Playing the long game

My daughter was born a couple of weeks ago. There's a lame joke to be made about a frigate-sized baby requiring many years of real-world skill training to pilot. But, the more apt observation is that this noob is handily piloting a pair of Titan-sized tenders.

February 15, 2014, was my first day with Eve. Since then, my family has moved, we've had a baby, and my dog has doubled in size. In the game, I've churned through five characters, whittled down to three. (Yesterday, I briefly regretted getting rid of my stripminer, Rosy: picking at asteroids seems an easy, casual way to do something in the game while doing a 3:00 a.m. bottle feeding. But, then I remembered: I'd much rather sit in our nice corner rocking chair than this creaky desk chair. So, no sweat.) In that span, I've flown over a dozen types of ships, racing up to cruisers and battlecruisers, plateauing for a spell with a battleship, clawing my way into a marauder ... only to look around and wish for the speed and energy of a frigate. It's all been very exciting.

I wrote before about trying to squeeze in as much Eve as possible before baby's arrival, but alas that didn't happen. Spent more time playing X-Wing Alliance, plus a bit of Grim Fandango. All other things being equal -- or, unchanged -- I'd be jumping headlong back into Eve. While X-Wing games have been fun, their nostalgia and neo-novelty value is waning, but Eve is always fresh, and I have plenty of goals I've barely crawled toward. But: baby!

Soon after leaving graduate school, I made one of my first Adult Decisions: I took $100 and put it in a Certificate of Deposit. A year later, I'd made $6 interest! Well, Eve is about to become my next CD, with a minimum one-year term: no-touch (much), but with higher value when it comes out of the oven. And that's due to a big change in the game in November: CCP removed the requirement that all queued skills begin training within 24 hours, and players now can queue up to 50 skills regardless of when training starts.

Well, Eemiv has 50 skills lined up, training time to complete in about a year. (Technically, a bit sooner: in April, I'll realign Eemiv's core attributes to accelerate training.) Eemiv's core ship-fitting skills are pretty well maxed out; a year hence, he'll be maxed out in additional gunnery, maneuver, and ship types. Dengar's parallel queue isn't as long, only about 60 days: I've tightly trained her up for frigates and cruisers (around which she's well maxed out) and, more recently, logistics. In about a month, her parallel training (which costs extra money) will end; when Eemiv's queue is done, Dengar's remaining 30 days will wrap up. I'll continue to update Eemiv's skill planning spreadsheet as things tick off -- thank you, Eve Droid, for keeping me posted on these developments without me needing to log in or fire up Evemon in bootcamp. My final character, Talon, has a few market orders ending in about a week: I'll need to renew them, and that's kind of a blessing because it also means I can consolidate a few of them.

As I've thought about the changes that come with having a baby, I've realized that as much as I love games, I enjoy reading and writing more. Those two things are more compatible with being interrupted by an unpredictable child. (And, when there is time for games, titles kike Grim Fandango are a better fit than Eve in my current circumstances.) Still, I plan to continue to write about Eve -- I have a few draft entries begun -- but this may be coupled with a few other topics. I've given some thought to consolidating this blog with my blog on model-building, and perhaps just broaden it to be "a place to write about stuff" (such as the books I'm reading: I just finished Leviathan Wakes, which was pretty amazing). We will see.

o7, everyone.

Mumble mumble

Alas, I didn't meet any of the goals I laid out below. Work and prep-time for an incoming baby simply trumped sitting down with Eve. What spare gameplay time I've had I've spent returning to a galaxy far, far away with Good Ol' Games' release of X-Wing and TIE Fighter -- especially the latter. Long live the Empire!

I did last night, though, jump into RvB's frigatus weekend event with Dengar. Frigatus is a frigates-only free-for-all, with a cap on how many folks can band together to join fleets. The highlight for me was the Eve client crashing: when the game crashes, it automatically warps your ship a long distance into deep space; when you log back in, it jumps you back. The problem is, with the client crash I was also booted from the fleet I was in. Logging back in, my former fleet-mates were still around ... and, from their point-of-view, another frigate not in their fleet had just jumped in, or perhaps just de-cloaked They blew me up pretty quickly.

Alas, it was my own fault: RvB uses Mumble for in-game voice communication, but Mumble isn't playing nice with my computer's mic; if I'd taken time to configure it all properly, I couldn't hollered for them to back off.

Ultimately, we all got a good laugh of it: as soon as I jumped in, I heard my attackers planning my demise. I suppose I could've tapped a hurried message into the Mumble text chat window ... but, nah. I could afford to lose the ship. I explained things in text afterward and we all had a good chuckle.

Size matters: Go small!

A couple of weeks ago, I set about to reap reward from other players' pew-pew and hard work. During another salvaging jaunt yesterday, I ran into a bottleneck: the Imicus frigate can't target more than four wrecks at a time and it can deploy only four salvage drones at once. Eemiv is trained up to deploy five drones and handle six target: my small ship is quick as a bunny but, in a different regard, was slowing me down by 20 percent.

This morning, therefore, I tried a salvage & looting fit on larger cruiser hull, which supports more targets and drones. It was an interesting experiment, and if I use a cruiser for this role again, I'll need to make major changes to my approach. Here's why.

Definitely hit (the first) I5
From The Mittani

Not wanting to spend much on a new hull or gear, I decided to start with a cruiser I already own. My first thought was my Thorax, which after all was the type of ship used to ninja loot me. However, I went with my Stratios instead. For one thing, it already had an cryptically named gravity capacitor rig installed to boost sensor probe strength, and rigs cannot be transferred between ships. (Sensor probes are required for scanning down ships at long range, i.e. finding likely ships from which to steal.) Furthermore, the Stratios itself gives a boost to probe strength. This ship also sports a generous cargo bay (600m³ compared to 465m³ for the Thorax and 400m³ for the Imicus). It also has a huge drone bay. This last I thought could be particularly useful: the idea would be I would set five salvage drones off to work, and then I could use ship-mounted salvagers, too. If I stumbled into an active combat area, rather than rely on ship-mounted guns, I could save waves of various combat drones to deal with enemies. It would also save me from having to carry ammo in the cargo bay. For those paying close attention, though, that last is a flag: the Stratios has bonuses for laser weapons, which don't require ammo; if I'd equipped guns, then they would have been the unbonused hybrid turrets Eemiv is better trained for, i.e. the first "I5" in Awful Loss of the Day "bingo." This was not a costly choice per se -- I didn't get blown up -- but it was one of several fitting and mindset errors I made.

The beautiful Stratios cruiser

From CCP Hyperion Toolkit

Here's another one: I equipped a cloaking device. My thought was that I could sit invisible in an active combat area, waiting out the combatants and perhaps even staying in the shadows until a mission-runner jetted off to go get his own Noctis or other salvage ship. The Stratios, too, is one of few ships that can equip a covert ops cloak: this special cloak allows a ship to travel at top speed and jump to warp while cloaked. Alas, because of the ship's limited CPU output, I couldn't equip the covert ops cloak, an appropriate probe launcher, and various other basic gear. So, I went with a lame, lesser cloak that cut my top speed by 75% when activated and doesn't allow for warping while cloaked. Ugh.

Anyhow, I strapped on my weak cloak and salvagers, shoved  bunch of drones in the corners, and set out. I scanned down a battleship easily enough and warped to it. The first area had just four wrecks, and I targeted the first one.

Or, rather, I tried to. Here's where things get even more embarrassing in hindsight. You see, the Stratios is an expensive hull; buying it was an early splurge. If I actually planned to fill its big cargo bay, that meant having to loot. (Looted gear takes up much more space than salvage.) And that meant a higher risk of being attacked and, in the process, tackled. Tackling refers to retarding a ship's speed or preventing it from warping away. Being protective of this expensive hull ("Don't fly what you can't afford to lose," I remind myself), I equipped it with a warp core stabilizer to ward off another player's warp core scrambler. In the unlikely event a solo mission-runner devotes a precious mid-level equipment slot to a warp scrambler, they're probably carrying just one and my one warp core stabilizer will be sufficient to counter it. And, after all, most high-security mission-runners go solo; I probably wouldn't have to contend with a scrambler at all; two or more is super unlikely. For an academic treatise on this back-and-forth theory, see this seminal scene (warning: profane) in The Big Hit.

Ah, but ya know what? Warp core stabilizers also cut a ship's scanning range in half. So there I was in that first area, sluggishly ambling silly close to these wrecks. It took way too long, but I went through the acceleration gate hoping things would be better on the other side.

My cloak and these leaves offer about the same concealment.
Photo by Douglas Muth

Remember my earlier assertion about mission-runners being solo-types? Well, it was a pair of folks running this mission. And I discerned that because they were right there on the other side of the gate, less than five kilometers away. I activated my dinky cloak and started slinking away. You remember that cloak, right? The one I couldn't have activated before I arrived, and that cut my speed by 75%? Yes, that one. I don't know whether the other players did this deliberately, but one of their ships wandered close enough to fizzle out that cloak. They didn't try to target me, but I still put tale between my legs and warped out. So embarrassing.

It gets better, though: I hopped one system over just to try again. Despite superior probing stats, it took much longer to track down big ships. But, after a few stabs, I suddenly pinged on two battleships and a marauder: things were looking up! I picked one arbitrarily and warped to it.

Upon docking up
From Futurama, "A Big Piece of Garbage"

Alas, I hadn't noticed that this cluster of ships had at its heart ahem a big green space station. A remarkably familiar space station. Eerily similar -- nay, identical -- to the one where Eemiv resides. Sure enough, I'd scanned down just the usual coming-and-going traffic in front of my driveway.

I definitely made some fitting errors today, making compromises that let me do some things mediocrely and nothing well. I also missed the frigate's greater agility, a better defensive asset than a poor cloak. And I imagine I could address some of my initial bottleneck concerns with other techniques: for example, after setting a salvage drone to work at a wreck, untargeting it and using ship-mounted salvagers to work on something else. It's a few more keystrokes, but at least it keeps me busy.

Probably doing my next salvage & loot run back in an Imicus
From CCP Hyperion Toolkit

What next, then? I'm inclined to return to the frigate approach. It might be nice to take a spin out in a destroyer, what with its higher target capacity (even with smaller cargo hold), but I'll need to cobble a fit to get a bump in CPU output: out of the box, it's a tight fit for destroyers to handle the necessary probe launcher and ancillary gear. Maybe I'll set out again with a cruiser, but I seriously need to take a look at fittings and goals. And if I'm feeling sensitive about losing the ship in the first place, then I just need not to fly it in this capacity.

Wear a helmet

About to set out on my commute
From Wikimedia Commons

While pedaling my bike last month, it occurred to me that there are some parallels between riding a bike and playing Eve. I somehow managed not to get hit by a car while in reverie thinking about this:

• Pick a route carefully
• A shiny, expensive vehicle only gets you so far
• Fit matters
• Don't put yourself on "autopilot"
• Learn by doing

Routing: there are two reasonable routes between work and home, and each has a major drawback. One is a low-traffic route that has a hinky and awkward-to-cross T-intersection, and the other offers a more direct route but more lights and traffic. I've taken both and prefer the former: one awkward spot is preferable to lots of stop-and-go at lights (and more exhaust to suck down). With Eve, too, I'm paying close attention to traffic levels and loss reports when wandering into and through low-security space.

Spaceman Spiff's pricey officer and storyline equipment didn't
compensate for fitting mixed guns and low Frigate skills.
From Bill Watterson (panel cropped and flipped)

Buying success: I bought a nice bike, but certainly I didn't splurge for a carbon nanofiber über-cycle. Besides cost, I don't have the skill to take advantage of one; a better bike doesn't make for a better bike-and-rider combination. Similarly, as I've learned with Eve, buying an expensive ship and giving it gear with better stats won't me a super-duper space cowboy. Even after spending time training up the skills to fly a nice ship, an expensive vessel can be stymied by equipping it with superfluous stuff, not adjusting the overview or other UI pieces to suit your needs, not training up important ancillary support skills, autopiloting, etc. As you may have surmised, I bought a couple of PLEX soon after I started playing to lay my hands on a couple of nice ships I'd like to train toward -- but, I've tried to be diligent, too, to try my chops with all the other littler and less-expensive ships I can get my hands on, and always keeping to the essential Eve adage of not flying what I can't afford to lose. In a broader essay about ship loss, Nonnak Severin also points out that "equipping the best item ... does not" make someone the best pilot in Eve -- for more, see below.

Fit: one reason my previous bike rarely got used was I realized after a few bouncy trips down the C&O Canal bicycle path that it was just a poor fit for my body. Ladening the bike, too, with unnecessary gear made it a pain to get it up and the down my apartment stairs. In Eve, fitting refers to what equipment you strap onto your ship: guns, engines, armor plates, etc. You want to fit your ship with an eye toward the types of enemies you might encounter, e.g. a pirate hunter will equipment weapons and protection against the type of damage a particular pirate type deals out and is susceptible to. You also fit your ship in response to your skills: my main character has higher skills for armor than shields; I get more benefit from fitting gear that helps my armor stats than equipment suited to shields. And fitting also refers to broader guidelines and principles: for example, don't equip both short- and long-range guns (because then you bring only ~50% of your potential firepower onto an enemy) and don't mix armor and shield buffing equipment (stick with one). The folks at The Mittani have a BINGO card for poor fits as part of their Awful Loss of the Day; here's a recent one, also by Nonnak Severin. But beyond that, and back to my ill-suited previous bike: the ship and gear need to be a good fit for what you want to do. With Eemiv, I prefer railguns at long range over combat drones, hence a Megathron over the drone-friendly Dominix. With Dengar, I'm enjoying quick movement and rapid fire, hence sticking with an Incursus frigate and not catapulting to something much bigger.

Armor buffer tank
From Giro

Autopilot: an actual thing in Eve, which has the downside of depositing you significant distance from your destination, making you vulnerable to attack. Just don't do it. On my bike, this is the metaphorical state of not being mindful of my surroundings, spending too much time thinking (e.g. about this blog post). My bike has only the most meager of buffer tanks against damage.

Experience: it matters. I now know the traffic sensor by the mall will, in fact, detect a bike; that the biggest hill is early on the commute home, so maybe I shouldn't pedal full-speed until I cross the train tracks; that most drivers will yield to me at four-way stops. And I've learned that even the people who blow me up are also very nice and offer insight; I'm not the only person who sometimes needs to drop out of a fleet to tend to family; and that there is never a want of something to do in Eve.

Blowed up again!

Got blown up again a couple of weeks ago, and it was awesome.

I was once again flying an Iteron Mark V, a cargo ship with a huge hold but, as I learned a while ago, paper-thin defenses. It's been my workhorse for gathering up money from courier/cargo contracts.

Unfortunately, someone cargo-scanned my ship with one of their character accounts, then used another one of their characters a few jump gates away to pounce on me. Before long, my precious cargo -- and a lot of collateral I put up for it -- went poof. Well, kaboom and then poof.

But here's what's great: the guy who blew me up -- Paranoid Loyd -- sent me an innocuous IM wave: some taunt, some thanks, and mostly "it's business, not personal." I sent him a message back and for about 20 minutes got from him useful tips for hauling in high security space. Some things he pointed out:

• I was flying in a "pipe," a heavily-trafficked route between major trade hubs. I knew the journey between the Dodixie and Jita systems is such a high-traffic route, but not between Hek and Dodixie (my route). No wonder that he and his alt were parked along the way and knew that I'd (almost certainly) pop up further down the route.
• 20 million in cargo value is a frequent threshold for a pirate to attack you: they will lose a relatively cheap frigate or cruiser when the space-police show up to kill you for your aggression, but their other character or compatriot who scoops up the goods will enough booty to offset the loss. And, yeah, I had several times that amount.
• My cargo didn't nearly fill the hold. (This is not often the case, but in this instance it was -- and, then again, maybe it's a blessing I had only a marginally-full hold.) There are better-defended ships with enough cargo space that might've let me get out of that situation if attacked.
• He suggested two ships, one of which I've flown before and liked (the Nereus), as a vessel that can faster align to the next jump gate on a cargo path -- which translates into warping away to safety sooner. It has a smaller cargo hold, potentially reducing income -- but, if I'm losing gobs of money in collateral from lugging too much in a weak vessel, well that's no good, either.
• He gave a couple of suggestions for ship modules to increase survivability, particularly if I venture into low-security space to schlep cargo.

Very instructive; nicest pirate since Jack Sparrow.

Thieving

Well, I stole something. I hadn't planned to, and thieving's never really occurred to me as something to do. A few times in the high-security space I usually fly in, I've seen and poked at others' wrecked ships or dropped cargo containers, but I've been warned about thieving and have always just sauntered off.

Not earlier this week, though. Fiddling with scanning down "cosmic signatures" -- isolated spots that contain pirate sites, relics, other neat and valuable stuff -- I found a wormhole. Wormholes connect to areas with no laws, the figurative wild west. They tend to have lots of valuable loot and dangerous opponents. So, I popped in and looked. Scanned a bunch of interesting stuff that I might've gone after if I'd been in a more appropriate wormhole exploration ship.

From tiefighters.com

And I also found a secure container. Except the password to secure the container wasn't set. Curious, I flew over, considering along the way that it was bait. But, no: opened the crate, saw a bunch of mjolnir heavy missiles. About 200,000 ISK worth. Just sitting there.

But not for long. Not a huge fortune, but more than I'd had a moment before. No warning from the game about being vulnerable to violent reprisal, no risk of the space-cops coming down. Just there to take.

One of the undercurrents of Eve how-tos and tutorials is, "You'll make a mistake and learn not to do it again." It's happened to me already. I suppose this missile stockpiler will be more diligent about setting passwords.

For myself, I've learned that stealing is easy. Later, I might learn that that stealing isn't easy, and more often than not is a trap. We'll see?

There are good folks in New Eden

After Die Hard, Scrooged is my favorite Christmas movie. It starts with a pair of promos for a TV network's rendition of A Christmas Tale: the first from milquetoast execs, the second from the boss, Frank Cross. The latter is meant to make viewers terrified to miss the special, and it sets the tone with a bevy of "similarly" terrifying issues: acid rain, drug addiction, international terrorism, freeway killers.

Ah, freeway killers. Ran into them. Twice.

The first time was kind of a stunner. I had picked up a contract to haul a bunch of stuff from point A to point B in the game's high-security (high-sec) area. High-sec is new-player friendly, a usually pretty safe if boring sandbox to figure things out. Alas, I was suicide ganked, i.e. my ship blown up out from under me, and then someone picked up all the precious cargo from the scraps (I'll explain the suicide part in a bit). I had a browser window open over most of the game and caught a flash of red, heard an explosion, but didn't see it happen. Dang. I did, however, get kill rights on the offender, i.e. I could later fight them without fear of retribution from the in-game cops.

My capsule docked, and I started puttering in the market, shopping for a new cargo ship with my insurance money and trying not to think too much about the now-lost collateral I had to give up to snag the contract. In the midst of this, I got a message from another player who'd been nearby, saw what happened, and followed the offenders. (Yes, offenders: the in-game cops showed up and blew away the guy who killed me, which was predictable, hence the suicide part of suicide ganking; however, he had an alternate account simultaneously logged in or a colleague in the area who scooped up my cargo, which is perfectly legal.) He sent me the location in case I was interested in sweet vengeance, and he also offered to just blow him up if I sold him those kill rights (a cool mechanic). Not being anywhere near my regular crash pad and combat ship, I just gave him the rights and, not too much later, got a notice telling me the attacker had been blown up. Nice!

Around the same time, I also got a message from another player. He offered condolences on my loss and offered me an invitation to join his tiny, four-player corporation. They're more into the player-versus-player (PvP) aspect of the game, which I'm not quite ready to jump into (of my own volition, at least), but it was a nice offer, regardless.

The other time I got destroyed, it was totally my fault: I picked up a contract that would take me into low-security (low-sec) space, where guns are freer to fire without repercussion. Sure enough, I blindly jumped into low-sec just hoping for the best. I was immediately warp-scrambled (i.e. I couldn't escape with my faster-than-light drive) and my poorly-defended ship was blown away in seconds. I completely deserved it.

And, I learned from it, too. I discovered a filter built into the map that lets you see how many pilots have been in a particular area in the last half hour, and also how many kills within a similarly tight window. There are some other useful views, too. This meant that before I picked up my next contract going into low-sec, I checked recent activity and made an informed decision about whether to take the contract. I did, and got in and out unscathed. And I now have, too, a new ship hull to train up for: the game has blockade runners, which can equip extra protections (even a cloaking device) to deal specifically with low-sec space. It's about 20 days of skill-training time, and I might queue up the long ones when I'm next on vacation.

Funeral dirge

As I began playing Eve, one refrain in the tutorials and wiki pages had me defiant, doubtful, and insecure: "accept the fact that you'll lose your ship."

Yeah, right, I thought. That's just for the folks who shoot at other live folks. I'm going to play it cool, conservative, stock up on overwhelming firepower before jumping into anything.

Um, no.

My pride and joy, the Brutix battlecruiser Lady Roso (somewhat named after my wife), got blown up last night. And it was completely unnecessary, stemming from inattentiveness on my part.

I was running a level II mission. "I hear some pirates are blocking a useful acceleration gate," said the agent who asked for help. "Flay them, and leave their vacuum-desiccated corpses as a reminder to all who follow!"

Good money and a quick fight; no problem for my tall ship and gallant crew. Generally speaking, level II missions can be knocked out by a cruiser-sized ship; taking a battlecruiser (a baseline hull for level III missions) is often overkill, i.e exactly what I want. Huzzah!

Unfortunately, it didn't take long before I started getting knocked around like a ragdoll. One of the dozen or so pirates consistently jammed my ability to lock a target. I could latch onto something to shoot if I got very close, but then it didn't take long for my shields and armor to get stripped away. Soon after I jumped in the first time, I frantically recovered my drones, jumped out, and repaired the ship. I thought, maybe, I'd destroyed one enemy vessel -- but, that might've instead just been me losing target lock again. There was a six-hour window to complete the mission, though, and it was decent money; I figured I could just wear this out through attrition, with plenty of time to walk and play with the dog between waves.

The second time I jumped in, I figured out what ship was jamming me, and managed to tear it apart. Things were looking up!

But then another ship began jamming, and I was pretty close to the bad guys. Shields and armor gone, and rapidly taking damage to the last line of defense, the underlying structure. I begged my drones to return and started the jump-out sequence. But, too late: before I could escape, Lady Roso disintegrated around me; there was a brief flash of explosion before my character's capsule -- a vessel within the vessel that, in this instance, acts as an escape pod -- jumped to safety. It reminded me a bit of the Odyssey's destruction in Deep Space Nine's second-season finale: a frantic battle with a big ship and tiny support craft getting torn apart by smaller but better bad guys. The show's producers used a ship of the same class as The Next Generation's USS Enterprise to stun viewers: "This could just as easily have been Captain Picard blown to bits." I was almost just as jarred by how quickly Lady Roso bit the dust.

Baffled, too. Two of the enemy ships were battlecruisers, just like mine -- I thought that was odd, not having seen any in previous level II missions. But other tough missions instead have twice as many enemies or strong missile and laser batteries. This wasn't the case here: those two battlecruisers aside, the others were all frigates or tiny fighters, and not too many of them. On the face of it, it shouldn't be tough; yet, the persistent jamming incapacitated my ship.

Fortunately, Roso was insured (yes, this game has insurance: six levels of coverage, in fact); I bought and fit a new battlecruiser, New Roso, and set forth. I had to hop around to a couple of stations to pick up fittings: railguns from one station, a pair of capacitor rechargers from another. Along the way, I trained up on the Electronic Warfare skill so I could equip an electronic counter-countermeasures module to diminish or eradicate the jamming. I read online that pirates and other non-player (i.e. AI) characters aren't particularly affected by jamming buster busters, but I hoped for the best and launched into battle.

I didn't last long, jumping out before recovering a pair of my intrepid drones. A fourth time, I at least got all my drones back before fleeing. The dog, on my lap during that last attempt, was quietly weeping into my leg.

I'm not sure what prompted this, but I checked the mission directions again. Maybe I thought there'd be a clue. Ah. The part of eviscerating those villains? Well, it wasn't there: all I was supposed to do was fly out, see whether there were bad guys (yes), and use the acceleration gate they were protecting to make my escape. Not for the first time, my recall might be wrong: it might've been sufficient just to get jumped and to high-tail it out of there. What I do remember is this: the mission description says killing the bad guys is optional.

Dang.

Day 18: Daily countdown

Experience is a delivery device for skills, knowledge, and connections -- a trio that garner opportunity, advancement, and prosperity. Eve works much the same way.

Eve presents skills interestingly. Skills allow you and/or your ship to do stuff; while the label might change (feats, abilities, talents), they're a roleplaying game (RPG) trope, back to Dungeons & Dragons. In some games, your character's actions create "experience points," and you "level up" and improve a skill or two at various point thresholds. Usually, you choose to improve a skill relevant to your gameplay, but you're not required to. In the first Mass Effect, you could kill lots of bad guys with your pistol, then improve your pistol skills at level-ups -- or, instead, you could invest in persuasion or grenades, even if you rarely use those abilities.

I enjoy the Elder Scrolls games in part because skill progression works differently: to get better at something, you have to do it. Want to be a powerful swordsman? Swing one at bad guys. A lot. It's a lite version of the "10,000-Hours Rule" from Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, or James Kirk telling a cadet that "we learn by doing."

Eve does its own thing, functionally and aesthetically. To start developing a skill, you acquire the relevant skill book -- digiliterally,* an item represented by an anachronistic tome.  (*My own portmanteaux: "literally," within the digital world's conceit. "My teammate literally stabbed me in the back with an energy sword!" complained the Halo player. No: your teammate did it digiliterally.) Skills take time to develop: sometimes five minutes, sometimes weeks. Once that countdown elapses, bam, you can do something new or better. Each skill has five levels of mastery, with stacking bonuses (e.g. an additional 5% boost in mining laser efficiency for each tier), and each level takes exponentially more time to reach. Some skills are prerequisites for others. The clock ticks in real time, and it ticks even when you're not logged in: my capsuleer right now is training Industry to level 5, and it won't be fully baked for nearly four days. It doesn't matter whether I play a lot or not at all during that span: come Monday morning, my character will reap a four-percent boost to manufacturing time.

At first, I lamented that Eve didn't have a more Elder Scrolls-esque recognition for "getting better" by doing. Maybe it's the educator in me. But, then it dawned on me that Eve's closest relation in this regard isn't an RPG, but rather the turn-based strategy game Civilization. (Note, again: strategy games, unlike RPGs, don't care too much about characterization or storytelling.) Civilization doesn't have skills per se, but it does have a technology tree: you invest time in unlocking technologies, from the wheel to nuclear physics, with each technology leading to another. Like an RPG's and Eve's skills, Civilization's technology allow players to do stuff: fly, communicate, wage war, and foster commerce.

The skill queue has a neat mechanic without a parallel in Civilization: all skills in the queue must begin within 24 hours. I could line up 23 hours of quickie skills, and then one more that will take 26 days to train (e.g. Advanced Weapon Upgrades V, clocking in for me at 25 days, 19 hours and 50 minutes) -- but, until the time remaining dips below 24 hours again, I can't add anything more to the in-game queue. This is a nice preventative against, say, lining up a month's worth of skills, then returning to the game world as something of a badass (although lacking commensurate knowledge, something else I mentioned at the beginning and about which I'll write later).

No surprise, there are myriad third-party tools and apps that help players plan their skill queuing much further ahead then the 24-hour start-time requirement. I use Vitality and Aura. It's daunting to see that it will take 100 days to fulfill the remaining minimum skill requirements to fly a kind of über ship that caught my eye. But, it's also been nice to see the counter for piloting a new miner tick down to just three days. And, hey: while the clock ticks down for the big ship, I'll use that miner to harvest resources to start building smaller ships, or just harvesting ore to sell to pay for the big guy. One thing leads to the next.