That, the authentic smile, is roughly as satisfying as striking out some minor task on a to-do list, which may not sound like much, but it isn't nothing. Just something to appreciate privately. Viktor used to be unintentionally funny more often than on purpose; now that he talks a little less like he just climbed out of a textbook (which he basically did), that ratio has shifted measurably.

It's about to shift toward ugh, why under the threat of earnest exposition—luckily, that's a fake-out. He sighs after it.

"Trust me, if we had any such thing aboard, I would be carrying one myself. But," in the most minor case of hand-talking, one finger lifts from his crutch, "there may be an opportunity to acquire some paper next time we make landfall. The last port had a marketplace I would have liked to see, but, eh... I missed it, unfortunately."

And now he has leftover 'currency', i.e. a handful of weird little Monopoly tokens, that he has no idea what to do with. (He's keeping the little car for sure. The rest: eh.)

"You might also try your luck at the Commissary, but it appears to have a sense of humour, so, be prepared for surprises."