Glayde traced his fingers along the walls of the corridor. The unit hadn't been at their new staging post for long - hell, the unit hadn't existed for long, either - so he hadn't yet grown accustomed to the new surroundings. He was loathed to admit it, but he found himself missing the oppressive whiteness of the Mon Calamari vessel that had been his home for the last several years. This facility, constructed by the wide-eyed Sullustans, was at the complete opposite end of the scale; hence his fingertips providing a slight navigational and balance aid.

His mind wandered over the strangeness of the current circumstance: being summoned to his own office. The fact that he had an office at all took some getting used to - back on the Valiant, he'd had to share workspace with the adjutant and the other SpecForce officers aboard. Sure, the broom cupboard they'd put him in here was barely big enough to fit his desk... but it did have his name stencilled in aurebesh on the door; that was something.

Reaching the stretch of corridor that the writing he peered at in the dimness informed him was the correct one, he paced over to the appropriate door, and hesitated at the controls. This was his office, but the call had come from an Alliance Intel operative; who knew what they could be doing in there. Should he wander in blindly, and unannounced? Deciding that anything he witnessed couldn't possibly be as bad as the time he'd misidentified the - not very clearly labelled - doorway into the men's locker room, and had been forced to retreat under a volley of thrown items from Lieutenant Tur'enne, he jammed a finger into the appropriate button, and stepped inside.

* * *

Atton peered up from the datapad in front of him - in fact a rather amusing satirical parody of the early days of Palpatine's New Order, though no one would be able to differentiate it from one of the plethora of other documents littered about the desk without close scrutiny - and fixed his eyes on Major Glayde, probing the man's reactions and responses. First as an Intelligence Officer for the Republic, then as a journalist, an information broker, and now an employee of the Empire, Atton had picked up a trick or two about rapidly assessing the personality of an individual based on those initial few seconds of contact. The technique he employed on this occasion was situating himself in the Major's seat, behind his desk; a clear visual contest of his superiority within wat was essentially the Major's domain.

To the Commando's credit, he barely flinched, though did go to the lengths of remaining standing rather than accepting a defferential place in one of the seats opposite, adopting a confident stance; looking down on Atton. He fought back a smile. The Major had conceeded the comfy chair, but was making it very clear to the Intel Operative that such a concession was not the same as a surrender.

Such an individual would likely appreciate a succinct approach; as such, Atton dispensed with the formalities, and addressed the main subject of their conversation immediately. "I have an assignment for y', Major," he announced, swapping from one datapad to another, briefly scanning the first few lines to confirm the contents before passing it across.

Glayde didn't accept the device straight away. "If you're looking to engage the services of my team," he countered, hesitating only momentarily at the realisation that he knew no name for the man sitting before him, "I suggest you follow the proper protocol, and speak to Colonel Dalgas."

Atton's arm retreated, brow furrowing slightly as he nodded at that statement. "The Colonel is aware of th' situation," he revealed; "However, these orders are not for y' team." He offered the datapad again. "I have an assignment for you, Major."

Frowning himself, John accepted the electronic device, and studied the data displayed with intregue. Atton waited patiently, gauging from his reactions the progress he was making. Glayde's eyes widened in response to a particular set of details; Atton made a guess at what the context likely was, and offered his own input. "Given th' nature of this assignment, a low key operation is called for; Colonel Dalgas has approved th' deployment o' yourself and Lieutenant Tur'enne, but no other assets from this command." He engaged Glayde's eyes with a knowing look. "I'm sure y' can appreciate that in this instance, maintaining secrecy is of th' utmost importance. Y' can inform no one of any information that they do not need t' know. Is that understood, Major?"

Conflict warred with John's features, but he managed to assert enough control to arrange an expression of determined compliance. "Understood," he responded, with a curt nod. He glanced down at the still active datapad. "Anything else?"

Atton shook his head. "No; everything is on there." He hesitated for the briefest of moments. "Good luck, Major."

* * *

Glayde waited for the door of his office to drop closed with a clunk, before slumping back against it. Committed to his duties and responsibilities, Glayde wasn't the kind of officer to turn down or even question an assignment, but there were a few things about this mission in particular that made him uncomfortable. He glanced down at the datapad yet again; drank in the details; the destination; the target. He sighed.

Delving into the pocket of his fatigues, he pulled out his comlink, and thumbed it to life. "Glayde to Tur'enne," he called, "Meet me in the mess hall on level -" He peered at the dim-lit wall opposite, searching out the stencilled writing. "- six. Soon as you can."