Legorii slammed the door to his quarters, but not before the package exploded. The force of the detonation blew the door back, knocking him from his feet and sending him skidding across the floor. His ears were ringing, and the entire world seemed to be spinning. Thinking fast, the Anzat pushed himself to his feet, stumbling away from the open doorway. He knew that they wouldn’t be far behind.
His lightsaber was not within reach, and his vibroblades weren’t, either. Through his ringing ears he heard muffled commands, and knew that time was running out. Lunging toward his desk, he grabbed his commlink.
“Thissis Legzzz…activate Assssassssin sproto—” his final, slurred syllables were cut short by a swift blow from the butt of a blaster rifle. A BlasTech A280. Standard issue in the Clan Arcona armory. The Proconsul slumped to the floor, unconscious. Two armored soldiers, with Arcona’s sigil proudly adorning their epaulettes, grasped the Pontifex’s arms and unceremoniously dragged him from his quarters.
There were eight soldiers in all. Evidently, Marick had not expected his right hand to go quietly. It was only a short distance down the hall to the Consul’s study, where Legorii was deposited.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Marick said, his characteristic Hapan lilt filling the room. The soldiers saluted and left the room. Left the Consul alone with his Proconsul. Marick crouched beside the Anzat, brushing a strand of dark hair from his face. His next words were a whisper.
“Now, to replace you with Turel…”