【暗影狂奔3E System Failure】 理查德与拉尼尔 章首小说集锦

[Cobalt 1号机]

十月，2063年

迈尔斯·拉尼尔很久没见过理查德·维利尔斯喝得这么醉了，自从他和萨曼莎离婚后就再没见过了。

维利尔斯的私人助理，拉尼尔永远也记不住她的名字，在午夜时分打电话给他，让他来劝劝维利尔斯，不要再喝醉了。维利尔斯有个习惯，他经常隐姓埋名去波士顿市中心的酒吧，喝到被酒保拦住，然后挥挥手中的信用棒，向酒吧老板快速地转账十万新元，把酒吧清空。最近，拉尼尔不确定维利尔斯这样做是因为他喜欢独处，还是因为他酗酒成性。他开始担心是后者。

偌大的夜总会寂静得就像一座空阔的教堂，昏暗的椅子和空荡荡的桌子代替了空荡的教堂。维利尔斯坐在最边上的红木吧台前，看着离他最近的全息投影。红袜队连续第五年在美联冠军赛中对阵洋基队，在系列赛中以三比零领先，但在第九局中以一分落后。

维利尔斯是洋基队的球迷，可能是波士顿市唯一的洋基球迷。拉尼尔突然想到，也许这就是维利尔斯把酒吧清空的另一个原因。他对这些比赛的关心程度，很少有波士顿人会理解。

“伙计，我知道那是什么感觉，”维利尔斯指着全息投影对走近的拉尼尔说。“红袜队不应该赢。他们没有强力击球手、投手，没有薪资，什么都没有。”维利尔斯伸手拿起吧台上一字排开的五杯龙舌兰酒中的一个，一口喝干。然后他把空杯放在右边散乱堆放的一堆同伴旁边。“他们唯一有的就是对自己心里有数。”

“你喝了多少？”拉尼尔问道，朝吧台上剩下的四杯点了点头。

“不知道，”维利尔斯说。“这不重要。来，看看这个。”维利尔斯把一个手持设备抛给拉尼尔，而拉尼尔轻松地用一只手接住。

拉尼尔看了一会儿，用一只手翻阅数据。“嗯，”拉尼尔说。他在维利尔斯旁边的吧台前坐下，出人意料地给自己来了一杯龙舌兰酒。维利尔斯的助理无名氏小姐喜欢说坏消息和酒是一对好搭档，常常一个接一个出现，虽然没有特定的顺序。

“那个该死的酒保在哪儿？”维利尔斯问道，他稍微向后靠在椅子上，目光越过拉尼尔。

拉尼尔用左手肘撑在吧台上，用左手捋了捋他修剪整齐的胡子，同时继续翻阅数据。“那么，你认为我们还有多长时间？”

“最多一年，”维利尔斯喝干了另一杯。“收入反弹的几率有多大？”拉尼尔仍在翻阅，这么问道。

“有可能，但我不指望，”维利尔斯说，眼睛仍盯着全息投影。红袜队又击出一记安打，满垒。“什么都不做太危险了，尤其是丹克瓦尔特还在外面。”

“你觉得这是丹克瓦尔特干的？”拉尼尔从数据中抬起头问道。

“有一部分是，”维利尔斯说，他又伸出手干掉另一杯龙舌兰。“他更像是个麻烦。他是在我们已有的内部问题上加码。问题是，我认为我们现在已经到了无路可退的地步。”

“那我们该怎么办？”

“做我最不愿意做的事，”维利尔斯说。全息投影上传来重击球击打的脆响，打破了房间的寂静。“让小丑们入场，”维利尔斯说完，球被打出去了。

红袜队的一垒手把球击出一个高弧线，飞向新星科技新芬威公园球场的绿色怪物墙(维利尔斯虽然是洋基队的球迷，但他知道聪明的品牌推广机会)。他叹了口气，短暂地瘫坐在吧台上。然后维利尔斯又喝了一杯龙舌兰酒，试图减轻痛苦。他抬起头，正好看到洋基队的左外野手不可思议地接住球并传到三垒，将二垒的跑者标记出局。然后三垒手沿着底线跑向本垒，在捕手的帮助下抓住了跑垒员。三振出局，三人出局，比赛结束。洋基队获胜。

维利尔斯目瞪口呆地说：“感谢上帝创造的微小奇迹。”拉尼尔趁机快速地喝了一杯龙舌兰酒。

他们默默地坐在一起，直到赛后节目结束，球员们接受了一连串的采访，节目阵容终于切换成了名人百家乐。这时，维利尔斯把一把椅子扔向全息投影。他并不太喜欢这个节目。

“让小丑们入场？”拉尼尔冷静地问，他已经习惯了维利尔斯的这种滑稽举动。“你真的要走那一步？”

“我想这是我们唯一的选择，”维利尔斯说。最后一杯酒被喝干了。

“他们永远也不会知道是什么击败了他们，”拉尼尔冷笑着说。维利尔斯也回以冷笑。

第二天晚上，洋基队在下一场比赛中输给了红袜队，最终在美联冠军赛中以一比四落败。又一次。

劇透 -   :

October, 2063

Miles Lanier hadn’t seen Richard Villiers this drunk in a long time. Not since his divorce from Samantha.

Villiers’ personal assistant, whose name Lanier could never remember, called him around midnight asking him to come talk Villiers off the proverbial ledge again. Villiers had a habit of going into downtown Boston bars incognito, getting cut off by the bartender, then clearing the place out with a wave of his credstick and a quick hundred thousand nuyen transfer to the bar’s owners. As of late, Lanier wasn’t sure if Villiers did this because he preferred to be alone or because he couldn’t stop drinking. He was starting to fear it was the latter.

The vast nightclub was as silent as an empty cathedral, with darkened chairs and empty tables instead of unfilled pews. Villiers sat at the mahogany bar on the far side, watching the nearest trid. The Red Sox were playing the Yankees in the ALCS for the fifth straight year, ahead in the series three games to none, but behind by one run in the ninth inning.

Villiers was a Yankee fan, probably the only one in Boston. It occurred to Lanier that perhaps this was another reason Villiers had cleared the bar out. He cared deeply about these games in a way few if any Bostonians would understand.

“Boy do I know what that feels like,” said Villiers, pointing to the trid as Lanier walked up. “The Red Sox shouldn’t win. They don’t have the power hitters, the pitching, the payroll, anything.” Villiers reached over to a set of five tequila shots lined in a row on the top of the bar and killed one. He placed the empty glass next to five of its compatriots in a scattered pile on his right. “The one thing they do have is our number.”

“How many have you had?” asked Lanier, nodding toward the four remaining shots on the bar.

“No idea,” said Villiers. “It doesn’t matter. Here, take a look at this.” Villiers flipped a handheld toward Lanier, who caught it easily with an overhand grab.

Lanier observed it for a minute, paging through the data with one hand. “Hm,” said Lanier. He sat down at the bar next to Villiers and unexpectedly helped himself to a tequila shot. Villiers’ assistant, whatshername, was fond of saying bad news and alcohol went well together, one often preceding the other, though not in any particular order.

“Where the hell is that bartender?” asked Villiers, leaning back in his chair a bit to look past Lanier.

Lanier put an elbow on the bar and stroked his wellgroomed beard with his left hand as he continued to page through the data. “So how long do you think we have?”

“A year at most,” said Villiers, downing another shot. “What are the odds the revenues will rebound?” asked Lanier, still paging.

“It could happen, but I wouldn’t count on it,” said Villiers, eyes still on the trid. The Red Sox put up another hit, the loading the bases. “Doing nothing is too dangerous, especially with Dankwalther out there somewhere.”

“You think Dankwalther’s doing this?” asked Lanier, looking up from the data.

“Some of it,” said Villiers, who reached over and killed another tequila shot. “He’s more of an annoyance than anything. He’s building on internal problems we already have. Problem is, I think we’re past the point of no return now.”

“So what do we do?”

“The absolute last thing in the world I want to do,” said Villiers. Over the trid, the crack of a hard hit ball broke the hallowed silence of the room. “Send in the clowns,” finished Villiers. The ball was in play.

The Red Sox first baseman had hit the pitch in a high arc, heading toward the Green Monster at Novatech’s New Fenway Park (Villiers may have been a Yankee fan but he knew a smart branding opportunity when he saw one). He sighed and briefly slumped on the bar. Then Villiers went after another tequila shot to try to dull the pain. He looked up just in time to see the Yankees left fielder heave an improbably caught ball all the way to third base to tag out the runner from second. Then the third baseman ran down the baseline toward home and with the help of the catcher caught the base runner. Triple play, three outs, game over. Yankees win.

“Well thank god for small miracles,” said Villiers, stunned. Lanier quickly snagged another tequila shot while the getting was good.

They sat together in silence as the postgame show came on, the players were interviewed ad naseum and the programming lineup finally changed to celebrity baccarat. At which point Villiers threw a chair into the trid. He wasn’t much of a fan.

“Send in the clowns?” asked Lanier calmly, used to such antics from Villiers. “You really want to go that far?”

“I think it’s our only choice,” said Villiers. The last shot was drained.

“They’ll never know what hit them,” said Lanier, with a smirk. Villiers smirked back.

The following night the Yankees lost the next game to the Red Sox and the ALCS 4 games to 1. The Red Sox went on to win the World Series. Again.

[Cobalt 1号机]

每一声铃响都让理查德·维利尔斯感到心惊肉跳。维利尔斯在波士顿证券交易所敲响开市钟时，交易大厅的欢呼声此起彼伏。他向交易员们挥手微笑，全然不顾胃里的不适。说实话，他其实很享受这种感觉。他只有在紧张时才会有这种感觉——而他几乎不记得上次发生这种情况是什么时候了。他感觉自己多年来都不曾如此充满活力。

理查德瞥了一眼他的前妻萨曼莎，她和其他新星科技的贵宾们一起站在主席台上。她对他微笑并眨了眨眼。婚姻并不是一个好主意，但自那以后，他们一直保持着友好的关系……当然，有时也享受一些附加的好处。她看起来还是那么漂亮。

维利尔斯的大部分家庭成员都站在他身后：他的兄弟山姆和达伦，迈尔斯·拉尼尔(他几乎算是家人了)，甚至还有他的女儿卡拉。卡拉和她的母亲一样漂亮，虽然她似乎不那么喜欢用美貌作为武器。但老实说，她不需要。他对她小时候并不怎么关心，但她已经变成了一位他很少见的极其坚强的执行者。他为她感到非常自豪。她绝对有资格在新星科技担任一个职位……在IPO之后，也许她可以担任收购部门的副主管。她擅长做出无情的决定，不利用这一点真是太可惜了。

萨曼莎走过来站在他旁边。维利尔斯搂住她的腰，她也回以拥抱，在所有交易员面前展示他们的亲密关系。

交易大厅在他们脚下延伸，充满了期待的海洋。“那么，”她说。“你感觉如何？”

"我感觉很好。从来没有这么好过。"维利尔斯说。"嗯哼，"萨曼莎回应道。

“说真的。如果一个人在公司首次公开募股时不紧张，那就该查查他的脉搏了，因为他一定是死了。这种感觉令人耳目一新。”维利尔斯对她笑了笑。他想，她太了解我了。是时候更加小心了。

“今天早上联络的股票下跌了，”萨曼莎指着对面大屏幕上的联络标志说。“这是个相当大的跌幅。”

“那可能是黄的最后一口气了，”他说。“是吗？”萨曼莎挑眉问道。“迈尔斯……呃，你的小鸟告诉你了什么？”

“自从那次生态建筑危机后，黄一直处于麻烦中，”维利尔斯说。“如果让我猜，从我看到的市场波动来看，他今天正试图策划一次收购，而考虑到规模，肯定是用公司的资金。”

“如果是这样的话，看起来进展不太顺利，”萨曼莎说。

“问题就在这里，”维利尔斯说。“只需要一个不合时宜的买入或卖出指令，你就彻底完了——我相信黄现在已经意识到这一点，但已经太晚了。”

萨曼莎笑了。“说到纳秒收购和堆积碟板，不知道奈特最近怎么样了，”她说。“我应该找个时间给他打个电话，看看他在做什么。已经有一段时间了。”

维利尔斯笑了，但他又在自己的心理清单上记了一笔。萨姆，你又在试图搞鬼了，是不是？也许今天趁全世界的注意力都在别处的时候，对克罗斯使些下三滥的伎俩。至少，希望如此……

“我的一只小鸟告诉我，奈特很快就需要一个新象棋对手了，”萨曼莎说。

“他现在？”维利尔斯略显惊讶。这将是一个有趣的发展。“你是怎么听说的？”

萨曼莎笑而不答，换了个话题。“你知道，”萨曼莎说，“你应该考虑从那些首次公开募股的资金中拿出一部分，尝试收购联络。”

维利尔斯略加思索。“不，我们的老朋友中臣还在那里。收购联络无异于打开地狱之门。除此之外，公司法院的反垄断法规不允许一个AAA公司拥有另一家公司的部分股份。我们必须一口吞下整个联络，但那是不可能的——我还有其他事情要做。”

“既然你这么说的话。不过浪费这样的机会确实有点可惜。有人应该尝试一下。”

“肯定不会是我，”维利尔斯说。他看了看萨曼莎，略感惊讶地发现她正为此陷入沉思。“好了，够了。我不允许你站在我旁边策划背叛。至少有点礼貌，换个地方。”

萨曼莎笑了。“好吧，我走了。”

“反正你也买不起联络，”维利尔斯说。“我知道，”她说。“但我敢打赌，我可以在某个地方找到愿意为我的股份提供贷款的银行。也许在拉脱维亚。”她眨了眨眼，转身离开了。

你真是个贱人，维利尔斯想，但他还是忍不住笑了。她也许是个糟糕的妻子，但她确实是个值得尊敬的对手。

当萨曼莎消失在交易者的人群中时，卡拉又出现在他的视野中。她正挽着一个商人或政客的胳膊走过大厅，她那火红的头发在交易大厅及其居民的朴素色彩中显得格外耀眼。卡拉可能够强硬，足以对付中臣了……

时钟指向10:39:00。维利尔斯想象着大量现金涌入新星科技银行账户的矩阵表现。他想，那可能会是一个巨大的瀑布或洪水之类的东西。然后，他又试着想象成千上万个买入指令同时从新星科技公司的账户中发出冲击市场后留下的数据踪迹。导弹、爆炸、烟花。维利尔斯并不特别在乎它看起来像什么；重要的是这个想法。

在世界的某个角落，当他持有股份的每一个上市公司都同时遭到新星科技的恶意收购时，丹克瓦尔特发出尖叫。

维利尔斯转过身，向房间另一边的新星科技公司法庭代表林恩·奥斯本法官挥了挥手。奥斯本点点头，离开了房间，向公司法庭提出申请，要求对丹克瓦尔特和他仅剩的几家公司下达欧米茄命令。成功的几率很高，因为丹克瓦尔特有一系列企图违规操纵全球市场以谋取私利的记录。

就是这样，丹克瓦尔特，你这个混蛋，维利尔斯想。去死吧。

正当他思考这些事态发展时，维利尔斯的思绪被通讯链铃声打断。那可能是超统神经网络或艾瑞卡打来的，关于新星科技几秒钟前发出的收购要约。维利尔斯在几周前就与他们各自的公司负责人会面，讨论了这种可能性。这将会是不错的兼并。他能感觉到这一点。

那一刻是他很长一段时间以来最后一次真正感到快乐。

维利尔斯的电话挂断了。ECSE交易大厅一片哗然。维利尔斯的保镖扑倒了他，把他拖下观景台，送上等候的车。

整个世界陷入混乱。

劇透 -   :

Every ring of the bell sent chills through Richard Villiers. Cheers went up from the floor of the Boston exchange as Villiers rang the opening bell. He waved and smiled down at the traders, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach. Truth be told, he was actually enjoying it. He only felt like this when he was nervous—and he could scarcely remember the last time that had happened. He felt more alive than he had in years.

Richard glanced over at Samantha, his ex-wife, who shared the podium with him along with the other Novatech VIPs. She gave him a smile and a wink. Marriage hadn’t been a good idea, but they had enjoyed a friendly relationship since then … with occasional benefits, of course. She still looked as good as ever.

Most of Villiers’s extended family was on the podium behind him: his brothers Sam and Darren, Miles Lanier (who might as well have been family) and even his daughter, Cara. Cara was just as beautiful as her mother, though she seemed less tempted to use her looks as a weapon. Frankly, though, she didn’t need it. He’d never taken much of an interest in her as a child, but she’d turned into a hardened executive the likes of which he’d rarely seen. He was quite proud of her. She was definitely ready for a position in Novatech … something after the IPO, perhaps a VP of Acquisitions. Her forte was making ruthless decisions, and it would be a shame not to take advantage of that.

Samantha came over and stood next to him. Villiers put his arm around her, and she returned the favor, making a show of their united relationship in front of all the traders.

The trading floor stretched below them, a sea of anticipation. “So,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“I feel great. Never better,” said Villiers. “Mmm hmmm,” said Samantha.

“Seriously. If a man’s not nervous when his company has its IPO, then somebody needs to check his pulse, because he’s got to be dead. It’s a refreshing feeling.” Villiers smiled at her. She knows me too well, he thought. It’s time to be more careful.

“Renraku’s stock is down this morning,” Samantha said, pointing across the floor at the large Renraku symbol on the big board. “That’s quite a sharp drop.”

“That would be Huang’s last gasp, probably,” he said. “Is it?” asked Samantha, raising an eyebrow. “What does Miles … er, your little bird tell you?”

“Huang’s been in trouble ever since that arcology fiasco,” said Villiers. “If I had to guess, judging from the market fluctuations I’m seeing, he’s trying to orchestrate a buyout todayand given the scope, it would have to be with company funds.”

“If that’s the case, looks like it’s not going very well,” said Samantha.

“That’s the problem,” said Villiers. “All it takes is one illtimed buy or sell order and you’re smoked—which I’m sure Huang has realized, now that it’s too late to go back.”

Samantha laughed. “Speaking of nanosecond buyouts and stacked decks, I wonder how Knight is doing these days,” she said. “I should call him sometime, see what he’s up to. It’s been awhile.”

Villiers smiled, but he added another tick to his mental checklist. Sam, you’re trying to be a naughty girl again, aren’t you? Probably pulling some dirty tricks on Cross today while the world’s attention is elsewhere. At least, that had better be the case …

“One of my little birds tells me that Knight is going to need a new chess partner soon,” said Samantha.

“Is he now?” said Villiers, mildly surprised. That would be an interesting development. “And how did you hear that?”

Samantha smiled in response, changing the subject. “You know,” said Samantha, “you should consider taking some of those IPO funds and trying to buy Renraku.”

Villiers briefly considered it. “No, our old friend Nakatomi is still over there. Buying into Renraku would be like throwing open the gates of hell. Aside from that, Corporate Court antitrust regulations don’t allow one AAA corporation to own part of another. We’d have to swallow all of Renraku in one bite, and that just isn’t in the cards—I have other fish to fry.”

“If you say so. Seems a shame to waste such an opportunity, though. Someone should give it a try”

“It sure as hell won’t be me,” said Villiers. He looked over at Samantha, mildly surprised to see her deep in thought over this. “All right, that’s enough. I won’t have you planning treachery standing right next to me. At least have the courtesy to do it somewhere else.”

Samantha laughed. “All right, I’m going.”

“You couldn’t buy Renraku anyway,” said Villiers. “I know,” she said. “But I bet I could find some bank out there somewhere willing to give me a loan on my shares. Maybe in Latvia.” She winked and turned to leave.

You are such a bitch, Villiers thought, but he couldn’t help but smile. She may have been a terrible wife, but she’s certainly a worthy opponent.

As Samantha disappeared into the crowd of traders, Cara came back into view. She was walking across the floor on the arm of a vendor or a politician, her fiery hair a blaze among the more staid colors of the trading floor and its inhabitants. Cara was probably hard enough to take on Nakatomi …

The clock reached 10:39:00. Villiers imagined the Matrix representation of a massive flood of cash hitting Novatech’s bank account. It would probably be a huge waterfall or flood or something, he thought. Then he tried to imagine the streaks of data left by thousands of Buy orders launching out of Novatech’s account hitting the market simultaneously. Missiles, explosions, fireworks. Villiers didn’t particularly care what it looked like; it was the thought that counted.

Somewhere in the world, Dankwalther screamed as every public company he held interest in was simultaneously hit by a Novatech hostile takeover bid.

Villiers turned and waved across the room to Novatech’s Corporate Court representative, Justice Lynn Osborne. Osborne nodded and left the room to file a request with the Corporate Court to issue an Omega Order on Dankwalther and his few remaining holdings. It had a high chance of success, as Dankwalther had a litany of illegal attempts to manipulate global markets for his own gain.

That’s right, Dankwalther, you bastard, thought Villiers. Suck it.

As he was contemplating this turn of events, Villiers’s thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. That would be either Transys-Neuronet or Erika calling about Novatech’s seconds-old buyout offer. Villiers had met with their respective corporate heads weeks before to discuss the possibility. These were going to be good mergers. He could feel it.

That moment was the last time he was truly happy for a long time.

Villiers’s phone dropped the call. The ECSE trading floor fell into an uproar. Villiers’s bodyguards tackled him and dragged him off the viewing platform to his waiting car.

The world went to hell.

[Cobalt 1号机]

十月，2066年

迈尔斯·拉尼尔已经有一阵子没见过理查德·维利尔斯喝得这么醉了，上次还是去年。

拉尼尔接到电话是在午夜刚过。维利尔斯的私人助理——她的名字拉尼尔依然记不住——在午夜时分打电话给他说维利尔斯又需要他来接他。他坚持说这次的情况要糟糕得多。拉尼尔希望事情没那么糟。十月似乎总能触动维利尔斯的神经，他想。也许这和他心爱的洋基队每年都被红袜队打得落花流水有关。

偌大的夜总会寂静无声，空无一人，几个小时前就被维利尔斯的信用棒清场了。维利尔斯坐在最边上的红木吧台前，位置和去年几乎是同一个。全息屏幕上，红袜队正在与洋基队进行美联冠军赛。体育解说员已经称这场比赛为“波士顿大屠杀”。比赛进行到第六局，红袜队21比3领先。洋基队的投手泰隆·马格努森在第一局就崩溃了，主教练出于气愤让他继续投球。新星科技新芬威公园球场座无虚席，观众们为每一场比赛欢呼雀跃，仿佛这场比赛仍然胜负难分。红袜队的球迷喜欢看到洋基队出丑。他们为每一次跑垒欢呼，即使第六局的比分几乎完全没有意义，领先优势已经达到两位数。

又一个红袜队的本垒打落在了看台上。维利尔斯厌恶地耷拉着脑袋。拉尼尔走到他身后，轻轻拍了拍他的肩膀。维利尔斯猛地转过身来，朝拉尼尔挥了一拳，拉尼尔轻松躲过，反击了一拳。拉尼尔狠狠地击中了维利尔斯，把他从吧台凳上打飞了出去，撞到了近20英尺外的一堆破桌椅上。

“你这是在干什么？”拉尼尔挑眉问道，浑然不知自己已经站出了拳击的战斗姿势。多年训练留下的肌肉记忆。

有那么一瞬间，拉尼尔担心他把维利尔斯打昏了。他的头向后仰着，眼睛斜视着天花板。然而，一声深沉的叹息告诉他，维利尔斯只是没有动。拉尼尔放松了姿态。“需要我帮你起来吗？”

“如果可以的话，我想我就在这里躺一会儿。”维利尔斯有气无力地回答道。芬威球场的观众再次欢呼，因为又有一名跑者得分了。

“随你便，”拉尼尔说，他在维利尔斯和他的吧凳刚刚占据的吧台空位旁坐了下来。“你要弄完这个吗？”

“打架？不，不会，”维利尔斯躺在地上说。

“不，我是说这杯酒，”拉尼尔说。维利尔斯抬起头几英寸。拉尼尔朝他晃了晃那杯几乎全满的波本威士忌。

“请便，”维利尔斯说。当他放松颈部肌肉时，他的头又落到了地板上，发出一声轻响。

拉尼尔一饮而尽，然后示意酒保再来一杯。酒保迅速地走了过来，重新斟满酒杯，然后迅速离开，尽量避免被卷入这场争吵。如果维利尔斯向酒保挥拳，酒保知道他必须挨这一拳。他可不想这样。

“这和超统-艾瑞卡的交易有关吗？”拉尼尔问道。

“一群自以为是的混蛋，”维利尔斯咒骂道，依然躺在地上。“试图告诉我该怎么做。我知道该怎么做，我是理查德他妈的维利尔斯。”

“那你打算怎么办？”拉尼尔问。

“哦，可能什么都不做。他们是混蛋，但他们是好混蛋。他们在欧洲会给大L(译注：指洛菲尔)带来很大的压力。我只是讨厌和他们打交道。至少他们没有试图杀我。”

“就你所知。”拉尼尔说。

“这不是他们的风格，”维利尔斯说。“我们在派对上相处得很好，但一到谈生意的时候，事情就变得很棘手。这是个大麻烦。”

又一个安打，又一个跑垒。24比3，红袜队领先。谈话稍作停顿。

过了一会儿，维利尔斯清了清嗓子。"我想明白了，"他说，只是口齿有些不清。

“什么？”拉尼尔问，心里想这会是真知灼见还是只有醉汉才能明白的东西。

“那个混蛋丹克瓦尔特，”维利尔斯仍然躺在地上。“他搞了我。”

拉尼尔觉得这话没道理。丹克瓦尔特在新星科技IPO和公司法院颁发欧米茄命令几天后就被解决了。“在我看来是你搞了他，”拉尼尔说。“他的资产被没收，他的组织变成了废墟。而且他自己也被轨道武器炸死了。”

“问题不在于他发生了什么，而在于我发生了什么，”维利尔斯说。

“你发生了什么？”拉尼尔看向维利尔斯，反问道。“你的敌人被消灭了，你的公司是世界第三大公司，你没有债务，现金储备充足。问题是什么？”

“我输了，”维利尔斯说。

拉尼尔皱了皱眉头，走到维利尔斯旁边，用一只手把他从地上拉起来。他又拉来一张吧凳，让维利尔斯坐回吧台前的原位。“我不能和躺在地上的人谈话，”他解释道。

维利尔斯马上又点了一杯酒。酒杯被瞬间倒满，然后酒保再次迅速地消失了。

“在富积与中臣和山名的那些年是我生命中最糟糕的几年，”维利尔斯说。“每天早晨醒来，我都不知道自己会不会被其中一个人暗杀。开董事会时，我们之间的保镖多得可以排成一排。年度会议上有成千上万的愚蠢股东提问，要求我对每件事都给出答案，甚至包括我一天内放屁的次数。我无法出售自己公司股票，因为没有人有足够的钱购买它，即使有，出售它的行为也会导致股东抛售。然后我还要应对我们收购公司的新高管。超统-艾瑞卡的人是最糟糕的——因为他们有一半的时间是对的。混蛋。我不需要他们总是给我泼冷水。”

拉尼尔点了点头。

“丹克瓦尔特迫使我们进行IPO，”维利尔斯说。“当新星科技还是私人公司时，经营它简直就是天堂。现在我又回到了原点。我身处地狱。”

拉尼尔一言不发。他无法反驳这个评价。他有些惊讶地发现自己也有同样的感觉。这真让人沮丧。

“顺便说一句，打了你很抱歉，”拉尼尔点头，朝维利尔斯脸上迅速肿起的瘀伤点了点头。

“会好的，”维利尔斯说。“谢谢你做我的挚友。”

“随时恭候，”拉尼尔回应道，眼睛看着全息屏幕上的比赛，又喝了一口波本。

维利尔斯注意到吧台后面的镜子里有东西。他站起来，凑到对面，仔细端详着自己的脸。“你戴的是什么戒指？”他问，看着印在他左眉上的戒指反面印记。

“1906年的世界大赛戒指。”

“哦，”维利尔斯说。“我没想到你是个棒球爱好者。”

“你觉得做洋基队球迷很难，那你应该试试这个，”拉尼尔指了指他戴着戒指的手指说。

维利尔斯举起右手，伸出他戴着戒指的手指。“2013年。洋基队最后一次赢得世界大赛。”

“尽管哭诉吧。”拉尼尔翻了个白眼，脸上露出一丝苦笑。

全息屏幕上，红袜队又一记大满贯飞过绿色怪物墙。第六局看起来不会很快结束。

劇透 -   :

OCTOBER, 2066

Miles Lanier hadn’t seen Richard Villiers this drunk in awhile, not since the previous year.

Lanier had gotten the call just after midnight. Villier’s personal assistant, whose name Lanier still couldn’t remember, called him around midnight asking him to come out to get Villiers again. He insisted that this time it was far worse. Lanier hoped that wasn’t the case. There was something about October that just seemed to get underneath Villiers’ skin, he thought. Probably had something to do with the annual trashing of his beloved Yankees by the Red Sox.

The vast nightclub was as silent and empty, having been cleared out hours ago by Villiers’ credstick. Villiers sat at the mahogany bar on the far side, in nearly the same spot as he had last year. On the trid, the Red Sox were playing the Yankees in the ALCS. The sportscasters were already calling this game the Boston Massacre. It was 21-3 Sox, the sixth inning. The Yankees pitcher, Tyrone Magnusson, had melted down in the first inning and the manager had left him out on the mound out of spite. Novatech New Fenway park was jam packed, the crowd cheering every play as if it were still a close game. Sox fans loved seeing the Yankees embarrassed. They cheered for every run even though the score was nearly completely pointless with a double-digit lead in the 6th.

Another Red Sox home run landed in the stands. Villiers slumped over with disgust. Lanier came up behind him and gently put his arm on Villiers shoulder. Villiers swung around sharply and took a swing at Lanier, who dodged it as if he weren’t even trying and returned fire. Lanier hit Villiers so hard that he flew out of his barstool, crashing into a heap of broken chairs and table almost 20 feet away.

“What the hell was that for?” asked Lanier, raising an eyebrow, unaware of the fact that he was standing in a boxer’s fighting stance. Years of burned-in training were responsible for that.

For a moment Lanier feared that he’d knocked Villiers unconscious. His head was tilted back, his eyes angled toward the ceiling. A deep sigh however told him that Villiers just wasn’t moving. Lanier relaxed his stance. “You need a hand up?”

“I think I’ll just lie here for awhile if that’s ok,” responded Villiers weakly. Another cheer went up from the crowd at Fenway as another runner scored.

“Fine by me,” said Lanier, who sat down next to the vacant spot at the bar recently occupied by Villiers and his bar stool. “Are you going to finish this?”

“The fight? No, probably not,” said Villiers from his heap the floor.

“No, I mean this drink,” said Lanier. Villiers raised his head a few inches. Lanier wiggled a mostly-full glass of bourbon at him.

“Be my guest,” said Villiers. There was a light thump as he relaxed his neck muscles and his head hit the floor again.

Lanier drained the glass, then signaled to the bartender for another. The bartender came over quickly, refilled the glass, and stole away, trying to avoid getting brought into the argument somehow. If Villiers took a swing at the bartender, the bartender knew he would have to take the hit. He wanted no part of that.

“So is this because of the Transys-Erika deal?” inquired Lanier.

“Bunch of opinionated assholes,” swore Villiers without moving from the floor. “Trying to tell me how to run things. I know how to run things, I’m Richard fucking Villiers for chrissakes.”

“What are you going to do about it?” asked Lanier.

“Oh, probably nothing. They’re assholes but they’re good assholes. They’re going to give the Big L a good run for his money over there in Europe. I just hate having to deal with them. At least they’re not trying to kill me.”

“As far as you know,” said Lanier.

“Not their style,” said Villiers. “We get along great when we’re out partying, it’s when it comes down to business that things get rough. It’s a giant pain in the ass.”

Another base hit, another run. 24-3 Sox. The conversation paused briefly.

After a few moments, Villiers cleared his throat. “I figured it out,” he said, his speech only slightly slurred.

“What’s that?” asked Lanier, wondering if this was going to be true insight or something that only made sense if you were drunk.

“That bastard Dankwalther,” said Villiers, still on the floor. “He got me.”

That didn’t make sense to Lanier. Dankwalther had been taken care of days after the Novatech IPO and Corporate Court Omega Order. “Seems to me like you got him,” said Lanier. “His assets have been seized, his organization is in ruins. And he was nuked from orbit.”

“It’s not what happened to him, it’s what happened to me,” said Villiers.

“What happened to you?” asked Lanier rhetorically as he looked over at Villiers. “Your enemy is destroyed, your corporation is the third largest in the world, you have no debt and ample cash reserves. What’s the problem?”

“I’ve lost,” said Villiers.

Lanier scowled, walked over to Villiers and picked him up off the ground with one arm. He pulled up another bar stool and sat Villiers down at the bar in his original spot. “I can’t have conversations with people lying on the floor,” he explained.

Villiers immediately ordered another drink. It was filled in a flash, then the bartender vanished quickly again.

“Those years at Fuchi with Nakatomi and Yamana were the worst years of my life,” said Villiers. “Waking up each morning not knowing if I would be assassinated by one or the other. The board meetings with enough bodyguards between us to field a platoon. Annual meetings with thousands of imbecile shareholder questions, demanding answers for everything down to the number of times I farted in a given day. Not being able to sell stock in my own company because no one had enough money to purchase it, and even if they did the mere act of selling it would cause a shareholder sell-off. Then there’s dealing with all these new executives in the companies we purchased. The TransysErika guys are the worst of the lot—because half the time they’re right. Jerks. Like I need that thrown in my face all the time.”

Lanier nodded.

“Dankwalther forced us into the IPO,” said Villiers. “Running Novatech when it was private was heaven. Now I’m back to square one again. I’m in hell.”

Lanier said nothing. He couldn’t argue with that assessment. He was somewhat surprised to discover that part of him felt the same way. That was depressing.

“Sorry about the eye, by the way,” said Lanier, nodding toward the rapidly swelling bruise on Villiers’ face.

“It’ll heal,” said Villiers. “Thanks for being a good friend.”

“Anytime,” replied Lanier, taking another sip of bourbon, eyes on the trid.

Villiers noticed something in the mirror on the bar behind the counter. He stood up, leaned across, and looked closer at his face. “What kind of ring is that you’re wearing?” he asked, looking at its reverse imprint just about his left eyebrow.

“World Series ring. 1906.”

“Oh,” said Villiers. “I didn’t realize you were a baseball fan.”

“You think being a Yankees fan is tough, you should try this on,” said Lanier, pointing to his ring finger.

Villiers held up his right hand, ring finger extended. “2013. The last time the Yankees won.”

“Cry me a river,” said Lanier, rolling his eyes with a slight grin on his face.

On the trid, another Red Sox grand slam sailed over the Green Monster. It didn’t look like the sixth inning was going to end anytime soon.