Beauty contest?
Date: 2024-05-09T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science fiction; Short stories; Beauty contests -- Fiction

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Title: Beauty contest?

Author: Henry Slesar

Illustrator: Leo Summers

Release date: May 9, 2024 [eBook #73589]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1957

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73589

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTY CONTEST? ***

The announcement went out and gorgeous girls responded from all over the nation. But after being put through a routine that would have exhausted a water buffalo, they asked each other in amazement: This is a——

BEAUTY CONTEST?

By HENRY SLESAR

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic February 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The gal who won this one had to be more than beautiful.

The girl in the yellow bathing suit plucked out her hairpins in exasperation and flung them on the vanity table. The redhead seated beside her looked over understandingly.

"I know how you feel, honey," she said. "I had an electro-perm last week, and just look at me. You think they'd have a few facilities around this dump." She surveyed the room disconsolately. It was small and jerry-built, with only two tables and two mirrors meant to be shared by six girls. It was a duplicate of all the thirty cabins, strung out like a serpentine railroad train on the edge of the Omaha Spaceport.

"I hate myself when I look like this," the girl in the bathing suit moaned. She looked in the mirror critically. The face that looked back was actually very pretty, with its wide-set eyes and clear, smooth planes. Her figure was equally attractive; it had to be, to qualify for the finals of the Miss Outer Space contest.

"We all feel the same way," the redhead said sympathetically. "Oh, they're trying to be nice though. Captain Lester—you know him, the cute one with the freckles—he was really sweet. But these space jockeys just don't understand women, I guess." She sighed, but then smiled reminiscently as she recalled the captain's embarrassment upon showing the girls their quarters.

"Well, I'm sorry I ever came," said the other girl, tugging at her blonde curls with a comb. Her eyes blurred with tears.

"Hey, Cleveland!"

Another blonde, wearing an electric-blue sweater, scurried over to the unhappy girl. Her face was lit with excitement, and her high heels clicked enthusiastically. "Can I borrow your Chanel?" she said.

"What for?" said the redhead sourly. "Got a date?"

"Maybe," said blue-sweater mysteriously.

"Janie!" The girl in the bathing suit caught her eyes in the mirror. "You can't do that," she said in a shocked voice. "It's against the rules!"

"Rules," Janie answered lightly, "are made to be broken." She sprayed the perfume on lavishly. "Besides, it's just for a walk. Some nice second-looie's going to show me around the spaceport."

"But they'll disqualify you if they find out," said the first blonde. "Is it worth it?"

"Oh, Cleveland!" She patted the girl on her bare shoulder. "I'm bored to death. I've spent a whole month with nothing but female company. I need a change!"

"Think we don't feel the same way?" said the redhead angrily. "You knew the way it would be when you entered the contest—"

"Your green eyes are showing, dear," said the blonde, helping herself to some of Cleveland's lipstick.

"Green eyes, my elbow!" the redhead exploded. "I could get fifty of these space jockeys to squire me around. You think it's so hard? But I had to come a thousand miles for these lousy finals, and I'm not stupid enough to risk everything for a guided tour with some shavetail—"

"Don't protest so much!" the blonde jeered.

The redhead shrieked, dropped her brush, and started for the blonde. Luckily, Maria, a hefty brunette with a voluptuous figure, stepped between them.

"Cut it out!" she pleaded. "It'll be lights out in a little while. Fight it out in the day-time."

"I don't want any trouble," the blonde said petulantly. "I just want a little fun."

"All right," said the redhead. "Let's forget it. I guess we're all just tired." She seated herself again and stroked her hair lazily with the brush. "And we've got quite a day tomorrow."

"You said it," agreed the girl called Cleveland. She picked up a mimeographed sheet from the table and read from it aloud. "Eight-thirty, breakfast and initial briefing by Captain Johannson. Ten o'clock, basic questionnaire. Eleven o'clock, physical examination. Twelve o'clock, lunch. Two o'clock, domestic science test. Four o'clock, photography." She looked up at the others pathetically. "Isn't that awful?"

"Sounds okay to me," said the blonde, putting the final touches on her outfit by stringing gold bracelets up and down her arm. "Except that domestic science business. I burn water."

"Then you might as well go home," said the redhead sardonically. "You've got to be a Betty Crocker to win this clambake. Along with everything else."

"It's the stiffest beauty contest I ever saw," said the hefty brunette wistfully. "Honestly, I've won a couple back home, and all I had to do was—well, you know—kind of parade around a little."

"Well, this is an important contest," said the blonde. "I mean," she added hastily, on seeing the hurt look cross Maria's face, "this is a big contest. You know what you get if you're Miss Outer Space?"

"We know the prizes by heart, honey," said the redhead. "Why else do you think we're here?"

"It's rough, though," Cleveland admitted, turning the paper over and reading the agenda marked SECOND DAY. "Look what happens Tuesday. Ten o'clock, endurance test. What do you suppose they mean by that?"

"I don't know," the redhead shrugged. "But it sure doesn't sound so good."

"And listen to this one. Three o'clock, outer-space question period. What about that?"

"But I don't know anything about outer space," the big brunette complained. "It just isn't fair!"

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Cleveland said comfortingly. "After all, the judges must know that we're not astronomers or anything—"

"Seems like a heck of a lot of fuss to me," the redhead said, shaking her head. "But I got this far. And even if I get bounced, at least I've met a few nice guys—"

"Lot of good that does," said the blonde, who had started for the doorway of the cabin. "Before you know it, they'll all be shipped out to Mars, and you'll never see them again."

"Yeah?" said the redhead. "Then how about your second-looie?"

The blonde made a despairing gesture. "Well, what can a girl do?" She looked at them imploringly, and then went through the doorway.

"Lights out in fifteen minutes, girls," said a man's voice over the loudspeaker in the corner of the room.

"That's Captain Lester," said the redhead. "Such a doll." She sighed deeply, wound a bright green scarf around her head, and got up from the table. She patted Cleveland's hand. "Cheer up, kid," she said. "You'll feel better in the morning."

The messboys in the spaceport dining room couldn't stop grinning as they wheeled their trays between the crowded tables. The room was filled with an unfamiliar and highly decorative array of attractive young ladies, and the musical din of their voices was an unusual sound in the rough masculine atmosphere. Breakfast had been prepared with extra care, and the girls had responded with remarkable appetites, calling for more up and down the line. It was only until their second cups of coffee were poured that Captain Johannson entered the room, looking a trifle uneasy, and rapped for attention on a water-glass.

"Good morning, ladies," he said briskly, and flushed when they echoed him with giggling "good mornings" of their own. He rapped the glass once more, and tried to keep a straight face.

"I'd like to welcome you again to the Omaha Spaceport," he said. "We're happy that you're here, and we're sorry if you have suffered any inconveniences. As you can imagine, we're hardly equipped to entertain almost two hundred young ladies, but we're doing the best we can under the circumstances. We hope you'll put up with us for the three days of the contest, and you'll find it all worthwhile."

"He's cute!" said a voice in the rear, and the room broke with laughter. The captain really crimsoned now, and he looked sternly at the grinning messboys.

"Harumph!" he said loudly. "As I was saying, you'll only have to put up with us for three days, so it won't be too bad. If you need any sort of assistance, you need only call my office—the extension is thirty-three—and speak to a member of my staff. They'll be glad to help you with any problem which cannot be handled by the Matrons. Mail will be sent and received at my office, and if you wish to make any long-distance phone calls, my staff can assist you there, too. There are, of course, doctors on the field, in case any of you require medical attention."

"How about dates?" said a voice from the rear. This time, there was only a slight titter in the audience.

"I'm sorry about that," the captain smiled. "And if you think I'm sorry, you should see the long faces on the field personnel." He basked in their appreciative laugh. "I'm sure you all understand the reason for this restriction. Interplanetary travel is a civilian enterprise, of course, but subject to the same code as the armed forces. We're constantly under close scrutiny by the public—whether we're sending a new geological expedition to the outer planets, or staging a strict publicity venture, such as the Miss Outer Space contest."

He cleared his throat. "So you see," he said carefully, "we must keep the contest in a rather—respectable atmosphere. Harumph!" The girls tittered again.

"Now," he continued with a relieved sigh, "I'll tell you something about your agenda. You've all received copies, but some of the items may seem more demanding than they really are. As you know, we are not going to select Miss Outer Space on—shall we say, merely obvious qualities. This is not a beauty contest in the strict sense of the term. We want good-looking girls, of course," he said with a slight twinkle, "and you all fill that bill quite nicely. But we are also searching for other qualities which we believe Miss Outer Space should have. Intelligence—no, I don't mean we're looking for lady Einsteins," he said as a groan rippled through his audience. "I mean good common sense," he explained. "The ability to meet situations. Domestic know-how, too. The rudiments of keeping a decent home. Physical fitness. And something else, that I really can't define in a word. Character, I suppose, is as good as any."

He looked around the suddenly quiet room. "All these things will be explained to you more fully. I just wanted to let you know how grateful we are to you all for sticking by us as well as you have, and we hope you'll bear with us a few days more until the final judging is made. There'll be rewards for every one of you, I promise you that. No one will leave the spaceport disappointed, and one of you will leave with very rich rewards indeed. Thank you," he ended abruptly, and left the room quickly.

The redhead flung herself on a cot and groaned.

"What a day!" she said.

"It wasn't so bad," said Cleveland, looking in the mirror and feeling better about the looks of her hair.

"Wasn't that questionnaire a beauty?" said the blonde girl, this time wearing a purple sweater. "'Please check your birth certificate when giving age,'" she quoted. "You know, I don't think they trust us."

"That domestic science test wasn't too hard," said the brunette.

"At least I didn't burn everything," said the redhead. "But did you get a load of that cooking equipment? I swear, I haven't seen junk like that since I went to an antique auction in New Jersey."

"Well, I guess they just don't have modern facilities—"

"You can say that again! Back home, we just put the food in the gadget, press the button, and whammo. This stuff is practically primitive."

"Say, did you see the face on that Captain Lester when he tasted that strawberry cake of mine?"

"Gee, he's cute. If I was running this thing, I'd make it a law that nice-looking guys like him get Earthbound jobs—"

"That photography business was something. I haven't been snapped so much since that Shutterbug show in Chicago—"

"Hey, Janie, what happened to your second-looie? I didn't see him around all day. What'd you do to him last night?"

"No, we couldn't get inside the hangar, but we saw enough. Honest, that spaceship is a dream. It's so white, I mean, just like that sheath dress I packed—"

"Say, when do we get a chance to wear some decent clothes, for Pete's sake? I'm sick of these damn shorts and halters—"

"Settle down, dear. Wednesday's the big day—"

"God, I'm tired! I don't know if I'll ever survive that endurance test tomorrow, whatever that is—"

"Lights out at nine tonight, girls—"

"I'd give fifty bucks for some food right now. I'd even eat something I made myself."

"Who wants to be Miss Outer Space anyway—"

Second Lieutenant Hartwig set his shoulders squarely as he faced the ranks of women.

"The exercises will be held at the Spaceport Play Area," he said crisply. "That's not quite four miles from here. The tests will last about two hours, so if we make good time we can be back here before three."

"What about lunch?" asked a small voice.

"We'll get our lunch at the Play Area. It won't be anything much, sandwiches mostly. As I say, we must be back here at three, so you ladies can take your outer-space question period. That's the last phase of the contest, except for Show Night tomorrow, of course."

"How do we get there?" asked the redhead, in the front rank.

"We walk," the lieutenant said grimly.

"Walk?" A chorus of disapproval came from the girls, mixed with some resigned groans.

"That's right," said the lieutenant. "It's not as far as you think, and there'll be field wagons for those who are too tired to walk back after the tests. I needn't tell you," he added, "that walking back might count against your score. But it's your privilege."

"Nice guy," said the redhead bitterly, out of the side of her mouth. The blonde, Janie, who had dated him on their first night, looked hurt. "He seemed nice," she said. "He was so sweet about things—"

"Let's cut out the chatter," said the young officer. "Pretend you're in the Army now, girls. No talking in ranks, and let's have some semblance of marching order."

"My feet hurt already," said Maria.

"This stinks," said the redhead tersely. "I knew I should have quit yesterday—"

"Not me," said Cleveland. "I got this far. They won't bully me out of it now!"

The field trucks drove back just fourteen girls from the Play Area. Lt. Hartwig was surprised at the low number, after his first hard-eyed appraisal of the women. But a hundred and sixty-six of them had stuck it out, with a perseverance that didn't quite fit his preconceived idea about the durability of young women—particularly the kind of young women who entered beauty contests.

But they stuck. They walked the four-mile distance to the test grounds with playful good humor. They took the hurdles of the obstacle course with only minor accidents. They joined in the water trials with gleeful abandon. And they even forgot their aching feet when the whistle blew for the running events.

The blonde that Hartwig had dated proved a frost in the first ten minutes of the exercises. She balked at the obstacle course, and pulled a fit of weeping. Hartwig himself helped her off the grounds, and tried to be nice about it. But she seemed to want to blame him for everything, and gave the young officer a tongue-lashing that brought a blush to his face. She sat out the rest of the field trials in a truck, waiting to be driven home. But that other blonde one, the pert one with the curls and the stunning figure, the one from Cleveland; now that was something more to Hartwig's liking. And the way she had taken the whole thing with such dignity and good grace. He'd have to talk with her on the way back....

"Okay, girls!" he called to them cheerfully, as they began the weary trudge back to the spaceport. "I know you're all bushed, but if we put a little pep into it, we can get back at two-thirty or so. That will give you some time to freshen up before the outer-space question period. You'll probably want to do some repair work on the makeup."

They made the march in less than half an hour.

Captain Johannson kept his eyes on the paper on his desk, pencil poised, as the pretty girl in the chair watched him anxiously.

"I'm going to ask you some unusual questions," he said. "So don't be surprised. You might call this a sort of 'psychological test.'"

The girl called Cleveland nodded.

"There won't be any pat answers, you understand. The outer-space questions, as we call them, demand more—inventive answers, you might say. So don't be nervous."

"All right," Cleveland said, none the less nervously.

"Here's the first question," said the captain. "Let's say you're in your own home, and the water supply is suddenly turned off. And you knew that it wouldn't work again for forty-eight hours. What would you do?"

The girl stared. "Why, I'm not sure." She thought a while. "I suppose I'd see if there were any water in the frig."

"Yes, of course," said the captain. "But what if you didn't have any refrigeration equipment?"

"Well, I'd see if there were fruit or vegetables around. I'd get all the juice I could find. I'd drink that."

"How about bathing?"

"I just wouldn't bathe. Not if I didn't want to be thirsty."

The captain smiled. "Now how about this," he said. "Let's say you've built yourself a house. Quite a nice house. Taken you a long time to build it. Then the foundation gives out for some reason, and your whole house collapses before your eyes. What would you do?"

Cleveland blinked. "Cry, I guess."

"Then what?"

"What could I do? Build another house, I suppose."

"I see." The captain leaned over the desk and made a notation on the paper before him. Then he looked up and said:

"Are you afraid of bats?"

"What?"

"Bats. You know, those winged things."

"I don't know. I don't think I've ever really seen one. Except in pictures, of course."

"Do you believe they get in your hair?"

The girl touched her blonde curls. "I don't think so. That's one of those fallacies, isn't it?"

"Do you know what a Martian bat looks like?"

"No."

"Well, picture a fairly ordinary bat. It's something like that, only its wing spread often reaches four feet. It's a pretty ugly customer. Now, let's say you're in your own parlor one night, and this big thing comes flapping into your house. And—fallacy notwithstanding—let's say you know this bat will just as soon land in your hair as anyplace else. Would you be frightened?"

"Of course," said the girl.

"What would you do?"

"Hit it with a broom," she said.

It was Show Night.

The trunks flew open, and dazzling gowns of silk and satin and nylon and orlon and sprylon were brought out, rustling beautifully. The long row of cabins on the edge of the Omaha Spaceport crackled with girlish excitement as the entrants dressed for the final judging. There were shrieks and giggles, screams and guffaws, cries of delight and of misery as the women struggled into their prettiest dresses. The sounds of their activity carried all across the spaceport, jangling the nerves—but not unpleasantly—of the personnel in the barracks at the other end of the field. It was Show Night, after all, the final moment when Miss Outer Space would be selected and crowned, and even the most hard-bitten veteran on the base caught some of the fever.

The Omaha mess had been converted into an auditorium—it was the largest single room on the field—and the messboys had contributed to the event with elaborate decorations, makeshift affairs of crepe and bunting and straggly floral bouquets. The clatter of folding chairs was deafening as they were lined up in uneven rows, in readiness for the audience. A heavy drape was strung against one wall, and spangled letters were tacked to it, spelling out: MISS OUTER SPACE.

It was a nerve-tingling moment, especially in the cabins.

"My God, what's that, a coffee stain on my sleeve—?"

"My lipstick! Who's got my lipstick? That's my special shade—"

"Ouch! I must have gained ten pounds since I wore this dress—"

"I'm just not used to high heels any more—"

"Poor Janie! If only she could have stuck one more day—"

"Honestly, you could give me two minutes at the mirror! Just two lousy minutes—"

"Just keep your eyes off that Hartwig fellow, Cleveland. It looks just a little too obvious—"

"Maria, would you please get your big—"

"Say, did you ever hear such a racket—"

"Those are my slippers, you dope! Can't you recognize the difference between a canal boat and a—"

"God, I'm so nervous I could die—"

"But honey, you look absolutely ravishing! I wish I could look half as good—"

"Come on! Come on! They're calling us—"

Captain Johannson stepped to the front of the stage.

"Ladies," he said gravely, "before I tell you the judges' decision, I have a rather important announcement to make."

The audience murmured, and then became still.

"When you first arrived at the Omaha Spaceport, I told you that none of you here would leave without some sort of reward. I meant that sincerely, and you'll find that I was telling the truth. But I have a different kind of prize to offer you ladies now, and I hope you'll pay careful attention as I describe it to you."

The audience stirred again.

"This has been a rather curious affair for all concerned," the captain continued. "On the surface, the Miss Outer Space contest may have seemed like a rather spectacular publicity stunt. It is certainly that. But we had another intention in staging this competition—a far more important intention, and one we have not revealed until this moment."

He looked directly at the women.

"Did you look up at the stars tonight?" he asked them. "It's a fine, clear night, and if you did, you may have seen the planet which is the core of the work of the Omaha Spaceport—the planet Mars. There are people on that planet now, people from Earth. They're all men—young men. The finest that the planet Earth can boast.

"These young men are performing some of the most important duties ever assigned to young men in the world's history. They are settling a new world for us—a brand-new planet, rich in mystery, danger, and untold wealth. They are living hard lives, and often short ones, to pioneer this new frontier. One of these days—perhaps many generations from now—our world will fall on its knees and thank God for the duty and the spirit which moved these young men to undertake this hazardous and lonely mission. Someday, an overcrowded and worn-out Earth will sanctify them for building a new home for the human race.

"You've seen some of these young men on your visit to this spaceport. They are typical of the men on Mars today—vigorous, intelligent, competent young men, well-versed in the sciences and the humanities. Take a good look at them. It may be the last time you will ever see them, for when the orders arrive that will take them to Mars, they shall not return again. This is a lifetime assignment.

"The men here tonight, and the men on the winking red planet above our heads have taken no wives and made promises to no sweethearts. The only offer they can make a woman is hardship, privation, danger; an unfamiliar world, and an unknown future.

"You may understand why they are lonely. And you may now understand the unusual prize we offer you all.

"These young men have gone through trials similar to those you have undergone here—but far more strenuous and demanding. They are the cream of Earth's young men. We believe you are the cream of Earth's young women.

"So here is what we believe to be truly the grand award in this contest, ladies. A husband—a home—a new world—an adventure such as no women in history have had the chance to share. Think it over carefully. Let us know your decision.

"And now," he said, "the judge's decision."

Cleveland won, and she flung her arms about Lieutenant Hartwig when the decision was announced. She took the trophy with her to Mars.

THE END

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTY CONTEST? ***

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