The outer door of the ovaloid ship was now open, and as one of the Port's zeeps rolled alongside, a man, miniature in the distance, slid down the ship's side-ladder and climbed aboard. Joe swung the directional p.a. at the zeep.
"Hey Pop ... come on up!"
The little figure waved, and the zeep headed for the control tower. As it drew nearer they could begin to see Pop Gillette more clearly. He was a thin little man, deeply space tanned. He could have been anyplace from fifty to three hundred and fifty. He rode sitting on the rear edge of the speeding zeep, balanced precariously, calmly puffing a Venusian cigarote.
He came through the outer control rooms like a Martian whirlwind, spraying greetings and minor presents in all directions.
"Hi there, Tom. Saw your uncle out near Ganymede. Living with a Phobian Bat Woman....
"Hi there. Here's that gooloo bird's tail feather you asked for five or six years ago!" (It had been near twenty years ago, when the recipient was four years old.)
"Hello, Honey. You know that Neptunian Rock Egg you wanted? Got a couple in my ship as big as your head. Come up to the hotel for supper tonight and I'll give them to you!" He winked roguishly at Honey and whirled into the control room.
"Hi Joe, you landlocked lard-bottom. What have you been doing?" And before Joe could start to answer, he went on. "Had an unusual thing happen to me out on Pluto. I was out prospecting for liquid hydrogen wells when I sprung a leak in my oxygen tank. I got it fixed, but most of my oxy had leaked out. Had enough for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, and the ship was two hours away. Thought I'd never make it. Finally started back with a load of icicles under my arm. Every few minutes I'd stop, break off a piece, and drop it into my tank. Turned out to be pure oxygen, frozen stiff!"
When Joe had regained his composure, he tossed a wink at the radar man, who was again standing with his mouth ajar.