Table of Contents
BLOCKBUSTER
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IN THE YEAR 2025
PROLOGUE
BREAKOUT
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
BREAKTHROUGH
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
THE RELEASE
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
TURNING THE CORNER
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
SUPERBUG
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
VICTORY
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
REBIRTH
CHAPTER 59
About the Author
About the Publisher
BLOCKBUSTER
Lisa von Biela
First Edition
Blockbuster © 2015 by Lisa von Biela
All Rights Reserved.
A DarkFuse Release
www.darkfuse.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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OTHER BOOKS BY AUTHOR
Ash and Bone
The Genesis Code
The Janus Legacy
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For David, with love
Many thanks to everyone at DarkFuse for believing in my work, and for your continuing dedication to producing the finest dark fiction around.
Thank you to my readers for your support and appreciation—and a special shout-out to the DarkFuse community of Book Club members and fellow authors for your very special brand of camaraderie.
IN THE YEAR 2025
PROLOGUE
Tami Freeman wiped tiny beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, then frowned. Her head felt hot as a furnace—from some damned bug or pure rage, she sure couldn’t tell. Didn’t matter either way because she didn’t have any leave time left and she needed the pay.
She disposed of the offending email with a vicious jab of her finger. Good thing the touchscreen was made of ultratough glass. That bastard boss of hers would surely dock her pay if she cracked the thing.
The email had announced yet another overly optimistic deadline to meet—or else. Ever since she’d started working at the up-and-coming social networking service, she’d been on a constant death march. One software release after another to test and deploy. Who knew if the users noticed—or even wanted—all those changes?
Maybe they should just automate software development entirely, like they’d been threatening to for years. The way they rode her and her fellow employees, they must already believe it was nothing but a cluster of hardware and software—rather than humans—that carried out their ridiculous release schedule.
The job did, however, pay the bills pretty well for an entry-level position. Good thing, because she had racked up plenty of debts since she’d left home in a final fit of justified anger. She didn’t plan to go back. No how, no way. Those days of abuse by dear old Daddy were over, no matter what she had to do.
She leaned back in her standard-issue ErgoStim chair. She despised that chair. It was just another way for the company to extract more work out of everyone. The chairs provided optimal ergonomic support for long hours at the computer, but they also contained sensors. If the chair sensed its occupant wasn’t paying attention, it would emit a brief electric shock, just enough to encourage renewed focus on the job. She’d been tired lately from all the overtime she’d been putting in, and so had experienced the shock feature plenty.
Tami’s face and eyes burned. She scratched at her forearm, then decided to get out of her windowless cubicle and take a break. Her throat was parched, and a free can of soda on the company’s dime sounded good about now.
A brief wave of dizziness hit her as she stood. She leaned against her desk for a moment and promised herself she’d start looking for another job. Soon. This one was taking too much of a toll.
Tami gritted her teeth as she entered the break room. The company kept the lighting painfully bright to discourage lengthy breaks. She reached into the well-stocked refrigerator and grabbed a cold Mountain Dew. The caffeine might give her the boost she needed.
She sat down in a hard plastic chair at one of the little round tables and popped open the Dew. She rested the chilled can against her forehead for a moment, then chugged a good slug of the stuff. Rather than soothing her throat, the Dew burned all the way down and made her eyes water.
Tami wiped her eyes, then noticed something wrong with her left forearm. A blotchy red rash extended from wrist to elbow on the underside. Tiny pinpoints of blood oozed from where she had been scratching off and on all day. Probably allergic to my damned job. She made a wry face and sipped some more Dew while she rested her arm on the table to let the blood dry.
“Hey, Tami. ‘Sup?” Dean Wagner, her coworker from down the hall, retrieved a Pepsi from the fridge and plopped into the chair across from her.
She took another swallow, grimacing at the burning in her throat. “Did you see the latest email? I needed to get out and chill for a few minutes after reading that thing.”
“Yeah. The usual shit, huh?” Dean raised the can to his lips and stopped. “What is that?”
“What’s what?”
He pointed at her forearm. “That. Looks kinda nasty.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just noticed it myself. It’s probably from all the stress. I feel really tired, too. I’m hoping the Dew picks me up so I can get some work done.”
Dean peered at her more closely. “Your face is flushed, too. You look like you’re coming down with something. You should probably see a doctor about that rash.” He made a brief face of disgust and took another sip of his Pepsi.
Tami gave a dism
issive wave, then tucked her arm in her lap to deflect Dean’s scrutiny. “No, it’s just stress. I’m sure.”
A tiny bead of sweat trickled from her hairline.
BREAKOUT
CHAPTER 1
The emcee stepped to the matte black podium at the center of the expansive simulated teakwood stage. He wore a formal black tux with a white shirt and tie like that of a headwaiter in a prestigious restaurant. A slender black wireless microphone followed the curve of his right jaw like a graceful, organic appendage. He waved his hands to quiet the crowd that filled the cavernous auditorium on the Denali Labs campus.
He smiled and nodded several times as he waited for silence, then said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the CEO and founder of Denali Labs, Mr. Dan Tremaine.” He extended his hand stage right, then stepped away from the podium and led the audience in a round of thunderous applause.
Absently fingering his wireless microphone, Dan stood just offstage watching his intro. He smiled and waited until the applause became nearly deafening. And why shouldn’t they treat him like a rock star? He’d brought his shareholders nothing but success since he founded the company a mere five years ago. The share price knew no ceiling, and, despite being a growth company, Denali Labs had paid a generous dividend every single quarter after the first year.
He might be the new kid on the block, but he’d already garnered serious respect on Wall Street. And make no mistake, the world revolved around Wall Street now. Even the façade of regulation and wrist-slapping that was the norm ten to fifteen years ago had been openly abandoned. The sky was the limit, and he who ran Wall Street could have whatever he wanted.
In its brief history, Denali Labs had produced blockbuster after blockbuster in the world of BigPharma—all still under lucrative patents. No other BigPharma firm had ever had that degree of success in so little time. Speculation abounded as to how he’d managed it, but no one had been able to unearth the secret of his success, much less emulate it.
Dan had no intention of letting momentum like that slow. No matter what it took.
Satisfied the applause had reached a suitable crescendo, he stepped out to the podium, nodded at the emcee, then stood there and basked in the adulation as the shareholders gave him a standing ovation.
It was good to be Dan Tremaine. Very good indeed.
* * *
After his presentation and another lengthy standing ovation from his grateful shareholders, Dan slipped out a door behind the stage and into a lit bay that looked much like a miniature commuter train stop for one. His personal transportation device waited there to whisk him home in a matter of moments.
When Dan founded Denali Labs, he outsourced every aspect of the operation to minimize costs while he developed his initial product line. Once the company was established and profits began to soar, he built a special campus to house all of Denali’s operations, from research to manufacturing—even his own home. The design included an underground tunnel system for his personal transportation device. The sleek glass and metal unit ran on silent electromagnetic tracks at ninety miles an hour. He could travel from one end of the enormous campus to the other—alone and undisturbed by weather, traffic, or other humans—within minutes.
Now it was time to relax and reward himself for his hard work. He stepped inside the single-person unit and sat cradled in the integral padded seat within. He pressed a button on the console in front of him and leaned back for the brief ride.
Moments later he arrived in another bay, this one just beneath his home. He stepped out of the unit and into an elevator. It took him to the main floor and opened its doors without so much as a whisper of sound. Dan stepped out into his foyer, a cavernous chamber of black-veined white granite warmly lit by unseen light sources. He knew what awaited him in the living room and smiled with anticipation as he approached.
Dan stood in the arched living room doorway and took it all in. The room itself was the size of a large apartment. Its outer wall was made entirely of WindoWall, a special glass that could be made opaque when desired, totally transparent, or anything in between. The wall faced west, commanding an impressive view of the Pacific Ocean from the house’s perch high up on a reinforced bluff. Right now, a magnificent sunset lit the sky with oranges and pinks. The WindoWall polarized the light and emphasized the colors.
Lounging on the thickly padded off-white leather couch were two women: one, a tall leggy blonde; the other, a lithe little brunette. Each held a half-empty glass of champagne. The blonde raised her glass. “I’m afraid we started without you.” She giggled and took another sip.
A low, gleaming black lacquer coffee table stood before the couch. On it were Dan’s favorite ingredients for a good party. A bottle of Krug champagne rested in a silver ice bucket, a lone empty glass by its side. A small, matching silver tray sat to the right. On it was a small mound of fluffy white powder, a tiny blade for cutting lines, and three slim disposable tubes for their inhaling pleasure. No sense in potentially spreading germs, of course.
Dan joined the women on the couch, positioning himself between them and pouring himself a glass of champagne. “Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” He took a sip, savoring the crispness of the brut Krug. “Had any of this yet?” He began chopping the mound of powder into lines.
The brunette gave a sly grin. “Oh, no. We’ve been waiting for you.” She winked at the blonde, who took another sip of her champagne and feigned ignorance.
Dan inhaled a line and passed the tray to the brunette. He tilted his head back and breathed deeply as the drug coursed through his bloodstream. A comfortable warmth, somehow both stimulating and relaxing, spread through him, quickly reaching all the way to his fingers and toes. A glowing sense of euphoria soon followed.
So much better than cocaine, this Stardust of his. All the benefits, but none of the harmful side effects. A nice little in-house invention, just for his personal use. Maybe someday he’d operationalize it and market it. Surely it would be another blockbuster product. But for now, it was just another perk of his job. He inhaled another line of Stardust and sipped more champagne. Then he leaned back into the comfortable couch and rested an arm on each woman.
Oh yes, it was good to be Dan Tremaine.
CHAPTER 2
Phil Horton collapsed the last empty cardboard box and stacked it with its brethren just outside his office door. He returned to his desk, sank into his creaking chair, and stared into space. The weight of responsibility for Horton Drugs already felt palpable upon his shoulders. He sighed.
Why the board had chosen him over Dennis McKenzie to assume the role of CEO was beyond him. Dennis had far broader experience—especially in turning around moribund pharma companies. Hell, he’d done it more than once, and done it well. Phil, on the other hand, had spent his entire career working in the lab at Horton Drugs. He was a scientist, for God’s sake, not a manager. Until now.
No, he really did know why he was chosen. Because of his last name. The board was determined to keep control of Horton Drugs in the family, no matter the cost. That is how it had always been since the company was founded back in 1959 by his great-grandfather, Reggie Horton. And Phil was the next blood relative in line. That was all there was to it. Nothing to do with any evidence of innate managerial talent he’d ever demonstrated.
Not that he didn’t want to keep the company alive, and not just for the sake of his own paycheck. He was proud of Horton Drugs and everything it stood for. He’d do everything he could to save it. He just didn’t know if he had the skills to be a CEO at all, let alone one capable of saving a company from extinction.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
And so it begins. “Come in.”
Chuck Seaforth, the CFO, stepped in, his face grim as the reaper. “Hi, Phil. How’s your first day going?” His attempt at a friendly smile proved a dismal failure.
“Oh, I don’t know, Chuck. How about you tell me?”
Chuck took a seat in front of Phil’s desk and
cleared his throat for a bit longer than seemed necessary. He took a deep breath and began. “Well, I’d best get right to the point. You know the company’s in trouble. That’s no real secret and the share price reflects it. I’m here to tell you just how much trouble.”
“Let’s have it.” Phil braced himself for the gruesome details.
“I’ll email you the detailed reports this afternoon. They show several key issues at the root of the problem. Most importantly, we’ve been devastated by the patent cliff in recent years. Not one Horton product isn’t off patent now, or about to be quite shortly. The generic drugmakers are having us for lunch because of it. What’s more, we have nothing promising in the pipeline right now to even hope to stop the bleeding. Everything in the last few years has either fizzled in testing, or another company beat us to market. Naturally, this has affected cash flow, and we’ve had to take on debt to help cover operations and stay alive. Some of it’s at decent interest rates, but the more recent debt is at much higher rates because our credit rating is slipping.”
Phil covered his face with his hands as he struggled to absorb the nonstop volley of bad news. “And did you enjoy the play, Mrs. Lincoln?” he muttered under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Do we have any points in our favor at all?”
Chuck hesitated as if he had to think long and hard to dig up any positive news to report, then brightened for a moment. “Well, the physical plant was paid off years ago. We own the real estate outright, too, which helps.” He stared down into his lap. “On the other hand, the facility is pretty old and maintenance costs have been creeping up. But our staff is talented, hardworking, with good Midwest values, and they do have the most current testing equipment available in the lab.” He looked up again and attempted a hopeful smile, but it looked more like he was having a gas pain.
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