"Joe," he said again.
A faint glimmer of understanding began to penetrate my thick skull.
"You wouldn't happen to be Joe the trader? The guy who knows all about
Mars, would you?"
"I never left home," he said simply. "What are you drinking?"
That rat! That dirty, filthy, stinking, unprincipled....
_But then, it should be simple to find a man with a name like_ Joe.
_Among the natives, I mean._
Sure. Oh sure. Real simple. Walsh was about the lowest, most
contemptible....
"What are you drinking, pal?" the Venusian asked again.
"Skip it," I said. "How do I get to the captain's shack?"
"Follow your nose, pal. Can't miss it."
I started to pick up my bag as another Venusian entered. He waved at
the bartender.
"Hello, Joe," he said. "How's it going?"
"Not so hot, Joe," the bartender replied.
I listened in fascination. Joe, Joe, Joe. So this was Walsh's idea of a
great gag. Very funny. Very....
"You Major Polk, sweetheart?" the Venusian who'd just come in asked.
"Yes," I said, still thinking of Colonel Walsh.
"You better get your butt over to the captain's shack," he said. "He's
about ready to post you as overdue."
"Sure," I said wearily. "Will you take my bags, please?"
"Roger," he answered. He picked up the bags and nodded at the bar.
"So long, Joe," he said to the bartender.
"See you, Joe," the bartender called back.
* * * * *
Captain Bransten was a mousey, unimpressive sort of man. He was wearing
a tropical tunic, but he still resembled a wilted lily more than he did
an officer.
"Have a seat, Major," he offered. He reached for a cigarette box on the
desk and extended it to me. He coughed in embarrassment when he saw it
was empty. Quickly, he pressed a button on his desk and the door popped
open. A tall, blue Venusian stepped lithely into the room.
"Sir?" the Venusian asked.
"We're out of cigarettes, Joe," the Captain said. "Will you get us
some, please?"
"Sure thing," the Venusian answered. He smiled broadly and closed the
door behind him.
_Another Joe_, I thought. _Another damned Joe._
"They steal them," Captain Bransten said abruptly.
"Steal what?" I asked.
"Cigarettes. I sometimes think the cigarette is one of the few things
they like about Terran culture."
So Walsh had taken care of that angle too. _He does have a peculiar
habit, though. He has an affinity for Terran cigarettes._ Cigarettes
was the tip I should have given; not solars.
"All right," I said, "suppose we start at the beginning."
Captain Bransten opened his eyes wide. "Sir?" he asked.
"What's with all this Joe business? It may be a very original name but
I think its popularity here is a little outstanding."
Captain Bransten began to chuckle softly. I personally didn't think it
was so funny. I tossed him my withering Superior Officer's gaze and
waited for his explanation.
"I hadn't realized this was your first time on Venus," he said.
"Is there a local hero named Joe?" I asked.
"No, no, nothing like that," he assured me. "It's a simple culture, you
know. Not nearly as developed as Mars."
"I can see that," I said bitingly.
"And the natives are only now becoming acquainted with Terran culture.
Lots of enlisted men, you know."
I began to get the idea. And I began to appreciate Walsh's doubtful
ancestry more keenly.
"It's impossible to tell exactly where it all started, of course,"
Bransten was saying.
I was beginning to get angry. Very angry. I was thinking of Walsh
sitting back in a nice cozy foam chair back on Earth.
"Get to the point, Captain!" I barked.
"Easy, sir," Bransten said, turning pale. I could see that the Captain
wasn't used to entertaining Majors. "The enlisted men. You know how
they are. They'll ask a native to do something and they'll call him
Joe. 'Hey, Joe, give me a hand with this.' Or 'Listen, Joe, how'd you
like to earn some cigarettes?' Do you follow?"
"I follow, all right," I said bitterly.
"Well," Bransten went on, "that sort of thing mushrooms. The natives
are a simple, almost childish people. It appealed to them--the Joe
business, I mean. Now they're all Joe. They like it. That and the
cigarettes."
He cleared his throat and looked at me apologetically as if he were
personally responsible for Venusian culture. In fact, he looked as if
he were responsible for having put Venus in the heavens in the first
place.
"Do you understand, Major? Just a case of extended idiom, that's all."
Just a case of extended _idiot_, I thought. An idiot on a wild goose
chase a hell of a long way from home.
"I understand perfectly," I snapped. "Where are my quarters?"
Bransten asked a Venusian named Joe to show me my quarters, reminding
me that chow was at thirteen hundred. As I was leaving, the first
Venusian came back with the cigarettes Bransten had ordered.
I could tell by the look on his face that he probably had half a carton
stuffed into his pockets. I shrugged and went to change into a tropical
tunic.
I called Earth right after chow. The Captain assured me that this sort
of thing was definitely against regulations, but he submitted when I
twinkled my little gold leaf under his nose.
Walsh's face appeared on the screen. He was smiling, looking like a fat
pussy cat.
"What is it, Major?" he asked.
"This man Joe," I said. "Can you give me any more on him?"
Walsh's grin grew wider. "Why, Major," he said, "you're not having any
difficulties, are you?"
"None at all," I snapped back. "I just thought I'd be able to find him
a lot sooner if...."
"Take your time, Major," Walsh beamed. "There's no rush at all."
"I thought...."
"I'm sure you can do the job," Walsh cut in. "I wouldn't have sent you
otherwise."