Fortunately, ghettos and their ilk have their own channels of distribution, and a blind transfer of cred to a hard-bitten elf recommended to me by The Promise’s desk clerk—after another transfer of cred, of course—netted me an "almost-new" Yamaha PDA-5 that had "fallen off the back of a truck" elsewhere in the sprawl. The price was high—two-K, almost as much as I’d pay for a new one with a manual and warranty and such drek—but so was my level of need, and the elf fence knew it. We struck the deal and I hied myself off back "home" to get to work.