The Universe Hopper

“I swear I ain’t lyin’,” insisted the fur trapper. “Honest to God, there was a purple otter in Moleskin Creek.”

The other tavern patrons drowned out his voice with their raucous laughter, which quickly turned to a cacophony of voices ordering another round of drinks.

Isaiah Beckett glared, downing another shot of whiskey. “Y’all are the silliest lot of whiskered buffoons this side of the Sierras. Y’all came rushing onto California like a swarm of locusts just cuz someone told you gold was here, but when an honest man tells ya he’s seen an otter in a fresh color, y’all laugh like you ain’t got any sense.”

An old miner laughed so hard he spat a little in Isaiah’s face. “You an honest man Isaiah? Just last week you swore a Chinaman popped out of thin air while you was checking your traps by the mines.”

“That happened too, I’m tellin ya!”

This earned nothing but another round of laughter from the men seated around the tavern. “I didn’t get to hear the first part of the story,” a plump businessman said with a grin. “What happened?”

“Go to hell, Bob,” Isaiah growled. “I ain’t telling a ‘’true’’ story just to give you a funny story to tell yer wife.”

All the other men began pestering him again, nagging him into telling the tale. Finally he agreed on the condition that Bob buy him a shot of scotch.

“I was checking my snares down in Moleskin Creek, just mindin my own business,” began Isaiah. “I use snares this time of year. Keeps the otter living till I come to get its fur. I usually catch quite a few every day. This time though, all my snares were coming up empty. Untied. I was mighty angry by the time I got to the last one, I’ll tell ya.”

‘The last snare still had an otter in it, tangled up by the foot. But there was ‘’another’’ otter untying it! A mighty big one, with the brightest purple fur I’d ever seen! She--I’m pretty sure it was a she--she finished untying the snare and then glared at me. She said something about not wanting to interfere too much, and then she had the gall to say I was getting on her nerves by setting all the snares around Moleskin Creek. I was just starin, dumbstruck, when finally she told me not to tell anyone about our meeting. Then the damn thing fiddled with something on its wrist and disappeared!”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted a new voice. “If she asked you not to tell anyone, what are you doing talking about her in a tavern?”

Isaiah glanced up, confused. Two new people had entered the tavern without anyone noticing--a man in a long coat, and a pretty young woman wearing pants. Neither of them looked local.

“I’m just saying,” the man went on, “a bit of consideration would go a long way. I mean, if you were on a planet covered in dumb humans, you wouldn’t be too happy seeing purple otters hunting them for their skins, would you?”

Isaiah grunted. “You new here? Ya sound British.”

“Common mistake,” the man said lightly. “I’m not British, but I’m definitely not from around here. I’m the Doctor, and this is Gwen.” The woman gave a faint smile and wave, watching the intensely interested miners of the tavern with suspicion. There weren’t a lot of young women in San Francisco.

“We’ve already got a doctor,” grumbled Isaiah. “Doc Timothy. Lives on the other side of town.”

“I’m a special kind of doctor,” the man said with a smile. “We’re here because we’re interested in funny stories. Especially stories like this one. Shipwrecked Kalossian during the California Gold Rush? Classic!”

The young woman chuckled. “We were hoping you could show us how to find her again. It could be important.”

Isaiah snorted. “Lady, if I knew how to find it again, I’d be selling you a purple otter leather jacket right now.”

“Setting aside that ridiculously racist comment,” pressed the Doctor, “I could make it worth your while.”

“You got cash? I can make a lot of miracles happen with the right cash.”

“Well, no,” the Doctor admitted. “But I’m sure we could come to an agreement. I could take you to Alcos IV. Whiskey ‘’literally’’ flows there, like rivers. There aren’t any wars or conflicts because everyone’s too intoxicated to get up and settle their differences.”

“I ‘’literally’’ didn’t understand a word you just said,” growled Isaiah.

“Funny,” the Doctor sighed. “I thought he’d at least understand ‘whiskey’, didn’t you Gwen?”

“Shame. I bet he’d of been happy there,” Gwen responded with a grin.

“You’re both hilarious,” snapped Isaiah. “But no deal. Sorry we couldn’t do business together, ‘Doctor’.”

Gwen and the Doctor retreated to the other end of the bar, where Isaiah could hear them bickering a bit. The Doctor seemed persuasive, the young lady seemed argumentative and more than a little disgusted. Finally, she threw her arms in the air and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Any new offers?” Isaiah asked irritably.

“Yep,” said the Doctor cheerfully. “If Gwen here lets you buy her a drink tonight, will you take us?”

Isaiah smirked, and Gwen gave a suffering sigh.

Samuel Huckens was dying. The cavern around him was dark, quiet. Cold. He was alone, drifting through a haze of his own last thoughts, ignoring the sharp pain that stabbed through his chest every time he took a breath.

The darkness pressing around him was penetrated by a warm orange light, appearing above his head and settling before him. Sam didn’t go to church every Sunday like he ought to, but he knew enough theology to know that when a dying man sees a light, he’d better move towards it.

Slowly, with great pain, he dragged himself forward, trying to reach that safe, warm light. He was almost there…

“I’m going to have to ask that you ‘’not’’ move towards the light,” a man’s voice echoed through the darkness. “You’re about to knock over my lantern.”

Sam blinked, trying to get a better view. The warm orange light was indeed a lantern, set on the stone with a dark figure crouching beside it.

“I suppose it would be too much to ask for you to be an angel,” groaned Sam.

“I’m afraid so.” The figure was coming into focus--he was a Chinaman, wearing a dark jacket and spotting a few deep lines on his face from age. His English was a lot better than the Chinese workers Sam usually saw in the mines.

“I know you’re in pain,” the Chinaman continued. “And you’re losing focus quickly, am I right?”

“I suppose.”

“Then I ‘’am’’ right. Listen, you have to tell me. What do you ‘’feel’’ right now?”

Sam blinked at the odd question. “Sir,” he mumbled. “Maybe we could stop chatting and you could help me out of here? I’m hurt, you see.”

“I’m sorry,” the other man said. “I don’t think anyone can save you now. Look at your legs.”

“I don’t see them.”

“That’s because they’re not there.”

“But… but that’s impossible,” stammered Sam, feeling a rising panic. “If I’d lost my legs, I’d have bled out by now! And I couldn’t have crawled over to your lantern…”

“You’re a tough guy,” said the Chinaman with a shrug. “Maybe that’s why they want you.”