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Wallabin's frankly boring visits were starting to become commonplace at the Gladsheim base; to the point where even Locke was getting dirty looks from the fellow soldiers. When he slanted his glance their way, they usually shut up their gossiping and returned to what they were doing, though. One would think they'd be used to it by now, but they didn't cease to find amusement in Locke running the duo around. (They always silenced themselves when Gearhorn turned up, though.)

Luckily for Weiler and Locke, they were allowed a break from Wallabin while he met with Gearhorn and several other officers. (More demands to be met, more money to be donated and the like, Locke was sure.) There weren't many safe places to talk on base, unfortunately. He didn't even trust his own quarters.

There was only one place that he knew would be safe, due to the sheer loud volume of it; the cantina. It was less than glamorous, and the drinks they had to offer were definitely not as exquisite as the bar they had gone to. The company even less so. It was with a little reluctance that Locke suggested it.

"We could kill some time at the cantina," he had said, "but I don't think you'll like it."

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"How often is your heart in it, exactly?" he asked, stopping at the edge of the meeting room door, back in his military poise.

Weiler pulled out the last few kinks in his cuffs and vest until everything looked immaculate.

"You want a percentage?"

"You've worked out a percentage?" Locke raised a brow.

"I've worked a lot of things," Weiler said, looking prim and proper except for the waggle of his brows.

He rolled his eyes at him. "What's the percentage, then?"

Weiler smiled, eyes closed. "Zero percent. With a marginal error of about ten."

"I see," Locke said thoughtfully, chin tilting up as he considered. "Safer odds, surely."

"The only sort of odds we can afford," Weiler agreed, shrugging one shoulder. He was standing opposite Locke on the other side of the doors, already easing from his stiff-backed stand to a bit of a slouch against the wall, since Gearhorn and Wallabin seemed to be deliberating that extra fifteen minutes or so.

Probably the Senator closing up with a 'few' more demands. But just as Weiler thought it, the door slid open. Gearhorn and Wallabin stepped out with two other officials at their heels, who the General saluted to and they left without so much as a glance at Weiler or Locke. He recognized one to be Commander Foster - rather feared around the base. Locke wasn't sure of the name of the fish girl who was always following him, but people were wary of her, too.

"Avery," Gearhorn spoke up, "please show the Senator and his assistant out. Their ride has already been called."

"Yes, sir," Locke said with a bow of his head.

Wait.

Hadn't he...? Weiler's smile froze in place, but his attention was snagged by the two soldiers Gearhorn and Wallabin had been talking to. The agenda note on Wallabin's schedule had only said he would be meeting with Gearhorn and 'Others,' but Wallabin was prone to bouts of poor memory regarding names and Weiler hadn't thought anything odd of it back then. The appearance of said 'Others' shouldn't have been alarming, but there was something oddly familiar about those faces. Maybe there was an intel file somewhere he had glanced over in passing? Maybe they were just background faces in a photo of a more-important tail. Maybe they-

"Come on then, Milo. We haven't got any time to waste," said Wallabin, taking Weiler by the elbow and forcibly pulling him along as he turned down the hall toward the exit.

"Oh, ah, yes, Mr. Wallabin," Weiler recovered quickly, turning and catching up to the senator with a few long steps. "Of course."

Though Locke stood by the senator's side as they walked, he glanced over the man's head at Weiler. He didn't necessarily notice an off reaction, but he had been staring at the two officials. Locke knew about signs like that.

Something was odd about it, though. Commander Foster was in special ops. What would they have to do with Wallabin? Given the recent attack on the Circle by his sector, Locke felt some apprehension about the situation. They would have to be careful.

At the entrance of the base, Locke had managed to maintain his stoic military posture and expression. He did manage a polite smile, though, as he usually did with seeing off Wallabin.

"It was a pleasure to have you again, sir," Locke said politely with a slighter bow than he gave the General.

And, as usual when seeing off Weiler, he allowed for a small display of affection. A kiss on the cheek this time - that could've been seen as friendly, really - and a more serious whisper of, "Call me later."

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