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Of Gods & Aliens is a roleplay mini-series written by Grand_Tarkin which follows the adventures of Benjamin Gauke, a 14 year-old boy from the town of St. Bernard's, Lancastria, as he encounters beings from beyond the Earth. Set during the Christmas of 3023, Of Gods & Aliens explores themes of family, humanity, and community.
Part One, subtitled "Ex Astris, Scientia" was published on 7 December 2023.
Characters
- Benjamin "Ben" Gauke, a 14 year-old resident of St. Bernard's who dreams of the stars after hearing stories of the old Federation.
- Franklin "Frank" Gauke, a 43 year-old resident of St. Bernard's and father of Benjamin. Frank is a cook who works two minimum-wage jobs.
- Nancy Granger, a 14 year-old resident of St. Bernard's and best friend to Ben.
Instalments
Of Gods & Aliens is comprised of ten parts which make up one single roleplay story.
| No. | Title | Written by | Published |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | "Ex Astris, Scientia" | Grand_Tarkin | 7 December 2023 |
| 2 | TBA | 9 December 2023 (expected) | |
| 3 | 11 December 2023 (expected) | ||
| 4 | 13 December 2023 (expected) | ||
| 5 | 15 December 2023 (expected) | ||
| 6 | 17 December 2023 (expected) | ||
| 7 | 19 December 2023 (expected) | ||
| 8 | 21 December 2023 (expected) | ||
| 9 | 23 December 2023 (expected) | ||
| 10 | 25 December 2023 (expected) |
Part 1: "Ex Astris, Scientia"
Once, there was a town that was much like any other, so unimportant. But one day, this town sent the world a message. A bell, tolling out across the Doggerlands, ringing across all the dark corners of this snarling planet. Because nobody understood the message, nobody cared… except for one boy.
The boy who dreamed of the stars.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Boutet!” Ben’s bike stormed down one cobbled street. An old, rusted thing; the bike took on the agility of a sleigh marching through mounds of snow. He swerved in and around the pedestrians gathered in the narrow walkways of St. Bernard’s town with varying degrees of success. As he did, the boy smiled, waved, and wished good will to his neighbours.
“Merry Christmas, Benjamin- slow down!” Mr. Boutet shouted but there was little hope. By the time his warm enchant had left his lips, Ben’s rocket had blasted him well beyond the reach of Mr. Boutet’s bakery, down towards the end of Guy Road.
While Ben’s bike gave the appearance of a rustic, dicey contraption, it was actually far more versatile than it appeared. Directly behind the cracked leather seat, a small pouch-bag, newer than the rest of the bike, bobbed along too. Usually the home of Ben’s newspapers for his morning route, today the pouch was home to something far more exciting.
As Guy Road drew to a speedy end, Remy Avenue teetered into view. A row of old tenement houses decorated the side of the road like copy-and-pasted baubles on a tired Christmas tree. Some of the windows, each peeking into a different apartment, were decorated for the festive season. Lights of red and mint and garlands and mistletoe, all flowing from window to window. None of the decorations were fancy - many looking hand-crafted from recycled cardboard and thinning string. Yet, none of that mattered. Remy Avenue wasn’t just any destination: it was Ben’s home.
Ben smirked with his usual cheek to himself as his bike screeched to an untimely stop, his eyes flickering between the Christmas decor and the orange glow reflecting off the mountains surrounding St. Bernard’s town. When the sun set over St. Bernard’s, the mountain range regenerated from a grey waste into a celebration of oranges and purples. This evening, the party of lights was holding nothing back - all beneath the clearest view of stars and starlight.
After a few flights of stairs, Ben found his way into his castle. His home. Sure, the doors were battered and the wallpaper was one-tug away from peeling to the ground. Still, home it was.
“Something smells good,” Ben said as he strode in through the front door, his arms carrying the pouch-bag from his bike.
Ten feet away, Ben’s Dad - Frank - stood with his back to him. The lace of an apron was tied in a figure eight and hastily stamped to his lower back. Frank had dark hair, surprisingly dark for his age. Steam rose around him, making him look like he was producing the gas himself. Slowly, he turned around, revealing the stove hard at work. And a grin.
Frank’s hands were full with utensils and a particularly brown wooden spoon, “tuna madras for supper.”
“I asked for turkey!” Ben kicked off his muddy boots, adding them to a pile of trainers and shoes gathered by the front door.
Frank laughed, turning back round to stir his cooking curry. “It’s Christmas in two days - you can wait for turkey,” said Frank, again with a smile. Always with a smile. He returned to stirring his old, scratched porcelain pot of food.
The apartment was small. No more than three metres separated the kitchen, from the dining room table, from the living room, from the only two doors in the apartment (besides the entrance door). One of the doors was to the bathroom, while the other was towards the only bedroom: Ben’s room. On the couch in the living room, Frank’s bed was neatly arranged. A single pillow and a duvet to combat the winter cold.
Ben marched into his bedroom with prowess, like he’d just conquered something, ripping a radio out from his pouch-bag. The radio itself seemed well enough intact, with the only sign of age being the 30 year-old Starfleet insignia faintly stamped on its side. It was slim, sleek, and a dark grey. It had few buttons - presumably it was controlled by the small screen which also sat on its front. The insignia was faint, however. Not from age, it wasn’t worn or faded through time. No, the Starfleet delta looked as if somebody had tried to scrub the thing from existence.
“That from Solomon?” Frank asked, shouting in from the kitchen. The smell of the madras carried the short distance into Ben’s bedroom.
Ben placed it delicately down onto his desk, stationing it next to his pile of mathematics homework and his AI computer games console. “It’s the radio he promised! I told you he’d still have it.”
“I never said he wouldn’t have it. I said the bloody thing wouldn’t work.”
“Yee of little faith,” Ben laughed as he plugged the device into the wall. The wall-socket was beneath the only bit of wall decoration in Ben’s bedroom. After all, the landlord refused to allow Ben to properly decorate his space. Though, rules were made to be broken. Above the wall-socket, right out of the line of sight of the rest of the apartment, Ben’s collection of wall posters and flags stood tall and proud: 2980s recruitment poster for Starfleet, next to Federation flag, pictures of the Starship Enterprise, and signed autographs from space pilot legends.
’Ex Astris, Scientia’ - the words spoken by cadets across a millenia were stamped across Ben’s bedroom wall. Almost forgotten, besides in the hearts and minds and dreams of the hopeful. Ben was hopeful.
The noise blasted through the apartment, almost shaking Ben’s posters off the wall. He jumped back into his spinny chair, confused. ‘I hadn’t even turned it on,’ Ben thought.
“What was that?” Frank shouted in from the kitchen. The rice was close to boiling at this point so his attention was limited to a simple, half-concerned question. Probably that damned game console, or something.
“Nothing…” Ben responded, picking up the radio. He quickly found his way to the volume switch, turning it down to a more manageable decibel. ‘Nothing,’ he repeated in his head. He didn’t believe himself.
As he spun around in his chair, the radio made another noise. As the spin continued, the beeping stopped. Ben stopped the chair as he looked down at the radio. The thing hadn’t come unplugged, nor had he fiddled with any buttons that could possibly have been an off-switch. So again, he spun. And again, the radio beeped once Ben’s spin reached a certain point, only to stop before he had completed a full 360 degrees.
“Curious,” Ben’s Spock-like internal monologue continued to himself before repeating the experiment four or five times. Each time, the beep repeated at exactly the same point. Ben - a member of the local scouts group until his Dad couldn’t afford the fees anymore - whipped out a compass from his desk drawer. Again, he spun in the chair, holding the radio tightly while resting the compass on its metal top. This time, he stopped right when the beeping began.
The compass hand pointed, reaching out - almost like a dare. ‘Due north,’ Ben thought to himself. ‘But there’s nothing there. Mountains. Mountains? Beyond the mountains? What’s beyond the mountains?’ Ben’s mind wandered and wandered and it just couldn’t stop.
Ben stood up - the device still beeping. He walked due north in his bedroom. While he could only make it a few steps before his knees were bumping into his unmade bed, the beeping got slightly louder.
Quickly, Ben returned the radio to the pouch and bolted for the door. He moved so quickly, his shape was probably still visible in the steam of the cooking by the time Frank turned around. He heard the sound of the door slam shut and the faint echo of Ben’s young legs racing down the tenement stairs.
The boy rushed back down the stairs and towards the bike - he couldn’t stop. He held the radio due north, with the help of his compass, of course. He started to walk in that direction - slowly splitting across the road of Remy Avenue. The further north he walked, the louder the beeping became.
Sure, he almost walked out in front of a yellow taxi cab while crossing the road but Ben paid it no mind. He looked out across the stunted skyline of St. Bernard’s town - past the bakery and the town hall and the well in the middle of it all. He looked due north, staring at the mountains which guarded this town on the edge of civilization.
Hypothesis. Test. Conclusion?
“Ex astris, scientia,” said Ben to himself. He smiled. “Ex astris, scientia.”
TO BE CONTINUED.