Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

and ankle chains, and some blood that had spattered down onto his chest from his recently broken nose. His skin was a bluish-white, and he
    shuddered uncontrollably in the biting cold. The guards threw him on his knees before the Iron Throne. He looked up at Lionstone pleadingly and tried to say something, but he was shaking so much he couldn't get the words out. Lionstone looked down at him thoughtfully.
    "This pathetic object is Fredric Hill. Head of starport security here on Golgotha. We gave him the appointment ourselves. We thought he showed promise.
    This man let the rebels in, allowed them to sabotage the Tax and Tithe Headquarters, and failed to prevent them from lowering the planet's defenses as they escaped. He also failed to protect us from the alien ship. We could question him on this, but what's the point? He'd just nod and smile and agree with everything I said, and then try to pass the blame onto his staff, or hidden traitors, or lack of the right equipment. Anything but himself. After all, he'd say, the rebels arrived in a Hadenman ship. Probably half his people took one look at the great golden ship of awful legend and ran for their lives. And the other half probably followed them, once the alien ship swept past our nonexistent defenses to strafe the city.
    "It doesn't make any difference. He was head of starport security, responsible for our defense. A strong man in that position might have accomplished much. He might have pulled enough of his people together to organize equipment repairs, bring secondary and backup systems on-line, send out rescue teams to aid the wounded and distressed in the city. Instead, according to his own security records, he dithered and fumbled and finally hid, reemerging only when it was all safely over. Quite unacceptable behavior from one of our officers. We have therefore decided that an example shall be made."
    She looked back at the Grendel alien, and after a moment everyone else did, too.

    It stood calm and relaxed behind the Throne, a living nightmare in spiked crimson silicon armor. The yoke around its armored neck made a sudden polite chiming noise, and then the alien surged forward so quickly the human eye couldn't follow it. One moment it was standing just behind the Throne, and the next it was towering over the cringing security head, its great clawed hands on his bare shoulders. The courtiers nearest it surged back as far as the pressure of the crowd would allow, but the Grendel paid them no heed. Its claws sank deep into the man's flesh, and thick runnels of blood coursed down his colorless flesh. He opened his mouth to scream, and the alien opened its mouth and bit the man's face off. Skin and eyes and nose and mouth disappeared as the alien jerked back its great head, leaving only a shattered bloody skull, screaming horribly with the security man's voice.
    The alien chewed and swallowed and then leaned forward again, thrusting its grinning jaws into the man's chest with brutal force. The sternum stove in, cracking like paper, and the Grendel alien's head burrowed in the man's chest, going after the heart like a pig hunting truffles. The man's arms waved wildly for a few moments, and then they fell to his sides and lay still. And Fredric Hill, once head of starport security, hung limply in the alien's grasp as it chewed thoughtfully, savoring the flavor. The yoke around its neck chimed, but the Grendel didn't respond. The yoke chimed again, and the Grendel dropped the body carelessly into the blood-soaked snow and moved unhurriedly back to resume its position just behind the Iron Throne. Steaming hot blood dripped thickly from its grinning jaws and ran slowly down its gleaming silicon armor. In the snow before the Throne, Hill's body lay in a crumpled heap, like a broken discarded toy that no one wanted to play with anymore.
    Silence moved in close beside Frost. He could feel the anger boiling within her,
    ready to spill over at a moment's provocation. Her whole career had been built around killing aliens before they got the chance to kill people. He put a warning hand on her arm. It was as tense as coiled steel. She turned her head and gave him a hard look, and he took his hand away. Frost was an Investigator and had no time for human weaknesses like compassion. Her anger was purely professional.
    The Court murmured among itself, looking from the Grendel to the gutted body and back again, impressed by the savagery of the kill, if not the quality of the