Norrin Ellis

Season 2.0, Race 2 (Verge Vendor)

2011-11-14T15:00:00.002-05:00

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)

2011-11-06T01:29:00.002-04:00

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.

Into the Fray

2011-09-05T02:30:00.001-04:00

The season has been atypical for Venture. We're fighting for points in the interceptor class, and we seem to have a revolving door for frigate pilots. Thanks largely to Saikoyu's consistent performance, we were holding a 33-point lead in the assault ship class prior to Race 10. When I received news that she would be unable to attend the event in Everyshore, my heart sank. Her individual lead over Nicoletta Mithra would nearly evaporate, and if no one stepped up to put some points on the board for the team, I'd have a hard time explaining how we blew a significant team lead so close to the end of the season. Koronakesh likes to say that the "spin mill never stops" at Venture, but there are some things that even I can't obfuscate with smoke and mirrors.

I started weighing my options, even though I knew I really only had one. I wasn't likely to catch Koronakesh prior to the race, so I wasn't sure if he'd be available. Our newest recruit, Ilsenae, is currently unable to participate due to schedule conflicts, and I doubt she's qualified to pilot an assault ship, given that she only recently earned her pilot's license. Graelyn is working hard in the interceptor class, and it wouldn't be fair to him if I asked him to switch classes. I went down to the station's medical facility to inquire about clone-jumping, a procedure that I've never actually employed, but it seemed the fastest way to get home. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

I woke up shortly afterward somewhat disoriented, and I didn't feel quite like myself due to a different set of implants. In retrospect, it might have been faster to simply fly back to Fricoure rather than waiting for the staff to clear me for flight after the jump, but the secondary body is expendable, whereas the primary me is not. As it happens, I had ordered a refit of one of Kendar Zek's old ships roughly two weeks ago. I didn't seriously expect to ever race her, so I hadn't taken any time to practice. There I stood, staring up at the Hangman's Noose with her pristine finish, thinking that I was about to desecrate a team relic by taking her back out on the track and putting her in harm's way. I went aboard for only the second time since I acquired her to inspect her critical systems before heading out to Everyshore.

The ship handled well on my flight out to the staging area. I caught a brief nap and woke up shortly before the starting system was announced. Fortunately, I was only two jumps out. A few sports reporters from various media outlets had done their homework already and noticed the last minute roster change filed with the league. I had barely debarked when they started asking questions. Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that Saikoyu wouldn't be there, I told them we had a comfortable lead in the class, making this a great opportunity to get my feet wet and have fun. The unintended advantage to racing turned out to be the freedom to dismiss tough questions about our interceptor rivalry with Dirtside with a smile and a reminder that I had to focus on my pre-flight inspections. The media has never been quite so easy on me.

I settled into my pod about ten minutes prior to the start of the race. I kept telling myself that I only needed to finish in order to maintain a significant lead for the team, but nothing seemed to untie the knots in my stomach. What if I lose Kendar's boat? The question played over and over in my mind, and I hardly noticed the station crew trying to catch my attention for towing from the docking platform to the launch area.

"Captain Ellis, towing tractor engaged. Clear to release platform moorings."

Five minutes to go time.

"Captain Ellis, please release moorings."

I floated there idly, my mind wandering, completely oblivious to what was going on. Aura finally woke me up from my daydreaming when one of the tugs decided to give my ship a little jerk with the moorings still engaged. There's nothing quite like klaxons in the morning.

"Captain Ellis . . ."

"Roger that. Magnetic moorings disengaged."

"Everything okay over there, Captain?"

"Everything's fine over here. Do try to be gentle. I'd hate to mar the finish before the race even starts."

I distinctly recall the countdown, but most of the race is a blur. I really don't know how people manage to chatter so much during a race. I had to stay quite focused on what I was doing: Warp. Jump. Warp. Approach. Unlock. Align. Set waypoint. Warp. Jump. Rinse. Repeat. I was holding my own for a while, but I ended up lagging behind before the halfway point and found myself drifting alone in the rear. Serpentis ships paid me a visit at a couple waypoints. I returned fire against some of the smaller ships, but the larger ones didn't warrant my attention; they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn at point blank range. I reminded myself repeatedly that the goal was to finish in one piece. At the last waypoint, another capsuleer decided to lock my ship; however, I was gone before I even noticed who it was or what he was flying.

In the end, I finished 4m 9s behind Nicoletta. I could say that second place in a two-person race isn't particularly glorious, but I do believe it's the first time any of our late co-founder's ships has finished in the top three. I'll take whatever small victories I can get any way that I can get them. Venture holds a 28-point lead over Scuderia Caille, so I can't complain.

After the race, I ran into Altantsetseg Naranbaatar at the Daredevil's Lounge. She's unique, and our brief chat may very well have been the highlight of the day. I look forward to seeing her around.

Bumps in the Road

2011-08-17T18:20:00.000-04:00

I remember a time when life was easy. Sometimes I think about moving back home to Gallente Prime and living out the rest of my days much the same as my youth, pampered and privileged. My personal life and business affairs have suffered several nasty setbacks recently, which is precisely why I haven't made the time to say much about it for quite some time. Five regular season races and two exhibition events have come and gone, and I find myself struggling to keep my spirits up.

My parents continue to pressure me to start a family of my own, and most days I feel that I'm letting them down, thanks to my dismal luck with the fairer sex. After a brief diversion in a modeling contest, I found myself rather enchanted by a young lady I met during the competition. We shared a few laughs, and she even visited the family estate with me for about a week. Mom absolutely adored her and missed no opportunity to remind me to treat her properly. Despite my best efforts, however, we parted company at the end of that week and haven't spoken much since. I wouldn't necessarily say I'm heartbroken about it, but I would've liked for things to turn out differently.

The team is in a strong financial position. We currently hold enough cash on hand to cover the promised 1 billion ISK in bonuses plus the usual 200 million ISK carryover to next season, even after accounting for projected race fees throughout the rest of the season. Unfortunately, our numbers have dwindled as the season has worn on. Personal issues have kept several of our pilots away from the track, including Neon. Takashi and Saikoyu diligently show up and fight for every point, and we're making the most of the resources we have. Somehow, though, I feel that I've done a disservice to the Venture legacy by failing to field overwhelming numbers.

The setbacks sting. I often wonder why life can't be simple and trouble-free. Perhaps overcoming these little hurdles are the victories that really matter, though. The team and I can only hope to keep moving forward and, win or lose, finish the race with dignity.

Headless

2011-06-14T18:50:00.000-04:00

Domain was rough for all of us. I had known throughout the week that Takashi would be unavailable for the event, tied up with some planetside business. Immediately after the race in Placid, I notified Graelyn that the burden of running point would likely fall to him, to which he responded with his customary groan. Neon, being our most experienced frigate pilot, was also aware that he may find himself at the head of the Venture pack. It's safe to say, however, that everyone is most comfortable with Takashi driving the team, and he's so reliable that nobody gives much serious thought to ever having to fill his shoes. This strikes me as a failure of the Venture system; it's always good business practice to know how to do your boss's job, just in case.

For my part, I showed up dead tired in Domain. Normally, I'm staged in the correct region the night before the race, ready to receive the starting location and get in position as quickly as possible. A late night handling some personal matters and a trek from Kor-Azor back home to Sinq Laison left me too sleepy to make the trip back out to Domain. I was hauling a pair of Comets in an Iteron IV that needed to be delivered after the race, which made the journey exceptionally slow, so I docked up somewhere around the Gallente-Caldari border zone to catch a brief nap. I was tempted to go straight back to bed after handling the necessities of race fees and registrations, but I'm not one to leave the team hanging when the going gets tough.

Talk of postponement due to the prospect of low turnout gave me a glimmer of hope that I might soon be sound asleep, and as much as I personally favored a delay that would allow us to return to the field later with our captain at the helm, I had to concede that my personal preferences and team interests cannot supersede what's best for the whole; the race must go on. Sadly, Graelyn was nowhere to be found, and I held out hope for his arrival so long that I didn't turn in fees until about four minutes prior to the official start time. Though our team comprised four of the nine racers on the field, two frigates and two assault ships, our lack of any interceptors was a definite disadvantage. I took comfort in the fact that the even breakdown amongst classes, three pilots in each, assured us quality placements in the classes where we did field racers.

After a rushed run through our pre-flight checklist, I reminded everyone of their obligations should they find themselves on point. Most likely, the responsibility was going to be on Neon's shoulders, as it indeed was throughout most of the race, but anything can happen out there. I served as the de facto captain, despite not being on the track, but aside from answering some minor questions from Neon, he did a wonderful job of handling most everything himself. We focused on quality procedure, and I'm proud to say that we ran a solid formation throughout the race without incurring any penalties. This is really what I look for in my final analysis. Technique can be improved to reduce overall finish times, but sloppy procedure is a hard habit to squash, so I'm incredibly thankful that the team flies by the book.

We are once again beneficiaries of another pilot's disqualification. While I do hate to see any racer disqualified after running a fine race, Nicoletta Mithra's misfortune has allowed two of our assault ship pilots, Saikoyu and Koronakesh, to tie for first place individual standings. Because Scuderia Caille earns no points as a team this race, we have also regained a narrow lead in the team standings, offsetting our absence from the class in Placid. Neon continues to hang onto first place for himself and the team in the frigate class, as well. The hand of fate leaves us trailing in the interceptor class, but I have full confidence in our pilots' ability to bounce back from the points deficit.

Perhaps the most exciting part of the week has been the return of Thulla Icin to our roster, along with a new rookie, Solstice Exocet. I'm always overjoyed when one of the family comes home, and it's good to see that even our newest members are sharing the Venture vision with their fellow pilots. I'll have to remember to thank Miranda for encouraging Solstice to join the family. In the meantime, I now find myself scribbling some of my own notes in the margins of Venture history. I can see why Mr. Zek is always smiling in the photos I've seen. He had the best job in the cluster.

Indecision

2011-06-05T01:33:00.000-04:00

The past week has been rather exciting. I've been spending a lot of time aboard the Victory. I remember my last summer cruise as a cadet aboard this ship. That's when I met Kendar Zek, and though I wasn't exactly a race enthusiast at the time, I believe my short time with the crew ultimately laid the foundation for where I am today. I would've laughed if anyone had told me at the time that someday I'd be her captain. Nevertheless, here I am, taking a much keener interest in all things Venture than I ever did back then.

I've learned a great deal in the ship's racing museum about VRT and our old rivals. There's quite a bit of Dragonstar memorabilia, no doubt collected during Mr. Zek's engagement to Kayleigh Jamieson. I think some of it is not so much about commemorating the sport as much as celebrating a friend, and I wonder if many people were really meant to see it. For now, I don't think I'll be opening the ship for public viewing, though I may invite special guests to check out the unfinished work of a fellow whose shoes I feel less fit to fill every day.

The refit is going slowly. I wrestled with the idea of making any modifications whatsoever. Takashi was Mr. Zek's best friend and partner in racing, and he didn't change a thing while the ship was in his care. Of course, he didn't fly it, either, as far as I know. The cloaking device, smartbombs, and ECM burst systems give me the impression that Mr. Zek might have intended to risk the ship outside of CONCORD's jurisdiction. I have no such intention, so I've got her stripped down to basics until I figure out how best to dress her up again.

We staged up in Stacmon to wait for the starting location for the Placid race. As it happened, we were in the right system and simply had to change stations. A reporter from Racing Insider magazine dropped by to speak with us, so Takashi and I took a few minutes to answer her questions. Apparently, we're on the cover of this month's issue. I don't know if I'm prepared to be a celebrity. I certainly don't do anything exciting. Perhaps no one needs to know just how much of my job involves spreadsheets and flowcharts.

The track layout threw us off balance with something new: a nullsec route. To my knowledge, no one at Venture had ever planned for it. I've gone through some old logs since the race, and everyone always seemed reasonably certain that nullsec was off limits during a race. Perhaps it's time to throw away the old book and write a new one. In the heat of the moment, Takashi asked me to make the decision whether to take the plunge or reroute, and from the tranquility of my docked ship, I dropped the ball. Any decision would have been fine. I could've said to take the long route to avoid risking the fleet or take the short route for the best odds against the clock, and the team would've instantly complied. Instead, I said, "You're the captain, Tak. It's your call."

To be fair, Takashi is the captain, and it is his call. His call, however, was to ask me to make the call from my God's-eye perch, and my indecisiveness led to indecisiveness on the track. I have no doubt that my waffling cost Takashi first place. In the future, I'll simply have to make quick decisions and live with the results.

On the whole, Lady Luck conspired to hand us some solid finishes, but she's a fickle mistress, and I don't really want to rely on her too much going forward.

Relics

2011-06-02T17:57:00.001-04:00

As I continue to get Venture's affairs in order after the long hiatus, I routinely come across old records, often with notes scribbled in the margins by Kendar Zek. Some files indicated that Kendar was beginning work on a plan to produce frigates in-house, so I asked Takashi if he could help track down any blueprints that his partner might have misplaced. Takashi was fairly certain that anything of the sort would've been left with one of our affiliates, Aurora Speed, for safekeeping.

After a few days of waiting, contracts from Aurora began showing up for me. Kendar seems to have had some strange ideas about which frigates the team would need. More surprising than what he did have in the collection was what he didn't have: no Executioner, Rifter, or Vigil blueprints. I'm not sure what to make of it. Was he planning to produce ships as a means of income rather than as racing stock, or had he simply not gotten around to starting work on the most popular frigates in the league?

More importantly, I received contracts for more than just blueprints. Kendar apparently left some of his own ships with Aurora, and they have been locked in the same hangars for years, untouched aside from the standard maintenance. I giggled when I saw a contract for a Velator-class frigate. This one doesn't appear to be the same ship from the Season 3 race in Domain, but it is named for the original, presumably a replica. Perhaps when I get around to checking the ship's logs, I'll find some useful information about her.

The crown jewel of Venture relics has also been uncovered, sitting quietly in a Caldari Business Tribunal station. I now have in my possession the Independent Achura, an Atron-class frigate renamed in Season 4 as part of a sponsorship deal. The ship itself predates the formation of the team; it is the original racing vessel flown by Kendar Zek. Rather than hiring a courier to deliver her back to Fricoure, I took the liberty of fetching her myself. I almost feel guilty putting her to space again, as I think perhaps she should be a museum piece.

Surprisingly, the Independent Achura isn't quite fit for racing. Her rigs are standard racing gear, but the cloaking device and warp core stabilizers lead me to believe that perhaps her captain had other uses for her off the track.

Back in the Saddle

2011-05-09T00:25:00.001-04:00

When I woke up, it seemed as though I had only been gone a moment, as if I'd been cloned immediately after a pod breach. I had a nagging suspicion, however, that something was amiss. I hadn't died in my pod. I died on the floor of The Last Gate, and I could recall the moment as vividly as though it had just happened. How long had I been gone?

"What's the date?" I asked. Much to my dismay, I was informed that I had been dead the better part of a year. Foremost on my mind were how I found myself amongst the living after being dead for so long and how I could remember with such crystal clarity every moment until my last breath. Shouldn't I, at best, have been cloned from some backup scan that predated my unfortunate demise? I had a great many questions, but comprehensive explanations weren't forthcoming.

Dwelling on the how and why of my return doesn't seem particularly productive to me, so I've decided not to do so. As it happens, I've been resurrected at a rather auspicious time. Noriko seems to have closed up shop at Venture Racing when the league stagnated, but as luck would have it, the league is back under the direction of Gyra Rho. I've taken the liberty of reorganizing Venture Racing's corporate operations; the privilege of managing the team falls to me. I'm already hard at work raising money, recruiting racers, and planning our public relations campaign.

My friends' loyalty has transcended my death. Most of my possessions were kept exactly as I had left them. Louella Dougans returned my main fleet at Aunia and auxiliary ships at Fricoure and Inoue, and Math'ra Hiede gladly handed back the Oberon, carefully maintained and in beautiful order. As Venture Racing's chief executive, I've also been granted the pleasure of taking command of the Victory, and I look forward to making a few modifications to upgrade her hardware. Most surprisingly, the SCC didn't raid my accounts when I died, and all outstanding market transactions were credited to my estate, so I woke up with 43 million ISK to get back on my feet.

Many people are surprised to see me walking around again, but none so much as Mother. Capsuleers tend to find such delayed returns uncommon but not impossible. To most people, however, this sort of event is nothing short of miraculous. After the initial shock and a long conversation, I think she's finally realizing that she doesn't have to worry about me so much. If I can spring back to life after months in the grave as if nothing happened, then she needn't concern herself with how I'll survive the typical dangers of space. Nevertheless, she was very disappointed that death gave me a haircut; she truly loved my fabulous hair.

I'm not quite sure why the powers that be have seen fit to place me back amongst the living, but I know that my experience has incited a fresh enthusiasm for life and a new perspective on what is truly important.

Adventures in Reality

2011-04-03T05:31:00.002-04:00

Well, I see there are a few folks still following my ramblings here, so it's only fair that I share a bit of my tales from real life. I can't say that I've done anything particularly exciting since leaving EVE, which is likely why I don't write about life more often.

School keeps me fairly occupied. I left EVE at about the same time I started studying at the University of Central Florida. I finished the fall term with my perfect GPA intact, and I thought the spring term would be smooth sailing. The class that was supposed to be the easiest, Diplomacy, has turned out to give me the most trouble. I earned a B on the first test, a dreadful performance for me, and there's really not much opportunity to get back into the A range. My term paper for the course is due on Friday, April 8, and I have yet to begin working on it because the first test grade has shaken what little confidence I had.

I've been working on a small business in my spare time. After the disaster in Japan, I used my business to raise funds for the relief effort, and I am also contributing all of my retail profits from March through December to the American Cancer Society. My grandfather died of cancer when I was eight years old, and my grandmother has recently had some troubles with skin cancer, so I want to help fund research to find a cure for this dreadful disease.

I thought that leaving EVE and investing more time in real life would help me feel like a significant human being. That hasn't exactly happened yet, but perhaps better results are just around the corner. Success is an elusive beast, and I've yet to determine how best to trap it.

Homesick

2010-10-14T22:14:00.000-04:00

Sitting with James on the rings around Aunia I, I watched the station that I had called home during my brief time as a pilot.

"It seems closer than it should be, James. Are my eyes playing tricks on me?"

"You don't have eyes anymore, Norrin."

Indeed, I have no eyes. I don't have a posterior anymore, either, so I suppose we weren't really sitting at all. We were everywhere and nowhere, and quantifying the experience of the present state in terms of physical senses would be futile, at best. Over the past few months, James has been a wonderful companion, a good brother, yet I've brought with me a certain restlessness that dampens my enjoyment of noncorporeal freedom.

Freedom.

I thought I was free as a pilot, wandering the stars with little to constrain me. Little did I realize what a prison a body is, to say nothing of the social obligations that we're taught from the day we're born. Now that I'm truly free, however, I find that I miss the surprises and even the limitations of mortality. James says that when he first found himself in the afterlife, he longed for his favorite toys, as any small boy would. I sometimes wonder if I would harbor more bitterness if I had been taken so young; for his part, he seems perfectly happy.

"Is there a way home, James?"

It's important for me to know. Mother's crying tears at my soul. Whispers in the ether trouble me deeply, and I'm not content to watch and listen. For a fellow who was never particularly motivated to do anything, I find that as a ghost I'm quite interested in being a busybody.

James pointed out into the deep black and whispered, "There."

I didn't see anything except the stars, which also seemed much closer than they should be. I squinted and strained, tilted my head every which way, yet still I saw nothing. My brother could hardly contain his laughter.

"You don't have eyes, Norrin. Anyhow, I'm just messing with you."

I grumbled, "I'm glad one of us is amused. Is there a way home or not?"

"Tired of my company already?"

It was my turn to laugh, "Not at all, but I. . ."

"You miss her, don't you?"

Of course, he was talking about Kekah. I think my heart sank a bit at the thought of her. She was so very precious to me, and I distinctly recall longing for her as I died there on the floor at The Last Gate. Nevertheless, she hadn't been on my mind lately. There was another her, however, who definitely occupied my thoughts.

I never quite understood why, when freedom was given to her on a silver platter, she sought some degree of servitude. Now that I am afforded infinite freedom, I find that I would prefer more time in my mortal prison. I think perhaps I'd be a much better friend now than I was then.

After a long silence, he finally gave me a straight answer: "Yes, you can go back. . ."

The Last Gate

2010-07-22T21:15:00.000-04:00

A fitting end, perishing in such an aptly named place. I had hoped to catch Mr. Verone. My final request would have been that he give my seat at his table to my beloved Kekah, without whom I never would've had a place there myself. The consequence of my vanity came for me too soon, however, and there I fell, lonely and empty. Would that I might have dreamed passionately and led a life of purpose, that I would not have died a spoiled, ingrateful son of hedonism and apathy.

I heard a child's voice, calling from beyond the veil that I could see in the last moment with such perfect clarity. I wondered how I could've missed it all the years of my life--a curtain of smoke, or perhaps something more ethereal, flowing gracefully in every direction, holding me spellbound with its myriad patterns that seemed to spell destiny in a script both foreign and familiar. Little did I notice that this wisp between the worlds had come to rend my soul from my body, for the voice spoke my name, and I longed to follow it.

"Norrin! Welcome home, Norrin."

My questions clung to the fringe of my imagination: Who is this voice? How does it know me? Where am I being taken? A miniature hand grasped my wrist and pulled me into the swirling mists that severed me from my mortality. For a moment, I thought the sea of smoke might drown me, yet the broad smile that greeted me comforted my soul even as the reality of my death consumed me. Glancing over my shoulder, I thought perhaps I would see my remains and the people tending to them, but no such vision presented itself.

As the vast dreamscape of the universe unfolded before me, peace consumed me as though it were a tangible thing, a warm blanket to shelter me during this walk amongst the shadows. I realized that I knew the voice, though I had never met the child.

James.

Reaching Across the Aisle

2010-05-20T03:24:00.002-04:00

Dear Mr. Verone,

I hope this letter finds you well and that none of your loved ones have fallen victim to Nation raids throughout the cluster. These raids are precisely the reason that I am writing to you, though I worry that perhaps I am not the appropriate person to address this concern with you, given our very brief history of cordiality that extends little beyond social pleasantry. Nevertheless, after being present at several of these incursions, I find that I have little recourse but to appeal to the decency of my acquaintances as possible allies in the defense of humanity.

Your petition regarding the Nation infiltration of CONCORD caught my attention from the start, and if you will indulge me in a bit of inquiry as to your intent, I would be much obliged to better understand your motives. I'm not so blind as to play ignorant of your chosen profession or standing with the law, yet my sense of pragmatism largely dictates that our ethical differences should not be the centerpiece of our social relationship, for I most certainly recognize that in my world the laws of society prevail, while in the less secure areas of space, the law of the gun prevails; each of us has our own code of propriety. I should ask, however, if your petition against CONCORD's leadership is born of political opportunism to strike at an organization that clearly limits the field of operations for your business or whether you are genuinely concerned about the monstrosity that is Sansha's Nation. I pray that the latter is your more pressing interest.

With this concern in mind, I should share with you my experience at Ostingele. Upon receiving word that the system was under attack, I fetched a Navy-issue Comet-class frigate and immediately proceeded to the system, despite warnings of possible pirate activity. To be fair, this was a reckless endeavor on my part, as I am not quite wealthy enough to lose the particular body in which I was traveling, and much to my discredit, my aforementioned sense of pragmatism deterred me from engaging upon arrival. One of your own pilots, Ms. Hikari "DeadRow" Sato, caught my eye first. Aside from her corporate tag, which was enough to rattle my nerves, she has pledged allegiance to Kuvakei. I realized at Ostingele that we cannot hope to save the lives of colonists in low security space in the face of both Nation and pirate capsuleers, particularly if those pirates are explicitly pledged to Sansha Kuvakei.

From what I have gathered in perusing your public communications from time to time, you seem to be a man with a firm commitment against slavery. If you will pardon me for being so bold: In light of demanding that CONCORD clean its house, will you clean your own? In demanding that CONCORD respond appropriately, will you also take up the fight against Sansha's Nation? In these desperate times, I see no recourse but to reach across the aisle of the law for the sake of our common humanity. While my failure at Ostingele haunts me, I am encouraged by my belief that there are pilots living in low security space with the resources, connections, and tenacity to ensure that Nation forces face the fiercest of challenges wherever they choose to strike.

Humanity cannot fight a two-front war against itself and Sansha's Nation. While some may be too arrogant to admit such, we need your help. The free souls of millions--their hopes, dreams, and aspirations--depend upon our ability to willingly stand united. As we both value our freedom, whether in the comfortable context of governmental structure or in the rugged frontier of dangerous space, I hope you will join us. If the need arises, I would be honored to fly with you against this menace to all we hold dear.

Sincerely,
Norrin Ellis

Event Horizon

2010-05-11T04:27:00.001-04:00

Supposedly, at the edge of a black hole, time would appear to slow down as an observer accelerates toward the speed of light on the event horizon. In that instant between existence and oblivion, we might find the illusion of immortality. Sometimes, I believe the line between today and tomorrow obscures reality in much the same fashion, always approaching the latter, yet never seeming to escape the former. Inevitably, however, tomorrow ensnares us and we disappear forever.

Today is so beautiful. I hope that I'm not too close to the edge of tomorrow.

Lineage

2010-05-10T04:22:00.000-04:00

When I was a child, I often asked my parents that timeless question: Where did I come from? Until I was old enough to learn the truth, my parents had all sorts of amusing answers that were so outlandishly silly that, even as a small boy, I found them hard to believe. Some of my favorites included:

The neighbors were moving, and they didn't have room for all their children, so we decided to keep you.

We bought you at a lovely department store on the Crystal Boulevard that sells only the finest children.

The maid was cleaning and found you under a sofa cushion.

Of course, my father eventually told me the real story, which I had already heard a zillion times from the guys at school by that point. You see, son, when a man loves a woman. . . I groaned and rolled my eyes, and he knew that I already knew, but I imagine my mother insisted that he fulfill his paternal obligation to explain the dynamics of human sexuality. I don't recall which of us was more uncomfortable, yet somehow our rare, awkward father-son moments seemed to have the desired effect. I may not have learned much in the way of mechanics from my father, but he did manage to impress upon me a certain sense of decorum and a reasonable respect for the opposite sex that always made me feel like an outsider during the regular recounting of conquests in the school locker room.

The question continues to haunt me. Reborn of a man I know nothing about, I suppose I shall never free myself of some lingering curiosity about where I come from. Religious mysticism aside, however, I find that I know remarkably little about my own family. Money seems to have a way of separating us from the things that are truly important, even loosening the bonds of blood.

Maxwell Xavier Ellis (1.17.53), Amanda Michelle Ellis (8.23.56)

My father never earned a dime in his life. The family owes its wealth to his grandfather, and I suppose I owe my very existence to money and tragedy. Dad met my mother at dinner; she waited on his table. She tells me, with some fair deal of embarrassment, that she was first attracted to his flambuoyant spending to impress his friends.

Enjoying a drunken night of revelry to celebrate some event that neither of my parents could recollect, Dad brazenly announced that he could have any woman he wanted; his friends insisted that he couldn't score a date with their waitress. Mother says she had always politely declined when other restaurant patrons had inquired about a date with her, but having been a ward of the state as a child, she was diligently working to move up the socioeconomic ladder, and the smell of money was as intoxicating to her as the champagne was to my father.

Several weeks after Dad had sobered up, he stumbled across her number and called her just to find out who she was. Mom says Dad apologized profusely for his behavior and offered to treat her to a splendid evening, clearly attempting to purchase her forgiveness. She says that he seemed so sincere that she felt guilty for her own motives, accepting his offer on the condition that he not spend a cent on her. They agreed on a picnic by a lake at a park near her home where she occasionally went to feed the birds.

My parents' first son, James, came shortly after they were married. Seven years later, James fell down a flight of stairs and perished. I only know of him from the stories I hear. Mother insisted on having another child to cope with her grief, and that's where I come from.

Some of the servants who have been employed at the family estate since before even my father was born tell me that Mom and Dad have never been quite the same. Unfortunately, I never quite filled that hole in their hearts that James left. My brother was the child of their love, and I'm the child of their grief. My father most often seems to consider me a burden, and though I know he'd do anything for me, I cannot deny his disappointment with me. Mother seems lost in the fantasy that I'm in need of constant protection, a perpetual youngster in danger of falling and breaking her poor heart beyond repair.

I wish that I could give them another day at the park, but they've outgrown that life. All that's left is money and family, and the dutiful, often joyless stewardship of both.

Love and War

2010-03-22T04:47:00.001-04:00

If I didn't neglect my thoughts so often, perhaps they wouldn't be so difficult to organize. Nevertheless, the past several weeks have probably been the most significant of my career as a pilot and the most fulfilling as a person. I've always considered myself a relatively disinterested party in most others' affairs, more than willing to greet most anyone, even those whose values greatly differ from my own, with a smile and a polite nod. That's exactly how my first encounter with Deshat Mehatek went.

I dropped by the Amarr Legio Basilica because I was in the neighborhood. I had no good reason to go, but I admire the architecture of the place; it's truly a work of art. Sitting in front of the praying angel statue, there she was, and I offered my usual polite, yet unobtrusive, acknowledgment. I couldn't believe my eyes when she scoffed at me, as though I were somehow beneath her. Granted, I've heard some Amarrians behave in such a manner, and I've witnessed some less than civil conduct from a few, but I have never been so thoroughly rebuffed over a harmless smile. At the time, I really didn't know what to make of it.

As fate would have it, the lady (I use the term loosely) began advertising her slave trading business. Nothing unusual in the Empire, to be fair, but the things she put on display appalled pro- and anti-slavery pilots alike. I'm not sure what motivated me to grow a spine over something that doesn't directly concern me, but I politely requested that she cease and desist. That request was summarily rejected, and I found myself immediately processing the necessary paperwork to sanction a war declaration against her.

Since CONCORD authorized fighting, I have engaged her only once, destroying an Impairor-class frigate. She claims that a single slave was aboard, and the loss of life and destruction of property, regardless of how minimal, weighs on my conscience. An Imperial militia corporation has requested that I cease combat operations to allow the Empire to resolve the matter of Ms. Mehatek's slavery practices internally. I've suspended my pursuit and hope to officially rescind the war declaration soon.

On a much more positive note, I'm quite smitten with a young lady that I met at a party several months ago. I first met her at Three Sisters, where the proprietors had shipped in a fair amount of sand for the beach-themed event. She struck me as a lovely subject for a sand sculpture, and we enjoyed a bit of idle chatter as I worked on it. Since then, we've spoken occasionally, but hadn't met face to face again. In fact, we had a standing agreement to have a drink together sometime, yet I never seriously expected that time to come around.

Before my little war started, however, I was speaking to her and brought up the usual offer of sharing a drink sometime, and she escalated the offer to dinner the very next night. As fate would have it, her work kept her from meeting me at the appointed time. Our next conversation, however, ended with her hopping a shuttle straight to my doorstep. After months of flirtatious banter, there she was.

We've spent every spare moment together since.

The Great Mistake

2010-02-13T09:36:00.000-05:00

As quickly as she had been taken from the Empire, so she was taken back. Her mother had asked for her baby girl, the child she'd waited 20 years to see, and in my reckless lack of forethought, I believed money could grant her wish. I'm so much more like my father than I'd like to believe.

She had said that I was her only friend and clung to me like a slave to her master. Last I saw her, she indeed had the mindset of a slave longing for a master. Perhaps I should not have commented that either of us could go back to the respective slavery of our youth if we so desired. She seems to have taken that to heart. On one hand, I'm happy that she finally made up her own mind without asking if it would please me. On the other hand, the choice she's made grieves me deeply.

I took from the Empire a slave. I sent the Empire a capsuleer. How many more will end up in bondage now? Every effort she makes to expand the influence of the Empire will lead only to subjugation, whether it be physical or cultural. For all the times I've visited the Empire -- and I love the people dearly -- I see even the free people oppressed by such agencies as the Ministry of Internal Order. I have no doubt that Empress Sarum herself, if she stood in the way of the theocratic machine, would find herself murdered like the last emperor.

For the sake of one mother's joy, I've condemned countless more to weep. What began as a good deed has become the most wretched thing I have ever done, and I can hear my conscience screaming with perfect clarity for the first time. Try as I might, I cannot remain detached from this, for I imagine that soon the blood of innocent people will permanently stain my hands.

The Value of a Life

2010-01-06T07:53:00.004-05:00

It's been over a month now. Slavers in the Amarr Empire continue to call me, despite my assurance that I have no real interest in human trafficking. They ask me why I did it. All of my acquaintances privy to the bid have asked me why. Why would I spend 1 billion ISK on a single slave?

I wouldn't have noticed the auction if not for Neville bringing it to my attention. I rarely concern myself with what's going on in the world; seeing the misfortunes of others breeds the sort of cynicism I try to avoid. I received the call within moments of the auction's opening, though. As usual, Neville needed money, yet his request proved a far cry from the usual capital investment needed to cover routine corporate expenses.

I asked him the obligatory question: "How much?"

"I don't quite know yet," he replied. I was taken aback because Neville is a meticulous bookkeeper, and he always knows precisely how much he needs to continue operating for months on a very modest budget. "I need to buy a slave. At auction," he continued, "How much are you willing to front?"

Should I applaud or rebuke his audacity?

What could I say? I sat in stunned silence a moment, pondering the question. I had purchased the controlling stock interest of the Interstellar Aid Society to keep Kendar Zek's dream alive, and I was reasonably certain that Mr. Zek wouldn't have approved such a purchase. Neville had seemed the perfect bleeding heart to carry the torch; now I questioned his motives. Nevertheless, he was a friend, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Is there something special about this slave?" I asked.

The tale wasn't much different than many others, I suppose. Her mother had been taken captive while pregnant. The girl was born into slavery and groomed as a companion, or perhaps a plaything, for some wealthy aristocrat. It was the sort of thing that evoked some sympathy but raised the question: Why save one when I can't save them all? Such was basically the reason why Neville wasn't rescuing slaves en masse simply by purchasing them on the open market.

It was the mother that caught my attention, though. The woman had been set free by the same master she'd served nearly twenty years. Coincidentally, she was left on a station with an INAS office. Reintegrating liberated slaves is typical business for INAS, so the company had booked her safe passage home to Federation space and provided her some limited assistance until she was back on her feet. She had counted the days until her baby girl would be sold at auction on her twentieth birthday, and she looked up Neville Ducard to ask for his personal assistance.

Neville can't resist any sob story, so he brought it to me for financing. I might've declined, but I thought of my brother James and my own grieving mother. I have no doubt that the only reason I was even conceived was to fill that void in my dear mother's heart. She looks at me and sees him. Her firstborn. Her favorite. I can't imagine what she would give to have him back for just one more day.

I told Neville to spare no expense. I did, however, warn him that my pockets were deep, not bottomless. He shilled the bid a bit, then asked for a buyout price. In the end, I stepped in and bid the buyout price myself. To my knowledge, the bid was the highest price ever paid for a single slave.

Brystal is a sweet girl. Not particularly accustomed to freedom, but getting along reasonably well in a stationside apartment in Aunia. Because I don't see her often, I gave her a kitten to keep her company. I was rather surprised that she elected not to go home with her mother; I think she's a bit enamored with me, though. My hope is that she'll elect to become a pilot.

Plenty of people have called me a fool for saving one rather than many. I wonder myself why a simple set of coincidences would compel me to abandon all sense of pragmatism for the sake of one stranger's freedom and her mother's peace of mind. Indeed, the universe is a strange place, and the valuation of lives a seemingly arbitrary practice.

Was she worth 1 billion ISK? The truth of the matter is that I don't know. I like to believe, however, that she's worth far more.

Pod Upgrade

2009-09-14T12:33:00.000-04:00

My obsolete 128MB GeForce 6800 finally died. I remember buying it when the GeForce 6 series cards were still hot new toys, only to find that I didn't have a power supply to properly run it. The 6800 sat on my shelf of spare parts until I finally upgraded the power supply, and I replaced both components at once. By that time, of course, nVidia was well into the GeForce 7 series, and on the verge of the next generation.

In light of this issue, I've decided to upgrade my obsolete hardware. My gear is all well past its prime, and some of it was purchased at a time when I was taking a break from games altogether, so it was never too great at handling EVE anyway. I need my computer for work as well as games, however, so the overhaul is entirely justified.

With a recent disbursement of excess education funds from scholarships and grants, I had planned to pay off my taxes, but the computer keeps me eating and living indoors, so losing functionality is truly catastrophic for me. The IRS will have to wait until next semester to get their payoff, and I'm sure they won't mind tacking on more interest and penalties in the meantime; I presume the Treasury Department will print more money to cover Uncle Sam's appetite for pork, anyway.

Anyhow, my pod overhaul includes a new motherboard, quad core CPU, 8GB memory, and a 500GB SATA drive to replace my old 80GB IDE drive. I'm switching to a widescreen LCD monitor, so I can finally give back the monitor my company loaned me when my last one died (I don't even work for them anymore! They're so awesome!). The new graphics will be powered by a 1GB GeForce GTS 250, as I simply couldn't justify the cost of the latest GTX. With new speakers and headset to replace my sound equipment that suffers from wiring problems, EVE may finally have sound, too! I'll also replace the power supply to ensure everything has enough juice to run smoothly.

Perhaps with a shiny new pod, powered by a shiny new operating system (switching to Windows 7), I might be able to see a bit more of what EVE has to offer.

Life's Great Swindles

2009-08-29T18:11:00.004-04:00

I visited Mother after dinner with Aurora. While she would've loved to hear that I'd spent my evening with a lovely young lady, I didn't mention it. After all, we're only friends. Over the course of the night, however, Aurora and I had spoken some bit about family, and in light of our conversation, I found it fitting to make time to take a trip home, seeing that I was on the planet anyway.

Despite the late hour, Mother was overjoyed to see me, and though I typically consider her overzealous attention quite smothering, my thoughts of James compelled me to indulge her. I never paid him much heed, given that I never knew him, but I know Mother doesn't want me to suffer the same fate, so it's certainly not fair to treat her like such a burden. I've managed to climb much higher than James, so it's only reasonable that she worries that I might fall.

When Mother was no longer able to keep her eyes open, I ventured into the hedge maze in the early hours of the morning, well before sunrise. I can't recall how many times I have navigated every turn, though allowing myself to get lost spares me the trouble of facing the buried grief of my family. Upon reaching the center, I sat with James for a good while, looking up at the stars and wondering if his soul was out there somewhere, perhaps following along on his baby brother's adventures in the heavens. For the first time, I found myself wondering what sort of man, what sort of older brother, he would've been.

James was only seven. He didn't deserve to be cheated out of life. It seems unfair to me, being reborn, that I may very well have lived a thousand lives prior and, being a capsuleer, could live a thousand lifetimes still. What judge toys with the fates of men so arbitrarily? Perhaps there is none, and we are all victims of circumstance. I can only hope that whatever happens when we pass on is worth more than our time among the living.

Until the day comes that I do meet him, I should endeavor to better fill his shoes for my mother's sake. Fate has swindled her once, and I am loath to break her heart again.

Coming of Age

2009-04-22T06:39:00.005-04:00

I had lost a ship once previously, shortly after I graduated from the Navy Academy. Until recently, however, I had not lost a crew. I can only say that it has been a sobering experience, so much that I have not had the nerve to speak of it until now. My thoughts of those thousands aboard the Enduring Friendship are unpleasant at best; I find myself wondering how many perished, escaped, or found themselves conscripted by my victorious assailant. Had I not foolishly allowed myself to be engaged, then perhaps. . . well, I suppose that's of no consequence now.

Those minutes of fighting seemed an eternity as I struggled in vain to stave off the inevitable. Helplessly trapped and unprepared for the fight, I thrashed wildly as my enemy raped both my ship and ego, a display of incompetence and impotence that I should rather not soon repeat. When he had finished with me, as I saw my ship's broken hull sparking and bleeding plasma fires into space, I remember feeling relieved that it was over.

Relieved. Relieved to hear silence rather than crew chiefs reporting damage across all decks, shouting over the nearby screams of their comrades. Relieved to see my adversary warping away to find other prey. Relieved to see the tiny running lights of my capsule on the camera feed. Relieved that, despite so many dead, I was not among them.

Is this what it means to be a capsuleer? Selfish concern for my own welfare in the face of senseless carnage? The bitter irony that the immortal captain should be left alive while the crew perish in gruesome fashion gnaws at me, yet I have already replaced the ship and found another eager crew. I still can't decide whether it is appropriate to mourn the loss or simply carry on as though nothing has happened.

Father always tells Mother that she should let me grow up. For the first time since I left home, I think I'd prefer to still be her little boy.

Commencement

2009-03-11T13:01:00.005-04:00

I started playing EVE in 2004 with a character named Kendar Zek. I sent him to the great beyond, believing I wouldn't return to the game. Several months later, I chose to start again, and I wrote this piece of background to provide a bit of continuity, tangential as it may be.

I woke up that morning like any other, prepared to go about my business at the Navy Academy as I’ve done for the past several years. I hadn’t much considered the importance of the day until I laced up my shoes. Sitting there staring at my faint reflection, washed pale in the white polish, it dawned on me that it would be the last time I’d wear a midshipman’s uniform.

When I came to the academy four years prior, I’d planned to accept a commission and become a fighter pilot. Coming from a wealthy family, I’d always enjoyed an easy life on Gallente Prime, wanting for nothing. The ideals of duty, honor, and service were abstracts to be borne by other men, and I might have lived all my days under the blanket of freedom they provided without reverence for so many sacrifices weaved into it. I had no particular longing for excitement, and being a pampered child, my parents’ only living son, the very notion that I should dirty my hands with work was abominable to them.

My only interest in anything other than myself had been the religious heritage of the Intaki people. Being a reborn Intaki, I always found it difficult to reconcile that part of me was a remnant of someone else. Was my laziness and apathy toward the world at large my own, or was it handed down to me by that man who lay on his deathbed when I was born? I became wholly resentful of this duality of character, so I decided to pursue a naval career to prove that I am my own man rather than a product of my circumstances.

The family was shocked. Upon realizing my resolve in the matter, they were quite furious. They were reluctant to let me go, but I was old enough to decide for myself. Sometimes I smile when I remember my father shaking his head at me in disappointment.

Life in Duripant hasn’t been easy. Everyone thinks the rich kids are only here because mommy and daddy bought them a seat, and the general misconception is that connected families ensure their children have a privileged stay at the academy. Indeed, some kids do get a golden ticket with the admission board, but I had the luxury of a top-notch private education, and I earned my way in here like everyone else. As for the part about special treatment, I certainly saw my share of it.

My treatment was so special, in fact, that I stopped writing home. It seemed whenever I’d send a letter about my experiences, my folks would try to pull a few strings, call in some favors, or flash some cash to buy me a little comfort. Every letter from my family made my stay a bit worse, as I’d find myself doing all manner of menial chores generally reserved as punishments; my instructors were absolutely giddy whenever they informed me they’d heard from my parents, and my heart would sink.

After three years, my classmates finally realized I was working diligently to be more than they expected, but a warmer social environment wasn’t my concern. I wanted to convince myself that I had ownership of who I am. Every night I’d go to sleep wondering if I was really my own man, and I frequently laughed at the irony of joining the military in an attempt to be unique.

My plans changed at school. I had come in looking toward carrier duty out on the fringe, protecting the borders in a fighter. In the course of admissions, however, I’d qualified for capsule training, so I jumped at my chance to pursue the more difficult track. I didn’t realize at that time that my decision would result in some clarity of purpose a few years later.

The last midshipman cruise found me on a privately owned vessel, a rare occurrence for a Navy Academy cadet, but I shall never forget my time aboard the Victory. A Navy Megathron is an almost unheard of assignment at the academy, and I found it difficult due to the sheer luxury of the vessel, reminiscent of a life I was trying to set aside. Her captain had outfitted her as a sort of parade boat, and my responsibilities as a limited duty officer were minimal, as she rarely put out of station.

I didn’t learn much during my watches, to be honest. The officers’ wardroom, however, proved to be a most valuable source of insight. I had the privilege of dining with them regularly, and it was not uncommon for the captain to share a meal with us. I recognized his name, as I’d studied his papers on drone warfare, and I admired his demeanor in dealing with his staff. They treated him as nearly iconic – not in the way a crew generally respects a captain, but with a heartfelt loyalty that transcended duty; these men were family.

I had learned from my hardships in school that it’s best to keep my mouth shut and do what I’m told, so I was utterly amazed when the captain directed his attention to me one night. He shook my hand and smiled before taking a seat beside me, then proceeded to inquire about my dreams, as though we were good friends. Long after everyone else had departed, we were still there chatting.

He had come from nothing and had everything. I came from having everything and struggled to be regarded as common. We shared a common interest, however, in that we were both driven by a quest for personal identity. Three nights later, Kendar Zek passed away in his sleep, and the Victory was placed under the command of Takashi Kurosawa, his partner in racing.

I went back to Duripant two weeks later. I pondered my future as an officer at length, and I realized my heart wasn’t in it. With a few short months to graduation, I informed the Navy that I would not accept a commission, opting for a private license instead. I finally wrote to my parents again to tell them I’d be home soon.

Finishing with my shoes, I donned my jacket for the last time. Standing in formation, the commencement speeches rang hollow, and foremost on my mind was Captain Zek’s reminder that where we come from is not as important as where we’re going, that today is the day to define Norrin Ellis, and whatever powers lie beyond the heavens will know me by the fruits of my character, not the roots of my existence.

A part of me is borrowed from a man I never knew, and my life is his legacy. What a fortunate turn of fate that I am able, as a pilot, to bring him far closer to immortality than he might have imagined.