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Mario shimmers into being, shakes off the chronoference nausea and sticks his hand out, waiting for a newspaper to blow into it.

Eventually he opens his eyes. His hand remains empty.

“Goddamn collapse of print media!” he swears.

One of the guys sitting on a nearby cafe patio raises his eyebrow. “What’s the matter?” he asks. “Lose your job?”

“Not exactly,” mutters Mario. “Um. I don’t suppose you have the date?”

“1-20-2018,” says Mako.

“Wow!” says Mario. “Thanks!”

Mako grins. “Now how about you give me your digits?”

“Sure!” says Mario. “But they won’t work until you invent ansibles.”

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