Jane turned on the radio, heard a great deal of encrypted traffic from banks, navigation beacons, and hams, and turned it off again. Funny what had happened to the broadcast radio spectrum. She turned on the car’s music box. It held every piece of music that had ever meant anything to her, including stuff from her early childhood that she’d never managed to erase. Even with sixteen-digit digital precision, everything she’d ever recorded took up only a few hundred megabytes, the merest sliver in the cavernous memory of a modern music box.