Phel Noor looked across the table and smiled.

 

“This is delicious,” he said, licking his lips. “What did you call it?”

 

“A martini,” replied Phel’s companion, fishing guide Doug Williams.

 

“I am impressed. Very impressed.”

 

Doug laughed.

 

“Is my question humorous?” Phel asked.

 

“No,” said Doug in a voice so low the other patrons in the tavern would not hear. “Ironic.”

 

“Ironic?"

 

“A contradiction,” said Doug, tapping his beer can. “Here I am, having a drink with an alien — a frickin’ extraterrestrial — and he tells me he’s impressed. If that ain’t ironic, I don’t know what is.”

 

“I guarantee you, Mr. Williams,” said Phel, “that this is not the first time a human and a Kelton have had a beverage together. We have had numerous interactions with humans for centuries. Quiet interactions.”

 

“And y’all come here to fish,” Doug said.

 

“Correct. Earth is famous throughout the quadrant—”

 

“For trout.”

 

“Yes. Rainbow. Brown. Cutthroat. All species.”

 

“Sh-oot!”

 

Phel took another sip. “I am not familiar with that term either.”

 

Doug shook his head. “Shoot’s an all-purpose word. Until today, I thought aliens weren’t real. Now, I find out they’ve been coming here for centuries. And what did you say you Keltons are?”

 

“Opportunists best describe us.”

 

“Kinda like me, an entrepreneur.”

 

Phel nodded.

 

“Shoot,” said Doug, his grey hair spilling over his eyes. “And who'da thunk they — you Keltons, that is — looked just like us?”

 

“As I informed you earlier, the only way humans would ever know of our existence is if we choose to reveal ourselves. However, appearance is not everything. We have some things in common, but in other ways we are vastly different.”

 

“Hell, if you aliens are anything like us, I’m gonna start packing heat.”

 

“Packing heat? Are you journeying to a cold region?”

 

“Aw, forget it. Anyways, you never explained why you chose me as your guide. I mean, from everyone on this planet, why me?”

 

“Because the guide I used the last time said that next to him, you were the best. His name was James Jones.”

 

“Shoot, you knew Jimmy? When was that?”

 

“One hundred and eleven of your days ago. We fished for goldens.”

 

“Did you know Jimmy died?”

 

“That explains why I was unable to contact him. But you were easy to locate.”

 

“Too bad Jimmy passed before he got to really enjoy that big 4x4 he bought. Nobody knew where he got the money. It’s a shame he never really had a chance to drive it. He wanted that Ford for years.”

 

“Sad,” said Phel. “That said, you are an excellent fishing guide. Which is why I chose to reveal myself to you.”

 

“Well, I kept my end of the bargain. I took you to a place where I promised you’d catch some of the biggest browns around.”

 

“That you did. Today was an excellent day.”

 

“Now, about your end of our quote-unquote business arrangement,” continued Doug. “A deal’s a deal.”

 

“Yes, yes, yes. I did not forget. The deal was that if you led me to the fish, I would…”

 

“Retrieve any one object from my past,” said Doug. “As a tip, in addition to my usual daily guide fee of four hundred dollars.”

 

Phel leaned over and opened a small case near his feet. He retrieved four crisp one-hundred-dollar bills and a small box, which he opened. Inside was a pack of hockey cards.

 

Doug picked up the pack and held it under the light. The cover was just as he had remembered — blue, with “HOCKEY” in red letters, and a drawing of a hockey player. The price in the upper right corner of the pack, which was pristine, was five cents.

 

Trembling, Doug flipped it over and began to unwrap it.

 

“Ah,” he said, grasping one of the cards. “The Rocket!”

 

“Maurice the Rocket Richard,” Phel added. “The National Hockey League’s all-time goal leader…”

 

“Five hundred and forty-four goals,” Doug said. “Eighteen seasons with the Canadiens. First player to score fifty goals in a season. MVP in 1947… shoot, I can’t believe I’m holding one of these again. I had one as a kid but lost it. I bet it’s worth at least fifteen grand in this condition.”

 

Setting the card down on the table, he squinted and added, “It’s genuine, right?”

 

Phel nodded.

 

“This means I can finally…” Doug started to say before a look of horror filled his eyes. He clutched his chest with his right hand.

 

“Oh sh-oot!” he blurted out before crumpling to the floor.

 

Later, in the emergency waiting room at Riverside Hospital, a man in green scrubs took a seat next to the room’s only occupant.

 

“The nurse tells me you’re Mr. Nuar,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Jackson.”

 

“It’s Noor,” said Phel. “Phel Noor.”

 

“Family member?”

 

“No,” said Phel. “A fishing companion.”

 

“I love to fish,” said the doctor. “In fact, I plan to go tomorrow. I have a secret spot for rainbows.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. Anyway, I want you to know we did everything we could. It was a massive myocardial infarction. I am deeply sorry.”

 

“Mmm, that’s so… ironic.”

 

“Ironic?”

 

Phel thumbed the hockey card in his pocket. “Yes,” he continued. “You see, for the first time in years, Mr. Williams told me he finally had an opportunity to get out of debt. As he would say, ‘Shoot’.”

 

“Again, I’m sorry,” said Dr. Jackson.

 

“It will be okay,” said Phel, “Say, do you know a place around here where I could get a martini?”

 

“It just so happens that I do — and it’s just a short walk from here. If you don’t mind, I’ll get my jacket and join you. I could use a drink after today, Phil.”

 

“It’s Phel. And I don’t mind a bit. By the way, you mentioned you knew of a place to fish for rainbow. Perhaps I could interest you in a business arrangement that would make it worth your while to take me there?”