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.

Season 2.0, Race 1 (The Bleak Lands)

After the thrill of our impressive finishes in every class last season had faded, I found myself spending a lot of time thinking about participating in more races.  I finally came to a decision earlier this week that I would race as often as possible, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to go for the title in a single class or participate based on the team's needs in any given race.  I wrestled with the temptation of personal glory briefly, then settled on racing for the team rather than my own aggrandizement.

I went down to Aunia to survey the small fleet held over from my predecessor's tenure.  The Hangman's Noose had carried me through Races 10-12 last season as a matter of necessity, yet something gnawed at my conscience to leave these relics in peace this time around.  These ships had their place in the team's history along with their original captain.  Perhaps my vanity has gotten the best of me, but I'd like to write my own chapter in that history with my own pen.

Because I was unsure which class I'd enter for Race 1, I commissioned three ships: an Ares, an Enyo, and a Federation Navy Comet.  I spent hours with team engineers trying to balance warp speed, agility, and sub-warp speed.  We considered the defensive implication of utilizing dual propulsion, and we tried to fit as much firepower as possible to respond to competitors that prefer guns to engines.  As the ground crew set about making the modifications, I returned home to Fricoure and took a tour of the Victory.

In the shipboard racing museum, I listened to Kendar Zek's holographic image talk about the Neophyte, the only rookie-ship to ever enter a race.  The ship predates the team by one season, but I think it reflects a part of the Venture spirit that is sometimes lost in the daily corporate routine.  I'd love to do something daring, even crazy, like flying a rookie-ship for a race.  Perhaps I'll have occasion this season to cast off restraint and fly like I just don't give a damn about winning or losing.

The night before the race, I went out in the Watcher on a sight-seeing tour.  I had seven pilots on the roster, including myself.  I knew Esna would be absent.  I was relatively certain that Takashi and Saikoyu would show up.  I would have liked to field two pilots per class, and although I thought it was highly probable that Neon would be at the starting line, I couldn't afford to play wingman in another class when I needed to be sure we had a frigate entry.  After docking up, I jump-cloned over to Aunia and finished race prep on the Phantom, my Navy Comet, then set a course for The Bleak Lands.  I finally caught some sleep around 07:30.

I woke up around 12:50.  Gyra would be along shortly to announce the precise starting location.  Of course, prior to leaving Aunia, I had asked a locator to find Gyra for me, assuming she was already docked at the starting line.  This paid off nicely, as I didn't have to travel immediately before the race.  I took a leisurely stroll down to the hangar, met with a few sports reporters who all asked the usual questions, then started going over my pre-flight checklist.  A fellow named Metrius had joined the league chatter and was looking for a team, so I managed to do some last-minute recruiting prior to the race, too.

Bringing a new pilot up to speed on team operations that the veterans know by heart is challenging in itself.  Doing it with about 30 minutes until go time is outright nerve-wracking.  In the rush to get through all the important information, I forgot to register the team for the race.  Saikoyu reminded me, and I quickly sent the relevant information and fees to Gyra.  At this point, I also realized that we were holding the start for Quintrala to come out of retirement and get to the starting line.  I recall thinking that this would certainly be a race to remember.

The beginning of the race was a blur.  A blob of fourteen racers took off toward Huola, where we found three waypoints at the first stop.  There had been some off-season debate about front-loading multi-waypoints to break up warp trains, and it seems Gyra followed that plan.  Fortunately for us, we weren't relying on a warp train anyway, so this didn't really gum up our plans.  The next stop in Amamake, however, definitely did.

Five waypoints in one location.  Five waypionts and one hostile Hurricane, that is.  My shields took a serious knock, and the autocannons were relentless.  I completely forgot that I had ECM drones to deploy, and in the chaos, I chose to bug out rather than lose the ship.  Others weren't so lucky.  Quintrala lost her famous Executioner, A Wing and a Prayer, and the bogeys managed to destroy her capsule, too.  After tagging four of the five waypoints, Saikoyu's ship was lost, too.

Fortunately, Takashi had made it through the fray.  Knowing that Gyra would set a 5-minute timer and declare the waypoint optional if it remained camped, those of us that had scattered at Amamake elected to get back on course and head for the next waypoint.  In the unlikely event that Amamake did not become optional, we'd simply have to backtrack.  We burned hard for Arzad, where another four waypoints were waiting.  Oyonata had the final three, and then we proceeded without incident to the finish line in Gammel.

Neon and I were running fairly close to each other on the back stretch; I held a marginal lead.  I had some unexpected engine trouble as I entered Gammel, however, and he was able to overtake me at the end.  Of course, this works out for the best because I plan to switch classes as needed this season, so my teammates who are dedicated to their classes need the individual points more than I do.  Had this affected our team standings, though, I might've had to fire a mechanic after the race.

Saikoyu had procured a replacement ship and would have to limp to the finish for lack of a microwarp drive.  I was really hoping she'd still pull off a win.  I thought Lyn Farel was also racing in the same class, so I watched for her at the finish line.  As it turned out, Saikoyu was in a class all her own, as she said after the race.  I'm really proud of her for going the distance despite the setback.  I've offered to cover the replacement cost for her ship and fittings.

We put five racers on the track for Race 1.  Every one of us finished on the podium.  Barring any penalties in the official results, we swept first place in every class, and we took all three of the top spots in the frigate class.  Quite literally, I couldn't have hoped for a better finish.  The challenge, of course, is to keep the momentum going.  After the race, I learned that Elsebeth Rhiannon will be returning to the sport with one of this season's new teams.  We'll have to stay on top of our game to compete with one of our own.