The Imperial Security Bureau maintains numerous safe-houses around the galaxy and most are like this one - a run-down studio apartment in a poor neighborhood where locals know better than to look too closely at those they pass in the street, or ask questions about strange comings and goings. The holo-terminal installed transmits one half of a numerical confirmation code, awaiting its completion before flickering into life. "Agent Corentin." Thel's voice reverberates, distorted into something near mechanical by the signal routing. "Report."