That was her. Wanda-Jean moved along with the other six in her group in the direction of the shining aluminum starting gates. She looked fixedly ahead toward the far end of the course.
"Will contestants all make sure that they go directly to the gate that corresponds with the number on your costume."
There was a number five between Wanda-Jean's breasts. She headed for gate five.
"This is the elimination part of the process. Of the seven of you, only two will be eligible to go on to the broadcast show. Good luck. Now move right up to the gates, please."
Wanda-Jean stepped into the small space that was her part of the starting gate. The row of horizontal metal bars in front of her reflected the multicolored studio lights. She could see tiny distorted images of herself in their polished surface. Again she had the feeling of being an animal. This time, she was in a cage, an exhibit in some incredibly expensive zoo.
"Twenty seconds to the Question."
At that moment, twenty seconds seemed like a lifetime. The floor manager who was calling the orders swung high overhead, perched on a mobile crane. Two more cranes carried the elevated cameras. More cameras were deployed on both sides and at the end of the course. Wanda-Jean felt the lenses staring at her like the collective, unwinking eyes of a hundred million people.
"Once the Question has been given, you have ten seconds to consider the alternative answers."
Wanda-Jean stared down the course. It seemed impossibly long. It never looked that long on television. For a moment she panicked. She'd never even make it to the end, let alone onto the correct answer spot. The chrome nozzles of the high-pressure hoses stared back at her.
"Once the gates are sprung you have twenty seconds to reach the correct answer spot. The hoses will come on when the leading contestant crosses the halfway line."
The first part of the course was easy. All you had to do was run like hell. When the hoses came on, then it got rough. You had to keep going straight into them. The hoses tracked from side to side in a random pattern. If you were clever, you could dodge the worst of the barrage of water. If you didn't, you'd be knocked off your feet.
"Ten seconds to the Question."
Wanda-Jean made an effort to get herself under control.
"Five seconds."
The bleachers on either side of the course were empty. If it had been a real show, they'd have been filled with screaming game fans. On auditions, they simply ran a recorded crowd track to simulate the audience.
Wanda-Jean knew this game was Dreamroad standard. She had seen it featured in the show more than once. She also knew it was a tough one. She smoothed down her suit. She might as well look good to start with. Once the water hit her, the synthetic material would start to dissolve.
"And now, boys and girls, here comes the Question!"
The voice had changed. It was the familiar cry of Bobby Priest, Mr. Wildest Dreams. Like the crowd track, on auditions he too was recorded.
"What is the current population of the planet Earth? Is it A-three billion, B-eight billion, or C-five billion? You now have ten seconds to consider the Question."
Wanda-Jean had another moment of panic. Which was the correct answer? Then it came to her. It was C. She was sure she had seen it on TV quite recently. She looked down to the far end of the course, at the three circular, illuminated podia on which the players had to stand to signify their answers. She had to make it to the right one within the twenty seconds to have even a chance of getting on the show.
"Five seconds."
The tension was unbearable. Wanda-Jean felt herself start to tremble. The only consolation was that in less than a minute she would know, one way or the other.
An alarm went off and lights flashed. The gate in front of Wanda-Jean snapped open with a metallic clang. The crowd recording came on. It was deafeningly loud, almost at the threshold of pain. Wanda-Jean tried to shut it out as she sprang from the starting gate. She was running as though her life depended on it. The other contestants were all around her. A well-built girl beside her ran straight across her path. Wanda-Jean was forced to slow down, otherwise the two of them would have gone down in a tangle of arms and legs.
There were four players in front of Wanda-Jean. That meant she was third from last. She'd never make it through to the actual show if she couldn't pull up. She forced her legs to pump still harder. The blood pounded in her head. It was accompanied by the almost unbearable crowd noise. Watching "Wildest Dreams" on TV, she'd never noticed how many of the crowd yelled really disgusting obscenities.
The muscular young man who was leading the field crossed the halfway line. The water came on. Almost immediately a jet hit him squarely in the midriff. He folded up, staggered, and fell. As he tried to get up, another jet sent him sprawling back down the course. His costume was already dissolving into rags.
Wanda-Jean had no time to worry about other people's troubles. She was now within range of the high-pressure nozzles. Two of them were sweeping her part of the course like crossfire. The girl in front of her jumped to avoid one of the two waterjets and slammed into Wanda-Jean.
"Cunt!"
The word came out like a gasp of quickly expelled breath. The girl jammed her elbow into Wanda-Jean's ribs and tried to trip her into the path of the other jet.
"Bitch."
Wanda-Jean swore almost as a reflex and twisted her fingers in the girl's bleached hair. More by luck than judgment, she pulled the girl off balance. She tottered backward for a couple of steps, straight into the full force of the jets. Wanda-Jean went on running, smiling as the other girl was spun, flat on her back with windmilling arms and legs, the wrong way down the now slippery course.
Wanda-Jean's jubilation was short-lived, however. A third jet swung toward her. She did her best to sidestep, but she wasn't quite fast enough. She didn't take the full force of it, but even the periphery of the stream was enough to spin her around and hurl her against the track. The impact of the water was like simultaneously being punched by a giant fist and stabbed by a thousand freezing needles. Most of the front of her suit had simply vanished at the first touch of wetness.
It was all too much. Wanda-Jean was defeated. Cold, wet, and half-naked, she saw no point in going on. She had blown her chance. The recorded voices of the nonexistent crowd beat on her head. She wanted to crouch by the wall and cry. Then suddenly everything changed.
There was a clear path all the way to the podia. All the jets seemed to be moving in directions that would not get her. Screwing up her very last reserves, Wanda-Jean sprinted for the finish.
Her surprise at finishing the course almost stopped her. For a split second her mind went blank. She couldn't remember the answer. Then it came to her. C, that was the one. She swerved and jumped onto the C podium.
The muscular young man plunged out of the spray of water. He climbed onto the podium marked B. As he straightened up, completely naked, a siren went off and a hundred lights flashed. The twenty seconds were up. It had seemed like a lifetime to Wanda-Jean.
A hush fell over the recorded crowd as attendants helped the five contestants who hadn't made it off the course. There was just Wanda-Jean and the young man. The voice of Bobby Priest came back again.
"Okay, kids, just so you know you're getting a fair shake on "Wildest Dreams," you've got three seconds, I'll repeat that, three seconds to change your minds."
The crowd noise rose again. The amplified voices were baying either to move or to stay put. Wanda-Jean glanced at the young man. She decided that he was kind of cute. Neither of them moved. The crowd was cut off as the three-second siren sounded.
Bobby Priest's voice boomed out again.
"And now, what we've all been waiting for!"
A small, clear voice piped up inside Wanda-Jean's head. It said: Emote. You still won't make it if you don't look right.