarter and angry.
EXT. STREET BELOW - NIGHT 17
For one seething moment it looks like Leon might mash
something, but suddenly he swings away and disappears
into the crowd.
INT. LEON'S ROOM - NIGHT 18
Deckard pockets the pictures and moves away from the
window.
EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT 19
Leon's got a neck like a fire hydrant and legs to
match, but he's a graceful runner. Looks like he could
do it for days. And he could. He's put a lot of alley
behind him and he's not out of breath.
EXT. CHINATOWN - NIGHT 20
Slowing down he cuts into an opening and comes out onto
a narrow street. The Asian Quarter.
INT. CHOP SUEY HOUSE - NIGHT 21
A seamy as well as steamy little place. Counter and
small tables. Old slant-eyed enders humped over their
fuming bowls jabbering and slurping.
The only voice coming out clear is from the big three-
D TV on the back wall. As the mellow-mouthed TV
announcer delivers the message, a Latin-looking beauty
in a well-fitted maids uniform does a twirl, flashes
a beguiling smile and glides OUT OF FRAME.
ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Choose from a variety of seventy
nine different personality types.
Each and every one a loyal trouble-
free companion given to you upon
your arrival absolutely free...
The Latin beauty is replaced by an impeccable Ray
Bolger type gentleman's gentleman who clicks his heels,
snaps to attention and struts off to make room for the
next.
ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
To use as personal body servant
to tireless field hand -- the
custom tailored humanoid robot,
designed especially for your
needs.
The Chinese are paying no attention, but the man and
the woman seated at the table by the window are.
The woman is pretty, a touch of gray in her hair, kind
and blue-eyed. MARY looks like an American dream mom,
right out of "Father Knows Best."
The man also resembles a tradition: the gym instructor,
short cropped hair with the body of a drill sergeant,
but the eyes are grey and chilling. ROY BATTY is a
presence of force with a lazy, but acute sense of what
goes on around him.
Leon has just come through the door behind them. Try-
ing not to be the bull in a china shop, he approaches
their table and kneels. Batty doesn't bother to look
at him, which amplifies the note of sarcasm in his
quiet voice.
BATTY
Did you get your precious 'things'?
LEON
Somebody was already there.
BATTY
Police.
LEON
Just a man.
BATTY
Police man.
Leon looks sullen.
BATTY
Why don't you have a seat.
There's one next to him. Leon pulls it over and sits.
BATTY
Enjoy the view.
From the pot on the table, Mary pours tea and they sit
so quiet and still in this noisy place that they seem
almost invisible. The view they're "enjoying" is
through the window. Outside the neon side in the win-
dow directly across the street says: HANNIBAL CHEW,
MEMBERS.
INT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S SHOP - NIGHT 22
Chew is a spindly old man of precision, his veiled
eyes are shrewd and Chinese, but the rest of him
looks like a Charles Dickens invention.
He's got a jewelers' glass stuck in his eye, lurched
over a lamp, squinting at something in his hand. After
a moment his lips peal back into a sour, belligerent
smile.
CHEW
Well, you're right. This little
honey has a couple of defective cones.
He snaps off the lamp and swings round to face his
client.
SEBASTIAN'S face is almost young, but something has
gone too far, too fast. Premature old age has made
his bones brittle and his co-ordination slow. The
house may be dark but there's a light on in it. Se-
bastian is a closet genius.
CHEW
You're a regular perfectionist,
Sebastian.
Sebastian's apologetic, especially around the acerbic
Mr. Chew.
SEBASTIAN
It's gotta be right for my
customer.
CHEW
Your customer, eh?
Chew snickers and beckons. Sebastian follows his down
a high narrow hall to a heavy insulated door. There's
a moth-eaten full length fur coat hanging by it. Chew
tugs it on and they go through. The big door slams
shut behind them.
INT. COLD STORAGE ROOM - NIGHT 23
Except for the work table with its sharp gleaming in-
struments, the room is as barren and sterile as a
morgue. The glass-doored compartments in the walls
look like crypts. Some of them small as post office
boxes. From one of the Chew removes a vacuum, packed
box. Carefully separating the seal, he reaches into
the purple jell and with a pair of tweezers extracts
an eye.
Through the jeweler's glass, which he has not bothered
to remove, Chew holds the eye up to the light and
studies it a moment. His other hand searches through
his pockets.
CHEW
You got a pocket-charger, boy?
Quick to accommodate, Sebastian removes a pencil-like
device from a row of such things in his breast pocket
and steps closer. The back of the eye is touched with
the pencil and the pupil moves. Suddenly its staring
back at them.
CHEW
Is that good enough for your
customer?
Anxious to leave, Sebastian nods. Chew reseals the
eye taking his time. He can afford to, he's wearing
his coat.
CHEW
How much is he paying you?
In place of an answer, Sebastian clears his throat,
stares at the bag like he didn't hear.
CHEW
Well, when do you get paid?
SEBASTIAN
Soon as I finish the job.
CHEW
When might that be?
SEBASTIAN
Day after tomorrow.
CHEW
Oh! Day after tomorrow.
Sebastian nods. Chew stares at the poor bastard, con-
cerned in spite of himself.
CHEW
The rich hate to pay, Sebastian.
A guy like Tyrell keeps you waiting.
Pay the little guy last. You should
charge twice as much. It'll make
him feel better.
Sebastian nods his head like that's exactly what he'll
do. Chew sees it's hopeless and hands him the bag.
SEBASTIAN
Thanks, Mr. Chew.
Chew pulls the door open for him and Sebastian goes
through quick as a dog.
EXT. HANNIBAL CHEW'S STORE - STREET - NIGHT 24
Sebastian may lack co-ordination but he got what he
came for and there's a hopeful spring to his walk as
he heads for his truck.
INT. SEBASTIAN'S AMBULANCE - NIGHT 25
It's an old panel job with ambulance siren and lights.
The lettering on the side reads "J.R. SEBASTIAN -
ANIMOID EXPRESS." Sebastian gets in, starts up the
engine and suddenly realizes he's not alone. It's a
jolt that causes him to yelp.
PRIS is sprawled on the seat next to him, and wakes up
with a yelp of her own. They stare at one another for
a startled instant, and she jumps out and starts walk-
ing.
But she's forgotten her little beat-up overnight case.
Sebastian puts the truck in gear, drives next to her
and opens the door.
SEBASTIAN
Hey! You forgot your...
He holds up the bag. Hesitantly she reaches for it.
SEBASTIAN
How come you were in my truck?
PRIS
I was tired and didn't have any
place to go.
She stares at him, hand on her case, looking lost.
Sebastian isn't good at this, but he tries.
SEBASTIAN
You can get back in if you want...
She can't make up her mind.
SEBASTIAN
Don't worry, I won't hurt you.
She gets in. Both of them are silent. People are not
Sebastian's medium -- usually he's too shy, but this
girl is shyer still, plus they're about the same age --
it gives him courage.
SEBASTIAN
What's your name?
PRIS
Pris.
SEBASTIAN
Mine's J.F. Sebastian.
PRIS
Hi.
So pleased with the way that went, he forgets for a
while what comes next.
SEBASTIAN
Oh! Where do you want to go?
She shrugs. That leaves him a lot of responsibility.
He throws her side-long glances, but she's not helping.
SEBASTIAN
You want to go home?
PRIS
I don't have one.
SEBASTIAN
Oh.
What do you do with a teenage beauty who looks like
she's lost out of some "Welcome to Sunny Arizona"
poster?
SEBASTIAN
Where are your folks?
PRIS
They left.
SEBASTIAN
What about friends?
PRIS
I have some, but I have to find
out where they are staying.
She leans forward and rests her elbows on the dash.
Her body would win prizes, from any angle.
SEBASTIAN
Well, where should I take you?
She looks at him,a shadow of enticement in her clear
blue eyes.
PRIS
We scared each other pretty good
didn't we?
SEBASTIAN
We sure did.
She giggles and laughs.
PRIS
I'm hungry, J.F.
SEBASTIAN
I've got stuff. If you wanna go
to my place?
PRIS
I was hoping you'd say that.
Sebastian's face is normally on the grey side, but it
just turned red. He turns on the ignition and they
pull away from the curb.
INT. DECKARD'S CAR - FREEWAY - NIGHT 26
Speeding along the freeway. The terminal in the com-
munications console lit. Deckard's right hand just
finished a punch-up. The screen flashes back.
REQUEST
Deckard punches up. Letters flash across the screen:
ESPER
Screen flashes back:
CLEARANCE
Deckard punches up.
BLADE RUNNER ONE CODE ML-33
Pause.
Screen flashes:
STAND BY.
Deckard's voice has been heard over the preceding.
DECKARD (V.O.)
Machines can be helpful sometimes,
but they can also be a pain in the
ass. Ask for a trace on a forger
and you might wind up at a steel-
mill. I don't mind a bum-steer once
in a while -- it's their personalities
that usually get me. Somebody once
said that man makes machines in his own
image. If that's true, whoever made
Esper should have been shot.
ESPER
This is Esper and I'm ready. Go
ahead please.
Esper's deep melodious voice is anxious to please, and
oiled with a touch of self-pity.
DECKARD
You equipped for random questions?
ESPER
Why, yes, of course.
DECKARD
You start.
ESPER
The five in question are third
generation Nexus Sixes, constructed
of skin-flesh culture, selected
enogenic transfer conversion
capable of self-perpetuating
thought, para-physical abilities
and developed for emigration
program. Are you with me?
DECKARD
How do I stop one?
ESPER
Unlike a five, they can sustain
massive traumas to several parts
of the body without debilitating
another. Sever a leg and it will
perform quicker on the remaining leg
than the fastest man can run,
DECKARD
Okay, but...
ESPER
I'm coming to that. Vulnerable
zone is the base of the skull,
the occipital bone. A direct hit
is a positive retirement.
The communication is interrupted by a BELL which is
immediately followed by a stern, MECHANICAL VOICE.
VOICE
You are in violation of traffic
ordinance M-139 statutory freeway
limit restricted by one-hundred
and eighty kilometers.
In his rear view mirror Deckard sees two black-clad
motorcycle cops coming up behind him like the hounds
of hell. They draw silently alongside. Deckard
presses his I.D. to the window.
The cop tosses a salute to Deckard and he and his
partner accelerate, vanish in the night. And Deckard's
car does too.
EXT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT 27
A district of silence and ruin. The street is strewn
with refuse. The building looks vacant. A ten storey
condo gone to shit. The vandals have come and gone
long ago.
Sebastian's little white ambulance parked at the curb.
MR. DEETCHUM, the old Watchman, sitting in the building
entry in a straight backed chair, is reading a comic
book.
INT. SEBASTIAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 28
Well stocked with items of survival, all labeled and
stacked. And shelved along the walls and hung from the
ceiling is a menagerie of animoids. Like so many broken
toys awaiting resurrection from Sebastian's wise hands.
Sebastian is seated at a large work-table, bent over a
stereo scope. The tool in his right hand is a sensor
probe and he's using it with the delicacy of an en-
graver.
The object of his concentration is a maze-like chip
configuration no bigger than a thumbnail, but magnified
under the scope, it looks like an aerial view of a
large city. The needle-like sensor probe moves care-
fully over the contours of the configuration, testing
the bonds.
Suddenly a blue flash erupts from one of the junctures.
SEBASTIAN
Oh!
Pris is light on her feet. She's standing behind him
with a half-eaten sandwich in her hand.
PRIS
Whatcha doin'?
SEBASTIAN
You scared me.
But he's happy to see her.
SEBASTIAN
I'm working.
She's changed her dress and made up her face. Looks a
little older and sexier.
SEBASTIAN
You look... better.
PRIS
Just better.
SEBASTIAN
Beautiful.
PRIS
Thanks.
He watches her as she prowls around the room, looking
at this and that, eating her sandwich.
PRIS
And you live in this building all
by yourself?
SEBASTIAN
Yeah, I live here pretty much
alone right now...
Trying to make light of it.
SEBASTIAN
No housing shortage around here...
plenty of room for everybody.
She sprawls on the couch studying him.
PRIS
How old are you?
He can't meet her eyes.
SEBASTIAN
Twenty.
PRIS
What's your problem?
It's not an easy subject. His voice is barely audible.
SEBASTIAN
Methuselah Syndrome.
PRIS
What's that?
SEBASTIAN
My glands. They grow old too fast.
PRIS
Is that why you're still here?
SEBASTIAN
Yes. I couldn't pass the test.
There is a silence. He steals a glance at her.
PRIS
I like you just the way you are.
Under the desk he bats his knees together.
SEBASTIAN
Ah, you get hold of your friends?
PRIS
As a matter of fact I did. They've
got some work to do tonight, but
they're gonna come tomorrow.
SEBASTIAN
Good.
The implications catch up.
SEBASTIAN
I can sleep on the couch.
A little gray mouse on the shelf above his head bobs
up.
MOUSE
Don't let the bed bugs bite!
Taking their cue from the mouse, some of the more
talented animoids toot, flap and wheel about.
INT. DECKARD'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 29
It's dark except for the glow of the terminal. A tired
Deckard sits in front of it. Esper sounds like he's
been talking for hours.
ESPER
Nexus designated Leon: incept
date April 10th, 2015 -- to be
used in military experiments to
determine how hyper metabolism
functions in deep space.
Nexus designated Batty incept
data April 10th, 2015, combat
model, level of self-sufficiency,
optimum.
A long pause.
ESPER
Here's something you might find
interesting. They have been built
to emulate the human in every way
except in its emotional spectrum.
However, after a period of time
it is only logical that such a
'mechanism' would create its own
emotional responses, hate, love,
fear, anger, envy.
DECKARD
I know all that.
ESPER
What about a summary then.
DECKARD
I think we're through for the night.
Deckard starts to reach for the panel.
ESPER
Mr. Deckard.
Hesitates.
DECKARD
Yes?
ESPER
Do you have something against
science?
DECKARD
Not if it works.
ESPER
And what in your estimation works?
DECKARD
The umbrella.
Deckard picks up the umbrella and with it stabs the
terminal off button before Esper can respond and the
machine goes dead. He sits there for a moment then
flips on the lamp. Leon's snap-shots are spread out
before him.
INT. SPINNER - DAY 30
A police marked spinner makes a sharp bank, drops into
a steep curve and slides towards the Tyrell Corporation.
DECKARD (V.O.)
Every government that could was
racing to populate their colonial
territory. But emigrants needed
incentive. Over-population and
the greenhouse factor didn't seem
to be enough; but owning a human
look-a-like had lots of appeal.
It was big industry, the competition
was stiff and Tyrell was top of the
line.
EXT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 31
The spinner gently touches down. The hatch drops open
and Deckard steps out.
DECKARD (V.O.)
His claim to fame was making a
product more human than human and
sometimes the 'more' turned out to
be a problem. This wasn't just an
escaped andy who broke his owner's
arm -- there were twenty-eight
people dead and the pressure was
on.
INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - DAY 32
Deckard walks up to a desk, hands his I.D. to a guard
who checks it against a list on a screen.
DECKARD (V.O.)
But so far they'd always managed
to keep it quiet. Not to say
that once in a while there wasn't
bad publicity. Some fanatic
bitching about equal rights for
andies or an occasional trade union
proclaiming it was un-American for
automatons to take jobs away from
humans on the colony.
The guard hands Deckard back his I.D., pushed a button
and Deckard walks away.
DECKARD (V.O.)
But what's more American than good
old supply and demand? The
Government needed them, industry
made them and the church backed
them. The big religious boys
said that Androids, no matter how
human, were objects; only God
could make people. I'm not religious,
but I was inclined to agree.
Otherwise I'd be out of a job.
The elevator door slides open. The young lady inside
would look right standing on a cliff, hair blowing in
the wind, looking out to sea in a 19th Century painting.
RACHAEL
Hello, Mr. Deckard. My name is
Rachael.
Deckard tips his head to her and steps in.
INT. TYRELL CORPORATION ELEVATOR - DAY 33
No woman can be all things to all men, but Rachael comes
closer than most. The only trouble is she's all busi-
ness. Formidable without really trying. Some beauty
is better avoided and Deckard looks straight ahead.
INT. TYRELL CORPORATION CORRIDOR - DAY 33A
The door slides open and they continue down the corri-
dor.
RACHAEL
It seems your department doesn't
believe out new unit is to the
public benefit.
DECKARD
A humanoid robot is like any other
machine, it can be a benefit or a
hazard. If it's a benefit, it's
not our problem.
RACHAEL
But because your department can't
do an adequate job in detecting
the miniscule number at large,
it's a problem. Correct, Mr.
Deckard?
INT. TYRELL CORPORATION - AIR-FILTERED CORRIDOR - DAY 33B
They pass into a canopied, air-filtered corridor.
Deckard doesn't answer the question because he's looking
at the animals. Small northern animals in neat "en-
vironmental" cages. He looks at the rabbit, the raccoon
and the squirrel, but the owl asleep on its perch stops
him. The armed guard at the exit never takes his eyes
off them.
RACHAEL
You like our owl?
Deckard nods. Rachael claps her hands. The owl opens
its yellow eyes and blinks at them.
DECKARD
It's artificial?
RACHAEL
Of course not.
Hands thrust in her pockets, she strides off towards
the exit without looking back.
The exit is another tube. Just big enough for two. No
room for excess. He tries to ignore her cool appraising
stare.
RACHAEL
You're in a very unique position,
Mr. Deckard. You could affect the
future of this entire organization
according to how you work your
little test.
Deckard has nothing to say.
RACHAEL
Are you apprehensive?
DECKARD
Why should I be?
RACHAEL
For the responsibility of your
power. Being a police bureaucrat,
you've got more than your share.
The door slides open. Deckard looks down at her.
DECKARD
You got it wrong, girl. I work
with the bureau not for them.
He lets it sink in.
DECKARD
My job isn't to detect
malfunctioning andies, it's to
eliminate them. The more the
better.
He walks out of the elevator first.
INT. INNER SANCTUM OF DR. TYRELL - DAY 34
The office is dimly lit, but highlights of resilience
reside in the luster of the antique furnishings, like
glimmers of gold in a darkened mine. Dr. Tyrell is a
fragile man of power, with that look of "youth" obtained
from steroids and surgery. Dapper and trim, he leans
against the desk looking at an old fashioned pocket
watch. The only sound is the insidious PERKING of COFFEE
BREWING in the background.
Tyrell taps a sensor on his desk. The door in front of
Deckard and Rachael slides open. They enter a vestibule
and face another door, this one befitting the decor of
the office, Tyrell slips the watch into his pocket as
they enter.
RACHAEL
Mr. Deckard. Dr. Eldon Tyrell.
TYRELL
How do you do, Mr. Deckard. Please
sit down. Would you care for a cup
of coffee?
DECKARD
Thanks.
TYRELL
Black?
DECKARD
Please.
Tyrell pours from an old time sylex into small china
cups and hands one to Deckard. The congenial light in
his eyes could almost pass for warmth -- dragon warmth.
TYRELL
Somehow, I didn't expect that the
man who did the dirty work would
be the man to do the technical
work. Here you are, Mr. Deckard.
He hands Deckard a cup of coffee.
TYRELL
Is this to be an empathy test?
DECKARD
Yes.
TYRELL
Capillary dilation of the so-called
blush response? Plus fluctuation
of the pupil, plus involuntary
dilation of the iris?
Deckard nods.
TYRELL
May I ask a personal question?
DECKARD
Go ahead.
TYRELL
Have you ever retired a human by
mistake?
DECKARD
No.
TYRELL
But in your profession that is a
risk.
DECKARD
Nothing is infallible, but so far
the Voight-Kampff scale has been
foolproof.
TYRELL
Like you said, Mr. Deckard, a
machine can be a hazard. The
Voight-Kampff scale is a machine,
isn't it?
DECKARD
One that relies on human
interpretation. Where's the
subject?
TYRELL
Sitting next to you.
Deckard stares at Rachael, then back at Tyrell. Delighted,
Tyrell takes a cup of coffee.
Accepting the challenge, Deckard opens his briefcase and
starts fishing out the apparatus.
THE VOIGHT-KAMPFF 35
Rachael's eye fills the screen, the iris brilliant, shot
with light, the pupil contracting.
DECKARD'S VOICE
Ready.
RACHAEL
Go ahead.
In the soft green glow of the dials, the needles in both
gauges are at rest. Dr. Tyrell stands silhouetted behind
Deckard, who sits in front of Rachael, a pencil beam
trained on her eye. Wire mesh discs are attached to her
cheeks.
DECKARD
You're given a calfskin wallet
for your birthday.
The needles in both gauges swing violently past green to
red, then subside.
RACHAEL
I wouldn't accept it. Also, I'd
report the person who gave it to
me to the police.
DECKARD
You have a little boy. He shows
you his butterfly collection, plus
the killing jar.
Again the gauges register, but not so far.
RACHAEL
I'd take him to the doctor.
DECKARD
You're watching T.V. and suddenly
you notice a wasp crawling on your
wrist.
RACHAEL
I'd kill it.
Both needles go to red. Deckard makes a note, takes a
sip of coffee and continues.
DECKARD
In a magazine you come across a
full-page photo of a nude girl.
RACHAEL
Is this testing whether I'm an
android or a lesbian?
DECKARD
You show the picture to your husband.
He likes it and hangs it on the wall.
The girl is lying on a bearskin rug.
RACHEL
I wouldn't let him.
DECKARD
Why not?
RACHAEL
I should be enough for him.
Deckard frowns, then smiles. His smile looks a little
like a grimace or the other way around.
DECKARD
You become pregnant by a man who
runs off with your best friend,
and you decide to get an abortion.
RACHAEL
I'd never get an abortion.
DECKARD
Why not?
RACHAEL
That would be murder, Mr. Deckard.
DECKARD
In your opinion.
RACHAEL
It would be my child.
DECKARD
Sounds like you speaks from
experience.
He notes the needles. One goes green and the other
remains inert.
DECKARD
Last question. You're watching
an old movie. It shows a banquet in
progress, the guests are enjoying
raw oysters.
RACHAEL
Ugh.
Both needles swing swiftly.
DECKARD
The entree consists of boiled
dog stuffed with rice.
Needles move less.
DECKARD
The raw oysters are less acceptable
to you than a dish of boiled dog.
Deckard moves the adhesive discs from her cheeks and
switches off his beam.
DECKARD
Lights please.
The lights come on.
TYRELL
Well?
DECKARD
If she is, the machine works.
TYRELL
The machine works. She is.
Rachael sits very still. Except her eyes -- they go to
Tyrell and hang on. He stares back at her as he speaks.
TYRELL
How many questions did it take?
DECKARD
Thirteen.
Rachael sits rigidly in her chair, as the ground crumbles
around her, her big mermaid eyes locked with Tyrell.
His voice is quiet and strong, mesmerizing. She's hang-
ing by a thread.
Deckard watches with a bas taste in his mouth.
DECKARD
She didn't know?
TYRELL
Memory implant. She was programmed.
But I think she has transcended
her conditioning. I think she was
beginning to suspect.
Rachael nods fixedly. Careful not to let go her grasp.
TYRELL
How many questions does it usually
take, Mr. Deckard?
DECKARD
Five, maybe six.
Slowly, carefully, Tyrell unlocks his gaze from Rachael
and turns towards Deckard, who is starting to put away
his equipment.
TYRELL
You're going to have to be on your
toes, my friend.
Deckard glances back at him.
TYRELL
It's a complex problem and we
wouldn't want anything to happen
to you.
Less of a man might shrink at the end of Deckard's look,
but not Tyrell.
TYRELL
For the good of all, I recommend
you take Rachael with you.
Considering her uniqueness, I'm
sure she could prove quite helpful.
Deckard almost smiles at the nasty power of Tyrell's
style. He turns away and starts packing up the Voight-
Kampff.
DECKARD
No thanks.
Deckard is ready to go.
TYRELL
And how is it one man will be able
to cover so much ground?
DECKARD
Discreetly.
TYRELL
All pertinent information is
being fed into your departmental
computer, an Esper 231 -- I
believe -- and a photo over-lay
packet is being produced.
Deckard opens the door.
TYRELL
Mr. Deckard, I think it would be
wise to reconsider my offer.
Rachael sits there very pale and expressionless, her
feet flat on the floor, alone is the word.
Trying to keep the fury out of it, Deckard's voice
comes out in a whisper.
DECKARD
I work alone.
On the last word, Rachael glances up at him and Deckard
turns away. The outer door slides open and he goes
through it.
INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 36
As seen through the windshield from the passenger side
of a vintage Dusenberg. The headlights cut through the
dark, illuminating a narrow strip of mountain road. A
downgrade.
A sign slides by stating: "Caution Curves Ahead."
Good advice considering the sheer nightmare of a drop
to the right and the wall of solid rock to the left.
The steady HUM of the ENGINE and the HISS of the TIRES
will remain, but the location suddenly changes to:
INT. ROOM - NIGHT 37
A pleasant place of soft light and domestic charm. The
young lady in the short dress is vacuuming the rug.
Her back to the viewer. As she bends over to vacuum
beneath the couch, exposing her beautiful ass, an
admonishment from a resonant and slightly tired MALE
VOICE intercedes.
VOICE
Let's keep our eyes on the road,
Deckard.
DECKARD'S VOICE
Sorry.
Abruptly the VIEW FLASHES BACK TO:
INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 38
The moon is up there slicing through the trees, strobing
over the hood of the car. The road is getting steeper
and the corners sharper. Rags of mist skim by as the
Dusenberg picks up speed. It is becoming a riveting
ride, but the passenger's mind moves elsewhere.
EXT. WOODS - DAY 39
Swift, soft clouds overhead. In the cold shine of
the icy light,the viewer walks down an aisle of maples
and beeches, their clean hard limbs deflecting the
frosty light, and underfoot the crisp, blue-white snow,
melted through in spots, exposing soggy patches of rich
brown earth.
VOICE
Come on, stay with the machine.
INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 40
The Dusenberg is going faster now, headlights eating
up the road. Rushing the corners in gut wrenching four-
wheel drifts. Not a pleasant sensation if you don't
like roller-coasters.
The Dusenberg slides out of a corner and faces a couple
hundred yards of straightway leading to the next bend.
Good place for a breather, but the driver shifts into
high and screws on.
EXT. LAKE - DAY 41
Cold and gray. The current running strong. The nose
of a kayak points through the swells, the viewer paddling
for the shore.
This is cold remote country, wild and untouched. A sky
bluer than the Madonna's cloak. The kayak banks and
the viewer steps out, moving over the sandy beach
towards a little camp.
VOICE
We're going to have to start the
sequence again if you don't stay
with me, Deckard. Concentrate.
DECKARD'S VOICE
How do you know I'm not?
VOICE
You're not responding to the
stimulus. I can see right here,
I'm not getting a reading.
DECKARD'S VOICE
I'm tired of this.
VOICE
Almost through.
INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT 42
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