Quest on Io

Radium-seeking Andy Horn and his talking honey-bear believed they were alone on Jupiter's bleak satellite. Then out of nowhere dropped the space-girl trailing a fateful comet of piracy and death.
Os—car
Assistant Navigator Andy Horn cocked an attentive ear and listened for an answer, but only the soft eternal moan of Io's restless winds came to his straining ears.
Dern that perfidious imp of Satan to hell and gone and back again, he muttered, stretching his red neck out like a turkey gobbler and squawking again.
Os—car.... Dern your flea-bitten hide. You better turn up.
Gravel grated on a rock ledge not five feet above him and a Ganymedian honey bear stepped daintily into view. It was about the size of a fox, had sleek, heavy brown wool interspersed with longer black hairs, and a round, intelligent face. It sat down on the ledge and eyed him as guilelessly as if it hadn't heard him calling all the time.
Hi, Bub, it said.
Andy reached decisively for a rock. Dern you, Oscar, I've told you not to call me Bub. He let go with the rock, but Oscar had slipped blithely to cover. Andy grabbed another rock and waited and pretty soon the round face peeked over the ledge at him. It eyed the stone he had in his hand and was very contrite.
Aw, Boss, put down that rock. I was only foolin'.
Andy maintained his belligerent attitude.
I'm very sorry, Mr. Horn.
That's better, Andy answered. I didn't raise you on a bottle from the time you were three weeks old to have you sass me when you're grown up. Show some respect. Come on down from up there. We're going to eat.