Ascension: Invocation Read Free Page B

this walk in fifteen minutes or less. Now, he struggled to move a few feet per minute. The roads were just packed. It was like navigating through some insane street festival, he thought. The music was incredibly loud, and every kind of crazy was represented here. The whirling hippies, the religious zealots, the tin-foil hat crowd. This coupled with the presence of armed police, news media of all sorts and ordinary civilians sipping beers and talking about their mortgages amidst a dimensional crack in the sky was a new sort of surreal. He pressed forward.
    Nearly a half hour later, Milan finally made it to the block where the station was located. The military had barricaded the perimeter several days before. Milan knew that getting past would be a challenge. He approached a soldier, flashed his press credentials and waved the gentleman closer. They would each have to shout in each others' ear to be heard.
    "No press!" the soldier yelled.
    "I understand! I'm a scientist! I'm not a reporter!"
    The soldier looked him over for a moment and finally shouted "Stay here!"
    With that, the soldier left the line and walked behind one of the armored trucks that guarded the city block. Milan saw snipers on the surrounding buildings. Behind the line, ambassadors from throughout the world, military minds and scientists like him huddled in the old Victorian home that doubled as the radio station studios where this entire debacle began weeks before. Milan desperately wanted to be a part of whatever was happening behind those closed doors. It was moments like this, however, that he cursed the day his agent had talked him into signing the consulting agreement with the network. Sure, the money was fantastic. The shot to his credibility amongst his peers, though, made it hardly worth it. He had become a "Mr. Wizard", as his colleagues often joked. It was unfair. His credentials were impeccable. They knew this.
    One of the soldier's superiors appeared from behind the truck and approached Milan. Since his arrival in Alabama, earlier that morning, Milan had detected a palatable fear in the eyes of everyone he encountered. Even the new age freaks welcoming their new, next dimensional masters with drum circles and crystals held a spark of terror in their gaze. This man's cold stare was fearless. Something about that was reassuring to Milan who was, admittedly, as nervous as the next by-stander.
    "What is your business here, sir?!"
    "I want to help! I'm a doctor of physics! I have a few theories about what is happening!"
    "We have plenty of physicists working on this!"
    "I can't imagine that one more would hurt! My name is Dr. Milan..."
    "I know who you are," the man interrupted. He paused for a moment and finally waved Milan through the gate. "Follow me."
    Behind the perimeter was a flurry of military activity. There were several tents set up and Milan could see a number of personnel working diligently at their computers. It was a relief to leave the mass of people behind. Milan followed the man down the block and up the concrete steps of the yellow house. On the porch, they were greeted by two armed guards who parted immediately at the sight of Milan's escort, saluted and opened the double doors to the home.
    Inside, the house boasted high, ornate ceilings. An elaborate chandelier hung above them in the entryway. A mahogany staircase to their right was full of traffic as people ran up and down the stairs, carrying files and various pieces of equipment. To the left, was a conference table now occupied by a number of dignitaries, apparently awaiting a presentation of some sort. The soldier told Milan to stay put, and he vanished around the corner, into the conference room.
    He emerged a few moments later, this time accompanied by a familiar face. "Milan! Welcome to the war zone," he said. It was Dr. Charles Trumboldt, an astrophysicist. He and Milan had attended several conferences together in the past. Both were in-demand speakers. Milan smiled and