Island in a Sea of Stars Read Online Free Page B

rotation held them in place. Iswander assessed the clan representatives with their colorful garb, scarves, and embroidery, family markings, swatches of red, violet, blue. Many wore jumpsuits instead of formal clothes, even for such an important meeting. He touched his impeccable suit, wondered if he had made a miscalculation. The best response was to refuse to acknowledge it, and to proceed on a steady course.
    Isha Seward managed the meeting from her Speaker’s platform. Her shoulder-length dark hair was much grayer now than when she had first been elected as a compromise Speaker. She was plump as well, having gained weight during her administration. Iswander vowed that he would take care of himself, once he became the next Speaker.
    The business trivialities seemed interminable. Iswander glanced over at Sam Ricks, who was casual—too casual. His rival wore his everyday work jumpsuit with a prominent green clan armband. By the Guiding Star, the man looked as if he hadn’t even shaved! Could he not at least try?
    Speaker Seward called upon Ricks first, and he delivered a rambling and uninspired speech that basically said all the clans knew him and therefore he would make an adequate Speaker.
    When Iswander stepped up to the podium, he felt a renewed purpose. This was like the first day when his lava skimmers had produced exotic metals from the magma on Sheol, like the first shipment of prefab modules he had dispatched to Roamer asteroid colonies. The first profit-sharing bonus he had given his employees. He had built himself a pedestal of his own successes.
    â€œI was born a Roamer, and I am still a Roamer,” he said. “But I’m a new kind of Roamer, because we live in a new Spiral Arm. I was just a young businessman back at the birth of the Confederation. I was one of the first to embrace our new situation, and I’ll bring that new attitude to all clan dealing with the rest of the Confederation.”
    The audience didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he had hoped. Roamers had long resented the idea of big business, especially after being hounded for so many years by the corrupt and repressive old Earth government. But those outdated thought patterns were no longer relevant.
    Iswander turned to the other gathered faces. “Because I was thinking big, I bought out my parents’ stake in our clan business and began building new factories. We specialized in supplying modular space habitats and prefab domes for rugged planetary surfaces, where Roamers have always thrived. I made it easier, safer, and more lucrative.”
    Sam Ricks let out a rude snort. “And you charge the clans as much as you charge Confederation customers. Anyone with real Roamer blood in his veins would give us better prices.”
    Iswander was annoyed that Ricks would interrupt him, when he had politely endured his opponent’s bland speech. “That only proves you don’t understand business. My production costs are the same, regardless of who buys the units. It’s business. Mathematics doesn’t play favorites. My operations demonstrate the benefits of being pragmatic. For too long, the clans lived by the seat of their pants.”
    From the Speaker’s platform, Isha Seward said, “Sam, no more interruptions. Be polite.”
    One man, dour-faced with a thick beard and shaggy gray hair, scoffed. “Be polite? Roamers sure have changed, and not in a good way. Convocations used to be an open exchange of ideas, now it’s like some prissy court dance. Should we bow and curtsy too?”
    Iswander recognized the man as Olaf Reeves, Garrison’s father—an idiot by any measure. He wore traditional clothes with pockets, zippers, clips, and clan symbols embroidered on the fabric. Some might have called the clothes old-fashioned or woefully unstylish, but Reeves wore them as a badge of honor.
    â€œI don’t mind a frank and open exchange of ideas, Olaf Reeves,” Iswander said,