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... wmate standing in front of me tilted his head.
A small crab peeked out from his shoulder, then crawled back inside.
"The voyage’ll end in a lil’ over seventy days," he said, his voice rough like waves crashing against old wood. "Ye gotta pay with seventy days o’ yer memories, mate."
He lifted a damp, webbed hand toward my head, intending to draw out my memories.
"Wait," I said. "I’ll pay with this instead."
I reached into my pocket and used the second spec ...
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