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FIVE
The small beam of white light shone steadily into the
left eye of Rachael Rosen, and against her cheek the
wire-mesh disk adhered. She seemed calm.
Seated where he could catch the readings on the two
gauges of the Voigt-Kampff testing apparatus, Rick
Deckard said, "I'm going to outline a number of social
situations. You are to express your reaction to each as
quickly as possible. You will be timed, of course."
"And of course," Rachael said distantly, "my verbal
responses won't count. It's solely the eye-muscle and
capillary reaction that you'll use as indices. But I'll
answer; I want to go through this and --" She broke off.
"Go ahead, Mr. Deckard."
Rick, selecting question three, said, "You are given a
calf-skin wallet on your birthday." Both gauges immediately registered past the green and onto the red; the
needles swung violently and then subsided.
"I wouldn't accept it," Rachael said. "Also I'd report
the person who gave it to me to the police."
After making a jot of notation Rick
continued, turning to the eighth question of the Voigt-Kampff profile
scale. "You have a little boy and he shows you his
butterfly collection, including his killing jar."
"I'd take him to the doctor." Rachael's voice was
low but firm. Again the twin gauges registered, but this
time not so far. He made a note of that, too.
"You're sitting watching TV," he continued, "and
suddenly you discover a wasp crawling on your wrist."
Rachael said, "I'd kill it." The gauges, this time,
registered almost nothing: only a feeble and momentary tremor. He noted that and hunted cautiously for
the next question.
"In a magazine you come across a full-page color
picture of a nude girl." He paused.
"Is this testing whether I'm an android," Rachael
asked tartly, "or whether I'm homosexual?" The gauges
did not register.
He continued, "Your husband likes the picture." Still
the gauges failed to indicate a reaction. "The girl," he
added, "is lying face down on a large and beautiful
bearskin rug." The gauges remained inert, and he said
to himself, An android response. Failing to detect the
major element, the dead animal pelt. Her -- its -- mind is
concentrating on other factors. "Your husband hangs
the picture up on the wall of his study," he finished, and
this time the needles moved.
"I certainly wouldn't let him," Rachael said.
"Okay," he said, nodding. "Now consider this.
You're reading a novel written in the old days before
the war. The characters are visiting Fisherman's Wharf
in San Francisco. They become hungry and enter a
seafood restaurant. One of them orders lobster, and the
chef drops the lobster into the tub of boiling water
while the characters watch."
"Oh god," Rachael said. "That's awful! Did they
really do that? It's depraved! You mean a live lobster?"
The gauges, however, did not respond. Formally, a correct response. But simulated.
"You rent a mountain cabin," he said, "in an area
still verdant. It's rustic knotty pine with a huge fireplace."
"Yes," Rachael said, nodding impatiently.
"On the walls someone has hung old maps, Currier
and Ives prints, and above the fireplace a deer's head
has been mounted, a full stag with developed horns.
The people with you admire the decor of the cabin and
you all decide --"
"Not with the deer head," Rachael said. The gauges,
however, showed an amplitude within the green only.
"You become pregnant," Rick continued, "by a man
who has promised to marry you. The man goes off with
another woman, your best friend; you get an abortion
and --"
"I would never get an abortion," Rachael said.
"Anyhow you can't. It's a life sentence and the police
are always watching." This time both needles swung
violently into the red.
"How do you know that?" Rick asked her, curiously.
"About the difficulty of obtaining an abortion?"
"Everybody knows that," Rachael answered.
"It sounded like you spoke from personal experience." He watched the needles intently; they still swept
out a wide path across the dials.
"One more. You're
dating a man and he asks you to visit his apartment.
While you're there he offers you a drink. As you stand
holding your glass you see into the bedroom; it's attractively decorated with bullfight posters, and you wander
in to look closer. He follows after you, closing the door.
Putting his arm around you, he says --"
Rachael interrupted, "What's a bullfight poster?"
"Drawings, usually in color and very large, showing
a matador with his cape, a bull trying to gore him." He
was puzzled. "How old are you?" he asked; that might
be a factor.
"I'm eighteen," Rachael said. "Okay; so this man
closes the door and puts his arm around me. What does
be say?"
Rick said, "Do you know how bullfights ended?"
"I suppose somebody got hurt."
"The bull, at the end, was always killed." He waited,
watching the two needles. They palpitated restlessly,
nothing more. No real reading at all.
" A final question,"
he said. "Two-part. You are watching an old movie on
TV, a movie from before the war. It shows a banquet in
progress; the guests are enjoying raw oysters."
"Ugh," Rachael said; the needles swung swiftly.
"The entree," he continued, "consists of boiled dog,
stuffed with rice."
The needles moved less this time,
less than they had for the raw oysters.
"Are raw oysters
more acceptable to you than a dish of boiled dog? Evidently not." He put
his pencil down, shut off the beam
of light, removed the adhesive patch from her cheek.
"You're an android," he said. "That's the conclusion of
the testing," he informed her -- or rather it -- and Eldon
Rosen, who regarded him with writhing worry; the elderly man's face contorted, shifted plastically with
angry concern.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Rick said. There
was no answer, from either of the Rosens. "Look," he
said reasonably. "We have no conflict of interest; it's
important to me that the Voigt-Kampff test functions,
almost as important as it is to you."
The elder Rosen said, "She's not an android."
"I don't believe it," Rick said.
"Why would he lie?" Rachael said to Rick fiercely.
"If anything, we'd lie the other way."
"I want a bone marrow analysis made of you," Rick
said to her. "It can eventually be organically determined whether you're android or not; it's slow and
painful, admittedly, but --"
"Legally," Rachael said, "I can't be forced to
undergo a bone marrow test. That's been established in
the courts; self-incrimination. And anyhow on a live
person -- not the corpse of a retired android -- it takes a
long time. You can give that damn Voigt-Kampff profile test because of the specials; they have to be tested
for constantly, and while the government was doing
that you police agencies slipped the Voigt-Kampff
through. But what you said is true; that's the end of the
testing." She rose to her feet, paced away from him,
and stood with her hands on her hips, her back to
him.
"The issue is not the legality of the bone marrow
analysis," Eldon Rosen said huskily. "The issue is that
your empathy delineation test failed in response to my
niece. I can explain why she scored as an android might.
Rachael grew up aboard Salander 3. She was born on
it; she spent fourteen of her eighteen years living off its
tape library and what the nine other crew members, all
adults, knew about Earth. Then, as you know, the ship
turned back a sixth of the way to Proxima. Otherwise Rachael would never
have seen Earth -- anyhow not
until her later life."
"You would have retired me," Rachael said over her
shoulder. "In a police dragnet I would have been killed.
I've known that since I got here four years ago; this
isn't the first time the Voigt-Kampff test has been given
to me. In fact I rarely leave this building; the risk is
enormous, because of those roadblocks you police set
up, those flying wedge spot checks to pick up unclassified specials."
"And androids," Eldon Rosen added. "Although
naturally the public isn't told that; they're not supposed
to know that androids are on Earth, in our midst."
"I don't think they are," Rick said. "I think the various police agencies here and in the Soviet Union have
gotten them all. The population is small enough now;
everyone, sooner or later, runs into a random checkpoint." That, anyhow, was the idea.
"What were your instructions," Eldon Rosen asked,
"if you wound up designating a human as android?"
"That's a departmental matter." He began restoring
his testing gear to his briefcase; the two Rosens
watched silently. "Obviously," he added, "I was told to
cancel further testing, as I'm now doing. If it failed
once there's no point in going on." He snapped the
briefcase shut.
"We could have defrauded you," Rachael said.
"Nothing forced us to admit you mistested me. And the
same for the other nine subjects we've selected." She
gestured vigorously. "All we had to do was simply go
along with your test results, either way."
Rick said, "I would have insisted on
a list in advance. A sealed-envelope breakdown. And compared
my own test results for congruity. There would have
had to be congruity." And I can see now, he realized,
that I wouldn't have gotten it. Bryant was right. Thank
god I didn't go out bounty hunting on the basis of this
test.
"Yes, I suppose you would have done that," Eldon
Rosen said. He glanced at Rachael, who nodded. "We
discussed that possibility," Eldon said, then, with reluctance.
"This problem," Rick said, "stems entirely from
your method of operation, Mr. Rosen. Nobody forced
your organization to evolve the production of humanoid robots to a point where
--"
"We produced what the colonists wanted," Eldon
Rosen said. "We followed the time-honored principle
underlying every commercial venture. If our firm hadn't
made these progressively more human types, other
firms in the field would have. We knew the risk we were
taking when we developed the Nexus-6 brain unit. But
your Voigt-Kampff test was a failure before we released
that type of android. If you had failed to classify a
Nexus-6 android as an android, if you had checked it
out as human -- but that's not what happened." His
voice had become hard and bitingly penetrating. "Your
police department -- others as well -- may have retired,
very probably have retired, authentic humans with
underdeveloped empathic ability, such as my innocent
niece here. Your position, Mr. Deckard, is extremely
bad morally. Ours isn't."
"In other words," Rick said with acuity, "I'm not
going to be given a chance to check out a single Nexus-
6. You people dropped this schizoid girl on me beforehand." And my test, he realized, is wiped out. I
shouldn't have gone for it, he said to himself. However,
it's too late now.
"We have you, Mr. Deckard," Rachael Rosen agreed
in a quiet, reasonable voice; she turned toward him,
then, and smiled.
***
He could not make out, even now, how the Rosen
Association had managed to snare him, and so easily.
Experts, he realized. A mammoth corporation like this -- it embodies too much experience. It possesses in fact
a sort of group mind. And Eldon and Rachael Rosen
consisted of spokesmen for that corporate entity. His
mistake, evidently, had been in viewing them as individuals. It was a mistake he would not make again.
"Your superior Mr. Bryant," Eldon Rosen said,
"will have difficulty understanding how you happened
to let us void your testing apparatus before the test
began." He pointed toward the ceiling, and Rick saw
the camera lens. His massive error in dealing with the
Rosens had been recorded. "I think the right thing for
us all to do," Eldon said; "is sit down and --" He gestured affably. "We can work
something out, Mr. Deckard. There's no need for anxiety. The Nexus-6 variety
of android is a fact; we here at the Rosen Association
recognize it and I think now you do, too."
Rachael, leaning toward Rick, said, "How would
you like to own an owl?"
"I doubt if I'll ever own an owl." But he knew what
she meant; be understood the business the Rosen Association wanted to transact. Tension of a kind he had
never felt before manifested itself inside him; it exploded, leisurely, in every part of his body. He felt the
tension, the consciousness of what was happening, take
over completely.
"But an owl," Eldon Rosen said, "is the thing you
want." He glanced at his niece inquiringly. "I don't
think he has any idea --"
"Of course he does," Rachael contradicted. "He
knows exactly where this is heading. Don't you, Mr.
Deckard?" Again she leaned toward him, and this time
closer; he could smell a mild perfume about her, almost
a warmth. "You're practically there, Mr. Deckard. You
practically have your owl." To Eldon Rosen she said,
"He's a bounty hunter; remember? So be lives off the
bounty he makes, not his salary. Isn't that so, Mr.
Deckard?"
He nodded.
"How many androids escaped this time?" Rachael
inquired.
Presently he said, "Eight. Originally. Two have already been retired, by someone else; not me."
"You get how much for each android?" Rachael
asked.
Shrugging, he said, "It varies."
Rachael said, "If you have no test you can administer,
then there is no way you can identify an android. And
if there's no way you can identify an android there's no
way you can collect your bounty. So if the Voigt-Kampff scale has to be abandoned
--"
"A new scale," Rick said, "will replace it. This has
happened before." Three times, to be exact. But the
new scale, the more modern analytical device, had been there already; no
lag had existed. This time was different.
"Eventually, of course, the Voigt-Kampff scale will
become obsolete," Rachael agreed. "But not now.
We're satisfied ourselves that it will delineate the Nexus 6 types and
we'd like you to proceed on that basis in your own particular, peculiar
work." Rocking back and forth, her arms tightly folded, she
regarded him with intensity. Trying to fathom his reaction.
"Tell him he can have his owl," Eldon
Rosen grated.
"You can have the owl," Rachael said,
still eyeing him. "The one up on the roof. Scrappy. But we
will want to mate it if we can get our hands on a male. And any
offspring will be ours; that has to be absolutely understood."
Rick said, "I'll divide the brood."
"No," Rachael said instantly; behind her
Eldon Rosen shook his head, backing her up. "That way you'd have
claim to the sole bloodline of owls for the rest of eternity. And
there's another condition. You can't will your owl to anybody; at
your death it reverts back to the association."
"That sounds," Rick said, "like an
invitation for you to come in and kill me. To get your owl back
immediately. I won't agree to that; it's too dangerous."
"You're a bounty hunter," Rachael said.
"You can handle a laser gun -- in fact you're carrying one right now.
If you can't protect yourself, how are you going to retire the six
remaining Nexus-6 andys? They're a good deal smarter than the
Grozzi Corporation's old W-4."
"But I hunt them," he said.
"This way, with a reversion clause on the owl, someone would be hunting
me." And he did not like the idea of being stalked; he had seen
the effect on androids. It brought about certain notable changes,
even in them.
Rachael said, "All right; we'll yield on
that. You can will the owl to your heirs. But we insist on
getting the complete brood. If you can't agree to that, go on back
to San Francisco and admit to your superiors in the department that the
Voigt-Kampff scale, at least as administered by you, can't distinguish
an andy from a human being. And then look for another job."
"Give me some time," Rick said.
"Okay," Rachael said. "Well leave
you in here, where it's comfortable." She examined her wristwatch.
"Half an hour," Eldon Rosen said.
He and Rachael filed toward the door of the room, silently. They
had said what they intended to say, he realized; the rest lay in his
lap.
As Rachael started to close the door
after herself and her uncle, Rick said starkly, "You managed to set me
up perfectly. You have it on tape that I missed on you; you know
that my job depends on the use of the Voigt-Kampff scale; and you own
that goddamn owl."
"Your owl, dear," Rachael said.
"Remember? We'll tie your home address around its leg and have it
fly down to San Francisco; it'll meet you there when you get off work."
It, he thought. She keeps
calling the owl it. Not her. "Just a second," he said.
Pausing at the door, Rachael said,
"You've decided?"
"I want," he said, opening his briefcase,
"to ask you one more question from the Voigt-Kampff scale. Sit
down again."
Rachael glanced at her uncle; he nodded
and she grudgingly returned, seating herself as before. "What's
this for?" she demanded, her eyebrows lifted in distaste -- and
wariness. Her perceived her skeletal tension, noted it
professionally.
Presently he had the pencil of light
trained on her right eye and the adhesive patch again in contact with
her cheek. Rachael stared into the light rigidly, the expression
of extreme distaste still manifest.
"My briefcase," Rick said as he rummaged
for the Voigt-Kampff forms. "Nice, isn't it? Department
issue."
"Well, well," Rachael said remotely.
"Babyhide," Rick said. He stroked
the black leather surface of the briefcase. "One hundred percent
genuine human babyhide." He saw the two dial indicators gyrate frantically. But only after a pause.
The reaction
had come, but too late. He knew the reaction period
down to a fraction of a second, the correct reaction
period; there should have been none. "Thanks, Miss
Rosen," be said, and gathered together the equipment
again; he had concluded his retesting. "That's all."
"You're leaving?" Rachael asked.
"Yes," he said. "I'm satisfied."
Cautiously, Rachael said, "What about the other
nine subjects?"
"The scale has been adequate in your
case," he answered. "I can extrapolate from that; it's clearly still
effective."
To Eldon Rosen, who slumped morosely by
the door of the room, he said, "Does she know?" Sometimes they didn't; false memories had been tried various
times, generally in the mistaken idea that through them
reactions to testing would be altered.
Eldon Rosen said, "No. We programmed
her completely. But I think toward the end she suspected." To
the girl he said, "You guessed when he asked for one
more try."
Pale, Rachael nodded fixedly.
"Don't be afraid of him," Eldon Rosen told her.
"You're not an escaped android on Earth illegally;
you're the property of the Rosen Association, used as a
sales device for prospective emigrants." He walked to
the girl, put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder; at
the touch the girl flinched.
"He's right," Rick said. "I'm not going to retire you,
Miss Rosen. Good day." He started toward the door,
then halted briefly. To the two of them he said, "Is the
owl genuine?"
Rachael glanced swiftly at the elder Rosen.
"He's leaving anyhow," Eldon Rosen said. "It
doesn't matter; the owl is artificial. There are no owls."
"Hmm," Rick muttered, and stepped numbly out
into the corridor. The two of them watched him go.
Neither said anything. Nothing remained
to say. So
that's how the largest manufacturer of androids operates, Rick said to himself. Devious, and in a manner
he had never encountered before. A weird and convoluted new personality
type; no wonder law enforcement agencies were having trouble with the Nexus-6.
The Nexus-6. He had now come up against it.
Rachael, he realized; she must be a Nexus-6. I'm seeing
one of them for the first time. And they damn near did
it; they came awfully damn close to undermining the
Voigt-Kampff scale, the only method we have for detecting them. The Rosen Association does a good job
--
makes a good try, anyhow -- at protecting its products.
And I have to face six more of them, be reflected.
Before I'm finished.
He would earn the bounty money. Every cent.
Assuming he made it through alive.
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