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Both Salvo and Trig stepped back like veteran shinobi, too afraid to move any other part of their bodies in case it turned the machine off again.
They waited, glancing at the walls around the space, checking to see if anything was being altered, changed or opened.
There was nothing.
Nothing overt anyway.
‘What did you do?’ asked Trig, finally releasing a minute’s worth of breath.
‘Nothing. Flicked one of its lights.’
‘That’s it?’
‘And told it to fuck off in Russian.’
Trig nodded, assessing the two possible theories quickly in his head. If this were a comedy, the flicking would be responsible. But if it were an espionage thriller…more likely the Russian curse.
Query: has anything funny happened so far?
Answer: not at all. Absurd maybe, but not funny.
Query two: has anything dangerous happened?
Answer: not tangibly. But there was definitely tension.
‘Try saying something else in Russian,’ he suggested, for some reason nudging Salvo closer to the machine.
‘Like what?’ she asked, pushing back.
‘Something nicer maybe.’
‘I don’t know very much.’
‘Huh? I thought you said you were fluent?’
‘That was English wor. In Russian, I’m more like Upper Beginner. Maybe lower intermediate if the person I’m talking with has really low standards.’
‘But you can make sentences…’
‘Yeah, bad ones.’
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