Lieutenant Henry Walker had reached an impasse in his career, an unfortunate attack of space sickness during his first tour of duty had seen him restricted to planet bound assignments. He was currently head of the Starfleet Office of Accounting, a position that didn't call for a rank much above Lieutenant.

The Starfleet Office of Accounting was located in a non-descript gray building in a non-descript part of Tyco City, most Federation citizens didn't even know it existed. Why would they, the Federation no longer had an economy based on material wealth. However other cultures, less evolved cultures Lieutenant Walker thought, that the Federation had dealings with still had currency based economies and Starfleet personnel stationed among those cultures were occasionally expected to pay for the goods and services they consumed. When this happened they submitted their expenses to the Starfleet Office of Accounting who made appropriate reparations.

This morning Lieutenant Walker had one of his least favourite jobs to perform, reviewing the latest expenses from Deep Space Nine. He sighed and opened the file.

12 bottles of Saurian Brandy 'Sisko must have had a rough three months, or perhaps a party'.
23 pints of bitter 'Battle of Britain.'
4 bottles of Scotch 'O'Briens wife must be away again.'
111 liters of Synthale 'At least some of the people on the station aren't hitting the real stuff.'
539 bottles of blood wine 'Klingon shore leave.'
15 bottles of Uridian ale 'I wish people would stop buying Morn drinks'
10 gross of sand peas 'Well at least they aren't drinking on empty stomachs any more.'
1 warp core breach 'Whoever had that is probably still drunk.'

How anyone on that station ever got any work done was a mystery to Walker, no wonder the whole Bajoran sector was such a mess. Minimising the expenses file Walker activated the com, the screen was filled with Quarks grinning face, of course he was grinning he was about to make a fortune.

"Lieutenant Walker, it's always a pleasure doing business with you."

"Save it Quark, just tell me what the damage is."

"Well, lets see," Walker watched as Quark picked up a padd and tapped at it, appearing to muse over the price. Walker knew he was faking it, Quark would have worked out the exact price before he began the call, factoring in a generous profit margin for himself.

"Saurian Brandy is hard to come by these days," Quark continued, "the Bajorans have put up the price of the local synthale..."

"Quark..." Walker warned.

"Factoring in my generous discount for my Federation friends," Quark tapped one final time at his padd, "thirty bars of Gold Pressed Latinum."

"Thirty! Quark that's daylight robbery."

"I thought the Federation placed no value on money, why should it make any difference to you?"

"Fine, fine," Walker winced and authorized the payment.

"Hurt didn't it?" Quark smiled knowingly.

"Goodbye Quark, I'll speak to you in three months."