“If
there’s any worthwhile wrecks within two gates, we’re probably already
processing it for resale.”  

I look at the listing, apprising it.  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, staring
at the older representative.  “Sixty
million for that?” 

He stares at me, patronizing. 
“Sixty-one million, five.”

“There’s nothing cheaper?” Sol asks, mouth open.

“Nothing meeting your specifications and operational,
no.”  He sighs.  “Like I said, we primarily deal with retired G-Class
ships of a military lean and all our ships
on the listings.  Ours and every other
reputable shipyard’s listings are all posted, per regulation.  If I might
be frank,” he says, a look of concern on his face, “you two are going to
waste a lot of credits traveling around looking for something that isn’t
there—that is, if you don’t intent to enjoy the journey.”