Read Kill Switch for Free Online Page A

foot of the mountain.
    â€œLights are on,” said Bunny.
    â€œDoesn’t mean anyone’s home,” murmured Top.
    We had all of our normal gear and a lot of the nasty little gadgets developed for us by Dr. Hu. But Bug’s information about the ancient meteor strikes made me paranoid about some kind of weirdo alien space bugs trapped in ancient ice and now melting because of the engines and general operations of Gateway. So I made sure we all wore BAMS units. These are man-portable bio-aerosol mass spectrometers that were used for real-time detection and identification of biological aerosols. They have a vacuum function that draws in ambient air and hits it with continuous wave lasers to fluoresce individual particles. Key molecules like bacillus spores, dangerous viruses, and certain vegetative cells are identified and assigned color codes. Thanks to Mr. Church we had the latest models, which were about the size of a walkie-talkie. We clipped them to our belts. As long as the little lights were green we were all happy. Orange made us sweat. If they turned red we’d be running like hell.
    We climbed onto the snowcat and I’m pretty sure we were all thinking something was hinky with Gateway. When you lived at the bottom of the world, visitors were rare. You came out to greet them. And yet every door on the station remained closed. We drove in silence to the main building and Top parked us at an angle that would allow the cat to offer us protection if this turned into an ambush. He idled there for a full minute.
    Nothing.
    â€œMaybe they’re putting their mittens on,” suggested Bunny.
    â€œUh-huh,” grunted Top. “And maybe they’re baking us some cookies.”
    â€œLet’s get to work,” I said. “Combat call signs only.”
    I screwed a bud into my ear and tapped it. “Cowboy to Bug. Talk to me.”
    â€œWelcome to the winter wonderland, Cowboy.” The fidelity of the speaker was superb and Bug sounded like he was right next to me instead of sipping hot cocoa at the tactical operations center at the Hangar, the main DMS facility in Brooklyn. “We are mission active and all telemetry is in the green.”
    â€œOkay, we’re on the ground and about to leave the cat,” I said. “Bunny, let’s go knock. Top, watch our backs.”
    Top nodded and clicked the switches that made a pair of thirty-millimeter chain guns rise from concealed pods. A second set of switches folded down a pair of stubby wings on which were mounted Hellfire missiles, six per side. Like I said, Mr. Church always makes sure we have the best toys.
    â€œDon’t get trigger-happy, old man,” said Bunny.
    â€œDon’t get in my way if I do, Farm Boy,” said Top.
    We got out. The sun was a cold and distant speck of light that seemed poised to drop off the edge of the world. Winds cut across the open plain with the ferocity of knives. The ’Skinz kept us from freezing, but the cold seemed to find every devious opening in our face masks and goggles.
    I stopped and raised my head to listen to the wind. It blew across so many jagged peaks that it picked up all sorts of whistles and howls. I wasn’t experienced enough with this part of the world and its sounds, but it seemed to me that there was more to that wind than the natural vagaries of aerodynamic acoustics. It actually seemed like the wind was shrieking at us.
    Bunny caught it, too. “The fuck is that?”
    I had no answers and didn’t want to give in to any kind of discussion on the topic.
    â€œTime to clock in,” I said. “Bug, where are we with thermal scans?”
    â€œThey’re online but the readings are all over the place. First I get one signature, then I have a couple of hundred, then a dozen, then none. It keeps changing. I don’t think we can trust that intel. Geological survey of the area indicates heavy concentration of metal ores in those