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... hoed across the silent harbor of Port Meridian, before the Centurion finally breached the surface. It didn’t emerge with the grace of a returning hero; it looked like a prehistoric monster dragged from a watery grave. Cascades of grey Iron-Wood oil and seawater poured from its joints, and the extra Star-Iron plating we had welded onto its frame was buckled and pitted from the abyssal pressure. But as the crane swung it onto the damp wood of the pier, its indigo eyes flared with a steady, triumph ...

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