Rivasoa made no complaints in the market, so perhaps she had a better head for new situations than Orfeus thought. There was room to move between the close-packed people and stalls, just. People with metal hands or three arms or twitching, surgically attached tails sold all manner of things: plastiglass tech, visors, light displays, glittering substances with names spelled out in sigils. Among all this, it was easy enough for Orfeus to find and purchase the items she was looking for and to send her message.

She sent it from a small automated station, glittering with blue crystalline decorations. With the right device, she could send messages from anywhere in the city. All of Farflung functioned like a Hub.

There was a message for her as well from Significance O’Hallow. Orfeus read it twice, then deleted it. She trusted O’Hallow more than she did the other Elders which meant she did not trust xem much at all.

Orfeus turned from the station and jumped, hand going to her new taser, then exhaled heavily. The big, bulky person who’d brushed against her wasn’t the Wolf, just someone who moved in a similar way. Here in Farflung, where many people were heavily modded, it was obvious the Wolf’s bulging muscles and too-fast speed were the result of bodily modification. Augmentation. How was she to fight such a foe?

Orfeus tucked her tasegun back into her belt. She was at least a little more prepared, now. She wouldn’t run anymore.

She’d traded a bag of dried lavender for the tasegun, but she still had plenty of pouches of plants and herbs to trade. Booking passage some of the way back to Tinctora was easy enough. Orfeus handed over the small jar of rosemary to the cheerful, gangly transportation manager, then looked at Rivasoa expectantly.

“Oh,” Rivasoa said, as the transportation manager inhaled from a small device and exhaled a cloud of cherry-scented smoke from a metal-lined hole in their neck. Rivasoa looked uncomfortable, like she had never had to make a trade in her life. Maybe she’d never needed to trade for anything beyond the basic necessities supplied to everyone because she lived in luxury already. Orfeus nearly relented and said she could cover her, but why should she? It wasn’t as though she chose to have Rivasoa here.

Rivasoa reached carefully into her bag and took out a book. A real paper book.

“It is pre-Brink,” Rivasoa said, unnecessarily. No one as morally superior as an Elder would be caught dead in possession of a deadtree book dating from any time after such things became frowned upon. She rested her hands very lightly on the thick cover, then passed the book over, sealed in its bag.