[ WP ] The year is 151441 . Humanity is on it ’ s last string of life . Food is scarce . The last bottle of maple syrup has expired . Hope is dying fast .

The warehouse was enormous. Easily the size of a major city, stretching out both vertically and horizontally, untold numbers of storage containers of all sizes sitting in recessed slots along the walls. 
 
 Randy stood above it all, his hands resting on the guardrail in front of him. He looked down at the controlled chaos, one of hundreds of enormous rooms filled with the treasures of humanity. The Mona Lisa was in there, somewhere. Cataloged, numbered, and sitting in storage. So was the Statue of Liberty. The Sphinx. Trillions of hours of media. 
 
 The computer to Randy's left beeped. He looked at the screen and smiled at the confirmation that popped up. 
 
 MAPLE SYRUP: 17428B-74190B-85820L-234. 
 
 He found it. In hundreds of city sized rooms he had found a bottle of maple syrup. 
 
 `` Collect object,'' he said. The computer beeped again, a merry chime designed to be accepted as affirmative in any language. 
 
 Randy watched the location tracker in the corner of the screen. Numbers ticked down rapidly. The bottle of syrup was far away, so far that it would probably take a few more minutes to get to him. No matter. He had all day. 
 
 It was Lucy's birthday tomorrow. She loved pancakes, especially with maple syrup. She had had it but a few times in her lifetime, but she always raved about it. Randy was looking forward to trying it himself. 
 
 The pneumatic tube delivering the bottle opened. Randy smiled. He opened the tube and pulled out the heavy transport box. It opened easily, the ancient latches not completely closing anymore. 
 
 There it was. Ancient. Yellowed and brown. Cold to the touch. That makes sense; it was most likely being kept in cold storage and had been for several millennia. There were, after all, not more trees for syrup to be produced from. Randy sighed. All of the things that had been taken from Earth during the exodus, and nobody thought to grab a few trees. Meanwhile, the warehouses were stuffed to the gills with useless scraps of paper written by men long since dead, declarations of rebellion against defunct governments and other irrelevant pieces of ephemera. 
 
 Oh well. None of that mattered now. Randy held the bottle aloft, a prize from another time. There was a drawing of a log cabin on the label. Nutritional information on the back that made Randy wince. 
 
 And on the side of the bottle, near the top, stenciled in gray lettering: **BEST IF USED BEFORE APRIL 150956. ** 
 
 `` Shit,'' Randy said out loud. He so rarely swore, and usually did n't speak at all unless he had something to say. 
 
 Well, it looked alright anyway. How bad could it be? Were n't expiration dates more of a suggestion, anyway? 
 
 - Not my best work, written in a bit of a rush. 

