Chapter 11: Preparations

For a "nice quiet tropical retreat" that Pearson Island was designed to be, the reality that morning was something quite different. It actually resembled an overturned anthill as communications were tested, food and bedding was delivered and frantically unloaded, furnishings were taken out of storage, power generators were brought up to full output, cottages' conditions were touched up and a myriad of issues were dealt with simultaneously. On the beach, a crew of hastily-recruited teens smoothed the sand, fixed up lifeguard huts and towers, and set out buoys to demarcate the safe swimming zone. They would later man those towers and huts as lifeguards. Plumbers, electricians, painters, carpenters, cleaners, communications technicians and groundskeepers raced around the place. They only had until 1:00 local time, when President Yamashita's shuttle was coming down.

In the central warehouse, a grim and overworked facilities manager bore down on his staff with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He was determined that at this, Pearson Island's big moment in the spotlight, it would prove worthy of being the pre-eminent diplomatic site in the known universe. As the hours grew scarcer, his temper grew shorter, his headache grew stronger and his language grew fouler.

The activity ratcheted up even more when the first shuttle arrived bearing the Solarian press corps, almost simultaneously followed by another filled with their Spican counterparts. Banks of video recorders needed to get installed, best locations for reporters needed to be allocated (far enough apart that they didn't interfere with each other), housing needed to be assigned, and rules needed to be pounded into heads more determined to scoop their rivals than into the social graces of living in a nude world. More than one reporter and cameraman discovered they'd forgotten to sit on their towel, and the Defence Force medics were spending much of their time ensuring the louts had remembered to regularly rehydrate and reinforce their sunscreen.

The news that the President was shortly going to be standing sun-dressed on the surface of the Nude Planet flashed around the Solar System with the speed of light. Needless to say, the story was fascinating, and every network broke into their entertainment feeds to make the unprecedented announcement. Both print and video news organizations spent the next few hours discussing just how to handle this.

The Solaris News Channel was typical. Their Special Emergency Editorial Meeting was helmed by the blunt, gruff, hard driving Senior News Editor, George McAdams.

"Nothing we can do about it. If we want to scoop the other channels, we'll have to just run the raw video on the Headline channel, and pixellate on the regular channel. What about the news analysis? How do we handle a naked reporter?" They'd sent their most seasoned political reporter, who happened to be a woman.

"That show will either have to swing over to the Headline Channel -"

"Ain't happenin'," advised the editor representing the Headline interests.

"-or we'll just have to trust the video feed will be a guaranteed head-and-shoulder shot."

"Ain't happenin'," George flatly declared, not taking his eyes off his Supervisor of Videography, who grimaced. When cameras went live, lenses pointed anywhere.

"Well," chimed in the Supervisor of Videography, "there's the issue of the time lag. Signals from Spica II, even with warp transmission, need an hour to get there and back. Any discussions will take an hour per question. Probably best to get the questions squirted over at once, then have her send her responses, then we can make it look live. We can then deal with any inappropriate images at the time."

Wallace was partially mollified. "Great! Then we can leave the political analysis on the regular channel. The actual shots of the President will have to be fed directly into the Headline Channel feed unedited." He banged his fist on the boardroom table. "I, am, NOT, going, to, be, scooped, on, this, story. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" It was clear. "Reports from the field will go directly onto the headline channel as and when received. No editing. If she lets it all hang out, that's exactly what we'll show. We're not going to waste any time covering anyone's 'naughty bits' with video trickery. Make sure that's clear to whoever is on duty. The feed goes out raw." Everyone snickered at that line.

"I think that should be the most memorable way of wording it," assured the Chief Director, glancing at his staff. He wasn't laughing; the broadcast authorities could very well get them in a great deal of trouble over the sight of unedited naked bodies on their primary news feed.

There then followed an in-depth discussion of the questions they'd want answered, many of which could have been answered by a quick look on an on-line encyclopedia.

Lucy Yamashita's political friends and foes likewise were making plans about how they'd handle this. Needless to say, both sides were taking diametrically opposed positions.

Tom Delancy was the leader of Lucy's Whig party in the Legislature. He sat with a very worried crew as the head of polling, Cindy Chen, ran through the latest results.

"These are VERY preliminary, I want to emphasize. Nobody's really had time to digest the news from Spica yet. Right now, there is a contingent that admires her bravery, and is willing to at least give her some credit for that, but there's also a significant portion of the voting public who consider any nudity to be immoral or at least makes them question her decision-making. We may have lost them in the next election."

The next election was six months away. In politics, six months can be an eternity, but by the same token it's not really a long time to overcome a whisper of scandalous conduct.