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Ashera

“It was your grandmother’s iPod,” smiles the old man. “She’d want you to have it.”

Ashera takes it with care: it’s oddly balanced, powered by induction now instead of the old corrosive battery. To MK, from JW, with love, reads the engraving amid a thicket of tiny scratches. Now stop stealing mine.

“Thanks, Ganga!” Ashera’s already thinking how hot it will look on a fob chain at SteamPunkt. “Did you see what I got you?”

“Oh! Yes.” He examines the coin-sized drive. “This has the whole Internet on it?”

“Just up to 2010. It might be fun to play with.”

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