New Unity

The Sigma Chronicles - Part 3

The explosions rang out across the plain like great claps of thunder,
as the shells exploded all around him. The shockwaves of hot air
blasting the lone figure to the ground, his hands raised above his
face, attempting to shield his eyes from the searing blast. Somewhere
to his left another soldier screamed in pain as a shell ripped him in
half, his body torn above the waist. As he fell, crumpled on the
ground, a sergeant shouted from behind the form of the broken
man,

'Get up, advance, no surrender until victory!'

Lifting himself to his feet the soldier reached out, grabbing the
automatic weapon he had been carrying before he was knocked to the
ground by the explosions. After looking around to regain his bearings
the soldier ran on toward the objective of his assault, a vast,
gleaming spire built from steel and clad in shining magnesium alloy.
The great spire emanated from five smaller columns, each one containing
a vast arsenal of anti-air and anti-personnel weapons. Each column also
supported three galleries, designed to hold many detachments of troops.
These were empty, however, except for a few loyal soldiers, who still
held true to the old leader. They fired sporadically at the hordes of
approaching soldiers, their light weapons making little impact on the
massed ranks now only a few hundred meters away.

The automated weapons imbedded in the walls of the spire were far more
effective however, cutting vast swathes through the ranks of light
infantry and tanks. Although this decimation was great it did not deter
the attackers, who rallied around their desire to overthrow the old
leaders, and install a new government at the head of the Ak'tin-alm
tribe.

Three thousand kilometers away, in the city of Numbeel, in the Asdern
province of the tribe of T'pili, seven men and three women watched the
events unfolding on a tactical display screen. The battle far away
represented on the screen, compiled from reports sent in by high level
recon aircraft. At the centre of the circular screen a red cross was
displayed, around which green markers indicated the various attacking
units. The screen refreshed every five seconds as the tactical data was
renewed. One by one the red markers around the central cross
disappeared, until only the cross remained. The screen flashed, blinked
and the cross turned from red to yellow, indicating the fight had gone
inside. The minutes passed until finally the cross blinked from yellow
to green, the palace, and the old leader, had fallen.

On the ground the battle was over, the guns of the palace were silenced
as they were brought under the control of the new leaders of the tribe.
The last pockets of resistance around the throne room were wiped out,
the loyal soldiers killed. When the invading forces finally broke into
the throne room, through the thick steel door, they found the old
tribal leader slumped in his chair, his head resting on the table in
front of him. In one hand he grasped a scrap of paper, his last
testament to his tribe. In his other hand he held a small vile, now
devoid of its deadly contents, having been consumed by the man only
moments before.

'The Ak'tin-alm tribe is now under the control of Desrit, and his
council. From our intelligence reports we understand that he has
extremely anti-east political views, and we can expect an invasion of
some kind within the next few weeks, as soon as he has organized his
forces.' The man sitting nearest to the screen turned as he spoke to
face the others in the group. When he had finished speaking he motioned
toward the man sitting at the end of the table, his face partially
shrouded in shadows cast from the wall hangings obscuring the windows
in the room.

The man leaned forward, bringing his face into full view. He spoke with
a tone reminiscent of his long dead teacher, deep and meaningful, the
voice of one who has learned much through painful experience. As he
spoke Sinron lifted himself to his feet, emphasizing the importance of
the words he spoke.

'You people gathered here represent the leaders of all the remaining
tribes of the Eastern continent, you wield great power, and yet alone
and divided you will fail to repel any invasion from the North. The
only way you can hope to survive is if you unify under a single flag,
under a single leader, and stop fighting amongst yourselves.' Sinron
sat and listened as the people around him discussed what he had said,
their murmurings getting ever more agitated. Finally one of the women
rose to her feet, and called for quiet.

'Sinron, all of us here know of your plight to unify the East, but
surely you know that no two tribes have ever been united without a war.
I think I speak for my colleagues when I say that our differences are
two great to unify. Many of our people have deep blood feuds going back
hundreds of years. Even our discussing such a treaty causes much
anxiety amongst our people, they would never accept such a change.' The
other leaders voiced their agreements, clapping and nodding, their
minds made up.

Sinron again raised himself to his feet and banged his fist on the
table. The assembled leaders turned toward him, shocked by this
aggression. Sinron spoke with a hint of hostility in his voice, he had
heard these arguments many times before, and resented them for their
lack of substance.

'I have been many miles around the East, and seen many things. I have
seen great empires rise to decadence and fall to ruins. I have watched
the evolution of the tribes of this continent from squabbling
youngsters to mature empires that wield great power. While I hold no
great love for the squabbling patchwork of tribes that exist in the
East I am bound by a higher purpose to unite the East against the
threat of the decay coming from the North. As I look around me now I
see strong leaders, yet I can see in your futures that if you do not
unite soon, all hope will be lost for our tribes, and the purity that
exists now only in our continent. If you will not unite now, at least
consider this; the political situation has changed, there is no longer
room for petty squabbling. I hope that you will change your minds
before it is too late. This council will meet again in three days; have
your decisions by then.

Sinron rose and with him so did the council. After they bid farewell to
each other eight of them filed out of the room, leaving only Sinron and
Senola, the leader of the tribe of T'pili, the tribe hosting the
council. She was a tall woman, with dark brown hair, and deep emerald
eyes, a peculiar inherited trait of her tribe. Dressed as she was in
the traditional long flowing robes of office, she appeared stunningly
beautiful to Sinron, who was himself dressed in much simpler
attire.

She moved over to him, stopping just close enough to suggest intimacy,
while far enough away so as to appear perfectly innocent should they be
interrupted. Sinron turned toward her beautiful form, he had noticed
her stealing glances toward him during the recent meetings and had
noted her attraction as a possible point of leverage in the
discussions. Now however he felt something more, he found her
attraction toward him compelling, and realized he shared the same
feelings toward her.

Turning fully toward her Sinron looked into her beautiful green eyes,
twinkling brightly in the half-light of the room. She spoke with a sure
tone of voice; she had only been tribal leader for three weeks,
following the death of her predecessor. While she sounded confident,
her voice had a sense of urgency in it.

'I must tell you, during the three weeks I have been in office I have
had to learn quickly, but I feel it is fortunate that I have not learnt
all the tactics used by my predecessors. Unlike them I am not yet
resistant to change. I have long thought that we require greater
integration between our tribes, however I have never before been in a
position to act on these beliefs. The current political situation has
presented me with a unique opportunity. I have been involved in secret
discussions with two other tribal leaders, of the Pon'nas and Zolma'ak
tribes. If a conflict situation were to develop between the North and
one of the major Eastern tribes, I can be sure that these two tribes
will join us in an alliance. I only hope that we will not have to take
those steps and that the new leaders of the Ak'tin-alm tribe see
reason.'

During this conversation she had walked back to the tactical screen.
She stood looking at the map, the green cross still blinking at the
center. Sinron walked over to her, he stood beside her, considering
this new information, any feelings he felt for her would have to wait,
there were far more pressing matters at hand. He turned back toward
Senola, an encouraging smile on his face.

'I am sure that whatever happens, we will survive. Our strength of will
is too great for us to lose outright, victory will be ours, we can only
attempt to limit the damage it causes.'

The two figures left the room, the lights turning off automatically
behind them. The only light in the room emanating from the green cross
at the centre of the tactical screen.

* * *

Over the next three days the situation did escalate beyond the worst
nightmares of the council members. An invasion of epic proportions was
launched by the new leadership of the Ak'tin-alm tribe, three major
invasion forces ploughed south through the Eastern sea, each one
comprising three divisions of expert, cold-weather troops. The invasion
took the Eastern tribes by surprise, the enemy striking deep into
Eastern territory before any response could be coordinated by the
defense forces. By the time of the next council the number had been
reduced to seven, the leaders of the Mi'kew, and Curz'al tribes leading
their forces in battle. Already one tribe had fallen, crushed by the
relentless tide of invaders, their leader killed in the fighting.

As the seven leaders reconvened in the tactical room they could not
hide their concerned expressions. After the meeting was called to
order, Balktan, leader of the Pon'nas tribe, which was next in line for
attack, stood slowly, and glancing toward Sinron, began to speak.

'I think I speak for the council when I offer my deepest regrets at the
death of our friend, and ally, he died defending our ideals, and his
tribes honor. I hope his death will not be in vain, however the
situation is bleak and I fear that it may be too late to respond
individually to the threats presented to us, Lequim, please explain
further the situation we are in.'

He sat back into his chair as Lequim, the appointed controller of the
political service of the tribe of Ok'almin, stood and walked over to
the tactical screen. She tapped a control panel at the side of the
circular screen, a diagram of the planet appeared, outlined in yellow.
The landmasses appeared shaded green, the Northern continent occupying
roughly half the Northern hemisphere, and the Eastern continent,
extending below the equator, dipping down low on the western side. The
lower section of the globe was blank, indicating the frozen southern
continent, as yet unexplored. The display zoomed in on the upper
extents of the Eastern continent, the map unraveling itself to give a
two dimensional view. Dashed lines traced across the display indicating
the different provinces and regions occupied by the tribes.

The map then flashed again as Lequim brought up the latest intelligence
reports, the occupied areas turning red, triangular markers indicating
the enemy forces. The upper reaches consisted of three main tribes,
they held the coastline, these tribes were the major ones, the recently
defeated Zinnalin tribe, and the tribes of Mi'kew and Curz'al. Below
these the remaining six tribes spread over the continent, extending far
south to the daylight line. The red area extended over the lands of the
Zinnalin tribe, and halfway through those of the other two, over half
the area of the continent was covered.

'The situation is indeed bleak. Our individual armies are fighting
losing battles. I predict that in a week, all our resistance will be
crushed. We have lost major battles on all fronts, I wish it were
otherwise, but this is all down to a lack of coordination between our
forces. Our only option is to try to hold them off at the Granthiem
fault line. As you know this line separates the invasion forces from
the remaining five tribes, I propose the sacrificing of the lands of
the Pon'nas tribe, to facilitate the withdrawal of our forces behind
this line of defense&;#8230;'

At this Balktan rose abruptly, his face contorted into an expression of
horror and anger, his speech was angry as he glared angrily at
Lequim.

'Sacrifice my lands, the lands of my people? Thousands will be killed
and I cannot allow this! I refuse to betray my tribe. I am shocked that
this council would suggest such a preposterous plan. I will continue to
fight on my own; any plans you make can now exclude me. I will not
stand by and allow my tribe to die!'

With this he left the room, though the council did not know it his
tribe would fall a week later, its armies crushed by the Northern
forces, the people scattered, refugees of a horrific war. The rest of
the council voted to withdraw to Granthiem, the forces establishing a
defensive line three hundred miles long, with the deep trench of the
fault line forming a vast natural defense line.

After the vote was made Sinron called for quiet amongst the tribal
leaders, he stood and walked over to the screen, the map still
blinking, depicting the shape of the continent. He turned to address
the council, glancing toward Senola, her emerald eyes glinting in the
half-light. Before the meeting they had discussed this announcement, to
unite three of the minor tribes to create a coalition capable of
holding its own against the new threat. They had discussed the
advantages of the coalition, and decided to announce it soon, to allow
it to take effect in time to put up resistance. A slight nod from
Senola was the confirmation he was seeking; he began to announce the
new alliance, the attention of the group directed toward him.

'For the last three weeks, a political game of chess has been in motion
between Senola, and the leaders of the tribes of Pon'nas and Zolma'ak.
I have been asked by Senola to announce a new alliance, uniting these
three tribes behind a single goal, the eradication of the threat from
the North. I announce now in this meeting the formation of the
Tri-Eastern Coalition Government, this is an historic moment in the
history of our world, I only hope we will be around long enough to
celebrate it in the way it deserves. All three signatories have given
up much to make this historic moment possible, I hope that the rest of
the council can learn from this example, and that in the future, we may
all be united under one flag.'

Sinron stepped down and returned to his seat, the council, for a moment
stunned by this announcement began to applaud, their appreciation
spreading to the inhabitants of the remaining Eastern tribes as the
world press spread the breaking story. The meeting ended soon after,
the council members filing out of the room, past Sinron and Senola,
congratulating them and shaking them by the hand. When the last had
left the two figures were left buzzing with excitement, the reception
was better than they could ever have hoped for. Turning to Senola,
Sinron looked at her and smiled. He looked into her dark green eyes
and, without saying a word the two of them embraced and kissed. Their
job completed allowing their feelings for one another to surface.

Leaving the room they walked out into the rapidly darkening night, the
last rays of the sun disappearing over the horizon. As they walked
Sinron could not help noticing her gaze skyward, Senola was looking
toward the brightest star in the sky. Sinron recognized it instantly,
its bright light clear against the sky, the eye of the constellation of
Pendraxsora, the princess of the Southern sky. As he looked a tear
appeared in his eye, he had achieved what his teacher had never done,
and he owed it all to this woman. They walked on into the night; their
hands clasped together, a bond formed.