Another's breath; he heard it, a sigh, as of one dreaming. He turned toward the bed and saw her, face against the silken pillow, dark hair loosened along the curve of her shoulders. For a moment his heart stopped between one beat and the next as he gazed down at the sleeping woman, his hand reaching out and then hesitating, fingertips trembling an inch away from her pale cheek…
There was something else on the bed, smaller and darker. A weight of metal, one part molded to fit the human hand, his hand. He picked the gun up, balancing it in his palm. It was either his old one or another just like it. He could tell, just by the few ounces difference, that a full clip was loaded inside. Ready to go.
That was thoughtful of her. Deckard brought his index finger around the thin crescent inside the gun's trigger guard. He straightened his arm, bringing the muzzle's cold circle of metal to the brow of the sleeping Sarah Tyrell…
"Would you really do that?" A voice, her voice, spoke from behind him.
He turned, looking over his shoulder. A different light from the massed candles shone toward him. He saw now that the ornate antique desk from the office suite had been pulled closer, between the columns that marked the bedchamber. Thick cables snaked back from a large-screen video monitor to the wall cabinet that had previously held it. A remote-controlled camera, red dot blinking above the lens, focused on him. On the monitor's screen was Sarah's image, her hair smoothed and bound, a thin smile at her lips as she regarded the scene before her.
He said nothing. But slowly, carefully, drew the gun away from the sleeping woman on the bed. The other one…
"I wasn't sure if you would or not." Sarah's voice came again from the monitor's speaker. "So I thought it best to be careful. You've been through some rough experiences just recently. That could make anybody… unpredictable."
"You brought her here." A simple statement of fact, that which he now saw to be true. "You sent somebody up north, to get her." He looked down again at the sleeping woman. At Rachael, sleeping… and dying. "You shouldn't have taken her out of the transport module." The last time he had seen her, she'd been beneath the black coffin's transparent lid. There, the interval between each breath had been measurable in hours; here, he could see the pulse in her soft throat ticking away the seconds, the minutes. He turned a fierce glare at the mirror image on the monitor screen. "She doesn't have that much time left."
"A relative concept." Sarah's image smiled. "I expect she has more time than I would have, if I'd been so foolish as to make myself physically present during this little conversation. So I hope you'll excuse this contrivance, this… electronic separation between us. As I said, I don't know what you're capable of doing now." She regarded him almost with pity. "We've grown apart, haven't we?"
He knew she was mocking him. The urge to raise the gun, aim, and put a bullet through the monitor was almost irresistible. Anything to silence her. "Why did you do it? Have her brought here?"
"Why are you so angry?" The camera on top of the monitor shifted, the lens focusing on the bed's sleeping figure, then returning to him. "Isn't that what you wanted? To see her again-perhaps I thought that would make you happy. Isn't that the most a woman can do? Really, Deckard… there's no abasement greater than that. Even if she is the exact duplicate of me. It's still not quite the same thing, is it?"
He regarded her image for a moment. "And the gun? What was that for?"
"I didn't know what you'd do… but I wanted to find out. It's important to know these things." One of the image's eyebrows raised. "You've found out quite a few things as well. Haven't you?"
"Everything you wanted me to."
"Oh? Such as?"
He stood in a room lit by candles, with a sleeping woman on the bed behind him, and the same woman's image, phosphor dots and radiant glass, inside a metal box. As though the living and the dying had somehow exchanged places. He had to close his eyes, shut out everything, reassembling the component elements of his thoughts, before he could go on.
"There's no sixth replicant." Deckard opened his eyes and looked straight into the monitor.
"Perhaps." Sarah's image gave a noncommittal shrug.
"There never was. That was just Bryant screwing up, a misfired brain cell. A slip of the tongue, too much alcohol. He couldn't keep track of the nose on his face when he was sloshed."
A shake of the image's head. "What about the information he purged from the police files? The off-world authorities' report about the escape?"
"I never saw those things. You told me about them." He let the gun dangle at his side. "And you were lying. Simple as that."
"Ah." Sarah's image slowly nodded. "If that were the case… it would explain a lot. Wouldn't it? I suppose it's too late, after all I've put you through, to say that I've been completely honest with you."
"You're right. It's too late."
The image gazed sadly, pityingly, at him. "Then it doesn't matter whether I tell you there actually is a sixth missing replicant or not. You won't believe me. About that or anything else."
"Maybe not. But you could start by telling me some other things. Like why you set Dave Holden out looking for your sixth replicant, too."
"That… was someone else's idea. The person I hired before was Roy Batty. The original, the human one, not a replicant-or at least as far as I know. I believe he brought Holden in on the project. But that's unimportant."
"I agree." Deckard glanced over his shoulder; Rachael had stirred in her sleep, but not woken. "Especially now that Batty's dead. Again."
"Of course he is." Sarah's image smiled. "I knew as soon as it happened. I had ways of monitoring the state of his health."
"I bet you did."
The image regarded him. "And is that when you knew?"
Deckard nodded. "I saw him die. It wasn't the same as the other one. I saw right in Batty's eyes. I could tell that he wasn't a replicant… that he was human. And that it didn't matter either way."
"Ah." A smile formed on the image's face. "How very mystical of you. Then what does? Matter, that is."
"Just the question," said Deckard. "Why you've done any of this. With me, or anybody else. And why you killed Bryant.,'
"Yes…" The image nodded, apparently pleased. "I knew you'd figure that out. Let's face it; you've accurately described him just now. An alcoholic, losing track of the details… not very reliable. Not for my purposes, at least. I prefer having my secrets well kept. Bryant was necessary, at one time, to set things up. And then he became… less than necessary. A liability. And he had to be eliminated." Another small shrug. "And I had to do it. Not because it's the sort of thing I enjoy doing. But just because he knew me. His defenses were down, so to speak."
"All right…" Deckard nodded. "I'm not exactly crying for him. Now answer the other question. Why would you put together a conspiracy to eliminate the blade runners? Just to make sure nobody could track down your precious replicants when they get loose?"
The pitying gaze returned to the image's face. "You're not thinking clearly, are you? I've told you before-you just don't know how things work in this world. If the blade runners were eliminated-and it appeared that a mysterious, unidentifiable Nexus-6 replicant had not only eluded them, but had killed them rather than letting itself be killed-then the UN, authorities would shut down the Tyrell Corporation. They'd push that little red button, the one that ensures the destruction of our dangerous technology."
He gave another single nod. "You told me that."
"You were right, Deckard, when you said I'd lied to you. I have to admit that now. I told you I wanted you to track down the sixth replicant, and save the Tyrell Corporation…" The image leaned forward on the monitor screen, its gaze sharpening and fastening tighter upon him. "That was the lie, Deckard. I wanted you to fail. I wanted all of you-Batty and Holden as well-to not only fail, but to kill each other off. What else could you do? With no missing replicant to find, you'd turn on each other. Not just the blade runners, but anyone else capable of tracking down escaped replieants, such as Roy Batty, would be eliminated. And the U.N. authorities would know about it. Not how it happened, but that it did. And that would be enough. For my purposes."