A PLANET NAMED JOE
By S. A. LOMBINO
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.