Sternsknecht, or, Something a Little Different!

Howdy folks! Still finishing up the poll story, don't worry. Just took a brief little jaunt to work on something, well, maybe a touch more constructive.

A pal o' mine, Lena, was kind enough to point me toward a writing drive for a charity called Action Aid, to help some folks in Ukraine. The goal was to write an anthology in a day, and though I'm not sure how successful we will end up being, I did manage to get down a fun little story! It's in the Alternate History category, but I do cheat a little and involve some familiar elements. See if you can figure out where my particular mental hangups are!

If you like the story, I would (without judgment or coercive pressure) point you over to the charity site and suggest maybe donate a couple dollars? Or pounds I guess. Again! No pressure! I also know it's not what you're paying to see here, of course, so I'm including it for free on this webzone.

The story has some light mentions of violence but no kink content. Purely just...well, spoilers, space visitors in the 17th century. With laser muskets.

Enjoy!

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[The following is a letter dated December 1644 Earth Calendar from one Sampson Cartwright, 2nd Earl of Newcastle-upon-Tyne to his wife, Margaret Cartwright. It is the oldest extant recording of observations of Visitor activity on Earth, recently uncovered in the archives after the collapse of the North Star Coalition in 1995 EC.]

Dearest Margaret,

I hope this letter finds you and the children well and in good health. I know that you are safe in my family’s holdings, far from the front lines, but my heart aches to know that in less than a day’s ride one might find a battlefield. Civil War. That our lands must come to this! As one who has seen the horrors that have come to the Germanies in times of unrest, I dread the same spectre to darken our doorstep. Indeed, it is that very war-besotted land that has brought me on my current affair, and one that I hope will help bring the war at home to a swift and sure end.

In that vein, my mission to the Continent has taken a peculiar turn as of late, about which I’m sure you’ll be as befuddled as I was. I first heard reports of something strange nearly one month prior, during a dinner with the Landgrave of Klettgau. I was there to get a list of recommended mercenary companies for whom our cause is so direly in need. Apparently, villagers and merchants alike had gazed in awe at a falling star unlike any they had ever seen in the area around the Black Forest. A massive, infernal fireball that soared not through the Heavens, but from them into the Earth! Thinking nothing of it, I mentioned some platitude about the miracles of the Lord. But the Landgrave’s wife, a pleasant-looking woman (though nowhere near as beautiful as you) mentioned that this ball of light had brought strange creatures to the land, ones capable of strange and terrible powers. She called them “Kobolds”, a word I am not familiar with. Nevertheless, she insisted that this was no fable. That these beings were minor demons that should be avoided at all cost.

Now you know, I am not one to believe the idle gossip. But I’m sure I’ve bored you to tears on many an occasion discussing my love of folklore, especially of mysterious, impossible creatures. I decided to seek the rumours out myself. It wasn’t that long a journey, and besides, one of the groups on the list provided to me was encamped in that general area. It was one of the lesser recommendations, I’ll admit, but I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. I made haste to their last known encampment, with faint hopes of seeing something worth the journey.

I received more than I could have possibly bargained for.

Outside of a village called Herten, I heard the first sounds of battle. One grows used to these terrible noises, unfortunately. And the sounds of cannonades become as distinct as the calls of songbirds to a practiced ear. But there were noises amidst the gunfire that my experience could not discern. They sounded much like the cracking of thunder, rather than the explosive release of a mortar or culverin. Both noises dueled, flashes of light and smoke visible yet mistimed to the sounds in that queer way one observes when viewing combat from a distance. I closed the distance on my mount, taking the last mile as slow and unthreateningly as possible for fear of stray rounds being sent my way.

Deployed in rows closest to me were the mercenaries. I recognised their livery and colours from the description given to me. I guessed their numbers ranged close to a thousand men, though the depth of their ranks made accuracy difficult. Their arms were a mix of pike and shotte: a central core of mismatched polearms protected on the wings by musketmen. On the far left flank, a pair of cannons and their crews had taken residence inside a crude earthwork berm: piled dirt, in essence. As I gazed, one of the beasts vomited forth fire, its ball soaring harmlessly above the heads of their opponents.

On the other side of the field, however, was an entirely different force. Numbering perhaps a few hundred total, I first thought the perspective was playing tricks on my eyes, but skirting the treeline to get a better view, I determined that yes, these were in fact far shorter than a man ought to be. Perhaps a yard tall, maybe more, with skin the colour of the foliage around me. They dressed in fashions not unlike the colourful mercenaries of these parts of the continent, but their weapons were totally alien. Stocky contraptions of metal, holding in place a shaped crystal. As if to prove they were weapons indeed, a small grouping near the front of their line opened fire. Instead of fire, their weapons let loose a terrible ray of red light that cracked the air and caused me to shield my eyes from its brilliance.

In moments, these terrible beams turned the front rank of the mercenary company to flame and ash. Officers tried to keep order, but the sight of such a terrible weapon was enough for most of them. They attempted a fighting retreat, but another ragged volley turned it to a rout. The cannons were abandoned in the flight, to which the strange green beings turned their attention. A single focused volley hit them, and the bronze behemoths turned molten in moments. I stood aghast as the metal superheated and bled to the ground, igniting nearby powder bags and sending the whole paltry fortification up in ignominious self-immolation.

You can imagine my shock, dear! Such clear martial supremacy from such strange creatures! It beggared belief, but I sought to learn more. I waited for them to quit the field, something that took less time than I’d imagined, as they didn’t even move out to loot the spoils they’d earned. They simply milled backward into the thicket from whence they’d presumably emerged. After a good few minutes of regaining my heart’s natural rhythm, I cautiously pursued these “Kobolds”, hoping to learn more without provoking their terrible ire.

Their trail lead them to the village I’d been in the process of venturing toward: Herten. But far from act like marauding barbarians from some Roman nightmare, the population hailed them as heroes! Rousing huzzahs and appreciative applause from the village’s inhabitants greeted the green beings. Some stopped to exchange embraces and, on scandalous occasion, kisses with grateful residents before they carried on to the other side of the village. It is there when I lost their trail, unable to follow them into the village itself without being obvious to my intent. So, perhaps foolishly, I approached the village on foot. I looked out of place in Rural Swabia, dressed as I was. But I hoped their high spirits would keep me from undo privation.

The villagers were reluctant to talk to me of the strangers, though evidence of their existence was everywhere once one looked for it. Little carvings of wood stood sentry on home stoops, wide-eyed children clutched little ragged dolls made up in the same image. Unlike many places in this region, there was no evidence of the dower pall of decades of warfare. Men and women walked with heads held high, their conversations light and friendly enough. I could see as well evidence of their technological ingenuity. Strange devices stood on workbenches or in shop windows. One even passed me by: a two-wheeled contrivance ridden by a man as one might a horse, the wheels spun by the cycling of his legs! Truly a wonder to behold! That I could have brought back an example to show you, dear!

At the local alehouse, I was able to get some more information. The villagers, those whose tongues I could loosen at least, are rather fond of these strange visitors. The green creatures called themselves “golbari”, which the villagers naturally translated as “Goblin”, a kind of French folkloric creature similar to that of the Kobold native to the Germanies. These Goblins landed less than a year before from “another star”, it was said, and they sought only to return to their home. In exchange for provisions and maps, the locals were defended by the Goblin’s superior firepower in the form of weapons the villagers called “Lightlocks”. They used these terrifying devices to wreak havoc only in defence of themselves and the local villages here in the Black Forest, something the locals were immensely grateful for. Not many places have been spared the war on the continent, even for a short amount of time. Men with missing limbs or broken spirits could be found even in these genial surroundings,

As I was regaled with tales of their heroic exploits, one of their number entered the establishment, and I was finally able to get a good look. They took the form of stout humans of small stature, but I was shocked to discover that one in the garb of a combatant was clearly a female! A body shaped as a woman’s might, if she was reduced in size, with long black hair parted on opposite sides by long, slender ears that evoked the image of a green stiletto blade. She walked in, weapon slung over her back, and approached the bartender. He pulled a slightly smaller mug full of the casked ale that I’d been served, which she brought over to drink by herself.

“Three cheers for the victorious Star-Warriors!” One of the slightly sloshed patrons declared, to an appropriate trio of boisterous shouts. The words he used in German was ‘Sternsknecht’, or Servant of the Stars more accurately, possibly evoking the legend of the illustrious Landsknecht, who rivalled the Swiss in combat in decades past. My journey to seek mercenaries perhaps, therefore, had not been in vain!

I approached this woman cautiously, for fear of upsetting her and her death lantern. The weapon’s design, though surely complex, looked for all the world like it was cobbled together out of mismatched parts. Unlike expensive clockwork, chunks of metal and what looked like ivory were slotted together in haphazard ways, lashed together with bands of wire or held in with plating. The weapon’s aperture indeed was a type of crystal, though the name of which I could not begin to testify to. On the side of the contraption, a crank not unlike that of a device like a sluice gate served some manner of purpose toward its operation. I doubt that I’d be able to understand it’s workings in a month of Sabbaths.

“Why do you stare at me so?” she asked, though much more curtly. Her German accented, but thoroughly understandable.

“I would very much like to discuss an audience with your leader. Could you facilitate that?” I asked.

She drained the rest of her mug. “She’s likely busy on utter matters for the foreseeable future.”

Contrary to how I may appear most days, I am no fool. I slid a silver piece from my purse, proffering it to her. “Perhaps this would change your opinion?”

To my surprise, she held out a hand to reject the offering.

“Gold, silver, all the same things. You,” an untranslatable word here, perhaps a derogatory term in her own tongue, “Have anything worth anything? Diamonds? Rubies?”

I blinked. I did, in fact, have a gem-encrusted ring gifted to me by Baron Hopton. Given the circumstances, I hope he doesn’t mind that I traded it away! She gave me her word that I would have the ear of her leader, a woman (indeed!) by the name of Jema. I left with haste to make preparations, bringing me to now, as I write this letter by rushlight, the night before the scheduled meeting.

Perhaps this is a mad vision, but with but a few of these creatures and their terrible weapons, perhaps our forces could bring an end to the Parliamentarian cause and bring about a new dawn of the people of Britain? I send this missive to you from my bed graciously provided by a local homesteader, who was kind enough to also promise to deliver it for a reasonable price. I have decided to throw caution to the wind and will proposition these strangers, these Star-Warriors, on the morrow. Pray for me Margaret, for perhaps I have found the answer to our woes.

Sincerely yours,

Your devoted Husband

Sam

[The following is a narrative recording of the meeting written up by Jema Valaxi, commanding officer to the crew of the Glittering Gemerald after their crash on Earth. She took some liberties with historical record, though the conversations described are likely to have happened in a similar fashion to how they are described here.]

“Absolutely not,” I said, folding my arms. “You want us to fight and die for your island for something so common as gold?”

The man in front of me was grotesquely tall, as most humans apparently were. Standing almost twice my height, he looked for all the world like one of those agri-bots they put out in the field to scare avians away, but made of meat. Tiny eyes the colour of unpolished sapphires peered out of a face that was mostly hair with little bits of pink flesh poking out from beneath. The flesh turned even more pink as he stammered, searching his tiny mind for a new excuse.

“B-but surely, as mercenaries, you take payment in gold? Or perhaps silver?”

I rolled my eyes. Gold and silver were perfectly useful on their own, but the primitive backwater used them almost exclusively as currencies or for decoration. Gold was a decent enough conductor, and there were some processes you could catalyze with silver, but if we were ever going to repair our engines, we’d need much more than that.

From behind my shoulder, Tika piped up. Her nasal voice was often grating, but there was no better expert on high volume astrometallurgy among the crew, and thus she had a good idea on the materials the engineers might need.

“Our party already has enough silver and gold to supply our requirements for the time being. What we need is-“ Her voice trailed off. I looked back to see the materials scientist had a finger to her lips. Then, switching from German back to our native GalStan, she mumbled, “I don’t know if these people have a word for Vanadium yet...”

“Can we describe it to him?” I asked.

“Well, it’s a grey metal.“

“WHY DOES EVERY METAL HAVE TO BE A GREY METAL?!” I snapped, shaking my head. “Glip on a Bike, I swear. Do you have anything that we need that is easily identifiable to these giants that they could trade with us?”

“We have other goods, if that is the matter you are discussing,” the human, I had already forgotten his name by this point, interjected.

“Perhaps that would be easier. What, pray tell, do you have to trade?” I asked, suppressing another boneweary sigh.

He proceeded to list a bunch of things that were of little to no interest. We had no need of wood, as our ship had crashed in a forest. We didn’t need sheep, for the villagers we protected by force of arms provided all the food we needed and more. We didn’t need fine art, nor did we need our portrait painted, nor did we need our heroic deeds immortalized in verse or song.

Tika tapped my shoulder and whispered something into my ear. In GalStan no less, making the gesture completely pointless. It’s not like these primitives spoke a sensible language. The suggestion, however, did have some merit.

“Do you have coal?” I asked.

The human scratched his head. “I believe we have some, yes. But what worth is-“ He cut himself off, perhaps too late in realizing how badly betraying ignorance would compromise his bargaining position. “We have plenty,” he corrected, a little more confidence in his voice, a little more steel in his spine.

“Good! We’ll come to your island and slay your enemies for all your coal.”

A beat. “All of it?”

“Yes. All of it.”

Tika leaned in again. “I just meant a few shipments, enough to recharge the drillers.”

But my mind was already working overtime. “Oh no, we’re thinking bigger. If they have ‘plenty’ of coal, we’ll be able to kickstart this planet’s industry. Create factories, railroads...enough to allow us to fully repair our ship’s hull! Plus with our weapons fully charged, we can take any other mineral resources we need from any of these pink rubes.”

Tika frowned. “An industrial boom based on coal? Wouldn’t that mess up their atmosphere?”

“What do we care? Once we have enough to repair the engines, we’re out of here. They can deal with the consequences themselves. They’re not all that dumb, I’m sure they’ll figure it out eventually.” I turned back to the human, switching to our mutually shared language once more. “I will need to see evidence of your stocks, but consider us interested. A small team of mine will follow you back to your island to perform a survey. If the results are to our liking, we’ll support whatever cause you like.”

The giant beamed, fleshy features colouring again. “My thanks to you, madam! We shall depart at your earliest convenience!” And after giving the details of his whereabouts, he left.

“Who the Glip are you going to get to take a ride in one of their sea ships?” Tika asked with a snort. I grinned at her, not saying what we both were thinking. “Oh no, I’m not going on one of those deathtraps!”

“Oh hush, it won’t be so bad. Besides, who else would you trust to get the information we need?”

Tika harumphed, but I knew my control freak of a second-in-command would fold. “When we get back to civilized space, I’m never leaving spacedock again. Plus the Company owes me, like, two years in back pay by now.”

“Assuming they’ll pay it.” I kicked her feet up on the desk I’d made out of an ore crate. Half the furnishings in our little fortress were pulled or repurposed from the Glittering Gemerald, our ore processing ship. The rest were custom-made, bought or donated by the grateful craftspeople of the Black Forest.

“What about the villagers?” Tika asked.

“We’re not going to let them get hurt. A small garrison’ll be enough to deter whoever shows up, so long as it’s a small enough force. Anything bigger…” I made a wiggly hand gesture. “We still have the mining charges. This world hasn’t seen kiloton explosives yet. Be a shame to let them go to waste.”

They sat in silence for a long while. I drew up my plans, Tika chewing over the words that had been exchanged. Finally, the minerologist broke the silence.

“Do you really thing that this “England” has enough resources to make it an industrial empire?”

I shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”