Bending, he kissed her bare shoulder.

"Thanks, Rick," she said wanly. "Remember, though: don't think about it, just do it. Don't pause and be philosophical, because from a philosophical standpoint it's dreary. For us both."

He said, "Afterward I still intend to look for Roy Baty. I still need you to be there. I know that laser tube you have in your purse is — "

"You think I'll retire one of your andys for you;"

"I think in spite of what you said you'll help me all you can. Otherwise you wouldn't be lying there in that bed."

"I love you," Rachael said. "If I entered a room and found a sofa covered with your hide I'd score very high on the Voigt-Kampff test."

Tonight sometime, he thought as he clicked off the bedside light, I will retire a Nexus-6 which looks exactly like this naked girl. My good god, he thought; I've wound up where Phil Resch said. Go to bed with her first, he remembered. Then kill her. "I can't do it," he said, and backed away from the bed.

"I wish you could," Rachael said. Her voice wavered.

"Not because of you. Because of Pris Stratton; what I have to do to her."

"We're not the same. I don't can about Pris Stratton. Listen." Rachael thrashed about in the bed, sitting up; in the gloom he could dimly make out her almost breastless, trim shape. "Go to bed with me and I'll retire Stratton. Okay? Because I can't stand getting this close and then — "

"Thank you," he said; gratitude — undoubtedly because of the bourbon — rose up inside him, constricting his throat. Two, he thought. I now have only two to retire; just the Batys. Would Rachael really do it? Evidently. Androids thought and functioned that way. Yet he had never come across anything quite like this.

"Goddamn it, get into bed," Rachael said.

He got into bed.

SEVENTEEN

Afterward they enjoyed a great luxury: Rick had room service bring up coffee. He sat for a long time within the arms of a green, black, and gold leaf lounge chair, sipping coffee and meditating about the next few hours. Rachael, in the bathroom, squeaked and hummed and splashed in the midst of a hot shower.

"You made a good deal when you made that deal," she called when she had shut off the water; dripping, her hair tied up with a rubber band, she appeared bare and pink at the bathroom door. "We androids can't control our physical, sensual passions. You probably knew that; in my opinion you took advantage of me." She did not, however, appear genuinely angry. If anything she had become cheerful and certainly as human as any girl he had known. "Do we really have to go track down those three andys tonight?"

"Yes," he said. Two for me to retire, he thought; one for you. As Rachael put it, the deal had been made.

Gathering a giant white bath towel about her, Rachael said, "Did you enjoy that?"

"Yes."

"Would you ever go to bed with an android again?"

"If it was a girl. If she resembled you."

Rachael said, "Do you know what the lifespan of a humanoid robot such as myself is? I've been in existence two years. How long do you calculate I have?"

After a hesitation he said, "About two more years."

"They never could solve that problem. I mean cell replacement. Perpetual or anyhow semi-perpetual renewal. Well, so it goes." Vigorously she began drying herself. Her face had become expressionless.

"I'm sorry," Rick said.

"Hell," Rachael said, "I'm sorry I mentioned it. Anyhow it keeps humans from running off and living with an android."

"And this is true with you Nexus-6 types too?"

"It's the metabolism. Not the brain unit." She trotted out, swept up her underpants, and began to dress.

He, too, dressed. Then together, saying little, the two of them journeyed to the roof field, where his hovercar had been parked by the pleasant white-clad human attendant.

As they headed toward the suburbs of San Francisco, Rachael said, "It's a nice night."

"My goat is probably asleep by now," he said. "Or maybe goats are nocturnal. Some animals never sleep. Sheep never do, not that I could detect; whenever you look at them they're looking back. Expecting to be fed."

"What sort of wife do you have?"

He did not answer.

"Do you — "

"If you weren't an android," Rick interrupted, "if I could legally marry you, I would."

Rachael said, "Or we could live in sin, except that I'm not alive."

"Legally you're not. But really you are. Biologically. You're not made out of transistorized circuits like a false animal; you're an organic entity." And in two years, he thought, you'll wear out and die. Because we never solved the problem of cell replacement, as you pointed out. So I guess it doesn't matter anyhow.

This is my end, he said to himself. As a bounty hunter. After the Batys there won't be any more. Not after this, tonight.

"You look so sad," Rachael said.

Putting his hand out he touched her cheek.

"You're not going to be able to hunt androids any longer," she said calmly. "So don't look sad. Please."

He stared at her.

"No bounty bunter ever has gone on," Rachael said. "After being with me. Except one. A very cynical man. Phil Resch. And he's nutty; he works out in left field on his own."

"I see," Rick said. He felt numb. Completely. Throughout his entire body.

"But this trip we're taking," Rachael said, "won't be wasted, because you're going to meet a wonderful, spiritual man."

"Roy Baty," he said. "Do you know all of them?"

"I knew all of them, when they still existed. I know three, now. We tried to stop you this morning, before you started out with Dave Holden's list. I tried again, just before Polokov reached you. But then after that I had to wait."

"Until I broke down," he said. "And had to call you."

"Luba Luft and I had been close, very close friends for almost two years. What did you think of her? Did you like her?

"I liked her."

"But you killed her."

"Phil Resch killed her."

"Oh, so Phil accompanied you back to the opera house. We didn't know that; our communications broke down about then. We knew just that she had been killed; we naturally assumed by you."

"From Dave's notes," he said, "I think I can still go ahead and retire Roy Baty. But maybe not Irmgard Baty." And not Pris Stratton, he thought. Even now; even knowing this.

"So all that took place at the hotel" he said, "consisted of a — "

"The association," Rachael said, "wanted to reach the bounty hunters here and in the Soviet Union. This seemed to work . . . for reasons which we do not fully understand. Our limitation again, I guess."

"I doubt if it works as often or as well as you say," he said thickly.

"But it has with you."

"We'll see."

"I already know," Rachael said. "When I saw that expression on your face, that grief. I look for that."

"How many times have you done this?"

"I don't remember. Seven, eight. No, I believe it's nine." She — or rather it — nodded. "Yes, nine times."

"The idea is old-fashioned," Rick said.

Startled, Rachael said, "W-what?"

Pushing the steering wheel away from him he put the car into a gliding decline. "Or anyhow that's how it strikes me. I'm going to kill you," he said. "And go on to Roy and Irmgard Baty and Pris Stratton alone."

"That's why you're landing?" Apprehensively, she said, "There's a fine; I'm the property, the legal property, of the association. I'm not an escaped android who fled here from Mars; I'm not in the same class as the others."

"But," he said, "if I can kill you then I can kill them."

Her hands dived for her bulging, overstuffed, kipple-filled purse; she searched frantically, then gave up. "Goddamn this purse," she said with ferocity. "I never can lay my hands on anything in it. Will you kill me in a way that won't hurt? I mean, do it carefully. If I don't fight; okay? I promise not to fight. Do you agree?"