"Careful," came the forewarning of Bob the Bartender, "the legs broke’ on that one."

Nadger stood up, dusting himself off.

"You could have warned me," said he.

"What can I get you then?" said Bob, tiring of the ritual banter and chair breaking.

"A pint of acetylene, if it’s not to much trouble, please Bob."

Bob ignored this remark and pulled a pint of lager instead.

"Why so glum, chum?" asked Bob upon spying the pet lip of Nadger.

"This novel I wrote," said Nadger, setting a large manuscript on the bar. "Nobody wants to publish it. That’s a year of my life gone, writing that."

Bob peered at the cover page.

"Rights for plants," he read, "a story of what happens when man learns to communicate with plant life. Sounds interesting."

A Gulorgat sat on the neighbouring chair to Nadger.

"Careful," said Bob.

The Gulorgat struggled back to his tentacles, muttering various alien profanities which were unpronounceable to the human tongue.

"What can I get ya?" said Bob.

"Crude oil, please," said the Gulorgat who’s name was, like so many others of his kind, Zeerok.

"Coming right up," said Bob.

"Where’s my lager?" said Nadger.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Coming right up."

Zeerok eyed the manuscript situated on the bar in front of Nadger.

"Is that a manuscript?" he asked.

"Yes it is," said Nadger.

"Ooo, a story of what happens when man learns to communicate with plant life. My bosses would love that."

Nadger perked up, suddenly interested.

"Eh?" he said.

"I work for a publishing company. Do you mind if I read it?"

Nadger was speechless.

"Go right ahead," said he, evidently not all that speechless.

The Gulorgat read through the manuscript in twenty seconds flat, while the Human watched, aghast at the speed reading capabilities which only Gulorgats posses.

"Wow," said Zeerok, "that is one fantastic story!"

It was precisely that moment when Bob decided to switch on the holovision.

"This just in," said the newsreader, "scientists today invented a machine which allows sentients of all kinds to speak to plants."

Nadger was horrified.

"Oh damnit!!!" exclaimed he, throwing his manuscript onto the open fire which all 45^th century bars are obliged to contain.

"Where’s my crude oil?" said Zeerok.

THE END