Free A Jungle of Stars (1976) by Jack L. Chalker Page B

again: stay indoors. Stay where you are until further--"
    Vard angrily reached over to a console and switched it off. That was that. He sat down in the controller's chair, swiveled around to the transceiver, and punched in a ten-digit code.
    "Open all channels!" he ordered crisply.
    He did not wait for a reply or an acknowledgement, but began speaking as soon as the lights on the console told him that all connections had been completed.
    "This is Group to all teams. I have a red light, repeat, red light.
    Enemy is in the city. Dalthar! Dalthar! Deploy immediately to primary objectives; use secondaries in numerical sequence only as local conditions indicate. We have lost and we must now do our duty. Every blow that you strike today is a blow to the enemy, and a step toward ultimate reclamation of our beloved motherland. I know not who you are, but I--"
    He stopped, aware that he was trembling violently; the microphone was as a thing alive in his hand, writhing, bouncing uncontrollably. Finally he regained some of his composure, although his voice sounded thick and slurred to his ears.
    "Luck be with you all," he managed, his voice cracking.
    He switched off the communicator, sat back wearily in his chair, and contemplated the master board. Flipping a toggle switch he replaced the starfield with a projection of both sides of the globe, alive with thousands of tiny flashing lights representing at least as many anonymous Fraskans in organized cells all over the planet. He had never known any of them, he thought, and almost none knew him. One by one, the lights were winking out, representing duties done or attempted sabotage, gumming up the mighty industrial works that were the enemy's objectives and prize, ruining the sweetness of victory.
    Their homes and their jobs. Their lives. Winking out.
    Soon only a few were left: the nervous, the cowards, the unsuccessful, the traitors ... and the captured.
    For most of them, Vard knew, there would be no returning. Suddenly very conscious of time, Vard juggled the dial combinations on the master transceiver for the last time.
    "Group to Mystery. I have acknowledged and transmitted your red light.
    Will abandon post in a tenth period or earlier. Prepare to transmit." There was again no reply, but in a ship far out in space the words were heard by the cyborg signals still on board.
    A tiny transceiver implanted long ago in his brain suddenly began a sharp, high-pitched whine that was audible to noone but him. Vard knew he would have live with that sound, live with it until he was picked up -- or killed. If captured, the signal would rise until it struck a certain pitch, shattering his skull.
    Taking a last look around the master control console, Vard went over to a small panel near the doorway. He opened it, revealing a small switch held in place by complex electrical lock, and removed a tiny vibrating key from his belt. This was inserted in the lock, twisted first this way, then that.
    Aruman Vard watched the lock give way and swing aside, revealing a clear path to the switch.
    He pulled it.
    Then he took the elevator to the surface and went down a narrow corridor to the street level, past the sign marked ARUMAN VARD: IMPORT/EXPORT and into an almost deserted street. He moved briskly, not looking back.
    When he was about two blocks away, the building began a slow dissolve, like heated plastic: all of it running together. By the time he was three blocks off, it was a huge puddle of boiling matter.
    Living on an ancient world long devoid of its natural atmosphere, whose red sun gave off a dull glow but little heat, presented problems enough, just surviving there. But on this world of domed cities and underground honeycombs sustained by a highly sophisticated technology, the problem of escape was compounded almost beyond belief. Vard knew that The Hunter's boys did not expect him to make it, but he trusted them to keep faith with him as he had all these years with them.
    Suicide or surrender