Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the circumbinary planet Sal Dare, which orbits the stars Limos and Koros. Sal Dare is a sulfurous world with arid sulfur flats, acidic lakes, and a poisonous atmosphere. Despite these conditions, Sal Dare is inhabited. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on the surface of Sal Dare. It looks like I’m on the outskirts of an old city. An old, slightly dilapidated city. You’ll see that I’m wearing my spacesuit. That’s because Sal Dare’s atmosphere contains high levels of sulfur dioxide and hydrogen sulfide which are toxic to most species. What else? Oh, the only other people I see are armed soldiers. Initial impressions…this isn’t a great place.”

Kess: “Welcome to the ancient city of Zekhara, Doog. I’m Kess Drell, Lead Administrator of the Sal Dare Mining Consortium.”
Doog: “That explains the big, SDMC. That just leaves one question – what are you riding in?”
Kess: “A gyrosphere. It’s the safest, most comfortable way to get around on Sal Dare. No burdensome suit required.”
Doog: “Where’s mine?”
Kess: “Yours?”
Doog: “If it’s so safe and comfortable, shouldn’t I have one?”
Kess: “Unfortunately, we only have the one. We don’t host many visitors.”
Doog: “This place is getting worse by the minute.”

Doog: “If this is an ancient city, does that mean there was once a native race on Sal Dare?”
Kess: “There’s still a native race – the Sal Dari.”
Doog: “There’s still a native race? Why does this place look so rundown and abandoned?”
Kess: “The SDMC brought numerous jobs and tremendous economic value to Sal Dare, but unfortunately, it wasn’t all that close to Zekhara.”
Doog: “Meaning?”
Kess: “The Sal Dari in Zekhara relocated to be closer to the SDMC’s mines, a few miles from here.”
Doog: “A whole city relocated because you guys opened a mine?!”
Kess: “I wouldn’t say the whole city. There are probably a few stragglers left. Maybe.”
Doog: “Man, the SDMC must pay well.”
Kess: “We offer some of the industry’s best benefits.” 

Doog: “How did Sal Dari evolve on a world with all this sulfur and a toxic atmosphere?”
Kess: “They have a completely different biology from most of the galaxy’s documented sentient species. So different, in fact, that scientists believe that they are not a Progenitor-seeded species.”
Doog: “So they’re not distantly, distantly related to you or me.”
Kess: “No. Their species is one-of-a-kind.”
Doog: “I’m kind of excited to see one now. I bet they look wild.”
Kess: “Nothing too crazy. I’d say they resemble insects.”
Doog: “Everything I learn about this planet makes it worse.”

Doog: “The mine isn’t as far from Zekhara as I expected. If I can make the walk, they definitely could. Why would they relocate?”
Kess: “If anything, it’s a sign of the Sal Dari’s work ethic. Those fifteen minutes wasted walking could have been spent down in the mines. They really are a devoted, hardworking species.”
Doog: “They traded their beautiful city for these ‘trailers’ to save fifteen minutes?”
Kess: “Fifteen minutes that could be spent with family, outside of the mine.”
Doog: “I guess that makes sense…”

Kess: “Ah, there are my devoted workers. Doog, meet the Sal Dari.”
Doog: “Pinchers, four eyes, and four arms means four nopes for me.”
Kess: “I wasn’t actually asking you to meet with them. They don’t speak Basic, so I’m not sure what you’d glean even if you were brave enough.”
Doog: “I’m brave! I just have a…uh…you know what. I will go speak to them.”
Kess: “All you’ll get in return is some clicks and hisses.”
Doog: “Lost me with the hisses.”

Doog: “I’m guessing the LIU provided all this standardized housing?”
Kess: “Actually, all this comfortable, accommodating housing was gifted by the SDMC. Free of charge, of course.”
Doog: “Isn’t that just semantics? The SDMC is just one of a bajillion LIU subsidiaries, right?”
Kess: “The SDMC predates the LIU. It’s a holdover from the Galactic Bureaucracy.”
Doog: “But it’s part of the LIU now, correct?”
Kess: “In certain respects, yes. Sal Dare is in the LIU Galaxy. It’s protected by the LIU’s military. It trades within the LIU economic empire. But technically, the SDMC is a separate entity.”
Doog: “The LIU absorbed countless companies during the Unification, but somehow it forgot the SDMC?”
Kess: “I wouldn’t say forgot. The LIU saw how great our relationship with the locals was and decided to allow us to stay independent. They knew the SDMC was reliable and more profitable on its own.”
Doog: “Yeah, that’s totally normal LIU reasoning…said no one ever.”
Kess: “It’s rare, I admit, but so is the operation on Sal Dare. Exceptions exist, even in the LIU.”
Doog: “What even is the operation on Sal Dare?”

Kess: “We mine Copper Sulfate. It’s the blue crystals you see coming out on those carts.”
Doog: “Copper Sulfate? What’s it used for?”
Kess: “It has numerous industrial applications, from manufacturing chemicals to processing metals. But it’s mostly used as a fungicide.”
Doog: “The LIU kept the SDMC independent to cure Athlete’s Foot?”
Kess: “Agricultural fungicide. Without it, countless agricultural worlds would experience severe crop losses. In a very real sense, the SDMC helps feed the galaxy.”
Doog: “That does seem important. I guess the LIU might keep the SDMC independent if it meant saving food.”
Kess: “Saving food saves the galaxy. Bless the Sal Dari. Their work ethic keeps the galaxy fed.”
Doog: “Anything else?”
Kess: “That sums up the SDMC’s operation pretty nicely. Thanks for visiting.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Sal Dare. This strange, truly alien planet has lots of sulfur. That sulfur becomes copper sulfate. The super generous, best ever SDMC treats its workers so great…ok, they’re not listening. Something is definitely going on here. This galaxy-class reporter does not do half-stories. It's not about integrity; it's about making sure I get paid for a full episode. If I leave now, I’m doing a disservice to myself. I need to get into this mine.”

Doog: “Kess definitely left. I don’t hear his gyrosphere anymore. I thought the soldiers would follow Kess, but they’re still around. Maybe there are always armed soldiers around the mines. That would support my idea that something else is going on here. After some internal debate, I’ve decided that my further investigation is entirely legal. In the LIU, we only do things for money. Kess didn’t give me enough material for a true episode, so I’m continuing without him. It’s my financial duty. Also, he made it perfectly clear that the SDMC and LIU are separate entities. I only owe allegiance to the LIU. In a few moments, I’m making my move.”

Doog: “I managed it somehow. The soldiers were too busy watching the Sal Dari. I jumped…uh…kind of flipped myself…into a returning minecart. I’m going in.”
THUNK
Doog: “I should have ducked.”

Doog: “I’ve been traveling for a while, but it’s mostly been in narrow areas like this. I’m watching carefully, though. I know these carts come out fully loaded. If I see a loading chute approaching, I’m bailing. My skull got thunked enough already.”

Doog: “Alright, I’m deep into this mine. This journalist is getting himself fully paid because I think I found something important. There are buildings down here, and I can understand most of what the signs say. ‘SDMC COMPANY SHOP.’ That’s got to be something.”

Darla: “There you are!”
Doog: “You got me! I just wanted full payment! Don’t…”
Darla: “You’ll, of course, get fully paid.”
Doog: “Huh?”
Darla: “You’re here for the dispensary position, aren’t you?”
Doog: “Uh, yes.”
Darla: “You have pharmacy experience?”
Doog: “I know all the drugs.”
Darla: “Good. And retail?”
Doog: “I’ve bought all the drugs?”
Darla: “Meaning you procured medicines, right?”
Doog: “I’ve acquired everything drug I’ve ever needed.”
Darla: “Great. That’s a bonus. Follow me. I’ll get you oriented.”

Darla: “This is the company store you’ll be working in. We only deal with SDMC credits, so if one of the Sal Dari starts hissing, don’t be intimidated. They often complain about the rates.”
Doog: “The Sal Dari only get paid in company credits?”
Darla: “What else would they get paid in?”
Doog: “Actual galactic credits?”
Darla: “The SDMC preceded the LIU, so it operates on a different credit. Credit not tied to the galactic rate. The Sal Dari understand that, usually. If not, explain it in terms of doses.”
Doog: “Huh?”
Darla: “How many doses they can get.”
Doog: “Doses of what?”
Darla: “You passed the preliminary interviews?”

Doog: “Barely. Explain everything to me like I’m an idiot. I learn better that way.”
Darla: “The dispensary sells everything the Sal Dari need.”
Doog: “They only eat cereal and drink water, soda, and orange juice. Got it.”
Darla: “Actually, no. The Sal Dari buy almost none of the packaged items on this side of the store. That’s for employees.”
Doog: “We get paid in company credits too?”
Darla: “A mix of company and galactic credits. Personally, I use the company credit to buy food, drinks, and lodging. I pocket and save the galactic credits. I’ve been at this for five years, and I’ve saved quite a bit. Five more years, and I’ll have enough to get off-world.”
Doog: “That’s all you eat?”
Darla: “Don’t judge. I’m maximizing my profits.”
Doog: “How did you even get a job doing this on Sal Dare?”
Darla: “Same way you did, I guess. Answered an ad. Sales position. Pharmaceuticals. Must not be a Sal Dari. Paid in blah, blah, blah. You know.”
Doog: “Totally. Same here.”
Darla: “Why are we wasting time talking about it, then?”
Doog: “Did I mention I barely passed the primary interrogation?”
Darla: “Do you mean preliminary interview? Yikes. I’m going to have to shadow you closely for a few weeks.”

Darla: “This side of the store is for the Sal Dari. Those two dispensers provide most of their nutritional needs. The green one dispenses a nutrient-rich slurry formulated for their biology. The yellow one provides mineral-enriched water. They need certain dissolved minerals that most species would find toxic.”
Doog: “Gross food and terrible fountain sodas. Noted.”
Darla: “We also sell containers, utensils, heating fuel, cleaning supplies, and other necessities. Nothing particularly exciting.”
Doog: “You make them buy vessels for their various sludges. Clever.”
Darla: “’Sludges’ works fine for me, but you need to read up on the SDMC pamphlet before speaking to the customers. The pamphlet suggests that we use words like life broth or porridge for the food. Tonic for the drink.”
Doog: “That’s a lot to remember.”
Darla: “Don’t waste too much time on that. There’s a much better seller. Follow me.”

Doog: “Something sells better than food and water?”
Darla: “You must be a nepo hire. Who is it? George or Pascal?”
Doog: “What do you mean?”
Darla: “It’s the most clearly emphasized part of the preliminary interview. It’s why you need pharmaceutical experience.”
Doog: “Oh, I forgot about that part. Yeah, now I remember. Pascal mentioned it.”
Darla: “Knew it.”

Doog: “It all just clicked. It’s been six years, but I remember those green syringes. This is Slavers’ Itch.”
Darla: “Six years since your preliminary interview? Has to be! Everyone remembers that those two words are the most off-limit things spoken in the SDMC. They’re Prurigen Motivators!”
Doog: “They’re called that because they’re from Prurigo. I’ve been there.”
Darla: “Well, that wasn’t mentioned in your previous work experience! That’s a disqualifier!”
Doog: “It all makes sense now. The abandoned city. The temporary housing. Even the long lines I saw at the window. The Sal Dari are one of the few races addicted to Slavers’ Itch.”
Darla: “You’re not hired!”
Doog: “I’m fine with that. How about you? Do you know what the Itch does?”
Darla: “It helps them. It makes them less itchy or something. What are you talking about?”
Doog: “It was described to me as being more addictive than oxygen. When you don’t have it, every part of your body fights, spasms, and gasps for just one more hit.”
Darla: “That’s not in the pamphlet!”
Doog: “You’re helping control an entire species through addiction!”
Darla: “Am not! I’m calling Kess!”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Sal Dare. This sulfurous planet is home to the Sal Dari, a truly unique species. They evolved independently of the Progenitors, and that uniqueness makes them particularly susceptible to addiction with an off-world drug called Slavers’ Itch. I discovered this drug way back in Season Twelve, on the planet Prurigo. The local Sal Dari population has become so dependent on the drug that they’ll do or mine anything to get more. The SDMC buys this drug from the LIU for use in the mine. In return, the SDMC sells copper sulfate in huge quantities to the LIU. I’m starting to think that the LIU keeps the SDMC independent for exactly that reason. They get all the copper sulfate they want, sell all the Slavers’ Itch they want, and somehow none of the blame falls on them. Oh well, see ya!”
 
Note: The Sal Dare Mining Consortium is one of the few remaining independent corporations operating within the LIU Galaxy. As such, the LIU bears no legal responsibility for its actions and refutes any of the facts corresponding to the correlation.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we are visiting the planet, Recresco. Recresco is an ocean world dominated by a shallow, planetwide sea. The planet’s only landmasses are rocky, elevated shoals. Most barely rise above sea level. One of these island shoals is our destination. Let’s head on down.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off near the coast of one of Recresco’s islands. They weren’t lying; it is just above sea level. I imagine a large wave could take this whole place out. While I wait for my guide, I need to come up with a few contingency plans. The big rocky pillars seem like the obvious choice, but there’s no way I’m athletic enough to climb something that steep. I’m thinking the little stilted huts are my best bet. Hopefully the locals are open to random strangers bursting into their homes during a wave emergency.”

Harley: “Doog, I presume?”
Doog: “Yes.”
Harley: “I’m Harlequin, but most off-worlders call me Harley.”
Doog: “I think I might call you underdressed.”
Harley: “Huh?”
Doog: “Your race doesn’t leave much to the…uh…imagination.”
Harley: “I don’t get it.”
Doog: “You’re not wearing clothes.”
Harley: “Did I leave my ventral sternite open again?!  Is my petasma showing?! No, no. All my shell is in order. You scared me.”
Doog: “So, a shell is like clothing to your race?”
Harley: “Yes. We Boros don’t need fabric to protect us from exposure. Our shell does the trick.”
Doog: “I see. And Boros is the name of your race?”
Harley: “Yes, it’s short for Uroboros, our planet’s original name.”

Doog: “Now that we got that out of the way, Harley, I need your opinion on a few contingency plans I’m floating around.”
Harley: “Plans?”
Doog: “Yeah, like what I’m going to do in a wave emergency.”
Harley: “We rarely get waves large enough to qualify as an emergency. The shoal protects our section of the shoreline from anything too fierce.”
Doog: “Why the stilts, then?”
Harley: “The tides. Sea levels rise and fall throughout the day. Occasionally, the sea rises high enough to inundate our little village.”
Doog: “That sounds bad.”
Harley: “Not at all. We actually welcome it. The high tides replenish our tide pools.”
Doog: “That’s what this little puddle is?”
Harley: “Yep. It fills during high tide and remains when the water recedes. We get most of our food from these pools, so the regular replenishment of nutrients is vital to both the creatures living in there and us.”

Doog: “There’s food in there?”
Harley: “Lots. Want a salad? Pick some Salicurls growing around the edge. A quick snack? Snag yourself a few crabs or clams. Need something a bit heartier? Meatier? Lop off some Nem.”
Doog: “Is it a pool or a pantry?”
Harley: “Ha. Both.”
Doog: “I’m not a salad type of guy, but I like the sound of something meaty and hearty. What exactly is a Nem, though?”
Harley: “See that eyeball sticking out? That’s a Nem. They’re soft-bodied filter-feeders that live in and around tidal pools. They eat the microscopic organisms and organic particles suspended in the water, and then we eat them. Well, parts of them.”

Doog: “Parts?”
Harley: “Nem are resilient animals. We can harvest portions of their bodies without killing them.”
Doog: “They survive getting parts of their bodies cut off?!”
Harley: “Easily. But it gets even better. Nem are also highly regenerative. The parts we take eventually regrow. As long as we never take too much, too often, Nem are a sustainable source of food.”
Doog: “Explain it in terms of pizza. I might understand better.”
Harley: “I’m not too familiar with pizza, but I’ll try. You eat half your pizza. You leave it alone for a week. When you return, the whole pizza is there again.”
Doog: “Infinite food glitch.”
Harley: “More or less.”
Doog: “Is that what’s cooking over there?”
Harley: “Sure is.”
Doog: “Smells good enough. I’d try it. How does one acquire a Nem? I’d never go hungry again.”
Harley: “It’s not that simple. You’d need more than one. If you allow it to regenerate naturally, you can only harvest it a few times a month.”
Doog: “How many do you have?”
Harley: “My little village has dozens. There’s at least one in every tide pool.”

Harley: “It’s not any different than having a fruit tree that bears fruit throughout the year, or an animal whose milk can be collected repeatedly.”
Doog: “Yeah, but it’s meat. Nobody wants unlimited milk and fruit. They want meat. I’m surprised your village hasn’t been taken over by the LIU. You’re sitting on a hot commodity.”
Harley: “Oh, the LIU is very involved in the Nem trade, just not here.”

Doog: “Where then?”
Harley: “Farther inland, away from the tidal floods.”
Doog: “I thought the tides were an important part of the process. They bring the nutrients or something.”
Harley: “They’ve developed alternative methods. Follow me.”

Harley: “As we continue along the coast, you’ll notice that the island is becoming much rockier and the tide pools more infrequent. We generally consider this the end of our traditional harvesting grounds.”
Doog: “And apparently, it’s the start of the LIU’s domain.”
Harley: “Yes. Beyond this point, LIU infrastructure will become a lot more common. Mostly pump stations.”
Doog: “Pump stations?”
Harley: “I mentioned before that the LIU is also harvesting Nem, but deeper inland. In order to do this, they need to pump nutrient-rich water from the coast to their facility.” 

Doog: “Hey! We’re trying to do a show here! What’s with all the commotion?!”
Harley: “It appears my cousin is trying to relocate a Nem. We don’t like them being so close to the pump intake. They’re much safer closer to our village.”
Doog: “That’s a Nem? It’s way bigger than I was imagining. I mean, I only saw its eye before.”
Harley: “It’s a healthy one, for sure.”

Doog: “So, it’s dangerous near the pipe?”
Harley: “Does the ‘No Swimming’ sign not give it away?”
Doog: “Is that what it means? I thought it meant party hats required for swimming.”
Harley: “The pipe draws in two hundred liters per second, so your party would be very short.”
Doog: “Two hundred?!”
Harley: “Over seventeen million liters per day. Although, there is a caveat – not all the water pumped goes to the LIU facility. These pump stations perform another task. They reduce the seawater through vacuum evaporation, concentrating its nutrient load. Only nutrient-concentrated water gets pumped onward to the facility. The other half is condensed and returned to the sea.”
Doog: “That’s still a lot.”
Harley: “A lot for one station. There are many.”

Harley: “They all lead here. This is the LIU’s main Nem processing center.”
Doog: “Very thoughtful of the LIU to just name it ‘Nem’.”
Harley: “Actually, it’s a backronym. The LIU repurposed Nem into N.E.M. – Nearly Endless Meat.”

Doog: “So, how do we get into this joint? It’s a massive building, but I only see occasional loading bays – not an actual entrance.”
Harley: “There's not really a need for a public entrance. The only thing we bring in regularly is nutrient-rich seawater. Things mostly leave this facility.”
Doog: “By things, you mean meat.”
Harley: “Yes.”
Doog: “We enter through the loading bay then?”
Harley: “Indeed.”

Harley: “The LIU has taken Nem farming to an entirely new level. They've developed specialized tanks that maintain ideal water conditions, and nutrient-rich diets that dramatically accelerate regeneration. Limbs that once took weeks to regrow can now regenerate in just days. They've even developed precise harvesting schedules to maximize meat production without killing the Nem.”
Doog: “Crazy. And look how many there are. There has to be thousands of them.”
Harley: “Tens of thousands.”
Doog: “That’s a lot of replenishable meat.”
Harley: “Even more if you consider the number of facilities on Uroboros in total.”

Doog: “What about the Nem? How do they like the arrangement?”
Harley: “Hard to say. The Nem do not possess measurable intelligence or communication skills. We don’t really know how they feel.  I’d like to think they’re just as happy here as they are in the pools. Sure, they may be harvested more in the facility, but they live in an essentially perfect environment. Surely, they have to like that.”
Doog: “What are your thoughts?”
Harley: “My thoughts?”
Doog: “Yeah. I think you Boros have an affinity for the Nem. I mean, we just saw your cousin rescuing one a few minutes ago. They mean more to you than you let on. They’re like pets to you…pets that you occasionally eat parts off of. Ok, maybe pets is a stretch.”
Harley: “Perhaps we have a bit more of an appreciation of the Nem than the LIU does.”

Boros: “Alright, let’s see. Meat-bag #XFKNN9EH is next. It’s scheduled for a bilateral posterolateral appendage excision and one anterior feeding appendage. Get down there and get to chopping.”
Cyclops: “Will you stop trying to sound so clinical? I’m chopping off the back tentacles and mouth tentacle. Keep it simple.”
Boros: “Somebody’s grouchy today.”
Cyclops: “It’s these stupid goggles! Can we make ONE thing in this galaxy for people with less than two eyes?!”
Doog: “Yeah, you guys definitely have a deeper appreciation.”
Harley: “Well, some of us do.”

Harley: “The Nem have two different cuts of meat. The appendages and the foot.”
Doog: “I didn’t see any feet on the Nem.”
Harley: “Not feet like yours. A Nem has one large, muscular foot underneath its body. It uses it to crawl along the seafloor and anchor itself in place. It's also the meatiest part of the animal.”
Doog: “It might not be the most scientific, but can we just call them tentacles and a tail?”
Harley: “Sure. The meatier tail is much more muscular and dense. It offers a juicier, more toothsome experience. Because the foot – or tail – can only be harvested once a week, this cut is much more expensive. It’s generally shipped out intact under the designation: Meat Grade 1.”
Doog: “And the tentacles?”
Harley: “Ground into a meaty amalgam called Meat Grade 2. It is much cheaper because there are more tentacles than tails, and they can be harvested much more often. A tentacle can be re-harvested every two days.”
Doog: “How much are we talking per month?”
Harley: “Roughly a hundred kilograms of meat per month. About forty kilograms of Grade 1 foot meat and sixty kilograms of Grade 2 appendage meat.”
Doog: “Per individual?”
Harley: “Yes. Facility-wide, the LIU produces around 1000 metric tons of NEM meat per month.”
Doog: “That’s a lot of meat, and essentially for free.”
Harley: “Not free. Pumping water and condensing nutrients costs money. Keeping the tanks ideal costs money. Staff costs money. That being said, NEM is among the most cost-effective food producers in the galaxy.”
Doog: “Wow. Anything else to add, Harley?”
Harley: “Nope.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Recresco. This ocean world is home to extraordinary creatures called Nem. Nem can survive having large amounts of their flesh being cut from their bodies. They can even regenerate those lost parts. The local Boros take advantage of this to keep a steady supply of meat in their village, but the LIU has taken it to entirely new heights. They keep tens of thousands of Nem in captivity under ideal conditions so they can be harvested over and over and over again. N.E.M. or Nearly Endless Meat supplies meat to countless worlds across the galaxy at a fraction of the cost of other meat operations. You know what’s weird? I’m closing up this episode while I stand next to boxes of meat from an animal that is still alive. Crazy. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Renewable livestock harvesting has reduced animal slaughter on this world by 96%.

​Note2:

​There are billions of stars, millions of planets, but there is only one man, Terrance McDoogal. Welcome to LIU Atlas.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we are visiting the star Birefringens. Birefringens is a powerful magnetar that somehow helps with galactic navigation. Don’t ask me specifics. I’m told it has something to do with the star’s unusual characteristics. Because Birefringens has no planets, station J44-Q7 was built in its orbit so the magnetar could be studied and monitored. That’s our destination.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in J44-Q7’s hangar bay. There’s lots of cargo sitting around, but it is notably absent of any people. There is this Robo-Loader, but he’s not been very helpful.”
RL: “Subject lacks appropriate freight manifests; therefore, it is not of my concern.”
Doog: “Nice to meet you too, robot.”

Venn: “You must be Doog.”
Doog: “I’d like to think you recognized me because I’m famous, but it’s definitely because I’m the only other person in this giant hangar, right?”
Venn: “Yeah, the latter.”
Doog: “Figured.”
Venn: “I’m Venn Marek, by the way.”
Doog: “Nice to meet you Venn. So, what do you do here?”
Venn: “Are you familiar with Star-Lock?”
Doog: “It’s a prison, right?”
Venn: “No. It’s a galactic navigational system.”
Doog: “Then, no.”
Venn: “Essentially, it’s a navigation system that utilizes specially selected astronomical reference points within the galaxy. Each of these reference points has an accurately known location and a recognizable, predictable signature. Your ship can scan for these reference points to determine your current location and orientation within the galaxy.”
Doog: “Is that the fancy way of saying this station handles Space GPS?”
Venn: “In the broadest possible sense, yes.”
Doog: “Got it.”
Venn: “Birefringens is known as Nav 2. It was the second reference point added to Star-Lock.”
Doog: “What was the first?”
Venn: “Sidere Artifex.”
Doog: “Hey! I was there way back in Season 7. That’s the galaxy’s brightest star.”
Venn: “Yes, Nav 1’s recognizable and predictable signature is its exceptional and remarkably stable luminosity.”
Doog: “What’s Birefringens’?”
Venn: “Its pulses. Birefringens emits extremely regular bursts of radiation, each with a distinctive polarization signature. Together, they make it almost impossible to mistake for anything else.”
Doog: “Polarization signature?”
Venn: “Birefringens has an extraordinarily powerful magnetic field. It affects the polarization of light passing through the space around it – a phenomenon called vacuum birefringence.”
Doog: “That cleared up nothing.”
Venn: “I don’t get it either. I’m just an operator.”

Venn: “This part of the station is called Centerpoint. It’s in between Spheres A and B. Centerpoint contains all the station’s logistical areas: dorms, cafeterias, cargo hangars, power generation, etc.”
Doog: “The only thing more confusing than vacuum bi-refrigerants, or whatever, is how empty the station is. There’s only one guy in this huge room.”
Venn: “Yeah, they’ve thinned us out over the years. Automation and stuff.”
Doog: “How many are left?”
Venn: “Eight.”
Doog: “Hundred?”
Venn: “No, just eight.”
Doog: “Eight?! This station has to be almost a kilometer long!”
Venn: “Two, actually. The detector arrays have to be isolated from each other to prevent signal contamination.”
Doog: “That has to make you lonely.”
Venn: “It does. It’s worse than you think, too. Our shifts, breaks, and days off are all offset to provided ample coverage. You can easily go weeks or months without seeing anyone, other than in passing.” 

Todd: “Venn? I didn't know your schedule changed! I didn't think our schedules synced again for months! Want to play cards or dominoes or something? Literally anything would be better than chatting with #55268.”
Venn: “Sorry, Todd. I’m taking this guy for a tour of Sphere A. After that, it’s right back to the grind for me.”
Todd: “Darn. Is there a sign-up sheet or something? I want to show people around the station and talk to them and socialize with them and…”
Venn: “I think it’s a onetime gig, bud.”
Todd: “Of course it is.”
Venn: “Don’t worry, I’m sure you sync with someone soon enough. Come on, Doog. Tram’s this way.”

​Todd: “So, #55268, where were we?”
55268: “Literally anything, huh?”
Todd: “Uh…did I say that? If I did, I misspoke. Don’t take it the wrong way. I love it when you dictate operation manuals to me.”
55268: “Entering mute mode.”
Todd: “No!”

Doog: “After thinking about it, there’s another thing I don’t get. I visited the Omni-Star AI way back in Season 2. I thought it was responsible for calculating where every star, planet, and moon is located at any given time. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of Star-Lock?”
Venn: “The Omni-Star was designed primarily for faster-than-light communications, not travel. That said, its vast knowledge of locations is still important to Star-Lock.”
Doog: “How so?”
Venn: “Think of it this way. Omni-Star tells your ship where your destination is. Star-Lock tells your ship where it is. Both pieces of information allow your ship’s computer to plot an accurate course.”
Doog: “I think I’m starting to understand a little…except how Star-Lock knows your exact location.”
Venn: “Star-Lock is a sensor system aboard your ship. It scans for distinctive, easily identified astronomical objects throughout the galaxy. We call them Nav Points. There are twenty-four in total. Birefringens is one. Sidere Artifex is another. By measuring the positions of several Nav Points relative to your ship, Star-Lock can calculate your location and orientation.”
Doog: “What’s the point of this station, then?”
Venn: “We keep Nav 2 accurate. Birefringens is predictable, but it isn't perfectly constant. We continuously monitor its pulses, polarization, magnetic field, and position. Any changes we detect are added to the Star-Lock data.”
Doog: “So you're basically making sure the sensors know exactly what to look for.”
Venn: “And exactly where to look for it.”
Doog: “I see.”
Venn: “Let’s call a tram.”

Venn: “It’s a five-minute ride to Sphere A.”
Doog: “I probably should have waited to ask my questions until we were on the tram. Now we have nothing to talk about for the next five minutes. This might be awkward.”
Venn: “It’s even more awkward because we’re staring at each other.”
Doog: “I should have chosen a different seat.”
Venn: “Probably.”

Doog: “What’s all this stuff? Surely you can say a few words about this.”
Venn: “I think it’s just electrical conduits and coolant pipes. Not much to say about it.”
Doog: “Has it been five minutes yet?”
Venn: “Maybe two.”

Venn: “Welcome to Sphere A.”
Doog: “It looks remarkably like the section we just left, just with more mechanical things.”
Venn: “Yeah, the designers definitely preferred utility over aesthetics.”
Doog: “What’s all this stuff?”
Venn: “Instruments of various sorts. I think this room has a few detectors.”
Doog: “Detectors?”
Venn: “I really can’t go into much detail. Like I said before, we’re monitoring Birefringens’ pulses, polarization, magnetic field, and position, but I couldn’t tell you which thing does what. I can tell you that there’s a lot of it. Apart from a few monitoring stations, this whole sphere is packed with mechanical instruments.”

Doog: “You don’t have to work on any of it?”
Venn: “Not a bit. There are hundreds of these repair bots roaming around. They keep everything running.”
Doog: “They replaced a lot of the actual workers, I’m guessing.”
Venn: “Not as many as you might think. The repair bots have been here since J44-Q7 opened. We might have added a few more bots and lost a few mechanics and electricians over time, but not many.”
Doog: “Where did all the workers go then?”
Venn: “Back when the station was being built, all kinds of professions were needed. Scientists to determine what needed monitoring. Designers and engineers to build the instruments. Architects to make everything fit together. Software engineers to automate it all. I could go on and on. Eventually, they got everything set up and working satisfactorily. After that, most of them left.”
Doog: “I see. So, what exactly do you do? What’s the remaining jobs?”
Venn: “Follow me.”

Venn: “Like I mentioned before, the station mostly operates itself. In this room, computerized systems collect the data, analyze it, and update Star-Lock automatically.”
Doog: “You help with that somehow?”
Venn: “No. I sit here and wait for something to go wrong. I’m a failsafe operator.”
Doog: “Do things go wrong often?”
Venn: “Almost never. But it’s an important job nonetheless. If some form of automation failed or an important system crashed, incorrect data could be broadcast to Star-Lock. Ships using that data could calculate their position incorrectly. Worst-case scenario, a ship could plot a bad course and crash.”
Doog: “So what do you do if that happens?”
Venn: “Take the Nav 2 offline until it is functioning properly again.”
Doog: “Star-Lock can still function without one of its Nav Points?”
Venn: “Easily. With twenty-four points, the system is very redundant. One or two could go off for a bit.” 

Doog: “How do you know when something went wrong?”
Venn: “The data screens stop looking right. The timing should oscillate. Big spike, little spike, big spike, little spike, and so on. The Nav-02 birefringence spike should also be centered. The fields should never be aligned. Things like that.”
Doog: “How were you monitoring all of this while you were walking around the station with me?”
Venn: “I’m not on duty yet. My counterpart in Sphere B should be monitoring.”
Doog: “Is that what all eight of you do?”
Venn: “No. Only four of us are failsafe operators. Two handle logistics like life-support, power, and communications. And two are bot-techs. They work on and with the hundreds of bots across the station. I almost never see the other failsafe operators as our schedules overlap, but I run into the logistics and techs occasionally.”
Doog: “Anything else to add?”
Venn: “No, and my shift starts soon. I need to get caffeinated before I go and stare at these screens for ten hours.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Birefringens. This magnetar gives off such an unusual signature that it can be easily identified by a ship’s Star-Lock system, allowing it to serve as one of twenty-four Nav Points. These points help ships determine their location and orientation within the galaxy, which is pretty important if you want to know where you’re going. A dedicated crew of eight workers and hundreds of bots operate the orbiting J44-Q7 station, making sure Birefringens’ data stays accurate and up to date in Star-Lock. I have a new appreciation for both galactic navigation and my annoying coworkers. Seriously, I couldn’t imagine working alone for months at a time. Oh well, see ya.”
 
Note:
 
Star-Lock utilizes twenty-four astronomical reference points across the galaxy:
 
-Nav 1: Sidere Artifex / Detectability: Exceptional and stable luminosity
-Nav 2: Birefringens / Detectability: Regular pulses and distinctive polarization
-Nav 3: Vicis / Detectability: Millisecond pulsar timing signature
-Nav 4: Amici Binary System/ Detectability: Distinctive orbital cycle
To learn all 24 Nav Points, visit the Star-Lock app on your LIUpad.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Phocis. Phocis orbits near the outer edge of its star’s habitable zone, giving it cooler-than-average global temperatures. This is most noticeable near the planet’s massive icecaps. I’m told Phocis’ equator and tropics are a little warmer, and that’s where we’re headed. Let’s go.”

​Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on a dock in the factory town, Scoresby. This whole settlement is devoted to manufacturing a single product. I’m not exactly sure what that product is, but I have a few guesses. The smell and boats make me lean towards some type of fish product. I mean, the crates of fish are a pretty big giveaway. I am a little perplexed by the seal sign, though.”

Erin: “Hello! I’m Dr. Erin Calder, but, please, call me Erin. My doctorates are in zoology and industrial systems engineering, not medicine. It feels weird to be called a doctor under those circumstances. If you were wondering, my zoology doctorate specialized in xenomarine mammalogy, while my systems engineering doctorate had an emphasis on biological production optimization. Although, technically, my first dissertation focused primarily on…”
Doog: “I’m Doog.”
Erin: “Nice to meet you Doog.”
Doog: “You seem smart.”
Erin: “Thanks!”
Doog: “That might be a problem…because I’m not.”
Erin: “Don’t say that.”
Doog: “It’s true. Maybe try to keep things a bit simpler.”
Erin: “Ah, of course.”
Doog: “What do you make with the fish?”
Erin: “The fish are just the beginning of our established production model. They…”

Kor: “You learn fast not to ask Erin such open-ended questions. Phocis makes things from seals. The fish feed the seals. Nothing more.”
Doog: “I like this guy.”
Erin: “Hi, Kor!”
Doog: “Tell me this guy is coming with us.”
Erin: “Yes. Kor puts all my book smarts to shame. He’s…”
Kor: “I know seals. I hunt seals. I’m wearing a seal. Enough said.”

Doog: “So, the fish are caught to feed seals. That makes the signage make more sense.”
Erin: “Everything in Scoresby is structured around seal production, specifically the Greater Phocian Seal. They’re easily distinguished from other members of the Phocian pinniped clade by their elongated posterior flippers, reduced interdigital separation, proportionally broader cranium, and a vertebral count of between forty-one and forty-three. Mature specimens also develop a pronounced sagittal ridge just behind the orbital cavity, although that's difficult to identify without either close examination or comparative imaging.”
Doog: “…”
Kor: “We have lots of seals, but this town is mostly interested in the big, white ones.”
Doog: “Thanks Kor.”
Erin: “Those are also reliable indicators.”
Kor: “Also, we call them Oru. Faster to say than Greater Phocian Seal. Erin did not learn that in optimization class.”
Erin: “I’m sticking to approved LIU naming rules, Kor. Anyway, Scoresby is essentially one interconnected production system. Nearly every business you see supports the seal industry in some way. The fishing crews supply feed, the docks service the hunting and transport vessels, the fuel stations keep those vessels operating, and the repair shops maintain them. Once the seals are processed, other crews package the finished products, warehouse them, and transport them offworld. Even the businesses that don't handle seals directly generally exist because they provide something needed by a business that does.”
Doog: “I understood most of that. Anything to add, Kor?”
Kor: “She speaks truth.”
Doog: “Wow, you got Kor approval.”
Erin: “I often get Kor approval, thank you.”
Kor: “No.”

Erin: “Scoresby occupies most of Oruva Island's southeastern coast, but the city is divided into specialized production zones. The harbor concentrates fuel storage, fishing operations, vessel maintenance, offworld transport, and heavy processing at the western end. Greater Phocian breeding requires substantially tighter environmental controls, particularly during early development. The nursery zones need shallow water, minimal chemical contamination, low mechanical disturbance, controlled temperatures, and continuous circulation of clean seawater. So, rather than trying to maintain those conditions alongside an industrial harbor, Scoresby simply separated the two.”
Kor: “Boats and fuel are dirty. Oru grow better farther from the city center. That’s why we walk.”
Doog: “I understood nothing until Kor chimed in. He speaks my language.”

Doog: “Wait, those aren’t seals.”
Kor: “Truth spoken.”

Erin: “Those are Phocian Deer. They're one of Oruva's largest terrestrial herbivores, although ‘deer’, in their case, is purely a morphological designation. They're not closely related to any recognized cervid lineage. You'll notice the elongated forelimbs, shortened metatarsal structure, and unusually low placement of the head. That's an adaptation for browsing both ground vegetation and…”
Kor: “Ruk. They are called Ruk. Not seals. Not important.”
Doog: “Forgetting them immediately.”
Erin: “Not quite so fast. They’re a perfectly viable species. Their problem is the relatively high concentration of fibrous connective tissues in their system, plus their unique diet. Several dietary compounds generate an unusually persistent…”
Kor: “Meat too stringy. No fur. Smells like wet shoes. We don’t like. LIU no like.”
Erin: “LIU might like, eventually. It’s undetermined. Ruk, uh…Phocian Deer, warrant further commercial evaluation. With selective breeding, dietary supplementation, and perhaps some targeted modification of muscle-fiber density, it's conceivable that we could develop another viable meat-providing target. The lack of usable fur is unfortunate, but nutritionally…”
Kor: ‘No.”
Erin: “You know seals, not galactically viable meat sources.”
Kor: “Take that back. I know meat. Ruk not good.”

Erin: “Seal Breed Pit #4 is one of sixteen breeding facilities concentrated along Scoresby’s protected coastal zone. These pools replicate the shallow-water nurseries where Greater Phocian Seals naturally spend their juvenile stage. Historically, survival rates were extremely low. The pups were easy prey for other Phocian Seals. Only a small percentage of Greater pups survived long enough to develop their adult coats and migrate into deeper water. Since the breeding program began, predation has been eliminated, food availability is controlled, and juvenile survival has increased to nearly one hundred percent.”
Doog: “…”
Kor: “Oru don’t succumb to predation as juveniles anymore. Because they are raised in safe conditions, they get both bigger and stronger.”
Doog: “Ah.”

Erin: “Feeding is carefully controlled. Each pup receives a calculated ration based on age and body mass. We primarily use natural, locally caught fish. They're high in protein and supplemented with nutrients that accelerate healthy tissue development. We want every Greater pup to reach its maximum growth potential before it leaves the nursery.”
Doog: “…”
Kor: “Again, Oru get big. Don’t die.”

Erin: “Each pool houses no more than three Greater pups. They're grouped by age and body mass, so individuals with similar nutritional requirements can be managed together. Keeping the groups small also lets us monitor illness and behavioral abnormalities. The groupings are adjusted as needed.”
Doog: “…”
Kor: “I feel you are abusing my translations. That was easy to understand.”

Erin: “Greater pups are naturally quite docile. They display very little territorial behavior and readily tolerate handling. Our breeding program has reinforced that disposition considerably. Regular feeding and daily contact with workers means most of them associate us with food and safety rather than danger.”
Doog: “Going Kor-less here, but you’re saying they like you?”
Erin: “Yes. They’re practically domesticated at this point.”
Doog: “Is that good?”
Kor: “Good for simplicity, nothing else.”
Doog: “What does that mean?”
Kor: “Hunts not as fun.”
Doog: “I might need an Erin translation now.”
Erin: “Greaters used to be a challenging hunt, especially fully grown individuals. Our farm-grown Greaters are…behaviorally habituated to bipeds. It has largely eliminated the defensive and avoidance behaviors traditionally associated with hunting them.”
Kor: “They just stand there.”
Erin: “Culturally bad, economically good.”

Erin: “Weight and body condition are monitored throughout the juvenile stage. Once a Greater reaches its target developmental index and begins transitioning into its adult coat, it's cleared to leave the nursery and enter open water.”
Doog: “How much bigger does it get?”
Erin: “Considerably.”
Kor: “Quite.”
Doog: “L35 is good or bad? What am I looking at?”
Erin: “This seal is from lot thirty-five. Mass is four point eight kilograms. Subject is sixteen point nine weeks old. Pool is number one.”
Doog: “For once, I understood an entire Erin explanation.”
Erin: “I’m improving.”
Kor: “Or he is.”

Erin: “This is the exact reason we raise Greaters in captivity. Phocian seals are super abundant near Oruva Island’s coast.”
Doog: “The LIU names are a bit confusing, Erin. So, there are normal seals and greater seals? Why the similar names?”
Erin: “Yes. They were named in order of discovery. Phocian Seals were more abundant and encountered first, so they received the original designation. When the larger species was documented later, ‘Greater’ was added to distinguish it. Renaming the original species afterward would have created unnecessary taxonomic confusion.”
Doog: “Oh, no…not taxonomic confusion! What about everyday usage confusion?!”
Kor: “Know what’s not confusing? Oru and Norlu. Can’t be confused.”
Erin: “Norlu is also your word for several subspecies of seal. If anything, it’s more confusing.”
Kor: “Norlu doesn’t mean seal at all. It means, ‘unimportant’. Other seals not important.”

Erin: “That's an exceptionally poor basis for biological classification.”
Kor: “Are those Oru?”
Erin: “No.”
Kor: “Then unimportant.”
Erin: “Unimportant how? Your people still hunt them.”
Kor: “Norlu still wild. Still fear us. They are good for hunt. Lots of sport. Also, LIU likes us to hunt them, too. Less Norlu, safer Oru.”
Erin: “You wear their fur.”
Kor: “My people don’t have word for ‘ok fur, but otherwise unimportant’. Norlu still best option.”
Erin: “I see there’s no changing your mind, Kor.”
Doog: “You don’t eat them?”
Kor: “No. Oru taste much better. Even better now, after Erin’s nutritional science.”

Erin: “This is one of Scoresby’s processing facilities. Greaters are hunted…”
Kor: “Not hunted…collected…”
Erin: “…collected and brought here for harvesting. We’ll take a look inside in a moment, but first, I think you need to see a fully grown Greater in the wild.”

Doog: “Are you giving out binoculars or something? I don’t see anything.”
Erin: “There’s nothing to see, yet. We’re waiting for a boat.”

Doog: “Our ride’s finally here…and it’s smaller than I expected. What’s this?”
Erin: “I’ll defer to Kor on anything boat-related.”
Kor: “LIU Thalassa-class vessel. Fancy, modernized version of our old seal boats. Faster. More durable. Less prone to capsizing. Much less thrilling than the old boats, for sure.”
Doog: “I’m onboard with most of that. I need a little less thrill in my life. I’m not too excited about the part we ride in, though. Why is it so skinny?”
Kor: “Not meant for much crew. Most of boat is Oru cradle.”
Doog: “An Oru rides in that center section?! I don’t like that.”
Kor: “Oru like puppies now. Don’t worry.”
Erin: “I’ve survived several hunting excursions with Kor.”
Kor: “Collection.”
Erin: “Collection excursions.”   

Doog: “Does any of the LIU modernization include lifejacket procedures or distribution?”
Kor: “You look like you’ll float just fine. No need.”
Doog: “Thanks Kor.” 

Kor: “Used to search the air for the Oru’s subtle scent. Listened for a faint splash or delicate vocalization. Now, we have the screen.”
Doog: “…”
Erin: “All the Greaters have embedded tracking chips. Their exact location can be triangulated within a meter or two.”
Doog: “I see.”
Kor: “This not a hunt.”
Doog: “It’s more like an Oru rideshare with pickup coordinates.”

Kor: “Screen not even on yet. Oru arrives anyway. Such a challenge.”
Doog: “If that’s just the head, then this thing is much bigger than a pup. Now what? Do we stab it with a spear or harpoon or something?”
Ertin: “Nothing that violent. The meat and fur must not be damaged. The boat is armed with two high-voltage incapacitation prods capable of introducing a near-cataleptic state in the Greater.”
Doog: “What?”
Erin: “We knock it out.”
Kor: “Not needed. Oru will come into the cradle for chin scratches and treat. The thrill of the collection.”

Erin: “You really should incapacitate it Kor. It makes the rest of the process much less traumatic.”
Kor: “Less work if it come onboard itself. Oru heavy. We knock it out after.”
Erin: “It’s not quite LIU procedure.”
Kor: “Please, Erin. Do the thing I hate.”
Erin: “Here boy! Come to me! Who’s a good boy?! Get up here and get some scratchers! Let me see that belly! Attaboy!”
Kor: “Erin useful. She has no hunting pride. I despise it appreciatively.” 

Erin: “We need to incapacitate it, Kor. Loading it onto the crane fully conscious would cause unnecessary distress.”
Kor: “Agree. Words must be spoken, first.”
Erin: “Ah, yes. I forgot.”
Kor: “Oru, we thank you. Your flesh feeds us. Your strength made us strong. Nothing you give will be wasted. Go peacefully.”
SHOCK
Doog: “You still say that?”
Kor: “Always.”
Doog: “Even if it’s not a real hunt?”
Kor: “Not Oru’s fault. Oru did not change of its own accord. LIU changed Oru. Still must respect.”

Worker: “It’s chained. Begin lift procedure.”
Doog: “Why are they lifting it onto the second floor?”
Erin: “The receiving bay is elevated intentionally. A fully grown Greater is extremely heavy, so once the dock crane has lifted one from the vessel, there's little reason to lower that mass again just to move it through the factory. Primary processing begins on the second floor. As the animal is separated, individual materials can be transferred downward by gravity to specialized processing areas.”
Doog: “Kor, help me out.”
Kor: “Lift whole Oru once. Little Oru pieces go down. Erin efficiency optimization.”

Erin: “We’re starting at ground floor, so some major developments have already occurred. The Greater has been dispatched humanely and quartered. The quarters have been lowered and are actively being harvested. Organs and lesser flesh are processed to our immediate right. They’re ground into ‘fish feed’, helping to revitalize our fish stocks. Bones and cartilage are pulverized to our left, and turned into supplements for our current Greater stock.”
Kor: “Great semi-circle of life.”

​Erin: “Greater meat is separated from the bone in this station. A typical Greater yields around five hundred kilograms of meat. Enough to sustain a Phocian family for months. Given our current processing rate, this facility produces approximately ten metric tons of edible Greater meat every day.”
Kor: “We’re never hungry. We are sad, though. Erin calls us Phocian, not Greater or Greatest.”
Erin: “LIU nomenclature!”

Erin: “In all our exposition, we’ve neglected the most important part of the Greater – its fur. Its dense, insulating coat is one of Phocis’ major exports.”
Doog: “All this for some fur coats?”
Kor: “No.”
Doog: “Sweaters?”
Kor: “No.”
Erin: “Greater fur has an unusually fine and uniform fiber structure. Each strand is extremely soft, but also remarkably resistant to compression and abrasion. That makes the fur exceptionally useful for polishing sensitive instruments.”
Doog: “Wait, the LIU wants the fur for polishing things?”
Erin: “Yes, specifically advanced optical lenses and sensors.”
Doog: “Weird.”
Erin: “Polishing pads don’t function when there’s flesh still attached, so this last station to your left de-fleshes the hide, removing any remaining tissue.”
Kor: “This room makes me hungry.”

Erin: “Once de-fleshed, the hides are transferred to this aqueous fiber-conditioning unit. The rotating drum uses temperature-controlled water, specialized detergents, and mechanical agitation to remove residual oils, biological contaminants, and particulate matter from the fur while preserving the integrity of the individual fibers.”
Doog: “…”
Kor: “It’s a washing machine.”
Erin: “It’s a little more complicated than…”
Kor: “Is it machine? Does it wash?”
Erin: “Well, yeah. But…”
Kor: “Washing machine.”
Doog: “I think I’m with Kor. Looks and sounds suspiciously like a washing machine.”

Doog: “There’s even a box of washing powder on top.”
Erin: “Sigh. Can we at least agree that it’s a fancy washing machine?”
Kor: “Agree, Erin.”

Erin: “Here, under special dehydration lights, the fur…”
Kor: “Dryer.”
Erin: “Dryer.”

Doog: “Am I allowed to show this on TV?”
Erin: “You filmed seal ribs getting deboned with a chainsaw a minute ago. I think this is fine.”
Doog: “What’s up with the NSFW sign, then?”
Erin: “Northern Scoresby Fur Works. It’s the name of the company we’re touring.”
Doog: “Ah. Just making sure something inappropriate wasn’t getting polished in here.”
Kor: “…”
Erin: “You don’t want to know.”

Erin: “This is a cutting machine. It turns the fur strips into round pads.”
Kor: “That was short. You sound defeated.”
Erin: “Not defeated. I’ve just learned my lesson. You guys don’t want the fancy explanations.”
Kor: “Don’t give up, Erin.”
Doog: “The show’s almost over, might as well give it one last go. Besides, I feel smarter when you rattle off all that science stuff.”
Erin: “Really?”
Kor: “Don’t change like Oru. Stay Erin.” 

Erin: “I’m glad you said that, because this is way cooler than a cutting machine. Each cleaned and dried hide is optically scanned to map fiber density, thickness, orientation, and any remaining imperfections. The system then calculates an optimal cutting pattern that maximizes usable surface area while ensuring every pad meets minimum uniformity standards. Individual pads are precision-cut from the hide and automatically sorted by grade.
 
From there, the pads are bonded to standardized backing discs. Those discs can be mounted directly onto rotary polishing equipment, where the Greater fur creates an extremely uniform contact surface while trapping microscopic debris rather than dragging it across the optic. Different grades are used for different polishing stages, from initial surface finishing all the way down to final optical refinement.
 
Finished discs are inspected for fiber consistency, shedding, balance, and surface defects. Anything outside specification is rejected and recycled into lower-grade industrial abrasives. Approved pads are stacked by grade, sealed in contamination-resistant packaging, boxed into standardized lots, and transferred to shipping.
 
Northern Scoresby Fur Works produces approximately 1,750 finished polishing pads a day. They’re shipped out daily to precision manufacturing facilities across the LIU. They are used to manufacture telescope arrays, navigation sensors, imaging systems, scientific instruments, and hundreds of other products. So, when you really think about it, a surprisingly large portion of the galaxy sees clearly because of seal fur.”
Doog: “I do feel smarter.”
Kor: “There she is.”
Erin: “Thank you.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Phocis. I’m going to try to sum this up in the style of Kor. Planet has seals. Seals have good fur. Fur becomes polishing pads. Pads make optics.”
Kor: “Approve.”
Doog: “Oh well, see ya!”


Note: There are 6 companies in the LIU Galaxy with the acronym NSFW:
            -Northern Scoresby Fur Works (Fur Polishing Pads)
            -Nine Stars / Four Worlds (Cargo Transport Company)
            -Nova Seed & Farming Wholesale (Agricultural Supplies)
            -Nomo Slag Freight & Warehousing (Bulk Ore Transporter)
            -Nanoscale Surveying Firm(w)are (Software Developer)
            -Now Safe For Work (Safety Equipment Manufacturer)
None are directly affiliated.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Iubar. Iubar is tidally locked to its parent star, Iubara. One side of Iubar is locked in a hot, unending day, while its opposite side is trapped in a freezing, perpetual night. Planets like Iubar are not usually great places for life, and it was initially ignored. However…” 

Doog: “…deep scans from the Almagest Mapping Center discovered an anomaly. Iubar’s atmosphere contained traces of Luxene, a rare and valuable gas. Even stranger, the readings seemed to originate from a singular source on the planet’s dayside. When scientists explored the site, they discovered something unusual. Let’s head down and see what they found.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on some type of industrial complex overlooking a cave entrance. There’s clearly something valuable down there. Pipes and communication equipment lead into the cavern below. It probably has something to do with the Luxene they detected…whatever that is. I’m told I need to head inside to meet my guide. I’ll see you in there.”

Rallo: “You must be Doog.”
Doog: “I am.”
Rallo: “I’m Rallo, a Luxene operator.”
Doog: “Nice to meet you. So, what exactly is Luxene? I know it’s valuable, but what else can you tell me about it?”
Rallo: “Luxene is the commercial name of Perfluoroxenylene, a rare organic gas. It’s seldom found naturally, hence our excitement when it was detected on Iubar. Luxene has a very low boiling point with an unusually high latency.”
Doog: “Meaning?”
Rallo: “When it vaporizes, it absorbs a tremendous amount of heat. It’s a super-coolant.”
Doog: “This planet makes air conditioners?”
Rallo: “Well, we don’t make anything. We just collect Luxene.”
Doog: “I’m assuming that’s what it’s used for, though, right?”
Rallo: “You don’t waste Perfluoroxenylene on simple things like AC. It’s used in more specialized projects, like cooling reactors in small probes or starfighters.”
Doog: “I see.”

Rallo: “I’d like to take you down to check out our collection process, but we need to get you into something a little more…uniform.”
Doog: “I’m not sure what that means.”
Rallo: “You’ll need to change into one of our standard suits.”
Doog: “Why?”
Rallo: “We operate under strict protocols here on Iubar. Uniformity builds trust.”
Doog: “Trust with what? Luxene?”
Rallo: “Just switch suits…it will make sense soon enough.”
Doog: “It makes perfect sense already…you want to see me in my birthday suit!”
Rallo: “I’d rather gift my eyes to the Emperor for use as stress balls than see you nude. I’ll look away. You can change over there.” 

Doog: “Alright. We’re twinsies. Now what?”
Rallo: “Now we descend into the source.”
Doog: “The source of the Luxene?”
Rallo: “Yes.”
Doog: “Is gravity low? Do we just take a leap?”
Rallo: “No! Don’t do that! The bottom’s two hundred yards down!”
Doog: “I was kidding. You obviously gave this thingy for a reason.”
Rallo: “It’s a descender. Hook it to the crane line. It will help you down into the cavern.”
Doog: “Wouldn’t it be easier to take the crane?”
Rallo: “The crane is great for lowering heavy equipment into the cenote, but it’s pretty slow. It’s much faster to ride the already lowered line. Don’t worry, though. We’ll take the crane back up.”
Doog: “That’s asking a lot of this doohickey. I’m not the lightest.”
Rallo: “You’ll be fine.”
Doog: “I’ll be maxing the manufacturer’s guidelines, without a doubt. I’m more worried about my strength, though. Can I hold my own weight the entire descent?”
Rallo: “The descender clips into your suit’s glove. Once you grip the handle, the mag-lock coupler activates. You’ll be physically locked to the descender.”
Doog: “That’s why we’re wearing the special suits…”
Rallo: “Yeah…that’s why.”

Doog: “For once, this is actually stress-free. Not to jinx myself or anything. I’d knock on wood…but that appears out of reach at this moment. Is there even wood on this planet? Stop it. Don’t get fixated on stupid stuff. Remember how easy this is. Just keep on sliding down all easy like. Unless, of course, I’m supposed to be braking or something. Wait. Do I have control? Am I supposed to be doing something?! Is this stress-free?! Did I assume?! Rallo! What do I do?!”

Rallo: “Told you it was easy.”
Doog: “So easy! I didn’t even panic.”
Rallo: “You’re saying that like you did.”
Doog: “Are instructions too much to ask for? I was falling blind!”

Rallo: “This is our little collection platform. It sits directly below the cave entrance.”
Doog: “There’s a lot of natural light, considering how far down we went.”
Rallo: “Dayside perks. The sun never sets here. Light is always pouring into this cavern.”
Doog: “And the Luxene?”
Rallo: “It’s everywhere down here. Collection is easy. Big fans draw in the cavern air, a little filtration takes place, and then it’s piped to collection tanks on the surface.”
Doog: “Seems simple enough.”
Rallo: “I wouldn’t say simple. You’re not seeing the whole picture.”
Doog: “What do you mean? I see the fans, I see the pipes, and I see the computers. What part of the picture am I missing?”
Rallo: “Turn around.”

Doog: “Wait. Is there some type of mushroom ecosystem down here!?”
Rallo: “They’re Photomycetes, not mushrooms, if you want to get technical. These fungal organisms have photosynthetic symbionts, sort of like lichens.”
Doog: “I’m not sure I understand.”
Rallo: “Normal fungi couldn’t support an ecosystem down here. There’s no steady outside source of organic material to break down. The only reliable source of energy is light.”
Doog: “So, they live like plants?”
Rallo: “The symbiotes within them do, yes.”
Doog: “Then why is nothing growing near the platform, in the direct light?”
Rallo: “Iubara’s UV-heavy sunlight is too powerful for any of the species down here. Instead, they rely on the scattered, visible light just outside of the direct beam.”
Doog: “I see.”
Rallo: “In fact, the Iubari are in awe of our ability to survive in the direct beam. So much that they’ve taken to calling us ‘light-walkers’.”
Doog: “I thought the photosynthesis thing was weird, but now you’re telling me these mushrooms can talk?”
Rallo: “Not all of them.”

Doog: “Are you saying there’s a sentient species down here?”
Rallo: “If you look carefully, you’ll see them. They look very similar to the surrounding Photomycetes, but they’re bipedal and moving about.”
Doog: “I think I see them.”
Rallo: “We call them the Iubari.”
Doog: “It’s crazy enough that anything at all survives in a cavern on the hellish dayside of a tidally locked planet, but now you’re saying some of it evolved sentience? Down here?”
Rallo: “Why not? Given enough time and the right pressures, it’s not as unlikely as you might think.”
Doog: “How?”
Rallo: “Evolution. Different Photomycetes found different ways to compete for light. Some developed huge caps to maximize surface area and support more symbionts. Others developed protective pigments that allowed them to grow closer to the direct beam. The ancestors of the Iubari took a different approach. They became mobile.”
Doog: “So they could move to better light?”
Rallo: “At first, probably. Mobility allowed them to seek out better light, water, and nutrients. Eventually, it also allowed them to hunt other organisms. That required better senses, coordination, and decision-making. Over millions of years, their nervous systems became increasingly complex.”
Doog: “They became smart mushrooms.”
Rallo: “Essentially.”

Doog: “How smart are we talking?”
Rallo: “They have all the characteristics of a recognized sentient species: language, cooperation, culture, religion, etc.”
Doog: “You’ve spoken to these mushroom people?”
Rallo: “Of course. It was an important part of our early work. Only with their cooperation could we maximize Luxene collection.”
Doog: “Hey, mushroom people, welcome to the galaxy. We know you’ve lived eons alone in your little bubble, but we need gas. Get to work. Standard LIU.”
Rallo: “That’s not quite what happened. We didn’t need their help with extraction – the inhalation fans do that just fine. We needed an increase in Luxene.”
Doog: “The natives make Luxene?”
Rallo: “Yes, technically. All Photomycetes produce it as a metabolic byproduct. But that’s not quite what I meant. We needed them to change some behaviors.”
Doog: “Behaviors?”
Rallo: “Well, they really liked to eat the aquatic Photomycetes, those green ones around the water.”
Doog: “And?”
Rallo: “And those Photomycetes happen to be the biggest Luxene producers in the cavern. They outproduce the others nearly ten to one. If we could get the Iubari to stop eating them, we'd have a lot more Luxene to collect.”
Doog: “So, you learned to communicate with them, so you could ask them to stop eating your cash crops?”
Rallo: “It was easier than it sounds.”

Rallo: “Hop in. I’ll explain it on the way.”
Doog: “How was it easy to make a race stop eating its favorite food? I couldn’t stop Oldie from eating pony soup even if I had the Emperor’s guard with me.”
Rallo: “Imagine life as an Iubari. Everything you’ve ever known exists inside this cavern. As far as you know, it’s the entire universe. You have no concept of stars or planets. You don't even know there's a world beyond the opening above. But you understand one thing – the beam is life. Its scattered light sustains nearly everything around you. But the beam itself is deadly. Get too close and the same light that gives life takes it away. Naturally, the Iubari came to worship it. The light became their god.”
Doog: “I can imagine that.”
Rallo: “Then, one day, something impossible happens. A figure descends through the divine light. It isn't burned. It isn't killed. It walks freely where no Iubari can.”
Doog: “A Light-Walker…they think you guys are gods…”
Rallo: “At no fault of our own. Before we ever spoke to them, they had already decided what we were.”
Doog: “You didn’t correct them.”
Rallo: “Not exactly.”
Doog: “Oh, man. I get it now. The matching uniforms are not for the descender tech. They’re part of the act.”
Rallo: “Consistency matters. Different suits, different colors, different appearances – it could complicate their dogma. So, everyone entering the cavern looks the same.”
Doog: “You wear god costumes.”
Rallo: “We prefer standardized uniforms.” 

Rallo: “These are those Photomycetes I was telling you about. The green ones that make a lot of Luxene.”
Doog: “The ones the Iubari once loved to eat?”
Rallo: “Yes.”
Doog: “Which of your godlike powers did you use to stop them? Did you smite them down? Send locusts? Flood the joint?”
Rallo: “Nothing that drastic. We simply added a few new tenets to their already established doctrine.”
Doog: “Thou shalt not eat the cash crops. Remember the LIU and keep it holy.”
Rallo: “Nothing quite that formal. Just some minor doctrinal revisions.”
Doog: “Like?”
Rallo: “Those that flourish nearest the sacred beam are chosen by the Light. Their flesh belongs to the Light and must never be consumed.”
Doog: “Wow. How convenient that the Light chose the one thing you needed them to stop eating.”
Rallo: “The light lord…ahem, we…work in mysterious ways.”

Doog: “I am High Archon of the beam. Fall to your knees and obey me!”
Rallo: “I’ve disabled your exterior speaker. They can’t hear you.”
Doog: “What?! Why?!”
Rallo: “For precisely what you just said.”
Doog: “I was just having a bit of fun.”
Rallo: “We’ve worked hard to establish ourselves as benevolent servants of the light. Nothing more. I can’t let you ruin it for fun.”
Doog: “Fine. So, why did we come over here? Are we proclaiming new tenets? Thou must ride exercise bikes to power our fans?”
Rallo: “We’re comfortable with our current edits. Nothing else is needed at the moment. We simply interact to learn more about the Iubari. To pick up more language, more information.”
Doog: “Boring.”

Doog: “This one looks different.”
Rallo: “This is an Iubari light priest. They’re the main religious figures in Iubari culture.”
Doog: “What is it wearing?”
Rallo: “A mask that’s a personification of the beam. They call it Chmmr.”
Doog: “Shimmer? I know a couple dancers with that name.”
Rallo: “No, Chmmr. The Iubari language is highly resonant. Lots of sustained consonants – M’s, N’s, R’s, H’s. Vowels are short, if they’re there at all. It sounds more like humming than words.”
Priest: “Chmmr… rrakh vhmm. Nhmra thrrm. Chmmrath mrrhn… shhrram na Light-Walker.”
Doog: “That sounded like a clogged vacuum cleaner. You catch any of that?”
Rallo: “Not directly. My suit’s AI is translating, though. Um…something about an exemption from one of the tenets. Some kind of holiday observance. I’ll need a deeper translation before I can answer. Helmet, translate this: I must confer with the light regarding your request.”
Helmet: “Rrhanna… mmr hhmmr. Vhrran Chmmr mrrhn.”
Doog: “What will the light say?”
Rallo: “Probably no. Although, we’ll need to think of a way to let them down easy.”
Doog: “You’re a thoughtful god, Rallo.”
Rallo: “I try.”
Doog: “Well Rallo, I think I’ve had enough.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Iubar. Ninety-nine percent of this planet is sterile, but there’s one little hidden cavern where life found a way. That life, which mostly consists of photosynthetic mushrooms, survives on light scattered from an intense beam of surface light. A sentient race developed here and took to worshipping that beam. Their whole religion was altered when the first LIU explorers descended into this cavern through the light. Now, the locals see these LIU representatives as holy servants of their light god. The LIU might have taken advantage of this to increase their Luxene production numbers. Oh well, time for this god to get his uniform off. See ya.”  
 
 
Note:
 
The Light-Walker Tenets:
 
I. Those that flourish nearest the sacred beam are chosen by the Light. Their flesh belongs to the Light and must never be consumed.
 
II. The breath of the cavern is the gift of the Light. What the Light-Walkers gather from the air must pass freely, for they carry its breath beyond the known world.
 
III. The sacred beam is the path of the Light-Walkers. No Iubari shall enter its radiance, nor place any object within its path.
 
IV. When a Light-Walker speaks in the name of the Light, their words shall be heard, remembered, and carried to all Iubari.
​

Doog: “Welcome to LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Viafontis. Viafontis is a dry, sandy world known for its electrically charged deserts. You heard that right. Something about static charges building up in sand’s unique material structure. Sounds terrifying. Luckily, Viafontis is also known for its many oases, and I’m told those are safe. Let’s head down and learn more.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in one of the planet’s oases. Oases is apparently the plural of oasis, but it feels weird to say. Speaking of weird things to say, this oasis is called Mthunzi. Mthunzi sounds like a hiccup interrupted by a sneeze. As you can see by this railing, I’m limited in where I’m allowed to wander. This platform, which is separated from the oasis itself, is the only area visitors of my stature are permitted to access. That’s because the native race here follows a caste system. Only certain members of their society have direct access to the oasis’s waters.”

Doog: “The oasis itself isn't particularly impressive. It's basically a rectangular pond. On most worlds, this would barely qualify as a public swimming pool.”

Thabo: “Here, in the desert, every drop of water is sacred. Large collections of water, like Mthunzi’s pool, are more than impressive – they’re revered.”
Doog: “I didn’t take the whole planet-wide-desert scenario into account. I stand corrected.”
Thabo: “The desert corrects all of us eventually. I’m Thabo.”
Doog: “I’m Doog. So, what’s next? How do we get into the actual oasis?”

Thabo: “We don’t.”
Doog: “What? Why?”
Thabo: “Neither of us are Umthombo.”
Doog: “What’s that? Is that a local word for cool or popular? I’m cool!”
Thabo: “No, it is a birthright designation. Only people born into the Umthombo caste are permitted into Mthunzi proper.”
Doog: “I forgot your race follows a caste system.”
Thabo: “We do.”
Doog: “I hate caste systems. It always ends up being so unfair.”
Thabo: “Every grain of sand has its place in the dune. There is no dune without a base and a crest.”
Doog: “But I bet it’s better at the crest.”
Thabo: “Is it? You may stand corrected once again, fellow traveler.”

Doog: “What can you tell me about these Umthombo elitists?”
Thabo: “I never said they were elitists. The Umthombo are the oasis-dwellers. Umthombo actually means ‘oasis’ in my peoples’ language.”
Doog: “Yeah, I pretty much figured that bit out on my own.”
Thabo: “Their access to Viafontis’ most vital resource has given them great power.”
Doog: “Water?”
Thabo: “Yes. But also some of the things water allows.”
Doog: “Swimming? Water gun fights? Car washes?”
Thabo: “Food.”
Doog: “Food?”

Thabo: “The Umthombo are the sole producers of food on Viafontis. Not only do they have plentiful water to sustain crops, but they also have the planet’s only arable land. Nothing survives in the electric sands outside of the oasis.”
Doog: “Which caste do they force to farm the food? Is that what you do?”
Thabo: “No, no. The Umthombo handle all the agriculture themselves. It is their duty.”
Doog: “The rich, powerful caste does the farming?”
Thabo: “Every grain of sand…”
Doog: “But…why? Couldn’t they pay someone else to do it? Aren’t they filthy rich from having all the water and food?”
Thabo: “Duty is a core tenet of our society. Do what you were born to do. The Umthombo were born to feed us all.”

Thabo: “The Umthombo’s duty did increase slightly with the LIU’s arrival. The oases were the only safe places to land spacecraft. As a result, all off-word trade flowed through them. The Umthombo received LIU communications equipment and other technology to support this new responsibility.”
Doog: “Getting greater access to the LIU isn’t exactly a perk.”
Thabo: “Maybe not for the Umthombo, but it greatly benefitted my caste, the Indlela.” 

Doog: “Indlela?”
Thabo: “Yes.”
Doog: “What is your caste’s duty?”
Thabo: “We are the planet’s traders and cargo haulers. We travel between Umthombo carrying various goods.”
Doog: “Like what?”
Thabo: “All sorts of stuff – food, saplings, medicine, whatever the oasis has in surplus. Mthunzi, being a LIU spaceport, tends to have plenty of excess, especially in off-world items. We find ourselves here more often than the surrounding oases.”
Doog: “I see. Is that what you meant when you said your caste benefitted from the LIU’s arrival?”
Thabo: “No, we’ve been planet’s primary traders for centuries. Nothing has changed in that regard.”
Doog: “Then what?”
Thabo: “The LIU wants the planet’s electric sands. We’re the only caste with enough desert knowledge to move the Uthuli – Electrostatic Aggregate – from the dangerous mines to the safe oasis spaceports.”

Doog: “It looks like you’re loading up for one of those dangerous runs right now. Where will I be staying until you get back?”
Thabo: “I think you’re coming with us.”
Doog: “I don’t think I’m built for electrified sand excursions.”
Thabo: “Neither are we. My people and our Imboko mounts have some resistance to electrical shocks, but, trust me when I say, we avoid strong Uthuli concentrations at all costs. You will be safe with us.”

Thabo: “That being said, off-worlders are required to utilize some protective gear.”
Doog: “What am I wearing? And why is it so heavy?”
Thabo: “The air filter stops you from breathing in rogue ESA particles that might be blowing about. The heavy thing on your back is a discharge pack. It releases the static charge that inevitably builds up as you traverse the desert. While we avoid strong concentrations, ESA is everywhere out there.”
Doog: “I might elect for getting shocked and get rid of this anvil on my back.”
Thabo: “The desert corrects us all…but it will correct you permanently without the pack.”
Doog: “How come you guys don’t have one?”
Thabo: “Thick skin, insulating fats, less sensitive nerves, to name a few.”
Doog: “I don’t guess you can spare any of those?”

Doog: “Walking on sand is hard enough, but the dune’s angle and this stupid backpack are making it nearly impossible.”
Thabo: “Take small, but purposeful steps. Feel the dune’s pull and counter it.”
Doog: “Yeah, sure. So, how far away is the next oasis?”
Thabo: “Hmm, three days, perhaps.”
Doog: “What?! Days?!”
Thabo: “Well, that includes a few rests.”
Doog: “I can’t walk three hours, let alone three days!”
Thabo: “You’re lucky then. We’re not headed to another oasis.”
Doog: “Wait, what? Why did you scare me like that?!”
Thabo: “It wasn’t my intention. I thought you were just curious about our typical treks.”
Doog: “No, I just wanted to know how much further I have to lug this thing around!”
Thabo: “Not much further. The ESA mines are close to Mthunzi. It’s why the LIU chose it as one of their export sites.”

THWACK! POP!
Doog: “What was that?! Are we under attack?!”
Thabo: “That was your backpack saving your life.”
Doog: “That was an electrical discharge?!”
Thabo: “A small one at that.”
Doog: “Holy Emperor! That was louder than I was expecting!”
Thabo: “Makes you appreciate the burdensome pack, no?”
Doog: “If I could, I’d wear three! How often does this happen?”
Thabo: “Depends, could be every couple minutes.”
Doog: “Every few…”
POP! THWACK! POP!
Doog: “I don’t like this!”

Doog: “Please tell me this structure means the exploding-backpack nightmare is ending!”
THWACK! THWACK!
Thabo: “It will begin to diminish soon. The local grounding rods draw away much of the charge.”
Doog: “What is this thing doing out here? I thought the LIU couldn’t have structures out here?”
Thabo: “They can’t have ships or vehicles out here, but simple concrete structures are relatively safe, especially with sufficient grounding.”
Doog: “What is it? Looks like a wall.”
Thabo: “That’s because it is a wall. ESA, like any other sand, tends to drift over time. The LIU didn’t want their closest, most dependable source wandering away from Mthunzi.”

Thabo: “The wall serves another purpose. It’s where our caravan can safely exchange empty ESA cannisters for full ones.”
Doog: “I can only imagine the explosive discharge if one of those falls!”
Thabo: “Actually, the ESA in the containers has been rendered safe, fully discharged of its voltage. It’s mandatory for safe transport for both my people and the cargo ships they end up on.”
Doog: “Knowing the LIU, the focus is probably on the latter.”

Doog: “Does the LIU pay you for your transport service?”
Thabo: “I know credits are important to you off-worlders, but they don’t mean much on Viafontis. Here, we value two things: water and duty. The LIU understands this. Obviously, their deliveries increase our duties. But they also provide liters of water per empty cannister returned, incentivizing us to make deliveries.”
Doog: “Couldn’t you already get water from the oases?”
Thabo: “We could, but never in abundant amounts. Before, we struggled to live between oasis deliveries. Now, we have options.  When we return to the Umthombo, we can take less water and get more food. We can even boycott or avoid more expensive oases entirely. Drive down their prices. In this era, the Umthombo and Indlela are equals.”
Doog: “You have benefited from the LIU, haven’t you?”
Thabo: “Increased water, increased negotiating power, and certainly, increased duty, which my people value spiritually. However, we are not the caste that benefitted the most.”
Doog: “The Umthombo benefitted more?”
Thabo: “No.”
Doog: “No?”
Thabo: “Our other caste, the Umceli, benefitted the most.” 

Doog: “It definitely feels safer on the wall.”
Thabo: “Electrically speaking, it is safer. It’s closer to the ESA mine, though, so keep that backpack on. The desert corrects much more powerfully on the other side.”
Doog: “What about those workers over there? Are they in danger?”
Thabo: “The Umceli share our biological resistance, but they also have advanced LIU gear.”
Doog: “These guys are the Umceli? The lowest ones?”
Thabo: “Our caste system does not have ranked tiers. No caste is higher or lower. We are all parts of the dune.”
Doog: “Fair enough. So, what do the Umceli do?”
Thabo: “They’re our planet’s laborers and craftsmen. Their caste actually built the Oasis Fortresses.”
Doog: “Impressive, I guess. Weird that they don’t get to live in something they built, though.”
Thabo: “I wasn’t much of a problem back then. After completing an Umthombo, the Umceli simply left to build the next.”
Doog: “But it became a problem?”
Thabo: “One day, there was nothing left to build. The Umceli were left without purpose…without duty. They began roaming Viafontis, searching for work. They found some repair work from time to time, but nothing lasting. They became the planet’s wanderers and beggars. A truly dark era for their caste.”
Doog: “Beggars? Like begging for money…err water?”
Thabo: “Yes. My caste had little to spare, but we shared whatever we could. The Umthombo shared a bit more, especially food. The Umceli barely survived that era, even with our generosity.”
Doog: “The LIU saved them, didn’t they.”
Thabo: “The LIU’s arrival was a rebirth for the Umceli. They found duty and purpose again, raising their spirits and restoring their pride. Once again, every grain of sand had its place in the dune.”

Thabo: “As I’m sure you noticed, the Umceli mine the ESA for the LIU. They’re the ones that fill up the containers, transport them to storage areas along the wall, and safely discharge the material.”
Doog: “It doesn’t look any more dangerous on their side of the wall.”
Thabo: “Because that’s not pure ESA over there. The actual mine is a few hundred meters farther into the desert.”
Doog: “Let me guess…we’re going to the actual mine.”
Thabo: “I’m no more excited about it than you are. I spent my life avoiding concentrated Uthuli, and I don’t have all the fancy gear the LIU gave the Umceli.”

Constant THWACKING
Doog: “Whatever that is, it’s pretty loud and terrifying!”
Thabo: “It’s a Discharge Pylon. It’s the only thing keeping these workers alive. It’s pulling a lot of the charge out of the Uthuli.”
Doog: “I have like six jokes I could make about discharge coming from my pylon, but honestly, I’m too scared. Let’s get this over quickly!”
Thabo: “I agree.”
Doog: “What gives the ESA its charge?”
Thabo: “A LIU scientists could explain it better, but essentially, Uthuli is made-up of piezoelectric crystals. As the wind shifts the sand, those crystals rub and press against one another, generating electricity.”
Doog: “The LIU wants the ESA to make electricity?”
Thabo: “To store it, actually. Once discharged and refined, the Uthuli becomes an exceptional electrical storage material. It can hold enormous amounts of energy without degrading.”
Doog: “That’s good enough for me! Thanks, Thabo!”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Viafontis. This desert planet had a lot of surprises. For starters, I was totally wrong about their caste system. It’s not like the others I have experienced. Every caste seems equally respected, even if some castes live in much better conditions…ahem…. the Umthombo. The sand is crazy too. Some of it is made up of Electrostatic Aggregate or ESA. Even in low concentrations, this stuff can deliver huge electrical shocks. Without Thabo’s guidance, I probably would have died a hundred times getting out here. Speaking of Thabo, I need him to get me back to Mthunzi, so I better catch up with him! Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Once refined, ESA is used to manufacture ultra-high-density energy storage cells capable of holding enormous amounts of power with virtually no loss over time. Many long-duration spacecraft rely on ESA-based storage systems for emergency power reserves. Under laboratory conditions, experimental ESA cells have retained over 95% of their stored energy after several decades.

Amaya: “I’m telling you guys – this isn’t a bathroom smell. You’re wasting your time spraying the bathroom door.”
Mike: “At least Cam and I are trying something!”
Seitse: “That air-freshener has been diluted so many times, that you’re basically just misting water.”
Amaya: “The fanning isn’t helping either, Mike. It’s just giving the smell a velocity.”
Doog: “I’m not sure what’s worse – the smell…or Timbo’s cat sweater.”
Amaya: “That’s not helpful.”

Cam: “It definitely smells worse closer to the bathroom.”
Seitse: “But you can’t smell it inside the bathroom.”
Mike: “So, bathroom adjacent?”
Doog: “Oldie’s bed?”

Oldie: “Good news and bad news. I found the smell…”
Amaya: “Ugh! Is that milk?!”
Seitse: “Why is the milk in your bed, Oldie?!”
Oldie: “I had this plan where I wake up and eat cereal…without having to get out of bed.”
Amaya: “How long ago did you have this plan?”
Oldie: “I don’t remember…a few days ago? Maybe weeks?”
Doog: “He’s losing it! I’ve been warning you all!”
Seitse: “Wait…was that the good news or the bad news?”
Oldie: “Finding it was the good news. The fact that I spilled it all over my bed…and it smells ten times worse…is the bad news.”
Doog: “Ugh! It just hit me!”
Mike: “That is so bad!”
Amaya: “Bernard! What have you done?!”

Doog: “Fan, Mike! Fan!”
Mike: “I’m trying!”
Cam: “I’m not opposed to opening the airlock!”
Hugo: “What’s going on down here? All the atmosphere sensors just went haywire. Never mind, I smell the problem.”
Amaya: “You need to find somewhere to land, ASAP.”
Hugo: “Where?”
Doog: “Anywhere with fresh air!”
Amaya: “Computer, find the nearest habitable planet!”
Computer: “Tellus.”
Doog: “No, you idiot! You tell us!”
Amaya: “Computer, please!”
Computer: “The planet’s name is Tellus. It’s in close proximity.”
Doog: “You TELL US!!”
Seitse: “I think that’s the planet’s name…Tellus.”
Amaya: “Map a course.”
Computer: “Confirmed.”
Amaya: “Get us there Hugo – and quickly!”

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting Tellus. I wish I could tell you more, but this wasn’t exactly planned. We’re currently in panic mode because our entire ship smells like rancid, curdled milk. Thank you, Oldie. Tellus has fresh breathable air, and that’s all we need to know for now.”

Doog: “This is much better!”
Mike: “Get away from the ship! In case any escaped!”
Oldie: “Hey! Wait for me!”
Amaya: “You’re staying on the ship, Bernard! Get that mess cleaned up!”
Oldie: “Aw man…”

Oldie: “Oh, hey, Hugo…the crew wanted me to stay behind and let you know that you’ve been assigned to clean up the mess. Tough luck. Blame Amaya, I guess.”
Hugo: “No she didn’t. I was right behind you. She told you to clean it up.”
Oldie: “Did she? I guess I misheard.”
Hugo: “Sure you did.”
Oldie: “Awkward…”
Hugo: “Despite your attempted betrayal, I think I’ll stay with you. There might be a few things I can do from the cockpit – adjust some filters, reroute airflow. Besides, we know nothing about this planet. It could be dangerous.”

Seitse: “Why…why did we run so…far?”
Doog: “I didn’t…stop…till the smell did.”
Cam: “Better question – how did Doog keep up? Also, why are you all so out of breath?”
Doog: “Smell motivation…might be…a thing. Also…shut up…fitness boy!”
Amaya: “I know it was bad…but we shouldn’t have gone so far from…the ship. We know nothing…about Tellus.”
Doog: “I’ll take my chances…with the unknown.”
Cam: “Well…your chance might be coming. I hear something.”

Amaya: “What is that?”
Cam: “Sounds mechanical.”
Doog: “If it’s deadly, I’m dying. I’ve got nothing left in the tank.”
Mike: “Doog dying might buy some time for the rest of us.”
Doog: “Thanks, Mike!”
Mike: “I think your sacrifice would be honorable, if that helps.”
Amaya: “Relax. The computer didn’t give any specific warnings when it mentioned Tellus. It’s probably just a routine settlement or something.”
Doog: “When is it ever routine for us?”
Amaya: “Here’s the plan. Seitse and Timbo – you two head back to the ship. See if Hugo or Oldie have an update. The rest of us are going towards that noise.”
Doog: “Why?!”
Amaya: “Best case scenario, we turn this into an episode. We need our host, cameraman, and audio guy.”
Cam: “The Hover-Cam does most of the work. I’m really not needed.”
Mike: “Same.”
Amaya: “We’re going!”
 
​
Back on the Magellan:

Hugo: “Made any progress?”
Oldie: “I’m on my second bowl of Hamster Puffs.”
Hugo: “What?! I mean with the spill!”
Oldie: “Oh, that? Not yet. It is smelling better, though.”
Hugo: “That’s because I have the exhaust fans on overdrive! It might actually work…if the source gets removed!”
Oldie: “Oh, I see. I’ll get to it right after I finish.”
Hugo: “How are you even eating in here?!”

Mike: “That’s the source of the sound? A rundown windmill?”
Doog: “Better than anything I was imagining.”
Amaya: “I don’t think it’s a settlement – not a permanent one, anyway.”
Cam: “Looks more like a crash site.”
Doog: “Well, whatever it is – let’s rummage through it, get any valuables, and get out of here.”
Amaya: “No…I don’t think it’s abandoned.”

Amaya: “There’s food being grown.”
Cam: “And no weeds in the plots.”
Mike: “Water pump is humming. I’m picking it up through my integrated audio-implant.”
Doog: “But there’s no one here. I’m picking that up with my eyes.”

Earl: “Hands up, pirates! I’ll shoot!”
Amaya: “We’re not pirates!”
Earl: “The out-of-breath guy wanted to loot our home!”
Doog: “That’s because I thought it was abandoned! Not full of gun-having guys!”
Amaya: “We’re just a TV crew that made an emergency landing!”
Cam: “Milk incident, if that helps!”
Dottie: “I don’t think they mean any harm, Earl.”

Amaya: “Sorry if we gave the wrong impression.”
Dottie: “Same. We’re a bit strapped for resources these days, and the thought of losing them made us act uncharacteristically.”
Earl: “It’s a conduit junction, not a gun, if that makes you feel any better. I’m Earl, by the way.”
Dottie: “And I’m his wife, Dottie.”
Amaya: “I’m Amaya, and this is Mike, Cam, and Doog. We work on a TV show called LIU Atlas.”
Doog: “You’ve probably heard of it.”
Dottie: “Earl and I don’t watch much TV these days, on account of us disassembling the subspace receiver.”
Earl: “Which we were forced to do, in order to keep our life-support systems running…right, Dottie?”
Dottie: “Oh. Yes. We were forced.”

Doog: “Are there settlements on Tellus? We could really use a shop that sells air-fresheners.”
Earl: “I’m afraid it’s just Dottie and I.”
Doog: “You’re the only two people on the planet?”
Dottie: “Only two humans. There are locals…”
Earl: “…local plants. She means local plants. They…uh…might act as air fresheners, actually. Try the tall ones with the curly bit at the tip.”
Doog: “Sure…noted.”
Amaya: “What brought you to Tellus?”
Dottie: “Earl and I are scientists. We were sent here to determine Tellus’ economic potential.”
Earl: “It was all the rage back in the early LIU. Millions of scientists were shipped across the galaxy and dropped onto unknown or under-discovered worlds.”   
Doog: “So? Find anything?”

Dottie: “So much.”
Earl: “So much…air-freshener potential. Right, Dottie.”
Dottie: “Oh. Yeah. The curly ones.”
Earl: “We would have shared it too, but the dang life-support systems kept failing. Had to sacrifice the subspace communicator.”
Dottie: “Receiver.”
Earl: “Both.”

Doog: “It looks like you took more apart than the communications. Is that one of your engines?”
Earl: “It all just started to snowball. Took apart this to fix that. Sacrificed that to save this.”
Dottie: “Earl is a real genius when it comes to mechanical systems. He really made the best of our situation. Impressively turned the comm equipment into a wind turbine and irrigation…”
Earl: “Life-support!”
Dottie: “Power and food is life support!”
Earl: “Uh…”

Seitse: “Run!”
Doog: “Not again! I’ve got nothing left!”
Seitse: “Monsters! Big heads…big teeth!”
Dottie: “They’re not monsters!”
Doog: “Will they fall for the bent-pipe trick?!”
Cam: “Everybody grab something that vaguely resembles a gun!”
Mike: “Doog! Still up for the sacrifice-plan?!”
Doog: “I wasn’t up for it first time!”
Earl: “There are no monsters on Tellus!”
Dottie: “Please, trust us! We’ve been here fifty years!”

Doog: “Fifty years?!”
Dottie: “Yes. And in that time, we’ve never encountered monsters. Only the local…”
Earl: “…plants. Yeah, plants. They’ve been known to make people hallucinate monsters, but they’re not real.”
Dottie: “Earl…it’s time.”
Earl: “They’re TV reporters! This place will be crawling with invaders in weeks!”
Dottie: “We can’t do this forever, Earl. One day, we’ll be gone, and someone else will stumble upon Tellus. We can’t hide this planet and its secrets forever.”
Earl: “I still have a few years in me, Dottie. We can buy them a few more years.”
Dottie: “It’s time.”
Amaya: “What have you guys been hiding?”
Doog: “If it helps, we don’t really have a lot of viewers.”
 
 
​
Back on the Magellan

Hugo: “I came down to see if you were making any progress, but it just looks like you’re eating again.”
Oldie: “I’m not eating.”
Hugo: “Why is there food all over the table, then?”
Oldie: “Apparently, cereal wasn’t my only in-bed idea.”
Hugo: “Bread, a pretzel, and a dumpling were in your bed?!”
Oldie: “Yep. Don’t worry though, the milk’s covering their smell.”
Hugo: “I guess that’s a…plus.”

Dottie: “When we came to Tellus all those years ago, we were young, ambitious newlyweds.”
Earl: “I still remember the excitement. A whole planet to uncover.”
Dottie: “We hardly slept the first week.”
Earl: “If we weren’t mapping, we were cataloguing. If we weren’t cataloguing, we were analyzing samples.”
Dottie: “We did a few other things in between.”
Earl: “Ha! I know we’re confessing, but I think we can keep that part secret!”
Dottie: “Of course, dear. I was just reminiscing.”
Earl: “While our love for each other never faded, our explorative ambitions did.”
Dottie: “Tellus is remarkably sparse biologically. It’s a monobiome with three plant species in total.”
Earl: “Geographically dull, as well. Endless, flat plains dominate the planet.”

Dottie: “We reported our findings diligently. Never missed a deadline.”
Earl: “But then we discovered something that changed everything”

Dottie: “Tellus had a sentient race.”
Earl: “And we made first contact.”
Dottie: “There are usually rules to follow and reporting procedures, but we met them out in the field, far from our ship.”
Earl: “So…we sort of winged it.”

Doog: “There’s sentient life on Tellus?”
Dottie: “Yes, but we believe it’s exceedingly rare.”
Earl: “We can only confirm three individuals.”
Doog: “Three?!”
Earl: “Yes.”
Dottie: “There may be more, but in all our time here, we’ve only ever encountered the same three.”
Earl: “Sometimes years apart.”
Dottie: “If you saw ‘monsters’, then it’s likely those three are back in the area.”
Earl: “We’d love to see them again. It’s been months.”
Seitse: “I can give you the general direction they were travelling.”
Dottie: “Please.”

Dottie: “It’s them!”
Doog: “How do you know it’s the same three every time? Couldn’t it just be different groups of three?”
Earl: “When we first met, we gifted them some of our purple dishcloths.”
Dottie: “We’re not overly modest, but…their twigs and berries were really distracting.”
Doog: “Their junk?”
Earl: “We think.”
Amaya: “That’s not pertinent, Doog. The dishcloths confirms that it’s the same three.”

Doog: “If I’m interpreting stems and berries correctly, they’re all male? Or is there a blossom scenario too?”
Amaya: “Doog! They are right there! Can we stop discussing their genitals?!”
Dottie: “No worries, dear. They can’t understand us.”
Earl: “We believe all male, but we really couldn’t determine what was going on down there.”
Doog: “How does that even work? How can a race exist with just three dudes?”
Dottie: “We have a couple of theories. Obviously, we might not have encountered every member of the species.”
Earl: “We believe their migration pattern follows the rains, taking them across vast distances.”
Dottie: “It’s why we don’t see them frequently, they’re always moving.”
Earl: “They could certainly could be meeting other individuals far away from us.”

Dottie: “The other theory is tad more bizarre, but supported by some of our research.”
Earl: “The other plant species on Tellus appear to be genetically female. We haven’t found a single male.”
Doog: “What does that mean?”
Earl: “Well, given the native Tellusi are presumably male, and all the rest of the plants are female…”
Dottie: “We think there’s cross-species reproduction.”
Doog: “Wait…what?!”
Dottie: “The ecosystem seems to have evolved to have stationary female plants and mobile male…plants.”
Amaya: “The Tellusi are plants?”
Earl: “We believe so. We never obtained any genetic samples, but there is lots of circumstantial evidence.”
Doog: “The giant leaves growing out of their heads is a great clue.”
Earl: “Yep. We think they photosynthesize for energy because we’ve never witnessed them eat any local flora.”
Dottie: “They do eat dirt, but only for nutrients – not energy. We think that’s why they have those large tusks and carry spears.”
Amaya: “For accessing the dirt?”
Dottie: “Yes…”
Doog: “Whoa, let’s back up a bit. Are you saying these guys roam around banging bushes?”
Amaya: “Doog!”
Doog: “What?! I’m curious how it works!”
Earl: “I’d lean towards pollinating over banging.  Some type of pollen dispersal method, probably from the…uh – stem and berries.”

Doog: “They could be pollinating us right now.”
Mike: “My mouth was open!”
Amaya: “Can you all stop embarrassing us?!”
Earl: “Actually, we believe pollination events are rare and usually tied to rain events.”
Dottie: “We see an uptick in seed production after rainfalls, but only when the Tellusi are present.”
Cam: “Isn’t this whole planet grasslands? How can they possibly roam the whole planet?”
Doog: “They must be pollinating huge loads to cover a whole planet!”
Amaya: “Don’t say it like that!”
Earl: “Actually…he may be right. It’s a toss-up. Either the pollination events are extremely large-scale, there are other Tellusi reproducing with distant parts of the planet, or…the Tellusi are immortal.”

Doog: “Like…live forever?”
Earl: “Possibly. These three look no worse for wear after fifty years.”
Dottie: “Wish we could say the same.”
Earl: “We’ve never found any remains of dead Tellusi or burial sites, although given their biology, not much may remain.”
Dottie: “If biologically immortal, it might explain how the entire planet became covered in their offspring.”
Earl: “Fifty years is nothing to them. They could have spent thousands…maybe millions of years traversing Tellus.”

Dottie: “And they’re off.”
Doog: “That’s the extent of your interactions?”
Dottie: “Yeah, it’s pretty common.”
Earl: “Dull, yet exhilarating.”
Doog: “Just standing beside each other?”
Earl: “If they’re immortal, this is just a fleeting anomaly to them.”
Dottie: “A rare glitch in a millennium of consistency. Perhaps it is an entertaining change…”
Earl: “Or…they are equally curious of our sudden appearance.”
Doog: “Maybe a disappointment in what they’re now producing. Like…they think they made you.”
Earl: “Maybe.”
Doog: “And that’s why they wear your dishcloths. They’re the parents that hang horrendous art on their fridge.”
Amaya: “Why are you always so negative?”
Dottie: “Whatever the reason, we always enjoy it. They’re something special, and we’re glad to be a part of it.”
Earl: “It’s why we did what we did. We tried to…”
Amaya: “…report it! Of course you did. If it wasn’t for the life support issues, you would have, right?”
Earl: “Um, yeah. Totally.”
Doog: “Ah…I see. We, uh, would take you in to report this development, but…uh…”
Cam: “…we had a milk incident.”
Mike: “And there’s not enough room.”
Doog: “Yeah. I guess we’ll abandon you now.”
Amaya: “Sorry.”
Dottie: “Thanks.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Tellus. We landed here because of an emergency, but we’re also leaving because of an emergency – boredom. This planet has a few people, grass, and a weird male to female ratio. I hope it smells better on the Magellan, because this planet stinks. Nothing to see here. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: 

Seitse: “It actually smells good in here.”
Amaya: “Too good, if I’m being honest.”
Hugo: “Oldie cleaning, plus full exhaust fans and an atmosphere refresh, did the trick.”
Doog: “I agree with Amaya, it’s almost too good. Smells like a sterile space station.”
Mike: “Definitely a chlorine smell.”
Doog: “There’s only one way to fix this…taco night!”
Mike: “Bathroom smell’s making a comeback!”

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, were visiting the space station N3-W5 – more commonly known as Regional Aggregate Station 14.  RAS-14 is responsible for compiling and broadcasting news stories in its region. It is one of several hundred aggregate stations spread throughout the galaxy – making large-scale, galaxy-wide reporting possible. Let’s board the station to find out more.”

​Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve boarded N3-W5. While I wait here for my guide, I want to talk to you a little about television in the LIU. Since you’re watching this, you obviously know about TV2, but did you know the LIU has five other channels?”

Doog: “TV1 covers galactic markets and finance. It’s number one because money is number one in this galaxy. It’s pretty boring for poor people like me to watch…but it exists nonetheless.”
------------------
Tony: “Fovea is deep into the red this week. I’m thinking about jumping ship. Thoughts?”
Samson: “Not so fast. Fovea’s organic fuel cells are seasonally dependent. Production always dips this time of the cycle – but give it a few weeks, and it’ll skyrocket. If anything…I’m buying more!”
Tony: “Ooh, bold move.”

Doog: “TV2 is home to the galaxy’s greatest TV host – myself. It also has a fairly popular show called LIU Atlas. Who am I kidding – TV2 is best known for Galaxy News with Spiffy Thompson and Hotty McBabe. TV2 is the information channel – news, educational programming, et cetera.”

Doog: “TV4 is all about the galaxy’s favorite pastime – spending money. If it exists, you can probably buy it on TV4. It’s also where new products are launched…and where the LIU makes sure everyone knows about them.”
------------------
Tressan: “This scent is literally a love language, but it’s rare. If you’re not calling already, you’re probably missing out.”
Cyclops: “The Balnean Bath additive alone is worth the 48 credits, and today, you’re getting it for free. Free.”
Tressan: “But only if you call in the next few minutes.”
Cyclops: “You’ll never see a deal like this again!”

Doog: “TV5 is all about entertainment. Here you’ll find movies, gameshows, and popular sitcoms, like Coworkers.”
------------------
Roey: “How you doin?”
Goss: “We were on a fifteen-minute break!”
Handler: “Could I be wearing any more safety equipment?!”

Doog: “TV6 is also entertainment, but in the form of sports. Solar-sail racing, ringball, beast fighting, people-fighting, it’s got it all.”
------------------
Announcer: “Welcome back to Sidere Artifex, home to the Lux Regatta! Brought to you by Octan – Powering the Galaxy, Blight Beer – When life gives you rain, make beer…, Buzz Cola – Hype it Up!, Horreum Pony Association – Eat Pony, Mumiya – Berry Good, and Merum Wine – Golden Sun and Merry Cheer! And, we’re off - sails are catching and speeds are climbing!”

Doog: “You may have noticed I skipped over TV3 during my overly long info dump. That’s because TV3 is different – it isn’t run on the galactic level. TV3 is regional programming, assembled at aggregate stations like RAS-14. That means TV3 in one part of the galaxy might look completely different somewhere else. Informercials on RAS-117’s TV3 – softcore holo-entertainment on RAS-26.”

Voss: “TV2 doing a show on TV3…I feel like we’re about to cause a rift in reality.”
Doog: “A rift does sound more interesting…”
Voss: “Nah! There’s plenty of cool stuff on these Regional Aggregate Systems. Trust me, I’ve been in the TV industry for twenty years – you and your viewers are going to have a blast. By the way, I’m Calvern Voss, Station Programming Director.”
Doog: “Sounds important.”

Voss: “It’s not, though. These aggregate stations are run by BIAS – an AI. I’m basically here to make sure everyone does what it says.”
Doog: “An AI?”
Voss: “Yep. BIAS – Broadcast Indexing Analysis System.”

Voss: “Here it is, BIAS.”
Doog: “What does it do?”
Voss: “Simply put – it inputs news reports, social media posts, images – anything coming out of the hundreds of worlds in our region – runs them through some algorithms, and decides what’s newsworthy. If BIAS says it’s important enough, it goes on TV3. If it’s really important, it gets bumped up to TV2’s Galaxy News.”
Doog: “How does an AI know what’s important?”
Voss: “Same way anyone does – scale. A crisis on a big, mid-rim world, like Fidentia, matters. Charcoal production updates on Cremata… not so much.”
Doog: “What if those updates include barbeque tips?”
Voss: “Bigger, richer planets are more important even if barbeque is involved.”

BIAS: “Breaking News, Mr. Voss is wrong again.”
Voss: “What?! What was wrong about that?”
BIAS: “The system is significantly more intricate. While the five economic powerhouses within our jurisdiction are slightly favored, worlds like Cremata cannot be ignored. A barbeque story, however brief, may raise moral across the region…particularly on Cremata. Every decision I make accounts for these factors…among others.”
Doog: “I like this guy. Who are you?”
BIAS: “I am BIAS.”
Voss: “The AI has avatars so it can interact with the crew…(whispers) it’s super annoying.”

Voss: “Once BIAS selects pertinent news for the region, we broadcast it on TV3’s news segment. It’s hosted by the very talented Charmy Belle…and her co-anchor Dapper Vance.”
Doog: “She is very talented. Think BIAS could get me her number?”
Voss: “It’s an aggregation AI, not a miracle worker.”

Dapper: “It’s almost news time, people. Let’s show a little hustle.”
Voss: “For the last time, you have to wear pants, Mr. Vance.”
Dapper: “Why? No one can see behind the desk.”
Voss: “Again, it’s not about what the viewers see, it’s for the sake of your co-workers.”
Dapper: “Charmy doesn’t care.”

​Charmy: “I’m not wearing pants either.”
Voss: “Of course, you aren’t.”
Doog: “I think I left something behind the news desk earlier. I might go get it now…”
Voss: “No – stay where you are! Everyone else, get some pants on! Why can’t the LIU make an HR AI?”

Dapper: “I’m Dapper Vance.”
Charmy: “And I’m Charmy Belle.”
Dapper: “Tonight at 16 standard – labor rights across several regional mining worlds have been diminished, strengthening the Union.”
Charmy: “And after that, hyperspace developments that promise to shorten regional shipping times.”
Dapper: “That’s tonight, only on TV3.”
BIAS: “Cut! Requesting another take. Let’s replace ‘diminished’ with ‘standardized’. Standardized is 18% more effective at making the story positive.”
Dapper: “I’m Dapper Vance.”
Charmy: “And I’m Charmy Belle.”
Dapper: “Tonight at 16 standard – labor rights across several regional mining worlds have been standardized, strengthening the Union.”
Charmy: “And after that, hyperspace developments that promise to shorten regional shipping times.”
Dapper: “That’s tonight, only on TV3.”
BIAS: “Cut! Replace ‘promise’ with ‘will’, Charmy. Certainty increases positivity.”
Charmy: “Ten rewrites…for a promo…”
Dapper: “This is why we don’t wear pants!”

Voss: “An addition to the regional news, TV3 offers several other important news segments – like traffic and space weather. They’re shot in front of green screens.”

Traffic Guy: ““Hyperspace traffic between the big three routes remains steady. Expect delays in the Trivium, where intersectional traffic is currently tight.”
BIAS: “Replace ‘delays’ with ‘slowdowns’. ‘Delays’ implies failure.”
Traffic Guy: “Grrr!”

Bunny: "Hi, I’m Bunny Simps, and this is TV3 Weather. Stellar eruptions on Rupex continue to disrupt the Sector. High energy waves - exceeding 9K joules - are forecasted this week. Be sure to tune in to the next broadcast to find out if you're affected. Ok, bye!"
BIAS: “Please stop saying, ’OK, bye’ at the end of your promo. It reduces perceived urgency by 23%.”
Bunny: “But I like it!”

BIAS: "Also, let's change the verbiage to, ‘Be sure to tune in to the next broadcast to find out WHEN you're affected. Not if. Fear increases viewer retention and corporate reach."
Doog: “Maybe I don’t like this guy so much.”
Voss: “Told ya.”

Voss: “TV3 offers a few other shows besides the news, like Best New Bets. It highlights regional foods, ingredients, and spices. The goal is simple: boost regional economies. Don’t buy beef, beemu, or kaadu when an alternative is sold nearby.”
BIAS: “Economic steering at its best.”
Dame: “It smells like a used toilet brush! Who eats this?!”
Steb: “Everyone on Stercus.”
Dame: “Does your race not have noses?!”
BIAS: “That’s enough, Dame. You’re off message. Action!”

Dame: “Mmm – what a robust aroma profile. What do you call this delectable meat?”
BIAS: “Cut! You’re grimacing, Dame. Do it again with 68% less aversion and 10% more enthusiasm.”
Dame: “I’m gonna barf!”

Voss: “One of TV3’s highest rated shows is, The Docket. Hosted by Dapper Vance, it tackles regional issues with a rotating panel – usually with a celebrity or two to keep things… engaging.”
------------------
Dapper: “Bathroom standardization across diverse species – a simple question: are two designations…enough?”
Panelist #1: “For most of us, yes. Efficient, clear, no confusion.”
Panelist #2: “Most’ is doing a lot of work there, Dapper. Some species don’t fit neatly into either category.”
Panelist #3: “I thought I was here to talk about my new movie?”
Panelist #4: “You have to think about the costs. Adding a third or fourth option could cost billions.”
Dapper: “Correction – trillions. And that doesn’t include maintenance. Experts estimate a 12.4% increase. That’s not negligible.”
Panelist #2: “The inclusion and safety of all beings is priceless.”
Dapper: “No, it’s trillions of credits.”
Panelist #3: “My movie opens this weekend.”
------------------
 
Doog: “No BIAS interference on this one?”
Voss: “Oh, he’s fully involved. There’s not an original thought in Dapper’s head. He’s just parroting whatever BIAS feeds him, steering the conversation towards whatever conclusion BIAS wants.” 

Voss: “TV3 has smaller subsidiaries stationed on the bigger, more populous planets. Local segments and live events on these worlds fill the rest of TV3’s programming. All, of course, reviewed and optimized by BIAS.”
Doog: “At this point, I’m wondering why the rest of you are even here.”
BIAS: “Non-AI news representatives increase viewer trust by 31%.”
Voss: “Purely for the optics, I suppose.”

​Voss: “N3-W5 has a small fleet of news ships to cover news on smaller worlds. They can be deployed from the station’s hangars at a moment’s notice, and reach even the most distant regional worlds in hours.”
Doog: “That’s quite the outfit for a news crew – puts my crew to shame.”
Voss: “They must be able to report on a variety of worlds with drastically different environments.”

Voss: “One day they’re reporting about pirate raids in a toxic desert…”

Voss: “…the next they’re capturing an arrest on a polluted factory world. These guys and gals see it all.”
Doog: “Oh, I understand. I’ve been to a world or two. Anything else to add, Voss?”
Voss: “Nope, and I shouldn’t linger. If I’m not looking useful, BIAS will be coming after me next! See you later!”

​Doog: “Well folks, that’s N3-W5. This Regional Aggregate Station collects and filters regional news and broadcasts it over TV3. There are hundred of these stations spread throughout the galaxy, all run by annoying AI’s called BIAS. These AI systems purify the news so the LIU’s image is preserved. I wonder if any of my broadcasts on TV2 are filtered as well? Probably. Oh well, see ya!”
 

​
Note:

​Space stations in the LIU galaxy are typically named after their galactic coordinates. N3–W5 is a notable exception. Though officially located at N24–W7, the station was authorized to adjust its designation to better resemble “NEWS.”

​There are billions of stars, millions of planets, but there is only one man, Terrance McDoogal. Welcome to LIU Atlas.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the cold, icy planet, Nivaria. Both of Nivaria’s poles are dominated by massive glacial ice fields, leaving its slightly warmer equatorial region as the planet’s only inhabited zone. We’re heading down to this region to visit a city called Gas Port 7. Yeah…the city is actually called that. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Gas Port 7 might not be the most charming name…but now that I’m down here, I can say with certainty – it’s one of the most accurate. Everything here seems to be built around this large gas facility. All these smaller buildings seem to support it. I see repair sheds, parts shops, and tank manufacturers. The taller buildings nearby seem to be worker dorms, and I’m sure there are plenty of other shops and businesses to keep these workers fed and entertained.”

Tervik: “Are you Doog?”
Doog: “I am.”
Tervik: “I’m Tervik, your guide.”
Doog: “Tervik, huh? Well, Tervik, what can you tell me about this place that its name doesn’t already give away?”
Tervik: “Gas Port 7 is one of twenty gas ports on Nivaria. All of these port cities were built at the foot of the polar glaciers – ten to the north and ten to the south. Most were built over or near Nivi villages. Gas Port 7 is no exception; it was built over Velkora, the village where I was born.”
Doog: “Classic LIU. Drop a new city over an older one – and somehow give it a worse name. I don’t sense that you’re all that upset about the changes, though.”
Tervik: “Only the oldest of the ancestors regret these changes. They hold on to the old names, and the old ways. The rest of my people welcomed it. In forty short years, we’ve gone from lousy agricultural homesteaders to an integral part of the galactic economy. More jobs. More money. Better technology. Trading one meaningless name for another…was worth it.”
Doog: “I see.”

Doog: “What gas do you guys collect?”
Tervik: “Cryoclathrate-N. A gas trapped under immense pressure deep inside the glacier ice.”
Doog: “Never heard of it. Unless it’s similar to the gas under the immense pressure of taco night.”
Tervik: “Not even close. But it’s no surprise you haven’t heard of Cryoclathrate-N. It’s only found on a few worlds where the pressure and temperature are just right. You need these conditions to make the ice matrices – or cages – that trap the gas.”
Doog: “What’s it used for?”
Tervik: “Coolants and fuel enhancers, mostly.”
Doog: “I guess that’s useful.”

Doog: “What’s your role in all of this?”
Tervik: “I’m a rig worker. I extract the Cryoclathrate-N.”
Doog: “It’s extracted from rigs?”
Tervik: “Yep, on the glacier.”
Doog: “If you’re a rig worker, why are you in the city?”
Tervik: “We work thirty days, then get five days off. It’s called rig-leave. It gives you a chance to unwind for a bit. Spend some credits. See the family. All the important stuff.”
Doog: “I picked the wrong profession.”
Tervik: “You don’t get days off?”
Doog: “If you consider ‘time off’ being trapped with your seven co-workers in a stinky ship flying to your next destination...”
Tervik: “Yikes.”

Doog: “I’m starting to feel a chill in the air.”
Tervik: “It’s the winds coming down from the glacier. It means we’re getting closer.”
Doog: “Closer to the glacier?”
Tervik: “Yes.”
Doog: “Are we actually going onto the glacier?”
Tervik: “If you want to see the rigs and the gas extraction.”
Doog: “I guess we have to.”
Tervik: “Don’t worry. My people used to be afraid of the glacier too. Avoided it for centuries. The elders said the ice gods would swallow you whole by opening pits beneath your feet or explode the ground around you without warning.”
Doog: “What?!”
Tervik: “Pre-industrial thinking. There are no ice gods. Those events have explanations. With the right tech, they can be predicted and avoided.”
Doog: “I hope so.”
Tervik: “Funny thing is, we’re the opposite now. You can’t keep us Nivi off the ice. We’re out there constantly. Working, drilling… living.”
Doog: “From ‘don’t step on the ice’ to ‘please go home occasionally.’”

Doog: “I guess this is the ‘port’ in Gas Port 7.”
Tervik: “Yep. This is it. Gas goes out, supplies come in. Well, gas and our other export.”
Doog: “Wait there’s another export?”

Tervik: “Yeah, we also export water, a byproduct of Cryoclathrate extraction. It’s bottled up and sold as Niva H2O.”
Doog: “Water? You sell water?”
Tervik: “Niva H2O, it’s glacial fresh.”
Doog: “How much did you get paid for that little bit?”
Tervik: “Paid? I’m not getting paid. I just enjoy the cold, revitalizing refreshment of Niva H2O – it’s glacial….”
Doog: “Alright! Enough!”

Tervik: “Connections between the rigs – called MCEP’s – and Gas Port 7 are vital. Crews rotate in and out, supplies get refreshed, and gas gets offloaded. The port has a fleet of vehicles to make it happen.”
Doog: “Like what?”
Tervik: “Like that little machine behind you. It’s a Glacial Personnel Transport, or GPT.”
Doog: “GPT in GP7 to get to MCEP. I’ll try to keep all the acronyms straight.”
Tervik: “No cargo space, but it can carry up to three workers. Fast. Reliable. It’s what most crews use.”
Doog: “That’s our ride?”
Tervik: “It is.” 

Doog: “I guess it’s time to get cold.”
Tervik: “Cold equals money for us Nivi. Helps that we have fur, though.”
Doog: “That feels like an oversight on my part.”

Doog: “How far away are these MCEP’s? Feel free to answer in how many fingers I’m about to lose to frostbite.”
Tervik: “Depends.”
Doog: “Depends?! Do you not know where the rigs are?”
Tervik: “Not exactly. They’re mobile. MCEP – Mobile Cryoclathrate Extraction Platforms.”
Doog: “They move? Are they smaller than most rigs?”
Tervik: “They move slowly. But no, they’re still quite large.”
Doog: “I need to see this.”

Tervik: “Ah, a GLT. That means we’re getting close.”
Doog: “Oh great, another acronym. What’s this one?”
Tervik: “Glacial Logistics Transport.”
Doog: “I hope there’s not going to be a test on all this later because I already forgot what GTP and MPEC stood for.”
Tervik: “GPT and MCEP. GPT is Glacial…”
Doog: “Don’t bother.”

Doog: “How does a GLT tell you we’re close.”
Tervik: “They’re heading to a MCEP too, and they’ve got much better positional data. The LIU didn’t mess around when it comes to getting their gas. A GLT could find a rig or GP7 in a whiteout blizzard. The gas must flow!”
Doog: “So, the GLT is the gas shipper?”
Tervik: “Yep. Since the rigs are mobile, they couldn’t be hooked to traditional pipelines. The GLP is the solution. Its four tanks can hold 200 tons, and it still stays stable on the ice. It has a small cargo deck too.”

Tervik: “There she is, an MCEP!”
Doog: “That is fairly large for something that moves.”
Tervik: “All the drilling power, storage capacity, and processing ability of a stationary rig. It just has four massive mechanical legs carrying it around.”
Doog: “You mentioned something about it being slow earlier. How slow?”
Tervik: “She’ll do 6 miles per hour (9.7 kph) in an emergency, but we usually keep it slower. Lessens the chances of accidentally decompressing the Cryoclathrate-N.”
Doog: “So if it trips, we all explode?”
Tervik: “That would be an oversimplification… but yes.”
Doog: “Slow seems good in that regard, but doesn’t it take forever to get anywhere?”
Tervik: “Not really. The gas forms in pockets throughout the glacier, and they’re usually not too far apart. Once an MCEP drills to depth, it can harvest a single pocket for a week… sometimes a month.”
Doog: “Just sitting there?”
Tervik: “Just sitting there. And pulling up tons of gas the whole time. When it finally moves again, it’s usually only a day or two to the next pocket.”
Doog: “A day’s commute for a month’s work… not bad. My crew’s got it backwards – month of travel for a day of work.”

Doog: “It’s even bigger up close. That’s what she said.”
Tervik: “How close was she?”
Doog: “Ahem…changing the subject – what’s that little entrance up there?”
Tervik: “You’re looking at the front access bay. Crew, supplies, equipment – everything goes in through there. The winch hauls it all up, and from there, you can reach all the other levels.”
Doog: “Levels?”
Tervik: “Yes. There are multiple levels and rooms for multiple functions. You’ve got drilling controls, processing units, storage tanks, and living quarters . Oh, and don’t forget the piloting bay – someone has to drive this thing.”
Doog: “Do you ever get to drive?”
Tervik: “I used to…before the sneeze incident. Apparently, the LIU doesn’t like their MCEP’s dancing a jig, even if it was an accident.”
Doog: “Did it at least improve morale?”
Tervik: “Two of my coworkers fell off.”
Doog: “So…mixed reviews?”

Doog: “How deep does the drill go?”
Tervik: “As deep as we need it. Depends on the depth of the pocket. Could be a few dozen meters… could be hundreds. We can handle anything within a kilometer of the surface, which is basically everything.”
Doog: “And once you hit it?”
Tervik: “We keep it stable. Pressure and temperature have to be just right. Too much of a change…”
Doog: “…and boom?”
Tervik: “Yeah, rapid gas expansion fractures the ice, and it's a bad day for everyone on board.”
Doog: “So…no sneezing…”
Tervik: “Exactly. Gentle drilling and controlled extraction are a must.”
Doog: “Careful, patient work, all while freezing out here.”
Tervik: “That’s the job.”
Doog: “Well, Tervik, I think I’ve learned just enough to never try this myself.”
Tervik: “That’s probably wise. Well, let me get into my uniform and get to work.”
Doog: “See ya, Tervik.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Nivaria. This mostly frozen planet is home to the Nivi. They’ve moved on from their old ways, fully embracing the industrial LIU life…and they seem happy about it. The ice is no longer something to fear, it’s something to exploit – thanks to its rare concentrations of Cryoclathrate-N. Out are the old names, and in are the acronyms: GP7, MCEP, GPT, and GLT. Honestly, I’m still trying to keep up. IYKYK. Oh well, TTYL.”
 
Note: Cryoclathrate-N remains stable only under very specific pressure and temperature conditions. If either condition changes too quickly, the gas can rapidly expand, fracturing the surrounding ice and releasing large amounts of energy.
     The largest recorded decompression event on Nivaria displaced over 1.2 million tons of ice. The MCEP involved was never recovered, though several pieces were eventually found… miles apart.
     According to the LIU, it was an extremely rare event. Their data shows that MCEP operations are “99.7% safe.” The remaining 0.3% has been classified as “educational.”

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.