"Greetings, sir! You're new, I see, but no matter, welcome to the Buckyball Racing Club! The current racing has already started, but there's time yet! I'm one of the Club's undersecretaries, and I'll just need to pop down some of your details, okay then?"
A weird-looking red-headed bloke leaned out of his SRV a little as he addressed the young woman, nineteen if a day, head-to-toe in fire-proof racing attire yet addressing him with an oh-so-polite English demeanour and voice to match.
"Yeh, I've been busy," he said, "still on me way back from the Formidine Rift cos I wanted to check out what *that* fuss was all about. Beacon thingy, that's it, for me anyway. Still, out there I once had wicked fun just trying to get this girl to the top of a rebound mound in the centre of an impact crater, pushing her uphill on a 55-degree incline. Made it, I did! Never thought to take any pics, though. Oh well. So, yeh, never raced before, but stuff it, why not, y'know? I'll prolly do the deed this coming weekend, if that's alright with you? I don't expect a podium finish since I'm new to this and already learning things watching your old hands at work, but I'm still gonna give it a whirl! You said two weeks, right? Commander Jimmox72, at yer service."
She began entering his details onto the screen of her databoard, while he worked at the controls inside his SRV.
"This weekened should be fine! All right, then, commander... Jimmox72, yes? Excellent! (*vreeeeet!*vrtvrtvrt*) Okay, yes, good enthusiasm, now, please complete this sentence: "I want to take part in 'Kick the Ali.... en...' ... "
"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......"
*VREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!*vreetvreetvrt....vrt....*VREEEEEEEEEET!*!crunch!...*fshhhht*vreeeetvrtvrtvrtvrt*...
"COMMANDER COME BACK! WE'RE NOT... *sigh*... not done yet... Bloody Aussies."
She let the databoard in her arms flop down to waist-height in dejected fashion, turned away from the settling dust, and began to wonder what she was going to say to Mr Turner regarding the mess the new guy made in front of the registry office.
In the distance, the sounds of him returing grew ever louder. "No, no no no," she thought, "I'm *not* turning around..."
...vrt...vrtvrtvrt...VREEEEEEEEEEEEET!scriiiiiiiiiiiiitch!kaCHUNK!
The commander, she noted while drumming her fingers on the back of her databoard, had the good grace not to pepper her with gravel as he finished racing back to the registry office with a long hand-brake slide, but, she thought, she'll be damned if she was going to let him see her giving the slightest hint of approval.
"Allllllrighty, ma'am, heh, you were sayin'?" he asked after climbed out of the now dust-covered and slightly banged-up vehicle.
Grudgingly, she turned back around again, sniffed primly, re-readied her databoard in a pointedly slow and deliberate way, and resumed her questionnaire.
"Rrrrrright. Yes, please complete this sentence: 'I want to take part in 'Kick the Alien' because...' "
He nodded all serious-like, looking into the empty space at her left for a while, before returning his gaze to her.
"... cos it's for me health, y'see."
"Your... health...??"
"Yup. I'm watchin' me diet. I, uh, need to lose a few kilos."
"Forgive me, I'm a little bit confused here. This, is *a race*, to be run *at break-neck speed*, on a *hostile, airless moon*, intended to give a wake-up call to *aliens* of *unknown potential belligerence*, during which race the only thing between you and a nasty death should you end up lying smashed to a thousand pieces in some god-forsaken ravine, thus losing those kilos you mention in a not-so-nice manner, is a thin shell inside a low-power energy bubble, and you're doing this... for your... dietary health???"
"Yup, me diet. It's like this, right? Yer humble SRV like this one - she's 'Circle Worker', by the way, typical sheila that chucks a one-eighty at the slightest provocation but I love her anyway - she doesn't run on liquid hydrocarbons like them ancient racecars on Bathurst and whathaveyou did, right?"
"Yes...?"
"Instead, it's allllll the latest electrics, powered by a liiiittle nuclear reactor the size of a school-kiddly's lunchbox or whatever, right?"
"Ummm... yes...?"
"So she ain't got a carby in her, right?"
"Yyyy... yyyes...?", she offered tentatively, as alarm-bells screamed in her head.
"So... SO!... SOOooOO! ..." He paused to open his arms out wide, then continued, "ZERO-CARB DOUGHNUTS!!"
In fine, British civil-service fashion, she tilted her head to one side, breathed in deeply, smiled almost imperceptibly with a jaw shut tighter than a shark's, clutched her databoard to her breast for dear life, and suppressed the near-overwhelming urge to belt him.
------
CMDR Jimmox72
SRV: Circle Worker
I want to take part in Kick the Alien because of the needs of my dietary health.
