Children Of Fiends - Part 2 A Nation By Another Name: An Of Sudden Origin Novella by C. Chase Harwood Page B

his reverie by the grating voice of Martha Kincaid. “Niles? Can we bring this meeting to a start?” He turned away from the window and faced the seven people seated around a large conference table supporting a model of the entire peninsula. He noted, not for the first time, how flat the Shore was in full relief. The only features that broke it up were the several rivers and tributaries that wandered out from its fertile center. Otherwise it was mostly farmland – rich farmland that had fed millions before the Omega; the damn Russian’s never-ending winter forcing all cultivation indoors.  
    Two of the seven wore military uniforms: an Air Force colonel, and an Army major. Niles felt a pang of pride as he looked at the two men, Quale and Thompson: visionaries who had seen the light and had followed him from the research facilities at Carnegie Mellon to this place of obvious strategic importance. The other five were Martha Kincaid, a former bank regulator turned Delaware State Senator, Vicar Wentworth, The Shore’s spiritual guide, Lawrence Ashton, bank exec, Dietrich Pelham, hedge fund manager, and Paula Brown, United States Senator in abstentia. All had known each other for at least a decade or more, all were of The Shore, and all had the same goal, now realized, of a separate nation on an island off the coast of America. Except for Pelham who had a slight Swiss accent from a childhood of European schooling, they all spoke with the dialect of the particular isolation that was their ancestral home. It was classically Mid-Atlantic, heavily rooted in English cadences, and unlike any dialect spoken in the United States.
    Plimpton took a sip of his freshly made tonic and gin and sat at the head of the table. “Forgive me. I was just once more admiring that which we have wrought. Finer weather brings a whole new shine to it, wouldn’t you agree?”
    Martha acknowledged the feat with an appreciative nod and continued, “The Eagle has made contact with a hostile ship.”
    “Yes, I see her out there.”
    “A Sentinel was lost, another badly damaged. An attempt on a schooner that claimed to be of the Northern Government. They had devil children aboard.” The final comment brought the sounds of casual movement in the room to silence.
    Plimpton let the news settle in his mind without revealing a shift in his features. He looked around the table and focused on Colonel Quale. “Colonel?”
    Quale said, “Not much more than that, yet.” He glanced at Major Thompson. “Pretty shaken, I gather?”
    Before he could respond, Thompson was interrupted by Vicar Wentworth, who with scorn filtering through his gritted teeth said, “Traveling with the devils. Our fears about our Northern neighbors are confirmed.”
    Plimpton offered the reverend a weak acknowledging smile while hoping dearly that the old man wouldn’t go off on some kind of religious rant.
    Thompson said, “Captain Miller didn’t radio. Just word from the radio tech himself. Sketchy on the details.”
    Ashton, who in a former life was the biggest agricultural banker on the peninsula, and now the Governor of Salisbury, said, “Fiend babies aside. You say it was a government ship?” He cleared his throat and raised his considerable bulk from his chair. “Folks, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Just a matter of time ‘til they notice us.” He focused on Quale. “Especially with these raids.” He pointed at the sea on the relief map. “Long Winter’s passing. Got their feelers out, they do – maybe using them devils. Time will come, sooner than later, when we will want to trade with those people. It is critical that they not feel threatened by us.” He focused on Quale again. “Despite our significant might, we are not in the position to take on what is left of the much reduced but still powerful U.S. military.”
    “Agreed,” said Senator Brown. “When we finally reach out, or visa-versa, it is in our best interests to remind our Northern