No

Adam ducked under a dangling coolant line, eyeing the freighter's exposed rivets. "Yeah, and it guzzles fuel like a black hole. We'd be broke before the first jump." He rapped his knuckles against the hull—the sound was like hitting a bank vault. "Also, no offensive capabilities unless you count 'being really heavy' as a weapon."

Susan grinned, tossing the broker a credit chip. "Next."

The broker—a spindly Xithian with more eyes than seemed strictly necessary—clicked its mandibles in approval and led them to a sleek, middle-of-the-road corvette. "The *Event Horizon*," it announced, running a chitinous limb along its unremarkable hull. "Balanced armaments, decent speed, modular bays for—"

"Boring," Susan interrupted, flicking a switch on the control panel. The engines coughed to life with all the enthusiasm of a sleep-deprived drone. "This is the kind of ship you buy when you've given up on life." Adam nodded sagely, patting the hull like it was a dying pet. "It's the spaceship equivalent of beige."

The broker's third offering had potential—until Susan kicked the landing gear and the entire strut collapsed in a shower of rust. Adam peered into the exposed undercarriage where a nest of gelatinous cabling pulsed weakly. "Huh. It's got an alien parasite."

"Feature, not a bug," the Xithian broker hissed, tapping the listing display where the words *BIO-INTEGRATED LIFE SUPPORT* flashed ominously. "Self-repairing systems."