"How much for the girl?"
"What?" Jimm looked up, around.
The voice came from a human, overweight, dressed well, wearing an ID on a lanyard around his neck that said he was class 'B'; he was looking at Kie. "The blond. How much?"
"She's not for sale."
"I have Association credits. Not scrip." He held up a silvery, translucent square with symbols etched into the face. "The real thing. Name your price."
"She's really not for sale. No disrespect: we're married."
"Hang on," Kie interjected, and that sweet smile spread across her face. "I'm expensive. How much do you have?"