Galaxy.Net

Earth has joined the galactic community's massive virtual "game" that is an exact duplicate of every star system, race, and person in the galaxy.

Only humanity is a backwater race who has nothing to offer the advanced alien races in the game. The government has tried, unsuccessfully, to establish relations, earn galactic credits, and gain access to alien technologies. They're desperate after a year of trying and failing and have turned to a group of massive multiplayer gaming champions to try to do what the diplomats and trade delegations could not.

Join Nick and his team as they play Galaxy.net to earn galactic credits and acquire advanced alien technologies in ways clueless politicians and inept bureaucrats could never imagine.

UPDATES

May 2, 2018: I should have Nova Academy Book 2 completed soon and will be hitting Galaxy.Net hard to finish it right after. I'm still hopeful for a year end 2018 / early 2019 release.

November 9, 2017: The Galaxy.Net is currently waiting its turn to be completed and I will be getting to it again as soon as I complete Earth Interstellar: Proxy War and the sequel to Nova Academy, titled Nova Academy: Bases and Lairs. I currently have 35,000 words of the first draft completed. I am hoping to get back on Galaxy.Net in mid-2018 (wish me luck!).

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of The Galaxy.Net

(Note: this is a work in progress that will be property reviewed and edited prior to publication.)

Chapter 1 “Where do I sign?”

            The pounding on the door wasn’t able to get Nick out of bed. Neither was the continued pounding on the door, although it was beginning to piss him off. Just not enough to want to open his eyes and drive a light spike through his pounding headache — courtesy of a twelve pack of beer and war simulator gaming bro-fest that ran until three this morning. What pissed him off enough to go open the door, though, and make Nick want to rip the inconsiderate ass beating on the door to his dorm condo, was the third round of pounding on his door, this time adding an additional pound on the door in case he hadn’t heard the first three.
            Nick was half way to the door when a voice bellowed through the door, “Open the door! FBI!”
            If you’ve ever had to say the words “What the fuck!” and “Oh, shit!” simultaneously, you’ll understand the brain lock Nick had when he stopped dead where he was, popped his mostly closed eyes open to the size of saucers, and stared at the door. Four more pounds on the door, followed by, “Kick it down.” provided the second shock that got Nick back in motion and opening the door before he lost his door.
            Two large men, with similar hair cuts, similar jaws, and similar looks of disapproval on their faces were standing in the doorway wearing dark blue wind breakers with “FBI” lettering across the front. The two were met with Nick’s singular mouth hanging open, set below saucer eyes, and a mop of bed head hair on top. The whole Mr. Bill look sitting dumbfounded atop his underwear only clad body.
            “Are you Nick Davis?” Silence. “Hey.” Snap, snap go one of the agent’s fingers in front of Nick’s face. Then the agents look at each other with the briefest glance and step into the door, grabbing Nick by either arm and gently moving him back into the room so they could close the door behind them.
            A little softer this time, “Are you Nick Davis?”
            “Ye-yeah. What’s going on?” replaces Nick’s silence.
            “We’d like you to come with us. So, why don’t you get cleaned up and get dressed.”
            “But, what’s this about?”
            “Get moving, we have a plane to catch.” Came from the only one of the agents who has said anything. Finally, the other threw him a bone, “We’ll discuss it on the way.”
            Looking to the other agent in hopes he’d take pity on him and tell him what was up, Nick continued to stand there.
            Finally, the silent agent decides to contribute to the discussion, “It’s all right kid. You’re not in any trouble. In fact, we’re taking you to a job interview. Your country needs you.” He says, completely straight faced.
            Nick, not really deciding to accept that as answering his questions so much as piling on additional questions, simply goes into do-what-your-told mode and heads for the bathroom.
            “Leave the door open,” says the first agent.
            Stopping, Nick turns, “Who are you?”
            “I’m Agent Beck, and this is Agent Smith. Go get ready.”
            Looking at the second agent, who has lighter hair and a scar beneath is right eye, but is otherwise a carbon copy of Agent Beck, “Agent Smith? Really?”
            “Yeah, now shut up and go get ready or you’re going the way you are.”
            That got Nick moving. Hopping in the shower turned as hot as he could stand it, Nick starting feeling his hangover again. Fortunately, the hot shower water raining down on his face is giving him some relief, albeit temporary. “What the hell is going on?” Is all Nick can think. Getting out of the shower, Nick squeezes a glob of toothpaste directly into his mouth followed by his well used toothbrush.
            Looking at the two agents as he puts his shoes on, Nick wants to ask them what the hell’s going on, but they’re ignoring him in a way that’s pretty clear talking is not currently what they want to do. “I’m ready.”
            Agent Beck walks over to Nick’s closet and grabs his sparring bag. Dumping out the sparring pads and equipment, he finally looks at Nick, “Pack a bag,” and tosses Nick the bag.
            Not knowing what to pack, Nick grabs the first stack of shirts, socks, and pants, from his dresser drawers, and his old pair of jungle combat boots he bought from an Army Surplus store a few years ago when he was dating Vicky, the goth girl, who was, annoyingly, more emo than goth. Zipping closed the bag, Nick looks around his place at his sparse collection of furniture and his gaming rig, then does what he always tries to do, control the situation. “Let’s go,” he says, and walks past the two agents out the door and out towards the parking lot.
            Agents Beck and Smith, both with eyebrows raised, follow Nick out the door, and as Nick could hear, thankfully closing the door behind them. It wouldn’t do for him to have to go back to close his own door when he’s just beginning to try to establish some control over the situation. Beck and Smith are both students of the fine art of establishing a dominant position in any situation and allow Nick his moment. When Nick gets to the end of the sidewalk going into the parking lot, he stops and looks around for the stereotypical black SUV, and isn’t disappointed to see it pulling up and stopping right in front of where’s he standing.
            “Get in the back,” comes from behind him.
            Piling into the SUV, Nick gets his seatbelt on as he is thrown around in the back seat by the driver who slaloms his way out of the parking lot and out onto the main road. “Who’s he?” Nick asks, referring to the driver.
            “Agent Jones,” says Agent Beck.
            Nick sits tight to see where they might be taking him and only starts his questioning after they get on the 60 Freeway heading towards the Inland Empire. “We flying out of Ontario?” he asks.
            “That’s right.”
            “Where we flying?”
            “Virginia.”
            Asking himself, “What the hell’s in Virginia?” Nick asks, “What the hell’s in Virginia?”
            Being ignored, Nick asks another question, “What kind of job am I interviewing for?”
            Agent Smith, in his usual pattern of only talking when he’s decided he’s heard enough talking, says, “Look, kid. We’re not going to talk about where we’re going, or what you’re going to be doing there. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, so shut up and enjoy the ride.”
            The only words spoken for the remainder of the trip to the airport all the way to the guard gate Marine Corp Base Quantico was from Nick when he stopped at a Pizza Hut stand in the airport and responded to Agent Smith’s frown with, “Dude, I’m not eating airplane food.”
            Nick’s still trying to be in control of a situation he has absolutely no control in, speculates on why he’s been brought to a military base, “If you’re interviewing me for a job in the Marines, I’m going to have to decline. I do appreciate the offer, though,” which gets him no response other than to be led into an empty conference room.
            “Mr. Davis, I appreciate your being here,” offers a man in a military officer’s uniform, followed by what Nick can describe as a “career suit,” a man wearing a suit that looks like he wears it everyday and has become as bored with his attire as he has with his career.
            I’m Colonel Jim Masteson, and this gentlemen is Mr. Evans.” The two don’t offer to shake hands, taking a seat opposite Nick at the conference table. Outside the window, Nick sees it’s raining, contributing to his feeling of being unable to escape whatever situation he is in.
            “Why am I here?”
            “That’s a good question. You’ve been identified as a candidate to participate in a program that we believe could make use of your particular skill set,” answered the guy in the uniform, who finally identified as Colonel Masterson by his name tag and gold eagle on his lapel. Pausing just long enough to give Nick a chance to follow up his question, and getting none, the colonel continues, “this program is very sensitive, however, and does require a certain level of discretion. I do apologize for the manner in which we needed to bring you in, but it was necessary to maintain security.”
            Nick squirms in his chair, holding back his natural desire to snark on this guy’s phony attempts at being polite.
            “The fact is, the skills we are looking for are your gaming skills. My understanding is you won the Battle: Future War tournament in Seoul, South Korea, two months ago. Prior to that, in Los Angeles late last year, you won the Odysseus: Space Battles tournament, and placed second in the Trillium: Global War game in Pasadena four months before that.”
            “Okay….” Nick is looking back and forth at the two men, waiting for the punch line, “I’m sorry, but how does my gaming skills have any benefit to the FBI? I’ve been confused all day today and it’s starting to get old. Could you please just say what it is you want from me?”
            Speaking up, the suit, or Mr. Evans, whatever his name is, “Nick, we want you to play a game for us.” Nick could see he was gathering up in his mind what he wants to say, and decided to let the obvious question sit on his tongue for a while longer before Mr. Evans continues, “We want you to Galaxy Net.”
            Nicks still queasy stomach just dropped out on him. Replaced by the ice of a massive adrenaline surge.
            Evans stops what he’s saying until Nick’s eyes regain focus and again looks at him, “Are you okay?”
            “Yeah, it’s just…. Never mind. Go ahead.” Nick replies, face flushed.
            Mr. Evans continues, “As I was saying, I’m sure you know Galaxy Net was introduced just over a year ago when theFentaun trade ship entered our solar system and scanned Earth into the game.   At that time, one thousand game capsules were given to the top ten GDP countries in the world. They were divided among them, according to the proportion of their GDP to the total GDP the ten countries. The United States was given 278 capsules representing its 28% GDP share of the 1,000 capsules that were gifted by the Game Managers, and we’ve been using those capsules 24/7 ever since.”
            Taking a water bottle from the group of them sitting in the middle of the table and taking a long drink, Evans continued, “In playing the game we’ve come to believe there are aspects of the game that may not be being fully explored by the players we’ve been using.”
            “Well, who have you been using?” asks Nick, curious to know who has been playing the most famous game there ever was that no one has ever played.
            Col. Masterson interjects, “We’ll get to that later. Right now we need to discuss your interest in playing the game.”
            “I’m in,” Nick immediately responds. There is no way Nick is going to pass up on playing Galaxy Net. Everything he’s heard about it has come from foreign countries, mostly the Europeans who can’t seem to help but talk about the game every other country is trying to keep secret. The United States, China, Japan, all of them, have refused to say anything about what the game is about.
            Cutting off Nick’s willingness to jump in with both feed without looking, Mr. Evans says, “Wait. Let me finish. This isn’t the same as you committing to play a game with your friends. It’s very expensive to put someone in the game. Prohibitively expensive. And, everything about the game is highly confidential. If you agree to be a part of this, it will be an open ended commitment for as long as you’re needed. It could well be years that you are required to play the game, and even more years that you can’t talk about it.”
            “I’ve been thinking about playing Galaxy Net since the first day it was reported about. The game is like a simulator, right? Like Sim Life, but for the whole galaxy and there’s aliens? Aliens are playing the game with you, right? I mean real aliens?” Nick had been mesmerized the day the aliens arrived. The alien space craft entered orbit on May 18, 2019. A single ship appeared in orbit without any other warning. They stayed in orbit for a full day without making contact before beginning to make simultaneous contact with nearly two hundred governments, all in their native languages. We are a deep space exploration and trade ship, they said. Here to make contact with new races and establish good relations. They were independent traders of the Fentaun race, and they had just made First Contact.
            The only problem was, the people of Earth had almost nothing they wanted. The planet itself has plenty to offer in the uniqueness of our biomass for its potential in scientific applications, or just to put into an alien zoo for strange and exotic spacies. Our technology is archaic. It is to them what our own technology five hundred years ago is to us now. Not worth anything outside of a museum. The aliens, by negotiating trade with trade delegations from over a hundred countries all at once, were able to collect a massive amount of biological samples, as well as art of all types. And they got it all for the equivalent of a handful of shiny beads and trinkets just the same as if we were the natives trading with the first explorers to the New World. The peoples of the great and powerful nations of the earth had just been shown their place as the low tech, backwater, barbarians of the galaxy.
            There was one thing, however, the Fentaun offered us for free. Access to a game, The Galaxy Net. All we would have to do is allow the Fentaun to scan the Earth and add it to the Galaxy Net game and we could join the game and start interacting with alien races just like it was real life, only without the dangers of space travel. It was the one way that humans could, in absolute safety, travel to other planets and engage in the intellectual exchange of ideas with other races throughout the galaxy. And why not? How could anyone say “no” to that? It wasn’t even a question about allowing the Fentaun to “scan” the Earth, whatever that means, or accepting the offer to join the game. You especially couldn’t say no after other countries began joining the game and had already given their “permission” to the aliens to scan whatever they wanted. Smaller countries, knowing they would never be able to build their own space ships, joined in hopes of no longer be reliant on the Americans, or one of the other industrialized countries who dictated trade, access to technology and resources, and who inevitably meddled in their affairs. Large countries saw it as a possible way of tipping the balance of power in their favor. And, in the United States they debated it right up until it became clear that if everyone else was going to play the Galaxy Net, we’re going to have to play too. And so they did. Two hundred countries eventually agreed to be scanned and join the game, even though most of them had not considered they couldn’t afford to play the game even if they wanted to.
            Mr. Evans non-answered Nick’s question as to whether there are real aliens playing the game, “Well, that’s not supposed to be public knowledge, but it doesn’t surprise me that you would know.”
            Nick jumps on this as confirmation, “I’m going to take that as a ‘yes.’ Which means, I’m in. If there are real aliens playing the game and I’m going to be able to play with them. Where do I sign?”
            “Okay. That’s what we expected you to say. As of now, you’re a candidate and we’re going to send you to one of our facilities here on the base where you and several others will be screened and tested for your suitability to play Galaxy Net. But, before we do that, I need to go over with you the non-disclosure agreement.”
            “No problem, I’ll sign it.”
            “This is not just a slap on the hand NDA. You talk about Galaxy Net, regardless of whether you make it into the program or not, and you’ll be in solitary confinement in Leavenworth until we decide whatever you’ve been told about the game is no longer considered confidential. And, honestly, anything you learn after you leave this building, will likely still be confidential at the turn of the next century.”
            Nick looks at Mr. Evans, then Colonel Masteson. Neither one gives any indication this is an idle threat. But, for Nick, this is his chance to explore the galaxy and to meet real aliens. To be one of the first ones to ever speak with an alien race, or set foot on an alien planet. Nick has played space simulations, MMOs, alien shooters, world building strategy games; anything that is science fiction based, Nick has either played it or planned on playing it. “I can’t not do this,” Nick thinks. Even if it is only a game. It’s a game being played with real aliens in a real world, or rather worlds, simulation. “I’ll do whatever I have to if I can play a game with real aliens. Nothing else matters; I’ll keep your secrets. Now, where do I sign?”
            Pulling the NDA back from Nick, “Okay, the Colonel here will take you over to the meeting and you can get started. All the rest of the candidates are already there.”

Galaxy.Net

UPDATES

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of The Galaxy.Net

Recommended Reading on Amazon.com​(click images to go to Amazon's product pages)

Recommended Reading on Amazon.com
(click images to go to Amazon's product pages)