The concussive rupture from the subterranean salt-mines did not travel through the air as a scream; it tore through the harbor basalt as a violent, physical displacement that lifted the entire three-decked teak galleon clean off its primary keel mounts. The mahogany paneling along the salon walls buckled inward, splintering into long, jagged spears of wood that hissed as they met the sudden, blinding curtain of blue-white electrical fire erupting through the floorboards.
The ancient demolition charges, dormant since the first maritime integration wars, were no longer a theoretical liability on an unindexed chancellery sheet. They were actively formatting the harbor floor.
