Helios? Helios.

One of the main reasons that I love to fly the Helios, is the cost. Sure, I can’t do any combat in it what so ever, I can’t scare people away like an Astero / Stratios probably could, and it’s not something I can even re-fit for my purpose like a Tengu or a Loki, but it does what it’s meant to do very well (hacking) plus there is a fair amount of room for loot so long as you drop things off every so often.

The cost of the helios is pennies, you can do a site or two and make back everything you spent without too much issue (as you can tell from my screenshot above) so even if you were to lose the ship (we all do at one time or another) you’re not going to be out much ISK. My tengu on the other hand cost a pretty penny, and I’d be upset if I lost that one, so I don’t tend to fly it much these days. Not that I don’t have the ISK, I have more than enough, but it’s still not fun to lose expensive ships (unless of course maybe you have an entire corporation backing you with SRP).

The other reason I love the helios is because it is a fast little ship that can get out of most situations. I’ve got an interdiction nullifer on it, and a warp core stabilizer, with inertial stabilizers, bringing me to a 2s warp time. In wormholes I don’t need to worry about most of these things but I don’t really plan out where I’m going to be doing my adventuring, and I never know what situation I might want to be prepared for.

Anyway, I know this post is just me blathering on about how awesome the helios is – but I’m pretty sure it’s one of my most used ships and I just adore it.

Relic / Data Sites – How To

Most of the time, I have no issue completing data / relic sites – but other times, especially if I’m some place dangerous, I will cherry pick the sites. Here’s my hacking method for those sites.

Scan it down, warp to the site at 100km (cloaked). Since my helios is very fast, I decloak and burn off until I’m 150km (or more) from the nearest can. Then I bookmark that location (also known as a perch). Make sure you’re in a fleet with yourself. I’ll warp to the nearest can, and cargo scan everything. If it has more than 5m in loot, I’ll hack it (leave untagged). Otherwise, I tag it with a 0, and then warp back to the perch. Tagging lets me see in the overview the cans I’ve decided to ignore and the ones that I haven’t done yet. Then I just warp around to the cans with no tags, and hack them.

If I see things on d-scan I’ll either continue hacking or I might warp back to the perch and hang out for a bit and make a judgement call depending on what they’re flying, if I think they’ve brought friends with them, that sort of thing. I also think about the ISK left in the cans, sometimes if I’m not in a huge rush I’ll number them based on the ISK value so I go after the more expensive cans first in case someone pops in.

My ship of choice is still the helios, and I don’t think (for pure hacking) there’s any reason to fly anything else – at least not for me. This little ship is so speedy and costs just pennies compared to what I’m hauling around. It normally takes me a single system to recoup any loss I might experience.

Now I just need to figure out what I’m going to do with all of these blueprints.

Fly your way! o7

The Floodplain Fallacy

The Kinetic Regret hung just outside tether range, cloaked in that familiar pre-fight silence—a silence thick with dread, caffeine, and unspoken regrets about doctrine choices.

Captain Gobbins stood in the situation room, pointer in hand, mug in the other, and a projection of the southern front pulsing over the table like a migraine.

“Well,” he began, “Imperium’s finally done it. They’ve set up shop on the edge of Insmother and are now lovingly punching it in the face. We’ve restaged to our southern border to say hello.”

A low groan rolled across the table. Brin was already halfway through her stim pack.

“We’re both hitting each other’s peripheral regions,” Gobbins continued. “Us, with surgical sig deployments. Them, with the full sledgehammer approach. I’m told that’s called ‘doctrinal identity.’ I call it expensive.”

The map flickered slightly, then zoomed out. Regions lit up like an arcade screen.

“I’ve seen some people refer to these regions as ‘floodplains.’ Cute. But if I catch anyone else saying that, I’m going to throw you into a fleet full of unfit Griffins and walk away.”

Gilthune Aideron raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the one who called Tenerifis a ‘lightly scorched buffer zone with delusions of grandeur’?”

Gobbins waved her off. “That was poetry. This is war. Look, not every region’s a crown jewel, but that doesn’t make them disposable. Insmother matters. It’s not just about stalling—it’s about showing up.”

He tapped a flashing system on the map. “The fights have already started. EU timezone? Delve’s on fire. Join the BRO sig if you like long burns and moral superiority. US timezone? Home turf. Most of you will be bleeding on our side of the gate.”

Gilthune leaned over the table. “And other timezones?”

“Scattered. Sporadic. Chaotic. Just the way we hate it.”

A pause. Then the map shifted again, this time highlighting ship silhouettes.

“Let’s talk escalation,” Gobbins said grimly. “We’re slightly outnumbered overall, but we can still pick smart fights. What’s trickier is how we escalate. Caps and supercaps—there’s a bit of a… paradigm issue.”

Gilthune groaned. “Oh no. Not another meta shift.”

“Oh yes,” Gobbins replied. “We built around dreads. We’ve got good dread numbers. We were going to use that to punch up against titan-heavy fleets. But then—surprise!—the last patch turned titans into actual nightmare gods.”

He flicked to the next slide. “Doomsday damage? Up 50%. Tank? Buffed to hell. Fax penalties? Lightly massaged away. It’s like someone at CONCORD said, ‘What if we made the terrifying superweapons even more terrifying, and also cheaper to heal?’”

The lights dimmed ominously as a massive golden silhouette of a Leviathan rotated slowly.

“So yes,” Gobbins said, “while our dread meta was sound a month ago, now we’re back to playing ‘how many titans can you not afford?’ Spoiler: it’s still most of them.”

He took a breath. “Which brings me to: Titans. And why Horde needs more of them. We came up in the 40b dread era. The old alliances got their titans for a fraction of what they cost now—while we were still flying Brutixes and talking about drone bandwidth.”

Gilthune muttered, “I miss when doctrine updates meant changing ammo, not selling organs.”

Gobbins nodded. “Same. But here we are. The focus is shifting. We’re pivoting from dreads to titans—specifically Ragnaroks and Levis. No Avatars, unless you want to look cool and die confused.”

He looked around the room, then fixed his eyes on the back—where, once again, Gallente Citizen 4586793463 was seated with a notepad and a neutral expression. No questions. Just observation.

“Anyway,” Gobbins concluded, “more info on titan building will come next week. Until then: hold the line, defend the south, and stop saying ‘floodplain.’ You’re not hydrologists. You’re capsuleers.”

He turned off the map, leaving only the glow of the room and the soft scribbling of one anonymous journalist.