A Planet Named Joe

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.
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.