Season 2.0, Race 2 (Verge Vendor)

The past week has probably been the hardest of my tenure with the team. After Race 1, our PR office exploded with accusations from angry University of Caille students claiming that we were responsible for the loss of Quintrala's famous racing frigate, A Wing and a Prayer. An Amarr militia pilot destroyed the ship. We have Amarr militia pilots on our roster and a less-than-pleasant history with the university as a team. Conspiracy theories. What could I do?

I sent the university administration some of our flight recordings, hoping that we could put things to rest. No amount of evidence really satisfies conspiracy theorists, though, so all we could do is publicly offer to replace the hardware as a friendly gesture. At present, neither the university propulsion lab nor Quintrala have taken us up on the offer. A couple of Venture Racing supporters apparently fanned the flames by hopping a transport and setting up camp outside the ship's old hangar. I don't necessarily approve of antagonizing angry mobs, but I must admit that I appreciate the show of solidarity from our fans. Needless to say, we've quietly sent them some very special gifts to say thanks.

The rest of the week was relatively uneventful. I made a long overdue call to my family on Gallente Prime. Mom was thrilled to hear from me, and aside from the usual pleasantries, she was most interested in when I'd be visiting home again. She was so happy when I brought a nice girl home to visit last time, and I haven't been back since then because I have this nagging feeling that she'll be disappointed if I show up alone. Perhaps I'll manage to find some time soon.

As far as preparing for the race, i thought everything was coming along smoothly. I had no idea that our smooth operations would prove to be a major fiasco after the race. When I first took over the corporation, I started looking through archives and sizing up the competition. We've got a lot of race footage, notes, and commentary that had been collecting dust in storage for quite some time; it has proven a rather useful resource for rebuilding the team. Certain things had struck me as odd from the beginning, as if some pilots had an uncanny intuition that seemed a statistical impossibility. Throughout most of Season 1.0, I couldn't put my finger on it.

After last season's race in Solitude, an idea hit me like a bolt of lightning. As Saikoyu was traveling to the starting line, she mentioned that she had spotted one of the waypoints near a gate in Gonditsa. We talked about bookmarking it for use in the race. Later, it dawned on me that those instances of uncanny intuition could be explained: Other pilots had prior knowledge of the track. To what extent, I could only guess. The entire idea was speculative, as there's no way I could prove it, but it made sense of things that didn't seem right otherwise. At the time, I filed it away in the back of my mind. After all, other racers have been known to set up spare ships, and it stands to reason that maybe they had come across some waypoints along the way.

I revisited that thought for the final race of Season 1.0. Everything was on the line. I wanted to give the team an edge, and that "uncanny intuition" came to mind. I wasn't satisfied with a half-hearted effort, though. I was ready to go all out. I asked Gyra if this violated any rules or standing judgments. I wanted to play by the rules, but I was willing to put in more prep time than most pilots would consider reasonable. I got the green light, and I went to work. For Race 12, two of my teammates and I had located every waypoint. We knew the track in its entirety, and we'd be able to bypass several approaches.

Because I had calculated that others had already done something similar on a more limited scale, I didn't feel the need to publicize it. If anyone asked, we'd be forthright about it, but for all I knew, it wasn't really my idea in the first place. After our finish in Race 12, I decided that I would carry over the playbook to Season 2.0, refine my procedure, and do all the work myself, if possible. Race 1 was a smashing success. We kicked off with a sweep, just like last season, and we didn't have to rely on someone else's penalty to get it. Our newest team member, Metrius, treated me like a hero for all the effort I had put in. I felt good. Everything was great. Surely, our rivals had noticed what we were doing by now, and their silence only validated that I was right all along; they had done something similar in the past.

Race 2 was a more difficult recon. It took me over 10 hours in a 2-day period to find all the waypoints. I was excited to know that we'd have six pilots, including me, at the starting line--two per class, all of us with my precious navigation data in hand. I was going to be Takashi's wingman. Aside from the shakedown after I built her, this was the first time I'd ever flown my interceptor, an Ares named Nightshade. I kept thinking that it should be Elsebeth in my place. She had been Takashi's wingmate through Seasons 4 and 5, and if not for the unfortunate realities of politics, she might be his wingmate again; instead, we'd fly against her. I belonged in the back with the slow boats, yet my duty to the team compelled me to fly where I was needed most.

We were ready early. We registered well ahead of schedule. The checklist was done. I gave a few pointers on the track layout based on my visual inspection. Regardless of where I finished--Takashi had victory covered, I was sure--I felt like I mattered, like I had a genuinely necessary place with the team. These recon operations had made me feel like more than a glorified accountant.

Everything was about to come crashing down.

I remember seeing Takashi's fleet link go dead, but don't quite recall where we were at the time. Until then, we were running smoothly. Fast. Silent. The Venture precision machine. Then we were headless. This wasn't the first time we'd found ourselves flailing around without our leader. Last season, technical problems left Neon on point. He did a great job out front. Today, however, it fell to me, and I panicked. I took command of the fleet at the wrong moment, delaying my next jump by 20 seconds. I spent the rest of the race fighting frantically for the lead, but it wasn't enough to win. All my prep work kept me in the fight, no doubt, but no amount of prior planning can make a pilot a genuine ace. I finished in second place, earning us enough points to hold the team in a tie for first place in the class. Not spectacular, but it was enough to hold things together for the next race.

I flushed my pod, took a quick shower, and donned a smile for the fans. What greeted me when I met the public was not the usual barrage of questions for which I had canned answers. The frenzied press was waiting for me rather than being congregated around the winner, and they all had variations of the same question: "Mr. Ellis, is it true that you've been cheating?"

Cheating? Are they serious?

I honestly had no idea what they were talking about until one shouted, "Did you have prior knowledge of the track?" I relaxed. Nothing was wrong. That's not cheating. Someone is simply confused, and this will all be cleared up momentarily. I answered honestly, "Yes, we've been conducting recon prior to the past several races with the full knowledge and consent of the league." I thought they were frenzied when I first saw them, but the noise from the press and the crowd exploded into an overwhelming roar. Apparently, people wanted my head, and I had just validated their hostility.

The league almost immediately issued a ban on continuing this practice, and the team has gone into damage control mode. I've never had a public relations nightmare like this, and I don't think the storm is going to blow over quickly. I can only keep telling myself that doing right by the team is worth the consequences. As hard as it will be to move forward in a hostile environment, I know that I didn't do anything wrong. I made every effort to play it straight, by the book. That's the Venture tradition. I keep asking myself a question of conscience: If I had the chance to do it over again, would I? Hard as it is for me to say so, knowing now how offensive it is to our opponents, the answer is yes. My duty is to my team's success, not to my own image or comfort.