"Net-stuff. The usual. Well, not the usual. Mommy net-stuff. The kind of stuff you can do with one hand, while you’re wiping warm spit off your forearm." Jane laughed, and poked at her taco mix with a wooden spoon. "Anyway, that data we got—the stuff you recorded when the stream broke down on us? That made it on three final release disks! We got money for that. Pretty good money. We bought this house with it."