It was 2021, and Rick Deckard had a licence to kill. Somewhere, among the hordes of humans out there, lurked several rogue androids. Deckard’s assignment, find them and then…retire them. Trouble was, the androids all looked and acted like people, and they didn’t want to be found……
Isidore spoke up. “I gather from listening to Mr. Baty that he’s a natural leader.”
“oh yes. Roy’s a leader,” Imgard said.
Pris said, “He’s organized our trip, from Mars to here.”
“Then,” Isidore said, “you better do what he suggests. His voice voice broke with hope and tension. “I think it would be terrific Pris, if you lived w me. I’ll stay home a couple of days from my job. I have a vacation coming. To make sure yr ok.”
And maybe Milt, who was very inventive, could design a weapon for him to use. Something imaginative, which would slay blade runners, whatever they were. He had an indisctinct, glimpsed darkly impression: of something merciless that carried a printed list and a gun, that moved machine like through the flat, bureaucratic job of killing. A thing without emotions or even a face; a thing that if killed, got replaced immediately by another replacing it. And so on, until everyone real and alive had been shot…