From behind a giant rib bone stepped a figure. He was tall, dressed in a crisp white coat, and his face was a perfectly detailed anatomical model—half muscle, half skin, with one gleaming glass eye. He looked exactly like the author photo on the back of the Edises edition.
"To the lungs? The pulmonary artery?"
"Good. Then back to the heart. Which chamber?"
For the next three subjective hours—which in real time were probably only ten minutes—Marco ran. He climbed the vertebral column, slid down the digestive tract, and got lost in the hepatic portal system. The Martini-construct was merciless. Every wrong answer made a muscle twitch painfully. Every right answer lit up a small region of the dark cathedral.