The Pale Altar
Young-ho Park’s hands were steady, but his eyes were failing. Chapter One The clinic sat in the shadow of the terraced vineyards, a sterile box of glass and steel perched on land that was already being measured for sale. Young-ho, forty-five, a master of the tiny gears that kept time in this place, stared at the object on the table. They called it the Pale Altar. It was a bio-mechanical heart,...
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