Dr. Henry glared at his opponent, locked in a vicious battle of wits.  "I told you, I can't start it till I get your papers."  The bored clerk said, prompting a grin from the good Doctor.  "I already gave you what you want... you know."  He said softly, triggering a flush of anger from the fuel station attendant.  "Those papers ain't no good!"  He yelled, clutching the sides of the small counter he worked at.  "Ya got to have them alliance signed 'ya old browncoat son of a poufu!"  He yelled, as Dr. Henry quietly folded his hands, absently looking towards the crowd of customers behind him.  He looked back, his generic smile still on his face.<br/><br/>A few minutes later, his ship was being pumped full of fuel, and he cheerfully walked back to the hangar, proud that he'd avoided paying taxes on his latest purchase, regardless of the minor hassles.  Of course, not that a fueling station that only served vessels that had been purchased under alliance auspices would stay in business long.  Albertus Henry was a stubborn man, and he'd registered his ship like anyone else.  He just happened to own it under an... unconventional contract.  Not that his crew needed to know, of course.