"Well, my friend, I use the fish tank for a toilet for the same reason you would. Because my boss used to live in it."

And that's how I got where I am today.

By working for a bunch of fish, I mean, not pissing in the tank. Although I don't know what stopped me from doing just that by the time we reached Goober's Star eight months out from Earth.

"The resolution, Jones, the resolution!" The shoal of Squeem darted anxiously around their tank, griping at me from the translator box taped to one glass wall.

I put down the spare tank I'd been busy scraping out, and blinked across the cluttered little cabin. The buttlebot -- yes, the same one, squeaky-clean in those days -- scuttled past, humming happily in its chores. I picked my way to the control panel. I got out my adjustable spanner and gingerly tweaked the fiddly little enhancement vernier. Like most Xeelee-based technology it was too fine for human fingers. The secretive Xeelee evidently have great brains but tiny hands. Then again, some people haven't managed to evolve hands at all, I reflected, as the Squeem flipped around in their greenish murk.

"Ah," enthused the Squeem as the monitors sharpened up. "Our timing is perfect."

I gloomily considered a myriad beautiful images of two things I didn't want much to be close to: Goober's Star -- about G-type, about two Earth orbits away, and about to nova; and a planet full of nervous Xeelee.

And the most remarkable feature of the whole situation was that we weren't running for our lives. In fact, we were going to get closer -- a lot closer -- drawn mothlike by the greed of the Squeem for stolen Xeelee treasure.

The buttlebot squeezed past my leg, extended a few pseudopodia, and began pushing buttons with depressing enthusiasm. I sighed and turned back to my fish tank. At least I had one up on the 'bot, I reflected; at least I was getting paid. Although, like most of the rest of humanity at that time, I hadn't exactly had a free choice in the nature of my employment--

The Squeem's rasp broke into my thoughts. "Jones, our planet-fall is imminent. Please prepare the flitter for your descent."

Your descent. Had they said "your" descent? I nearly dropped the fish tank.

Carefully, I got up from my knees. "Into Lethe's waters with that." I defiantly straightened my rubber gloves. "No way. The Xeelee wouldn't let me past the orbit of the moons--"

"The Xeelee will be fully occupied with their flight from the imminent nova. And your descent will be timed to minimize your risk."

"That's a lot of 'you' and 'your,' " I observed witheringly. "Show me where my contract says I've got to do this."

Can fish be said to be dry? The Squeem said drily, "That will be difficult as you haven't got a contract at all."