The Golden Mirror
Chapter One Selam Bekele was scrubbing the condensation from the inside of the gene-bank cold room when the frost began to bite through his gloves, the cold a physical weight that settled in his marrow, deeper than the ache in his joints, forcing him to pause his hands and stare at the reflection in the metal door, which showed not his own face but a man of eighty years, his skin like dried...
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