Astar 1

The Sigma Chronicles - Part 4

Leno Astar looked out over the battlefield, the bodies of his fallen
comrades were strewn about, intermingled with those of the fallen
enemy. The battle had lasted almost two months, during which two
million had given their lives to the defence of Granthiem, the fall of
artillery so intense that the cacophony was heard a thousand kilometres
away by nomads beyond the daybreak line. The landscape of the area had
been battered beyond recognition as the two sides exchanged fire across
the thousand foot wide chasm. This three hundred-kilometre gash in the
side of the planet formed as the result of an ancient earthquake of
unimaginable violence, this violence seemingly re-enacted over these
sixty-five days.

Leno Astar, at least on the outside, was a diminutive man. His
appearance made all the more unimpressive by two months of hard
warfare. The attrition tactics of the enemy had taken a lot out of this
man, now unrecognisable as the once strong leader of the Min'kew tribe.
He had been at the now historic tribal council meeting only a few weeks
before when the Tri-Eastern Coalition government had been formed. At
that time he had been set against unification, his views shared by his
people, but 300,000 lives is more than enough to change a tribes
perceptions, let alone one man. This being the number of his tribe that
had died so far in the conflict, the heaviest loss of any tribe save
that of the Zinnalin.

Leno was at the northernmost point on the fault line, just over three
hundred kilometres from the coast. This is where his tribe had made its
stand, alongside the massed ranks of the other eight who had survived
the initial attack. The war zone had now gone far north, the invading
army routed, desperately trying to make a stand against the now
seemingly invincible Tri-Eastern army. Leno had seen the effectiveness
of a united force, he now saw the way forward. He did not however have
the resources left to start negotiations to be included in the
coalitions now already formed. Instead he had called Sinron, the new
hero of the East, to a meeting, along with Lequim, leader of the
Ok'almin. He hoped to use Sinron's influence to build his people a
strong position, inside the lands of the Ok'almin, thus ensuring his
tribes survival in these new and turbulent times.

He walked on, toward the edge of the chasm. The air was still thick
with the petulance of battle, a mingled smell of burnt flesh, gunpowder
and chlorine gas which was the horrific new weapon unleashed by the
Ak'tin-alm as their last resort. As he neared the embankment, which had
served as the shelter for so many of his fallen comrades he could not
prevent a tear from forming in his eye, so much life lost, for so
little achieved. He quickly wiped away the moisture as another man
approached where he was now standing at the top of the embankment. He
cast his view down to the lake below, the deep blue a heavy contrast to
the red sandstone of the cliffs to either side. The other man was now
only a few feet away and Leno could see him o be one of his many
Generals. He was tall, and, unlike Leno, seemed to have been unaffected
by the fighting. Not surprising seeing how the Generals rarely visited
the battlefield.

Leno raised his hand to salute, a notion he had always considered
somewhat futile, he had once remarked on how when all about was in
chaos, a soldier always remembered to salute his superiors. The General
was now standing in front of Leno, and having returned the salute spoke
in a clean, crisp military manner.

'Sorry to disturb you sir, but the leader of the Ok'almin has
arrived.'

Leno replied, a note of resigned defiance in his voice, 'Very well, I
trust she is comfortable?'

'Provisions have been made for the meeting in your bunker sir, I have a
staff car waiting.' The General motioned with his hand back toward the
road, where, as he had said the squat grey car sat, with a squat,
grey-uniformed driver at the wheel.

Leno made no further effort at conversation, he knew how the higher
ranks resented his position of power, as a civilian it was to be
expected and Leno did not wish to press the point. The car pulled away,
and began the short journey to the forward command post. They travelled
past the rows of ambulances and trucks taking the dead and wounded back
to their grieving relatives. Barely two and a half months ago, they had
been summoned forth to battle. The message conveyed by radio and
charter, a general call to arms, or a military dictate, or one of the
myriad of other ways a tribe summoned its people to their deaths.

The journey ended at one of the small temporary concrete structures,
half buried in the muddy ground. All around military staff hurried
about their duties, packing away the tools of war into wooden crates,
the weapons being shipped off for use in the conflicts still ongoing
further north. Leno and the General walked over to the largest of the
concrete structures, a square flag flew at half mast above the
entrance, the circular symbol at the flag's centre split in two, with a
lighting bolt through the middle. This was the insignia of the armed
forces of the tribe of Min'kew, and as such denoted the command bunker
of Leno's forces.

Leno walked into the structure, the General merging into the swarm of
activity. The inside of the bunker was sparsely decorated; occasionally
the same circular motif was repeated on the walls, contrasting the grey
with blood-red spray paint. Above him bare light orbs cast a sharp
glare over every surface, the electricity occasionally fluctuating,
causing the orbs to dim. Leno made his way to the command room, the
centre of operations for the now concluded conflict. Much of the
equipment was already packed away; only a few radio terminals remained
in the bare room. He carried on through to the war room, a conference
centre, designed for high level meetings. This was the most secure room
in the complex and was buried deep underground.

Lequim was already standing in the room, near the large transparent map
that took up most of the far wall. A large metal table, stretching the
length of the room, took up the rest of the space. Leno walked over to
her, and she turned toward him as he approached. Lequim wore a long
orange dress, and with her hair done up high above her head she looked
considerably less depleted by the conflict than he. This he thought was
probably due to the interesting, if misleading statistic that her tribe
had lost the fewest number in the conflict thus far. They had however
merely been lucky he knew, as they had given just as much effort to the
fight as any other tribe. He greeted her with an air of formality,
speaking at first in the dialect of her tribe, as was traditional in
any diplomatic discussion.

'Halos, Lequim. Et trustos wellbeing guaranteed?'

'Yes Leno, I am well. I know how uncomfortable you are with my dialect
so lets keep to diplomatic standard for now.' Despite her cool
appearance Lequim was openly aggressive, she knew why Leno was here,
and she had not been so numbed to the disadvantages of unity as he had.
'I have a feeling I know why you and I are here, and I fear my
suspicions were confirmed only a few minutes ago. I heard some of your
personnel speaking about how excited they were to hear of a visit by
none other than Sinron Valzinik to this remote command post. Since
there is only one reason he would come here I must assume you have
changed your views on unification somewhat, am I mistaken Leno?'

'No Lequim you are not mistaken. I wish you would not judge unification
so harshly, you must consider the advantages before you condemn it.
After all, all the other tribes have either unified, or become
extinct.' Leno remained calm, he knew he had to, any show of emotion
would be weakness on his part, and showing weakness, as he well knew,
is not the way to get what you want in negotiations.

'When will the famous Sinron be here then?' Lequim was settling back
into her normal diplomatic persona.

'Very soon I hope, I shall go and check on his expected arrival time.
Please consider my proposals, I hope Sinron can help me to change your
mind.' Leno left the room, walking back through the door, his mind
already analysing his first encounter of Lequim in nearly two months.
He searched every thing she had said for any hint as to her intentions,
her way of thinking at the time, anything that would help him in the
negotiations. It was in this state of deep thought that he wandered off
in search of a comms officer to enquire as to the ETA of his second,
highly distinguished guest.

* * *

Sinron was in fact not very far away, though his progress was slowed
somewhat by the unreliable transport he had secured for the final leg
of his journey. The car, though comfortable was old and worn out, the
engine giving out every few miles. He was somewhat grateful for the
slow speed of this form of transport however, as the rest of his
journey had been far too quick, it was obvious that Leno needed him
there soon. Sinron was not used to getting anything done quickly, and
the last few months had surprised him. He had made all the progress
toward his goal in the last few weeks, and the speed with which events
were moving unnerved him.

The journey had begun from the recently liberated city of Bonalqui,
located in the former lands of the Curz'al. Sinron had first learnt of
Leno's request for a meeting a week before the end of the Granthiem
conflict and Sinron, still revelling in his two prior successes, and
somewhat overawed by the generally good direction of his life, had
agreed without much thought to the matter. He had departed five hours
ago, the first part of his journey being made in the private aircraft
of Leno himself, before being transferred to an official car. This had
taken him only as far as the road reached however, past this a small
tracked vehicle had been all that was available. It was in this strange
contraption that Sinron now considered the situation he was about to
put himself in.

While he had agreed to the meeting, he had not known what Leno wanted
from him. He now knew however that Lequim had also made the journey to
the forward command bunker, and Sinron had worked out what he was
wanted for. His two previous successes, in forming the Tri-Eastern
coalition, and the negotiations for the formation of the Mi'al alliance
had given him somewhat of a reputation for unification talks, and he
was fairly sure that this is what Leno wanted him for.

The strange car again ground to a halt, the driver shouting in disgust
at the engine in a regional Min'kew dialect. Sinron sighed and glanced
across the vista visible through the small viewing slit in the side of
the transport. The ground, though covered with a thin layer of sandy
mud, was mostly solid rock. For the most part the terrain was flat, and
though pockmarked with many small craters, only a few of the enemy's
weapons had made any lasting impression. The rock and mud were a rusty
red colour, the deathly hue coming more from the sandstone rock below,
than from, as the poets liked to say, the blood of the dead. The sky
was becoming overcast, and it was unusually cold for the latitude, it
almost seemed the weather was grieving along with everyone else.

Sinron turned his attention back to the leather bound pad at his side.
In it he had collated all the available information on the nine tribes
of the pre-war era, and the leaders of each all had entries. This book
had proved invaluable in the two previous negotiations; Sinron secretly
believed that it had been his key to success, though he didn't like to
admit it to too many people. He turned past the pages marked with red
and yellow patches at the corners, these related to the tribes already
dead, or unified. He had made new entries on the new alliances and
coalitions, his eventual aim still being total unification. He also
ignored the pages marked with black, as these related to the Northern
tribes, the Ak'tin-alm, De'manal, Grin'qui and Forrdew. All these notes
had special significance, though only for Sinron as they were written
in special shorthand to which only he knew the key.

He found the entries for the tribal leaders toward the back, again
marked with coloured patches. The entry for Leno had a green patch, as
did that of Lequim. Sinron had studied both these entries several times
already, and had the major points outlined in his mind. For Leno he had
made special note of the socio-economic background of his tribe, the
political situation, rivals to Leno's power, his views on currant
affairs, leadership qualities, and most critically, his views on
unification. All these points and more would help him in the
negotiations. A similar list formed for Lequim, and from this Sinron
could see the difficulty of the task he faced in unifying two factions
with such deep running oppositions.

Sinron was jolted out of this state of deep thought by the tired engine
starting again, the small transport shuddered back into life, and the
driver, content with his job of fixing the engine, once more started
the transport moving. Sinron, unable to concentrate when the vehicle
was in motion; let his mind wander to other matters. The first thing it
settled upon was Senola, whom he thought of regularly while they were
separated. She was currently helping the people of her tribe to rebuild
after the invasion, her tribe had lost a lot in the war, though it was
relieved somewhat by the coalition it had helped to found.

He and Senola had been separated for about two weeks, ever since he
left for Bonalqui. For the duration of the war he had supported her as
she commanded her tribe in battle. He felt somewhat responsible for
her, and did not like their being separated for long. He would not have
been here if it were not for the urgency of Leno's call. It was while
involved in these thoughts that the car pulled up to the front entrance
of the command bunker. As it lurched uneasily to a halt, Sinron was
once again jolted from his line of thought. Despite a moment of
confusion he soon realised where he was, and prepared himself to meet
Leno, clearing his mind of distracting thoughts.

* * *

Leno hurried down the barren corridor, he had just been informed of the
arrival of the second member of his private meeting, and was in a hurry
to meet him. The weather outside had deteriorated rapidly, great
ominous storm clouds towered above, sheer walls of cloud cut sharply at
the edge of the weather front. They brought with them a cold wind, and
driving rain, which had just reached the location of the bunker as
Sinron arrived. Leno hurried over to the great man, who was sheltering
under the opened door of the car as the rain began to fall heavily. Far
off in the distance a low rumble of thunder signalled the approach of
an electrical storm, which would be considerably more uncomfortable to
endure than the rain.

Leno greeted Sinron quickly and the two men made their way inside
quickly. Once under the wide concrete porch the two continued their
conversation, moving inside as they did so.

'I have heard much of your tribe during this conflict Leno; I must say
that I am impressed. I am puzzled though, why do you wish to meet out
here, this bunker is miles away from the nearest road, let alone a
town?' Sinron had judged his question carefully to extract every bit of
information possible from a seemingly innocent enquiry, one of the many
diplomatic techniques he had learnt in his time among such
circles.

'I could say it is a perfectly innocent choice of location, for
security and privacy, but I feel you know too well the trickery
involved. In truth I picked this location for Lequim's sake. You may
know how her tribe has lost the fewest people in the conflict, I felt
this location may serve to illustrate the horror I, and my tribe, have
faced.' Leno sighed, and shook his head slightly at this last
statement, before Sinron could enquire further Leno continued
speaking.

'I should have told you why I needed you, but I could not risk this
meeting to become common knowledge, if Lequim's tribe were to know of
this meeting it would have been over before it started.'

'Tell me now then, what is it you wish for me to do. Surely you cannot
be looking for unity,' Sinron played this question to judge Leno's
opinion on unification, essential knowledge for his negotiation, 'when
we met last you were firmly against it.'

'Three hundred and twenty three thousand, four hundred and fifty seven,
that is what has changed my mind. That is the number of people who have
been identified so far. Barely half of that number died in the unified
tribes, so I can assure you that I am sincere. I have seen your
successes, only last week you brought together the people of Bonalqui,
a city so split by the war that to talk of the other half would mean
violent action. You united these people, I am sure you can help me
integrate my tribe with that of Lequim's.' Leno had stopped walking and
stood facing Sinron, he now turned and continued, back down toward the
war room.

Lequim stood outside the door; she held a small pendant, an oval of
quartz in a silver setting. She handed this symbol of friendship to
Sinron as he came close; introducing herself in her dialect for she
knew Sinron was well versed in all the tribal variants.

'Halos Sinron, I estos Lequim Kalsanagason, etu Lequim. Mei glados to
make you aquantance, ko hear a multitude ol great thieos about you.'
Lequim's pronunciation was perfect, and a subtle inflection in her
voice indicated she had stopped speaking.

'Halos Lequim, I too ko hear ov you deeds, mei glados also to make you
aquantance.' Sinron's command of the dialect impressed Lequim, who made
a sideways glance at Leno, who, fearing embarrassment, quickly
interrupted.

'If you are ready I think it would be best to begin the negotiations,
now that all the necessary parties are here. I can assure our privacy,
as there are no other people in the complex at the moment. I also think
that, entirely for the benefit of the record tapes, it would be best to
stick to diplomatic standard during the negotiations.' Leno tactfully
hid his unease as the three entered the war room. Behind them the heavy
door closed and locked, though it was not necessary as, just as Leno
said, no one remained in the bunker aside them.

Outside the bunker the rain continued to fall even harder. The
electrical storm moving ever closer, as great bolts of lightning
crackled around the sky. The flag above the entrance to the bunker was
now sodden, flapping noisily in the wind, still at half-mast. Far off,
to the North, battles still raged, but here at least the rain was
beginning to wash away the reminders of the battle, the rage of nature
expressed through this turbulent tempest.