“Holden!” Behind him, Batty thrashed and shouted, voice echoing in the bathroom’s tiled confines. “I’ll fix your ass—”
He could still hear the other man screaming violent curses as he slammed the front door shut. Despite the pounding of the machines inside himself, he broke into a quick trot for the elevator. He didn’t know how long the cuffs would hold Batty; the man had looked enraged enough to pull the pipe right out of the wall. Holden punched the ground-floor button and leaned against the elevator’s inside wall, a squadron of black spots swarming in front of his eyes.
A couple of minutes later he was aloft in the freight spinner, banking it in a tight curve, then accelerating in a straight line. To where Deckard would actually have gone to hole up.
As the spinner climbed above the city, Holden could see a flash of hot sunlight reflected from the ocean off to the west. At the horizon, a dark mass of clouds had begun to form.
They heard the door being broken in. The teddy bear raised its head as though sniffing the air for the source of the commotion; the spike-helmeted soldier moved in front of Sebastian, a defensive barrier against whatever might come through the kitchen doorway.
From instinct, Deckard reached for a weapon at his hip—and found nothing. Turning, he pulled open one of the counter drawers and extracted from it a paring knife with a cracked handle.
The sounds of someone moving through the front part of the apartment, a passage made more difficult by the rooms being tilted onto their sides—a figure appeared at the doorway, bending down to look in on them.
“Holden . . .” Surprised, Deckard nearly dropped the knife he held. “What’re you doing here?”
“You mean, why aren’t I stuck in a hospital somewhere, with tubes running in and out of me.” The other man ducked his head past the door frame and dropped into the kitchen space.
He glanced at the knife in Deckard’s hand. “Nice to see you, too.” His gaze swept across the figures in the room. “Christ, what a welcoming committee.”
“They’re a family.” Deckard set the knife down on the up-ended section of the counter.
“We should be so lucky.”
The Pris-thing fastened its red-eyed glare on Holden, then hissed, spine arching catlike.
Sebastian’s single hand stroked the thing’s shoulder. “Now, Pris, there’s no call for that. This gentleman’s not gonna hurt you—”
“What the hell—” Loathing wonder was visible on Holden’s face.
“Don’t sweat it,” said Deckard. “She’s his old girlfriend. One of the escaped replicants. She’s been . . . recycled. Sort of.” He nodded toward the figure on the back of the teddy bear.
“Sebastian’s clever that way.”
“Pris! Wait! You don’t have to—” The voice from the amputated torso rose into a wail as the corpse of his love darted away from him, disappearing into the dark recesses of the safe-house apartment. Sebastian’s arm reached futilely for the skeletonized figure, already gone from sight.
“Nice going, Dave.” Deckard peered closer at the figure in front of him. “You know . . . I figured you’d probably be dead by now. Or something.”
“Yeah, well, that was the plan. But I got a new lease on life.” With the flat of his hand, he thumped his chest, turned pale, then recovered. “Feel like a new man. Part of me, at least. No thanks to that pile-of-shit Bryant.” Holden’s expression darkened to a scowl. “Bastard set me up. I’m going to make sure he goes into major payback mode.”
“Wait a minute.” He didn’t know what exactly his expartner was talking about, but one thing was clear. “You don’t know, do you? Bryant’s dead.”
The info rocked Holden back against the wall. Deckard could almost see the gears spinning in the other’s head as he tried to incorporate the new datum into his thinking.
“He’s dead . . .” Holden lifted his hand, as though there were a veil before him that he had to part in order to see clearly. “Did he just pop off from a heart attack, something like that? The fat pig was overdue for one.”
“There was blood all over his office. Or there had been—I saw the stain on the floor. However he went, it didn’t look like it’d been an easy process. Or pleasant.”
“Jeez . . .” Holden shook his head. “That kind of puts everything in a different light. Because if Bryant got blown away, then . . .” He lifted his gaze, then took a step closer to Deckard. “Look, I realize these people—or whatever they are-might be your friends and all.”
He kept his voice softened. “But you and I have got some heavy stuff to talk over.”
“Hey, you don’t have to worry about us.” From the other side of the kitchen, Sebastian called over to them. He looked sullen and teary-eyed. “We know when we’re not wanted. Come on, fellas. Let’s go see what Pris is doing.”
“Didn’t that guy used to work for Tyrell?” Holden craned his neck to watch as the animated teddy bear, with Sebastian in the papoose carrier, clambered toward the rear of the apartment. The spike-helmeted soldier gave a dirty look over his shoulder, then disappeared with his companions. “You shouldn’t be hanging around with people like that-not unless you got them thoroughly checked out. What’re they doing here, anyway?” Holden gestured around the tilted walls. “Did you let ’em in here? This place was supposed to be just for blade runner operations—”
“Simmer down.” Deckard leaned against the end of the counter. The knife was close at hand; his old partner was starting to sound deranged, and looked agitated enough to flip out.
“They’re harmless.”
“ ‘Harmless’-that’s a good one.” Holden’s gaze narrowed. “Nothing’s harmless in this universe. That’s one thing I’ve learned. You should’ve learned it by now, too.”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I forgot.”
“Well, that’s where you went wrong, then. That’s how you got all screwed up, Deckard. Falling in love with replicants . . .” Another shake of the head. “Trusting them. You’re a fool. What you should’ve realized a long time ago is that the only person a blade runner can trust is another blade runner.”
“Then I’m off the hook. I’m not a blade runner anymore.”
“Correction. Once a blade runner, always one. There’s no quitting this job-not while you’re alive, at least. Look what happened when you tried.”
He could see where this was going. “I get the impression you’re about to ask me to trust you.”
“As I said—I’m the only one you can trust.”
“I don’t know . . .” Seemed a grim prospect. “If I’m going to break this trusting habit of mine, maybe I should go one-hundred-percent cold turkey. Starting with you.”
Holden peered around the edge of the kitchen’s doorway, making sure that Sebastian or any of the others wasn’t listening in, then turned back to give Deckard a hard stare. “Joke away, asshole. Long as you don’t mind laughing in your grave. Because that’s what it comes down to. There’s somebody who doesn’t want us blade runners alive. Probably more than one somebody; a whole conspiracy. High-level and mean. Whoever they are, they’ve got the resources to take us out, one by one-until they’re aren’t any more of us.”
“Maybe you’d better get that gear inside you checked. Lack of oxygen to the brain can trigger paranoid delusions.”
“Equipment’s running fine.” Holden dug out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, lit up, and took a drag. A moment later blue smoke hung in the kitchen’s air; some filtering mechanism inside his chest could be heard revving up. “What needs adjustment is your brain. You don’t seem to understand yet: somebody’s gunning for us. For all the blade runners. They set me up last year for a hit, they got our boss Bryant . . . and this whole business of you being dragged back here to L.A.; that’s probably got something to do with it as well.” Holden’s gaze shifted as he followed that line of thought. “Probably because as long as you’re running around alive, even up north in the boonies, you’re still a loose end for them. The conspiracy isn’t just to kill off the individual blade runners, it’s to shut down our whole operation. Wipe it off the books completely.”