By the time we left the bar I was beginning to get used to the gravity, which was good because Constant did not slow down to compensate for me. She looked at everything that she passed but she still managed to cover ground very quickly.

We pushed our way through the market until she stopped abruptly at one end, a wall lined with unmarked doors. Hands on her hips, she glared at the door in front of us.

"I don't think it's retina scan," I offered.

"I'm seeing if looks can really kill. Or, open doors," she told me. Whether this was true, or she just didn't have a plan, I still don't know.

"Are we really here to rescue the president?" I asked.

"Someone has to," she replied.

"But why us?"

"Because we can. Because I'm proving we can go anywhere. You'll get it eventually."

I sighed.

"Do you ever answer a question with non-ambiguous details?" I tried next.

"Never."

"So I should just stop asking then?"

"Probably." We stood there for a few seconds, her still staring at the door.

"Is Constant your real name?"

"Are you a constant pain?"

"No. Is that the answer to my question then?"

"It's the answer to that one."

"So it really is your name?"

"Is Sam really yours?" she asked, whipping around to face me. Then, the door opened.

"Ah-ha! Looks do open doors!" she exclaimed.

Standing in the doorway was a young man, probably about my age at the time, maybe a little younger. He was obviously not a miner. Whereas everyone else we had seen so far had been dressed in drab, stained clothing covered in dust, he was dressed in a bright, crisp suit. Also covered in dust. Glasses, thickly framed in a black that matched his short hair, sat on the bridge of his nose. News feeds played across the lenses. He looked over their edge when he noticed us standing in his way.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Excuse me," he said, trying to step out of the doorway. Constant remained in his way.

"What do you think of the president?" she asked him. The boy's face went white, then he looked at us suspiciously.

"It's an abomination, why?"

"An abomination! Finally, someone with an opinion. Why is it an abomination?" He obviously did not want to be talking to us. However, even though he had only known her for under a moment he already knew he wouldn't be getting away until he complied. She smiled politely and waited for his answer, head tilted upward to face him. He sighed, resigned.

"They're messing with something they shouldn't. They created a body, but tell me, did they create a soul?" He said.

The brightness behind her smile faded. "Something tells me you'd know better than I would," she told him, voice even. Their eyes locked for a moment and I watched as she searched his soul. He tried to do the same to her, but I'm certain he found nothing.

"Excuse me, I've got to go," he said, pushing past her. She let him knock into her shoulder, swaying slightly from the momentum. I could see her thinking, her eyes unfocused. "C'mon," she said, stepping through the doorway. I followed, realizing we were stepping into an elevator. "Up. Floor fifty," she told the elevator. The door closed. I leaned back against the wall and let it carry us upward.

"He knows something," she said, staring at the ceiling.

"Oh?"

"Did you see his face? So passionate, so afraid. Did you see the suit? So rich. Just the sort of kid to be brainwashed."

It seemed kind of funny, her calling him a kid. He couldn't have been that much younger than me and she couldn't have been that much older than me. Still, I took her bait.

"Then why aren't we following him?" I asked.

"Because he was going down and we're going up."

"Why?"

"You and your whys! Stars above. Because they're hiding the Prez upstairs, with the rest of the political lot."

"How do you know?"

She turned to me with a wicked grin. "Because that's what I'd do."

Then the elevator opened and she darted out again, practically dancing down the long hallway before us. With I sigh I pushed myself off the wall and started off after her.

The hallway seemed to go on forever. It was painted a drab light blue, practically white, the kind you'd find in a hospital. The doors were marked with numbers like in an apartment or a hotel. She read the numbers off as we went.

"Five-oh-thirteen, five-oh-fifteen. Five-oh-seventeen.."

Suddenly, she fell back in step with me, matching her step with mine, adding extra bounce to get the energy out.

"Look, Sam," she began.

"Yes?" I asked, prepared to argue again. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was about to be serious. I welcomed that, I needed a little serious just then, a little honesty, even if it was in the form of an argument. It was odd, how willing I was even to argue with her. I am not a confrontational person. At that time, I couldn't even remember the last time I had legitimately argued with someone besides her. It had probably been my mother, years before. I had rarely even argued with my mother, and we had lived under the same roof for sixteen years. Living in tight space-station quarters can be very difficult at times, yet I had suppressed the urge to fight with my mother for the most part because I couldn't stand fighting. Yet there I was, on some strange planet, ready to argue with her. She was like that, you'd take the good just as willingly as you'd take the bad. At least at first. Maybe I was just eager to finally let the arguments out, have our words clash against each other like swords. Maybe it was about time I argued. Again, though, she surprised me.

"Sam," she started over, watching the doors as we passed them by, "my name really is Constant. I know it's a funny name, but it's my funny name, and it's always been my funny name. I'm not going to lie to you." She finally looked me in the eye and I smiled a half smile to encourage her. She continued, "I'm sorry-"

"An apology?" I interrupted. I couldn't help it. It may have been early in our time together but even then I could tell an apology was rare for her.

"Yes, now listen. I'm sorry I've been moving so quickly and not explaining. It's what I'm used to. And I'm sorry if I've been too much, when I'm comfortable with someone-"

She was comfortable with me? Was that was that feeling was? The ease that, even though we just met, and even though I was still worried, I was sort of okay being on a strange planet with her?

"-I forget to explain. I forget to slow down."

"Don't." I said.

"Don't?" she asked, puzzled.

"Don't slow down."

She grinned and I grinned right back. She bumped her shoulder against mine and skipped off down the hall. Yes, sometimes she skipped.

I ran to catch up.

"So, does this mean I can ask why?" I huffed, doing my best to hop along next to her.

She laughed, "Is that your idea of skipping?"

"Yes, it is. Something wrong with it?" I asked, eyebrows raised in mock offense.

"You've got to put your heart into it!" She replied, grabbing my hand and pulling me along faster. Our palms were sweaty together but I didn't mind. I was out of breath but I felt a rush go through my heart, filling me up with happiness and letting it bubble over in the form of laughter.

"Why," I managed again, "are we rescuing the president of Darbour?"

She stopped suddenly without answering me. Again. "Five-oh-thirty-one," she said. She still held onto my hand as we stood outside the door. "What is it? Why five-oh-thirty-one?" I asked. Instead of answering that question she answered the previous one.

"We're rescuing him because he needs to be rescued, because I'm trying to show you something, so just wait. Because people ought to be able to live their lives, because we've already done it so we have to do it, because if Darbour rescues him he'll just go back to being their manufactured president. And if he stays being kidnapped, who knows what they'll do."

My head spun with her explanation. I could only answer with another question. "Why five-oh-thirty-one?"

She stepped forward and knocked on the door. Twice, quick together. A pause, then twice quick together again. She repeated the pattern. "A heartbeat," I realized. A secret knock. How did she know it? The door slid open to reveal a tall, thin man with spiky brown hair and a wide mouth. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing pointy teeth. It's generally a good idea to never trust a person with pointy teeth.

"Constant. Come to join the cause?" He asked. He knew her name? I had only just learned her name and it reminded me I still didn't know much about her. Or her past. I was still willing to go along with her, but that didn't mean I trusted everyone she'd ever mixed with.

"It's not too bright, using the room with your name right on the door," Constant told him.

"Hide in plain sight. Always worked for us."

"Worked for us once, Marcus."

"Once or twice," he replied calmly, showing those teeth again.

I regarded the two of them, the easy but curt way their conversation swung. The feeling that something else was right below the surface. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Obviously she knew him, obviously they had been places together.

"Who's your new friend?" he asked, nodding his head in my direction.

"Sam. Head of ethics on kidnappings. Come to see if you're dong the right thing."

"We always do the right thing," the man said, looking me in the eye. I looked right back. He held his hand out for me to shake. I shook it, trying to match the firmness of his grip.

"My name's Marcus, I'm an executive officer in FiveOhThirtyOne. We're trying to stop the numerous unethical things in this universe."

"Like kidnapping?" I replied.

Marcus laughed. "He's feisty, I see why you brought him along, Constant. Come along in then, we'll have some tea and talk it over." He stepped back from the doorway, extending his hand in a gesture of invitation.

"Love to," Constant said, stepping over the threshold.

"Are we about to have tea with the president's kidnapper?" I whispered to Constant as I followed her in.

"One of them," she whispered back as the door slid shut behind us.