Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Tomenta. While Tomenta is home to a wide range of ecosystems, it is primarily dominated by grasslands and swamps. These ecosystems support unique lifeforms that are of particular value to the LIU. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Well folks, I’ve been dropped off at a small spaceport. Unless my eyes deceive me, I think we’re in the grasslands. There’s not much else to describe – there’s a building, some fueling supplies, and a collection of random tools scattered about. Oh, and there’s also a guy arguing with a robot behind me.” 

Renn: “Dang it, Lightning Rod! Why are you over here when I have a tub of feathers blowing across the tarmac?! Remind me why I keep you around!”
LR: “It shall be done.”
Renn: “It should have been done as soon as the drone landed with ‘em, you no good pinata holder! If those tubs didn’t weigh so much, I would have replaced you with a ladder years ago.”
LR: “Query: what is a ladder, sir?”
Renn: “Grr.”

Renn: “The names Renn. Tell me you’re the replacement for the defective flagpole-bot back there.”
Doog: “I’m afraid not. I’m Doog, a TV reporter doing a show about Tomenta.”
Renn: “Figures. I’ve been begging corporate for some help around here, so why wouldn’t they send me a TV reporter.”
Doog: “What kind of help do you need? I’m always looking for a better job.”
Renn: “I’ll literally take anything right now. I keep telling the bosses I’m running a regional port and a whole fleet of drones by myself. What do they send me? A robotic toll booth barrier with a hook on the end.”
Doog: “That does seem rather useless.”
Renn: “Little Crane Jr. ain’t good for nothing but storing plumage. I have fifty Pluckers depending on me, but it can’t help with fixing or fueling the drones. That’s the MOST vital part of this operation.”
Doog: “Drones? You’ve mentioned that a few times now.”
Renn: “The whole operation on Tomenta depends on ‘em. Without the drones, I don’t get the feathers from the Pluckers, and they don’t get supplies from me.”
Doog: “That only raises more questions. Pluckers? Feathers?”

Renn: “We collect and export feathers from a local species.”
Doog: “I think I see one now. Maybe I can shoot it for you – how much does it pay, and where’s the gun?”
Renn: “Hold up, Doog. We don’t go around shooting the birds, and even if we did, we aren’t interested in the Grass Cranes.”
Doog: “Are you sure? They have feathers.”
Renn: “Of course, I’m sure. The Grass Cranes just have regular feathers. We ain’t collecting for quills and boas. On Tomenta, we’re only interested in the Pillowed Crane, a water fowl. They have that soft, fluffy down that’s in high demand.”
Doog: “Point me to one of those, then. I’d be glad to shoot it, if the price is right.”
Renn: “Again, we don’t shoot them. Also, you won’t find the Pillowed Crane in the grasslands. That’s a swamp bird.”
Doog: “So, the Pluckers aren’t in the grasslands?”
Renn: “Nope, they’re deep in the swamps.”
Doog: “That’s why the drones are so important.”

Renn: “Watch out! We got one incoming!”
Doog: “Dang, that’s a big drone.”
Renn: “A big pain in the butt. Sure, they can lift a few hundred pounds and fly hundreds of miles, but they’re high-maintenance gals. I’m always working on ‘em.”
Doog: “So, they fly your supplies to the Pluckers…”
Renn: “Food, water, and energy.”
Doog: “…and in return, the Pluckers send Pillowed Crane feathers?”
Renn: “Down feathers – but yeah.”
Doog: “I see. So, how do I get to these Pluckers? I want to see their side of the operation.”
Renn: “The Pluckers roam freely about the swamps looking for cranes. They’re never in the same spot for long.”
Doog: “Meaning?”
Renn: “The only way you’re getting to a Plucker is via drone. They track the Pluckers’ location data.”
Doog: “How does one ride a drone meant for tubs?”

Renn: “Well, it’s been about a decade since I’ve put the employee transfer harness into operation…but it looks like it’s still working’!”
Doog: “I don’t like this, Renn! I can’t see forward, and everything’s vibrating!”
Renn: “You’ll be fine! Have fun!”
Doog: “AHHH!!!!”

Doog: “If there’s any consolation for this uncomfortable, disorienting flight, it’s that I’m making all the flightless cranes on Tomenta jealous. A small victory…suck it, giant birds!”

Caleb: “What did you order us now, Maris?! How many cycles have you set us back this time?!”
Maris: “You still crying about that! I was trying to make our Walker-House a Walker-Home!”
Caleb: “I ain’t fussing about them throw pillows – I’m wondering why a drone dropped off some random guy.”
Maris: “Maybe, I decided to upgrade…ever so slightly…very, very ever so slightly. Possibly downgraded.”
Doog: “Thanks for that, lady. However, no one ordered me. I’m a TV host. I was sent here by Renn to learn about your operation.”
Maris: “You’d think ol’ man Renn would have beamed us a text about something like that.”
Caleb: “Now that you say that, I do recall something about that. Except, I thought he was sending a dog.”
Maris: “Say what now?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”
Caleb: “Like I was about to explain a talking dog TV Host to you.”
Doog: “Not dog. Doog. My name is Doog.”
Maris: “You’ll have to excuse my illiterate husband, Doog. Caleb’s been plucking since he was a kid. Didn’t have any time for school.”
Caleb: “You ain’t no college grad yourself, Maris.”
Maris: “Smarter than you.”
Caleb: “Just because I let you drive the house, don’t mean you’re smarter!”

Doog: “Maris and Caleb. Got it. Well, that’s the first step. Now that we know each other, perhaps I can ask some questions.”
Caleb: “Shoot.”
Doog: “Totally unrelated to the episode, but why are you washing your dishes in the swamp water?”
Caleb: “Why not? The algae helps scrape off the food.”
Maris: “Cheaper than splurging for soap and sponges.”
Doog: “So, you’re on a tight budget?”
Maris: “We earn a lot trading the Pillowed Cranes’ down, but we spend a lot to make it happen.”
Caleb: “Walker rent, walker fuel, walker parts…”
Maris: “Not to mention our food and supplies.”
Caleb: “And…ahem…décor costs.”
Maris: “I bought one set of throw pillows!”
Doog: “Please don’t go back to bickering.”
Caleb: “No promises.”
Doog: “So, how do you get this bird down?”
Caleb: “We have our ways.”

Caleb: “First rule: stay mobile. We stop from time to time, but it’s rare. That’s why we’re living in a walking house.”
Maris: “If we don’t move, we’re collecting from the same birds again and again.”
Caleb: “And there ain’t anything worth collecting from birds we just harvested.”
Maris: “So, we cover a range spanning dozens of miles.”
Caleb: “New birds daily.”
Doog: “Makes sense. The motion sickness from your walking house, not so much.”

Caleb: “Second rule: stay noisy.”
Doog: “That shouldn’t be hard for a constantly arguing couple.”
Caleb: “Maris’ screechy voice does carry, especially when she’s mad. But, that’s not what I mean. We got a loud speaker on the front of our house-walker that blasts Pillowed Crane calls on repeat.”
Maris: “We draw them towards us.”
Doog: “Doesn’t that attract the one’s you just harvested?”
Caleb: “Let’s just say, the harvested cranes aren’t so open to contact after a run-in with us.”
Doog: “What does that mean?”
Caleb: “Things will start to make more sense in a bit. I see a crane on the horizon. Swing her to the left, Maris! No, your other left!”

Doog: “Is that a syringe strapped to the end of a pole?”
Caleb: “It is. In order to make the down collection painless – for both us and the birds – we administer an opiate.”
Doog: “You drug them?”
Caleb: “Well, yeah. I surely ain’t plucking down feathers off a six-hundred-pound bird without loosening it up a bit.”
Maris: “Without a little ‘relaxation juice’, you’d likely get kicked, pecked, and squashed.”
Caleb: “And not always in that order.”

Doog: “So, earlier when you mentioned that the cranes don’t bother following you after a collection – is it because they’re high?”
Caleb: “Yep. They’ll stand in the same spot for hours after a collecting.”
Doog: “Doesn’t that put them in danger?”
Maris: “They won’t starve in a few hours, and there’s nothing on Tomenta big enough to challenge a Pillowed Crane. They’re fine.”
Doog: “As a connoisseur of galactic pharmaceuticals, I think I know that answer to this, but aren’t opiates addictive?”
Caleb: “Yep, that’s one of the perks of using it on the cranes.”
Doog: “Perks? How so?”
Caleb: “Let’s just put it this way – the sound we play over our speaker isn’t important anymore. Sure, we blast some lousy crane calls we recorded, but we could play anything – morning hymns, Maddie and the Soap Buckets, or Maris’ snoring, and still draw in a crane.”
Maris: “The cranes associate our speaker sounds with drugs. They come to us because they want drugs, not because we tricked them into thinking another crane is around.”
Doog: “Just a brief recap here…you got birds addicted to drugs so they’ll seek you out for more drugs, just so you can steal their downy feathers?”
Caleb: “More or less.”

Doog: “Hypothetical question, do your bird drugs work on people?”
Maris: “If this syringe puts a six-hundred-pound bird into an hours-long stupor, I’d say it would probably put you into a permanent slumber.”
Doog: “I wasn’t asking for me!”
Maris: “Sure you weren’t.”
Doog: “But, yeah. No thanks.” 

Caleb: “The opiate makes the cranes lethargic, but it also acts as a muscle relaxant. Watch, you can see the tension release from their guard feathers as the drug makes its way through their body. That’s what we want. It allows us access to the soft, pillowy down underneath.”
Maris: “We only get paid for the soft stuff. Shear too early, you’re contaminating your haul with the wrong types of feathers.”
Caleb: “Maris ain’t getting her throw pillow money if we do that too often.”
Maris: “You had to bring that up again, huh?!”
Doog: “Speaking of pillows, isn’t that what down is used for?”
Caleb: “Pillows, coats, blankets, executive desk chairs, sleep cocoons for the elite, a…”
Maris: “Simply put – any product rich folks want to stay warm and cozy.”
Doog: “So, it’s a luxury good.”
Maris: “It is. The cost of collection is high – walkers, opiates, Pluckers, drones, etc. – and the supply is low. Pillowed Crane down is worth a lot.”
Doog: “It must be nice having access to it then. I bet your walker-house has the best pillows.”
Caleb: “Ha!”
Maris: “It makes more sense for us to sell every ounce of down. It’s worth more on the galactic market than it would ever be to us.”
Caleb: “I’d rather sleep on a pillow stuffed with rocks and get more credits than I would want this luxury stuff.”
Maris: “Now you see why he hates my throw pillows so much.”

​Doog: “Well folks, that’s Tomenta. This planet has giant birds with fancy down feathers that can be used to make luxury goods. That’s not even the craziest part. Workers, called Pluckers, travel the countryside in walking-houses getting these birds addicted to opiates so they can collect their luxury feathers. Never thought I’d say that exact sentence in my life. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note:

Name: Verdant Skimmer
Species: Tomenta minoris
Height: 8 – 10 ft.
Weight: 90 – 110 lbs.
Description: The Verdant Skimmer is a smaller wading bird commonly found in both the grasslands and the wetlands. Agile and highly vocal, Skimmers feed on invertebrates disturbed by Pillowed and Grass Cranes. Their feathers lack commercial value, but their presence often signals larger cranes are nearby.

Name: Grass Crane
Species: Tomenta tasteless
Height: 12 – 15 ft.
Weight: 200 – 300 lbs.
Description: The Grass Crane inhabits the open grasslands bordering Tomenta’s swamps. Smaller and lighter than the Pillowed Crane, it possesses white feathers with minimal insulating down. Grass Cranes are skittish and migratory, relying on speed and awareness rather than physical dominance. Unlike their larger swamp-dwelling relatives, they are of little commercial interest due to the inferior quality of their plumage. Also, they don’t taste good.

Name: Pillowed Crane
Species: Tomenta addictus
Height: 18 – 20 ft.
Weight: 500 – 650 lbs.
Description: The Pillowed Crane is a massive wading bird native to the swamps of Tomenta. As the largest terrestrial animal on the planet, it dominates its marshland territory through size and intimidation rather than speed. Its distinctive blue and turquoise plumage conceals a dense layer of soft insulating down, highly prized in galactic luxury markets. Pillowed Cranes feed primarily on aquatic vegetation and small invertebrates. Though generally territorial and defensive, repeated exposure to certain human-administered substances has significantly altered their behavioral patterns in regions of active harvesting.

Doog: “Welcome to Season 18 of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, were visiting the resort world, Ustulare. Ustulare is known for its perfect sun, black sand beaches, and unique cultural experience. The crew and I headed here, after we wrapped up the last season, so we could unwind for a bit. And, I have to tell ya, this place is great. Unfortunately, the relaxation is coming to an end. The grind of another season is upon us. Let’s check out Ustulare.”

Doog: “Well folks, this is how I’ve been living the last week or so. Pristine beaches, great food, scantily clad ladies, bikinis, thongs, cleav…”
Amaya: “Sigh. You’re getting off topic, Doog.”
Doog: “I’m having trouble focusing with all of Ustulare’s scenic views.”
Amaya: “You’re supposed to be talking about the sun.”
Doog: “Oh yeah, Ustulare’s sun is special. It gives all the light and warmth with none of the UV dangers. Your skin is not burning on Ustulare.”
Cam: “I’ve been half-naked every day, and I’m not red.”
Seitse: “Speak for yourself.”
Oldie: “You’re always red, Seitse.”
Mike: “That was the joke.”
Doog: “Don’t try to explain humor to the fossil.”
Amaya: “We’re off topic…again.”

Doog: “While the sun is great, it’s not what makes Ustulare famous. Ustulari culture is what makes everything so special. I’m talking music, food, wardrobe, and sometimes the lack thereof…”
Amaya: “Swimsuits are not part of the culture. For the love of the Emperor, stop focusing on that!”
Doog: “Sorry. I’m easily distracted.”

Doog: “Ustulari culture is all about being laid-back and carefree.”
Seitse: “I think I’d describe it as living in the moment. Appreciating the world as it is right now.”
Cam: “I was leaning towards a self-reflective culture. You know, learning about yourself without all the modern distractions like technology.”
Mike: “I was catching island vibes. I’m thinking like a surfer culture or something.”
Amaya: “Interesting.”
Doog: “Interesting? I’m trying to do a show here, and suddenly the whole crew thinks they’re philosophers!”
Amaya: “I just think it’s interesting that everyone has interpreted the Ustulari culture differently.”

Doog: “This little resort town has a lot to offer, whether you’re feeling laid-back or reflective or whatever surf-thing Mike was talking about. There are these boardwalk complexes where you can be fishing one moment and shopping the next. Taking in the turquoise seas at dawn and doing rail shots at dusk.”
Oldie: “Did too many of those…”
Mike: “As did we all.”
Cam: “Sometimes, we combined those activities. Remember drinking every time we didn’t catch a fish?”
Doog: “I actually don’t.”
Cam: “That’s because we never caught a fish!”

Doog: “While my impairment might have clouded my fishing memories, one thing I’ll never forget about Ustulare is the live Ustulari music.”
Mike: “The music sells those island vibes I was talking about. That rhythmic, up-tempo sound just screams island music.”
Seitse: “What islands are you referring to? Because, this music is new to me, and I literally grew up on Uxores, an island planet.”
Doog: “To be fair, Uxores isn’t an upbeat place like Ustulare.”
Mike: “Call it whatever you want. The music personifies the beach for me.”
Cam: “To me, it’s dancing music, because every time I hear it, I want to dance.”
Doog: “Please don’t dance in your speedo again. There’s not enough alcohol in this resort town to erase that memory from my mind.”
Oldie: “Speaking of dancing, it finally dawned upon me. Ustulari music reminds me of polka music. Polka on steroids…and maybe speed.”
Amaya: “One of the band members is playing a Buccini, which is not a local instrument. It’s hard to call this authentic Ustulari music.”
Doog: “Stolen ID just modernized it a bit. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Doog: “Ustulari cuisine is another thing I’ll never forget.”
Amaya: “You guys have eaten nothing but burgers and tacos since we got here.”
Cam: “To be fair, their authentic food is orange flowers. As a meat-guy, I could never survive on that.”
Oldie: “Those flowers are hard to chew, and before anyone says it, it’s not because I have dentures!”
Mike: “Chewy and surprisingly sour.”
Doog: “It’s not the food that is the culture, Amaya, it’s how the food is prepared. The Ustulari cook their food over these little fire pits.”
Amaya: “Barbeque?”
Doog: “No! The pit just helps. It’s the sun that does the heavy lifting,”
Cam: “Every steak is sun-kissed to perfection.”
Amaya: “The same sun that can’t give people sunburns is cooking your steaks?”
Cam: “Uhh…”
Doog: “Their ancient sun culture figured it out. Quit questioning everything!”

Amaya: “The next thing you’re going to tell me is that the robo-chefs were built by the Ustulari.”
Doog: “They probably didn’t build them, but they are based on Ustulari biology.”
Mike: “Yeah, they have four arms like the Ustulari. The waitress told us.”
Doog: “Actual Ustulari are too busy relaxing and making sick tunes to work the sun pits. Do you really think a laid-back Ustulari would slave over a pit making food for tourists all day and night?”
Amaya: “Hard to say, considering we haven’t met an Ustulari.”
Doog: “Sure we have…I think. I’m not exactly sure what an Ustulari looks like. There’s an assortment of races here, we’ve surely come across a few.”
Mike: “Now that she says that, I don’t recall seeing anyone with four arms.”
Seitse: “I’m sensing Amaya has a reveal up her sleeve.”

Amaya: “No big reveal. I just think wrapping up Ustulare now would be a disservice to our viewers. We’ve only seen the ‘resort’ view of the planet. It would be like summing up Mercor by the docking rings alone.”
Doog: “Meaning?”
Amaya: “I’ve arranged for you to leave the resort town and meet with an Ustulari.”
Doog: “Or, we could not do that. Maybe go fishing instead.”
Mike: “Scared?”
Doog: “Why would I be scared? The Ustulari culture has been a blast. The authentic version is probably better…right? Probably. That sun-steak thing is still messing with my head. The Buccina too.”

Doog: “Are you sure you guys don’t want to come? We might experience even better stuff, like music and food.”
Cam: “Orange flowers are a no from me, as genuine as they may be.”
Mike: “Four arms look cool on a robot, but I’m a little wary of seeing it manifest in reality.”
Seitse: “I might have been game before I saw these walls. Why is the resort walled off?”
Doog: “There’s no doors on the walls. They are probably just for decoration.”
Oldie: “I don’t see any buildings or concert stages out there, just vast black sands.”
Doog: “That’s because you can’t see, old man!”
Oldie: “Now I’m definitely not going!”
Doog: “An hour ago, you were all philosophers of the culture! Now, you all are just going to abandon me?”
Amaya: “We’ll see you when you get back.” 

Doog: “It’s been a few minutes, and the beaches aren’t so empty anymore. The coastline out here is covered in orange flowers. There are the little ones they sold as food at the resort, but there’s also these massive ones. These things are bigger than me. Don’t get me wrong, they’re beautiful, just big. I wonder why they didn’t include them in the resort. I think people would enjoy them. Maybe they wouldn’t fit through the wall doorways?”

Doog: “Seriously, though, could you imagine Valentine’s Day on Ustulare? I’d hate to be that delivery guy. They might be the most impressive thing I’ve seen on Ustulare…well, except for all the bikinis. They have to play some role in Ustulari culture, right? I can’t imagine a species not admiring them, yet they aren’t included in a resort that preaches local culture.”

Doog: “Okay… I think I finally found someone. Uh… hello? Do you speak basic?”
Crab: “…”
Doog: “Never mind, you’re not an Ustulari. You’re a crab, aren’t you? Although…you’re slightly spider-adjacent, and I don’t like that.”
Crab: “…”
Doog: “You do have pinchers, so I’m back on team crab. A team I’ve been on since that brothel visit on Camana IV. Don’t tell anyone.”
Crab: “…”
Doog: “Perfect.”

Doog: “Another…crab? It’s giant!”
Arshanta: “Humming.”
Doog: “A singing crab? That's weird. Although, I’ve seen, and paid for, weirder.”
Arshanta: “Humming.”
Doog: “That tune sounds familiar though. That’s Stolen ID’s melody! This might be a Ustulari.”
Arshanta: “Oh, hello little one.”
Doog: “Okay, I’m right.”
Arshanta: “Hi, right. I’m Arshanta.”
Doog: “Oh, I’m not right– well, I am – but my name isn’t that. I’m Doog.”
Arshanta: “Are you lost, Doog? I can guide you back to the resort.”
Doog: “I’m not lost. I was trying to find one of your kind.”
Arshanta: “That’s a pleasant surprise. Not many of your size seek us out. Do not fear; you are welcome among us.”
Doog: “Thanks.”

Arshanta: “So, Doog, the Right, why have you sought us out? Do you want more hymnals?”
Doog: “I like your music, but I’m not here for that.”
Arshanta: “That’s unusual. Most of our recent visitors seek our songs. They want recordings and such.”
Doog: “I’m sure.”
Arshanta: “Perhaps recipes?”
Doog: “Not that either. I’ve chewed leather more tender than those little tart flowers.”
Arshanta: “You eat the Pulchritas? The little ones?”
Doog: “Once, but never again.”
Arshanta: “Ha!”
Doog: “What?”
Arshanta: “The little ones are for the crabs. We do not eat those.”
Doog: “I thought that was your cuisine?”
Arshanta: “We eat the big flowers, not the little ones. That’s why we grew so tall and have so many limbs. We must reach and climb great heights to feed on the Pulchra.”
Doog: “Why would they make us eat the little crab flowers?!”
Arshanta: “They are easier to reach and more abundant?”
Doog: “You mentioned recipes. You guys must have told the LIU your sun secrets to make the little ones edible?”
Arshanta: “Sun secrets? Is that what they’re saying now?”
Doog: “You don’t cook things with the sun?”
Arshanta: “Food, no. Ideas, yes. We love bathing in the sun while contemplating our hymns and poems. The sun gives us energy and inspiration. You’ve been gaslighted.”

Doog: “I don’t understand?”
Arshanta: “The LIU stole our culture, corrupted it, and resold it as a hook for their vacation destination. They manipulated the sound of our hymns, mistranslated our poems, and changed its pacing to develop a ‘music culture’. They purposely exaggerated our cooking prowess to sell more food, and invented a sun-cooking method to sound more exotic. They twisted our insightful sun meditations as lazy and lethargic to support a relaxed, careless state of mind.”
Doog: “What about the fishing?”
Arshanta: “Fishing? An incorrect embodiment of the patient, tranquil state of our species. Surely, we must have been fishermen, said the LIU. However, there were no fish on Ustulare.”
Doog: “That’s why I couldn’t catch one!”
Arshanta: “There were none at the start, but the LIU released millions of fish into our oceans as a tourist perk. The tourists, while plentiful, don’t catch enough to thwart ecological damage. They’re thinning the crab population, as we speak, by eating their aquatic young.”
Doog: “That’s why I didn’t see any Ustulare crabs in the resort!”
Arshanta: “The resorts have the strongest concentrations of fish, therefore almost no crab juveniles.”
Doog: “Is that why I don’t see your kind at the resort? The fish?”
Arshanta: “No. We breed inland, in the flower hills.”
Doog: “Then why aren't you guys at the resort?”
Arshanta: “The LIU didn’t want their luxury resorts plagued by large scary beings. They purposely built towns where my people wouldn’t fit. At first, it was doors to city locations, eventually, it became doors to the whole town. They also removed our food source from the area. I believe it is called hostile architecture. "
Doog: "That's terrible."
Arshanta: "They could take our culture, but not our size. PS…perfect sun to most…. proper scale to us. You must be this tall to enter.”
Doog: “Um…sorry. You’re super chill and friendly, and I’m sure you’d convince anyone who’s met you to allow you into the town.”
Arshanta: “Thanks you, but there's nothing there of interest to my people, just corrupted appropriations of our culture."

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Ustulare. In LIU pamphlet form, it’s a perfect place for a holiday. It checks all the relaxion marks. But, upon deeper examination, this idealized vacation spot only got its popularity through cultural appropriation, misinterpreted customs, and biological barricades. Something like that. Oh well, see ya!”   
 
Note: This episode of LIU Atlas is sponsored by the LIU Travel Bureau. Perfect Sun City™ on Ustulare offers the ultimate off-world escape for travelers. Bathed in year-round, skin-safe sunlight and bordered by pristine black-sand beaches, this premier resort destination blends authentic Ustulari culture with modern luxury. Guests can enjoy vibrant live music, expertly crafted solar cuisine, crystal clear fishing piers, and thoughtfully designed walkways for effortless exploration. From sunrise relaxation to nightlife excitement, Perfect Sun City delivers a flawlessly scaled experience where comfort, beauty, and tranquility come together. Discover paradise…perfected.

Note 2: Check out Stolen ID's newest track, Ustulari Shores:

Doog: “Welcome to the season finale of Season 17 of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Testa Ebur. For billions of years, Testa Ebur was covered by vast oceans, supporting simple aquatic life. However, a few centuries ago, those oceans – for reasons still unknown – ceased to exist, and the planet’s once abundant life went extinct. What remains are vast deposits of their mineralized remnants, mostly in the form of their fossilized shells. These cloudy, iridescent, fossil fragments are known as Eburite, and Eburite is considered a valuable jewel. This makes Testa Ebur a Jewel World. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in Testa Ebur’s largest port city, Ossa. It doesn’t look like the other Jewel Worlds we’ve visited – it feels far more primitive. It looks more like a rushed frontier planet. That makes sense, I guess. I’m told travelers have flooded in to capitalize on the Eburite craze. I’m guessing the infrastructure is having a hard time keeping up.”

Dusty: “Yer that reporter fella, right? Doog, or somethin’ like that.”
Doog: “That’s me. And you are?”
Dusty: “You can call me Dusty.”
Doog: “Dusty. Nice. A fitting name for a grimy town like this.”
Dusty: “I ain’t no wordsmith, but I believe you just insulted me. Do it again, and I’ll adjust your jaw alignment.”
Doog: “Whoa, whoa. I didn’t mean any offense! I just thought it was a cool name for this frontier-type town.”
Dusty: “Sure.”
Doog: “Let’s start over. Appropriately named gentleman, what can you tell me about Ossa?”
Dusty: “Things change so quickly around these parts, you’re better off rememberin’ the streets instead of the businesses. Businesses fail every week. Streets don’t.”
Doog: “That’s…something, I guess. It’s good advice for any of the viewers planning to join in on the Eburite Rush. Is there more to add?”
Dusty: “Look, I’m an Eburite buyer, not a tour guide. I’m just doin’ this for some extra scratch. If you want fun facts or trivia, you came to the wrong man.”
Doog: “I, uh…”
Dusty: “I’ll sum it up for ya really quick. A decade ago, some guy found Eburite on this rock. People liked how it shined, and how its iridescence switched from bright pink to deep turquois with a subtle shift. People rushed to Testa Ebur to get in on the Eburite trade. Unlike diamonds or hyper-rubies, Eburite was accessible to the common man. Any dunce with a shovel could strike at rich. Millions traveled here for a shot at Eburite glory, myself included. Ossa is a result of that madness. All these new arrivals needed inns, banks, bars, and stores.”
Doog: “Everything here was essentially improvised to meet the new demand.”
Dusty: “Yep.”

Doog: “One of those demands appears to be brothels.”
Dusty: “Yep.”
Doog: “Nice. I’ll keep that in mind. So, you mentioned that you, yourself, came to Testa Ebur for the Eburite Rush.”
Dusty: “Yep. Saw an opportunity. Took the plunge.”
Doog: “How did that work out?”
Dusty: “I made enough to get myself outta debt. After that, I quit the minin’ side of things.”
Doog: “You said something about that. You’re a buyer now? What does that mean?”
Dusty: “I purchase Eburite from some of the local small claim holders and resell it to local merchants. Call me a middleman, if ya want.”
Doog: “Local merchants?”
Dusty: “I buy the ore from the locals and sell it to jewelers like Family Jewels. They turn raw Eburite into something presentable, so it can be sold on the galactic market. The claim holders get money from me, I get money from the jewelers, and they get money from selling to the galactic population.”
Doog: “Dang. You must be rich.”
Dusty: “Not at all. There’s lots of competition. I just get by. That’s why I’m wasting my time on this tour.”
Doog: “I see. Thanks.”
Dusty: “If you want your first glimpse at Eburite, follow me.”
Doog: “Getting a glimpse of something at a place called, Family Jewels, has me a bit worried. It doesn’t help that the place is next to a brothel.”
Dusty: “Trust me, I get it. But, it’s just a family-run business that sell Eburite, not some place showing off their nards.”
Doog: “Thanks for clarifying.” 

Doog: “So, this is Eburite?”
Dusty: “Yep. Well, a refined version. Jewelers cut it just right to bring out its iridescence. Their craftmanship increases the ore’s value. Makes it worth ten times the amount of the original ore.”

​Jeweler: “Welcome to Family Jewels. We polish them twice a day. Note, no photographs of the Family Jewels are permitted without written permission.”
Dusty: “Ahem.”
Jeweler: “Ah, Dusty. What brings you here so soon? Surely you haven’t secured enough of my quota already. Family Jewels can’t afford another premature offloading.”
Dusty: “Your jewels are being handled as we speak, but I’m not in any rush. I’m here to show a guy your jewels.”
Doog: “I’d like to see them raw, but I’ll settle for seeing them finished.”
Jeweler: “All of Family Jewels’ assets are handled securely and displayed appropriately.”

Doog: “I respect that. You always want to keep a safeguard on your family jewels.”
Jeweler: “Are we talking about the same thing? I’m speaking about my cut, polished jewels.”
Doog: “Shame. Some people pay more to see them uncut.”
Jeweler: “What?!”
Doog: “Poor handling leads to disappointment.”
Jeweler: “Well, only trained professionals handle the jewels here. What are you inferring?”
Doog: “We’re just staring at your Family Jewels. No commitments.”
Jeweler: “Huh? No gawkers, only buyers!”
Dusty: “He’s not picking up on your innuendo, Doog. Give it a rest.”
Doog: “Fine. The jewels were getting stale anyway.”
Jeweler: “Our Family Jewels are fresh! Get this guy out of here, Dusty!”

​Doog: “Thrown out before I could deliver my Family Jewel sacks joke. What kind of planet is this?”
Dusty: “A more and more capitalized one.”
Doog: “What does that mean?”
Dusty: “The original rush – the one I was a part of – was lawless. No structure. Everyone grabbed whatever land they could. Now, it’s different.”
Doog: “Different how?”
Dusty: “Now, land and claims are owned by big corporations. Want in on the rush? Rent a small claim. Want to extract Eburite? Rent the tools needed. Want to sell what you find? Sell it to a middleman for less than it costs.”

Dusty: “Heck, even gettin’ a ride out to your claim costs credits.”
Doog: “Sounds like there’s lots of upfront costs.”
Dusty: “Yeah. Most newbies on Testa Ebur are in debt before they’ve even taken their first scoop of soil.”

Dusty: “If these greenhorns were smart – like I was – they’d start simple: a claim, a shovel, and some hard work. But that’s not how it goes. The moment they arrive on world, they get swarmed with predatory loan sharks, feeding them malarkey about fancy equipment and shelters. Puts ‘em in debt from day one.”

Dusty: “They get ‘em to buy all sorts of unnecessary junk – plasma batteries, fuel, subspace communicators, and prefab homes for starters.”
Doog: “That stuff looks useful.”
Dusty: “Trust me, it’s not. No claim put up for rent has anywhere near enough Eburite to pay for all of this.”
Doog: “Well, at least they’ll be comfy when they’re broke.”

Dusty: “That’s the thing…. they won’t. The second they can’t pay their rental fees; it all gets repossessed. All they keep is their debt.”
Doog: “Debt and a few regrets, I guess.”
Dusty: “Not just a few. Lots of regrets. As you know, debts don’t go uncollected in the LIU.”
Doog: “Meaning?”

Dusty: “They’re going to get rounded up by debt collectors – big, scary mechs.”
Doog: “I see.”
Dusty: “Then they work those debts off at bigger claims. Claims owned by the same predatory lenders that gave ‘em the credits to begins with.”
Doog: “Debt slaves…”
Dusty: “Yep. All the big claims are jammed with ‘em.”

Doog: “Dang…this place has a lot more Eburite.”
Dusty: “Millions of tons in proven reserves. All the big claims are loaded. Six or seven families control sites like this across the planet. Between them, they move about ninety percent of Testa Ebur’s jewel exports.”
Doog: “Ninety? So, the rest of the planet is just…hoping?”
Dusty: “The rest of the planet is essentially a debt scheme to find workers for the big claims. Don’t get me wrong, it’s possible to make some credits on smaller claims – if you’re smart and frugal – but the vast majority of the new arrivals are…:”
Doog: “Stupid.”
Dusty: “I was going to say, too gullible, but…yeah…stupid.”

Doog: “These big claim owners must be making bank.”
Dusty: “They do pretty good considering Eburite’s value. It’s worth considerably less than some of the galaxy’s other big jewels.”
Doog: “Yeah, but their labor is practically free.”
Dusty: “That’s what makes the numbers work.”

Doog: “How long is their service?”
Dusty: “Depends on how hard they bit into the craze. Five years…maybe twenty?”
Doog: “Five is crazy, but twenty?! That’s Family Jewels!”
Dusty: “Huh?”
Doog: “Nuts!”
Dusty: “Oh!”

Doog: “This is legal?”
Dusty: “It’s all in the fine print. Every credit owed converts to labor hours. These ambitious tenderfoots all agreed to it.”
Doog: “I should start reading the fine print, especially on all those websites I visit. Next thing you know, I’m a debt slave at galacticbrothels.liu.”

Dusty: “I don’t know about that.”
Doog: “It’s really a trusty guide.”
Dusty: “Sure.”
Doog: “I’m probably going to write a review of that Olivia’s Service joint we passed earlier. Want me to tag you? What’s your handle?”
Dusty: “I am not on any brothel review sites!”
Doog: “Keep your secrets, Dusty. I won’t push.”

Lucarro: “Let me guess, your one of my new sorters.”
Doog: “What? No!”
Lucarro: “Impossible. With that body type, I’d never put you anywhere labor intensive. I’m not in the business of depreciating assets. A day on a drill and you’d be worthless to me. What’s your debt number?”
Doog: “I’m not one of your debt slaves!”
Lucarro: “Slaves? What a disingenuous way to title one of my repayment laborers! I ought to have you beaten for that. How dare you!”
Doog: “Seriously, I’m not one of your workers, whatever you choose to call them. I’m a TV reporter.”
Lucarro: “Why is a TV reporter in my claim! Men, see this lying troublemaker from my land! Fake news! Everything is great here!”

Doog: “Well folks, I think I’m about to be kicked out of my second establishment this episode. Let’s sum it up quickly before they start with the shouting and dragging. Testa Ebur is a Jewel World that attracts thousands of determined fortune-seekers. Unfortunately, most of them are going to be tricked into amassing enormous debts. These indebted individuals are then going to be forced to labor for larger, Eburite-heavy claims. Visit this planet with caution! Oh well, see ya next season!”
 
 
Note: All loan repayments on Testa Ebur are considered voluntary unless the subject is alive, able to labor, and sound of mind. Appeals may be heard after completion of labor service. Participation implies consent. 

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Altrix. Altrix is a temperate planet with a variety of environments. There are mountainous plateaus, dry deserts, and vegetation-heavy foothills. It’s the latter that we’re focused on. These foothills are home to many unique species, including various plants with red foliage. Dense patches of this flora are visible from space. We’re headed to one such area. Let’s go.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off outside of an industrial-looking building. There’s a strong chemical smell in the air. I’m not sure if it’s coming from the factory or the red plants to my left. Either way, I plan on breathing through my mouth from this point forward.”

Doog: “What are you guys making in there? It smells horrible.”
Guy: “We’re not making anything. This is a waste water station.”
Doog: “Waste water? Like sewage?”
Guy: “Yeah.”
Doog: “Why does the sewage smell like chemicals?”
Guy: “Would you rather it smell like normal sewage, weirdo?”
Doog: “No. I guess not.”
Guy: “That’s what I thought.”
Doog: “It’s just strange.”
Guy: “I ain’t no expert, but I’m told the locals have some bizarre chemicals in their waste. The smell is a combination of those chemicals and the chemicals we treat the water with.”
Doog: “Is this another Stercus situation?”
Guy: “I don’t know what that means.”

Marcy: “You must be Doog! I’m your guide, Marcy Bloom.”
Doog: “Hi, Marcy.”
Marcy: “What a beautiful day, huh?”
Doog: “It’s alright. It would be better if it didn’t smell like bleach, burnt pennies, and a trace of farts.”
Marcy: “Ha, that’s one way to describe it. The smell comes from the water treatment and the separation process.”
Doog: “Separation process?”
Marcy: “Yeah, let’s head inside.”

Marcy: “This treatment plant has a few functions. Like normal water treatment facilities, it cleans the water so it can be reused. This is done with a few mechanical filters, the addition of chloramine, and some activated carbon screens. Pretty stand stuff.”
Doog: “If you say so.”
Marcy: “But here on Altrix, there’s an extra step. Our Altricari friends sweat out trace amounts of a chemical compound called Beryllium Orthoate. It must be collected. So, after purification, the water passes through a series of microfiltration membranes that isolate the BO molecules. Those molecules are piped into the storage tanks you see over there.”
Doog: “There’s a lot to unpack there. So, Altrix has a native race?”
Marcy: “Yes, the Altricari.”
Doog: “They sweat a rare compound?”
Marcy: “Yes, Beryllium Orthoate. We call it BO. It’s both shorter and more fitting, considering where it comes from.”
Doog: “BO is also body odor. I just now picked up on that. That leaves only one question – why are you collecting BO from the Altricari?”
Marcy: “Oh, there are plenty more questions. Let’s continue.”

Marcy: “BO is nearly impossible to manufacture artificially.”
Doog: “Really, I make BO all day, every day.”
Marcy: “Very funny, but I’m speaking about Beryllium Orthoate. Beryllium Orthoate can only be made by the Altricari metabolic system, but they can’t do it alone. There’s a long chain of biological processes that must occur first.”
Doog: “What does that mean?”
Marcy: “Well, it all starts with the plants of Altrix. They metabolize soil compounds into Beryllium Phytate, a highly poisonous chemical cousin of Beryllium Orthoate.”
Doog: “I’m guessing the Altricari eat these plants and convert the poison to good BO.”
Marcy: “Actually, no. The plants of Altrix are poisonous to the Altricari as well. There’s another step.”

Marcy: “The best way to see the next step is to visit an Altricari enclave. Doog, I’d like to introduce one of my Wellness Partners, Lemiri! Lemiri is last week’s Sweat-Superstar! She absolutely demolished the bike-a-thon!”
Lemiri: “Uh, hey.”
Doog: “Hey.”
Marcy: “Lemiri, aside from her unbeatable fitness drive, is an avid gardener, like most Altricari. This is her garden.”
Doog: “Why have a garden if all the plants are poisonous?”

Lemiri: “Because the plants aren’t for me. I mean, I do find them aesthetically pleasing, but the garden’s main purpose is for sustaining my Nibs.”
Doog: “Your what?”
Lemiri: “My Nibs. My pets.”

Doog: “Those things are your pets?”
Lemiri: “Yep. This one is Rilo. She’s my most needy Nib. She needs pets every few minutes or she’ll start whining. Don’t you, Rilo? Oh, and that’s my best buddy Reyno over there on the Redbo stalks. He eats so much I almost need a second garden.”
Doog: “So, you keep pets in your poisonous garden?”
Lemiri: “The plants aren’t toxic to my Nibs. Are they? Are they, Rilo?”
Marcy: “This is the next step I was talking about, Doog. The Nibs eat the Beryllium Phytate in the plants and convert it to Beryllium Nibate.”
Doog: “Wait…the Altricari eat the Nibs and their Nibate to make the good BO?”
Lemiri: “Never! Close your ear holes, Rilo! Don’t listen to the mean reporter!”
Doog: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just guessing.”
Marcy: “The Altricari love their pets like children. The adore them for their companionship and loyalty. They also love the Nibs for the nectar-like secretions they produce. Beryllium Nibate, and the sweet mucus it’s excreted in, are the only sustenance the Altricari have.”
Doog: “All they have to eat on this planet is Nib boogers?!”
Lemiri: “We don’t eat boogers! I don’t like this guy, Marcy!”
Marcy: “The Nibs don’t produce this Beryllium Nibate mucus in their noses. It’s produced in a special gland. Think of it as being more like a flower’s nectar or an aphid’s honeydew.”
Doog: “It’s still weird, no matter where it comes from.”
Marcy: “From an evolutionary standpoint, it’s completely normal. The Altricari and their Nibs have formed a mutualistic symbiosis where both partners benefit. The Nibs get gardens of food, safety, and companionship, while the Altricari get food and companionship.”

Marcy: “Because the Nibs are so important – both for social and nutritional reasons – it is in the best interest of the Altricari to take great care of them. They spend a lot of time maintaining these gardens.”
Lemiri: “My babies must eat. Even pudgy little Nerala, here.”
Doog: “How many Nibs do you have?”
Lemiri: “I’m not sure I should I tell you, considering you tried to tell my smooch-able Niblings that I eat them.”
Doog: “It was an honest mistake. I thought I was picking up on a pattern, but like always, I was wrong.”
Lemiri: “I have six. And I don’t eat their boogers either!”
Marcy: “I think I’m going to get Doog out of your hair, Lemiri. Will I see you at sauna yoga later?”
Lemiri: “I never miss a session!”
Marcy: “That’s my Sweat-Superstar!”

Doog: “Sauna yoga? Sweat star? Bike-a-thon? Are you some type of fitness instructor?”
Marcy: “I am, actually. My title is Sweat Procurement Enhancer, but fitness instructor works too.”
Doog: “I think I get it. This Beryllium Orthoate is secreted by the Altricari when they sweat, and your job is to get the Altricari to sweat as much as possible.”
Marcy: “Yes. That’s the only way to keep production numbers high.”

Doog: “How do you make sure the Altricari sweat?”
Marcy: “The LIU has built several fitness centers, like this one, throughout the enclaves. There are plenty of ways to make the Altricari sweat inside.”
Doog: “I get that, but how do you actually compel them to go? If they’re anything like me – or the people I know – they won’t workout voluntarily.”
Marcy: “While Nib nectar is the only source of nutrition on Altrix, the Altricari can survive on synthetic LIU substitutes. These substitutes don’t let the Altricari create Beryllium Orthoate, but they allow them to live off-planet.”
Doog: “I’m not following. What does that have to do with getting them to exercise?”
Marcy: “It gives the LIU leverage. Altricari on Altrix have some freedom – they can enjoy their gardens, pets, and personal time – but only if they promise to sweat regularly. If they don’t, or if they sweat too little, the LIU can relocate them to off-world jobs where they lose access to those comforts.”
Doog: “Sweat and get peace. Don’t sweat, and get labor.”
Marcy: “Even you might choose exercise if it meant living in peace where you wanted.”
Doog: “You underestimate my laziness.”

Marcy: “The fitness centers have a variety of exercise equipment designed to promote sweating, like treadmills, bikes, and rowing machines.”
Doog: “The only thing worse than running…is running in place.”

Marcy: “If standard exercise isn’t your thing, the centers offer plenty of enjoyable alternatives, like high-heat aerobics, sauna yoga, and sweltering Zumba.”
Doog: “It’s so hot in here, I’m sweating just standing here. I literally might pass out.”
Marcy: “Keep it up! Get those pores gushing!”
Doog: “My body only makes the bad BO.”
Marcy: “I wasn’t talking to you!”

Marcy: “There are, of course, classics, like the sauna. Sweat while relaxing.”
Doog: “Better than exercising, I guess.”
Marcy: “We offer a few exercise alternatives; saunas are just one. We also offer spicy steam cooking classes, sweat coffins, and tropical jungle simulators.”
Doog: “Those all sound like saunas to me.”
Marcy: “I guess you lack the Altricari’s imagination.”

Marcy: “After building up a sufficient sweat, the Altricari shower at the center or their homes. The Beryllium Orthoate in their sweat goes down the drains and flows to the water treatment centers.”
Doog: “That’s where we started, and where the BO is collected.”
Marcy: “Yes.”

Doog: “Where are we going now?”
Marcy: “Each treatment plant sends collected Beryllium Orthoate to a central hub where it’s processed.”
Doog: “Processed into what?”

Marcy: “Beryllium Orthoate is turned into a drug called 47-B Ortho. It’s more commonly known as Gapper or Skip Juice.”
Doog: “Gapper? Skip juice? Never heard of it. It must be a medical drug, because I know most of the recreational ones.”
Marcy: “It is more commonly used in controlled medical environments, although, there are a few abusers.”

Marcy: “47-B Ortho is a memory suppressant. While under its influence, the brain cannot form any memories. It works by interfering with how the brain encodes new experiences. While it’s active, your brain still functions just fine – you can walk, talk, even solve problems – but nothing gets stored long-term.”
Doog: “How is that useful?”
Marcy: “It can be used for surgeries. Some brain operations require patients to be awake so doctors can test speech or vision while they work. Without 47-B Ortho, or Gapper, the poor patient would remember every slice and poke. With Gapper in their system, they stay awake and responsive, but the memories never stick. For them, it feels like they blinked, and suddenly it’s all over. No trauma, no nightmares – just results.”

Marcy: “The suppression effects can be really handy in other situations too. Long-haul cargo crews, for example, pair Gapper with sleeping aids to make their journeys feel instant. Load your ship, plot the course, and take a dose. When you wake up, thirty, forty, even fifty days are just… gone. It’s like you just left.”
Doog: “What’s the recommended dose for skipping my monthly crew meeting? Because I’m sold.”
Marcy: “That’s something you’d need to ask a doctor. I’m just a motivational sweat coach.”

Marcy: “47-B Ortho is also useful for some LIU operations. It is occasionally administered during interrogations, making the subjects forget they told anyone anything. It is also useful in transporting high-value prisoners. They get the Gapper before being transferred to a new prison, usually on a whole new planet. It makes it hard to organize an escape if you have no idea where you are.”
Doog: “So, basically, the LIU discovered instant amnesia in the form of sweat.”
Marcy: “More or less.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Altrix. This planet is home to a race, called the Altricari, who sweat out a rare compound known as Beryllium Orthoate. They can only make this compound through relationships with poisonous plants…and their pet Nibs. This Beryllium Orthoate, conveniently shortened to BO, can be turned into a memory suppressant drug called Gapper, or Skip Juice. Have I ever been administered this drug? Who knows. I certainly wouldn’t remember if I did. Oh well, see ya.”
 
 
Note: Gapper, in the wrong hands, can be useful for all the wrong reasons. Criminals can use it to forget their crimes, making polygraphs useless. Some criminal groups use it to re-run scams until they’re flawless, while others employ it to extract codes from unremembering personnel. 

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the rainy ocean planet, Mola Rota. Mola Rota’s tropical heat and warm oceans produce tons of atmospheric moisture. This moisture condenses over Mola Rota’s mountainous island chains and falls as a heavy, continuous rain. On many of these islands, especially in the tropics, it never stops raining…ever. I’m headed to one such island.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on one of Mola Rota’s islands. I’m in a small village near an agricultural field. It is, as expected, raining. As I mentioned before, that’s the norm here.”

Doog: “I’m told the constant rain is what keeps operations going here. Without it, neither the farming nor whatever they do with the crops would be possible. If it’s so important, though, I don’t know why they’re letting so much of it just run off down there. Most of the rain is draining away.”

Garrick: “The drainage system is what makes the Rotans such geniuses, Doog.”
Doog: “I’m assuming the Rotans are the locals and you’re my guide.”
Garrick: “Right on both accounts. I’m Garrick.”
Doog: “Hi, Garrick. So, how does wasting all this water make the Rotans geniuses?”
Garrick: “Well, for starters, it’s not being wasted. But, let’s not jump to that quite yet. Let’s start at the beginning. The Rotans have perfected farming in these rainy conditions.”
Doog: “How so?”
Garrick: “There’s so much rain here, it’s actually detrimental to farming. Roots can’t breathe, minerals wash away, and erosion is rampant. The Rotans solved this with terraced fields, gravity-based drains, and carefully designed runoff canals that guide the excess water safely away from the crops.”
Doog: “I guess that’s good, depending on what they’re farming. Anything good?”

Garrick: “Something great – Viridbaris.”
Doog: “Never heard of it. Is it a drug? A food? A medicine?”
Garrick: “A grain.”
Doog: “A grain? That’s boring.”
Garrick: “Boring? Grains are fundamental crops that are useful for many things.”
Doog: “Boring things like bread. How do the natives even eat bread in all this rain?”
Garrick: “Well, they…”
Doog: “Wait…I was just kidding! They really make bread?!”
Garrick: “Among other things. Viridbaris has a diversity of uses, like most grains.”

Garrick: “The Rotans, while primitive on the galactic scale, are pretty far advanced.”
Doog: “They make advanced bread?”
Garrick: “Honestly, they make terrible bread. It’s really hard. I considered them advanced because of their ingenuity. They use this abundance of water to power their industry.”
Doog: “Industry? Do they make raincoats?”

Garrick: “No, they use the rain for power. The run-off canals fall down the mountain powering their industry via waterwheels.”
Doog: “Gravity pulls the water down, and that turns the wheels?”
Garrick: “Exactly.”
Doog: “And the turning wheel does what exactly?”
Garrick: “Let’s head inside.”

Garrick: “These wheels power mills. The mills process the Viridbaris into a flour.”
Doog: “This flour makes the hardened bread?”
Garrick: “Yes, Viridbaris flour is eventually turned into a rock-hard bread.”

Garrick: “These mills run on gravity and the rainfall. The falling water turns the wheel, then flows on to power the next wheel mill – completely reusable, efficient, and clever. A smart system in these conditions.”
Doog: “An efficient way to make a useless flour.”
Garrick: “Useless?”
Doog: “Who wants to eat rock-hard bread?”

Garrick: “The Rotans seem to like it. It’s a staple of their diet.”
Doog: “How hard are we talking?”
Garrick: “See all these stones the Rotans use for building?”
Doog: “Yeah.”
Garrick: “Let’s just say that any of these stones could be replaced with Rotan bread and the structure wouldn’t lose any strength.”
Doog: “Literally rock-hard.”
Garrick: “Yes. Let’s head inside and see how they accomplish this.”

Garrick: “It starts off like any bakery. The flour is formed into a dough and shaped into a disk-like shape.”
Doog: “The dough frisbees look a lot bigger than the finished bread.”
Garrick: “That’s because they still have lots of moisture. That gets taken care of in the oven. The dough discs steam on a shelf above a fire. They stay there for nearly an hour until they shrink into these indestructible little pucks.”
Doog: “I see.”

Garrick: “If you weren’t aware of the conditions here, you would assume the Rotans are bad bakers, but that is not the case. This bread is hardened with purpose.”
Doog: “Why?”
Garrick: “The rain. All this moisture is bad for eating bread. Obviously, normal bread would disintegrate within minutes in this downpour. Rotan bread holds up just fine. It’s baked to be transported and eaten in the rain.”
Doog: “Rainproof bread. Got it.”
Garrick: “The process also keeps the bread from spoiling quickly. Mola Rota’s wet islands have all kinds of molds and bacteria that would quickly ruin normal bread.”
Doog: “Mold-proof. Rain-proof. Crush-proof. This is the galaxy’s most durable bread. What a planet…”
Garrick: “There’s more to Mola Rota than bread. I told you grains have multiple uses, right?”
Doog: “Do they make the galaxy’s most durable cereal too?”
Garrick: “No.”
Doog: “Unbreakable pasta?”
Garrick: “Still no.”
Doog: “Weapons-grade granola bars?”
Garrick: “You’re missing the point. The most important use of grain here isn’t food at all.”
Doog: “Not food? What else could you possibly make with grain? Do the Rotans make grain clothing? Hats? Shoes?”
Garrick: “You’re not even close, Doog. Beer. They make beer.”

Doog: “Beer?!”
Garrick: “Yeah. The locals call it Uredo. It’s another staple of the Rotan diet. Like their bread, Uredo holds ups well in these wet conditions. The alcohol in the Uredo keeps any mold and bacteria from forming. It’s safer to drink than the water.”
Doog: “And the Rotans just walk around hammered all the time?”
Garrick: “The Rotans don’t drink their beer like we do. It’s not consumed one after another to get inebriated. It’s a nutritional, high calorie beverage enjoyed only with meals.”
Doog: “But it could get you hammered if you drank it like normal beer, right?”
Garrick: “Of course. It has plenty of alcohol – more than most beers in this galaxy.”
Doog: “This beer is their export, right?”
Garrick: “Yes. Uredo is exported across the galaxy. It’s pretty popular.”
Doog: “There’s an intoxicating substance in this galaxy that’s popular, but somehow, I haven’t heard of it? I doubt it.”
Garrick: “You might not be familiar with Uredo, but it’s not called that off-world. It’s called Blight.”
Doog: “Blight Beer?! I have heard of that!”
Garrick: “I’m sure you’ve heard the slogan then. When life gives you rain…”
Doog: “…make beer. I always thought that had something to do with depression!”
Garrick: “Nope, it’s just describing beer from Mola Rota.”
Doog: “So, this is a brewery of some sort?”
Garrick: “Yes. Let’s head inside.”

Garrick: “This is where the magic happens. These tanks are filled with Viridbaris grain mash that was ground onsite by a mill. Brewmasters then mix the mash with water from the drainage canals.”
Doog: “I thought the water was full of mold and stuff.”
Garrick: “It is. One of these contaminates is beneficial though. It’s a fungal yeast called Uredo. Uredo eats the mash and converts it into alcohol.”
Doog: “And the alcohol kills the remaining contaminates?”
Garrick: “Exactly.”
Doog: “The locals call the drink Uredo after the alcohol making bacteria?”
Garrick: “Yes, but not bacteria – a fungal yeast.”

Garrick: “Blight gets its distinct flavor from other additives, like the leaves of the Viridbaris plant.”
Doog: “The green stuff in that cart?”
Garrick: “Yes. Of course, different regions have a few different additives, so you’ll taste a new Uredo or Blight on every island group.”
Doog: “I wasn’t aware there were more flavors. I’ve only seen standard Blight.”
Garrick: “The LIU didn’t want to ship out forty varieties of Blight, so they mix it all together and sell it as one product. Many distinctive regional flavors are lost in this process, but I guess it’s easier for the LIU.”

Garrick: “Barrels and barrels of beer mash are made daily. This mash is then stored in waterproof caverns to age and develop their alcohol and taste.”
Doog: “Do I get to try some of this beer for, you know, reporting purposes?”
Garrick: “That can be arranged. We’ll need to head back into the brewery though.”

Garrick: “The Rotans have strong ties to their local breweries. They’re often the center of an island or region’s culture. Farmers, bakers, and workers of all sorts find themselves at the brewery at some point during the day – for work and for fun.”
Doog: “Fun? Do they get free beer or something?”
Garrick: “Not free, but Uredo is available here. All breweries on Mola Rota have little pubs built-in for selling meals. These pubs are social hangouts.”
Doog: “Meals…I keep forgetting the Rotans don’t drink this to get drunk.”

Doog: “I, however, am not a Rotan. I will be drinking these until I can’t see straight.”
Garrick: “The first one is on me, but after that, you have to pay for whatever you’re drinking.”
Doog: “So much for that idea. I guess I’m drinking only for nourishment today.”
Garrick: “Cheers.”
Doog: “Cheers. Whoa that’s a bit thicker and more bitter than I was expecting.”
Garrick: “Good, huh? It’s nothing like the mixed, filtered, water-downed version the LIU sells.”
Doog: “Maybe I’m a bit of an uncultured simpleton, but I prefer the light galactic stuff to this authentic Blight. Every drink feels like I’m forcing a wet loaf of bread down my throat.”
Garrick: “Genuine Blight is an acquired taste and texture. Try to remember that it isn’t made to chug down over and over. It’s a liquid culinary experience, not a frat party.”
Doog: “I think I’ll stick to the stuff that makes me forget my problems, not feed me.”
Garrick: “To each their own.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Mola Rota. This rainy agricultural world is home to the Rotan race. They’ve evolved and adapted to this rainy planet in many ways. Their agriculture is terraced and full of drains. They use gravity and moving water to power their industries. Even the bread they eat and the beer they drink is modified for this wet world. A…ahem…slightly improved version of the Rotans’ Uredo, or Blight Beer, is exported across the galaxy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my lunch. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: The tropical islands of Mola Rota receive over a hundred feet of rain per year – more than some desert planets have seen in their entire history!

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Balnea. Balnea is a rocky, desert world known for its tourism. Why would such a desolate place attract tourists? Because Balnea is home to several ‘dry spas’. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but apparently, it’s popular. The crew and I are heading down, so we’ll let you know more when we get down there.”

Doog: “Alright folks, the crew and I have been dropped off in Port Balnea. There looks to be numerous shops and stands surrounding the port’s exit. If this place is about tourism, I guess we should start with them.”
Amaya: “That is the opposite of what we’ll be doing. These shops are all tourist traps. They sell junk to unwary travelers at marked up prices.”

Amaya: “While we’re on that subject, don’t buy any health supplies from the vendors here. It’s all fake. The rejuvenating effects of Balnea’s mineral soils can’t be bottled up. They only work under the perfect conditions found on this planet.”
Seitse: “Essentially, you’d just be buying dirt cream.”
Doog: “Maybe some of us are in the market for dirt cream.”
Mike: “Honestly, dirt cream might improve your looks.”
Doog: “Shut it, Mike!”

Amaya: “Quit bickering and listen up. Balnea is a pretty diverse place. It has many spas that offer a wide range of treatments at differing price points. I brought most of the crew so we can check as many of these spas as possible. Seitse and I are teaming up to check out some spas. You guys split up and do the same.”
Doog: “You’re trusting us to split up however we choose?”
Amaya: “Yes, or is that too much responsibility for you?”
Doog: “No, I’m game. No one checks out spas better than me. I wonder if they have any…uh…massage spas. I’ll be looking for those.”
Amaya: “Yeah, sure. Have fun and meet back at the ship in a few hours. Don’t forget to record your experiences.”
Doog: “Let’s go, boys!”

Doog: “These don’t look like spas, not any I’d like to visit anyway.”
Mike: “I’m pretty sure this is a parking garage or taxi stand.”
Cam: “These guys look like hustlers or pushers. They probably work for the spas. They’ll all want our business. If we group together, we might be able to negotiate a better price.”
Oldie: “I thought we were supposed to split up.”
Doog: “We’ll split up later. I think Cam’s on to something.”

Seitse: “Are you doing alright?”
Amaya: “What do you mean? I’m doing great.”
Seitse: “It’s not like you to let the guys wander around unsupervised. Who knows what kind of trouble they’ll get into.”
Amaya: “There’s not much trouble to get into on Balnea. Besides, they have very limited credits. Worse case scenario, they get scammed out of their few credits. I’m not too worried.”
Seitse: “Ok. That did not sound like something you’d say.”
Amaya: “Sometimes us girls just need some relaxation time.”
Seitse: “What does that mean?”
Amaya: “Balnea has some great spas that really do wonders. These ‘actual’ spas are expensive. We can’t afford for everyone to go.”
Seitse: “Meaning?”
Amaya: “You and I are checking out an actual spa. The rest of the crew…well, they’re checking out the fake stuff – the tourists spas. What they don’t know, won’t hurt them.”
Seitse: “Hmm. I could get behind that.”
Amaya: “Glad to hear it. We’re going to have to really step it up, though. This episode depends on us getting the actual information.”
Seitse: “Got it.”

Salesman: “One application of this gel will make you look ten years younger. Buy one now, and I’ll throw in some of my patented Lipid Reduction pills. Nine out of ten celebrities take them.”
Doog: “Tempting. As a TV Host, I’m always looking for something to appear younger on camera.”
Mike: “Didn’t Amaya warn us not to buy this stuff?”
Doog: “Who listens to her?”
Salesman: “Yeah, who is she?”
Oldie: “Don’t bother, guys. If that gel worked, I’d be an infant by now.”
Cam: “You take this stuff?”
Oldie: “I did a while back. I bought some off the holo-net.”
Doog: “So…it definitely doesn’t work. Look at you.”
Oldie: “This is the one time I’ll let that pass. The gel clearly didn’t work.”
Salesman: “Your loss. Youth Gel! Youth Gel! Come get your Balnean age-reducing gel!”
Cam: “Well, we worked together and didn’t get scammed by the snake-oil salesman. Maybe we can take that momentum into the negotiations with these spa vultures.”
Doog: “We didn’t get scammed because Oldie was already scammed before. It’s not that promising.”
Oldie: “Hey, that’s called experience. Between the lot of us, we have a lot of experience in getting screwed over. I think we’ll be fine.”
Doog: “Fair enough.”

Cam: “We’re looking for spas. Who can get us to one the cheapest?”
Vulture #1: “I know the best place. Ten credits, and I’ll drive all four of you there.”
Vulture #2: “Psst. That’s nothing. Same price, but not only will I get you there, you’ll get in for free.”
Doog: “That sounds reasonable.”
Mike: “He has a motorcycle, Doog. We all won’t fit.”
Vulture #2: “I’m up for multiple trips.”
Doog: “Pass. What about you?”
Slink: “There’s classy little spa just east of here. It’s called the Sit’N Silt. You usually need reservations months in advance, but I know the owner. I’ll get you there, get you inside, and get you back to the spaceport. Seven credits up front – five when we get back.”
Doog: “Math that for me.”
Cam: “That’s twelve credits.”
Doog: “That’s more than the others.”
Cam: “It is, but somehow is makes him seem more legit.”
Doog: “I kind of agree.”
Oldie: “The other guys didn’t mention anything about getting us back.”
Doog: “True. SOLD. Take us there…uh, driver.”
Slink: “Slink Varro’s the name. Let’s get you guys loaded up.”

Barton: “You must be Amaya and Seitse. I am B.A.R.T.O.N., Butler AI for Refined Treatment and Optimal Nurturing. Please, call me Barton.”
Amaya: “Hi, Barton.”
Barton: “Esteemed guests, your conveyance awaits. You’ll find that this fully-loaded hover-taxi has been cooled to a most agreeable temperature. During our journey, may I invite you to select your preferred music, as well as a refreshment of your choosing. Simply indicate your desire, and I shall see to it at once.”
Seitse: “This is going to be awesome.”
Amaya: “A little white lie to the crew will be worth it.”

Doog: “Ugh…is there any AC?”
Slink: “Who needs air conditioning – we have the wind. Stick your head out to the side for maximum breeze.”
Mike: “Maybe if we had some music, this heat wouldn’t seem so bad.”
Cam: “I don’t think any music is loud enough to hear over the clanking and rattling.”
Oldie: “I picked the good seat. It has dripping water to cool me off.”
Slink: “That might be condensation from the coolant system. Enjoy the coolness, but don’t drink it…or get it in your eyes.”

Doog: “Something about the size differential in the advertisements is making me believe we picked a lower-end spa.”
Mike: “Yeah, I wonder what that other place is like.”

Barton: “Honored guests, welcome to Thermosilt Spa, Balnea’s high-end, luxury health resort. We have the purest, most-effective dry baths on the planet. Your skin will be radiant and renewed shortly.”
Amaya: “What’s a dry bath?”
Barton: “A therapy like none other. A warm hug of rejuvenating silts and soils – procured right here on this estate.”
Seitse: “Does the soil have some special mineral or something?”
Amaya: “Good question.”
Barton: “Please, ladies, do not concern yourself with the details. Let me worry about that. Instead, enjoy the relaxation that is to come.”
Amaya: “Actually, I am concerned.”
Seitse: “We won’t be able to relax until we know.”
Barton: “Very well, your wish is my command. Many of the soils on Balnea contain the microbe, Salinophyta Exorii. Unremarkable on its own, the microbes release a chemical, Excorionase, when properly heated. Excorionase dissolves dead keratinocytes in the outermost layer of the skin. This causes cell turnover, allowing new skin cells to surface faster. Excorionase also stimulates collagen synthesis, giving it a firming effect.”
Amaya: “Nice. I am more relaxed.”
Seitse: “I’m almost there, I need to know more about the procurement process.”

Barton: “Most guest do not share your curiosity, but I can try my best to answer. Salinophyta Exorii was abundant in Balnea’s crust. It was exploited recklessly for many years. The microbe was nearly extinct. Only small undisturbed populations survived. One such location was under the Thermosilt Spa. It is now collected in a replenishable manner under strict quarantine procedures.”
Seitse: “So, that skin aiding-bacteria grows below the spa.”
Barton: “Yes.”
Amaya: “Can we see it?”
Barton: “Even though I wish to please you with all my programming, I can not permit any visits. The safety of our microbial source is my highest priority. Sorry.”
Amaya: “What about some stock footage of these microbial mats?”
Barton: “That can be arranged.”

Doog: “Am I reading this right? Barely Almost Licensed?”
Slink: “They’re so close, like maybe twenty or so inspections away. Much better than before.”
Bouncer: “We have the best dry spa for miles. You’ll forget the whole license business after a few hours of pure relaxation.”
Cam: “I guess.”
Oldie: “I’m in! I want to look younger!”
Doog: “This isn’t the fountain of youth, Oldie.”
Oldie: “Let me dream!”
Bouncer: “There’s a problem though. I only have two spots left.”
Slink: “I promised these guys I’d get them in.”
Bouncer: “What can I say, the popularity of Sit’N Silt has been on the rise. We have a source now, and we’re getting the good stuff.”
Slink: “No worries. I know a few sources myself. Two of you can stay, the other two are coming with me. Slink always keeps his promise.”

Slink: “Ah, you two must be the more adventurous of the group. I have something great for you.”
Doog: “Actually, we were looking for something more…inclusive…with…uh…bonus perks. If you catch my drift.”
Slink: “I think I know what you’re going for. I have the perfect spot. Come on.”

Slink: “Most of these joints can’t afford the good microbe soil – they buy the leftover, used stuff from the big resorts. That’s right, your friends are sludging around in silt that’s been Emperor knows where. Not you two. I have a source of the good stuff. Pure stuff.”
Doog: “I don’t think he understood what we were asking for.”
Mike: “We should have just said prostitutes. Who knows where going now.”

Barton: “There is more to the process than just sitting in microbial dirt. Salinophyta Exorii does not release Excorionase under normal circumstances. The sand or soil must be heated to a precise temperature – the temperature at which Salinophyta Exorii expires.”
Amaya: “The microbes die to make these baths?”
Barton: “Yes, making the renewable manner of its collection even more pertinent.”
Amaya: “I see.”
Barton: “This warming process is vital to skin renewal. Without it, you would just be sitting in bacteria-infected sands.”
Amaya: “Poor guys.”
Seitse: “They deserve it.”

Barton: “Unlike the other spas, your privacy is paramount. I will remain in standby mode with my vision off until my service is required.”
Seitse: “Thanks, Barton.”
Amaya: “This is magical. The warm silt does feel like a hug.”
Seitse: “I know it’s only been like five minutes, but I swear my skin already feels tighter.”
Amaya: “Me too! That’s when we know we have the good stuff.”
Seitse: “The more I hear about the amenities were experiencing, I start to wonder what the guys are going through. Do they not have privacy?”

Cam: “I honestly thought there was going to be…less people in here with us. All their sweat and grime is soaking into the sand. The sand that we’re also sitting in. It’s sort of gross.”
Oldie: “I’m enjoying it all the same. This lukewarm, strangely moist silt is doing wonders for my wrinkles. I think. I can’t see most of them.”

Cam: “It’s also a little gross that most of these guys are in here fully naked. I mean, at least keep something over your nether region.”
Oldie: “What are you talking about? I’m fully nude too. I want all my body parts rejuvenated.”
Cam: “Scoot away from me immediately.”
Oldie: “What?! It’s a spa!”

Amaya: “Whatever spa they ended up at can’t be that bad. Those spas have to offer some perks to attract tourists.”
Seitse: “True. If the other spas are all junk, then no one would come here. They probably have some benefits.”
Amaya: “Not benefits like us, though. Barton, be a dear and fetch us some more wine.”
Seitse: “And another Mamiya Smoothie too.”
Barton: “I exist to serve, ladies.”

Doog: “What the heck is this?”
Slink: “These guys are diggers. They get the good soil and sell it to the smaller spas, like Sit’N Silt. Why share the contaminated stuff with all the other tourists? Why not get something pure from the source.”
Boro: “Yeah, pure stuff. Totally. Ahem, Slink to what do we owe the honor?”
Slink: “I had a deal with these two chaps that fell through. I thought maybe these guys could get the spa experience at your spot.”
Boro: “(whispers) We don’t have a spa, Slink.”
Slink: “(whispers) I’ll give you three credits, just play along.”
Doog: “What are you two whispering about?”
Boro: “We’re trying to figure out how to serve our wonderful guests in the best manner. You guys want the pure stuff, huh? You came to the right place.”

Oldie: “I think I’m feeling something.”
Cam: “Me too. Regret. I’m feeling regret.”

Mike: “I imagined something very different when they said dry baths. Like walls, for one. I really envisioned walls.”
Doog: “You’re preaching to the choir, Mike. I haven’t had to get naked in front of so many guys since prison. I’m having flashbacks.”
Mike: “I also envisioned something warmer. Baths are supposed to be warm, right?”
Boro: “Did you say warmer? Sure, we can do that. Get the welding gear boys.”

Boro: “Let me get that warmed right up for you two gents.”

Amaya: “Barton, to help me fully relax, maybe you could put my mind at ease.”
Barton: “I’d be happy to help in whatever manner.”
Amaya: “Could a group of slightly dim individuals get into trouble on Balnea?”
Barton: “Madam, do not trouble yourself over the prospect of crime. The wealthiest spas of Balnea have put together a strong security force. It was a must to protect our tourism. Aside from an occasional cutpurse or brigand, Balnea is very safe. If there was any danger, it would be to the low folk who frequent the ‘tourist spas’.”
Amaya: “What do you mean? That’s where my friends are!”
Barton: “Do not fret. The danger is not crime. It is rashes and itchy spots. The sanitation of these substandard, counterfeit spas is most certainly skimped upon and their standards are fleeting at best.”
Amaya: “Nothing permanent, right?”
Barton: “Ointments and antibiotics do the trick, my lady.”

Doog: “Run, Mike!”
Mike: “What about our clothes?”
Doog: “I think they are trying to cook us! Screw our clothes!”
Boro: “Hmm, maybe I should have heated up the silt before they were inside.”
Slink: “Running a spa is hard, Boro.”
Boro: “If Sit’N Silt can’t get licensed, we stand no chance. Are you going to go get them?”
Slink: “Nah, they’ll find their way back.”

Amaya: “I don’t know about you guys, but I enjoyed Balnea.”
Oldie: “It wasn’t too bad. I feel a few days younger.”
Cam: “Six showers later, and I’m finally feeling better. I might stick to wet baths, by myself, rather than dry baths with a group.”
Seitse: “All that pampering sure makes a girl tired. That and the drinks…”
Amaya: “Ahem.”
Seitse: “…drinks of warm water, yikes. Is anyone else feeling itchy?”
Cam: “Everywhere.”
Amaya: “Nice recovery.”
Oldie: “When’s Doog and Mike getting back?”
Amaya: “I hear them now.”

Amaya: “What happened to you two? Where are your clothes?”
Doog: “Balnea is a terrible, terrible place.”
Mike: “I think they lure tourists to the outskirts to cook them!”
Amaya: “Clearly there has been a misunderstanding. Nothing like that happens on Balnea. It’s a tourist spa planet.”
Doog: “They had blowtorches!”
Mike: “And they put us in bowls!”
Seitse: “Sounds like you might have found one of those unlicensed spas. They probably didn’t know what they were doing.”
Amaya: “Well, your safe now. Wrap this one up.”
Doog: “Don’t go cheap on Balnea. Oh, well. See ya!”
 
 
Note: Several beauty products are sold by Balnean companies, including gels, lotions, masks, and serums. All these products are useless, as the bacterium, Salinophyta Exorii, does not survive off-world. Even if it did, its useful chemical, Excorionase, breaks down within minutes of being created. This beauty industry accounts for 30% of Balnea’s economy.”

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the ocean world, Fricare. Almost all of Fricare’s surface is covered in ocean, except for a few thousand jagged stone islands. These islands are under the constant threat of ionic storms – a result of Fricare’s large magnetosphere rubbing against its star’s ionosphere. These storms play an important role in Fricare’s economy, so let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on one of Fricare’s islands. I appear to be in some type of primitive village. This village looks to be populated by a local race. A local race with disgu…unique facial appendages. I think one of them is approaching me now. Wish me luck.”

Illren: “Doog?”
Doog: “That’s me.”
Illren: “I am Maestro Illren.”
Doog: “Thanks for having me Mister Illren.”
Illren: “That’s Maestro.”
Doog: “Maestro? Is that some type of priest?”
Illren: “No. A master of my discipline.”
Doog: “What discipline?”
Illren: “The skies. Their patterns. Their moods. Their messages.”
Doog: “Yeah, sure. So, what can you tell me about your people?”

Illren: “We are simple, but efficient. We are simple, but capable. We need not the LIU’s gadgets. The old ways have always been successful.”
Doog: “Are you referring to the fishing lines?”
Illren: “Fishing. Building. Reading the skies. We are capable of much.”

Illren: “We farm Hethna as the ancestors did. Same bucket. Same pots. Same harvests.”
Doog: “Plant with blue leaves. Got it.”
Illren: “It is. But once, it meant more. People would gather to have its tea. To listen. To ask about the winds. Ask about the rains. Now? They forget the Hethna as they have forgotten the sky.”
Doog: “Are you depressed or something?”

Illren: “The bell would ring as I deployed the kites. Both a warning of storms and a celebration of our ways. Now, it sits quiet, rusting in silence. As do I, now…I suppose.”
Doog: “Seriously, man. Do you need to talk it out? I’m not really an expert in listening – or helping for that matter – but I’ll try.”
Illren: “Time for talk is over. It is done. The LIU has silenced our skies…silenced the Maestros.”
Doog: “I really feel like I’m missing something here.”
Illren: “Venture upward we must. It saddens me to see it, but my old home awaits.”

Doog: “When you mentioned upward, did you mention how far up? This is killing me.”
Illren: “The best place to deploy a storm kite is…uh, was, at the peak. Not much further to go. Be strong.”

Illren: “This used to be the heart of the village. The highest perch. The best place to read the skies and sense the storms. The place to fly my kite.”
Doog: “Huff, huff, huff…I’ll have a…follow up question…in about ten minutes. Must…work…on…breathing.”

Doog: “Ok, I think I’ve recovered. Tell me about this kite.”
Illren: “It flew through many storms. Saved the village many times. Now, it sits in disrepair, devoid of purpose.”
Doog: “What did the kite do?”
Illren: “The ionic storms are fierce, but invisible. Great clashes of lightning could explode at any moment, even in the clearest skies. As Maestro, I learned to read these skies. Read the wind. Feel the charges building. I would deploy the kite into the building wind. It would ascend high above the island. There, it acted as a conductor, alleviating the sky’s charge.”
Doog: “So, it was the highest thing on the island? And lightning would strike it instead of the village.”
Illren: “Yes. Then my people would cheer. I was purposeful. I was content.”

Doog: “So, I think I understand some things. You, in your expertise, could predict these ionic storms.”
Illren: “Yes.”
Doog: “And, once you knew a storm was coming, you deployed a kite to redirect the lightning strikes.”
Illren: “Yes.”
Doog: “Then, why does your home look abandoned? Why are you so depressed? Why do you long for the old ways? What changed?”
Illren: “The LIU stole the storms from the sky.”
Doog: “Wait, what?”
Illren: “Whatever the LIU does from its towers has stopped the storm. There is no more lightning.”
Doog: “Isn’t that a good thing?”
Illren: “For some. Not for me. I have lost my purpose. I have lost any chance at an apprentice. I must live with the fact that my art will go extinct. In a few generations, no one will know how to read the sky. No one will be able to craft a storm kite.”
Doog: “I guess that’s sad.”
Illren: “I’ve peaked.”
Doog: “Hey, I peaked in third grade when I won that pie-eating contest. It’s been downhill ever since.”

Tessa: “Hey, Maestro Sourpuss, are you still lamenting the woes of your craft? Get over it, dude. You’re safe now. The LIU is here. Go drink a beer and take a nap, geez.”
Illren: “Your empathy is on full display, as usual, Tessa.”
Tessa: “What are you waiting for TV guy? Aren’t you ready for something a little more upbeat?”
Doog: “Uh, yeah. Sure. Uh, thanks Illren. I hope everything works out for you.”
Tessa: “Everything has already worked out! He’s the only guy I know that’s upset that he got to retire!”
Illren: “Forced to retire.”
Tessa: “Same slag, different shine. Now, what are you waiting for TV guy?”
Doog: “I’m coming. It’s Doog, by the way.”
Tessa: “Illren, I’ll see you soon. I’m stopping by later tonight. I have a contact in the village below that’s selling me some of that delicious chopped Skamp. Get this, all he wants in return is some old circuit fuses. He thinks they look pretty.”
Illren: “The old ways have died…”

Doog: “Weren’t you a little harsh on Illren?”
Tessa: “I wouldn’t say harsh, just direct. The guy needs to get over it. The rest of his people have.”
Doog: “He mentioned that the LIU stole the lightning from the skies. What does that mean?”
Tessa: “Stole? How dramatic. We didn’t steal it – we harvested it.”
Doog: “You harness the ionic storms?”
Tessa: “Yep. We borrowed the Kaari’s way of doing it too. I bet that chaps Illren’s tentacles.”
Doog: “You use kites?”
Tessa: “Yep. And, I’m not talking about those Kaari kites. Those things are made of sticks, fabric, and prayers. Honestly, I’ve seen laundry put up a better fight in the breeze.”
Doog: “You are brutally honest. I sort of like it. Roast me.”
Tessa: “Roast you? Don’t you think you’ve had enough roast, Mr. Big Belly. The only thing on this planet constructed more poorly than you is a Kaari kite. Don’t even get me started on your fashion, rocket boy.”
Doog: “Marry me?”
Tessa: “I don’t do charity work.”
Doog: “My feelings only grew stronger there.”

Tessa: “Power is harvested from twenty or so islands across Fricare. This collection of islands is operated by the LIU subsidiary, Aerocline. Its motto, ‘power from the tears of Illren’. I just made that last bit up.”
Doog: “So, you launch the kites from here?”
Tessa: “The kites are launched from the top, yes, but there’s more to it than that. This whole island, specifically its interior, is devoted to the power harvesting operation.”

Tessa: “Most of this island is devoted to power storage. The whole lower level is covered in battery banks, like this.”
Doog: “Why are you putting the power in batteries?”
Tessa: “Where else would we put it, mange-beard? We’re collecting enough juice to power a city every few seconds. It has to be stored somewhere until it can be exported.”
Doog: “So, Fricare is an energy exporter?”
Tessa: “Yep, a profitable one too. Once we got established, there wasn’t many costs. This planet is giving out free energy faster than Illren gives out bad vibes and mumbled regrets.”
Doog: “That is a lot of energy.”

Worker: “Yeah, I see the blinking lights! I’ve been seeing them for SIX straight years! I didn’t go to tech school for three WHOLE weeks to be a battery babysitter! What am I DOING with my life!”
Doog: “That guy seems a bit unhinged.”
Tessa: “All of us techs are. It comes with the territory.”
Doog: “You’re a tech?”
Tessa: “Yep. I’m a Skytech.”
Doog: “You fix the sky?”
Tessa: “Did a bolt of lightning sneak past our collectors and burn out your brain?”
Doog: “What do you mean?”
Tessa: “Fix the sky? You know what, I’m not even going to answer that. Let’s head out.”

Desk #1: “Spike on the ion-trace. We’re pulling too fast on the loop array again. Rerouting.”
Desk #3: “Yeah, Kite #1 is drifting. We need to reharmonize before we start cooking the upper lattice.”
Desk #2: “Harvest rate’s still climbing though. We’re above 90% conversion on the transfer conduits. That’s not bad for midday. That’s if the peristaltic feeds stay non-linear, of course.”
Doog: “These guys sound like a bunch of nerds.”
Tessa: “That’s the most accurate thing you said all day. These are the desk jockeys, the total opposite of us techs. They’re arrogant, bossy, and not nearly as fun.”

Desk #3: “Always a pleasure, Tessa Wren. You know, I heard everything you just said.”
Tessa: “I wasn’t saying it quietly, was I?”
Desk #3: “I…uh…never mind. You’re needed on Kite #1. Its harmonics have destabilized. I’m seeing oscillations in the phase-lock anchor, probably from a fatigued tension coupler.”
Tessa: “So, it needs a new stabilizer cable. Why didn’t you just say so?”
Desk #3: “I wouldn’t say it is quite that simple. I…”
Tessa: “It is. Cable and a wrench. I’m on it, Buzzword Barry. You sit here and keep reading that techno-jargon thesaurus you guys have.”
Desk #3: “We don’t have…sigh…why bother. Thanks, Tessa.”

Tessa: “You ready to see why they call me a Skytech?”
Doog: “I guess.”

Doog: “I take it back! I take it back! I didn’t realize that it meant a technician in the sky!”
Tessa: “The kite’s not going to fix itself.”
Doog: “Seriously, how high are we? I can barely see the islands below.”
Tessa: “You can’t see anything because you’re to chicken to get near the edge.”
Doog: “You’re not wrong.”
Tessa: “You’re lucky they lower the kites for repair. These things are usually up in the exosphere at the edge of space. They brought it down to 25,000 feet for us.”
Doog: “We’re 25,000 feet in the air? I think I’m going to faint.”
Tessa: “Because of the thin air or your frail fortitude?”
Doog: “Both!”

Doog: “This looks nothing like a kite. Not only that, how does it fly in the air currents way up at the edge of space? Isn’t there almost no atmosphere?”
Tessa: “Looks nothing like a Kaari kite, which is good thing. To answer your other question, they don’t technically fly – not on air anyway. They ride Fricare’s magnetic field lines using the Lorentz Force.”
Doog: “I’m not sure I understand.”
Tessa: “Good. Don’t be like those nerdy know-it-alls down in the control room. Except it for what it is – magnetic-something ion collector that vaguely resembles a kite.”
Doog: “I don’t really think that’s educational, but I also don’t think I want to be labeled a nerd. I’ll except it for what it is.”
Tessa: “Like Illren never will.”
Doog: “You had to get one last dig in, didn’t you?”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Fricare. This is a story of two groups and two different times. The native Kaari once conquered the planet’s storms with traditions and ingenuity. Skies were read and winds were interpreted. Maestros predicted the coming storms, and kites were deployed to force the lightning away from the villages. Now, mimicking the methodology of the natives, the LIU deploys advanced kites to collect this energy. It keeps the natives safe and makes the LIU lots of money. However, the subtle art of sky reading risks being lost forever. Oh well, I’m going to close my eyes and hold onto this pole until we are back on the ground. See ya!
 
Note: Harvester kites utilize the Lorentz Force to stay in the exosphere, but the force is much too weak to keep the kites aloft when lowered to repair altitudes. To stay at repair altitude, the kites utilize ion drives, slowly wasting some of the energy they’ve collected.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, were visiting the Outer-Rim planet, Caelo Fax. Caelo Fax is a lush jungle planet that has a large planetary ring. This ring, a remnant of a failed moon, is highly unstable, frequently sending its meteoroids towards Caelo Fax. While a danger, it does have some advantages. Let’s head down to the surface and see why.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’m down here on the planet Caelo Fax. It’s definitely a jungle planet – there are plants growing everywhere. It’s warm and humid, and light layer of fog seems to be covering everything. I don’t like this place already, and that’s not accounting for the meteor danger.”

Visser: “You must be Doog. I’m Visser Yufu, your guide.”
Doog: “Viss-huh? It sounded like you sneezed through a kazoo.”
Visser: “Visser. Maybe just call me V.”
Doog: “I can get behind that. So, V, what can you tell us about Caelo Fax?”
BOOM
Visser: “That noise about sums it up. On Caelo Fax, we’re in the meteorite business. They fall from the ring, and I go find them.”
Doog: “You’re a meteor hunter?”
Visser: “Meteor when they’re burning in the sky, meteorite when they land. But yes, I hunt meteorites. If they’re able to hit the surface, they’re either big or made of hard minerals. I prefer the latter.”
Doog: “I never saw this represented at the job fair.  What kind of minerals?”
Visser: “There’s a long list of valuable materials found in meteorites, but I’d say Iridium and Osmium are the most valuable.”
BOOM
Doog: “Wow, that’s loud! Are we safe?”

Visser: “We’re perfectly safe. I’ve got an auto-cannon.”
Doog: “An auto-cannon?”
Visser: “Yeah, it scans the sky, detects any threats to me or my home, and takes them out.”
Doog: “Let me get a little closer to you.”
Visser: “No need. The cannon won’t let anything hit within a mile of me.”
Doog: “That’s comforting, I guess. If the cannon is so good, why did you build your home inside a cave?”
Visser: “Redundancy, I guess. Also, some of these strikes start small fires. My home is safer in there.”
Doog: “Comfort erased. I don’t like the idea of running from fires.”
Visser: “Relax, the cannon won’t let anything hit close enough that we’d be forced to run. Let me get my scanner, and we’ll head out.”

Doog: “How does the jungle survive all these fires and booms?”
Visser: “Fires aren’t always bad. They get rid of dead trees, and they allow smaller plant species to compete. Besides, these plants evolved here. They built for this.”
Doog: “How so?”
Visser: “Most of the species here have deep root bulbs safe underground. The fire or strike might burn away the upper parts, but the plant survives and regrows.”
Doog: “I see.”
Visser: “I’m picking up a signal. Looks like I might have something.”

Doog: “What is it? Are we rich?”
Visser: “We? And the answer is no. This is Caelonite, aka impact glass. The fusion of verditite and silicates tricks the scanner. Let’s keep going.”
Doog: “How often do you find the good stuff?”
Visser: “Not very often, to be honest.”
Doog: “Why do it?”
Visser: “Heavier elements tend to sink when a planet’s created, so it’s difficult to find things like Osmium near a planet’s surface. So, it’s exceedingly rare. On Caelo Fax, the odds are slightly improved. The heavier elements in the failed moon are out there for the taking. I just need them to land within my territory.”
Doog: “So, if it’s rare, it’s worth a lot?”
Visser: “Exactly. A few good finds a year keeps my operation running.”
Doog: “Why not grab them in orbit, then?”
Visser: “Caelo Fax’s ring is way too unstable for that. You’d be struck by twenty meteoroids before you scanned one. This is a lot safer.”

Doog: “Is this a crater?”
Visser: “It is. It’s been here since I’ve arrived, so it’s an older impact.”
Doog: “Something this big must have made a mess. Can the canon take out something this big?”
Visser: “Probably. It would certainly break it up into smaller chunks.”
Doog: “Speaking of which, are there any rocks in the ring that the canon couldn’t handle?”
Visser: “You mean like…planet killers? Yeah, there’s a few.”
Doog: “I meant like Doog killers, not planet killers! There are rocks big enough to destroy the planet?!
Visser: “Well, the planet would still be here, but, yeah, all life would probably be irradicated.”
Doog: “What?! Why am I here?”
Visser: “They are being monitored. We should have plenty of warning if any of the big guys destabilize.”

Doog: “Are those figurines in the crater?”
Visser: “Yes, offerings from the local race. They seem to worship these craters.”
Doog: “There’s an indigenous race on Caelo Fax?”
Visser: “Yes.”
Doog: “And they worship craters?
Visser: “Well, I don’t know if the worship the craters per se, but they are certainly spiritual sites. The make offerings to the craters to appease their god. Their god being the one throwing fireballs to the surface.”
Doog: “I’m not a religious person, but I’m considering making an offering myself. Please don’t send any planet killers while I’m here, sky-fire god! Have this tissue I have in my pocket! Sorry, it’s all I have.”

Doog: “Where are we going now, V?”
Visser: “To meet the locals. They are known as the Ur’Ka.”
Doog: “Why does it smell so bad all the sudden? Do the Orcas smell?”
Visser: “The Ur’Ka are very clean. That’s the swamp water you’re smelling.”
Doog: “Oh.”
Visser: “Also, the Ur’Ka speak some basic, so maybe don’t be rude around them.”
Doog: “I was just making an observation about the changing conditions.”

Visser: “Doog, this is Ur’tahn the Elder, and his wife, Vaka’sul.”
Doog: “Uh, hey. I’m never going to able to remember your names, so...sorry in advanced.”
Ur’tahn: “Doog. Wel’ta.”
Visser: “He welcomes you.”
Ur’tahn: “Visser, friend. Doog, friend?”
Doog: “Sure, I’ll be your friend.”
Ur’tahn: “Thankful. Visser need Kaloh’ta?”
Visser: “Yes, but I also would like to show Doog around your place. Uh, Naar’tel your home.”
Ur’tahn: “My home, you home, Visser. Visser, Ur’bassa, calmer of sky fire.”
Doog: “What did he just call you? Umbrella?”
Visser: “Ur’bassa, the calmer of sky fire.”
Doog: “Why does he call you that?”
Visser: “The auto-cannon. Since, they live within a mile of my home, the canon stops any meteor strikes, or sky fire.”
Doog: “Maybe they need to start worshipping you instead of the craters.”
Visser: “Doog!”
Doog: “I’m just saying. So, what are we doing now?”

Visser: “The Ur’Ka have graciously offered you access to their home.”
Doog: “I’m always up for a good home tour.”
Visser: “The Ur’Ka build their homes inside of caves, where they are protected from strikes. I actually got the idea to build my home from them.”
Doog: “Seems like a solid strategy.”
Visser: “The Ur’Ka tend to live in wetter, swampier parts of the jungle. They’re safer from fires here.”

Visser: “The swamp also acts as food source for the Ur’Ka. They pull all kinds of creepy crustacean-type things out of the murky water. I’ve never tried any of it. I don’t have the stomach.”
Doog: “Let’s keep it that way.”
Visser: “Fun fact, the Ur’Ka have evolved to only eat meat. Plants are too unreliable, as they are subject to fires.”
Doog: “Ah, fellow carnivores. I’m liking these guys already.”
Visser: “Let’s head inside.”

Visser: “Most Ur’ka homes are arranged in a similar fashion. There is the common room, where we are now. There are then two offshoot chambers. This here is the kitchen. You’ll note that this room has no wood and is built directly into the cave. This serves two purposes, it stops the kitchen’s fire and smoke from endangering the home, and it can be used as a safety shelter during large fires.”
Vaka’sul: “Krez nak tu, Visser. Tcha’valla! Pesha na’kar cook. Hrrn! Yakka drosh three cycle. Hrrn! Hrrn!”
Doog: “Did you catch any of that? I recognized like two words.”
Visser: “Not entirely. Perhaps she is offering us some…”
Doog: “DON’T finish that sentence. I’m contractually obligated to eat anything offered. So, let’s not assume any of that gibberish means the f-word.”
Visser: “F-word?”
Doog: “The stuff you eat. Now move on!”

Visser: “The other offshoot is the communal bed. It is shared by all members of the family.”
Doog: “Do we have a Charlie’s grandparents’ situation here or what?”
Visser: “I have no idea what that means.”
Doog: “How do they all fit in there?”
Visser: “I’m have no idea. I’m not usually here at night. Maybe they take turns? Perhaps the Ur’Ka like a good snuggle.”
Doog: “Ask them.”
Visser: “No! I’m not trying to get all up in their personal business. Why does it even matter?”
Doog: “I’m a curious man.”
Visser: “Drop it or I’m going back over to Vaka’sul. I might just work on translating what she was offering.”
Doog: “You wouldn’t!”
Visser: “I would.”
Doog: “Fine, move on.”

Visser: “The Ur’Ka spend most of their time in the common room. It’s where they eat and gather, but more importantly, it’s where they create.”
Doog: “Create?”
Visser: “Yes. The Ur’Ka are talented artists. They make a variety of pieces, but their craftsmanship shows up best in their word carvings. They are called Kaloh’ta.”

Visser: “Kaloh’ta are offerings. They are left near craters for protection. They are dropped into the swamp to bring bountiful food. They are even traded between families during matrimonial festivals.”
Doog: “I heard that one guy mention Kaloh’ta to you earlier.”
Visser: “Yes, this family gives me loads of Kaloh’ta, as a thanks for my protection. I get a dozen or so carvings whenever I pass through here.”
Doog: “Is your whole house full of them?”
Visser: “No, but it could have been. I’ve literally gotten hundreds over the years.”
Doog: “How do you get rid of them?”
Visser: “I sell them. A lot of people like their carvings. This second income keeps me afloat until I can make a big score on a meteorite.”
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
Doog: “That’s a lot of explosions!”
Ur’tahn: “Sky fire!”

Doog: “Holy Emperor! Are we safe?!”
Visser: “The auto-cannon isn’t firing, so I think we’re good.”
Doog: “I’ve never seen so many.”
Visser: “It’s a big shower. I’ll definitely be scanning out that way tomorrow.”
Doog: “I think I want off this death planet. So, unless you have anything else to add, I’m going to wrap it up.”
Visser: “No, I think that’s it.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Caelo Fax. This place has crazy meteor showers, but somehow life has managed to thrive here. There are hardy plants, a native race, and meteorite hunters. I know this wrap up is a bit short, but I’m not sure if the auto-cannon is still protecting me, now that V has gone. Wish me luck! See ya!”
 
 
Note: Ur’Ka matrimonial festivals are held yearly at the Grik’ha, a large underground cave complex. Festival goers are safe once they arrive, but must make the dangerous pilgrimage to Grik’ha. The pilgrimage awards those survive with new spouses, while the gods weed out the unworthy along the way.  

Doog: “Welcome to another special edition episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, were visiting one of the galaxy’s fourteen ecumenopoli, Decus. Decus is entirely covered in a large city – minus its small ocean. Decus is a galactic powerhouse when it comes to fabrication, manufacturing, and ore processing.”

​Doog: “How did Decus get so massive? It starts with its mineral-rich moon, Decem. Decem provides all the raw materials Decus’ factories require. This terrestrial moon is loaded with industrial minerals.”

Doog: “This raw material is turned into a variety of metals, chemicals, and other building blocks in the hundreds of processing sites on Decus.”

​Doog: “These materials are used to manufacture a variety of goods in Decus’ massive factories. Decus is the galaxy’s primary producer of a multitude of items, including hardsuits, mecha, hover cars, shield generator components, communication equipment, and so on.”

Doog: “These huge industries require a massive workforce. Billions of factory workers immigrated here, and billions more have come to here to service these workers. When I say service, I mean offering services like banking, police, restaurants – not the other kind of service. Although, I’m sure they have that here too.”

Doog: “Because so many citizens relocated here – and because Decus has no native race – Decus is one of the most diverse planets in the galaxy. Of the roughly trillion inhabitants, thousands of races are represented. In fact, no single race makes up more than five percent of the population. This diversity makes Decus one of the cultural hubs of the galaxy. You can find a variety of different foods, shows, music, and art.”

Doog: “Now, you know the rule when it comes to special edition episodes. We’re not focusing on the economy, so no factory tours. Instead, we’re focusing on Decus’ culture. Where better to do that than the Archive of Color…the Kaleidoscope of Diversity…the Decus Art Museum.”

Mike: “I heard this is one of the biggest buildings in the whole galaxy.”
Amaya: “It’s up there. It’s definitely the galaxy’s biggest art museum. It’s close to twenty million square feet.”
Doog: “Do they rent hoverchairs or have some type of train system? I’m not walking millions of feet, let alone twenty million.”
Oldie: “Me either. Also, do they have snacks in art museums?”
Doog: “What! No, of course not, you walking fossil! They don’t want your feeble hands holding tacos next to the priceless art.”
Oldie: “I’ll be careful. And I’m not that OLD! I can still hold things just fine!”
Amaya: “Don’t you two start already. Doog was right about one thing, the stuff in here is priceless. Be on your best behavior, follow the museum rules, and don’t TOUCH anything.”

Doog: “This place is huge. The holo-map looks like a city.”
Mike: “I think the road-looking-things are corridors and the squares are different galleries.”
Doog: “Well, search for something interesting. Something interesting within walking distance.”
Mike: “I don’t think the map has a search function.”
Doog: “Let’s ask one of the robot guide ladies.”
Amaya: “We have some of the galaxy’s best art right before you, and you’re spending the whole time staring at the map. Just look all around you.”

Guide: “Would you like to know about the paintings before you?”
Doog: “Actually, I’m only interested in one of…”
Amaya: “Yes. Start with the nature one on the left.”
Guide: “Great choice. The Hallowed Glade is masterwork of light-centric impressionism. The famous artist, Udan Aen – a Meteon, manipulated luminescent pigments to make the glade glow in ambient light. It gives the piece a sacred, internal warmth.”
Doog: “We’re going to be here forever.”
Amaya: “While I enjoyed that wonderful description, maybe keep it shorter for my impatient friends.”
Guide: “Of course. Next is the Geocentric Lily, then the Kiss, the Unfinished Spectrum, and finally, the self-portrait, Duckface. If you would like any more information on any of the pieces, let me know.”

Mike: “The kiss? Are you guys not seeing what I’m seeing?”
Doog: “I should call her.”
Amaya: “Don’t be weird, they’re clearly puckered lips with a nose.”
Doog: “They’re lips alright.”
Amaya: “Ok, can we do something refined and tasteful for once?”
Doog: “I don’t think we can. Not with erotica like this hung on the wall.”
Amaya: “Sigh.”

Mike: “Cool. A golden beetle with diamond eyes.”
Doog: “It’s alright, I guess…for an insect. If I had to like an insect art piece, it would have been the one back there, though.”
Mike: “Back where? I must have missed it.”

Doog: “Right behind us. Look at its creepy eyes and little arms.”
Alien: “Once again, I’m not an art piece! I am a patron of this museum like everyone else!”
Doog: “They even programmed it to talk. Amazing.”
Alien: “Grrr.”
Mike: “Uh, Doog. I think that might a person, not an exhibit.”
Doog: “You’re telling me I’m standing here face-to-face with an insectoid alien.”
Mike: “You are.”
Doog: “RUN!”

Guide: “Core Divided is an interpretation of a supernova by the ancient artist, Xenegis. Found on the planet, Casurus, the piece is believed to represent the supernova that created the Durina Nebula.”
Oldie: “I’m not sure about that. Looks like a pizza to me.”
Guide: “A common observation.”
Oldie: “Do you have pizza, here?”
Guide: “There are six thousand three hundred and thirty-two depictions of pizza in the collection. Even more, if you included things that look like pizza, like Core Divided.”
Oldie: “I meant real pizza.”
Guide: “No.”

Guide: “This minimalist work, by the artist Felen Var, is titled Perennial Rhythm. It is an abstract representative of the seasons on the planet, Brevium. Cool blues and whites signal winter, followed by the bright shades of spring’s flowers. The greens and browns of the summer foliage are seen in the third row, while the colors of changing leaves represent fall.”
Mike: “Looks like a paint truck crashed into a beehive.”
Amaya: “I like it. It tells a complex story, in a simple way.”
Doog: “I like it too, but I don’t get a few things. The minalmism, or whatever you said, is ruined by the beehive combs with two colors. The whole spring season is ruined for me.”
Guide: “The hexagons of spring are more complex. It is believed that Var was mirroring the complexities of spring and the rebirth of life. The pink with magenta mimics the Geysume flower, a clear indicator of spring. While thunderstorms are represented…”

Doog: “Hear me out. I think we can save the whole thing if we simplify a few things. Let me show you.”
Guides (in unison): “Respect the line!”
Amaya: “Doog!”
Doog: “Relax, I’m only going to touch it a little.”
Guides (in unison): “Ejection incoming.”

Doog: “Well folks, a man gets a few ideas how to make things better and suddenly he’s being thrown out. We did get to see a few cool things though. I hope they drag me out past that kiss painting though. I wouldn’t mind seeing that again.”
Amaya: “We just got here! Dang it, Doog!”
Oldie: “I only got to see one pizza painting! And it wasn’t even a pizza!”
Mike: “Wait, why do we have to leave? We didn’t do anything.”
Amaya: “That’s true. Can you guys place him in some type of holding cell or daycare? We’ll get him later.”
Guide: “That can be arranged.”
Doog: “Hey! I don’t want to go to museum jail! Ow, ok. I’ll go. I’ll go. Well folks, see ya!”
 
 
Note:

Doog: “Quit hording the black crayons, Jimmy! I’m trying to show you how to fix that season painting!”
 
 
Note #2: Doog was eventually kicked out of the Delinquent Children Daycare Holding Center for not sharing. 

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. Today, we’re visiting the hellish planet, Attra Hens. Attra Hens orbits Attralode, a rare type of neutron star with extremely powerful magnetic field, known as a magnetar. This magnetar is one of the galaxy’s strongest; its field averages readings of 10^15 gauss. That’s a quadrillion gauss. I don’t know what a gauss is, but I’m told standard stars have a field measurement of 1 to 2 gauss – so, yeah, it has a lot more gauss. This field engulfs Attra Hens, causing several odd effects: massive auroras, magnetic storms, and, in some cases, floating rocks. This is going to be a weird one. Let’s head on down.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’m on the surface. You’ll notice I’m sporting some gear today. I have this uncomfortable rebreather that keeps the magnetized metal dust from shredding my lungs. I also have this umbrella-looking thing on my back. It’s a personal oscillating shield. It’s the only thing keeping me alive right now. If it fails, it would be a race to see what rearranges my atoms first, the gamma radiation or the magnetism.”

Doog: “I’m standing next to some type of building. It looks like it has the same type of shielding.”

Vorinth: P-O-S! P-O-S! Turn on your P-O-S!”
Doog: “Excuse me?! You want me to turn you on, but you’re calling me a piece of sh…”
Vorinth: “Personal. Oscillating. Shield. P-O-S.”
Doog: “It’s not on?!”
Vorinth: “No. The indicator light is red. Red, you’re dead. Green, you’re clean.”
Doog: “Alright, let’s see. There we go. That was close. Whew.”
Vorinth: “You’re acting pretty nonchalant for a man who almost experienced cell death to all of his cells simultaneously.”
Doog: “Just a typical Tuesday for me. At this point, I’ve almost died so many times that I’m starting to think I’m immortal.”
Vorinth: “You’re not.”
Doog: “Then why am I still alive?”

Vorinth: “This building’s shielding extends well beyond its walls. Far enough to protect the communication arrays and fuel storage. You’re simply alive because you didn’t step too far from the building. You’re not immortal, you’re lucky.”
Doog: “I don’t think anyone that watches this show would call me lucky, but I guess every POS has a good day.”
Vorinth: “Huh?”
Doog: “The acronym means something else where I’m from. It’s a self-deprecation thing. Enough about me, though. What is this building?”
Vorinth: “This is a worker dorm. It’s where I stay along with my off-world counterparts. It also acts as a communication tower. Local communication is nearly impossible, with the electromagnetic interference, but we can get subspace communications.”
Doog: “So, you can talk with other planets, but not your neighbor?”
Vorinth: “Yes.”
Doog: “Why do you need to communicate with other planets?”
Vorinth: “When we have enough magnetic ore, we need someone to come pick it up.”
Doog: “So, this is a mining world?”
Vorinth: “Yes.”
 

Doog: “What do you mine?”
Vorinth: “Lodestone. It’s a super-ferrous compound – an ultra dense crystalline matrix saturated with aligned magnetic domains.”
Doog: Blink…blink…blink…
Vorinth: “Uh…it’s a powerful magnetic ore.”
Doog: “Got it. You’re mining magnets.”
Vorinth: “Not ordinary magnets. Eons of exposure to the magnetar have changed the alignment of the compound’s atoms. They don’t just react to magnetic fields; they generate them. The ore is hypermagnetically active, meaning it warps localized fields and induces polarity in nearby objects. It’s an essential component in many of the galaxy’s technologies: shield generators, artificial gravity, fusion containment, weaponry, medical imaging, nano-bot control, etc.”
Doog: “Science-ish, useful magnets. Got it.”

Vorinth: “POS systems are expensive, cumbersome, and fragile. Not ideal for mining floating rocks. In order to mine the Lodestone economically, my race, the Resitī, were relocated here.”
Doog: “Wait, this is not your home planet?”
Vorinth: “No, we were relocated from the planet, Residuae. Residuae is slightly similar to Attra Hens. Residuae also orbits a magnetar, but a much smaller one that is much further away.”
Random Resitīan: “Vekrell! Sie amine, Vekrell!”
Vorinth: “While we have resistance to the magnetism and radiation, we did not evolve to survive in conditions this extreme.”
Random Resitīan #2: “Dasif sie amine! Vekrell!”
Vorinth: “This causes a slow breakdown of my people’s bodies. It is called Lode’s Bane.”
Random Resitīan: “Dyiton sie LIU voiur, Vekrell! Sie amine!”
Doog: “What are they shouting?”
Vorinth: “They are calling me Vekrell. In my language, ‘ve’ means void or empty. ‘Krell’ means morality. According to them, I am empty of morals.”
Doog: “Why are they shouting that at you? What did you do??”
Vorinth: “I chose to become a loyalist and work directly with the LIU.”
Doog: “What exactly do you do for the LIU?”
Vorinth: “I serve as a liaison between the Resitī and the LIU. I translate, relay orders, and report behavioral shifts. I understand our culture. The LIU does not. This allows me to see problems faster.”
Doog: “In their eyes, you’re a traitor?”
Vorinth: “Yes.”
Doog: “Does that bother you?”

Vorinth: “Bother me? No. They think it’s an insult – like I’m supposed to feel bad for not dying. But I’m alive. I eat real food. I sleep in the safety of a shielded tower, in a bed without coughing up blood. I’m outside hours and hours less than the others.”
Doog: “I see. At least the laborers get kegs of beer for their suffering.”
Vorinth: “Those are not beer containers. It’s artificial protein sludge.”
Doog: “Protein sludge?”
Vorinth: “Us Resitī are carnivorous predators. On Residuae, we ate Vortar, various species of burrowing rodents. Vortar do not survive on Attra Hens. A synthetic Vortar protein was created for my people on Attra Hens.”
Doog: “But you get the real stuff? I see why they hate you.”
Vorinth: “Do they hate me? Or do they hate themselves for not choosing this position for themselves?”
Doog: “Perhaps both.”
Vorinth: “Perhaps.” 

Vorinth: “Dense concentrations of lodestone float, aligning with Attra Lode’s magnetic field lines. It makes the lodestone easy to find, to say the least.”
Doog: “Wow, the floating rocks are cooler than I thought – and, as a lazy guy, I admire easier.”
Vorinth: “I should clarify. While it is easier to find, it is not easy to extract.”
Doog: “Why?”
Vorinth: “Without gravity anchoring the floaters, they tend to obey momentum physics. Hit one too hard, and Newton’s Third Law creates unfiltered violence throughout the area. The floating rocks fly everywhere.”

Vorinth: “That’s why the mining platforms have gripping arms, multi-directional thrusters, and precision sensors. They keep the floating rock still even as it is struck. Struck by non-ferrous titanium tools might I add.”
Doog: “I was curious about that. Everything you use must be nonmagnetic.”
Vorinth: “Titanium, industrial-grade plastic, platinum electronics, and galvanized zinc make up the majority of the equipment.”
Doog: “I see. So, you ship this ore out as is or must it be processed in some manner?”
Vorinth: “Magnets of this power can not be shipped until they are properly secured. It would cause chaos on any shipping craft that attempted to move raw lodestone. Let’s head to the factory. Follow me.”

Doog: “Lode’s Bane looks terrible. The workers look like they’re in agony.”
Vorinth: “It is slow, painful, and messy.”
Doog: “What does it do to them? I know you mentioned something about coughing up blood.”
Vorinth: “It starts with muscle pain. Have you ever worked out or done hard labor? It’s like that type of muscle pain. Only, it’s never better. You are always sore.”
Doog: “Obviously, I’ve never worked out, but I have labored. This antique microphone isn’t light you know.”
Vorinth: “The unending soreness lasts several years before the symptoms begin to worsen. It manifests as a cough – first phlegm, then blood. The soreness intensifies, making every cough torture. Near the end of Lode’s Bane’s progression, disorientation, vertigo, and loss of coordination are common. My people call this, Vellagaran, or ‘drunken stumbles’. Vellagaran signifies the beginnings of brain damage.”
Doog: “Sounds terrible.”
Vorinth: “Vellagaran means the body’s defenses have failed. The magnetic fields are now directly interfering with the brain’s bioelectrical signals. From there, it varies. It depends on which system has been compromised the most. Perhaps, the brain can’t regulate heart rate or body temperature. Perhaps, the brain can’t monitor blood sugar or coordinate breathing. The brain failure results in death, in some manner, within months of experiencing Vellagaran.”
Doog: “What type of timeline are we talking about? How long do workers last on Attra Hens?”
Vorinth: “Six to ten years.”
Doog: “WHAT!?”
Vorinth: “Yes. These conditions are lethal. Do you understand my decision now? Vekrell, traitor, and loyalist are badges of honor. I will live fifty years longer than the name-callers.” 

Vorinth: “Ahh, to be among my Vekrell kindred.”
Doog: “These Resitī are Vekrell too?”
Vorinth: “Yes, they are. They work in the safety of the magnet factories.”
Doog: “I don’t hear anyone shouting at these guys.”
Vorinth: “They are free from the scrutiny of the miners, the most affected class. They do suffer more than I, though. They are exposed to the dangerous lodestone more than I am.”
Doog: “You mentioned that the lodestone had to be processed in some manner before it can be shipped. Is that done here?”

Vorinth: “Yes. The lodestone is heated into a more malleable state using fusion furnaces. The molten lodestone is placed into cylindrical die cavities, creating a final magnetic form”

Vorinth: “This cylindrical puck is then fitted into a computerized component. This allows the magnetic properties of lodestone to be manipulated.”
Doog: “Manipulated?”
Vorinth: “Perhaps, ‘controlled’, is a better word choice. The component controls the magnets’ field and polarity. Once attached, the magnet responds to programmed inputs.”
Doog: “So, it’s safe now.”
Vorinth: “Yes. The magnetic field’s aptitude is arrested by the electronics.”

Doog: “So, it’s safe to touch.”
Vorinth: “Well, technically, but maybe you shouldn’t.”
Doog: “Come on! I want to say I’ve touched some of the galaxy’s most powerful and dangerous magnets!”
Vorinth: “Maybe one little poke.”
Doog: “Alright, here we go.”
Vorinth: “Wait, Doog! Touch the magnet, not the controls.”

THUNK
Doog: “Ow! What’s happening!”
Vorinth: “You turned the magnet on! Your respirator was pulled onto the magnet.”
Doog: “I hurt my face and pulled every neck and back muscle I have – and even some I didn’t know I had!”
Vorinth: “Let me get in there and shut it off.”
Doog: “Lode’s Bane is real! I can confirm!”
Vorinth: “I’ve never seen it manifest in this manner, but I can’t argue. There, you’re free.”

Doog: “Well folks, I believe I’m currently experiencing a concussion. I believe my head achieved hyperspace speeds on its way towards that magnet. I can barely organize my thoughts. Let’s see. Attra Hens is a planet. This planet is near a Magnetar. The Magnetar makes the rocks on Attra Hens extremely magnetic. Poor imported workers are forced to mine this stuff. It is used for many things. Oh well, my face hurts. See ya!”
 
 
Note: While standard stars have an average gauss of 1 to 2, they can reach higher gauss levels. Magnetic arcs (aka sunspots) can reach 3,000 gauss – still nothing in comparison to a Magnetar!