by Siegel, Alex
Cracks in Reality
Alex Siegel
Copyright 2014-2015 by Alex Siegel
Kindle Edition
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For more information about this book and others in the series, please visit http://www.grayspearsociety.com/
Cracks in Reality is the second in a four book series. It is recommended that they be read in order. The complete list of books is and will be:
1. Seams in Reality
2. Cracks in Reality
3. Breaks in Reality
4. Shards of Reality
The Gray Spear Society is an earlier series by the same author. Those books are:
1. Apocalypse Cult
2. Carnival of Mayhem
3. Psychological Damage
4. Involuntary Control
5. Deadly Weakness
6. The Price of Disrespect
7. Tricks and Traps
8. Politics of Blood
9. Grim Reflections
10. Eyes of the World
11. Antisocial Media
12. Sharp Teeth and Bloody Claws
13. Teller of Lies
14. Faith Defiled
Revision 6/20/2015
Chapter One
Blake Blutstein shook his head with disappointment.
He was standing in front of the Sweet Palms Tavern in Alamogordo, New Mexico. The building had walls made of ugly pink stucco. Arched windows tried to create the impression of a Spanish mission, but neon beer signs completely ruined the effect. The sandstorms that plagued the region had shredded a canvas awning over the door. Looking at the place created the expectation of cheap, watered-down liquor served in dirty glasses.
Alamogordo as a whole wasn't much more impressive. It was a town of 30,000 in the middle of the New Mexican desert. Pick-up trucks were the most popular type of vehicle on the wide, sunbaked roads. The surrounding land was formidably arid and flat. Distant mountains provided the only interesting scenery, but dust in the air gave them a washed out appearance.
Blake entered the tavern. The transition from bright sunlight to darkness forced him to stop while his eyes adjusted. When he could see again, he saw little worth the bother. Fake wood paneling covered the walls, and the ceiling was just sheets of plywood. The bar was so scratched up, most of the veneer was gone. Shelves were packed full of decorative empty beer bottles, many with labels written in Spanish.
Two middle-aged men in dusty clothes were sitting at the bar. They didn't even turn their heads when Blake entered. The place was otherwise empty of customers.
The bartender was a Native American man with long, black hair. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a green baseball cap.
"Hi there," he said.
Blake smiled at him. "I'm here to meet somebody, not drink."
"You can't stay if you don't drink."
"Then I'll have tonic water in a clean glass. Thank you."
The bartender frowned and muttered under his breath.
Blake checked his watch. According to his intelligence, US Army Captain Brian Ortiz would stop by the bar for a drink in approximately ten minutes. The captain prided himself on punctuality and strict adherence to a schedule even when he drank.
Blake sat in a booth in the back corner of the room where the light was poor. He calmed himself and cleared his mind. Good sorcery required strong mental focus, and while he could do it under adverse conditions, that wasn't his preference. The bartender brought him a glass of tonic water, and after checking the glass for dirt, Blake sipped the drink.
He scratched his chin. He was wearing a fake beard as part of an elaborate disguise. He never showed his real face in public anymore. The federal government was looking for him with the goal of killing him. Blake had to travel under an assumed name when he used a name at all. Even with the disguise, he avoided every surveillance camera he saw.
A short time later, a Hispanic man in an Army uniform walked in. His black hair was cut short and even all over. A little stubble was growing on his chin, but it was excusable considering he had just come off five days of continuous duty. Blake recognized the officer as Ortiz from pictures.
Ortiz sat at the bar. The bartender immediately served him a shot of whiskey and a tall bottle of beer. Ortiz nodded in acknowledgement.
Blake stood up and walked over. "Captain Ortiz?"
Ortiz turned his head. "Do I know you?" He squinted.
"No, but I'd like to talk to you in private, if that's all right."
"About what?"
Blake glanced at the bartender. "For your ears only."
"I'm busy drinking," Ortiz said.
"I'll pay for your drinks. Please."
Ortiz had a dubious expression, but he got up and grabbed his drinks. He and Blake went over to the booth in the corner.
"What is it?" Ortiz said.
"Look at this," Blake replied.
After making sure nobody else was watching, he took a giant emerald out of his pocket and placed it on the table. It was the infamous Russian Eye. The stone had a square cut and was the size of his palm. As a historic gemstone alone, it was worth millions.
To a sorcerer, the Russian Eye was priceless. A tiny seam was caught in the crystal structure. The crack in the walls of reality was just the size of a pinhead, but it allowed raw, chaotic energy to trickle in from beyond. Blake could harness that energy and use it to work magic. Without a seam, he had the limitations of an ordinary man, but the Russian Eye allowed him to accomplish impossible feats.
"Is that thing real?" Ortiz leaned down for a closer look.
Blake blasted Ortiz with a psychic attack. With the ease of a master, Blake found Ortiz's deepest fears and most crippling anxieties which could rob him of his willpower. Blake wriggled into the dark corners like a weasel going after a rat. The silent, invisible battle lasted only a few seconds, and when it was over, Blake was in complete control. He had manipulated Ortiz's beliefs to turn him into an obedient slave. Ortiz would eagerly do anything Blake asked, no matter how dangerous, because Ortiz felt it was the right thing to do.
"You're assigned to the Vault, right?" Blake said.
"The Vault?" Ortiz appeared confused.
"A big hole in a mountain at the northern end of Mumford Army Base."
"The Physical Containment Facility located in Montaña de la Serpiente."
"Sure. I'm going to rob the place, and I need to know all about the security, but let's start with the basics. How much stuff are you keeping in there?"
Ortiz feebly resisted the command. Blake gave him a jolt of terror to remind him of the penalty for defiance. Blake could push any button he wanted in Ortiz's mind.
"There are 392 PCU's," Ortiz replied in a soft, tight voice.
"What's a PCU?" Blake whispered.
"A physical containment unit. They are steel boxes weighing 50 kilograms each."
"How inconvenient. I assume they're locked. How do I open them?"
"They have electronic locks," Ortiz said, "and each unit employs a different, unique code."
Blake furrowed his brow. "That's going to be a problem. How are they stored?"
"In chambers deep underground, twenty PCU's per chamber. Each chamber has a 10-ton door which is typically closed and locked. In an emergency, explosive charges can cave-in the chambers."
"Another problem. What's the total mass of all the materials? How much do I have to
haul away?"
"Hard to say," Ortiz said. "Maybe twenty or thirty tons."
Blake sat back in his chair. The logistical issues added a layer of difficulty he hadn't fully appreciated until now. Manpower alone wouldn't be sufficient. The job would require a lot of specialized equipment.
"When I scouted the facility, I saw guard towers."
"Six towers," Ortiz said. "They are 30 meters tall and made of solid reinforced concrete. Long-range video cameras and computerized recognition systems automatically identify intruders."
"And weapons?"
"30mm guns in the towers can destroy threats at a range of up to 1.5 kilometers. The ammunition is made of depleted uranium for extra penetration."
"I also saw tanks," Blake said.
"Two tank platoons, one on active duty and one in reserve. All the tanks are equipped to resist biological, chemical, and radiation attacks. Four M777 howitzers in fortified positions can support the tanks."
"And troops?"
"Two infantry companies are permanently assigned to the Containment Facility," Ortiz said in a dull monotone. "The men operate on a five-day duty cycle to keep them fresh."
Blake sighed unhappily. "What about sensors?"
"Multiple rings of sensors extend out to a range of one kilometer. They include motion detectors, heat sensors, microphones, vibration sensors, and lasers."
Blake grimaced with annoyance. His sorcery had a very short effective range. The small seam in the Russian Eye limited him to five or ten feet at the most, and mind-control was the most potent spell in his arsenal. He could create illusions, but they would only fool human eyes, not video cameras. There was no way to use his power to cross so much open ground undetected. The Vault had been designed specifically to keep out sorcerers.
"What else do I need to worry about?"
"The Containment Facility has multiple, independent security checkpoints," Ortiz said. "If any are attacked, the entire facility will immediately go into lock-down. All doors will seal. Hydrogen chloride gas will flood key connecting passages."
Blake snarled. "Any other security measures?"
"All staff members must pass a daily blood test before they can enter the Facility. The blood test checks for contamination which might compromise brain function."
Blake knew the truth. Exposure to sorcery caused the human brain to release specific chemicals. The blood test would reveal a sorcerer in disguise or an ordinary person who was a victim of mind-control.
"OK. If you had to rob the Containment Facility, how would you do it?"
"I don't know," Ortiz said. "It's designed to withstand a siege. If necessary, we can bring in reinforcements from Mumford Army Base where an entire brigade is stationed. As a last resort, we would destroy the entire Facility to prevent dangerous materials from falling into enemy hands."
"Do you know what those materials are?"
"No. The PCU's are usually sealed."
Blake knew the answer. The United States government kept dangerous artifacts related to sorcery in the Vault. The collection included precious seams like the Russian Eye, but most of it was journals and notes from decades of experiments performed by sorcerers and scientists. The treasure trove of knowledge was worth any price. It could make him the most powerful sorcerer in the world.
"That's a problem for me," Blake said. "Assuming I can get in there at all, I won't be able to take everything out. I'll have to pick the best plums. Is there a manifest or an inventory somewhere?"
"The Army doesn't have one. The contents of the PCUs just have code numbers."
"I'm not surprised."
Blake expected the Bureau of Physical Investigation had a list describing what each code number meant, but getting that list was another difficult challenge. BPI headquarters also had extreme security measures. The federal government had dealt with renegade sorcerers like Blake before and had learned the hard way what steps to take. They weren't entirely clueless.
Furthermore, the BPI employed other sorcerers, some capable of defeating Blake in a straight fight. He wasn't the only person who had mastered the infernal arts like mind-control. There were people out there who could do it even better.
The Vault was too big a prize to ignore though. The potential payoff more than outweighed the risks. With the wisdom locked away in those secret journals, he could achieve all of his dreams.
Blake would have to be exceptionally clever though. He had enemies of all stripes, and if he made any mistakes, he would pay with his life.
He had an idea. I won't rob the Vault, he thought. I'll trick my enemies into delivering the Vault to me. He smiled.
Ortiz was staring ahead, waiting for another command. His left eyelid was twitching slightly. Blake had to dispose of him. If Ortiz went back to the Vault and took the blood test, the Army would know he was compromised. The BPI would bring in another sorcerer to discover the reason, and Blake's influence would be revealed. Blake couldn't allow that to happen.
"You're going to end your own life."
Ortiz didn't react visibly. "Why?"
"Too much stress at work," Blake said. "Write a suicide note that talks about the long hours, overbearing security, and relentless pressure. Make it clear that the Containment Facility is an intolerable hell-hole. Then stick a gun in your mouth and blow your brains out. Understand?"
Ortiz nodded slowly.
"Good bye, Captain. It was nice meeting you."
Blake put the Russian Eye back in his pocket. He dropped twenty dollars on the table, stood up, and walked out of the bar.
* * *
Andrew looked across the valley with a feeling of accomplishment. He had crossed the white, turbulent waters of a river populated by zombie-sharks. He had successfully passed through a forest of trees which randomly lashed out at unwary travelers. He had traversed a desert made of sand which had the texture and stickiness of warm caramel. He had evaded marauding rock-trolls armed with flaming spears. Every obstacle had tested his limits physically and mentally.
He looked down at Charley who was slowly limping up the slope. Her long brown hair was tangled and dirty. One of her brown eyes was half-closed from getting hit in the face by a rock. She had lost a couple of teeth at the same time. Her black tunic and leather sandals provided little protection, and just about all of her exposed skin had bloody scratches. A particularly nasty gash on her knee went down to the bone. His beautiful girlfriend was a complete mess.
Andrew hadn't fared much better, but he refused to look down. He didn't need to inspect his many painful wounds. His assignment was to keep going as if nothing was wrong, and he would do so.
"This sucks," Charley said when she finally ascended the slope.
"What did you expect? A pleasant jog in the park?"
"It sucks even more than usual. I'm tired of being in constant pain. These sessions are getting utterly ridiculous. The carnivorous locusts were sadistic."
"That's the point, right?" Andrew said. "To break us?"
She rubbed her puffy eye.
"You can quit at any time. You know the way out. Of course, that would be admitting I'm better than you." He winked.
Charley sighed. "I'll keep going."
"We're almost to the temple. We'll be done in twenty minutes if we keep up the pace. Do you want to lean on my arm?"
"No. The ankle isn't that bad, and you look like you can barely stand up on your own."
The two apprentices hobbled over a ridge and looked down into a valley on the other side. An Aztec temple made of giant gold bricks stood before them. The stone path to the front door appeared unguarded, but Andrew had learned long ago to not trust appearances.
He looked harder. In this world, every puzzle had a solution and every obstacle could be overcome as long as he was smart. He couldn't allow excruciating pain and exhaustion to dull his mind.
"The paving stones are bigger than yesterday," he said.
"Trapdoors?" Charley said.
"Possibly."
"I do
n't like how that tall grass looks either. I think it's moving." She turned her head back and forth. "Hey, that could be useful."
Andrew followed her over to a giant fallen tree. The wood had rotted, and the smooth bark had peeled off in big sheets. He touched the bark and discovered it was as hard and dense as iron.
"Armor?" he said.
Charley shook her head. "No. A sled."
She struggled to move a big chunk of bark into position, and he squatted down to assist her. The bark was also as heavy as iron. Their many injuries made the task even more difficult, but eventually, the "sled" was balanced on the edge of the slope.
She sat on the bark, and he sat behind her. He gripped her hips with his knees and held the edges of the sled with his hands. The sensation of her body pressed against his made him smile despite the miserable circumstances.
Andrew used his hand to push off. They slid down the slope towards the temple, gathering speed quickly.
He glimpsed snakes in the tall grass, and their mouths were full of jagged teeth. The impossible creatures snapped at him and Charley as they flew past. He made sure his fingers and toes were tucked safely away.
The tall outer wall of the temple was approaching rapidly. The short trip would have a painful ending.
"We forgot to install brakes," Andrew said.
"I was just thinking that," Charley said. "Jump off on my count. Three... two... one... go!"
They rolled off the sled and continued to roll. The tall, stiff grass whipped Andrew's skin until he finally came to a stop. He stared at the purple sky for a moment as he tried to recover from the rough ride.
"Get up," Charley said. "Those snakes will eat us if we stop."
Andrew grunted and pushed himself up. Sharp pain in his right hand made him check it. His pinky finger was so badly dislocated, it was pointing sideways. He ignored the gruesome injury. We're almost done, he thought.
They staggered over to the giant wooden door of the temple. He didn't see a handle, but there was a ten by ten grid of square panels. Each panel had a number inscribed on it in order from one to a hundred.
"It's a puzzle lock," Andrew said.
"There must be a clue." Charley looked around. "There." She pointed down.
