_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.]


[Illustration: 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