I sit up straight the way Rahul told me to, though my back still remembers the cabinet he used to greet me a few minutes ago.
The room went back to its usual state too quickly. The papers that survived the impact are on the desk, the cane rests between his hands, and the two people at the back pretend they didn't witness Rahul Sharma lose control because somebody tranquilized his daughter. The only physical evidence of the earlier conversation is the destroyed side of the office and the taste of blood I still find when I run my tongue over the cut inside my mouth.
"What's the problem?" I ask.
Rahul doesn't answer right away. His eyes move past me to the large windows.
"Privacy."
I don't ask why, since I can imagine what he means.
"I'd have preferred to give you this information on Earth."
"You could have had Anika knock on the door."
His look hardens.
"We're not starting that again."
"Right. Sorry."
