Deep within the heart of the Empire, Imperial Center, lies one of any number of unmarked structures that are home to various ISB operations. One in particular, from the 'surface' (if one could even consider anything on Coruscant a surface), appears as little more than the entrance to a Wealth Management corporation.

Certain turbolifts rise into the tower above, where many wealthy citizens of the Galactic Empire find their investment strategies laid out before them upon holotables, with fancy glasses and fine liquors as a backdrop. Other lifts, however, are guarded, and lead... elsewhere.

Fifty levels down. It's simply referred to as 'ISB Section I-31'.

The amount of security down here borders upon obscenity. There are checkpoints, CompForce soldiers, even Imperial Stormtroopers monitoring everyone who passes by, and that's not even acknowledging the technological frontier that keeps watch of everyone. Visuals... audio... even sub-thermal sensors that monitor heartbeats and residual body temperature. Nobody gets in here unless they belong, or are damned good at infiltrating.

Out from an unmarked door walks Korynn Fleming. His white uniform is stained with fresh blood, and an expression of disdain lies firmly upon his aging face. He's followed by a younger agent, one who bears no rank, and is talking at him. We say 'at', rather than 'with', for Fleming appears utterly disinterested in the attempts at conversation.

"A ravashing success, Director. I do say, watching you at work is... well, quite impressive."

None would argue that Dorian Navtilos is a damned fine infiltrator, but here, he doesn't have to be. He is able to walk the halls of I-31 as if he belongs in them simply because he does, and his work has brought him down to the sublevels again today.

Navtilos is passing a small datachip off to a superior when the unmarked door opens and catches both men's attention. While the higher ranking agent straightens his posture at the sight of the Director and his blood-stained coat, Navtilos' posture is already just fine. He offers no comment -- merely a respectful bow of his head.

Fleming appears to be, at last, vexed. "I wouldn't have needed to come, Daniels, had you followed my instructions." Without missing a beat, he catches sight of those who have acknowledged him, in particular, Navtilos. Something flashes across Fleming's typically emotionless face; a twist of his lip that just might be construed as a smile. Maybe.

"Well, I couldn't possibly be expected to--"

"Yes," Fleming interrupts. "Precisely." Out from his belt comes a small device, easily recognizable as a close range disruptor baton. It's jabbed into the unsuspecting agent's midsection, and commences with the act of disintegrating him. Even while the agent's screams fade into the dust he's become, Korynn is fixing the baton back upon his utility belt and turning toward Dorian with a pleasant expression. "Agent Navtilos. You are well?"

As soon as the word 'couldn't' reaches Navtilos' ears, his expression changes. That subtle tension a well-schooled expression picks up in a moment of anticipation. He doesn't look away from the rather brutal display, and it is safe to say that he is no longer paying the man to whom he had been reporting much mind. Even before Korynn turns towards him, that is where is attention is, and where it stays.

Dorian lifts his chin slightly when he is addressed directly and cracks a smile, albeit a slightly tense one. Still, it's a much easier smile than anyone around him seems capable of mustering. "I am, sir, thank you." He doesn't ask about the now-gone agent or the blood on Korynn's coat. If it was his business to know, he'd know.

"Walk with me," says Korynn, who abruptly turns to walk down the hallway. "I must go to facilities and have them clean this--" He pauses, lifting a gloved hand to gingerly flick at his blood-stained lapel. Disgust flashes across his face. "--filth-- off my uniform."

Assuming that Dorian would have the good sense to follow, Korynn glances toward the slightly younger agent, eyebrow lifted. "Fortunately, there's some profit to being summoned here from my campaign in the Corporate Sector. The man we've been interrogating has provided the coordinates to a rebel supply depot. I understand Captain Mainwaring will be organizing a strike group to handle it."

Dorian's previous engagement is immediately dropped in favor of falling into step with Korynn, his hands coming to clasp loosely behind his own back. He does, indeed, have the good sense to fall in line when told.

His expression darkens slightly, but the rebels have a way of doing that to him. "I'm glad your efforts were fruitful, sir. At least you weren't pulled away from your work for nothing," Dorian notes with a wry, almost sympathetic tone. "Mainwaring is a good choice."

"So I hear." Korynn turns and enters the facilities room, at which point a silver protocol droid approaches him and, without word, begins applying some kind of material to his uniform that cleans it off by turning the blood into a fine dust. "I question the logic of simply blowing the whole thing to hell and back," he acknowledges. "On the contrary, I'd like to place someone inside first. You see, if we have an agent behind rebel lines when we strike, perhaps they will lead us to other, more important supply routes."

When the droid backs off, Korynn reaches up to brush the blood-turned-dust away with the back of his hand. His nose curls a bit at the process, but it's sufficient enough. "I suppose it depends on just how much we rattle them, wouldn't you say?"

Dorian takes a small step to the side to give the droid room to work, and to avoid getting any of the dust swept onto his own pristine white uniform. That simply would not do. His brow knits together in thought as Korynn speaks, already beginning to mentally sort through his stock of cover identities in search of something appropriate to the task.

"I would," Dorian agrees, inclining his head. "But I'm confident in the Captain's ability to spark sufficient panic that tracking devices and unfamiliar faces could go unnoticed. Where is the facility located?"

"The closest Imperial settlement is the Uttapau system," answers Fleming. "It's approximately fifteen parsecs into a region of space riddled with spatial anomalies of every sort. I can't risk sending in probe droids. They'd raise the alarm. I've gleamed coordinates and navigation routes, but I can't guarantee it's not some kind of trick." He pauses, considering just whom he might know that could be used as fodder for such a trip. He'd send Dorian, but... it would be a waste for such a fine officer to end up jumping into a red giant.

Ahh, a complication. Dorian takes the information in stride, a hand coming up to thoughtfully stroke his beard as he mulls over options. "If this man knew of the coordinates, there must be a way to independently verify them, or confirm them as false. People he knows, data from his ship's navigational systems. Something." After a pause, he concedes, "Or you could simply send someone anyway, minimize the risk that any rebels there could be alerted."

There's a small nudge of Korynn's mouth upwards. His pathetic effort at a smile, as it were. The real tell can be found through the expression in his eyes. They're impressed. "Someone he knows," he agrees. "Something plausible, even if fabricated."

Fleming was never a spy. It wasn't his strong point. He was a skilled commander, to be sure, and with that comes the mastery of delegation. "I'll trust you to handle this for me, Navtilos," he decides. "You will have full access to the breadth of information we've taken from the rebel prisoner and his ship. Once you've formulated a plan, I will see to it that Mainwaring understands just what we have in mind."

Navtilos drops his hand back to his side and gives a crisp nod. "Thank you, sir." After a brief pause, a light seems to go on behind his eyes. "If the prisoner is still in one piece, might I have access, sir? I might be able to make use of him, breathing or otherwise. Especially if we have his ship."

"He's in a bacta tank," admits Fleming. Then, his voice drops to a foreboding tone, as if he already suspects what Dorian may have in mind. Specifics notwithstanding, there's a devious nature to it all. "But I can have him ready for you within twelve hours."

"More than sufficient," Navtilos replies with a warm smile, dropping his head in a respectful bow. "That gives me time to recruit a pilot. Thank you, sir."

"I've always trusted you, Navtilos," answers Korynn. "Don't let me down." He abruptly goes stiff and raises his voice to proclaim in departure, "Glory to the Empire!"