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

  Damage taken: 5%. Health remaining: 95%.

  Fourth—unlike Runlustia, the player is allowed to do damage to another player using nothing but their own body. And again, in this case, the damage is reflected in percentages…Somewhere, there’s got to be a setting for this as well. But that isn’t the main thing. The main thing is that I managed to stay on my feet, keeping my balance. This gave rise to a new tip:

  Fifth—absent any character stats, the player’s in-game capabilities are replaced with his capabilities in real life. So if I can do 200 pull-ups IRL, then that’s how many pull-ups I can do in Galactogon…Or…If I know a martial art IRL, then I can use it just as well in the game…Let’s see how the developers have implemented this feature. Who wants to be my first victim?

  The victim turned out to be a 6’5” bozo looking down at me from his great height. He had quite a body on him—I could see his six-pack through his shirt…Hmm…

  Sixth—players wear clothes and clothes are effectively items, so they have their own specific attributes like all items. Considering that there weren’t any slots to be seen, it followed the player could put on as much clothes as he could carry..? I need to make sure to figure that one out…

  Recruit’s Jersey. Durability: 20. Item class: F-1. Use: 0. Penetration Resistance: 0.1. Slashing Resistance: 0.2. Radiation Resistance: 0. Fire Resistance…

  Seventh—items have their own levels which, logically, can also be increased. I was especially happy to see the long list of resistance stats that the jersey had. And yet there seemed to be no buffs to Dexterity, Strength, Intellect, etc. Only…

  Damage taken: 25%. Health remaining: 70%.

  Eighth (there are a lot of numbers in this game!)—tactile feedback is turned on in Galactogon. It’s not very strong and feels like a light touch, but it’s there. That’s nothing to be happy about though! I shuddered, recalling the time and effort sunk into implementing this feature in Runlustia—the developers had resisted until the bitter end.

  “Halt immediately!” one of the security guards shouted and—stripping me of the opportunity to respond to the bozo’s blow with one of my own to his jaw—the bozo was suddenly lifted a dozen or so feet into the air by what seemed like a tractor beam. “Recruit! For assaulting another recruit you have been deemed unfit for service as Ship Commander!”

  There was a flash and the big dude vanished. Oh boy!

  Ninth—under no circumstances fight anyone during training. Although, wait! Why is it that I have the option to fight at all, if I’m not supposed to? Opening the settings menu, I found the replay tab and watched as, in a window right in front of me, a video of the past few minutes showed me emerging from the spaceship, stepping aside and standing quietly on my own, not bothering anyone. And here came that big bozo. Unlike all the other players, he made a beeline for me, yelled and kicked me. And here was I, preserving my balance, followed by another kick that forced me down to one knee. Then the big dude flew up and vanished and that was it—the video ended. So then, he had gone for me on purpose? Why?

  Literally a minute later I received an answer to this question. I watched as another player emerged, took a deep breath and stopped in place as if thinking about where he’d go next.

  “What’s the holdup?” The familiar bozo dude appeared once more from the ship and sent the tarrying player flying. Several moments later, this bozo (or his clone or whatever) was again sent to Kingdom Come by the guard, with no mention of his name. So this was simply a script in the game?! A way to set any players loitering at the entrance onto the one true path? Not bad. Something tells me that Galactogon will be a fun game…

  Sign out.

  “Master, I have not yet processed all of the information you requested. The job is 15% complete. Estimated time until completion is three hours.” No sooner had the cocoon’s lid moved aside, than Stan (as I sometimes referred to my smart home system) began reporting the work he had done over the past ten minutes. As the betting Masters had requested, I entered the game and set up my character without any further information. Now, however, I wouldn’t be taking another step forward without first having learned all there was to know about Galactogon.

  “Send requests to the top Qualian guilds or clans that are in the game, asking for any proprietary information they may have about leveling a ship captain without putting in real money. Offer them, let’s say, fifty thousand dollars. I want to know everything—hidden missions, non-standard run-throughs and sequences and how to get them.”

  I couldn’t invest real money into the game—the limitations of my agreement with the bettors weighed on me more than a winepress on a grape. The slightest, documented purchase of an in-game item in real life would count as grounds for disqualification. Information, however, had not been included in the list of prohibited aids. And that’s exactly what I intended on using.

  “Requests sent,” Stan instantly replied. “What are your orders?”

  “None. Like I told you, I’m not around until tomorrow,” I repeated and sat down in my armchair. (It may not be as dramatic as the ones in the presidential palace, but it’s mine and I love it.) “Let me see what you have at the moment—and keep updating the information every thirty minutes. It’s time I did some reading…”

  What can I say? Before creating this game, Galactogon’s developers must have been under the influence of some controlled substances. For, never before in my gaming life have I encountered such wonders…

  First of all, avatars in Galactogon really do not have any levels or experience points. The game designers decided that the player should not experience any discomfort upon transitioning into the game from reality. This was a famous dilemma, for in a game you could easily have a Strength of several million and could wipe out all the monsters in your path with one breath, while in the other place (real life, that is) all you had was a decently-fit body, and even that was only due to the capsule. This was especially painful for those players who spent the maximum-possible session in-game—two weeks without any connection to reality. Oh how you suffered when you had to adapt back to reality…I knew this firsthand.

  The designers did not entirely give up the leveling mechanic, however. They simply transferred it to items and objects…

  All the usable items in Galactogon have their own level, even your ordinary eating utensils. Each item type has its own form of leveling, which basically involves using the item constantly and successfully. For example, each time a spoon is used to successfully place food in your mouth, its experience level rises by a certain percentage. Once it reaches 100%, a new level is awarded and the XP counter is reset. The leveling is non-linear. Every new level requires more experience than the last, though the exact algorithm for this increment is kept secret. There is also, of course, an easier way to level up—through the in-game store. But that’s not an option available to me, as I don’t have the Galactogon Credits to buy upgrades and I’m not allowed to invest real money to do so.

  Once an item reaches level 100, it either changes class or receives the “Legendary” attribute. The classes begin with “F,” like the jersey on my character, and go up to “A.” Only Legendary items, which are effectively at level 101 or higher, are better than A-class items.

  Each item may have expansion slots—from none at all for F-class items to 23 for Legendary class items. You can place other items into these slots, but there are certain limitations. You cannot combine two items that have three or more levels between them. For example, you can’t equip a class-E ship with a Legendary ship cannon. But you can equip it in a ship of class-B. It’s very important to understand these nuances when operating or using any item or ship.

  Getting back to our spoon, one curious thing is that almost all of them are Legendary items. According to the forums, the first thing players do is get a Legendary spoon, thereby earning the “Legend Owner” achievement. This Legendary spoon isn’t of much use—you can’t use it to shoot down a ship or mine a bunch of Raq (one of the most valuable in-
game materials). However, any food eaten with this spoon will taste unforgettable: As you eat with it, nano-sensors determine your taste preferences, making even ordinary gruel taste amazing. The only requirement for this is that you play using the somatic interface.

  Since I’m on the topic of nourishment, I should mention that food is not a pivotal resource in the game—with one slight condition. A player does not have to eat for the first six hours of his game session. Over the next six hours, however, the hungry player begins to feel discomfort, and after another six hours, there’s a strong buzzing and the player “dies,” heading to the respawn point. So, eating in the game is not a bad idea. Or, you could simply log-out of the game for a minute every six hours, since doing so resets the hunger counter.

  The respawn point is also an interesting topic. The player cannot die until he has left the Training Sector. The allocation center, where each player must go upon first appearing in the game, is one of the facilities in this Sector. As soon as training ends—and training lasts at least one game month (that is, the player must spend one month in the game undergoing training)—the player is allocated: He gets to choose a homeworld on which he will continue playing his character. If the character is destroyed, some sort of Planetary Spirit or something (I haven’t understood exactly what this is yet) will offer to resurrect the player for free. If the player agrees, he will get all his items back upon resurrection, but the items will have lost one class-worth of experience. It’s worth noting, however, that this applies only to items on the player: Everything in the ship’s cargo holds, for example, will remain drifting at the site of the ship’s destruction.

  If you refuse to be resurrected by your Planetary Spirit, you get the option of choosing any planet in the empire to respawn on, but for a fee. In this case, all your items and equipment remain where you died and your character respawns with nothing but the money he had at the time of death (which, presumably, was stored in some bank account somewhere all along).

  As for the items dropped upon death, your enemy (or anyone else who comes along) can take these or destroy them. The only limitation is how much their ship can carry in her holds. Players who specialize in piracy plan their ship’s future development very carefully—especially when it comes to cargo capacity. Pirates always need to make sure that they have enough space for their loot. According to the rules, a spaceship can be stolen, captured (in which case the defeated player is resurrected without anything) or destroyed. If she is destroyed, the ship’s wreckage remains floating at the site of her destruction and another player may use it as material for repairs or may salvage it into a universal repair kit. This is why the first thing that fledgling ship-owners do is buy themselves a self-destruct device: It’s better for your ship to be one class weaker, but still be your ship, than have to start all over again in an F-class tub.

  Imperial Rapport…Leveling (which, it turned out, didn’t exist for characters)…There was a lot of information, but I wasn’t about to enter the game until I finished going through it all. My job was to find out everything about the game instead of running headlong into the fray hoping that everything would simply work out. I never did like players like that…

  “Master, you have an incoming video-call from the leader of the Black Lightning guild. According to current rankings, this is the fourth-ranked Qualian guild. Would you like to accept the call?”

  “Come on, throw it up on the screen.”

  “Hello!” a bearded face appeared on the screen. “Are you the one looking for information about Galagon?”

  “Galactogon.”

  “Could be Pygmalion for all I care. What’s your character name?”

  “Surgeon.”

  “Hmm,” the leader of the Black Lightning frowned, looking somewhere off-camera. “There are about fifteen hundred Surgeons out there…Which one are you?”

  “Fifteen hundred?” I asked surprised. “How’d you find that out?”

  As I already figured out, a character name in Galactogon wasn’t unique, so it was impossible to identify any player for certain. Mail as a category didn’t even exist: If you wanted to communicate with other players, you had to acquire a communicator. And when I tried to look up how many Surgeons were running around just like I was, the system politely instructed me to consult the help menu—which told me that the number of players online was not subject to disclosure.

  “Doesn’t matter. What planet are you on? Our guide changes from planet to planet. And forgive me, I’m not about to give you all our guides for fifty thou.”

  “I haven’t been assigned a homeworld yet,” I replied honestly, since concealing this fact would have been pointless. After a little thought, I added, “I’ve started a new character. I haven’t even entered the allocation center yet. Like I said in the email, I need information about leveling up without putting in real money.”

  “You started a new one? Why delete the old one? Why didn’t you just go through retraining and become a commander without wasting an extra month?”

  “It didn’t work out with my old one,” I shrugged my shoulders vaguely, happy that I hadn’t actually lied about anything. Let the bearded guild leader think that I already had some experience with the game and simply wanted to prove something to someone. At least then he wouldn’t try to sell me any nonsense…Then again, he could still offer me something worthless and watch my reaction to see if I was just a fish that needed to be reeled in for all its money. You could sell anything to a newbie like that—from the “secret” number of the various ships in the game, to the location of a “simply unbelievable” planet brimming with Raq (which was like gold) or Elos (the game’s universal energy resource).

  “Whatever—your problem, your headache. If you want to relive training, that’s your God-given right. In that case, for the sum you mentioned, I have a guide detailing non-standard events and how to find them in the Qualian Training Sector. What do you say?”

  “For fifty thousand? You having a laugh?” I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That’s way too little to be worth fifty thousand.”

  “You asked for it,” the beard instantly grew defensive. “You seem like a shrewd guy, so think about it: Why would I be offering you anything if I didn’t know anything?”

  “No, that’s no good for me. I’m offering fifty thousand for information that’s unique. The Training Sector isn’t so big that I need to pay such a crazy amount of money for it. Like I told you, I’m interested in leveling a ship’s captain. Do you have anything like that or not?”

  “You know, Surgeon,” the guild leader said after a little thought, “I could just as easily refuse. We sell guides quite frequently so customers aren’t exactly hard to come by. But it’s a funny coincidence. Just today, a highly respected player, who also decided to restart from scratch for whatever reason, contacted every clan in the game, including mine. He is offering to pay us one hundred thousand dollars if we keep our leveling guides secret for three months. What’s more is that he wants us to let him know if a player comes looking for that kind of thing—and furnish him with that player’s contact info. I’m guessing you sent your requests not just to us, but to all the other Qualian guilds as well—so you may be sure that Sergei Smolyanov is already well aware of your vidphone number and email. That bit of info is free by the way. If he weren’t such a jerk—and from an enemy empire besides—I would absolutely be on board with his whole secrecy thing. A hundred thousand dollars is a very big sum, after all…Luckily for you, Serge smashed up my fleet last year, so…I’m not about to give you anything for free and I’d agree that the starting sector isn’t quite the place to look for hidden goodies. Heck, I’d even say that there aren’t goodies there at all—so the best I can do is give you our own in-house guide for how to level up your ship from F-class to C-class as quickly as possible. My goons use it all the time. Anything higher than C-class, you’ll have to do yourself. What do you say?”

  “The starting sector plus ship leveling?” I clarified, understan
ding perfectly well that this was better than nothing. The forums were bursting with a plethora of guides for leveling up, but the more I read, the less I believed that I would find anything acceptable. Even never having played Galactogon, I understood that they were a waste of time.

  “Yup. And as a bonus, I won’t be telling anyone that I sold anything to anyone. Especially what that second anyone may look like in real life. My friendly advice to you is, if you talk to other guild leaders, use an image scrambler.”

  “Give me your account info.” I had had enough time to make up my mind. I can’t say that I was much swayed by the beard’s words, but when there are a billion pounds on the line…Well, that’s a reason to give it a shot.

  “Already sent. As soon as I get the money, I’ll send you the guide you wanted. I’ve already got it ready. And—good luck to you! Who knows—maybe our paths will cross. Let me know as soon as you get a D-class ship. I’ll send you an invite to my guild. No entrance exams or anything.”

  “Why such largess?” I asked surprised. As I had already managed to find out, guilds in Galactogon meant everything—home, family, money, resources, etc. The guild leaders and their officers were very careful when welcoming newcomers to their banners, seeking to weed out leeches and those who liked to dig around in others’ coffers. A player gave quite a bit to his guild, but the guild itself did plenty for him in return too.

  “Anyone who manages to get a ship to D-class without investing a single coin, even with the help of our guide, is already worth a closer look,” smirked the beard. “When you get the Workaholic Achievement—that’s the one that’ll show you’ve made it—I’ll be happy to see you among my ranks. Until then, excuse me but I have to run… End call.”