The ship was shaped to get the most use out of the least amount of materials and energy. Shaped to use the atmosphere to help it land, with the thinnest hull plating it could sport, the weakest particle shielding, and a low wattage plasma cannon, the ship looked half melted already.

It exited jumpspace a good two hundred thousand miles from the resonance zone, dropping into realspace and cutting its engines immediately as well as shutting down the plasma cannon. It didn't bother trying to contact anyone.

The pilot knew the ship had already been spotted. The computer was already screaming it was locked up by nearly twenty fire control systems, had been lashed with RADAR, LIDAR, and every manner of scanning known and unknown to the pilot.

The ping of communication request came across the com-center and the Captain and sole being on the ship reached out and touched the accept icon.

A digital face made up entirely of swirling code appeared. It was a primate, with close set eyes, heavy brow and mandible, high sharp cheekbones, digital hair close cropped. It lowered its head slightly to stare at the pilot with an almost murderous glare.

"You got a lot of balls showing up here. What do you want?" the digital face asked.

"Landing permission," the pilot said calmly. "I am a non-combatant with only a single defensive weapon with ship performance far below your allowed specifications for civilians."

"You have to be crazy," the face said. "Give me one good reason not to blow you out of the sky and make the world a better place."

The pilot gave his reason. The digital face stared, shocked, then shook his head.

"You know what, this is above my paygrade. Stay right where you are. Power up anything, even a hair dryer, and I'll blow you back to your component atoms," the digital face said.

"Understood. Will comply," the pilot said.

He leaned back and waited.

Nearly eight hours later the ship was given permission to enter the stellar system, escorted by a quartet of warships. It took nearly three days to reach the pilot's destination. The ship waited in orbit for nearly two days until the lawyers got done and the ship was given permission to land. It was agreed that due to the risk that the ship should only be allowed to land on the most heavily armed and protected area of the planet.

The ship slipped though the atmosphere and landed at the busy starport, sitting in the berth until the umbilical hooked up to the ship and the pilot could leave the ship and enter the concourse.

Inside the concourse Billy Jane Iktakik McDougherty stood behind his desk, looking at the scanner results and checking the paperwork of everyone that moved up to his desk. A Rigellian female with her three ducks who was taking part in a body building competition. Next. A Digital Sentient who was making a pilgrimage to the Coalescing Site of the Digital Omnimessiah. Next. A Mantid doing a research paper of the Titan Rushmore's attack on Concord. Next. A nine-tailed blue furry fox-girl and her simian husband here to watch duels? Next. Big centaur-cow thing with tendrils on its face wearing a cover on its flanks, a vest, a sash, with a satchel that it was setting down on the scanner...

Billy looked at the creature in front of him. Cow body. Humanoid torso with four arms. Horse/cow head with catfish tendrils and six eyes. Billy checked the scanner. Standard datalink, Emergency nanite medical kit implant. Retinal link. Four stomachs, two sets of lungs, some other organs. Satchel contained a standard foldable computer, some datacubes for Terran language and customs and movies, a probe to check food and drink compatibility

Billy blinked a few times and stared at the being in front of him.

"Paper and documents?" Billy fell back on his most basic of training.

"Of course, gentle-being," the centaur thing told him. It handed over plas-sheets and a datacube. The biometrics matched, the documents looked official.

"Reason for visiting Terra?" Billy asked.

"Espionage," the being said.

Billy blinked again and started pinging his supervisors as fast as possible. "Excuse me?"

"Espionage," the being said. "I am a spy. The occupational listing of 'antiquities expert/import-export facilitator is my cover."

Billy started pinging his bosses faster.

"Length of stay?" Billy moved to the next question automatically.

"As long as it takes me to investigate your society, culture, government, laws, and any possible weakness your society might have so... um... let's go with at least one hundred of your years," the creature said.

"That's... too long for a temporary stay. You'd need a visa for that," Billy said. He pinged his supervisor's supervisor. Several times.

"Well, the longest temporary stay I might be permitted as a spy of a hostile government engaged in espionage," the creature said.

Billy pinged security. Fast.

"Anything to declare?" Billy asked, starting to sweat.

"Oh! Oh, this is indeed exciting," the creature said. Billy saw the telltale LEDs on the datalink in the creatures head light up. "Ahem," he lifted his chin and inflated a bunch of weird looking sack and crests on his shoulders, neck, down his back, on his lower body. "You cannot win. Your primitive and weak culture is unable to overcome the might of..."

"No, no, do you have anything that might be forbidden," Billy moved quick to cut off the monologue before it got to 'quake in fear' which Billy knew was the point of no return for supervillain speeches.

"Oh. Um. I have some maknaka fruit," the being said.

"I'm afraid that isn't permissible. We'll have to destroy it but you will be compensated," Billy said.

The creature nodded, opening the satchel and handing over the small plas container of weird looking lumpy fruit. Billy put it in the confiscation bin and handed the creature a credit stick.

"Thank you," the being said once Billy showed him how to check the balance. "That is most generous."

"OK, weapons?" Billy asked.

"None on my person. My spaceship has a low wattage plasma cannon used to deter pirates and threaten people in order to make my daring escapes," the being said.

Billy shook his head. "That won't do. This nation requires all visitors to be armed or escorted by armed security. You have seventy-two hours to procure a weapon or private security," he told him. "You can buy a pistol or rifle at the gift shop."

"Very well. What if I was to use it on someone for my own amusement?" the creature asked.

Billy sighed. "The gift shop will inform you of the relevant laws and escalation of force permissions."

"I would like to purchase a grenade launcher. Is that permissible?" the creature asked.

Billy nodded. "Yes. You may purchase anything up to a Class III weapon as a foreign national. No anti-armor, anti-aircraft, or CRBAN weaponry, but a grenade launcher with high-explosive is fine."

The creature nodded. "I would much like one. I used one to escape local government authorities once, the explosions were most satisfactory."

"Sure, knock yourself out," Billy said.

"Hmm, is that a common pastime?" the creature asked. "To render one's self unconscious through impact generated concussive force?"

Billy shook his head. "It means you have my complete permission to do it if that's what you want."

"Excellent," the being said, holding up all four hands so he could use two hands twice to put his fingertips together in a weird motion. Behind him? her? herm? it? xe? the line was beginning to grumble.

Billy's dataslate pinged and he looked down.

OVERRIDE - CONFED

OVERRIDE - TERRASOL

Billy blinked again and stopped pinging everyone. He was supposed to print out all the paperwork, transfer the proper files, and let the creature through. Additionally, he was supposed to issue a Class-III concealed carry permit and a Class-II Private Security retainer permit.

"One moment, gentlebeing, your paperwork is being processed." Billy said. Reams of paperwork as well as a datacube were being issued. No, make that two datacubes.

The weird looking being waited patiently, looking around the starport's concourse. It seemed a bit nervous at the groups of Treana'ad and Mantids wandering around, but Billy was only keeping half-aware of it as he kept handing over stuff for the being to sign and return one copy while keeping another.

Another security being opened up another line, motioning the beings waiting in Billy's line to the newly opened one. A Treana'ad matron with a power smoker in her mandibles and a half dozen hatchlings trotted over, looking resplendant in her shimmering cape and abdominal cover, and began clearing customs.

Finally the documents were done. The centaur creature put them all into his satchel after scanning them, the LED's on his implant warning of high usage. The strange creature made an odd hand gesture at Billy and trotted away.

The centaur brought up the map to starport concourse and trotted down to the first bank he saw. He trotted up and waited in line. After a few minutes he moved up to the front of the line and then to the counter.

"Hi, welcome to I Like Money Bank, how may I help you, sir, ma'am, both, or neither?" the furry biped with dark circles around its eyes and a fluffy tail asked.

"Currency exchange, please," the centaur said.

"Ah. If I might see your data-information," the biped, with a nametag that read "Tuffy" said. She placed a datapad in front of him. "Please put your hand on the scanner."

The centaur did so. It scanned for a moment then beeped.

"Oh, all right. In order to make a currency exchange you'll need to open an account," the biped said.

"That sound marvelous. Do you have a discount for spies?" the centaur asked.

"Let me ask my manager," the biped, she perhaps, said in a chipper tone with a close lipped slime. Her eye unfocused. "Well, my manager is willing to waive your first years account fees and offer you a line of credit at only 38% compounded monthly."

The centaur trembled with excitement. That was less than half of the interest his own bank charged him on his expenditures.

"Yes, please," he said.

"All right. Pick your card design," the biped said. A bunch of different kinds of card surfaces shown.

One caught his eye. An image of him, in front of an white headed predator bird, in front of some kind of waving red and white rippling cloth, wearing a three corner hat and a long white wig, firing projectile weapons into the air with all four hands.

"Oh, I like this one," the centaur said. He tapped it. The card slowly moved out of the top of the datapad. It had his name on it, a series of numbers, and he was startled to see that the image on the card was animated.

"Now, if we can see the credits or other legal tender, we will be happy to deposit them in your account, which will then be tied to your datalink, all six of your retinal scans, all four handprints, if you'd like we can have someone bring you a datapad so you can record your hoofprints, your voice print, a personal identification number, and a secret riddle if you choose," the biped said.

"Yes, please. I like all of that," the centaur said, trembling with excitement. He looked at the paperwork. His occupation was listed as "Lanaktallan Spy" which made him nod along. Quite accurate and efficient, these Terran banks. While he signed up for an account and transferred money his luggage, carried by a robotic hoverdolly, caught up to him. It even played a jaunty little tune.

It took a half hour, but he was given a free Tnvaru plushie, a flank covering that displayed giant robots battling, a modified four armed jacket with a fleece lining and denim outside that he found very comfortable, a metal device with four slots on the top that would apparently lightly bake something called sliced bread, a strange clock for local time that was somewhat confusing with the dial and the pointers, a writing implement, a ledger to keep track of his deposits, withdrawls, and expenses, a genuine animal skin wallet, a hat that said "I

He thanks the biped, put everything into the satchel he had brought, made sure his hoverdolly with his luggage would follow him. His implant alerted him that he'd need to see the doctor before he left, to get the proper medical examination and possibly an implant.

The being behind the counter was a human with skin so dark it almost hurt the centaur's eyes, with bright neon-red hair buzzed close to the scalp, and a set of cybereyes that changed colors slowly.

The centaur found out he was supposed to get an implant that would clear his bloodstream of pathogens. Then he discovered his medical nanite implant was so old that the dark Terran could actually be in trouble with law enforcement if he let the centaur leave. Then the centaur found out he could have his crests implanted with tiny holoemitters that would let him display holographic messages and images right above the crests or on them. Then he found out that he could have his fur modified so he could change colors.

The dark Terran recommended that, seeing as the centaur's occupation was 'spy', that way the centaur could quickly and easily change the color and patterning of his hide. The centaur got a new datalink with more memory, better range, better software, and smaller size. With the left-over space that had been cut from his skull, the centaur got more memory, and a thing called a 'knowsoft' chipjack that he could just slot dedicated chips to have a whole wide variety of informational chips right where he wanted them. The centaur also got upgrades to his retinal link, then got something that looked really interesting for spies, which was a camera on his fingertip so he could look around corners to make sure nobody was waiting for him.

The centaur was surprised at how quickly it was all done. When he woke up he realized less than an hour had passed. His datalink felt less intrusive in his head somehow. The new one felt, well, warmer and softer somehow.

Then the centaur trotted down to the gift shop. Looking at everything he trembled with excitement. He had never seen so many different things that a being could buy just to show off that they had visited this planet.

He bought two pistols, both of them slug throwers, and a rifle with an underslung grenade rifle, and a thing called a pump action shotgun that could take all kinds of different ammunition, which, of course, he bought. He even bought the 'genuine leather' holsters and belts for them. He arranged them properly, according to the sign, made sure they were loaded, and trotted back out onto the concourse, heading for the rent-a-car area.

The being at the rent-a-car was a hologram who eventually got the centaur a proper car. The centaur rented it for a year with only 22.5% interest as well as non-refundable deposits, then while he was waiting, took his driver's test, passed, and had a license to drive printed out. He also did the tutorial for how to use the auto-drive and the VI assist drive then downloaded a map of the city.

The centaur could barely keep from rubbing his hands together. A complete city map, including important cultural areas, libraries of knowledge, theaters that would show more fictional creations, places to eat, something called a 'club' which made him wonder why a being would want to visit a building full of trencheons, a district lit only by red lights, a few parks, a park dedicated to amusement, something called a trolley that was apparently a kind of train, and a massive building called a mall that contained over three hundred stores, something called a roller-coaster, and all kinds of things that he knew he would have to investigate.

The being behind the counter let him know that his 'candy apple red convertible 8-cylinder Ford Viper IXVII' was ready. He went out, following the directions, and stared at the vehicle. It was an internal combustion engine with simulated exhaust system, the interior white leather. To the centaur it seemed to almost vibrate with a desire to go fast. Rubbing his hands together eagerly he got in the vehicle, activated the auto-drive, and had it drive him to a hotel. Looking around, he noticed something very different than all the other worlds he had been to.

Terrans seemed to enjoy clothing, although he saw that some of them were naked. He noted with interest that the Terrans who were naked were somehow blurring out their genitalia. The clothing seemed to be all kinds of colors and styles, a dizzying, blinding array that made him stare as he went by.

He even passed by what looked like a sword duel between a pair of large insects that had other insects watching. He spent the entire time sitting upright on the driver's couch, looking at all the sights around him, completely fascinated.

Finally he reached the hotel. A Terran in a uniform requested his 'car keys' and when given them took his vehicle away for parking. Satisfied at the proper respect from a servant he rubbed his hands together, went inside, and trotted up to the desk. The vehicle's VI had already reserved the room for him and he paid for it, then went to the elevator, taking it up to the penthouse.

The centaur couldn't believe what he found. Luxury equal to the Most Highs.

He moved over to what his datalink informed him was a bar and activated the holographic VI bartender.

"How may I help you, sir?" the hologram asked.

"Dry martini, shaken, not stirred," the centaur said, using the accent he'd perfected on the trip to Terra. He looked out the window. "Ya'ahrd, Ba'ahn Ya'ahrd."

He sipped at the drink and smiled.

He had successfully made his insertion onto the Terran's homeworld. He would discover their secrets and make his daring escape.

It was good to be a Lanaktallan spy.