Gentlemen, start your hyperdrives.

Long ago in a galaxy far away the most expensive technology was dedicated to the unproductive enjoyment of those who could afford it.



Dangerous asteroid fields were sought out for no other reason than to weave among barren, wandering rocks at the very limits of propulsion.



Solar wind, rocket fuel, dilithium crystals, warp drive, antimatter, fusion, tachyonic conversion, ion drives, Bussard ramjet; let's face it, moving a chunk of pressurized metal from one sector to another takes a heap of latinum, galactic standard credits, bandar tiles, flanian pobble beads, what have you. All without cargo of any kind. The phrase "playthings of the rich" comes to mind.

On one side beetling cliffs shoot up, and against them
pound the huge roaring breakers of blue-eyed Amphitrite—
the Clashing Rocks they’re called by all the blissful gods.
Not even birds can escape them, no, not even the doves
that veer and fly ambrosia home to Father Zeus:
even of those the sheer Rocks always pick off one
and Father wings one more to keep the number up.
No ship of men has ever approached and slipped past—
always some disaster—big timbers and sailors’ corpses
whirled away by the waves and lethal blasts of fire.

Odyssey XII

The lad stood to attention anyhow, he said with a sigh. She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Chris Callinan and the jarvey: the great bear and Hercules and the dragon, and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way. He knows them all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. And what star is that, Poldy? says she. By God, she had Bloom cornered. That one, is it? says Chris Callinan, sure that's only what you might call a pinprick. By God, he wasn't far wide of the mark.

James Joyce - Ulysses (Wandering Rocks episode)