_There were more Joes on Venus than you could shake
a ray-gun at. Perhaps there was method in Colonel
Walsh's madness--murder-madness--when he ordered Major
Polk to scan the planet for a guy named Joe._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories
November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Colonel Walsh had a great sense of humor. I hated his guts ever since
we went through the Academy together, but he had a great sense of humor.
For example, he could have chosen a Second Looie for the job on Venus.
He might even have picked a Captain. But he liked me about as much as
I liked him, and so he decided the job was just right for a Major. At
least, that's what he told me.
I stood at attention before his desk in the Patrol Station. We were
somewhere in Area Two on Earth, takeoff point for any operations in
Space II. The duty was fine, and I liked it a lot. Come to think of
it, the most I ever did was inspect a few defective tubes every now and
then. The rest was gravy, and Colonel Walsh wasn't going to let me get
by with gravy.
"It will be a simple assignment, Major," he said to me, peering over
his fingers. He held them up in front of him like a cathedral.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"It will involve finding one man, a Venusian native."
I wanted to say, "Then why the hell don't you send a green kid on
the job? Why me?" Instead, I nodded and watched him playing with his
fingers.
"The man is a trader of sorts. Rather intelligent." He paused, then
added, "For a native, that is."
I had never liked Walsh's attitude toward natives. I hadn't liked the
way he'd treated the natives on Mars ever since he'd taken over there.
Which brought to mind an important point.
"I always figured Venus was under the jurisdiction of Space III, sir. I
thought our activities were confined to Mars."
He folded his fingers like a deck of cards and dropped them on his desk
as if he were waiting for me to cut.
"Mmmm," he said, "yes, that's true. But this is a special job. It so
happens this Venusian is the one man who can help us understand just
what's happening on Mars."
I tried to picture a Venusian understanding Mars and I didn't get very
far.
"He's had many dealings with the natives there," Walsh explained. "If
anyone can tell us the reasons for the revolt, he can."
If Walsh really wanted to know the reasons for the revolt, I could give
them to him in one word: Walsh. I had to laugh at the way he called
it "revolt." It had been going on for six months now and we'd lost at
least a thousand men from Space II. Revolt.
"And this man is on Venus now?" I asked for confirmation. I'd never
been to Venus, being in Space II ever since I'd left the Moon run. It
was just like Walsh to ship me off to a strange place.
"Yes, Major," he said. "This man is on Venus."
At the Academy he had called me Fred. That was before I'd reported
him for sleeping on Boiler Watch. He'd goofed off on a pile of uranium
that could've, and almost did, blow the barracks sky-high that night.
He still thought it was my fault, as if I'd done the wrong thing by
reporting him. And now, through the fouled-up machinery that exists in
any military organization, he outranked me.
"And the man's name, sir?"
"Joe." A tight smile played on his face.
"Joe what?" I asked.
"Just Joe."
"Just Joe?"
"Yes," Walsh said. "A native, you know. They rarely go in for more than
first names. But then, it should be simple to find a man with a name
like Joe. Among the natives, I mean."
"I don't know, sir."
"A relatively simple assignment," Walsh said.
"Can you tell me anything else about this man? Physical appearance?
Personal habits? Anything?"
Walsh seemed to consider this for a moment. "Well, physically he's like
any of the other Venusians, so I can't give you much help there. He
does have a peculiar habit, though."
"What's that?"
"He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes."