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upto-date traffic patterns, and she had driven right into the clog on Sepulveda, where, it seemed, she was going to spend most of the morning, kicking herself for not bringing a radio. Some of the smaller free-lance stations operating outside the amorphous mass of the dataline gave traffic reports from phoned-in tips. She glanced at the receiver hanging from the dash. Hell, she could phone one in herself, except it probably wasn't exactly news anymore.
    Fez would have told her to accept it as an unexpected opportunity to unwind. An L.A. clog is just Natures way of saying it's break time. But then, Fez had told her that trying to reconcile with her parents was a good idea, too.
    She sighed and looked at the nav screen. The map display vanished, to be replaced with a basic, abbreviated dataline menu. Good old GridLid. Gosh, folks, sorry we didn't warn vou about the clog, but since you're already sitting in it, you can enjoy some minor diversion, courtesy of the city.
    The offerings were limited to the most popular items off several of the networks, text and/or sound only, including, she saw with some amusement, The Stars, Crystals, and You Show and Dear Mrs. Troubles from FolkNet. If you couldn't pre-guess GridLid with stars and crystals, maybe Mrs. Troubles could help you change your miserable life at two miles an hour.
    She pressed the scroll button on the keyboard between the seats, and the categories began a slow roll upward. Business: Local, Regional, Na tional, International; Sporting Events; Lunar Installation Report; Pecca dillo Update —that was tempting; famous people throw up in public and other gossip to die for —CrimeTime; The World of Medicine; L.A. Rox, In cluding !Latest! Video Releases.
    She pressed for the last, feeling slightly mollified. She wouldn't be able to see any videos on the cheap-assed monitor, but at least she'd be able to listen to some new music, maybe find a few good encryption vehicles. Encryption was fun; play this sideways, kiddies, and hear a message from the devil. Keely would certainly have approved.
    Keely hated speed-thrash.
    Unbidden, the thought came to her and sat in her mind, waiting for her to make something of it. Keely had sent her the information encrypted in speed-thrash, and he hated speed-thrash. If the Good Lord had really meant speed-thrash to exist, he would have made me deaf.
    Well, so what? He knew she liked speed-thrash; he'd probably figured he'd zap her something she could appreciate.
    She made a face. That didn't feel right. Keely had been in a hurry; he'd had plenty of other encryption vehicles to choose from, anything from the Brandenburg Concertos to one of those Edgar Varese things he was so crazy about, and any of those probably far more available to him than a piece of speed-thrash. A new piece of speed-thrash.
    She pushed for the new speed-thrash listings, tapping the steering wheel impatiently while GridLid's access to the dataline pondered her choice and made a laborious search. The Age of Fast Information, sure, she thought sourly.
    A full ten seconds later, the screen delivered the page. For once she was lucky; it was the very first item she selected for audio excerpt. Mechanists Run Loco, by Scattershot. The credit line for the video made her blink: created by Aiesil EyeTraxx, acq. by Diversifications, Inc.
    EyeTraxx acquired by Diversifications? Since when, and how had that gotten by her? She topped back to the L.A. Rox general menu and selected the news.
    There was nothing but the usual collection of gossipy items on which artists were doing what outrageous or dull things. (General Industry News, sub-subheading Rock Videos gave her nothing but snippets on rights reversions, what artists were signing with what video companies, who had died, and who wasn't doing anything at all.
    Rock Video: Acquisitions was just a rerun of who was signing with who, nothing she hadn't been getting in her edition of The Daily You back in the Ozarks.
    She slid back the