Countdown for blast off. X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one, fire. From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future, adventures in which you'll live in a million could-be years on a thousand maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine presents X minus one. Tonight, The Girls from Earth by Frank M. Robinson. Mike McDonald is the name. Firm of Beagle and McDonald Interplanetary Promotions, No. 1 Park Avenue, New York. Drop in sometime. Brand new offices. Had them decorated by one of the biggest guys in the business. You know, it's hard to believe that only six months ago me and Charlie Beagle, my associate, were stranded in a one-tank mining town on Mars. Let me tell you about it. Here comes the waiter. Play it cool. Yeah, but we got no dough. Play it cool, I said. Gentlemen. I'll have the sirloin. One sirloin. Earth or Martian? What's the difference? The Earth sirloin's from Genuine Steers, $24 a pound. The Martian sirloin's from the Domestic Sleuth for $2. Charlie, you ever tasted sleuther? We'll have the Domestic. Very good. A beverage? Do you want any coffee? We ran out of coffee in 1997. Haven't been able to get any. Try the muggle juice. Muggle juice? That's a Martian vegetable. That's a pleasant narcotic effect. You better make it whiskey. Whiskey? That we got. Fine. My friend will have the same. Yes, sir. Mike, would you mind telling me how we're going to pay for this sleuther steak? Relax. I'm thinking... And even more important, how are we going to get out of this burgh? Charlie, what we need is a mark. A mark? A sucker. And if I'm not mistaken, this little guy with the glasses coming in now is just what we're looking for. Pardon me, sir. My friend and I are just in from Earth and we don't know much about the customs here. I wonder if you'd be good enough to let us buy you dinner and tell us something about the town. Why, that's very kind of you. You needn't buy me dinner, though, after all, you're the guests here. Well, that's very nice of you. Do join us. Thank you. My name is Henry Mortenson. I'm geologist for the Interplanetary Mining Company. Mike McDonald and my friend Charlie Beagle. How do you do? A pleasure. You say you're just in from Earth? Yes, that's right. Charlie and I are interested in uranium. Just sort of snooping around to see if there's a decent investment up here. Oh, I see. You'll forgive me. It's not much of a town, really. No, I don't suppose it is. After all, you take 20,000 men and plunk them down in the desert like this and you can't expect much. 20,000 men. No tomatoes? Sir? Tomatoes. Girls. Girls. Oh, I'd almost forgotten what the word meant. No, you see, the colonization board hasn't been very successful in persuading Earth women to migrate here. There are a few female Saturnians, the four-armed variety, but aside from that... Well, what do the boys do for relaxation? Well, being a geologist, I'm naturally interested in rock formations. For relaxation? A great many of the men indulge in gambling, and of course there are slim phrases every glib day. Glib day? We have a nine-day week here on Mars. Oh. Tell me, Mr. Mortenson. Henry. Tell me, Henry, don't the boys get lonesome for the sight of a woman? Well, it is a problem. The men sign up for nine-year hitches. Most of them have forgotten what a woman looks like. Do most of these men plan to stay here? I suppose if they had families they might. The pay is good, and I suspect most of them had their reasons for leaving Earth. I see. Well, how about yourself? Suppose you found the right woman, which in this case would be just about any woman. Oh, I'm very particular. Oh, I mean any woman who met your rigid specifications. Would you stay? You mean get married? Yeah, that's the bit. Well, I... Well, of course it's out of the question. No woman has ever showed the slightest interest in me. Well, suppose one agreed to marry you in advance, and she met all your specifications. Well, I've always wanted a family. Yes, I suppose I'd marry. That's very admirable. Very, very admirable. Here's the waiter with our dinner. Sluper steak, gentlemen. Good luck with it. Henry picked up the tab, and we got a rough idea how much cash these guys on Mars pack around with them. Enough to choke a galactic telescope is about all. We thanked the little guy and sat around until he left. Then I went to work. Okay, what do we do now? Charlie, we get to work. What work? Oh, card game maybe? Listen, these guys have been playing cards for 15 years now. We wouldn't have a prayer. Uh-uh. I got an idea. So give. You still got that Earth magazine, the one with the Hollywood starlet on the cover? Yeah, in my suitcase. Good, I want it. What for? To make our poster advertisement. That's what's for. Poster? Look, Charlie, just picture this. A big poster with that starlet on it. Twice as big as life. And underneath, this slogan. I'm coming from Earth to you. Huh? Then down in the corner, just this little notice. Applications will be accepted at Beagle and McDonald Agency. Oh, that's great. But what is it? What is it? Just the most colossal promotion scheme ever devised by man, that's all. But what are you promoting? The easiest thing in the world to promote. And the hardest. Marriage. Marriage? Look at this way, Charlie boy. Here on Mars, we have 20,000 strong Earthmen with but a single thought. Dames. Exactly. And on Earth, we have 20 million single dames with but a thought. Husbands. So? Oh, how you gonna do it? All right, now we get this poster made. We put it up. We take applications. A hundred bucks a head plus the cost of transportation. We get the hundred bucks. Then we leave. But first, we deliver the girl. Oh, it's a natural. A natural. Charlie, it's colossal. What's 20,000 times a hundred? Two million bucks. Wow, that's a profit. Wait a minute. What? How are we gonna line up 20,000 girls and convince them to come up to this desert? I'm working on that. Come on, we gotta find a printer to make our poster. What do we use for dough? You huck your watch. Come on, let's go. We got the poster made and it is a beaut. The artist threw in some extra fullness in the lips and stuck a glass of champagne in one hand. The next step was to rent a little field tent right outside the mining camp. We stuck the poster in front of it and waited for the guys to get through work. Hey, Tom. Hey, dig this. What do you say we sign up? What for? Well, whatever they're selling inside. Oh, I don't know. Well, come on. What have we got to lose? You gentlemen interested in matrimony? Marriage? That's what we're selling, boys. To her or anybody your heart desires. Just step inside, fill out the specification chart, pay your fee, and we deliver. On a level? On the level. Oh, what do you say, Tom? It's worth a gavel. Right this way, gentlemen. Mr. Beagle will take care of you. No sooner said than done, gentlemen. Step right this way and live. At the end of the first day, we had deposits amounting to about $15,000. By the third day, we had to beat them off with clubs. Everybody had a dream, girl, and we were guaranteeing delivery. $40,000, $50,000, $60,000 bucks. Oh, Mike, Mike, what do you say we skip out on the free space freighter? What are you nuts? There's another million coming here, and my name isn't Mike McDonald. Oh, yeah, incidentally. Yeah. Have you figured out a way to deliver on this swindle? Naturally. You have? Of course. We just go down to Earth and put up a different poster. Guaranteed husbands, every one of them, and a donnis. What happens when they arrive? We get lynched? Look, while these ladies are en route to Mars, you and me are en route to Earth. Get it? Yeah. I radio phoned a friend of mine down on Earth and had him place an ad in the New York papers the next day, complete with a picture of a handsome Martian uranium miner and a caption that read, husbands are waiting on Mars. When the next space liner rolled in, it brought the list of lady applicants from Earth, complete with photographs and background. Here's the first batch, Charlie. Let's look them over. Yeah, right. Let's see now. Maybe the next one will be a little better. How is it? Let's see the next one. Lola Carroll, age 29. 29? She's 40 if she's a day. Occupation, home body, background in education, blank. Oh, a note from Mitchell. Says she did four years at a reformatory for shoplifting and she's currently on parole. Hmm. Let's see this one. Wanda Baker, age 35, occupation gymnastic instructor, State College. Note says she was picked up for loitering and fined on 17 different occasions. Oh, brother. These ain't exactly the creme de la creme, these ladies. What do you expect? It ain't what I expect, Mike. It's what the boys in the mining camp expect. A hundred buck fee plus 2,500 for transportation. That ain't hey. Wait a minute. I got an idea. I'm waiting. First we get rid of all these pictures, see? Then we print up a few thousand pictures of movie starlets and we paste them on the applications. We make a few changes in the statistics such as age and so on and we're back in business. You know, Mike, I used to think you were about as crooked as a one-armed bandit, but I don't think it anymore. I know it. So we spent the next few nights pasting up pictures and changing age 38 to age 28 and so on. It was easy. Then we called in the applicants from the mining camp and gave each one the dope sheet on his prospective bride. Hey, Bill. Hey, look at mine. Lola Caro, age 29. Boy. Mine's named Wanda Baker. She's 25. Well, you dig this picture, she's almost... What's wrong? Mine looks exactly like yours. What? Let me see. Take a look at those two pictures. You're right. Wait a minute. Hey, Mr. Mortenson. Yes? Take a look at this. Both alike. Ah, most peculiar. Particularly peculiar since, well, mine looks like yours too. You put in for a wife? Why not? Miranda Potts, age 25. A former lady wrestling coach. But the pictures puzzle me. I think maybe these guys are trying to pull a fast one. You may be right at that. Come, gentlemen, let's pay a visit to our benefactors, Mr. McDonald and Mr. Beagle. At the precise moment that Henry Mortenson and his two aggressive companions decided to drop in on myself and Charlie Beagle, we were in the process of tying our money into small bundles and placing it in suitcases, which also contained our clothes and tickets for the next rocket to Earth. It was very embarrassing. Oh, yes, gentlemen? We would like a word with you, Mr. McDonald. Well, Mr. Beagle and I are a little busy. I'm afraid it'll have to wait. Oh, what seems to be the problem? Just the three of us have the picture of the same girl clipped to our applications. Really? Well, let's have a look. Right here. Well, what do you know? Charlie, take a look. You're an imbecile. You didn't check for duplicates. Well, now I think maybe I have an explanation, boys. Go on. None of you has been on Earth for some years now, is that right? That's true. Well, you know how styles take hold on Earth. One year every woman's curly and blonde. Next year it's straight and brunette. Well, the same thing has happened with cosmetics, makeup and so on. Now, gentlemen, when I was on Earth last month, every woman in New York was trying to look like a certain movie actress. It got so men couldn't tell their own wives apart. That isn't very convincing, Mr. McDonald. Look, boys, obviously there was some mix-up at the Earth agency. They got the wrong pictures pasted up or something, but I'm sure it'll all straighten itself out. Now, if you don't mind, Mr. Beagle and I have to finish packing. We mind. You do? You do. Uh-huh. Tom, you take that money and those suitcases and lock them up over the company office. Now, boys, just a minute. That's stealing, boys. It's considered dishonesty. We ain't stealing. We're just keeping the stuff in escrow, you might say. Till when? Till the rocket ships get here with the girls. If these dames are as gorgeous as you tell us they are, you'll get every penny of your dough. Suppose they ain't quite gorgeous. Then you and your friend here are gonna suddenly find yourselves unable to carry on as living humans. You fetch my meaning? I fetch. Well, this caused a small dilemma in me and my partner Beagle. The problem was easy to state. We had sold these guys on the idea that they were engaged to be wedded to an assortment of lovely, desirable, attractive young girls from Earth. The contingent from Earth, on the other hand, was made up of frustrated, lonely women and a goodly portion of female criminal types. The problem was how to convince these boys that they were not getting cheated. That's enough, Charlie. Now, the problem is how to convince everybody that he ain't getting cheated, right? Oh, you're a master of summing up a problem. Now how about solving it? Jess, give me some time. Look, the rocket fleet from Earth arrives here tomorrow morning at 9 o'clock. 20,000 very strong minds. They will be assembled at the rocket port, waiting. True, true. So? Pour me a little more of that muggle juice. No. Muggle juice. We could get them all drunk on muggle juice, mass hypnotize them. I'm dreaming. So what do we do? I could make a speech, appeal to their better selves, say these poor, unfortunate women need love and affection, something they've never had. Uh-huh. How about makeup? Maybe we could hire a cosmetic man to make them up to look like the pictures. Sure, sure. Or we could say that it's all a big mistake. We got the wrong shipment. Or we could kill ourselves. No need for that, Charlie. That's going to be done for us. Yeah, that's what I figure. Well, it's been a short life and a merry one. Drink up, Charlie, or tomorrow we die. The next morning the miners came in from all parts of the desert to assemble at the spaceport. It was quite a sight. They'd all shaved and spruced up for the occasion, and some of them looked downright handsome. And every one of them had a package wrapped with a ribbon for his prospective bride. Tom! Hey, Tom, over here! Hi. Some excitement, huh? I'm sweating like a schoolboy on his first date. I see you got a present, too. Yeah, they were selling some of that cologne water. Handley's number four. Well, I got the same thing. Boy, this whole planet is going to smell like Handley's number four. Is my tie on straight? It's been eight years since I tie to tie. That's pretty good. Boy, everybody's nervous as a cat. You know, I took a look at myself in a mirror this morning. It was quite an experience. I just stood there looking, and then I said to myself, Bill, you're a slob. You couldn't get a girl on Earth, and if you're lucky, maybe the one who's coming today won't go back on the first ship. I was thinking the same thing. You suppose they'll be as glamorous as those two crooks told us? You know what? I hope not. I just wouldn't feel right bringing a real cultured, glamorous creature to that tar paper shack over near mine number six. I was thinking the same thing. There's Mortenson. Boy, he looks like he's going to the radiation chamber. Good morning, gentlemen. Hi. Well, it shouldn't be long now. We ought to sight the first ship any minute. A fellow down at number three mine was trying to get out of it. He was so sure his girl would be disappointed. Well, maybe they won't expect so much. Oh, here it comes! Here it comes! Attention! Attention! All men waiting to receive wives, the Earth-Mars convoy, Operation Big Date, is approaching the landing area. Please stand behind the fire screen until the ships are all landed. And good luck! Music During all this, Charlie Beagle and I were more or less under guard back in our office. I say more or less because there were six miners with loaded guns sitting practically on top of us. In the distance, we could hear the rockets come blasting in for a landing. And then everything got very quiet. And we knew the girls were coming off the ships. What do you suppose is happening? Well, it's pretty quiet, Charlie. I guess the girls are coming off. Yeah, I don't hear no sounds of rejoicing. Just take it easy. You suppose they'll hang us or shoot us? Now relax. Relax, he says, but... Oh, here comes a jeep with Uncle Henry and... Is he alone? Uh-huh. Well, so long, Charlie. Gentlemen, now look, Mr. Mortenson, this can all be explained. There was an error and the wrong girls got shipped... Don't try to explain it, McDonald. But you can't just kill us without even a trial. I mean, it isn't just. Who said anything about killing you? We're throwing a banquet tonight and we want you and Mr. Beagle as guests of honor. As what? Guests of honor. You... you mean the girls were okay? Okay, they're lovely. The nicest thing about them, of course, is that they don't expect much. They seem to accept us with all our faults and all the shabbiness and ugliness of the life on Mars. There isn't a one of them who turned up her nose at the place. They seem thankful just to be here. And the guys? They all feel okay about it? Okay, they're like a bunch of kids. There isn't a one of them who wasn't scared breathless that he'd have some sophisticated glamour girl on his hands. No, sir. These are down-to-earth women who had it tough on Earth... and they figure to find some happiness here if it's humanly possible. Yeah, but how did the boys like the way they shape up? Oh, I mean, there might be some that seemed a little older than the application. You know how clerical errors can be made. Well, gentlemen, when you've been living on Mars for 15 years without having seen even a single Earth woman, you kind of lose the standards that Hollywood sets for us. As far as I and the other men are concerned, they're gorgeous. Well, that's the story, which proves you can sell a guy a gold brick that's made out of lead, and sometimes you find out the poor sucker likes lead even better than gold. Charlie Bigglin and myself made a small fortune on the deal, like I said before. I made a trip back to Mars last month just to satisfy my curiosity, and you know what? I never saw a happier bunch of people in all my life. Hey, by the way, Henry Mortenson and the Lady Wrestler are having a kid. They're going to call it Mike if it's a boy and Michelle if it's a girl. You have just heard X-1 presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine, which this month features The Ignobles Savages by Evelyn E. Smith, the story of the Snadra, which had but one choice in its fight to afford to live below ground, to pretend that theirs was an aboveboard society. Galaxy Magazine, on your new stand today. Tonight, X-1 has brought to you The Girls from Earth, a story from the pages of Galaxy written by Frank M. Robinson and John Lennon, a story from the pages of Galaxy written by Frank M. Robinson and adapted for radio by George Lefferts. Featured in the cast were Mandel Kramer as Mike, Bob Hastings as Charlie, John Gibson as Henry, Jim Stevens as Tom, Dick Hamilton as Bill, and Phil Sterling as the waiter. This is Fred Collins. X-1 was directed by Daniel Sutter and is an NBC Radio Network production.
