Start the Game (Galactogon: Book #1) Read online

  Start the Game

  a novel

  by Vasily Mahanenko

  Galactogon

  Book#1

  Magic Dome Books

  Start the Game

  Galactogon, Book # 1

  Copyright © V. Mahanenko 2015

  Cover Art © V. Manyukhin 2015

  Translator © Boris Smirnov 2015

  Published by Magic Dome Books, 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

  Other LitRPG books from this and other authors:

  Survival Quest (The Way of the Shaman Book #1)

  by Vasily Mahanenko

  Edge of Reality (Phantom Server Book #1)

  by Andrei Livadny

  The Lag (The Game Master Book #1)

  by Alex Bobl and Andrei Levitsky

  Table of Contents:

  Prologue

  Chapter 1. Getting to know Galactogon

  Chapter 2. The Training Sector

  Chapter 3. Flight

  Chapter 4. The First Battle and its Aftermath

  Chapter 5. Meeting Hilvar and the First Missions

  Chapter 6. The Trial of The Space Cucumber

  Chapter 7. An Unexpected Encounter

  Chapter 8. Crew Selection

  Chapter 9. The Ship of the Ancients

  Chapter 10. The Patch

  Chapter 11. Yalrock’s First Battle

  Chapter 12. The Zatrathi Orbital Station

  Chapter 13. Escape

  Chapter 14. The Emperor of the Precians

  Chapter 15. The Decision

  More LitRPG books and series from this and other authors

  Prologue

  “What say you, Nerps—shall we go out with a boom? Who’s got what?” asked our guild leader merrily and, without waiting for a reply, used his scroll of Withering Fog. At once, an ashen cloud descended on the immense forest that, with its rare creatures and plants, represented the extent of our in-game empire. If memory served, there would be nothing left of it all within the hour—save a scorched barren that even the mobs would shun. As the guild leader’s spell did its work, the imperial palace nearby became the target for every rare and powerful spell that had accumulated in our guild’s coffers. Actually, some of these spells were more than rare—they were legendary, one-of-a-kind. Though, then again, a spell like Black Death, which will instantly lay waste to an entire city, isn’t exactly suitable for public circulation. The Black Death doesn’t take population into account, you see: It doesn’t matter if it’s cast on a hovel with two or a megalopolis of millions—everything dies.

  Though most of our group seemed perfectly merry destroying what we had spent several years defending (from hordes of demons, monsters or just ordinary players looking to make some coin), personally, I saw nothing worth celebrating. Everything I had—right down to my pants—I had already sold to the merchants, who went on doing business as usual, zealously coveting their hard-earned coppers despite the imminent apocalypse. To our chagrin, the merchants were not interested in spell scrolls, so the only thing we could do was either throw the parchments away or…

  Or use them to raise a franchise of hell right outside the Emperor’s Palace.

  The game’s admins had declared today the darkest day in the fifteen-year history of Runlustia. Today would see the official endgame—played out in-game as a meteor falling from the sky. Today the final cataclysm would take place and neither new expansions, nor free trial periods, nor new scenarios or unique items would reverse it. The game owners had done everything they could, but no one can compete with Galactogon at the moment. And so, even the monster that was Runlustia’s game world was forced to exit the stage. The present is no place for dinosaurs…

  You were killed by the Black Death spell. You cannot be resurrected because the game is shutting down. We wish you all the best and thank you for the time you have spent with us!

  And that was that…

  Eight beautiful years of life as an Elf Paladin (one of the top Tanks—I am not a humble man—in the history of Runlustia) had reached their end. Eight years of dashing about sword-in-hand all over this virtual world, grinding my Strength, Dexterity, Intelligence and forty or so other stats. Eight years—of which I had spent five supporting myself entirely through this game, guiding low-level players through dungeons, dominating PvP arenas and tournaments, signing sponsorship deals…There were neither sponsors, nor deals, nor players now…I had enough money theoretically, but there’d hardly be enough for another six months of the kind of life I’d grown accustomed to. I had not yet figured out what I’d do next. The last month in general had turned out to be a month of cataclysmic changes—I lost my job, I lost my favorite game (in which I’d become used to spending up to twelve hours a day) and I lost my girlfriend who suddenly decided that there was no future with me after all. There were no words for it all—only feels.

  “Welcome back to reality, Master!” Emerging from my gaming capsule, I was greeted by my smart home. Literally like that: “Master”—you could hear the capitalization and all. The cocoon’s cover closed behind me, switching the capsule into a state of hibernation and me into a state of contemplation. To be one of the best takes more than being in the best guild or having the best weapons and armor—you have to have the right equipment in real life too: equipment that’s tailored to the needs of the game. This is exactly the kind of equipment I had outfitted my house with and yet, today, it had already become a mere monument to itself. Customized specifically to Runlustia, my cocoon was no good for anything else. I could of course update the software and chisel and hammer the cocoon to fit another game’s requirements; but I also understood that attempting this kind of refit was likely beyond my powers. If I ever did decide to dive into another virtual game world, I wouldn’t feel right without a new cocoon customized specifically for the game in question anyway. If you’re going to do something…

  “Alex, what’s up!” A call from one of the few people who qualify for the vaunted title of “my friend” tore me away from my mandatory evening jog. The habit is many years old—my father forced me to run, claiming that no cocoon in the world with all your simulators and gizmos can replace good old physical exertion (a controversial claim, nowadays, considering modern advancements in cocoon construction). He nonetheless managed to instill in me the habit of torturing myself on a treadmill. And I am grateful, I guess—the jogging helps me think.

  “Nada. What’s up with you?” I replied, toweling off my sweat and pausing the machine. “What are you getting into?”

  “Nothing at the moment—but I’ve been thinking…Do you want to hold a wake for our characters? I mean, we were inseparable for seven years.”

  “Eight,” I corrected Alonso.

  “What’s the difference—let’s go drink!”

  “Will Lucy let you go out?”

  Lucille was Alonso’s wife. How that meathead managed to wangle one of the city’s prettiest girls, no one knew, including he himself. But—no use arguing with facts—the two had been a full-fledged family unit for four years now and were raising a son just as feckless as his daddy. In his paltry three years, this little wonder had managed to brick the family smart home th
ree times already. It reached the point that Alonso began carrying the boy constantly in his arms, proudly explaining that the family was raising a future master hacker…who, according to me, was just another blockhead with his hands sprouting from the wrong place. Then again, no one asked my opinion, Lucille least of all. She and I have had more than our share of disagreements—we’ve had everything short of armed hostilities.

  “Nothing doing. I got her permission before I called,” came Alonso’s self-satisfied reply. “D’you see Qi Wen cast the Black Death? It wasted the entire city all to hell—hold on…What sweetie? I’m not swearing! Okay, okay, ‘hell’s’ a bad word too, I get it…Anyway, what was I talking about?” The captive of connubial life returned to me finally (and they try to tell me that THAT is a good thing? Love, comfort, security?) “I wish we had that scroll when we were taking Landir Keep! Remember? Alright, we’ll meet up at the bar at six. We can talk about it then. Later!”

  The siege of Landir Keep was one of Runlustia’s most memorable scenarios. The unapproachable citadel had been occupied by a dark necromancer who began sending his undead armies into all four empires of the realm. It took the players seven weeks just to break the keep’s defenses and another three to clear the citadel entirely. And all this happened live, 24/7—the players never stopped their assault, periodically substituting each other. It was a good time…

  “Alexis Panzer?” The next phone call caught me at a very inconvenient moment.

  “That’s right,” I muttered from my half-full bath, angrily looking where the warming current of water had just been. One dumb feature of the smart home is that if someone calls you, the house automatically adjusts all the settings necessary to take the call. I made a mental note to block all incoming calls during bath time—I like my baths. “Pardon me, who am I speaking to?”

  “You can call me John. Would it be possible to meet with you this evening at six? I have a business proposition for you.”

  “Excuse me, John, but Runlustia has been shut down.” Realizing what the caller was getting at, I quickly dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s. Considering that the website advertising my services had not yet been taken down, John was either a player wishing to skip the early level grind with my help or a sponsor wanting to place some advertisement on my character.

  “I am aware of Runlustia’s closure. I am likewise aware that you are now unemployed. I wish to offer you work for precisely these reasons—work that is related to your favorite pastime—computer games. What do you say?”

  “You’ve piqued my interest,” I replied, sitting up. John was completely correct—I was unemployed and so had to grab any offer involving games with both hands, legs and also teeth, just in case.

  “Before anything else, allow me to ask you one important question. Your answer will determine our subsequent conversation. What do you know about Galactogon?”

  “Galactogon?” I echoed surprised. “As far as I understand it, Galactogon is a game set in space. The players have space ships—they fly around and try to destroy each other…Oh! There’re also planets—that is, moons or asteroid belts—I can’t remember the correct term—where you can mine resources. I’m sorry, I am not very familiar with that game world. I would need time to prepare myself better. About a week should do—then, I’ll be able to tell you whatever you need to know about it.”

  “Are you saying that at the present moment you have absolutely no grasp of this game’s nuances?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I beg your pardon for the intrusive question, but would you be willing to aver this in front of a polygraph machine?”

  “…?”

  “I see. I propose we meet tonight at six. I will explain everything to you then. A car will come to pick you up. May I inquire as to your address? One major request: If you really don’t know a thing about Galactogon and want to get the job, please don’t read a single thing about it. This is very important. Have a good day!”

  The tap water and the music came back on, as well as whatever movie I had been watching on the holograph…But my thoughts left this comfy situation far behind. One thing was clear—I wasn’t going to make it to the bar this evening. Work was more important. My hands reflexively reached for the virtual keyboard—before I jerked them away. During my time as a Tank, I had learned a valuable lesson—if the clients want something, it’s best to give it to them. This one had requested that I avoid any information about Galactogon, so no question about it. It’s not that hard to survive without knowing something for eight hours. Better call Alonso and tell him that I won’t make our meet up.

  The main thing is not to think about the white elephant in the bath…Don’t think about the white elephant in the bath, Alexis…

  I had never imagined that our city had a real, full-blown palace just outside of it. But there it was—located in a sector that was closed to fliers and the general public. A portion of the compound was entirely covered with protective domes, so all you could do was wonder what lay beneath them—but that someone had built an authentic, real castle in there—from stone and wood and all…That—I definitely had not expected.

  The conference room that I was ushered into reminded me somewhat of the Emperor’s private chambers in Runlustia. It was just as beautiful, just as grandiose—and just as brainless from the perspective of defense. Although, what unwanted guest could make it to this room alive anyway? The massive oaken table, evoking the epoch of the first French Revolution, occupied half the office. Along the perimeter of this colossus stood five armchairs which, at first glance, conceded nothing to this table in style—but which on second glance must have begun their lives as furniture around the time the London Underground first opened to the public. The rest of the interior decoration lived up to these luxurious furnishings.

  “Please have a seat,” said the steward who had ushered me in, indicating an unoccupied armchair. “The masters will be here soon.”

  Two of the five chairs were occupied and, judging by the looks on their occupants’ faces, I understood that these people were prospective employees just like me. If my logic didn’t betray me, there was about to be a discussion. Hmm…I was beginning to like this situation more and more.

  The first prospective hire I studied was a girl of about twenty-five. Even her roomy clothes couldn’t conceal her well-toned body—she was one of my people. “My” meaning that she was a gamer like me, who spent most of her time in a virtual world, while her game capsule tended to her physique IRL. Based on her outward appearance I wouldn’t have called her an amateur either. She had gray eyes, medium-length blonde hair, a slightly-turned up nose and thin lips. Most likely, I thought, this lovely person’s discerning gaze had already processed the value of my clothes and shoes, my manner of walking and sitting and had arrived at its conclusions—which were clearly not in my favor. On the whole, the vibe I got from her seemed to say, “I am a woman, so the whole world owes me.”

  I liked the second applicant better—men are reasonable creatures in general, by and large. I liked him because, having cast me one fleeting glance, he gave me a friendly nod and closed his eyes, sinking back into slumber. I understood him very well. War is war, but war can wait—sleep, on the other hand, should happen whenever the opportunity presents itself. You never know when the chance will come again. By the look of him, the dark-haired guy also turned out to be a virtual aficionado but, unlike the girl, he wasn’t afraid to show it—the tight black T-shirt pleasantly emphasized his body’s athletic build. A mere two- or three-hour workout at the gym or in a gaming capsule wouldn’t bring one’s body into such condition—I know as much from my own experience. And so, there were currently three players sitting at the table including myself. All of us had come from Runlustia or some other MMO that had recently shut down. And all three of us had been offered work in Galactogon. Well, well—let’s see how this turns out …

  After a ten minute wait the door opened and the Masters, as the steward had called them, entered the o
ffice. One rapid and discerning glance was enough for me to almost choke. I instantly jumped to my feet and greeted my seniors with the customary deference I had honed as an imperial courtier in Runlustia. Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed that both the girl and the dozing guy jumped up along with me…So he wasn’t sleeping at all but assessing the situation with eyes closed. This made me like him even more—it was too bad that only one of us would get the job.

  “Please take your seats,” said one of the newcomers, taking our reactions for granted. He was the owner of factories, ships, shopping malls, cinemas and whatever else one could own in our world. According to official and unofficial data, he had been the wealthiest man on our planet for going on ten years already, yearly increasing his net worth exponentially. It was he who owned Galactogon and it was he who was responsible for my current unemployment.

  “Gentlemen and gentlewoman, please excuse the delay,” said the second Master, the President of our long-suffering nation. “We needed to receive full confirmation that you met all our requirements. Now, we can safely say that all of you fit our needs.”

  All of us? Were they really going to give the job to all three of us instead of just one?

  “And what is it about us that fits your needs?” the girl instantly jumped in, utterly unfazed by the newcomers’ social status. Okay, I’ll say something nice about her—this Iron Lady had a very pleasant voice.

  “For the sake of the experiment, we need three volunteers who are utterly unfamiliar with the subtleties of Galactogon,” explained the first Master. “After receiving your polygraph release forms, we ran a quick check and confirmed that you were telling the truth. My analysts investigated what you have studied over the past two years—please, no need to fret, Constantine—and confirmed your lack of experience with the game. In this manner, we’ve determined that you three, by virtue of your ignorance and your professionalism, are just who we need. All three of you are professional gamers who have until recently supported yourself through your craft: Alexis in Runlustia, Constantine and Eunice in Draanmir. By the way, why did you never consider my game?” the first Master suddenly asked. “I’m almost a bit insulted.”