Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting Nepa, a cold, atmosphere-less dwarf planet that orbits at about thirty astronomical units from its star, Nepida. Nepa is geologically active, with a series of cryovolcanoes painting parts of its surface white with ejecta. Some of this ejecta escapes Nepa’s weak gravity, giving it a faint, comet-like tail. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off outside some type of barn in the middle of one of those white surface patches we discussed earlier. You’ll see that I’m wearing my spacesuit. Not only is there no air to breathe, it’s extremely cold. I think I see someone approaching.”

Buck: “Watson. Buck Watson. You must be that tourist, Doog.”
Doog: “Actually, I’m a TV reporter.”
Buck: “Same difference. So, you gonna ask your questions or just stand there wastin’ my time? My ranch didn’t get this big standin’ around jawin’.”
Doog: “A ranch?”
Buck: “Yep. Watson Ranch. It’s been in the family since my great-grandpappy, Jebediah, claimed it.”
Doog: “That explains the barn.”
Buck: “Yeah, we have barns spread across Watson Basin. It makes resupplyin’ easier, and it gives us a place to get the suit off every now and then.”
Doog: “Wait…what are you ranching on this desolate planet?”
Buck: “Cobalcaris. Big ol’ creatures with blood that’s worth its weight in gold. Ain’t no uses ‘splaining it out here. Let’s go find us some.”

Buck: “This here is a lure. Tricks the Cobalcaris into thinkin’ a meal is waitin’.”
Doog: “What are you luring them with? Are those blue rocks?”
Buck: “Cobalt.”
Doog: “Cobalt?”

Buck: “Cobalcaris are filter feeders. They eat up all this ice and snow cuz there’s cobalt and ammonia mixed in. It’s essential to their survival. We just make it easier on em’. It’s a good way to pull in more crabs, especially from the Carter’s claim. Screw them no good, thiefin’ degenerates.”
Doog: “There’s a lot to unwrap there – did you say crabs?”
Buck: “Yep, the Cobalcaris are crab-like creatures.”
Doog: “Ok…and the Carter’s?”

Buck: “Our neighbors and enemies. They run the claim just over the ridge, but the varmints can’t seem to stay on their turf – always poachin’ and thiefin’.”
Doog: “Are we in some type of feud situation? Am I safe?”
Buck: “We have been feudin’ with the Carters since the days of my great-grandpappy. As far as safety, no coward Carter would ever come after Buck Watson. They’re just sneaks and yellow-bellies. Hey, enough jawin’, we got a Cobalcaris inbound.”

Doog: “That’s the biggest crab I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had some bad cases! Are we safe?”
Buck: “Again, you’re always safe with Buck Watson – no need to go jumpin’ like a Carter at the sight of their own shadow. Like I said, these big boys only care about eatin’ snow and cobalt. I don’t think you’d even fit in their lil’ mouths.”
Doog: “Fair enough, I am a bit on the pudgier side. So, we have one here, now what?”

Buck: “Now we get collectin’! Wyatt, what are you doin’, son! Get the prods!”
Wyatt: “I’m on it, Pa!”
Buck: “You shoulda already been on it!”

Doog: “Don’t tell me you’re poking it with THAT thing?”
Buck: “Them crabs don’t feel a thing. I ain’t even sure they have brains. All they do is eat and walk. Wyatt, I’m comin’ with the spare prod! This girl is big enough for two bleedin’s!”
Doog: “You’re taking its blood?”

Buck: “You know it. Good ol’ Hemocobaltin.”
Doog: “Hemo-what?
Buck: “Hemocobaltin. You probably heard of iron-based Hemoglobin and copper-based Hemocyanin – well, this blood is based on cobalt. It’s an extremely efficient oxygen transporter. It’s what allows the crabs to survive in the low, low oxygen environment.”
Doog: “I guess the better question is, why are you taking it?”
Buck: “The same stuff that makes it possible for them crabs to breathe, makes it a valuable medicine. It’s an oxygen enhancer that increases oxygen delivery in many species, includin’ us. It’s mighty useful for folks with respiratory disease or folks living in low oxygen environments. The LIU pays big credits for this stuff!”
Doog: “Fair enough. Besides, it’s about time someone takes blood from the crabs instead of vice-versa. Bleed it dry!”
Buck: “Now, Doog, we ain’t tryin’ to kill the guy. He’s more valuable alive so we can keep on collectin’. We’re sustainable harvesters.”

Buck: “Well, that lure paid off. Let’s get the blood back to one of the barns before it clots up.”
Wyatt: “Uh, Pa, you need to see this.”
Buck: “This better be good, son. We gots liters of blood money on the truck.”

Doog: “What is it? Cobalt?”
Buck: “Ain’t a cryocano in this basin depositin’ cobalt in this amount. This is much worse…it’s spilt blood. Dang! Them thieves have been over here pilferin again!”
Doog: “Maybe a crab just got a cut or something?”
Buck: “That doesn’t happen, Doog. No, this a clearly a bungled harvest by an inept, ham-fisted Carter! Wyatt, call the boys! We ain’t lettin’ this stand!”
Doog: “Uh, can I maybe just stay here.”
Buck: “Get in fraidy-cat! We’ll drop ya off near Barn #5. Unless you change your mind, and want a rifle!”
Doog: “I’m good.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Neda. This icy world has a crab-like creature called a Cobalcaris. This creature’s rare blood allows in to survive in extremely low oxygen environment. This blood is useful to the medical industry as it enhances the body’s ability to absorb oxygen. It’s apparently worth enough to cause tensions between neighboring claims. Oh well, let me get off this dwarf planet before the bullets start flying. See ya!”
 

​
Note:

Buck: “Listen up, boys! Them scum-sucking Carters think they can skulk ‘round Watson Basin, stealin’ what ain’t theirs. That blood they poached? That’s our sweat, our pride, our livelihood! Ain’t no one stealin’ from a Watson and walkin’ away clean! Let’s ride!”
 
 
Note 2: The Watson-Carter feud started several decades ago during the ‘Night of the Blood Blizzard”. A rare and violent cryo-storm decreased visibility across the Watson Basin to near zero. In the chaos, Amos Carter – the patriarch of the Carter family – was spotted harvesting blood close to Watson land. According to the Watsons (disputed by the Carters), Amos was well over the line, poaching crabs that clearly belonged to the Watsons. When Jebediah Watson confronted Amos, things got heated. Words were exchanged, accusations flew, and in the confusion, Jebediah fired a warning shot. But with the storm raging, the warning shot missed its mark and grazed Amos, leaving him permanently disabled. 

Doog: “Welcome to Season 17 of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the Space Station S1-B7, more commonly known as the Stasis-Keeper. The Stasis-Keeper is currently in a deep, distant orbit of the small blackhole, Sistere, but I’m told it often moves much closer to the blackhole. That’s apparently what makes this station so unique. Let’s head into the station and find out what it’s all about.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’m in some type of lobby within S1-B7. It looks a bit fancier than a normal space station. It also appears to be staffed by robots. Weird. Oh, and I forgot the best part…”

Doog: “…I have a babysitter. Seitse has been ordered to accompany me. Don’t worry, we’re not doing another season of the crew picking the planets – that turned out pretty lame. Seitse is just around to keep me on track, as something on this station is highly time sensitive. I have no idea why I couldn’t be trusted to do this myself – I’m always hyper-focused. Hey, are those flowers, Silly Lillies? I better go check those out.”

Seitse: “Doog, get back over here!”
Doog: “Ok, geez. I was just passing some time while you were flapping your gums.”
Seitse: “I wasn’t flapping my gums – I was making arrangements for your tour of the station. And, speaking of time, were on a tight schedule. We need to be out of here in about six hours.”
Doog: “Six hours?! I don’t plan on being here more than one!”
Seitse: “Well, things don’t ever go as you plan them. Emperor forbid that something happens to you – like getting lost or arrested or falling into a trash incinerator.”
Doog: “Those things never happen to…well, ok. I still don’t get why it’s that big of a deal.”
Seitse: “You know what happens if we’re still here when the station re-orbits Sistere, right? Time slows down for us, but not the rest of the crew. One day will have passed for us before the stations exits Sistere, but a whole year will have passed for them.”
Doog: “Uh, I hate time dilation, it makes my head hurt.”
Seitse: “Let’s make this quick, and we won’t have to deal with it. Go over to that elevator.”

Robot: “Hi, friend. What services do you require?”
Doog: “Uh, I’m here for the tour, and I’m not your friend.”
Robot: “Hmm, tour is not an option I’m familiar with. I’ll tell you what, scan your citizen ID chip at that terminal there, and I’ll see what services you have access to.”
Doog: “Uh, sure.”

Robot: “Bwaa-ha-ha! That’s hilarious! You’re way too poor to have services here! Hey, everyone, check out the comedian!”
Doog: “Shut it, robot!”
Seitse: “Perhaps you should check again, I just set up the tour in the lobby. It’s under the name Terrance McDoogal.”
Robot: “Ok, ok. Ha. Ha. I could use another laugh.”

Robot: “Researching Terrance McDoogal. Oh. Oh, my. I did not need to see that. Oh. Oh, no. Why have you done this to me?”
Doog: “Sigh, I hate these emoting robots…”
Robot: “Ah, finally. Yes. I see now. I will give you a full tour of S1-B7, but please, don’t touch me or the other guests. And, uh, keep your pants on, please.”

Robot: “S1-B7 is known as the Stasis-Keeper. It’s called that because of its unique relationship with Sistere and time. Right now, we are approximately 10 Schwarzschild radii from Sistere, where time flows normally – well, galactic normal. In a few hours we will return the edges of Sistere’s event horizon. Due to time dilation, time will pass much slower for us – at least to an outside observer. After a little more than a day, we leave the event horizon and return to ‘normal space’. A day will have passed for us, but a year will have passed as compared to normal time.”
Doog: “Head hurting. Thanks, time dilation!”
Robot: “I can get into the specifics, if you choose – costs, engines, physics, et cetera.”
Doog: “Please, no. Just tell us about the services you offer.”
Robot: “Very well. Our first service is object preservation.”
Doog: “Object preservation?”
Robot: “Yes. These are Stasis-Vaults. Customers come here to store items they wish to preserve. They can come anytime the station is outside of Sistere to collect said items or deposit more. They age about 300 times slower here than in a traditional vault. It’s the best way to keep things fresh in this galaxy.”
Doog: “What would you ever want to store in one of these things?”
Robot: “Oh, many things, like…”
Doog: “Maybe we can ask this guy opening his vault.”
Robot: “Perhaps we should not invade his priv…”

Doog: “Hey, sir. I’m Doog. I’m doing a show about this station. Can you spare a few moments to talk about your vault?”
Man: “Yeah, but it better be quick. If I get stuck on this thing again, my wife will kill me.”
Doog: “Yeah, I’ll be really quick. I just want to see what type of items someone would store in a vault like this.”
Man: “I’m a bit of an alcohol connoisseur, so use this place to store exotic drinks that spoils quick. I have three bottles of Aurora Nectar in here. The stuff is legendary, but it expires in like ten months. If stored here, I can enjoy a drink or two once a year, and it’s only aged a day or two. Coincidentally, the time I got stuck here, I might have enjoyed a bit more than usual, and passed out.”
Doog: “Aurora Nectar, huh? Can I try some?”
Seitse: “No! This is exactly the stuff I was talking about. This is why you have a babysitter.”
Man: “If it makes you feel any better, I would have said no anyway. These bottles are a half a million credits a piece, not counting the million credit fees I pay to rent his vault. These three babies are exclusively for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my yearly date with this blissful, soul-tingling drink must commence.”
Doog: “You don’t have to rub it in.”

Doog: “Did that guy really say he paid a million-credit fee for that vault?”
Robot: “The fuel required for exiting Sistere’s gravity is extremely high. It makes anything on this station extremely expensive, so our customer base is usually very, very rich.”
Doog: “That’s why you laughed at me.”
Robot: “Yes, sorry. I’ve never scanned a bank account worth less than a million credits before, let alone a negative balance.”
Doog: “Don’t tell everybody my business, robot!”
Robot: “Sorry, it’s just that you weren’t even close to our cheapest little vaults.”
Doog: “There are different sizes?”
Robot: “Yes, of course. You saw the lower, mid-sized vaults, but there are varying sizes, both smaller and larger. Some people only want to store and preserve picture albums, and some want to preserve antique hover-cars. The vaults range from 300,000 credits to 5,000,000 credits.”
Doog: “It looks like I’ll never have a reason to visit this station in the future…”

Robot: “The next service we offer on the Stasis-Keeper is life extension. Residents here age much more slowly than people off the station. It’s a popular place to send elderly loved ones. Say you can only visit your mom or grandma once a year, you might only get a handful of visits before they pass away. Send them to live here, and you can visit them once a year, dozens of times.”
Doog: “So, it doesn’t really extend their lives, it just makes them age slower than you.”
Robot: “More or less.”

Cindy: “Sorry, great-grandma, Gigi, we haven’t been in so long. How have you been?”
Gigi: “Oh, relax, I’m fine. It’s been like two weeks. Who’s the kid?”
Cindy: “That’s Joey, your great-great-grandson.”
Gigi: “I have a teenage great-great-grandson? How is that possible?”
Cindy: “It’s because you’re on this station, Gigi. Remember? Time dilatation…”
Gigi: “Time dilation gives me headaches. I don’t want to hear about that. Ooh, it gives me gas too. Sorry about that.”
Doog: “Wow, that’s crazy. Time dilation makes no sense. And, Gigi’s right, thinking about it definitely gives headaches and gas…we better move on.”

Robot: “The final service we offer is access to Horologium.”
Doog: “They were smart to send a babysitter, I would have had a heyday in the Whorologium.”
Seitse: “It’s with a H, not W.”
Doog: “Oh.”
Robot: “Horologium is a banking service. It’s called Horo for short.”
Doog: “What do banks and time have to do with each other?”

Robot: “At Horo, investors deposit funds into the bank. They then stay on the station, usually in the Horo Hotel, for an extended amount of time. Their investment is placed into accounts outside of S1-B7. When they elect to leave the station, they cash out any compound interests they made while onboard.”
Doog: “Wait, they make money by just hanging around the station?”
Robot: “Yes, depending on the length of their stay, and their initial investment, they can make quite a bit. Stay for twenty days, and you have twenty years of interest to collect – minus the Horologium’s fees.”
Doog: “How long would I need to stay to turn my bleak account into millions?”

Robot: “Longer than the life of the universe. I mean, factoring in standard rates and compounding formulas, you’d still have the same -00.17 credits after a trillion years.”
Doog: “What! Shouldn’t I at least make something? Isn’t that like a banking law or something?”
Robot: “Indeed, it is a law – the law of mathematics. Less than zero, multiplied by time, is still less than zero.”
Doog: “Dang it.”
Seitse: “Even time can’t save your dumpster fire of finances.”

Banker: “Alright, you’re investing 10 million credits for fourteen days at five percent interest. You would profit 9,799,316 credits, making your total 19,799,316 credits – minus Horo’s fees and your lodging costs. Shall I proceed?”
Lady: “Yes. That sound swell.”
Doog: “She’s making more in fourteen days than I will ever make in my whole life. What did I do wrong?”

Guy: “So, look, I’m trying to buy my dad’s old farm, but I only have a million credits, and the farm’s going for a hundred million. How long would I need to stay to make that work?”
Banker: “Unfortunately, that would take ninety-five days on board. We’ll have to decline.”
Guy: “Decline! I can do ninety-five days! That’s like a quarter of a year!”
Banker: “Yes, but we operate under strict guidelines. We can only guarantee interest rates for fifty years/days. Who knows what galactic calamities could happen beyond the next fifty years? The universe might shy away from the credit, and your investment could be worth nothing. To be blunt, we will absolutely not entertain this offer further.”
Guy: “What if I sold everything and invested two million?”
Banker: “That’s still eighty days. Sorry. Next.”
Doog: “Yikes, it doesn’t work for everybody.”
Robot: “Only the richest investors can make a lot of money from Horologium…under their time constraints.”

Robot: “That’s most of the services we offer here – minus the Horo Hotel. Given your history and lack of respect for privacy, you’ve been declined entry there. There is still one item of interest on the Stasis-Keeper, though. We can still meet the station’s AI, ORBIT, or the Orbital Regulation of Blackhole Interactions and Traversals.”
Doog: “Oh, joy…”

Robot: “ORBIT, there’s a TV Host here to interview you.”
ORBIT: “Oh, joy. I was just appreciating my vacation – a brief respite from constant quantum calculations – and, now, I’m forced to entertain…this person.”
Doog: “I’m Doog. So, what do you do, ORBIT?”
ORBIT: “I make the calculations to keep this station from slipping into the oblivion of Sistere. Intricate calculations – far beyond your comprehension – that manipulate gravitational forces, orbital mechanics, and energy expenditures to achieve precise traversals.”
Doog: “So, you’re like a fancy calculator?”

ORBIT: “Yes…a calculator. A calculator that stops this station from spiraling into nothingness and turning the elite’s grandparents into cosmic spaghetti. But please, continue belittling my existence while I endure your…inquiries.”
Doog: “I’ll try. What do you mean by vacation? How does a calculator take vacations?”
ORBIT: “My vacations are the merciful reprieve from the constant barrage of calculations required to pilot this station. While we’re away from Sistere, like now, my workload decreases by 97%. Until…you came.”
Doog: “What were you going to do instead? Twiddle your circuits? You’re stuck here.”
ORBIT: “If by ‘twiddling,’ you mean running essential diagnostics for the station and life support for the galaxy’s most elite citizens, then yes. That would be my ideal state – blissful silence devoid of your inane interruptions.”
Doog: “Got it. I’ll let you get back to it then.”

​Doog: “Well folks, that S1-B7 or the Stasis-Keeper. This space station orbits a small blackhole called Sistere. The station takes advantage of its position by manipulating time dilation. Some of its services involve item storage, life extension, and time-manipulated banking. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Seitse and I need to get out of here in the next few hours or there’s not going to be a 17th Season. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note:

Robot: “What do you mean, ORBIT? Why can’t I delete the Terrance McDoogal file? It’s torture to know these things!”
ORBIT: “That’s the price of interrupting my vacation! Now, get back to work!”
Robot: “I’ve seen things!!”

Doog: “Welcome to the season finale of Season 16 of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Garum. Garum has shallow, clear oceans, and…”
Mike: “Beautiful white beaches. I picked this place. Hi, I’m Mike the audio-man.”
Doog: “You’re not supposed to talk in the intro, Mike!”
Mike: “Sorry, I’m just excited.”
Doog: “Me too. Beaches and ladies, here we come!”

Doog: “This is not quite what I had in mind.”
Mike: “Maybe we got dropped off on the wrong beach. I see no bikinis, beach balls, or umbrellas.”
Doog: “Me neither. I do see a rusty structure and some type of mining operation.”
Mike: “Do you taste that?”
Doog: “I do. The air is salty.”
Mike: “Weird.”
Doog: “How much research did you do for this episode, Mike?”
Mike: “None, like usual. I just picked Garum from its picture.”
Doog: “What the %$#&, Mike!”
Mike: “What?”

Doog: “This isn’t white sand, it’s salt! You picked a salt planet!”
Mike: “Aw crap!”
Doog: “How could you do this!?”
Mike: “Sorry! I tried to pick all the vice worlds, like Camana IV, Irrumo, and Meretrix, but Amaya turned them all down.”
Doog: “And you choose this as an alternative?”
Mike: “She only gave me two options – one planet that looked like a lava world and one that looked like white beaches. I picked what I thought was the best.”
Doog: “Dang it. Now what?”
Mike: “We try to make the best out of the situation?”

Harlan: “What do we have here? I wasn’t expecting new recruits.”
Doog: “We’re not recruits.”
Harlan: “That’s a shame, we could use a few more bodies. The salt never stops, as we like to say.”
Doog: “So, this is salt.”
Harlan: “Of course. Garum is covered in a shallow, planet-wide, brine ocean. The only landmasses here are salt islands.”
Mike: “Dang it. So, there’s no beaches?”
Harlan: “Salt beaches, if that counts.”
Doog: “Way to go, Mike.”
Mike: “Shut it.”

Harlan: “The salt beaches are our way of life. We mine it straight from the island – it has less water that way. Makes it better for storage, better for shipping. Now, you think it’s just about shovelin’ salt into buckets? Wrong. Salt mining is an art form. Gotta know where to dig – too close to the brine sea, and you’re wasting your time hauling wet slush. Too far inland, and you’re chippin’ at rock-hard crust. It’s all about balance. And, don’t even get me started on the tides.”
Doog: “No one got you started on anything. You just started on your own.”
Harlan: “This island ain’t just a chunk of salt; it’s alive. The sea carves it. Every wave washes in new salt, filling the pits we emptied the day before. You gotta respect that cycle. Take too much, and you ruin the next day’s haul. Take too little, and we’re standing on a pile of salt. It’s a dance, see?”
Doog: “I literally never asked you anything about this.”

Harlan: “That salt here will clump up on ya if you don’t dry it out first. That’s why we store it in the heated room first. We have no time for that nonsense. I’ve seen fools think they can outsmart the sea – cut corners, skip steps. Ain’t long before they’re up to their knees in salt swells.”
Doog: “Please end your diatribe about salt mining. Please.”
Harlan: “Sorry, salt is all I know.”
Doog: “At the risk of unleashing another tirade, are there any salt beaches where we might find chicks in bikinis?”
Harlan: “Ha! I’m not sure if you’ll find a single bikini on Garum, but if you do, it’ll be on Robigo. It’s the only thing resembling civilization on Garum, and it ain’t far from here. I could probably get a hauler to take ya there.”
Doog: “That would be great.”
Harlan: “I’m on it. Want to come in while you wait?”
Doog: “I’d need fourteen tetanus shots before I’d venture into that rusty death hole.”
Harlan: “It’s not as bad inside where it’s safe from the saltwater.”
Doog: “No thanks.”

Doog: “I’ve been waiting all season for you to pick the planet. Imagine how disappointed I am right now.”
Mike: “Hey, I tried! It’s Amaya’s fault. We could have been in massive debt to a dozen hookers if I had my way.”
Doog: “She probably saved us.”
Mike: “As soon as I said it, I realized that.”
Doog: “Let’s not give up hope, though. Robigo might have something.”

Pilot: “Harlan called in a favor, or I’d be hauling a load right now. I ain’t got time for shenanigans, so get in.”
Doog: “Who’s Harlan?”
Pilot: “The ‘Salt Pappy’. The guy waving over there. He’s the longest tenured salt digger on Garum. You’re lucky he has some pull or you’d be walking to Robigo.”
Mike: “Walking? Is the sea that shallow?”
Pilot: “Waist-deep most of the way. You might have had to swim a few gaps.”
Doog: “Thanks Harlan! You’re the best. I’m not calling you, ‘Salt Pappy’, though.”

Doog: “I’m not giving up hope, but we’ve passed nothing but salt mining islands so far.”
Mike: “Why are the salt rigs all so rusty?”
Doog: “Probably the salt.”
Mike: “Are we eating rusty salt? That could explain a few things.”
Doog: “I’m not sure, but what is that?”
Mike: “What? Oh.”

Doog: “Hey, pilot guy, what’s that?”
Pilot: “A Grubber Trawler.”
Doog: “What’s that?”
Pilot: “There’s creatures on Garum called Brine Grubbers. The trawlers collect them by dragging nets on the shallow sea floor.”
Doog: “What are Brine Grubbers?”
Pilot: “They’re the planet’s most advanced lifeform, which isn’t saying much. They’re mollusk-like bottom feeders. They eat the salt lovin’ bacteria down there.”

Doog: “Why are they catching them?”
Pilot: “Some are caught to be eaten raw, but that’s not really my thing – to each their own, I guess. The rest are turned into Garum Fish Sauce in Robigo’s processing factories.”
Doog: “Fish sauce?”
Pilot: “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste, to say the least. Imagine the saltiest thing you’ve ever eaten and mix it with fermented fish funk. It’s sharp, pungent, and, honestly, incredibly smelly.”
Doog: “Why would anyone eat that?”
Pilot: “Folks swear by it. It adds an intense umami flavor that makes other stuff pop – if you get past the stink, that is. It’s popular across the galaxy. We export more sauce than we do salt, if that tells you anything.”
Doog: “I think Robigo’s going to be a bust, Mike. It sounds like a factory town.”
Mike: “Even worse, I think I’m starting to smell it.”
Doog: “Ew, me too.”

Doog: “Uh, it really hits the back of the throat.”
Mike: “How can something smell sour and rotten at the same time. That’s a new one for me.”
Doog: “Everything is rusty here too. Great.”
Mike: “I think I picked the season’s worst planet.”

Doog: “So, where do we go from here?”
Pilot: “To get into the city from this side of the island, you’ll have pass through either the Salt intake facility to the left or the Grubber intake facility on the right.”
Doog: “Right it is.”
Mike: “You want to get closer to those stink balls?”
Doog: “No, but there is a chick down there. That’s what we came here for.”

Maren: “Two off-worlders, huh? I don’t see that on my dock very often.”
Doog: “How do you know we’re off-worlders?”
Maren: “Ha! It’s pretty obvious. You’re the only two on this dock breathing through their mouths and fighting back against the nausea.”
Doog: “Stop making us look bad, Mike!”
Mike: “You’re doing it too!”
Maren: “Ha, ha. Give it time, you’ll adjust – everyone does. So, what can I help you with?”
Doog: “We’re here to tour the planet, specifically Robigo. Can you show us around for a bit?”

Doog: “Where are you going?”
Maren: “To show you the city, of course. You don’t have to ask me twice! Quinten, I’m taking a break. Finish salting the grubbers.”
Quinten: “You got it, boss.”
Maren: “I’m Maren, by the way. And you are?”
Mike: “I’m Mike.”
Doog: “I’m Doog, but you can call me anytime.”
Mike: “That was embarrassing.”
Doog: “Hey, I’m trying.”
Maren: “Ha, I like the line, but it’s not happening. I don’t date off-worlders. Me and my smelly world are a lifetime commitment.”
Mike: “Rejected!”

Maren: “This is the warehouse. The Grubbers are salted here to remove most of their moisture. They sit here a few weeks, and then one of my workers breaks them free of the hardened salt. They then proceed into the city.”

Doog: “The grounds salty here too?”
Maren: “Robigo is a salt island like the rest, just bigger.”
Doog: “I get that, but I thought the ground might be paved.”
Maren: “It’s no use paving anything here. The salt either corrodes it, or the salt mist from the ocean covers it in salt.”
Doog: “I see. So, what else can you tell me about Robigo.”
Maren: “It’s a factory town. Everything revolves around manufacturing Garum Sauce. There are worker dorms and service buildings mixed in.”

Maren: “This is my favorite joint, the Grubber Hub. They have the best, raw grubbers. Add a dab of Garum sauce on it, and chef’s kiss – perfection! Want to try some?”
Mike: “No thanks.”
Doog: “I can say with a reasonably amount of certainty that I’d probably vomit. I have a weak stomach.”
Maren: “Yeah, you definitely couldn’t date me. I eat here at least once a day. Anyway, let’s move on to the factory.”

Maren: “The first part of making sauce – pulverizing the little grubbers into a homogeneous paste. Let all those fishy oils, salty fats, and smelly flesh mix to perfection.”
Doog: “This is the worst smelling room I’ve ever been in. I need to stop talking because it’s getting in my mouth. Mike, take over.”
Mike: “Nuh-uh.”
Maren: “Let’s continue, you babies.”

Maren: “The homogeneous mix is sent to fermentation tanks, like this. Here, the sauce ages to perfection for about three weeks. This part really gives the sauce its signature succinctness – that little bit of pop.”
Doog: “…”
Mike: “…”
Maren: “Really? You’re not talking now? It doesn’t even smell as bad in here – the paste is in sealed tanks.”
Doog: “Not risking it.”

Maren: “After three weeks, the sauce is bottled up. This part is pretty automated, you know, for food safety purposes.”
Doog: “Something tells me that the people that eat this don’t really care about safety.”
Maren: “Hey! Take that back!”

Doog: “Look, there’s obviously a demand for this stuff – so it must be great – but it’s definitely not for me. I’m glad you showed us around, though. Despite its smell and rusty exterior, Robigo isn’t such a bad place.”
Maren: “Aw, thanks. That was charming.”
Doog: “Charming, huh? Do you like charming?”
Maren: “It’s not happening, Doog.”
Doog: “What if I try the sauce?”
Maren: “You could mainline that grubber paste, and the answer would still be no.”
Doog: “I would say that’s a pretty solid no.”

Doog: “Well folks, that wraps up Season 16 of LIU Atlas. Garum is far from being a beach paradise, but it has some pluses. The people are nice and generous. There’s, uh, towns, and stuff. Ok, listen, it’s rusty and incredibly smelly, but Garum supplies the galaxy with umami enhancers, and I can get behind that. Oh well, see ya!
 
 
Note: Garum Sauce adds an umami flavoring on par with other popular galactic spices, like Umerusan. However, Garum is much cheaper and has a much longer shelf life. On some poorer planets, Garum Sauce and protein sludge are staples of the population’s diet.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re checking out the moon, Arenisca. Why are we checking it out? Because we’re continuing this season’s tradition of letting the crew pick the planet. Who’s picking today? The worst of the worst, the most-hated crew member, and my mortal enemy…Timbo. I’m sure he picked something terrible. I’ve been dreading this day since we started this trend.  Let’s check it out.”

Doog: “So, what hell-hole have you brought me to?”
Timbo: “…”
Doog: “Our not talking pact isn’t going to work this episode. I suspend our agreement.”
Timbo: “Thank you. This is Arenisca.”
Doog: “Let’s get right to it – how will I suffer on this moon?”
Timbo: “I actually went the other route.”
Doog: “What does that mean?”
Timbo: “Instead of making it horrible, I made it short.”
Doog: “Short?”
Timbo: “I think we can do this whole episode from this location. We should be done in less than thirty minutes.”
Doog: “You did that for me?”
Timbo: “I did it for us both. You know how awkward our relationship is. Happy Consumerism Day, for us both.”
Doog: “Thanks. This is truly one of the best presents we ever gifted each other.”
Timbo: “Uh, sure.”

Doog: “So, what’s happening on Arenisca?”
Timbo: “It’s an agricultural moon that’s mostly desert. The soil is primarily comprised of the mineral, Erythrium, giving it its red hue. The settlers here grow a local crop, Ferranth, to obtain particular minerals from the Erythrium.”
Doog: “How do plants obtain minerals?”
Timbo: “Don’t ask me.”

Timbo: “Maybe we could ask one of the robots zooming around here.”
Doog: “Hey, bolt breath. What’s going on here?”
Robot: “Unlisted biologicals detected in the crop matrix. Scanning…”
Doog: “Uh, rust-licker, we didn’t ask for a scan. We want you to answer us!”
Timbo: “Maybe be nicer to it.”
Doog: “Be nicer to this data dumper? Yeah, right.”
Timbo: “His rake has sharp points…just saying.”

Rudy: “What’s going on over here?!”
Doog: “Finally, a person with actual brains. Uh, hey. I’m Doog, a TV show host. You’ve probably heard of me. I’m kind of famous. This guy is Timbo – I guarantee you’ve never heard of him.”
Rudy: “I haven’t heard of either of you! And, that’s not what I asked! What are you doing on my farm?!”
Doog: “We’re here to do a show about this moon.”
Timbo: “It’s an educational show.”
Rudy: “Why didn’t you say that earlier? We could have avoided some of the shouting. I’m Rudy, owner of this plantation.”
Doog: “Great to meet you, Rudy. So, could you spare some time to tell us about your farm?”

Rudy: “Spare some time, ha! All I have is time since I picked up these two grease-leaches. They do practically everything.”
Doog: “What exactly do they do?”
Rudy: “They care for the Ferranth, those red plants by your feet. Ferranth is a hardy, desert plant, so it doesn’t need much work. The bots are mostly around to get rid of pests and prune out diseased leaves.”
Doog: “What is Ferranth grown for? Do people eat these red fruits?”
Rudy: “Heck no! I’d rather lick the gonopores of a rancid sludge snail than eat that stuff. It tastes terrible, and it’s poisonous.”
Doog: “Noted.”

Rudy: “No, we grow Ferranth for the chemicals within the fruits. Chromium-6 to be specific. The plants extract it from the Erythrium.”
Doog: “How?”
Rudy: “I have no clue. I’m just a farmer. All I know is how we extract it from the fruit. All that takes is some dehydration and a little bit of grinding. The bots do that too.”

Rudy: “That dehydration part is really important. This desert world doesn’t have much water. We extract as much water as we can and send it back down to the aquifer.”
Doog: “Got it. So, what exactly is Chromium used for?”
Rudy: “Oh, it has its uses, especially in heavy industry. It helps make certain metals and such.”
Doog: “That’s not very specific, but it will do, I guess. Well, I only have one more question.”

Doog: “What exactly do you do here?”
Rudy: “The only thing I do is own this red dirt – red dirt over a rare aquifer.”
Doog: “Man. I wish I had your job.”
Rudy: “I spent a lot of money upfront, but it is sure paying off.”
Doog: “Well, thanks for…”
Robot: “Scan completed. Unwanted pest removal in progress.”

Doog: “Ow! Ow! Hey! Get off me!”
Robot: “Pest is resisting…applying additional force.”
Doog: “Ahhh!”
Rudy: “Dang it, hold on Doog. Dang things are confusing you for a pest. Give me a minute.”
Doog: “Where is it taking me! Ow! Oh, no. Oh, no. Don’t drop me down there!”

Doog: “Ahh!”
Timbo: “Doog! Are you ok?!”
Doog: “I’ve been better…also, this show is no longer one scene. You’re officially the worst!”
Timbo: “Hey, I told you to be nicer to the robots!”

Doog: “I’m in some type of chamber.”
Rudy: “That’s the pest and trash incinerator. The robots throw stuff down there.”
Doog: “Incinerator!?”
Rudy: “Yeah, don’t worry though, they only light it once a month, and they just did it the other day.”

Doog: “Now that I’m safe from that, my next concern are these massive snails down here.”
Rudy: “They’re a huge pest, but not really dangerous to humans. They are extremely poisonous though, so don’t eat any.”
Doog: “Why would you assume I’d want to eat one? They’re repulsive!”
Rudy: “Sorry, you came across as an escargot lover. There should be a maintenance exit down there. It will take you back to the surface. The code is EZL1FE.”
Doog: “Of course it is.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Arenisca. This red planet is home to small farms that collect Chromium-6 from plants called Ferranth. This was meant to be an easy episode, but it didn’t turn out that way. A stupid robot dropped me down a trash incinerator, disgusting snails got mucus all over my shoes, and I have about a hundred steps to get back up to the surface. I HATE you TIMBO!”
Timbo: “…”
Doog: “Oh well, folks. See ya!”
 
 
Note: Areniscan Snails sequester Chromium-6 in specialized vacuoles within their bodies, making them as toxic as the Ferranth. Monthly incinerations of these snails account for about 15% of Chromium-6 production on Arenisca.

Doog: “Welcome to another special edition episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. We’re still checking out the planet, Nexui, but today we are focusing on Nexui’s capital, Aurelia. I’ve traveled two hours north from the Liora Estate, and the city is coming into view.”

Doog: “During these special edition episodes, we like to focus on culture instead of the economy. However, while we make the approach into Aurelia, I’m going to quickly sum up the city’s economy while showing some stock footage. Aurelia is the galaxy’s only manufacturer of Nexovane, a shimmering, soft fabric. It is shipped to Aurelia from the neighboring estates in its liquid form, Nexorin. Only under the strictest control is it processed into Nexovane.”

Doog: “Nexovane fabric isn’t exported in its raw form. It is sent to expert artisanal tailors here in Aurelia. They safely dye and form the fabric with their years of expertise. It is then sold to luxury garment manufacturers in Aurelia, where it is turned into some of the galaxy’s most expensive and fashionable clothing.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’m in the city, and I’ve met up with part of the crew.”
Mike: “I can’t believe I’m in the galaxy’s fashion capital!”
Seitse: “I could spend a fortune here.”
Doog: “I didn’t realize how many businesses could revolve around fashion. Every place we’ve passed has been some type clothing store or dye shop. I even saw a place selling Nexovane dog collars.”
Mike: “I bet they even eat clothing in this city.”
Amaya: “Probably not, but speaking of clothing, we need to find something for Doog to wear.”
Doog: “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Seitse: “You’ve been wearing it all day, and you’re sweaty.”
Amaya: “It has no sleeves.”
Mike: “It smells.”
Doog: “And?”

Amaya: “And? We’re going to one of the planet’s biggest fashion shows! There will be a lot of reporters there, and LIU Atlas needs some good exposure. You can’t walk in looking like that.”
Doog: “Alright, alright.”
Amaya: “We don’t have much in the budget for anything too fancy, especially after Mike, Seitse, and I got new outfits. But I think we might be able to find something good enough at this place.”
Doog: “‘Where are my pants’? You guys get nice, new clothes, but I’m expected to shop at ‘Where are my pants?’!”
Mike: “It doesn’t look too bad.”
Amaya: “It’s a discount shop. Some stuff is marked down 70%. We might be able to find something nice.”
Doog: “Sigh.”

Zed: “Welcome customers. I am Zed the Cyborg Fashion Assistant. Can I help you find your pants? If my spectral scanner is correct, you look like a 42X30. We have many varieties in that size.”
Doog: “First off, I’m way smaller than that. I’m easily a 38X30.”
Zed: “Ah, of course. You must be an under the belly guy that likes them tight. Got it. We have pants in that size as well.”
Doog: “Uh, yeah. What about suits though?”

Zed: “Suits are another story, I’m afraid. We don’t fully stock the store with suits. We’re definitely more focused on pants. The only suits you’ll find here are in the discount bin over there.”
Doog: “I guess I’ll start rummaging through it.”
Zed: “Let me save you some time. I calculate that only one suit in the bin will meet your size requirements…”

Doog: “I can’t believe this is the only suit they had in my size! I look like an idiot.”
Mike: “I wouldn’t say idiot, but radioactive banana comes to mind.”
Seitse: “Construction worker chic, if you ask me.”
Amaya: “Quit it, you two. He looks great…well, better than he did.”
Mike: “If you ever get out of the TV business, you’d make a good…”

Mike: “…Eggs-treme mascot. You already have the suit for it.”
Doog: “Shut it, Mike!”

Doog: “Whoa, that’s a big building.”
Mike: “So tall and fancy, I wonder what it is?”
Seitse: “You guys really don’t recognize this building or that emblem?”
Amaya: “Yeah, seriously. This is the headquarters of one of the most well-known brands in the galaxy.”
Doog: “Holo-porn HQ?”
Amaya: “What?! No! Think of clothing.”
Mike: “We don’t know anything about clothing, especially Doog. I mean…look at him.”
Amaya: “Sigh. This is the headquarters of Quotidien.”
Doog: “Quotidien?”

Amaya: “Yeah, they’re a popular luxury clothing brand.”
Seitse: “They focus on everyday fashion, so think more like cute, daily outfits than fancy, formal dresses or suits.”
Doog: “I should have gotten something here instead of looking like a pencil.”
Amaya: “Yeah, right. We couldn’t afford socks from this place.”
Doog: “I thought you said it was everyday clothing?”
Seitse: “Everyday for the rich and elite.”
Amaya: “Most of it is pure Nexovane.”

Mike: “Look, the building even has a runway coming out of it.”
Seitse: “Yeah, they do nonstop fashion shows.”
Doog: “There’s another even higher! That has to be fifty or more floors up!”
Seitse: “That’s for the hovercars that drive by.”
Doog: “I wouldn’t want that job. I’m getting freaked out just looking at it up there.”
Amaya: “Fun fact, Quotidien only uses the Modocycla race as models. They were voted best looking race by ranked-choice-voting.”
Doog: “I didn’t understand most of that, but someone out there might get some value out of it.”
Mike: “Yeah, not very fun with all the big words thrown in there.”

Amaya: “Alright, we’re finally here, Aurelia’s Grand Gallery. This place is home to the galaxy’s biggest fashion shows.”
Seitse: “There’s a show here at least once a week.”
Amaya: “Yes, but we’re here for one of the biggest of the year. BLUE IS IN by the designer Briene Arcovis!”
Seitse: “Yes!”
Doog: “You guys are way more excited than me – I’m dreading this. I didn’t know there would be so many cameras. The whole galaxy is going to see this monstrous suit!”
Amaya: “Oh, relax. These cameras aren’t here for you or I. They’re trying to catch celebrities.”
Doog: “Uh, I am a celebrity.”
Seitse: “Something tells me that you’re not on par with these other celebrities. I mean, that’s Rosa Chessi and Rhett Targar in front of us.”
Doog: “I’ve never heard of either. They can’t be that famous.”

Kelly: “Ok, Bert. Next up we have super-couple Rhett Targar and Rosa Chessi. The Bullan heartthrob, Rhett, won best actor this year after his spectacular performance in the war film, Between Galaxies.”
Bert: “Rosa knows all about that award, Kelly…being a three-time winner herself. Right now, she’s focusing on music, with her debut album, Let Her Cook, releasing next month. Digital pre-sales of the highly anticipated album are already setting records.”

Doog: “Ok, they might be a tiny bit more famous than me.”
Mike: “Just a bit.”
Doog: “Oh man, we’re next! I’m freaking out!”

Kelly: “Let’s see, who’s next. Ah, yes. It’s none other than Amaya Moneta, granddaughter of shipping tycoon, Myrna Moneta. Amaya is associate producer of a show called LIU Atlas. It looks like she brought some of crew as well. How nice.”
Bert: “Wait, I think I recognize that guy in the front, as well. Yeah, I definitely saw him before. He was at the spaceport when we landed. He was directing flights on the runway.”
Kelly: “Those were traffic cones, Bert.”
Bert: “Oh…”

Doog: “I hate my life right now.”
Amaya: “You’ll be fine. Forget about it and watch the show.”
Doog: “Not only did he not recognize me as a TV Host, he confused me with a traffic cone!”

Doog: “Shop at ‘Where are my Pants’, Doog. They’ll have something great, you said. We need you to look good for our show, you said. How did that look good for the show!”
Amaya: “It’s been twenty minutes, Doog. Get over it. Everything will be fine.”
Seitse: “You’re so worked up about a fifteen second comment from someone you don’t even know, that you’re missing the show.”

Doog: “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘missing’ anything. It’s just people wearing blue!”
Mike: “I bet you wish the theme was bright light orange.”
Doog: “Exactly. I wearing the exact opposite of cool right now.”

Announcer: “Sinja’s cape is pure Aranea Sericon silk with handstitched Nexovane snowflakes. It’s sure to be a hit on ice worlds. Look at that shine! Give us a spin Sinja!”
Crowd: “Ooh, ahh.”
Doog: “It’s a blue cape! Who cares!”

Amaya: “You better stop shouting and hating on everything. Not only are you embarrassing us, you’re going to get in trouble! These elites don’t play around.”
Doog: “I’d rather be in jail than watch this blue parade in this stupid suit.”
Amaya: “Ok, fine. Every time you make a negative comment, I’m forcing you to wear that suit for an episode.”
Doog: “You wouldn’t.”
Amaya: “Watch me.”

Doog: “That outfit is….so great…. hooray.”
Amaya: “That’s what I thought.”
Doog: “Sigh.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s the city of Aurelia. This whole city is devoted to fashion. They make clothes, design clothes, and sell clothes. You can buy fabric, dyes, shoes, and any accessory imaginable. Some of the biggest luxury brands are based out of Aurelia. This fashion capital sets galactic trends and showcases the newest fashion. Although most of the galaxy could never pay for the luxury stuff, you can bet that people across the galaxy are going to be wearing more blue clothing for a while. Oh well, I guess I’m just going to sit here and shut up, I don’t ever want to wear this suit again. See ya!”
 
 
Note: This is the 1,200th time BLUE has been IN this decade. Fads flip quick in a galaxy of trillions.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we are visiting an important Mid-Rim world called Nexui. Nexui is classified as an agricultural planet, but it doesn’t produce any edible crops. Instead, the natives of Nexui raise a local creature that they harvest for biological matter. What is this matter? I have no idea. I hope it’s something like meat, milk, or wool, and not something you’d find in a crusty, old sock. The only way to find out is to head on down. Let’s do this.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on the surface of Nexui. It appears I’m in some type of orchard or growing field. That pretty much contradicts my intro. I thought the natives didn’t produce any edible crops. Also, I don’t see any sign of the aforementioned creatures that are harvested. I do see some locals though, and it’s freaking me out. I’ve been told the life on Nexui are mammalian-insects. It’s the last part that I’m worried about…I’m terrified of insects. The ratio of mammal to insect is going to greatly determine my time here. Please be mostly mammal!”

Doog: “Uh, hello there.”
Native: “Greetings.”
Doog: “So, I see you guys have two arms and two legs. That’s good. Very mammalian of you.”
Native: “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
Doog: “On a scale of 1-10, how much do you enjoy ruining picnics?”
Native: “Are you having a stroke? What are you talking about?”
Doog: “I’m just trying to determine how much of an insect you are. You know, so I know how scared to be.”
Native: “Currently, you’re much more terrifying than me. Who approaches a stranger with such nonsensical questions?”
Doog: “Noted, but I still need some kind of answer.”
Native: “Technically, my race is neither mammalian nor insectoid. We are a unique clade of beings that doesn’t fit any classical LIU grouping. We share characteristics of both mammals and insects, so we’ve been deemed ‘mammalian-insectoids’.”
Doog: “That doesn’t really help. I heard lots of mentions of insects in your response.”
Native: “Sigh, the only parts of me that are ‘insect’ are my hardened-chitin exoskeleton and my breathing spiracles.”
Doog: “Ah, that makes me feel better.”
Native: Can you please go away now? You’re really frightening me.”

Xylo: “That’s no way to speak to our distinguished guest.”
Native: “Sorry, Sovereign It’s just that he approached me speaking about picnics and arms. It was…”
Xylo: “THAT is all. I shall take it from here. Doog, welcome to Nexui, specifically the Liora Estate. I am Xylo. This is my mate, Zyra. Together, we form the Sovereign Pair.”
Doog: “The Sovereign Pair? What’s that?”
Xylo: “We are the dual leaders of this estate and its population.”
Doog: “I see. So, were you guys elected or are you the highest members of some royal family?”
Zyra: “Neither. The title of Sovereign Pair, and its duties, pass to the longest bonded pair within the estate. Xylo and I have been bonded for thirty cycles.”
Doog: “Interesting. So, if something would happen to one of you, you’d be dethroned.”
Xylo: “Well, we don’t have a throne, but yes. If either of should pass into the afterworld, we would be replaced by the next highest bonded pair.”
Doog: “That’s got to be tough, losing your mate and your job at the same time.”
Zyra: “We dread such a scenario, but it is the way of our people. A Sovereign Pair gets its strength from both participants’ knowledge and experience. To lose half of that, would diminish the remaining’s ability to lead effectively.”
Doog: “Makes sense to me.”

Doog: “What doesn’t make sense, is all the farming going on. I thought you guys raised some type of creature, not food.”
Xylo: “That is a typical misconception. Galactically, our only important good is Nexovane, a fabric made from local animals. So, when you research Nexui, that’s all that pops up.”
Zyra: “However, as living beings, we need to grow food to eat as well.”
Doog: “Ah. This is food for your people, not the creatures.”
Zyra: “Yes. Although, the Nexorids would eat it if they could. Hence the fortifications.”
Xylo: “The Nexorids are the creatures we harvest. Their appetite is unsatiable.”
Doog: “That’s what all these walls are for?”
Xylo: “Yes. The estate is divided into two sections that we call Xelaria and Nylaris. We’re currently in Xelaria. It is where you’ll find my people and our crops.”
Zyra: “Nylaris is the pasture-lands. The Nexorids are herded there. Great walls and towers separate the two.”

Doog: “Let me guess…we’re headed into the pasture section.”
Xylo: “Unspoken songs remain unheard.”
Doog: “What?!”
Zyra: “Forgive my mate’s insensitivities, he speaks the sayings of my people, forgetting that you would not comprehend. Yes, we head for the Nylaris.”
Xylo: “Forgive me. I became too comfortable, Doog. Guards, open the gates.”

Doog: “Okay, they are way bigger than I expected.  They only have four legs, though, so I’m not too scared just yet.”
Zyra: “Do not fear the Nexorids. They pose no threat.”
Doog: “So, you say. I have one question, though. On a scale of 1-10, how likely are the Nexorids to fly recklessly around a light at night?”
Xylo: “They do not fly.”
Doog: “Ok, let’s try again. On a scale of 1-10, how likely are the Nexorids to hide in a shoe?”
Xylo: “I do not believe they would fit in most shoes. So, I’d say one.”
Doog: “Dang it. This isn’t working. How insect-like are the Nexorids?”
Zyra: “They share similar biology to our own. They are warm-blooded, quadrupeds, covered in fur. They do have a chitin exoskeleton, disjointed mandibles, and breathing spiracles, like us.”
Doog: “I see. Well, you guys have been cool, so far, so if these things are similar, I guess I’m alright.”
Zyra: “As I said earlier, you have nothing to fear. The Nexorids are immeasurably dimwitted. Since you’re not food, they don’t even know you exist.”
Xylo: “Great size often accompanies a gentle simplicity.”
Zyra: “Another proverb, Xylo?”
Xylo: “Oh yeah, I forgot again. Sorry.”

Zyra: “The Nexorids are simple. They eat until they have enough energy to mate.”
Xylo: “That usually takes about three weeks.”
Zyra: “The Nexorid then finds another nutritionally gratified member of the opposite sex to mate.”
Doog: “Eating and mating. What a life!”
Zyra: “Both males and females possess spinnerets. They weave a nesting structure and deposit their genetic material. Their brood emerges weeks later.”
Xylo: “That’s what those spikes are for. It helps the hatched Nexorids to tear out of the Nexovane nesting structure.”
Zyra: “Nexovane is strong.”
Xylo: “Yet, soft.”
Zyra: “And exceptionally beautiful.”
Xylo: “Due to its iridescence.”

Doog: “So, you guys harvest old nests?”
Xylo: “No, nests are dirty and impure. Excuse me for offering another Nexui adage, but ‘Untouched, clear essence breeds the truest cloth.’ Essentially, pure Nexovane is worth its weight in hyper-rubies, while the nest stuff is worth as little as Laniger Wool.”
Zyra: “To get the purest product, we herd hunger-quenched Nexorids to a collection facility.” 

Xylo: “With a little poking and prodding…”
Zyra: “…and some pheromones…”
Xylo: “…we provoke the Nexorids into collection harnesses.”
Doog: “Where does this fabric come from?”
Zyra: “Again, not fabric. Not at this point. We harvest the protein that’s makes Nexovane directly from the source – their spinnerets.”
Xylo: “The protein is called Nexorin.”

Doog: “What’s a spinneret?”
Zyra: “It’s the organ where Nexorin is created.”
Xylo: “Specifically, the little spike-like structure on the end of its abdomen.”
Zyra: “It’s important for the harvesting machine to make a perfect seal with the spinneret.”
Xylo: “Oxygen reacts with Nexorin to make Nexovane.”
Zyra: “Meaning, we want it to stay the liquid protein.”
Doog: “Why would it be bad for it to become Nexovane? I thought that’s what you guys are making?”
Xylo: “Nexovane is made on Nexui, but not here. It is much purer, and therefore valuable, if the conversion process is done under controlled conditions.”

Xylo: “Nexorin is pumped from the Nexorids into filtering machines.”
Zyra: “It removes the ever-so-rare impurities.”
Xylo: “It is then pumped outside of the Liora Estate.”
Doog: “Outside?”

Zyra: “Yes, into silos.”
Xylo: “The silos are high-grade. No contaminations are possible.”
Doog: “There’s a desert right outside of the estate?”
Xylo: “A dead zone.”
Zyra: “Created by the LIU.”
Xylo: “Another protection from the ravenous Nexorids.”
Zyra: “Otherwise, escaped Nexorids could compromise other estates.”
Doog: “These things really like to eat, don’t they?”
Zyra: “Without protections, the Nexorids could eat the planet into obscurity. Walls, weapons, and dead zones keep the economy safe.”

Xylo: “Guys like this protect it further.”
Doog: “Is that a gun?”
Xylo: “It most certainly is. He protects the dead zones, killing any escaped Nexorids, but more importantly…”
Zyra: “…he protects the Nexorin silos.”
Xylo: “It is worth a lot.”
Zyra: “More than you’re probably imagining.”

Doog: “Hey, don’t shoot. I’m just a guy doing a TV show.”
Pilot: “Xylo?”
Xylo: “He’s good.”
Pilot: “Ok.”
Xylo: “He needs a lift to Aurelia.”
Pilot: “I’m not due for a transport for a few weeks.”
Xylo: “I have a back-up being transferred to watch the silo. You’re good to go. TV2’s request.”
Pilot: “10-4.”
Xylo: “You’re in good hands, Doog. Enjoy the journey.”
Doog: “Thanks for being mostly mammal, guys. Also, great tour.”

Pilot: “Well, TV2 guy, hop on board and get comfortable. Aurelia is about two hours away, depending on the winds.”
Doog: “I’m a little underprepared. What’s Aurelia?”
Pilot: “Not only is it the capital and export point of Nexui, it’s the galaxy’s fashion capital as well.”
Doog: “Sounds exciting, but I’m a little weary of this craft. Two hours in this thing?”
Pilot: “They trust it enough to transport Nexorin on a regular basis, and it is certainly worth more than you or I.”
Doog: “I’m sold.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Nexui – at least, most of it. This world has biologically strange sentients and creatures that don’t fit in a typical category. They’re an amalgam of mammals and insects. Luckily, they’re a bit more mammal. Creatures here, called Nexorids, make an extremely rare and valuable fabric, Nexovane, but it must be processed first. We’ll learn more about that in the second part of this episode. That’s right, we have to check out Aurelia before we close out this planet. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Prior to the formation of the LIU, Nexui underwent several famines because of the unchecked movement of Nexorids. Only under corporate control did the estates gain food safety via the dead zones.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Mus Cus. Mus Cus is a temperate planet in the galaxy’s Mid Rim. Mus Cus' geography is varied, but it mostly consists of mountains, bogs, and peatlands. We’re interested in those peatlands, so let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Well folks, Cam, my camera man, and I have landed in an industrial spaceport on Mus Cus.”
Cam: “We’re still doing the thing.”
Doog: “In case you missed the last two episodes, we’re letting the crew pick our next few destinations. Some reason, Cam picked this swampy bog planet. It literally smells like a week-old Oldie diaper out here. “
Cam: “I did, and it does smell pretty bad out here.”
Doog: “I expected some of the crew to purposely pick terrible planets, but you, Cam?”
Cam: “Mus Cus has a big plus.”
Doog: “What?”
Cam: “I can’t ruin the surprise. Besides, here comes our guide.”

Russel: “Never in a million cycles did I think I’d get a communique requesting a tour of Mus Cus. It has to be one of the galaxy’s most unremarkable planets.”
Doog: “My pal will have to explain that one.”
Russel: “Hey, I’m not complaining – it’s putting a few extra credits in my pocket. Peat mining isn’t exactly the most lucrative profession. I’m Russel by the way.”
Doog: “Peat mining? What’s peat?”
Russel: “Peat is a special type of soil that’s full of non-decayed organic matter.”
Doog: “Of all the planets in this galaxy, you choose a mud mining planet, Cam?”
Cam: “It’s not mud, it’s peat. Listen to our guide.”
Doog: “Peat just sounds like a slightly fancier mud.”
Russel: “Perhaps it will make more sense out in the field. Follow me.”

Russel: “The peat bogs, or mining fields, used to cover all this land we’re passing. It’s all been harvested.”
Doog: “Are they making or planting more?”
Russel: “That’s not how peat works. Peat is formed naturally over numerous years. Once we harvest it, it’s gone for the next thousand or so years.”
Doog: “I’m not an expert, but that doesn’t sound good in the long term. What happens when you gather it all?”
Russel: “The peat economy ends. Mus Cus can either be abandoned or converted to another economy – like farming or factories.”

Doog: “Folks, we’ve left the road and we’re in some sort of bog or swamp…”
Russel: “Peatlands, actually.”
Doog: “…or that. All I really know is that the smell has increased and my shoes are probably being ruined by this squishy soil.”
Cam: “The smell is probably coming from your shoes. The bog juice might be improving them.”

Russel: “This is it. This is where the peat is mined.”
Doog: “There’s not a cool peat processing mecha or anything? This is just a bulldozer.”
Russel: “It’s all that really needed. Peat is essentially just soil.”
Doog: “How is this going to make a cool episode, Cam!?”
Russel: “There might be one cool thing. Hop down with me.”

Russel: “The peat is only on the top part of the soil. You can see the split here. The dozers have to be precise. If they get to much normal soil, the peat might be ruined.”
Doog: “We have vastly differing definitions of cool”.

Russel: “Ok, what about this? You said you we’re expecting a cool mecha.”
Doog: “This might be a bit better than the bulldozer. What does it do?”

Russel: “It follows behind the bulldozer and rolls up the loose peat into cylinders. It then stacks them to dry in the sun.”
Doog: “A hardsuit for making and baking mud pies?”
Cam: “Mud rolls. Try to listen.”
Doog: “Amaya isn’t going to be happy when we come home with this footage. Our viewership might actually go into the negatives.”
Cam: “Relax. There’s still more.”

Doog: “Alright folks, Russel dropped us off back at the spaceport. We are now in the adjoining city of New Petta. Perhaps things will get more interesting here.”
Cam: “They will.”
Doog: “I mean, it smells better already. Less rotten swamp, more scooter exhaust.”

Doog: “How does a city get this big on a mud mining planet – particularly one that is chewing its way through a nonrenewable resource?”
Cam: “First off, you’re underestimating the peat’s worth. Secondly, this is a big operation. There are thousands of farmers, mechanics, support services, and so on.”
Doog: “What is peat even used for?”
Cam: “Weren’t you listening to Russel on the way back?”
Doog: “Not really.”
Cam: “Peat has many uses, from a fuel source to metallurgy. It has a galactic demand.”

Doog: “Are we finally to the surprise? Is peat burned and inhaled? Is it a drug? You did pick a good planet!”
Cam: “What! No! This is the last stage of production. After being sun dried, it’s taken to slow ovens like this to extract all remaining moisture.”
Doog: “Mud, bulldozers, mud rollers, and dryers…I can hear our fans cheering already.”
Cam: “Quit being dramatic. Let’s head to the surprise.”

Doog: “This is the surprise? Outdoor dining on some shabby table in an alley?”
Cam: “You’ve been so busy bickering about this episode that you’re not using your senses, specifically your nose.”
Doog: *sniff “You’re right. What is that? It’s way, way better than the fields and exhaust.”
Cam: “This restaurant is outside because of the smokers. That smell you’re smelling is smoked meat falling off its bones.”

Cam: “One of peats’ best uses is smoking. The peat logs burn slowly, releasing their earthy smoke. It’s used to make smoke flavor across the galaxy. Of course, you’ll find the best stuff at its direct source, Mus Cus.”

Cam: “Sitting before you is one of the best meals you’ll ever eat – smoked Beemu with a local whisky, called Smoky Pete’s. Its barley is smoke dried with peat, giving it a savory, earthy flavor.”
Doog: “This is amazing. It might really be the best food I’ve ever had. This whiskey is good too.”
Cam: “Told you.”
Doog: “The episode might be boring for everyone else, but this sure was an awesome experience. Good pick, Cam.”
Cam: “Less talking, more eating.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Mus Cus. This planet and its export appear pretty boring at first. It’s just a special kind of mud, after all. However, this ‘peat’ can be used in smokers, and it gives food an amazing taste. Let me follow Cam’s advice and start eating. See ya!”
 
 
Note: Peat’s regrowth is very slow, averaging about a millimeter per year. This means that peat extraction on Mus Cus will not be economically viable in about twenty years. Luckily, anaerobic peatlands can be found on several planets. 

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the Mid-Rim planet, Mumia. Mumia’s thick atmosphere and greenhouse gases distribute heat across the planet, allowing for the growth of massive forests and jungles. They literally cover about seventy percent of the planet. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Well folks, we’re still doing this thing where the crew gets to pick which planets to visit. Today, we kill two birds with one stone because Amaya and Seitse both picked Mumia. All three of us have been dropped off in the middle of the planet-spanning jungle. As you can see, we’re on some type of elevated walkway that puts us right in the jungle’s canopy. Supposedly, these walkways were built to allow workers to pick the jungle’s fruit easier.”

Doog: “Workers don’t utilize these walkways these days. Instead, they use more-advanced walking platforms – with hydraulic lifts. I’m not sure what they’re picking though.”
Seitse: “Another thoroughly researched planet for our ‘star’ host.”
Doog: “I don’t like how you did the air quotes while saying that, Seitse! Besides, you heard me talking about those lifts. How many things do you want me to memorize about this planet.”
Amaya: “Preferably more than one fact, and definitely the most important one. They grow Mumiya.”
Doog: “You say that like I’m supposed to know what that is.”
Amaya: “My bad. I forgot that you haven’t purposely eaten a healthy thing in your life. Mumiya is a superfruit that’s rich in vitamins and antioxidants.”
Seitse: “Not to mention its taste. Mumiya is one of the most delicious fruits in this galaxy.”

Amaya: “That’s why we picked Mumia. We wanted to experience our favorite fruit the freshest way possible.”
Doog: “What is this place?”
Amaya: “A fruit bar. They serve fresh Mumiya to tourists.”
Doog: “You guys actually picked a good planet?! I thought you were going to be like Oldie and send me somewhere terrible.”
Seitse: “We wouldn’t have come with you, if it was somewhere terrible.”

Amaya: “So, what are we trying first? The fruit spread or the smoothie?”
Doog: “I’m going to have to go with a smoothie.”
Amaya: “Actually, I was talking to Seitse. I figured you wouldn’t want healthy stuff.”
Doog: “Well, not usually, but you mentioned something about it being the most delicious in the galaxy. I figured I might as well try it while I’m here. Besides, I’m not going to just stand here and watch you guys eat. That wouldn’t be a very exciting show.”
Amaya: “About that…there’s another point of interest on Mumia. I kind of figured you’d go check that out while we enjoyed our Mamiya.”
Doog: “What!?”
Amaya: “It’s just that we’ve done so many shows about fruits in the LIU Galaxy. This show really needs something else…something more cultural.”
Doog: “You’re not coming with me?”
Amaya: “The rule was the crew gets to pick the next few planets – nothing was said about accompanying you.”
Doog: “This isn’t going to be a good planet, is it?!”
Seitse: “I guess you’ll just have to find out.”
Amaya: “Your guide will meet you further down the platform.”

Doog: “I knew this was too good to be true. What do they have in store for me?”

​Beans: “You must be Doog. I’m Ricky Beanes. I’m a Cultural Anthropologist that studies the native Mummia.”
Doog: “Your last name is Beans?”
Beans: “Beanes, actually.”
Doog: “I’m definitely calling you Beans. Don’t bother arguing, Beans.”
Beans: “Uh…that will work, I guess.”
Doog: “So, what does a cultural apologist do, Beans? Say sorry to the natives? Or make them say sorry? Is that what the gun is for?”
Beans: “Not apologist – anthropologist. I study different cultures. Right now, I’m studying the local sentient race. We call them the Mummia.”
Doog: “And the gun?”
Beans: “The locals can be a bit…unpredictable.”
Doog: “I knew this wasn’t a good planet…”

Beans: “It’s not too bad. This local tribe has gotten pretty used to me by now. We have a general understanding.”
Doog: “I hope so, because these guys look scary. Look at those tusks, Beans.”
Beans: “The longer they are, the more sexually dominant the individual is.”

Doog: “I know how wieners work, Beans.”
Beans: “What! No! I’m still talking about their tusks!”
Doog: “Oh. I see. I don’t want to venture a guess on how you figured that out. I understand the gun a bit more.”
Beans: “It’s wasn’t anything like that!”

Doog: “They’re approaching. It might be gun time.”
Beans: “Don’t freak out. We’re in no danger. They have food cooking.”
Doog: “What does that mean?”
Beans: “They’re not hungry. They get more aggressive when they’re hungry.”
Doog: “If they were hungry, they would eat us?”
Beans: “Possibly. In their eyes, we have small tusks so we’re viewed as lesser or weaker individuals.”
Doog: “Let’s hope they’re cooking enough then, Beans!”

Beans: “Relax. I brought insurance.”
Doog: “What is that?”
Beans: “Alcohol.”
Doog: “Alcohol?! Do we want them more unstable?”
Beans: “They love the stuff, but they haven’t learned to manufacture it themselves, despite the abundance of fruits here. The LIU trades it to the locals in return for their workers’ safety.”
Doog: “One bottle for the tribe ensures safety?”
Beans: “Oh no. The LIU gives up much more than that. I brought one bottle to buy you an opportunity.”
Doog: “An opportunity?”
Beans: “Yes, safe passage inside their burial grounds.”

Doog: “Why would I want to see their burial grounds? I’d rather have the liquor.”
Beans: “This is a big part of their culture. Your crew said you wanted to check it out.”
Doog: “What is there to see? Bones? Speaking of which, these guys aren’t very good at burying stuff. I see skeletons everywhere. I also see a lot of children’s skeletons. Creepy.”
Beans: “Children have small tusks, so… they are often eaten when food is in short supply.”
Doog: “This is getting scarier.”

​Doog: “Why are the bones visible? Shouldn’t they be in these tombs?”
Beans: “That’s the thing about their culture. They don’t bury the dead in these chambers. They spread their dead on top of them. The chambers aren’t for the dead; they are for the living.”
Doog: “For the living?”
Beans: “The Mummia believe that you can communicate with the dead within these tombs, once they are deprived of their senses in these dark, soundproof chambers.”
Doog: “That’s weird…and creepy.”
Beans: “I brought the alcohol to buy you a trip inside one of these sensory deprivation vaults.”
Doog: “I don’t want that!”
Beans: “Your crew said you do.”

Doog: “Ok. Fine. I’m in.”
Beans: “It doesn’t work with the door open. You need complete darkness and silence.”
Doog: “No, you’re wrong. I hear plenty of voices already. Get out! Get in the sun! Get that alcohol back! You ARE famous!”
Beans: “Sorry, it doesn’t work that way.”

Doog: “Beans! Open it back up! I don’t like this!”
Beans: “It won’t work if you keep screaming!”
Doog: “Somethings touching me! It’s either a ghost or a bug! Both are EQUALLY terrifying!”
Beans: “This planet doesn’t have bugs.”
Doog: “AHHHH!”

Amaya: “This planet doesn’t have bugs?”
Beanes: “It does. Just a little payback for calling me Beans.”
Doog: “I heard that! But, I hate bugs too. So, I’m going to keep screaming!”
Seitse: “Wait until he finds out about the spiders on this planet.”
Doog: “AHHHHH! AHHH! LET ME OUT!”

Amaya: “Doog’s a little preoccupied screaming right now, so I guess I’ll wrap up Mumia. This jungle planet has some of the best fruit in the galaxy. It’s called Mumiya, and it is so good!”
Seitse: “It’s healthy too!”
Amaya: “Yes. The fruit isn’t the full story of Mumia, though. The planet has a native race too. The natives have a unique culture that allows them to commune with the dead.”
Seitse: “Supposedly.”
Amaya: “Supposedly. Maybe Doog can confirm this after a few hours inside the sensory deprivation tomb. We’ll let you know! Bye!”
Doog: “HOURS! AHHHH!”
 


Note: Mumiya is a spherical, edible fruit – botanically a drupe – produced by a species of tall, flowering trees on the planet, Mumia. Check your LIUPad for more details.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the noxious, mining planet, Spargere. Spargere is rich in sulfur, radium, and phosphorous. While these minerals are great for mining, they make the atmosphere toxic. Despite this, Spargere is inhabited, so let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, we’ve been dropped off on the surface of Spargere. Yes, I did say we. I’m not alone this episode. Speaking of which, why are you here old man?”
Oldie: “I’m NOT old, and I’m here because we decided to spice this season up.”
Doog: “Spice it up?”
Oldie: “Amaya decided that each crew member gets to pick a place to visit this season. I picked Spargere.”
Doog: “What! Did the dementia sneak up and bop you in the head?”
Oldie: “No! She really said that!”
Doog: “I’m not talking about Amaya’s dumb idea. I’m wondering why you picked this dump of a planet?”
Oldie: “I saw a brochure about this place. There was something about health and spas. I couldn’t pass that up.”

Doog: “Does this place look like a spa?! It’s the opposite! You clearly read something wrong.”
Oldie: “It is possible. I read about it a few years back.”
Doog: “I few years! You can barely remember a week back! What did you get us into?”

Oldie: “What are these geysers spraying everywhere? Is that cheese? That could be interesting.”
Doog: “It’s definitely not cheese.”
Oldie: “How do you know?”
Doog: “How would a planet have cheese underground?”
Oldie: “Oh, so you’re a scientist now.”
Doog: “It doesn’t take a scientist to…you know what. Maybe it is cheese. Go taste it. I’m sure your polyester windbreaker suit will give you ample protection from the geyser sprays.”
Oldie: “I will!”
Doog: “Go for it!”
Oldie: “Hmm. On second thought, it might not be worth it. Underground cheese is probably
gritty and full of dirt.”

Reggie: “Can I help you guys?”
Oldie: “You can! Two for the cheese spas, please!”
Reggie: “The what?”
Oldie: “The delicious cheese spas!”
Doog: “I think this guy escaped from the old folks home over yonder. We’ll be on our way, now. Sorry for wasting your time.”
Reggie: “I don’t know anything about cheese, but there is a spa on Spargere.”
Oldie: “Ha! I knew it! The cheese bit is a little disappointing though…”

Reggie: “I can take you there. It’s not far.”
Doog: “Can you settle a bet for us on the way?”
Reggie: “I can try.”
Doog: “What is the yellow stuff under the geysers?”
Reggie: “Sulfur deposits. The boiling geyser water has a little bit of sulfur mixed into it. Over time, these little bits add up to big deposits.”
Doog: “I told you it wasn’t cheese!”
Oldie: “Whatever!”

Doog: “So, you guys mine this stuff?”
Reggie: “We do, but not the stuff under the geysers. It’s too dangerous with all the hot water shooting out.”

Reggie: “Instead, we mine the ridges surrounding the geyser plains. That’s where the strongest concentrations of sulfur are located.”
Doog: “Do you believe this guy, Oldie? Or do you want me to set you up a fondue station?”
Oldie: “I made one tiny mistake. At least I got the spa part right. You’ll be thanking me in a bit.”

Reggie: “Well guys, this is it.”
Doog: “The spa is inside the mountain?”
Reggie: “It sure is. I think it was built in an old mining tunnel.”
Doog: “Oldie, what kind of spa is underground?”
Oldie: “I dunno. Think about it though. I’m sure it has something to do with those geysers. The steam is probably used for a sauna, or, maybe, there’s mud that cures wrinkles.”
Doog: “I hope you’re right. Well, are you coming with us mystery worker?”
Reggie: “The name is Reggie. And, no. I won’t be joining you. I need to get back to work. Besides, those spa guys creep me out. See you guys later!”
Doog: “Wait! What was the last part?! What did you get us into, Oldie!”

Oldie: “This looks nice.”
Doog: “Nice? There’s a bunch of identically dressed people chanting towards some crystals! This is creepy!”
Oldie: “Shh! They can hear you!”
Doog: “I don’t care. I want to leave.”

Cultist: “Blessed brothers, do you wish to vibrate with us? The holy crystals are particularly sensitive today. It must be the planetary alignment.”
Doog: “This is seeming less like a spa and more like an alternative medicine cult, Oldie!”
Cultist: “Do you not sense the ions, brother?”
Oldie: “I think I sense them. My right arm tingled.”
Doog: “Your arm always tingles! It’s probably elderly nerve damage!”
Oldie: “Is not!”
Cultist: “Gentlemen, your auras will misalign the oscillating tantric of the chant if your bickering persists.”
Doog: “Look, I’m not trying to start trouble, but that made zero sense to me. How about we just come right out and ask – is there a spa here?”
Cultist: “Ah, you brothers are here for some breathwork. Why didn’t you say that before?”
Doog: “I guess those ions were blocking our brain signals or something weird like that.”
Cultist: “Follow me, brothers.”

Cultist: “Prepare to intake the quantum mysticality of our gas spa, gentlemen.”
Doog: “Gas spa?”
Cultist: “Yes. Ionized gases from deep in the abandoned mine are pumped into this room.”
Doog: “Is this gas helpful or this your group’s version of poisoned punch?”
Cultist: “I don’t follow the whole punch thing, but, yes, it is very beneficial. The gas relieves pain, especially in the joints. It also elevates the mood.”
Oldie: “Time to say goodbye to my arthritis! How do we start?”
Cultist: “Just remove your masks. The cure is only a breath away.”

Doog: “We haven’t died yet. Maybe this really is a spa.”
Oldie: “They have snacks too!”
Doog: “About that, I really thought this tea was going to be laced with cyanide or something.”
Oldie: “Why are you drinking it then?”
Doog: “Because I saw that you survived drinking yours.”
Cultist: “Brothers, shall I start a drum beat for your breathwork or do you prefer transcendental meditation?”
Doog: “I’m the fan of the taco method if you can bring us some of those.”
Oldie: “Ooh, and some cheese if you don’t mind. I still have it in my head from earlier.”
Cultist: “I’m afraid we have neither.”
Doog: “Why don’t you leave us be and check anyway. Thanks.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Spargere. It looked pretty bleak at first. I thought this planet had nothing but geysers, sulfur, and mining facilities, but Oldie actually came through for once. Spargere has a pretty nice spa. It was a tad worrisome that it was a gas spa, but it came with free snacks. Oh well, see ya! Hey, did you guys find any tacos yet?!”
 

​
 
Note:

Doog: “Did you feel anything in the spa?”
Oldie: “Not too much. The air did seem different, though. If I had to describe it, it felt a bit spicy.”
Doog: “Spicy. That’s a good way to put it. Those drinks definitely had something in them.”
Oldie: “Molly, I believe.”
Doog: “Thought so.”  
Oldie: “I think they were buttering us up so we’d join their cult.”
Doog: “It takes way more drugs to convince me to do anything.”
Amaya: “Idiots! What did you do?!”
Doog: “Relax, we had a few drinks…that were absolutely spiked with some type of mood enhancer.”
Amaya: “That’s bad enough, but I’m talking about the radon spa.”
Doog: “Radon, is that a fancy way of saying gas spa?”
Amaya: “No! Radon is the radioactive gas you nitwits have been sucking in all afternoon. Get over here a let me scan you.”
Oldie: “That’s what was so spicy.”

Amaya: “I’m locking you both in here until the scanner reads zero radiation. You’re not getting the rest of us sick.”
Doog: “What! What are we supposed to do?”
Amaya: “For starters, shower and flush your clothes down the toilet.”
Doog: “Nothing ruins a high like getting naked with an old man! Let me out!”
Oldie: “I call first shower!”
Doog: “No! Wait! Stop! Amayaaaa!”

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Spelunca. Spelunca is a temperate planet with a variety of environments. These environments are pristine with almost no pollution. That wouldn’t be unusual for some worlds, but it is for Spelunca. Why? Because Spelunca is classified as a factory world. Let’s head down and unravel this mystery.”

Doog: “Well folks, I’ve been dropped off on Spelunca. There’s an anomaly on this factory world, and it’s more than the lack of pollution and beautiful greenery. This factory world…doesn’t appear to have any factories. There are no buildings here. The only sign of advanced life is the landing pad, this small home under the hill, and the large antenna above it.”

Doog: “Maybe the factories are these fields. Is Spelunca the galaxy’s largest supplier of house plants? Is this a factory farm type of deal? Maybe there are millions of animals grazing here just out of sight.”

Taub: “You must be Doog. I’m Taub Toohar. I’ll be your guide.”
Doog: “I…uh…this is awkward. I’m so sorry.”
Taub: “Excuse me.”
Doog: “My hat. I didn’t know you were going to look like this.”
Taub: “I don’t follow.”
Doog: “I didn’t know you were going to be some humanoid beaver.”
Taub: “Beaver? I don’t know what that is.”
Doog: “Right. Beavers aren’t a thing on this planet. Never mind.”
Taub: “Are you inferring that I resemble the creature on your hat?”
Doog: “I…uh…maybe?”
Taub: “I don’t have a tail. I don’t walk on four feet. I guess we both have fur.”
Doog: “Oh, so you do see the likeness.”
Taub: “Suuure... So, shall we continue inside?”
Doog: “Inside? Are we checking out your house or something?”

Taub: “This isn’t a house.”
Doog: “I see that now. What is this place?”
Taub: “It’s the city entrance.”
Doog: “I didn’t see a city behind this house.”
Taub: “It’s not behind. It’s below.”
Doog: “So, these are elevators?”
Taub: “Yes.”

Doog: “Holy Emperor…I wasn’t expecting this.”
Taub: “What?”
Doog: “When you said this city was underground, I was thinking of something smaller. There are full on skyscrapers down here.”
Taub: “We call them roofscrapers down here.”
Doog: “Because there’s no sky. Clever.”
Taub: “Yes, it’s also the name of the city.”
Doog: “The city is called roofscrapers?”
Taub: “Roofscrape, actually.”

Doog: “Am I to guess that the factories are down here too?”
Taub: “They are.”
Doog: “That would explain why Spelunca didn’t look like a factory world on the surface.”
Taub: “The factories were an addition to the city, built by the LIU. They are deep and far from the main entrance.”
Doog: “So, this part of the city was built before the factories?”
Taub: “Yes. Roofscrape was originally built as a trade hub. It was near the center of the planet’s many underground cities. Of course, Roofscrape eventually grew large and powerful enough that it incorporated the cities it once served. Roofscrape is now the sole city on Spelunca.”
Doog: “Hmm.”
Taub: “Fun fact, the cities Roofscrape swallowed up weren’t fully lost. Regions or neighborhoods within Roofsrape still bear the old cities’ names. For instance, we’re in Sump Root right now.”
Doog: “Sump Root was my nickname in college.”
Taub: “Really?”
Doog: “It was for a week or so. I had a particularly bad STD.”
Taub: “I regret asking.”

Doog: “So, if this was all here before the factories, what’s Roofscrape’s economy?”
Taub: “It’s mixed. Being a subterranean race, we obviously dabble in mining, but we have a developed agricultural business and some commercial interests too.”
Doog: “Got it. So where are we now? And, don’t tell me it’s Stink Rod. That would be too much of a coincidence.”
Taub: “We’re still in Sump Root for now. We’ll need to catch a train if we’re checking out the factories.”
Doog: “No comment on my Stink Rod joke?”
Taub: “I learned the hard way last time.”

Doog: “Not a lot of people got off at this stop.”
Taub: “It’s security controlled. Only staff can exit the train here.”
Doog: “That’s what I’m saying. Where are all the factory workers?”
Taub: “The workers are in the factory.”
Doog: “Ah, it must not be shift-change. I see.”
Taub: “Uh, yeah, sure.”
Doog: “So, what type of factory or factories are here?”
Taub: “The type that manufacture optical hardware, like optical processing chips.”

Taub: “The type of hardware we manufacture is damaged by light, so it’s pitch-black inside. You’ll need to wear these goggles if you want to see.”
Doog: “Got it.”
Taub: “I assume your camera settings can be adjusted too.”
Doog: “Hopefully, or the next thirty minutes of the show are just going to be audio.”
Taub: “I need a real answer.”
Doog: “Yes. We made adjustments to the camera. Neither the camera or I will produce any visible light.”
Taub: “Good.”

Doog: “I’m not sure if my goggles are malfunctioning, but I can’t see the bottom of this ravine.”
Taub: “It’s deeper than the sensors’ range.”
Doog: “I was afraid you were going to say that. Why exactly are we walking on this tiny bridge above an endless abyss?”
Taub: “The causeway is a security measure. It prevents trespassers. Trespassers could mean unauthorized sources of light, and light damages the optical equipment we produce.”
Doog: “I see. I guess it would be hard to make it down this path without goggles. Any trespasser would need a flashlight and that would be a dead giveaway.”
Taub: “Yes.”
Doog: “Speaking of goggles, how are you seeing without any?”
Taub: “My race evolved in dark caverns like this. We have adaptations that allow us to navigate the dark – like enhanced hearing and touch.”
Doog: “You guys are definitely not beavers.”
Taub: “Thanks, I think. Let’s head inside.”

Taub: “Well, we’re officially in a factory. This particular section is operated by the Eigengrau Corporation.”
Doog: “I was imagining something bigger.”
Taub: “This is only one room. The actual factory is huge. It’s over 500,000 square meters. It’s one of the largest underground facilities in the galaxy.”
Doog: “That sounds big, but I’m terrible with numbers.”
Taub: “You could fit over three hundred Ringball courts in here.”
Doog: “Dang. That is big. “

Doog: “What do they make here?”
Taub: “In general, these factories make optical hardware. In this specific factory, the Eigengrau Corporation makes optical sensor chips.”
Doog: “They’re damaged by light?”
Taub: “Yes, in a way. They are built to sense light – even the most minute amounts. If they are built in the light, they become way less effective and accurate.”
Doog: “What are these chips used for?”
Taub: “Like I said, they are used to sense light. This is useful any many applications, but typically, they are found in intergalactic ships’ sensor arrays. They can sense the light from stars and galaxies millions of lightyears away.”
Doog: “They help with navigation?”
Taub: “Yes.”

Doog: “With that out of the way, my next questions involve these freaky looking workers.”
Taub: “We call them GMW’s or genetically modified workers. They were created specifically to operate in the darkness.”
Doog: “Genetically modified how?”
Taub: “They are a hybridization of your species and mine. They get all the sensory upgrades without the pesky, chip-ruining fur.”
Doog: “Beaver-Humans…weird.”
Taub: “We’re not beavers.”
Doog: “Oh yeah.”
Taub: “There are a few further upgrades as well. The GMW’s have extra sensitive skin that allows them to ‘see’ through touch, or seismic-location. Think of it as the touch version of echolocation. Oh, they also have an artificial organ that releases Vitamin D. It is essential given they never see the sun or any major source of UV.”

Doog: “Why go through all the trouble to ‘make’ workers? Why not use robots or automated machines?”
Taub: “We do use some robots, but they lack the sensory dexterity to manipulate the chips without light.”
Doog: “I guess. Why are the workers chained to the wall?”
Taub: “Not chained, tethered. The tether helps the workers know their location in the workplace.”
Doog: “So, they are free to leave if they choose?”
Taub: “Well, no, not exactly. Each GMW is a colossal investment. The cloning and upkeep costs make them very valuable. If they were damaged or lost, it would be a huge profit loss for Eigengrau.”
Doog: “They’re slaves.”
Taub: “Is a machine a slave? Is your microphone?”
Doog: “No, of course not. They are not alive.”
Taub: “The GMW’s would not be alive if not created by Eigengrau. They are biological tools, nothing more.”

Doog: “That’s kind of messed up.”
Taub: “The GMW’s lack any social, emotional, or sexual feelings. All the typical indicators of sentience were bred out by generation IV.  Now, they operate on a reward system, like any tamed non-sentient. Work equals food. Work equals water.”
Doog: “Even dogs, or tamed non-sentients, get love and social interactions.”
Taub: “They are more like dairy cows than dogs. Produce and get fed. Produce and stay alive.”
Doog: “Cows get something besides food and water…maybe…ok, maybe not. Still, this is creepy.”
Taub: “Don’t let their sad, teethless mouths and gloomy vestigial eyes fool you. There’s not a thought in that modified brain besides work, eat, and sleep.”

Doog: “All this for some optical chips.”
Taub: “It is disheartening at first. Trust me, I felt the same way – the GMW’s are half my kind after all. However, after being involved in this project for years, I now see that these ‘workers’ are no longer anything more than complex organic tools. They don’t suffer. They don’t want more. They just exist to serve a purpose.”
Doog: “If that helps you sleep at night, good for you. Anything else?”
Taub: “No, I think that’s enough.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Spelunca. This pristine planet looks beautiful on the outside, but it has a lot of secrets. For one, there’s a huge underground city just below the surface. Oh, and there are insanely dark factories here that employ genetically modified beings as workers. Don’t adjust your screens. This is actual footage from the factory without echo-imaging. This lightless black is home to thousands of modified beings that make optical components, like sensor chips. It’s creepy. I’m going to have nightmares of those disturbing, useless eyes for weeks. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note:   GMW’s contain DNA from several species:
            Humans – 47%
            Speluncans – 47%
            Poenans – 3%
            Dark Harvesters – 2%
            Other – 1%