I lean back in my chair, my neck straining to keep my head from rolling backwards. To my right, the one window in my office is half-obscured by a buzzing, orange neon sign. It's often mistranslated, as local Hylotl have told me, as a request to kidnap children. In reality, it has something to do with collecting spawn from the surface. I don't really get it, but it has something to do with their life cycle. If no-one follows through with the request, then their society's bound to see an influx of orphan kids-- or worse, no kids at all.
"Gah," I grumble to myself, lifting my head upright again. If work doesn't come soon, I won't be eating this week. It's been almost a month since my last case, and there's only so much advertising I can do as "Brother of World-Renowned Sigma P.I." before the thought of being worse than him makes me want to quit. "Sigma P.I." this, "Sigma P.I." that... Even when I was working with him, my name "Sundance" never fell out of anyone's mouths but his and mine.
"That's why I'm leaving," I told him, and he agreed. I jumped ship to another planet -- one colonized mostly by Hylotl -- and won't come back until I've hit interstellar news; even if it's just one headline for getting smash-drunk and killing someone.
I look down at my computer. One unread eMail from -- who else? -- Sigma. I got it last week.
Might as well let him know I haven't killed myself.