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Stephen picked himself up gingerly. Nothing seemed to be broken, but one knee hurt in a way that suggested a bruise in the making. Ignoring his tipped-over chair, he limped into the hallway, from where he could see into the waiting room where Katya still sat. “Yes, sir?”
“I think we were shot.”
“Yes, sir, but the shields absorbed it.”
Stephen considered this. Yes, he had heard of shielding. “Do you suppose there are wounded?”
“I’ll let you know if they come, sir.”
Stephen couldn’t decide if he was being overly concerned, or Katya was overly blasé. “Ah,” he said. “Well. In that case.”
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