Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the agricultural planet, Alte Baca. Luckily, Alte Baca is not your typical farm planet – those are generally boring. The natives and workers on Alte Baca only grow one type of fruit, and they only grow it in the extreme peaks of the planet’s mountain chains. That sounds interesting enough, but it gets better. The fruit here is grown to make alcohol. Let’s head down and find out about that.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in a small farming settlement. I don’t see anything growing, but that’s not unexpected. I was dropped off in a valley, not one of the mountain peaks. I don’t really see much else worth talking about, so let’s go find our guide.”

Murphy: “Greetings, young man. I’m Murphy Daniels. Let me guess, you’re the scout for that educational show.”
Doog: “Scout? I’m the TV reporter.”
Murphy: “With a face like…I mean…uh…of course! Pleasure to meet you Doog.”
Doog: “Yeah, thanks. So, what do you do around here? I want to see if your face matches your job.”
Murphy: “I’m this region’s plantation manager.”
Doog: “Let’s see. No, I don’t think that matches. You look more like the male-Karen type. You should be asking for the manager, not doing the managing.”
Murphy: “Ok, I deserved that.”

Doog: “So, what are we looking at here?”
Murphy: “This is this peak’s plantation complex. The large building has accommodations for several workers, like bathrooms, beds, etc. The little tent to the side is a processing area, and the large silo is for storing fermenting fruit.”
Doog: “What’s up with all the green and white and corporate branding?”
Murphy: “The plantations on Alte Baca are run by Unified Terrestrial Industries, a LIU company.”
Doog: “Unified Terrestrial Industries?”
Murphy: “Yeah, we call it ‘UTI’ for short. The UTI controls farming industries on dozens of planets in this sector. To ensure that brand recognition is identical across all of their planets…”
Doog: “…they slap their insignia on everything.”
Murphy: “More or less.”

Doog: “Well, you described everything but this thing. What does it do?”
Murphy: “This is how we get up to the orchards. It’s a chairlift.”
Doog: “Can’t we fly up there or something? This doesn’t look safe.”
Murphy: “Nah. Flying is too expensive. Cable lifts are the most cost-effective method of transport between the plantation complexes and the orchards.”
Doog: “What about life-effectiveness? Do these things even have seatbelts?”
Murphy: “Oh, come on, Doog. We use them multiple times a day. They are perfectly safe. Hop on.”

Doog: “Holy Kaadu! This thing is much faster than I was anticipating.”
Murphy: “I know, right? We’ll be at the top in no time.”
Doog: “I wasn’t complimenting the lift. I’m complaining!  It’s too fast! I’m barely holding on.”
Murphy: “It’s literally a chair. Just sit in it like any other chair.”
Doog: “I fall out of chairs sometimes!”
Murphy: “Well, don’t fall out of this one.”

Doog: “Ok, even at this speed, this is taking forever.”
Murphy: “It’s a long way up.”
Doog: “How high are these plantations?”
Murphy: “Roughly 5,000 meters above sea level.”
Doog: “Five thousand! Is there even air that high?!”
Murphy: “Not much. We won’t be staying too long. Altitudinal hypoxia is a danger at these heights.”
Doog: “I guess zooming in a seatbelt-less chair wasn’t enough danger, was it? Let’s throw in some oxygen depletion…”

Doog: “It must be difficult to tend these plantations, given the whole lack of oxygen thing.”
Murphy: “It would be for me or you. Not the Bacans though.”
Doog: “Bacans? You mean the natives?”
Murphy: “Yes. They are adapted to living at these high altitudes. In fact, they primarily lived on these peaks prior to the arrival of the LIU.”
Doog: “They don’t live up there now?”
Murphy: “No, of course not. Space is at a premium on these tiny peaks. UTI relocated them to the valleys.”

Doog: “As evil and oppressive as relocation sounds, I get it. These peaks are tiny.”
Murphy: “They are. Only three peaks in this area are high enough for sustained production – every square foot counts.”
Doog: “The fruit won’t grow lower?”
Murphy: “Nope. Well, not in an economically viable way. Baca stalks don’t fruit nearly as much at lower levels. We’re talking a fruit a month. Up here, the stalks grow three fruits a day; sometimes more.”
Doog: “What’s the difference?”
Murphy: “I’m not sure scientifically – I’m just a field manager – but for some reason, the stalks do better up here. It has something to do with the high UV, low oxygen environment. Perhaps photosynthesis is easier up here, or maybe, microscopic pests aren’t able to survive in low oxygen environments.”
Doog: “Speaking of low oxygen, maybe we should hurry up.”
Murphy: “Good point. Let’s get off this lift and check out the plantation. We have about seven minutes.”

Doog: “Ok, I can’t see how this is economically viable. There’s only like a dozen plants up here.”
Murphy: “A dozen stalks per peak equals about thirty-six to forty-eight fruits per day. Multiple that by three peaks, and this plantation alone grows a hundred plus fruits per day.”
Doog: “That math checks out…maybe…I guess. Still, a hundred fruits isn't a lot.”
Murphy: “There are hundreds of plantations on Alte Baca. Planetwide, tens of thousands of fruits are produced per day.”
Doog: “And that’s enough to make liquor?”
Murphy: “It is. Baca fruit has one of the highest concentrations of sugar in any fruit in this galaxy. Yeast is able to convert that sugar into lots of alcohol.”
Doog: “So, the fruit has enough sugar to overcome being small and sparse.”
Murphy: “Indeed.”

Murphy: “Baca fruits are typically picked before they are fully ripe. It maximizes the sugar ratio. Fruits that fully mature are filled with seeds, like this.”
Doog: “This thing is mostly seeds. Why would you ever let one get ripe?”
Murphy: “We let a few fully mature so we can acquire the seeds. It helps plant newer stalks and allows for ‘plantation trading’, where we exchange seeds between plantations to increase genetic diversity.”
Doog: “I see.”

Doog: “Alright, we’ve descended a bit to a platform we passed earlier. I can already breathe easier.”
Murphy: “Yes. This is around the halfway point. The oxygen levels should be closer to standard.”
Doog: “What’s the purpose of this ‘halfway point’? Is it here incase people chicken-out on their way to the top?”
Murphy: “No, it’s the closest this cable lift comes to Central Hub.”
Doog: “Central Hub?”
Murphy: “The center of the plantation – a shorter mountain in between the three mountain plantations.”
Doog: “So, from here, you can catch a lift to any of the three peaks in this plantation.”
Murphy: “Yes. It serves other purposes too.”

Murphy: “Central Hub holds landing bays for various ships. Some are used to export products off-planet. Some, like this, are used for maintenance craft.”
Doog: “Maintenance craft?”
Murphy: “Yeah, like these Hover Sprayers. They spray water, fertilizers, and pesticides on our crops.”

Murphy: “Hover Sprayers have doubled our yield. Prior to the LIU and the UTI, these peaks only produced half as much.”

Murphy: “Central Hub is also home to production facilities. We make Baca liquor here.”
Doog: “Wait, I thought the fruit was processed in the valley and fermented in silos.”
Murphy: “It is. Baca fruits are processed and stored below. Processing involves removing debris, stems, and leaves. Storing the fruit in the silos, exposes it to the high oxygen environment of the valley. This stops the maturation process, boosting fermentation. It’s then shipped back here via lifts to be turned into liquor.”
Doog: “Makes sense, I guess.”
Murphy: “Production is simple. The fermented Baca fruits are squeezed, filtered, and then bottled.”

Murphy: “We prepared a sample for you.”
Doog: “Wow, that’s strong. It burns, but has some sweetness too.”
Murphy: “It still has some sugar left in it. Good, huh?”
Doog: “Too good maybe. I’ll be drunk and diabetic after a few of these.”
Murphy: “Drunk for sure. Baca Liquor is 120 proof. In fact, we have a little inside joke around here, UTI actually stands for ‘under the influence’.”
Doog: “That or ‘urinary tract infection’ because I’m going to be peeing out all this sugar after my pancreas fails!”
Murphy: “You say that, but you’re stilling drinking more.”
Doog: “I have no self-control.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Alte Baca. This mountainous agricultural planet grows high-sugar fruit that is used to make Baca Liquor. Production is a pain, as the fruit used to make it only grows on the planet’s highest peaks. The natives must ride long cable lifts to reach this fruit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish ruining both my liver and pancreas! Oh well, see ya!”
 
Note: Baca Moonrise
          Mix-
          200mL Baca Liquor
          50mL Starshine
          200mL Buzz Cola
          10-grams Dry Siripus extract
          1mL Dacrima Oil (for taste)

Doog: “Welcome to Season Fifteen of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Caecavi, which sits in a deep orbit around its parent star, Visus. This distant orbit makes Caecavi extremely cold. Other than a few mountains, most of this cold planet is dominated my ice and snow. There must be something special down there because I don’t know why anyone would want to live on this snowball of a planet.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped of on the surface of Caecavi. You’ll note I’m wearing my environmental suit. The atmosphere here is breathable, but it is extremely cold – like the unsurvivable, instant frostbite type of cold. Again, why live here? I see my guide, so let’s ask them.”

Kara: “Hey there! You must be Doog. I’m Kara Olsen, Chief Biologist and Project Leader here on Caecavi.”
Doog: “Biology? You’re not telling me there’s life here, are you?”
Kara: “Oh, there’s lots of life on Caecavi. It’s right under our feet.”
Doog: “In the ice?”
Kara: “Under the ice, in the subsurface ocean.”
Doog: “I see. This is one of those planets. I’ve been to a few like this – Demitto and Vorago.”
Kara: “What a small galaxy! I was stationed on Demitto for two years!”
Doog: “So, how alike are they? Can I use old footage and go home?”
Kara: “I’m afraid not. They’re pretty dissimilar.”
Doog: “Darn.”
Kara: “Well, let’s not freeze out here. Let’s head inside.”

Doog: “Is this some type of research post?”
Kara: “No. This is Portal Station. Think of it more as a logistic outpost. It’s where we store our gear and stuff.”
Doog: “I see that now.”
Kara: “Portal station is also – as the name implies – our access point to the undersea.”
Doog: “Got it. So, we’re about to go under the ice?”
Kara: “In a moment. We just need to go upstairs to catch a ride.”
Doog: “Upstairs? Can’t you just pick me up down here?”
Kara: “I’m afraid not.”
Doog: “Sigh…”

Kara: “Guarris, buddy. Can you call for a shuttle?”
Guarris: “Now? Already? Shift change isn’t for thirty minutes. I think. Is this watch working?”
Kara: “Your watch is fine. I need to go down early so I can take this educational TV reporter for a tour.”
Guarris: “Sure. I see. I see. Calling a shuttle now. Yes. Yes. It's on its way. I think. I hope.”
Kara: “You need to slow down on the coffee, bud.”
Guarris: “Do I? Yes. Yes. Probably. Maybe. Perhaps just a few more cups.”
Kara: “Come on, PUP.”
Guarris: “You’re taking my dispatch buddy?!”

Kara: “Sorry. Mission protocol. Doog and I are going to be outside of the submergible. A Personal Underwater Presence is required.”
Guarris: “Who’s going to fetch me coffees now?”
Kara: “Lay off the coffees, bud.”
Doog: “Is that a robot dog?”
Kara: “Yep. It’s a PUP. It’s part of our mission safety protocol. It can serve as a power source if our suits fail. It has lighting features if our lights fail. It even has guidance features to help if we’re lost. They are a must when exploring outside of the submergible. Speaking of which, are you ready?”
Doog: “I guess.”

Doog: “Wow, it’s cramped in here.”
Kara: “The submergible can’t be any larger than the portal.”
Doog: “Maybe make the portal bigger then.”
Kara: “The portal is half a mile deep. It costs too much to make it bigger, and it costs even more to keep it from refreezing.”
Doog: “So, you’re crew only comes down here two at a time?”
Kara: “Three if we’re feeling frisky. But, yes. Usually two.”
Doog: “Doesn’t that take forever?”
Kara: “Usually, but, when we come down, it’s for a few weeks. The shuttle exchanges crew slowly over time.”

Doog: “It’s just now clicking in my mind that you said half a mile under the ice. Are we really going under that much ice?”
Kara: “We are. Down here, there’s no sunlight, so it’s pitch black. There’s no escape, either, once you leave the portal tunnel.”
Doog: “You sure know how to make a guy claustrophobic.”

Doog: “It looks bright down here to me.”
Kara: “We’ve positioned spotlights around the undersea, which helps. But, trust me. You don’t want to be under here without a PUP if the lights ever fail. It’s darker than dark.”
Doog: “Fear level growing.”
Kara: “We have a PUP, so don’t worry. It will guide us if the lights fail.”
Doog: “Holy Emperor…there is life down here. Lots of it, too.”
Kara: “I told you.”
Doog: “How is this possible?”
Kara: “Chemistry.”
Doog: “Chemistry?”
Kara: “Without sunlight, this ecosystem must rely on another source of power. That power comes from chemistry. Tiny microbes, that we call Pech, derive energy from chemo-lithotrophic behavior.”
Doog: “What behavior?”
Kara: “They convert minerals into energy.”
Doog: “Huh?”
Kara: “They eat rocks.”
Doog: “I see.”
Kara: “Their feeding behavior over the last few millennia created these underwater tunnels.”

Doog: “I don’t see any microbes.”
Kara: “Obviously. By definition, they’re microscopic.”
Doog: “Oh, yeah. I knew that. What are these other things then? Plants?”
Kara: “Not plants. There’s no sun to photosynthesize with. They are closer to soft corals for lack of a better comparison. Their tentacles catch Pech and consume them.”
Doog: “Ah, I see. They all have wavy tentacle arms. Gross.”
Kara: “Not gross, but brilliant. No organisms can see on Caecavi. There’s no light. They use long mobile arms to feel for food. The organisms here have exceptional touch sensory.”

Kara: “Most of the organisms here are immobile. They attach to rocks, where the rock-eating microbes are, and live there for their entire lives. However, some of the life here has evolved even further. Life that eats the soft corals.”
Doog: “These snail things…”
Kara: “Yes. Several species of small, coral-eaters have also evolved. They generally resemble snails, given their soft bodies and shells, but they are not biologically related. These snail-like creatures, called Hym, have no eyes. Like their lesser-evolved ancestors, they use three tentacle-arms to feel for food.”

Kara: “PUP is awesome at finding Hym – an unexpected benefit of its playfulness programming.”
Doog: “Are the blind snail creatures valuable?”
Kara: “Maybe. They’re not especially tasty given their lithotrophic nature, but they might be useful in eliminating pests in dark waters. It’s part of our research here.”
Doog: “You study these things?”
Kara: “We study all the life on Caecavi. It’s so unique, who knows what it could be useful for.”
Doog: “I see.”
Kara: “PUP has detected a lot of motion a hundred yards from here. Follow me.”

Doog: “Whoa. That’s a big centipede eel.”
Kara: “It’s not a centipede or eel. It’s a Cyclonch, a distant relative of the Hym.”
Doog: “It’s massive.”
Kara: “Six meters long on average.”
Doog: “Wow. They eat the plant, coral, tentacles things too?”
Kara: “No, they eat Hym. Cyclonches are carnivores.”
Doog: “Are we safe?!”
Kara: “Probably. The Cyclonches have highly sensitive appendages covering their body that search for Hym movements. We’re too big to set them off.”
Doog: “I dislike the uncertain nature of your answer. Will it eat me, yes, or no?”
Kara: “I can’t say with scientific certainty.”
Doog: “Initiate panic mode.”
Kara: “Relax. We’re almost at the research base.”

Kara: “Welcome to CRB I, the first Caecavi Research Base.”
Doog: “First of many or first and only?”
Kara: “First and only. If we discover anything here, it might justify opening up more portals and bases, but, for now, this is it.”
Doog: “There’s a lot of researchers here.”
Kara: “It’s a relatively new base. We need lots of sample collectors and scientists to understand what’s collected. Come on, let’s go inside.”

Doog: “Ah, it feels great to take this helmet off.”
Kara: “Does it lessen your claustrophobia?”
Doog: “I’m still in an underwater base a half-mile under the ice…so only slightly.”
Kara: “Well, it’s pretty safe here. No need to worry.”
Doog: “What am I seeing here?”
Kara: “We’re studying Caecavi’s different lifeforms – some through observation…some through dissection.”
Doog: “And what are you learning?”
Kara: “Lots. Mostly about the different anatomy of the life here, and their different brains, nervous systems, and digestive tracks.”
Doog: “Anything useful yet?”
Kara: “Maybe. Follow me.”

Kara: “One of our most promising discoveries so far is the Caecavi Spider.”
Doog: “Spider! Ahh!”
Kara: “Relax, it’s not a true spider. We named it that because it has eight legs, or tentacles. After further study, we realized that it also has dozens of non-locomotive tentacles for sensing prey. If it helps, it doesn’t have as many eyes as a spider either. It has zero, like everything else on this planet.”
Doog: “Why is this spider-like creature a valuable discovery?”
Kara: “It’s sensory organs. They can detect minuscule water pressure differences, movement in the water, and heat differentials. They can do it better than some of our current technological sensors. We need to study them so we can develop better sensors.”
Doog: “I guess that makes sense for a research base. Well, it smells weird in here, so we better head back.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Caecavi. This planet is home to a sunless, underwater ecosystem that’s based around rock eating microbes. This makes the life here unique and full of possibilities. While there’s a lot of potential discoveries here, it seems that advanced sensors are the most promising. Oh well, I’m just glad to be back in the open! See ya!”
 
Note: Hym Snails, Cyclonches, and Caecavi Spiders are said to taste like bitter, chalky, and overly-salted ham. It does not appear they will be a popular foodstuff. 

Doog: “Welcome to the season finale of Season 14 of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting an area of the galaxy called the Sarcio Zone. You may note that I’m doing this intro from inside my ship – that’s because there are no planets, moons, or space stations in this area of space. In fact, there’s nothing around here for lightyears. What season finale craziness are we going to find out here in this void of space? Let’s find out.”

​Amaya: “Good try, Doog, but this is never going to fly. There aren’t any mysteries out here – there's nothing remotely interesting.”
Doog: “We have to try something! The season is almost over, and I’m not working over our vacation break again!”
Mike: “I’m with Doog. We have to do something. Besides, this Sarcio Zone sounds kind of cool.”
Amaya: “There’s no Sarcio Zone! He made that up.”
Doog: “Whoa, I distinctly remember Seitse saying something about a Sarcio.”
Amaya: “There’s a Sarcio-Class DSR ship enroute to fix out Hyperdrive.”
Doog: “Perfect. Let’s do a show about one of them.”
Amaya: “A season finale about a Deep Space Repair ship?”
Doog: “Not any old DSR, a Sarcio-Class.”
Oldie: “Ooh, that does sound exciting.”
Amaya: “You guys don’t even know what a Sarcio-Class DSR is!”
Seitse (intercom): “Sarcio-Class DSR, Unlucky Clover is dropping out of hyperspace. ETA is four minutes.”
Doog: “Quick, Cam, launch the Space Cam!”
Cam: “On it!”
Amaya: “Et tu, Cam?”
Cam: “It’s worth a shot.”

DSR Comm Officer: “Jaculan-Class Cargo Vessel, Magellan II, how do you copy?”
Hugo: “Loud and clear.”
DSR Comm Officer: “Great. This is DSR Unlucky Clover. State your emergency.”
Hugo: “We suffered a hyperspace engine failure. All six engines on the starboard side.”
DSR Comm Officer: “All six, huh? Sounds like you blew a reduction coupling leading to starboard plasma exhaust. It shouldn’t be too hard to fix. Please disengage any sublight engines. We are calculating an intercept vector.”
Hugo: “10-4.”

DSR Comm Officer: “Magellan II, we have matched speed and roll. We are approaching from the bow to give the pneumatic plasma pumps access to starboard exhaust ports. As soon as my team is deployed, we’ll maneuver into repair position. We’ll come to you; keep your engines disengaged, confirm.”
Hugo: “10-4.”

DSR Comm Officer: “Initiating roll call. Spotter, low deck?”
Spotter L: “In position.”
DSR Comm Officer: “Spotter, high deck?”
Spotter H: “I’m ready.”
DSR Comm Officer: “Portside?”
Spotter P: “Present and accounted for.”
DSR Comm Officer: “Starboard Plasma?”
Spotter S: “Bring it.”
DSR Comm Officer: “Confirmed. Approaching the Magellan II. Keep your eyes peeled. And remember, Tony, the stop command is ‘stop’ or ‘halt’, not ‘Holy Crap’!”
Spotter L (Tony): “Yeah, yeah.”

DSR Comm Officer: “Steady. Steady. We’re almost there.”
Doog: “Hey, while you’re not doing anything, what can you tell us about your amazing, season-finale-suitable ship?”
Hugo: “Doog! Get off the comms!”
DSR Comm Officer: “Did you say, ‘not doing anything’? The captain and I are literally piloting our ship around yours.”
Doog: “Yeah, but it’s mostly the computer doing all that, right? Tell us about the Unlucky Clover.”
DSR Comm Officer: “This is serious business. Pilot, get this buffoon off the comms.”
Hugo: “I’m tryi…”
Doog: “Buffoon? I’ll have you know that I’m a very successful TV Reporter with TV2. I’ve chosen to highlight your amazing ship on my show. Do you want the press or no?”
DSR Comm Officer: “I…uh…let me talk to the captain.”
Doog: “Do that.”
DSR Comm Officer: “What is it that you wanted to know?”
Doog: “Tell us about this Sarcio-Class DSR.”
DSR Comm Officer: “Uh, this ship, with a crew of eight, is essentially a mobile, full-service repair station. We can repair almost anything, engines, coolant, hull damage, etc. We can do much more than your typical everyday DSR. We even carry a fair bit of fuel for stranded ships.”
Doog: “Fair enough.”
DSR Comm Officer: “That’s all you need for your show?”
Doog: “That’s more than I usually get. Thanks for your time.”

Seitse: “I can’t believe you did that, Doog.”
Doog: “What? Did you really want to waste our vacation time doing a make-up season finale?”
Mike: “I don’t.”
Seitse: “They’re not going to be happy when they find out you endangered their ship and crew for LIU Atlas.”
Doog: “Hey, I just said I’m a TV reporter. I never said it was for TV2’s lowest rated show.”
Seitse: “Amaya, what do you think about all of this?”
Amaya: “It’s not our best finale, but it does satisfy our twelve-episode contract. Besides, we now have time for our yearly Consumerism Day celebration.”
Doog: “Ooh, I didn’t even think about that! Double bonus – vacation and presents.”
Oldie: “Did someone buy me a pie?!”
Seitse: “Uh, now that you put it that way…let’s celebrate!”
Oldie: “Oldest goes first!”
 
Oldie

Oldie: “It’s…uh…it’s…uh…not a pie. Or pony soup. Or a retirement voucher. What is it?”
Amaya: “It’s VitaRush Powder. No more scurvy for you.”
Doog: “Ha! Nards got vitamins for Consumerism Day!”
Mike: “It’s better than socks or underwear!”
Oldie: “Is it?”
Amaya: “Oldie, a scoop of this a day will keep your Vitamin C steady.”
Oldie: “I guess that’s good.”
Amaya: “Do the scoop and I won’t force you to eat six fruits a day.”
Oldie: “Ooh, now that’s a present!”
 
Timbo

Timbo: “A BRG Channel converter! Awesome!”
Doog: “Only Timbo would get excited about work equipment.”
Timbo: “This will literally save me hours while editing. Essentially, my present is free time.”
Doog: “More Timbo free time. That’s the opposite of what I wanted for Consumerism Day…”
Amaya: “I know it’s work related, but you’ve been asking for one for ages.”
Timbo: “Are you kidding? I love it! Thanks guys! I’m going upstairs to install it right away!”
 
Mike

Mike: “Shut up! Bent Elbow by Holo-clops! I needed this to complete my set! I have the full Cyberfunk collection now!”
Doog: “Ooh, let me rip that onto my LIUPad.”
Mike: “Heck no! Support the musicians, man!”
Amaya: “Glad you like it, Mike.”
 
Cam

Doog: “Ha! Another work related present!”
Cam: “I don’t think so. Not unless I’m the ship’s chef now.”
Doog: “What?! That looks like some type of photometer.”
Cam: “It’s a meat thermometer.”
Amaya: “No more overdone meat for you!”
Seitse: “Medium rare for you every time!”
Cam: “Is it ok to cry tears of joy on Consumerism Day?”
 
Seitse & Hugo

Seitse: “Wine from Merum! How did you guys know?”
Oldie: “You’ve been dropping hints for months.”
Seitse: “Have I?”
Amaya: “We got a bottle for Hugo too. When the ship is done being repaired, he can come grab it.”
Doog: “Is it wise to give both our pilots alcohol?”
Seitse: “We won’t drink it at the same time. We have self-control, unlike you.”
Doog: “I have plenty of self-control. Speaking of which, what did you guys get me? Spice? Drugs? A yearlong membership to a brothel?”
Amaya: “Whoa, it’s my turn first.”
 
Amaya

Amaya: “A purse! In dark pink too! How did you guys know?”
Oldie: “Again…the non-stop hints.”
Seitse: “I love it!”
Doog: “Some of these gifts seem a bit unfair. Wine, purses, video editing equipment, and music discs compared to meat thermometers and vitamins?”
Amaya: “Everyone chipped in what they could, and got a gift of corresponding value. I chipped in the most, but only got a purse. I wanted Timbo to get the BRG Channel Converter. Consumerism Day is about spending money on others, not getting stuff for yourself.”
Cam: “I’m not complaining!”
Oldie: "Not eating fruit everyday is one of the better gifts I've gotten!"
Doog: “Well, in that case…what did you get me?”
 
Doog

​Doog: “Let me guess. An all-inclusive stay on Camana IV. No, a two-week dream in a Beluan dream den? Silly lilies from Alucinor?”
Amaya: “Uh, none of the above. Once again, you didn’t chip in for the gift exchange.”
Doog: “Yeah, like all the years before. Tell me something new. I still usually get something.”

DSR Comm Officer: “Well, I was right. It was the reduction coupling.”
Amaya: “How bad was it?”
DSR Comm Officer: “Not bad at all. The plasma pump cleared out the obstruction pretty quick. We were within two parsecs when you called, so there’s minimal travel fees. Altogether, we’re looking at two hundred credits.”
Amaya: “That’s not bad at all. I’ll make the transfer at once.”
DSR Comm Officer: “Great. Thanks for your business and Happy Consumerism Day!”

​Doog: “Enough distractions! What did you get me?!”
Seitse: “We got you noth…”
Amaya: “Actually, we got you a plasma pump on our starboard hyperspace engines! Surprise!”
Doog: “What! I didn’t ask for that!”
Amaya: “Of course you didn’t, but it’s in the spirit of Consumerism Day. You gifted us another season!”
Doog: “I’d rather have anything else!”
Amaya: “Fine. We’ll count this as the season finale. You get your vacation.”
Doog: “Yes! A two hundred credit plasma pump and a vacation! I beat all of you! I win Consumerism Day!”
Mike: “That’s not really in the spirit of the day…”
Amaya: “Let him have his moment.”

Doog: “Well, that wraps up Season 14. Despite our engine problems, I managed to squeeze out a season finale. Sure, it was about a Deep Space Repair ship, but who’s counting. Bring on my vacation! Oh well, see ya next season!”
 
 
Note: Sarcio-Class DSR ships are able to repair much more than smaller class DSR’s, like the M31 Variant.  

​Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting Pantex, a temperate planet in the Mid-Rim. The continents of Pantex are mostly barren with almost no life. The lifeforms here are focused in and around Pantex’s large freshwater oceans. We’re headed to a village positioned alongside one such ocean. Let’s go.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’m now on the surface of Pantex. Pantex – what kind of name is that? It sounds like a feminine hygiene product. Anyway, what can I say about this place? It looks like an antiquated fishing village. Smells like one too.”
Alien: “It didn’t smell like this until you got here.”
Doog: “Hey! I resent that! Ooh, that might be my breath. Fair point.”

Jonwo: “Come aboard, pudgy sleeveless humanoid.”
Doog: “Are you talking to me?”
Jonwo: “Do you see any other overweight humans without sleeves?”
Doog: “Uh, no. I guess not. Man, what’s with the people on this planet?”

Jonwo: “What do you mean?”
Doog: “All the insults you guys are throwing around.”
Jonwo: “They are not insults. They are truths. Speaking truthfully is one of the core tenets of my people’s religion, Nokore.”
Doog: “Nokore?”
Jonwo: “Worship of the sea god, Nok.”
Doog: “I see.”
Jonwo: “I am Jonwo, by the way.”
Doog: “I’m Doog…AKA pudgy humanoid without sleeves. Pleasure to meet you.”
Jonwo: “The pleasure is all yours. Your breath smells like the anus of a Mudwort Lungfish. I’m close to emptying all my stomachs.”
Doog: “Stupid truth religion…”

Jonwo: “Do you insult our religion?”
Doog: “No. No. Nothing like that. I just don’t like the whole truth business.”
Jonwo: “Truth is inevitable – it can be hidden no more than the sun, the moon, or your extremely nauseating breath.”
Doog: “Enough about my breath! Let’s move on!”
Jonwo: “Move on to what? Your flabby body or your repulsive facial hair?”
Doog: “Neither! We’re here to talk about Pantex, not me! And, I’ll fight you over that mustache insult, you yellowed-eyed, wrinkle face!”
Jonwo: “Ah, you finally speak the truth. I’m proud of you. Next time, though, speak that truth downwind if you don’t mind. Phew.”
Doog: “Grrr…”

Jonwo: “Nok has stocked the oceans of Pantex with a multitude of edible species. The favorites of my people being the Southern Gold Fin and the aforementioned Mudwort Lungfish.”
Doog: “You guys harvest these fish?”
Jonwo: “Some of us do, but not for export. My people are the primary consumers of these delicacies.”
Doog: “So, what do you fish for then?”

Jonwo: “I work for the Pantex Corporation. I fish for gut bacteria.”
Doog: “You what?”
Jonwo: “Fish for gut bacteria. You know bacteria, right? It’s the stuff making every one of your exhales smell like an overflowing latrine. Seriously, I don’t know if you need gum or some toilet paper!”
Doog: “Enough! Tell me more about fishing for gut bacteria.”
Jonwo: “People, like me, come out here to the deep ocean where there are some larger creatures.”
Doog: “How large?”

Jonwo: “Real large. Pantine Eels could swallow this boat whole.”
Doog: “Yikes. Are we safe?”
Jonwo: “They don’t venture far out of their dens. We should be safe – especially with your breath deterrent.”
Doog: “I won’t be saving you with this breath, and you better believe that’s the truth.”
Jonwo: “Fair enough. Pantine Eels usually eat dead fish and plankton that sink towards the ocean floor. They do eat live prey when the occasion arises. In order to break down these diverse – often putrid – meals, the eels have developed a strong gut flora.”
Doog: “How does one fish out a creature’s gut flora?”

Jonwo: “We lower a collection device down towards the eel. The eel bites and swallows it. We let it feed a few dozen meters into the eel and, then, make a collection. Once the device is full, we pull it back out. It gets a little bumpy sometimes. The eels don’t like losing a meal, even if it’s a metal collector.”
Doog: “How do you know where to lower the collector?”
Jonwo: “Pantine Eels are long lived, and they rarely leave their den once it’s set up. We simply return to GPS coordinates where known eels are located.”
Doog: “I see. And, I guess you take this eel bacteria back to the city?”

Jonwo: “No. The LIU’s workers did not like living amongst us. They moved their labs to deep sea platforms.”
Doog: “I don’t blame them one bit.”
Jonwo: “Hey, the truth hurts. Hurts like my nostrils every time you talk.”
Doog: “Yeah, yeah. So, what does the LIU do with gut bacteria from some random animal?”
Jonwo: “Truthfully, I’m not sure, but I arranged for you to meet a scientist onboard. Let’s go.”

Doog: “Alright, we’re in some type of lab.”
Jonwo: “Yes. The sterile air and advanced ventilation systems do wonders for your halitosis.”
Doog: “Thanks. I guess.”

Paul: “I thought the tour was with a human TV reporter! You brought a local?!”
Doog: “I didn’t know leaving him was an option, trust me. I would have left him at the port if I could.”
Paul: “I guess I’m signing up for another eight months with my therapist.”
Jonwo: “I only speak the truth, geeky, bug-eyed, overly-sized eyebrows man.”
Paul: “Yep. Therapy it is.”
Doog: “Forget about my weird-hatted guide. Tell me about this bacterium.”
Paul: “Luteus Ventriculi is one of a dozen or so bacteria found in the gut of the local eels. In our lab, we isolate the Luteus Ventriculi from the other gut bacteria.”
Doog: “Why do you do this?”
Paul: “The bacteria, Luteus Ventriculi, manufactures the chemical, Aalomycin, an antibiotic. The bacterium makes it to kill harmful bacteria in the gut. We convert it into a medication which cures a variety of the galaxy’s illnesses.”
Doog: “Eel intestine germs make medicine. Got it.”
Jonwo: “If only it made mouthwash…”
Doog: “Can I get your therapist’s number, lab guy?”

Doog: “Well folks, the locals and their ‘truths’ were almost too much to handle. Seriously, these guys don’t hold back. I guess the LIU and their employees are forced to deal with them to get powerful antibiotics – antibiotics made from a local eel species’ gut biome. I think I’d rather die than get any medications from this place. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Aalomycin is often sold under the name, I Feel Eel. 

​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 Mid-Rim world of Harena. Harena is a hot, dry planet in orbit around the Class G star, Harenis. Most of the planet consists of rocky, sandy deserts. That’s good, because – apparently – this planet exports a special kind of sand. Yes, you heard that right. This place fills the galaxy’s sandboxes. This ought to be a very interesting episode…said no one ever.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’m down on the surface of Harena. It’s sandy and rocky, just like I said it would be. As you can see, I’m wearing my environmental suit. The air is breathable here, but it is so dry that it poses a danger to most species. Water will evaporate out of your eyes, mouth, and other exposed orifices…if you know what I mean. Well, enough chatting, let’s meet my guide.”

Daisy: “You must be Doog.”
Doog: “The one and only.”
Daisy: “I’m Daisy, a site scout for the Harena Sand Company.”
Doog: “Daisy, huh? I thought I heard a hint of female voice through that respirator. So, important questions first – are you single?”
Daisy: “You’re hitting on me? You don’t even know what I look like.”
Doog: “I’m not the one to judge someone’s looks.”
Daisy: “Aw.”
Doog: “Besides, we can always keep the helmet on.”
Daisy: “You’re a sleazebag. I’m glad I didn’t fall for that.”
Doog: “Why did I say that last bit! Dang it!”

Doog: “Well, now that we got that out of the way, let’s move on. Is this your base of something?”
Daisy: “This is a windmill and a water tank installed by a Novum Finium infrastructure crew.”
Doog: “So, that’s a no, I guess.”
Daisy: “It’s used to resupply our Quad with water and electricity. We don’t live here, but we visit a site like this every few days.”
Doog: “You get water from here. I thought water was non-existent on Harena?”
Daisy: “There’s plenty of groundwater deep below where the sun can’t evaporate it. Desert winds spin the windmill which pumps up the deep water. The blades of the windmill have solar panels built-in. We get electricity from them.”
Doog: “Electricity is good. It keeps your phone charged.”
Daisy: “It’s mostly used to power the Quad Walker. Otherwise, it would just be a Quad Stander.”
Doog: “You got jokes.”
Daisy: “Come on, lets get onboard the Quad.”

Daisy: “The Quad Walker is our home or base. We live and work out of here.”
Doog: “It seems a bit cramped.”
Daisy: “There’s usually only two of us, instead of three, but even then, it’s a little overcrowded. We make do, though.”
Doog: “I, for one, wouldn’t suffer like this, especially for some sand. Speaking of which, what are we scouting here? There’s sand everywhere I look.”
Daisy: “We’re not looking for normal, everyday sand.”
Doog: “Oh, that’s right. Harena has ‘special’ sand.”
Daisy: “Why did you do air-quotes when you said special?”
Doog: “How special can sand be? It’s sand. What, does it make industrial strength sand castles or something?”
Daisy: “Actually, it’s used as an additive to concrete. It makes concrete stronger.”
Doog: “Sidewalks are better than sand castles, I suppose.”
Daisy: “You don’t waste Harena sand on things like sidewalks. It’s used to make bunkers and secure buildings and other cool things.”
Doog: “Yeah. Yeah. In the end, it’s just sand, though.”

Doog: “Why did we stop? Is this the special sand?”
Daisy: “Not exactly.”
Doog: “Wait…what are those? Why are they crawling everywhere? Are they insects?!”
Daisy: “They are the Har, a semi-sentient insectoid species.”
Doog: “They’re so creepy!”
Daisy: “Be nice. They can understand us.”

Doog: “What do you mean they can understand? I thought you said they weren’t fully sentient.”
Daisy: “What does that have to do with anything? A dog can understand plenty of words. Besides, I said they were semi-sentient.”
Doog: “What does that even mean?”
Daisy: “They have language and intelligence, but they don’t use tools or have culture. That’s the best I can describe it. I’m a scout, not a scientist.”
Doog: “That’s plenty good for me. Say…are they getting closer?!”

Doog: “Back up! Give Doog some space! Quit touching me! Why aren’t they listening!?”
Daisy: “Ha. They like you!”
Doog: “It’s not funny! I’m about to freak out! Hey! I think ones trying to take my wallet! There’s no money in there you dumb bug!”
Daisy: “Oh, relax. You probably have moisture on your suit. The Har are extremely sensitive to that.”
Doog: “There’s going to be some moisture IN my suit if these freaking things don’t get off me!”
Daisy: “Hahaha.”

Daisy: “See, I told you. Once the moisture was gone from your suit, they left you alone.”
Doog: “Yeah, it only took ten minutes of pure entomophobic trauma that will give me nightmares for years.”
Daisy: “It was funny though!”
Doog: “Yeah, it must have been hilarious…for you. Why are these overly-handsy creatures on this planet, anyway? I thought nothing could survive here?”
Daisy: “They evolved here, giving them several adaptations to combat the heat and dryness.”
Doog: “Like what?”
Daisy: “Like their ability to ‘smell’ the tiniest bits of water.”
Doog: “Oh, yeah. The suit thing. How did I forget that?”
Daisy: “Yep. Also, their exoskeletons protect against evaporation. Those tube thingies on their faces are actually long breathing organs that prevent moisture escaping from their noses. They never urinate. Lots of things.”

Daisy: “It also helps that they build these thick mud nests. It’s way cooler inside.”
Doog: “Why are you pushing me forward?”
Daisy: “Because we’re going inside.”
Doog: “Is that really a good idea? What if they freak out and start swarming?”
Daisy: “They’re not wasps or bees. Come on.”
Doog: “That easy for you to say, you weren’t just felt-up by a dozen pinching bug fingers.”

Daisy: “See, it’s not so bad in here.”
Doog: “I can’t really tell if it’s cooler or not with this suit on, but I’ll take your word for it. I’m not giving these guys access to the water in any of my orifices.”
Daisy: “Ha. You’re learning.”
Doog: “What am I looking at here? Is this some type of comb?”
Daisy: “Yes. The Har grow food, in the form of bacteria, in little cells like this.”
Doog: “They eat this green goo? Can they get grosser?”
Daisy: “Actually, the green stuff is a waterless mucus the Har produce. It’s full of insoluble non-organic colloids or something like that. The bacteria grow in it, and the Har re-eat the mucus to get the bacteria.”
Doog: “Booger-eating, body-groping monsters. I’m telling you, the Har are the grossest species I’ve met, and I’ve been to the brothel on Camana IV.”
Daisy: “Uh, sure. Anyway, the Har also use this mucus to build these nests. They combine it with the sand.”
Doog: “I’m standing in a snot dome over cells of boogers. Look mom, I finally made it! Wait…mixed with sand. Is that what makes the sand ‘special’?
Daisy: “Again with the air-quotes? Yes, though. We want the sand mixed with Har mucus.”
Doog: “Yes! Let’s get back to the Quad and start stomping this thing down!”

Daisy: “We don’t get the special sand from active nests!”
Doog: “Aw, why not?”
Daisy: “Because we’re not cruel monsters!”
Doog: “They’re just bugs.”
Daisy: “Semi-sentient insectoids!”
Doog: “Fine. Where do you get it from then?”
Daisy: “The Har have been on this planet for millions of years. They’ve built billions of nests over that time, and plenty have been abandoned. As scouts, we use ground penetrating radar to locate extinct, unused nests.”

Daisy: “When we locate one – which happens often – we call in for a Nest Harvester.”
Doog: “Wouldn’t this be so much cooler if there were Har scrambling about shrieking in despair?”
Daisy: “No! You really don’t like bugs, do you?”

Daisy: “Nest Harvesters use air cannons to remove the regular sand and grinding blades to break up the old nest. We collect this mucus hardened sand, which we call Har-Sand, from the old nest.”
Doog: “Disappointed in the Har vacancy, but I get it. Har-Sand comes from old nests.”

Daisy: “Once collected, the Har-Sand comes to little depots like this for light processing.”
Doog: “Light processing?”
Daisy: “Yeah, generally just augmenting the sand with a few additives, like lye. Then it is shipped out.”
Doog: “Well, it took me getting molested by twenty invertebrates, but I guess we’re finished.”
Daisy: “Thanks for the laughs.”
Doog: “Are you into funny guys? My offer still stands.”
Daisy: “I’d rather enter a Har nest naked.”
Doog: “Can’t say I didn’t try.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Harena. This ultra-dry, desert world produces hardened sand for use in concrete. This hardened sand is a mixture of normal sand and the mucus of the local insect race. I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about them. I’m going to need therapy after this one. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
 
Note: The first explorers on Harena suffered several injuries from the dry air and the moisture hungry Har. Several nests in the landing area were destroyed in the aftermath. Search the Harena Misunderstanding on your LIUpad for more information.

Doog: “Welcome to another special edition episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the ocean planet, Epulum. Like with previous special edition episodes, we’ll be focusing on an aspect of Epulum’s culture instead of its economy. Let’s head on down.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in the city of Cetus on the planet’s largest island, Epulae. Cetus is a large city, covering most of this island. Cetus is the export hub for all Epulum’s diverse goods. You can see the busy port behind me. Of course, this is a special edition episode, so we’re not concerned with all this economy business. We’re here for one thing – FEASTS! Yes, you heard that right. Feasts! How awesome of a culture is that?! I’m actually excited about this planet. Let’s meet our guide.”

Kelsos: “Welcome to Epulum, Doog. I’m Kelsos.”
Doog: “Thanks, but enough with the introductions. I’m ready for the feast!”
Kelsos: “You’re a big Feast fan, huh? Well, it might just surprise you, but your standing next to this planet’s Feast Champion.”
Doog: “You can win a championship in feasting? I want to try for that! Even if I lose, I win!”
Kelsos: “Ha, you’re an ambitious one.”

Doog: “Well, are we going to feast or stand around in this noisy port? Unless of course, these boats bring crabs by the boatloads and we just scarf them down.”
Kelsos: “Crabs? Scarves? I’m not sure I understand.”
Doog: “Oh, sorry. I guess I just assumed it would be seafood given your anatomy. I guess that’s insensitive though.”
Kelsos: “I’m thoroughly confused, right now. Are you talking about our economy?”
Doog: “Uh…yeah, sure. That’s what I was talking about. No one was making broad generalizations over here.”
Kelsos: “I thought you wanted to focus on culture, not our economy.”
Doog: “Did I say that…uh…oh, yeah. I just meant that maybe we could squeeze in a few bits about the economy while we walk to the feast. No need to get too deep into anything.”

Kelsos: “I didn’t really prepare anything, but I guess we could give it a shot. Cetus, as you can see, is all about imports and exports. We bring in goods from the other islands and ship them out to the rest of the galaxy. We also send things out to the other islands, like fuel and stuff.”
Doog: “Sounds good to me.”

Kelsos: “One of our major exports is coal. A lot of these islands were heavily forested, so we have lots of coal.”
Doog: “Got it.”

Kelsos: “We also export a lot of fish.”
Doog: “Excellent. Excellent. We’ll slap some stock footage up with all of this.”

Kelsos: “Oh, we have lots of manufacturing too. We make lots of electronic goods and appliances. We even manufacture the hover-boats you see all around.”
Doog: “One stock photo closer to the feasts.”

Kelsos: “That pretty much wraps up most of the economy – at least the parts I remember. I guess I could talk about the local eateries and stuff.”
Doog: “Nah, my seafood stereotype statement is long forgotten by now. Good work.”
Kelsos: “Huh?”
Doog: “Nothing. So, let’s shift focus back to the feasts. What can you tell me about that?”
Kelsos: “My people invented Feast well before the LIU arrived. It was popular enough to spread across the planet. When the LIU and all these imported workers arrived, it became popular galactically.”
Doog: “Your race literally invented feasts! You guys are my hero. So, what else can you tell me? How expensive will it be?”
Kelsos: “The cost depends on the variety of feast you choose. There’s Feast No Cap which can get expensive, and there’s Feast Cap which is free. We’re headed to Feast Cap, at your producer’s request.”
Doog: “Free?!”
Kelsos: “Yeah. I mean, you might have to buy your own drinks and stuff.”
Doog: “Free…are you serious!”
Kelsos: “Yeah, Feast Cap is used to determine ranks and tournament brackets. You can’t charge for that.”
Doog: “I’m never leaving this planet.”

Kelsos: “Well, here we are – the Feast Cap Parlor on Vector Street. It’s where I got my start.”
Doog: “Let the feasting begin!”

Doog: “This is not what I expected. Where are the buffets? Where’s the desert table? Why aren’t these tables covered in food?!”
Kelsos: “Only drinks are allowed at the Feast tables. Food greases up the Feast cards.”
Doog: “What do you mean!? How can there be no food at a feast!?”
Kelsos: “I think we might have a little misunderstanding. In my culture, Feast is a strategic card game.”
Doog: “No! Feasts are nearly endless meals!”
Kelsos: “Not on Epulum. Large meals here are called a frenzy, not a feast.”
Doog: “Noooo!”

Kelsos: “Did you think we were attending a frenzy?”
Doog: “Yes! That’s what everyone outside of Epulum calls a feast!”
Kelsos: “The free part didn’t give it away?”
Doog: “It should have, but my brain was in feast mode.”
Kelsos: “What about the player rankings and championships? Didn’t that give it away?”
Doog: “Competitive eating is a thing!”
Kelsos: “Hmm, I guess I see why you’re so upset.”
Doog: “Upset and hungry.”
Kelsos: “Well, I guess I’ll try to make it quick.”

Kelsos: “Feast is a card game played by up to four players. The main purpose of Feast is to control if the board is odd or even. You can do this by playing either a six or three card. There are other subtleties to the game though, like stacking, bracketing, grouping and so on. It involves a lot a strategy and math.”
Doog: “The only thing worse than not having a meal is math.”
Kelsos: “Uh, sure. Anyway, Feast is won by bracketing the highest odd multiple of nine on the board, usually 81 or 99 depending on the number of cards played.”
Doog: “Blah, blah, math culture. Got it.”

Kelsos: “It might not be your thing, but it’s loved by billions across the galaxy. In fact, Feast No Cap is one of the most popular gambling games outside of Tesserae or Pyramid.”
Doog: “Unless the prize is an actual feast, I don’t care.”
Kelsos: “There’s a vending machine back there. It might have some snacks.”
Doog: “If I’m spending any credits in here, it will be at the bar to ease my suffering. Worst feast ever!”

​Doog: “Well folks, I couldn’t be more disappointed. On this horrible planet, feast means math-related card games, not food. It might be popular across the galaxy, but it is not for me. Oh well, on to the next disappointment. See ya!”
 

​
Note: 

​Doog: “You guys knew, didn’t you?”
Mike: “Knew what? That there wasn't a planet with free feasts?”
Seitse: “Not to mention, it’s one of the most famous card games in the galaxy. The natives should have given it away.”
Amaya: “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We saved you a hotdog. Come play Feast with us.”
Doog: “A hotdog is no feast, but it's better than nothing. Also, I don't math."

​Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on the surface of Parvulus. The foliage is the first thing that catches my eye. Every plant looks to be some shade of purple. There are some large flower things and some very fragrant pod shrubs. It’s kind of nice. Oh, there’s also this little cottage behind me.”

​Earnest: “It’s not little! It’s quite big actually!”
Doog: “Whoa, whoa. I meant no offense. No need to shoot!”
Earnest: “I’m not going to shoot you, poltroon. I’m your guide, Earnest Tuffin.”
Doog: “Sorry, I guess the gun pointing in my general direction was a tad misleading.”
Earnest: “My fingers not even on the trigger.”
Doog: “Why do you have the gun at all? Are their dangers on Parvulus?”
Earnest: “There could be. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Doog: “Uh, ok. That didn’t really answer my question, but you seem to have a short fuse, so I won’t press any further.”

​Earnest: “SHORT fuse? Short! What are you trying to say, lily liver?!”
Doog: “Oh, ha. I didn’t even mean to do that. I didn’t even notice that you’re short. Your oversized hat threw me off.”
Earnest: “It’s NOT oversized! It’s a perfectly normal safari hat! I wear it because I’m an explorer! It has nothing to do with my perfectly normal height!”
Doog: “Someone’s overly sensitive.”
Earnest: “Am not!”
Doog: “Ok. Ok. Let’s change the subject. What do you explore?”
Earnest: “Well, not much these days. Most of the tribes have been located and mapped. I guess I’m more of an emissary now.”
Doog: “Emissary? What’s that?”
Earnest: “Big legs don’t equal big brains, do they? An emissary is like an ambassador. I interact with the locals.”
Doog: “I guess that means we’re meeting the locals?”
Earnest: “We are. Try to keep up.”

​Penelope: “Schmutzy, dear, did you remember your platform boots?”
Earnest: “What are you talking about random lady?! I don’t wear special boots! I’m always this tall!”
Doog: “Ha. Random lady? She came out of your house and called you ‘schmutzy’.”
Earnest: “I don’t want to talk about it!”

​Earnest: “We’re finally here.”
Doog: “That wasn’t too bad of a walk. I mean, at least, for me. That was probably an extra eight-thousand steps for you.”
Earnest: “One more short joke, chucklehead, and this finger finds the trigger.”
Doog: “Relax. I’m just joking. So, this is one of the tribes you spoke about earlier?”
Earnest: “Yes, one of several thousand spread across Parvulus. In my early years, I was part of the expedition that mapped and identified all the planet’s tribes.”
Doog: “What was the purpose of that? Is the LIU planning on relocating them or something?”
Earnest: “No. The Parva race has a remarkable breeding system that is of extreme interest to the LIU.”
Doog: “Breeding? You have my interest too. Bring on the weird alien porn.”
Earnest: “It has nothing to do with that, perv. The Parva race possesses genetic memory.”

​Doog: “Genetic memory?”
Earnest: “Yes. Every offspring born to the Parva have the combined knowledge of their parents.”
Doog: “So, they remember when their parents conceived them? What are their suicide rates like?”
Earnest: “Only a deviant dimwit, like yourself would think of that first. This is a remarkable ability that allows the Parva to have untold potential. They have all the knowledge of their forebearers. They are born with every skill, every memory, every idea that their predecessors possessed.”
Doog: “And that’s good?”
Earnest: “Well, yeah, obviously. The Parva have one of the greatest galactic cultures. Essentially, they act as one being – a collective consciousness of a sort. They never war or display violence. They work as one for the betterment of their tribe and their race.”
Doog: “Hmm. I guess that’s good. I see a problem though, not everyone seems equal. I can see the guys in cool helmets chilling as these other guys labor in the fields. It seems like they aren’t more advanced than our society. There is still inequality.”

​Earnest: “Ah, but you’re wrong. The Parva do have castes: priests, protectors, farmers, laborers, et cetera, but they account for that within their breeding system.”
Doog: “How so?”
Earnest: “The castes interbreed. Priests cannot mate with other priests. Farmers cannot breed with farmers, and so on. Their offspring have knowledge of both castes and both duties. Upon birth they are assigned to whatever caste is in need, including castes that neither parent was a part of. There is not an equality of jobs, but an equality of knowledge.”
Doog: “That’s weird.”
Earnest: “Is it? Having the whole population fully educated in all aspects of society is a huge evolutionary advantage. If diseases kill off a whole caste, any of the other castes can step in and take over. Death does not equate the loss of skill or knowledge.”

​Earnest: “To prevent one tribe from dominating, the Parva also participate in nuptial trades.”
Doog: “What trades?”
Earnest: “Nuptial trades. Tribes send mature ambassadors to other tribes to mate and combine their knowledge. It ensures that all tribes, planetwide, have the knowledge of all the others.”

​Doog: “This is all so confusing. Can I at least see the mating? I might understand that more.”
Earnest: “You wish, you debauched lecher. The Parva don’t mate as you expect. They are genderless.”
Doog: “Do they just bud off or something?”
Earnest: “No, they combine genetic matter externally in specialized nesting grounds. The genetic material coalesces inside a protective gene sac.”
Doog: “They’re wriggling and pulsating. Gross.”
Earnest: “Genetic broods, between two individuals, can produce dozens of potential offspring, but only a few survive. The knowledge imprinted into the DNA isn’t easy to combine correctly. Generally, less than two percent are viable after a few weeks.”
Doog: “What happens to the rest of them? Is that where the LIU comes in? Do we eat the leftover eggs or something?”
Earnest: “Did you live under a power cell or something? Of course not.”

​Earnest: “The implications of genetic memory are far more valuable than embryo meat. Imagine the implications.”
Doog: “Generations and generations of my offspring revisiting my brothel mistakes? I swear she was a she, and stuff like that.”
Earnest: “You’re a real Ninnyhammer, aren’t you? If genetic memory works as we suspect, we could create the most educated race ever. No more schooling, no more waiting years for intellectual replacements…we will always have fully educated offspring.”

​Doog: “I see. Say, that’s an intimidating wall. What tribe is this?”
Earnest: “It’s not a tribe. It’s the LIU.”
Doog: “The LIU has a facility here?”
Earnest: “Does the LIU have a facility here on Parvulus – the planet with the knowledge genes? Duh! This is galaxy changing stuff.”
Doog: “Oh, they want short people genes. Makes sense. It makes spaceship design so much cheaper.”
Earnest: ‘NO! You IMBECILE! They want Parva genes! Genetic memory means the LIU can make super intelligent beings! Also, I’m NOT SHORT!”
Doog: “I guess I’m having trouble understanding. It must be because I’m talking to a hat instead of a head!”
Earnest: “GRRR!”
Doog: “Relax, old man. I’m kidding.”
Earnest: ‘I’m not old!”
Doog: “Wow, someone here is in denial…on multiple fronts.”

​Doog: “Big walls and security. Maybe I’m not processing the importance of this.”
Earnest: “There’s a LIU research facility a few miles inside this wall. Security is mostly in place to prevent any Parva test subjects from escaping.”
Doog: “Why?”
Earnest: “You’re about as sharp as a sack full of pony soup. The Parva can pass on anything they learn. If they learn sensitive material within the facility, they can never leave or mate, otherwise, the information can spread planetwide through reproduction.”
Doog: “Oh.”

​Doog: “I’m glad to see a transport. You almost lost me at miles inside the wall.”
Earnest: “Transports are more important than that. They have the navigation software to disarm the mines.”
Doog: “I see that now. There are mines everywhere.”
Earnest: “Nothing must escape.”

​Soldier: “We’re approaching Project Omniscient. ETA, six minutes.”
Earnest: “Thank you.”
Doog: “Project Omniscient?”
Earnest: “Yeah. Omniscient means all-knowing.”

​Doog: “So, what goes on in here? Are the scientists splicing the Parva DNA into ours or something?”
Earnest: “I’m not sure, actually. This is as far as I can go.”

​Mara: “Welcome to Project Omniscient. I am Mara Betenos, the Project Director.”
Doog: “You’re a Tutarin. Aren’t you?”
Mara: “Yes. If you’ll follow me, we can begin.”
Doog: “Well, I guess that’s the end for us, Earnest. Don’t fret though, these Tutarins are total genetic experts. I’m going to ask about some new leg genes for you!”
Earnest: “My legs are FINE! I hope we never see each other again, you gormless urchin!”

​Doog: “So, what type of research goes on here? Are we splicing Parva DNA into other species? Making super-smart soldiers? What?”
Mara: “I can not go into the specifics of any project, but we are researching the Parva’s genetic memory from multiple angles. In this section of the lab, we are studying how exactly genetic memory works.”

​Mara: “We know that almost all species exhibit some form of genetic memory. That’s how newborns know how to breathe, eat, cry, and move – basic survival instincts encoded into their DNA. We also know that newborns are preprogrammed with certain fears, like heights, predators, storms, et cetera. We believe these ‘instincts’ were programmed into DNA over long periods of time. However, nothing in this galaxy approaches the speed and comprehensiveness of Parva genetic memory.”
Doog: “So, it’s my parents’ fault that I’m scared of spiders, insects, alien spiders, alien insects, and, oh yeah, commitment?”
Mara: “Perhaps some of those. I haven’t evaluated you personally…but, we’re getting off topic. Our goal, in this part of Omniscient Tower, is to understand the instantaneous encodement of memory into DNA.”
Doog: “How does one do that thing with the big words that you just said?”
Mara: “We have several methods being utilized in dozens of labs. In some labs, like this, we focus on biology. The Parva seem to have two brains. A larger brain in their skulls and a smaller reproductive brain that we believe does the genetic coding. We study both brains here.”
Doog: “Brings new meaning to the old saying, ‘think with your big head over your little head’.”
Mara: “Um, yes. I suppose. In other biology labs, we study other important parts of the Parva’s anatomy, like: DNA structure, sex cells, embryonic development, egg creation, and so on.”

​Mara: “In the information labs, we study Parva learning.”
Doog: “How?”
Mara: “We insert genetic markers in samples taken before a lesson, and then compare differences after lessons. This allows us to see how information is encoded into their DNA, how it is stored, and how complex the new DNA becomes. This allows us to ask stuff like – is there a limit to genetic memory? Does too much information harm the Parva? Does too much information corrupt the DNA? This is important because the Parva have not advanced very much over the millennia despite having genetic memory. Maybe, they can’t handle it biologically.”
Doog “What did you find?”
Mara: “While in its infancy, our research does not seem to indicate any limit to their memory.”

​Mara: “That brings us to the final part of Project Omniscient. While we can’t recreate their genetic memory across species…yet…we seem to be able to push their abilities to the max. This high security area of the tower is home to the genius prisons.”
Doog: “Genius prisons?”
Mara: “Yes, highly educated subjects forcefully bred with other highly educated subjects. Come inside.”

​Mara: “Subjects, like this, are geniuses in the truest sense. They are the fourth generation in our experiment. They have the knowledge of all their forebearers, but more importantly, their LIU-educated great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents. They are experts in physics, math, chemistry, biology, literature, history, and geography.”
Doog: “Wow.”
Mara: “And, that’s without being formally educated yet. These subjects are only a few months old. They too will eventually be taught and bred. Their offspring will be twice as smart.”
Doog: “Pretty cool…and creepy. I understand the security now. These geniuses could ‘infect’ the rest of the population with mass amounts of information, if they ever escaped.”
Mara: “Yes. Hence, the prisons.”
Doog: “Ah, I get it now. That’s why even Earnest was armed.”
Mara: “We can take no chances.”
Doog: “I see. What’s the endgame of all of this? What is the ultimate goal?”
Mara: “The ultimate goal is to selectively share this genetic gift with citizens of the LIU. We could eliminate schooling, job training, military training, and so much more. Until then, our goal is to use the genius Parva for science and technology advancements and…as information storage.”
Doog: “Information storage?”
Mara: “They are, essentially, biological hard drives.”
Doog: “Ok. Wow. That’s kind of bizarre.”
Mara: “Is it? Given their gifts, they are basically information storage devices. Once we find out how to extract information from them at will, the Parva could replace more expensive technological hard drives.”

​Doog: “Well folks, that’s not where I saw this going. Parvulus is home to a unique sentient species called the Parva. The Parva possess genetic memory – AKA, they are born with all the knowledge of their parents. The Parva haven’t taken advantage of this gift, living a simple, primitive life. Unfortunately for the Parva, the LIU is involved now, and their genetic memory is being put to the test. The LIU is attempting to utilize their gift to create super-intelligent Parva, while also attempting to unravel the biological processes, so it can be integrated to other species. I’m not sure my offspring want my memories, but what do I know? Oh, well. See ya!”
 
 
Note: The Parva species was not always this peaceful, and that’s why the still have protective/soldier castes. The introduction of nuptial trades eliminated most violent actions, because a common goal was discovered between tribes. Despite being mostly peaceful these days, most Parva continue to pass on genetic information regarding soldiery and self-defense.   

​Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Magnavena. Magnavena, originally named Magna Avena, is an agricultural world near the Cibus Hyperspace Route. Magnavena’s temperate climate, steady precipitation, and minimal axial tilt allows for recurrent farming on over 70% of the planet. I didn’t write that line, so – for people like me – that essentially means they farm all year long over much of the planet. Let’s head down and check out what exactly they’re farming.”

​Doog: “Alright folks, here we are. Another agricultural planet. How boring is this episode going to be? Looks like I’ve been dropped off in some type of spaceport. The only notable thing I see are these tall plants. Someone here needs to cut the grass or spray for weeds.”

​Norman: “Whoa-ho-ho, that’d be a mistake!”
Doog: “Huh?”
Norman: “Spraying the ‘weeds’, silly. Those aren’t weeds. They’re Avena oats.”
Doog: “What are Avena oats? And who are you?”
Norman: “I’m your guide, Norman. My folks call me Normy, but I don’t think we know each other well enough for that. Speaking of my folks, can I give a shout out? Hey Ma! Hey Pa!”
Doog: “It kind of defeats the purpose of asking, if you do it anyway.”
Norman: “Giminy buckets! I’ve been on TV for two minutes, and I’m already messing up! Come one Normy! Get your head in the game!”
Doog: “Relax. This show isn’t that serious.”
Norman: “Maybe not for you, but I’m the first Tullbuck to make it on TV. I have my family’s legacy at stake.”
Doog: “I wouldn’t say our twelve viewers equates to a legacy, but to each their own. So, what were you saying about oats?”

​Norman: “Second chance, here we go. These are Avena oats. They’re a cereal grain grown for their seeds.”
Doog: “Seeds?”
Norman: “Yessiree bob. They’re in those bushy things at the top.”
Doog: “I see. And, you farm these oats?”
Norman: “It’s our sole crop.”
Doog: “You planted oats across the whole planet?”
Norman: “Well, buddy – let me stop you right there. We didn’t plant anything. Avena oats are native to Magnavena. They just grow on their own. Amazing right?! And, better yet, they just keep growing all the time. We harvest them non-stop all year long. We’re talking upwards of a billion metric tons of oats globally.”
Doog: “I don’t know measurements, but that seems like a lot.”
Norman: “It is. Obviously, an operation of this scale needs some technological support. Let’s head inside the spaceport, and I’ll show you.”

​Norman: “There are eighteen spaceports on Magnavena’s equator – each spread twenty degrees apart. Each spaceport is responsible for monitoring its twenty degrees of the planet.”
Doog: “Monitoring what?”
Norman: “Golly gee. Where do I start?”

​Norman: “Weather, humidity, growth rates, oats per bushel, yield percentages…a whole bunch of stuff.”
Doog: “Most of that means nothing to me.”
Norman: “It doesn’t make much sense to me either, if we’re being honest. I’m just a farmhand. But, I hear it’s pretty important. It lets us know where to send the mechs for the best harvests, and stuff like that.”
Doog: “Mechs? That sounds cooler than this control room.”
Norman: “Sure fiddle dipper does. Let’s move on out.”

​Doog: “How far away are these mechs?”
Norman: “We lucked out. They’re harvesting just a few miles from here.”
Doog: “Miles? Don’t you have a tractor or something?”
Norman: “This is a global farming operation. We can’t spare equipment just for a ride.”
Doog: “Sigh.”
Norman: “My ma used to sing a song about our walks, ‘Cheese and butter on your toast, out the door to do our most. Walk, walk, walk to our post, as a hard day’s work will let us boast. Then walk, walk, walk to home for roast.’”
Doog: “You guys eat roasts?”
Norman: “No, but it rhymes better than dehydrated nutrient logs.”

​Doog: “Finally. That’s a sight for sore eyes…and legs.”
Norman: “Bo-ho-ho, here we go! This big fella is a Magna-class Harvester. We call it the MCH for short.”
Doog: “What’s up with the big sword-thingy?”
Norman: “The harvesting blade? It’s for cutting down Avena oats.”
Doog: “Why is it so big, though?”
Norman: “Harvesting these oats requires two cuts. One to remove the seed head – you know, the actual oats – and one to bring down the empty stalk. Those stalks are thick and hardened at the base.”
Doog: “Why not keep the stalk up? Won’t it make more oats?”
Norman: “No siree, Bob. They produce one seed head and then die. We cut them down so a new stalk can grow in its place. It’s faster than letting it die naturally.”

​Doog: “So, you pilot one of these things?”
Norman: “Oh, no. I can’t commit to a contract that long. Ma and Pa would kill me.”
Doog: “What do you mean?”
Norman: “MCH pilots sign contracts of either five, ten, or fifteen years. I can’t pledge that much time away from my family.”
Doog: “You still get to see them at night, right?”
Norman: “That’s the thing…you don’t. You pretty much stay in the MCH mech for the length of your contract.”
Doog: “What?!”
Norman: “Yeah. See that little room on the back of the mech? That’s where you live for the next five to fifteen years.”
Doog: “Why?”
Norman: “The fields are huge. You can’t waste time and fuel running your mech back to the granary every night. You just sleep in the back, wake up, and get back to harvesting.”
Doog: “Why would anyone commit to five years of that…let alone fifteen years?”
Norman: “They get paid decent wages, and you get more if you commit for more years.”
Doog: “Yikes. So, if you don’t do that? What do you do?”

Norman: “I pilot a Minori-class Gatherer, or MCG. These smaller mechs – well, technically hardsuits – gather seeds heads cut off by the MCH’s. They’re pretty useful. They have telescoping arms to make picking-up easier. They can carry tons, and they’re very fast.”
Doog: “You don’t have to commit to a contract to pilot these?”
Norman: “Nope-a-dope. The MCH’s have to bring the seeds back to the granary every half an hour or so. They don’t need to stay in the field like the slower, fuel-guzzling MCH’s.”
Doog: “Speaking of fuel, don’t the MCH’s have to go back to refuel?”
Norman: “No sir. The MCG’s have a lot of versatility. They can switch out their harvesting bins for other attachments, like – fuel tanks and food transport.”
Doog: “I see.”

​Doog: “I’m not the smartest fish in the shed, but these logistics aren’t making sense. You’re telling me these alphabetically-named mechs transport seeds to the spaceports? That would mean you’re running hundreds of miles each trip. You said there was only sixteen spaceports.”
Norman: “Eighteen, buddy, but your right, that wouldn’t make sense. They don’t bring the seed heads to the spaceports. They bring them to a granary. There are thousands of granaries between each spaceport.”
Doog: “Granary?”
Norman: “Yeah, that’s where we’re headed now.”
Doog: “Oh, ok. Hey, what’s this? It looks like some type of skeleton?”

​Norman: “It sure is. Looks like an old Hush skeleton.”
Doog: “A what?”
Norman: “A Hush, aka an oat rat. A subterranean rodent that fed on Avena oats. How does that rhyme go? Silent steps, not a peep. Below the surface, monsters sleep. Teeth like knives, they take our lives. Claws inline, they’ll split your spine. Tread with care, not a peep, below, below the Hush live deep.”
Doog: “That’s a terrifying poem.”
Norman: “A children’s nursery rhyme, actually.”
Doog: “Even worse. Why tell children that rhyme? I bet it gave them a lot of nightmares.”
Norman: “It was a catchy way to explain the danger of these territorial, sound-sensitive beasts. They used to kill a lot of the first settlers.”
Doog: “Used to?”
Norman: “They’re believed to be extinct now. No one has seen a live Hush in years.
Doog: “If they were so dangerous, how did they go extinct?”
Norman: “Attacking things that made sound didn’t make bode well for them after the mechs and trains arrived. They paid dearly for that.”
Doog: “Phew. As long as I’m safe.”

​Norman: “As I mentioned earlier, this is a granary. There are tens of thousands of them on Magnavena – each being responsible for approximately 200 square miles.”
Doog: “How do they work?”

​Norman: “MCG’s bring oats to the granary. They are stored in silos until transport trains arrive. These trains collect oats from the various granaries and bring them to the spaceports. Pretty self-explanatory, Doogy-Doog.”
Doog: “Don’t call me that.”
Norman: “Sorry. I got carried away.”
Doog: “So, do you guys live here? Is Ma and Pa around?”
Norman: “Oh, no. We live in underground bunkers. Can’t waste farmable land. Besides, my family is more in the area of #5296, not #5298. Shout out to my #5296 fams!”
Doog: "Can you stop shouting out everyone you know?"
Norman: "Oops. Sorry. I forgot."

​Norman: “The back side of the granary is where we unload the MCG’s. Thresher machines break the seed heads into individual oats, and they are transported up into the silos.”
Doog: “I understand the silos, but what is the rest of this building for?”
Norman: “Row-ho-ho, good question. There’s processing equipment that removes impurities from the oats, fuel and food storage, and a small residence for the local cargo master.”

​Doog: “I guess we know how most of this works now. I guess my last question is why? Why harvest all these oats? Who eats oats?”

​Norman: “Avena Oats have lots of uses. Some are used to make healthy foods, like Avena O’s.”
Doog: “Never heard of those.”
Norman: “Whaaat! It’s like the eighteenth most popular breakfast cereal! Perhaps you’re more familiar with Avena cookies or Avena brownies?”
Doog: “I don’t do healthy very often. I’m more of a meat guy.”
Norman: “Well, you might be more familiar with Avena oats’ other uses then.”

​Norman: “Eighty percent of our harvest goes towards animal feed. Kaadu, Beemu, Mulgeo, Lacunar Pigs, and many other livestock eats Avena oats.”
Doog: “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
Norman: “We feed future meat.”
Doog: “Thanks for your service then, Normy. Can I call you that? I feel like we’re best friends now.”
Normy: “Sure diddly-can.”

​Doog: “Well folks, you can thank the people of Magnavena for feeding your meat. This agricultural world grows tons and tons of Avena oats that are used to nourish all your favorite edible animals. They have mechs, silos, trains, and weird children’s literature. Oh well, see ya later!”
 
Note: 

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the circumbinary planet, Belua. Belua orbits the stars Siyavash and Sudabeh on the outer edge of the Sanguinolentus Nebula. Belua is mostly rocky shrublands, but it does have some prairielands around its large, green lakes. Yes, I did say green. Large populations of cyanobacteria within the lakes give the bodies of water their distinct coloration. Well, I’ve said about as much as I can about the planet for now. Let’s head down to Belua’s largest city, Lacuī.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in a small spaceport within Lacuī. Lacuī is a moderately large city. So far, nothing really stands out…well, except these pink-sluglike people. I’ve seen their race before, but never in this number. Perhaps they’re the locals?”

Iggy: “Doog, sir. I am Igzin Uz’un Uk’zik, but you may prefer to call me Iggy.”
Doog: “I definitely prefer Iggy. Whatever you said before sounded like a series of sneezes. I could never remember that.”
Iggy: “The Beluan language is difficult for non-natives – given your lack of a radula. It makes the grinding ‘z’s’ an impossibility.”
Doog: “Yeah, sure. So, you said non-natives – does that mean your race is native to Belua?”
Iggy: “Indeed. This is our origin-world.”
Doog: “Good to know. So, what can you tell me about your homeworld?”
Iggy: “Origin-world.”
Doog: “I don’t see the difference.”
Iggy: “It is the planet my species originated on, but it is not solely our home. Many species now live on Belua. It’s their home too. It feels more inclusive to differentiate the two.”
Doog: “Uh, sure. Whatever. What can you tell me about your origin-world.”

Iggy: “Belua is all about the lakes. All of the planet’s major cities are positioned beside them, including Lacuī. The lakes are the source of our food and water, and they drive the economy.”
Doog: “I don’t see any lakes.”
Iggy: “Well, you were dropped off in the middle of Lacuī, miles from the actual lake. We’d need to travel up to the coast district to see it in person. I think that could be arranged.”
Doog: “No, that’s ok. I saw it from above when we were landing. It’s just greenish water.”

Iggy: “You can’t see the actual lake from here, but you can still see its waters. They flow through canals all over the city.”
Doog: “I see. Why do you need canals?”
Iggy: “It brings the life-giving waters into the city, allows goods to be transported easily, and, more importantly, it increases the lake’s surface area, allowing more cyanobacteria to grow. In case you didn’t know, the cyanobacteria only grow near the surface.”
Doog: “These bacteria are good?”
Iggy: “You bet your sweet gonopores they are. Not only are the cyanobacteria the primary form of my species’ diet, they also drive Belua’s economy.”
Doog: “Bacteria drives an economy? My underwear could be worth billions!”

Doog: “All kidding aside, how does bacteria figure into your economy?”
Iggy: “Cyanobacteria fulfills the diets of more than just my species.”
Doog: “So you collect it and sell it as food for other species?”
Iggy: “Not exactly. We feed it to another native creature. Come on, follow me.”

Iggy: “Welcome to the factory, Neuro-Belua.”
Doog: “This is a factory? It’s all damp, musty, and mossy.”
Iggy: “Technically, it’s a factory farm. The livestock we raise in here prefer damper environments.”
Doog: “What are you raising?”
Iggy: “Uz’zin Uk’harz.”
Doog: “Gesundheit.”
Iggy: “I wasn’t sneezing. That’s their name, Uz’zin Uk’harz. In basic, it roughly means…”

Iggy: “…ancient ancestor.”
Doog: “Wow. I wasn’t expecting a giant slug monster.”
Iggy: “They’re not monsters. They’re actually docile algivorous gastropods.”
Doog: “Sorry. I just assumed. I didn’t mean to insult your ancestor. I can’t believe you guys came from these things though. You’re way less ugly. No offense.”
Iggy: “We are not direct descendants. We shared an ancient ancestor millions of years ago.”
Doog: “Oh, ok. That makes more sense. You don’t have all those horrid spiky hands and bulging eyes. Again, no offense. Maybe I should just stop talking.”

Iggy: “The Uz’zin Uk’harz are fed concentrated cyanobacteria, or algae, from the lake and canals.”
Doog: “And what do you get in return? Please don’t say meat. Please don’t say meat.”
Iggy: “Eggs.”
Doog: “Barf. Eggs are essentially meat.”
Iggy: “They’re not for consumption.”
Doog: “Oh, phew.”

Doog: “What are the eggs used for if not eating?”
Iggy: “Well, some are used for what eggs are usually used for – growing new Uz’zin Uk’harz. The rest are used as a source of nonbenzodiazepine chemicals – something we call, Z-drugs.”
Doog: “The eggs have drugs inside? That has me rethinking a few things.”
Iggy: “Don’t get too excited. The chemicals in the eggs need processing first.”

Doog: “What kind of drugs are we talking about? Buffies, uppies, downers, spice, depressants, hallucinogenics, buzzers, stims, trippies, junkers, itchers?”
Iggy: “Soporific.”
Doog: “Ooh, exciting! I don’t know what those are. I like new drugs!”
Iggy: “Sleeping aids.”
Doog: “Boo! Those don’t sound fun. If I want to sleep, I just listen to Oldie talk about the old days.”  

Doog: “How can sleeping pills drive an economy? Especially in this boring galaxy? Sleeping is the best and only thing you can do for free.”
Iggy: “They’re quite different than you’re imagining. They’re quite popular.”
Doog: “Pfft. Boring.”
Iggy: “Also, Uz’zin Uk’harz farming and Z-drugs are only part of our economy. The cyanobacteria have many uses. They’re used to manufacture several goods, like – cosmetics, deodorants, and food additives. Belua exports these goods as well.”
Doog: “Pssht, those things aren’t important to me.”
Iggy: “I can smell…I mean tell.”

Doog: “What’s this?”
Iggy: “Yolk processing. They’re deriving the Z-drug from the Uz’zin Uk’harz eggs.”

Iggy: “Once derived, the chemical is bottled and sold under the name Z-Lucidity.”
Doog: “That’s a dumb name.”
Iggy: “I disagree. It’s quite fitting. Z because of my race’s grinding pronunciation, Z also being a sleep symbol – catch some Z’s, and lucidity because of its ability to allow users to lucid dream.”

Doog: “Lucid dream? What’s that?”
Iggy: “Essentially, it’s the ability to know you’re dreaming, and, therefore, the ability to control your own dream.”
Doog: “And that’s good how?”
Iggy: “You can do anything your dream. Do you want to fly? Do you want to be super rich? Have bigger gonopores? Visit exotic locations?”
Doog: “Like a controllable dream?”
Iggy: “Like a second life. A perfect life.”

Doog: “That sounds pretty cool. Too bad dreams are so short.”
Iggy: “Ah, but for the magic of Z-Lucidity. When dosed, continuous REM sleep generally occurs for several days. Given time compression in dreams, you could dream a lifetime.”
Doog: “I am seriously second guessing myself right now. Slug dream juice might be an ok drug.”
Iggy: “It can be marvelous, but also addicting and dangerous. The depressive return to reality can be too much for some. Those wishing to dream too long often die from lack of water and food. This drug is best used in a professional, controlled setting. Like a dream den. Make a left into this building.”

Iggy: “It’s more than a financial cost. Most of these people will never be the same. Nothing in their actual life will compare to the dreams they once had. Z-Lucidity should be used sparingly and only in the direst situations – when happiness can be found no other way.”
Dream Dealer: “If you don’t like reality after dreaming, another wonderful life is but another hundred credits. You can dream for as long as your wallet is deep.”
Doog: “Sounds good, but I have like three credits to my name.”
Dream Dealer: “Well, dream your poor self out of my den, loiterer.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Belua. This planet is home to several mollusk-like creatures – the sentient Beluans and the giant slug beasts named after a sneeze. The latter lay eggs that have a chemical used to take lucid dreaming to the extreme. It seems like you can have a fully controllable dream for days and days, and, in the dreamworld, that might seem like forever. Unfortunately, you have to wake up sometime, and it costs more than I make a year. Otherwise, I’d be dreaming about sixty years of non-stop brothels. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: “Once, Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering about, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know that he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable. But he didn't know if he was Zhuang Zhou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that he was Zhuang Zhou.”
 
--Master Zhuang 

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Resurgo. Resurgo is mostly rocky wastelands. There is volcanic activity on the planet, but it manifests as hot springs and geysers, not lava. That’s all I really know about this hunk of rock. Let’s head down and find out some more.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on the surface of Resurgo. It’s a steamy nightmare down here. Seriously, I can barely breathe. Can you drown in steam? I hope not. At least my pores will look great after this.”

Doog: “Uh, hey, worker guy – I’m Doog.”
Greeve: “I’m Greeve. Nice to meet you.”
Doog: “Nice to meet you too. So, shall we begin?”
Greeve: “Begin what?”
Doog: “The show, duh?”
Greeve: “Look man, I’m not into the freaky stuff. I don’t want to see whatever show you have planned for me.”
Doog: “What! I’m not putting on a show! I’m a TV Host here to do a show about Resurgo.”
Greeve: “Oh! That makes more sense.”
Doog: “I’m guessing you’re not my guide.”
Greeve: “I am not. You’re probably looking for one of those academic, nerdy-types on the other side of the ridge. No worries though, you can follow me over there.”

Doog: “So, what are all these machines?”
Greeve: “Steam turbines. They convert the geysers into energy.”
Doog: “Got it. And, you’re some type of maintenance tech, I’m guessing?”
Greeve: “You know it.”

Greeve: “We’re almost there. We just need to pass through basecamp.”
Doog: “This is where you live?”
Greeve: “Yeah. Home sweet home – a trailer in the middle of geyser hell.”
Doog: “I hope you have AC.”
Greeve: “We don’t.”

Maro: “Has the steam finally cooked my brain or is there a human following you?”
Greeve: “He’s no hallucination, Maro. He’s just a TV reporter that got dropped off a few miles off target. I’ll be back in a few. I’m going to get him squared away.”

Doog: “Whoa, I didn’t expect to see this.”
Greeve: “Yeah, they’re some type of ancient ruins. They sort of freak me out.”
Doog: “Why?”
Greeve: “This microphone rig I carry around helps me hear when a geyser is about to erupt, but...when I point it at the ruins…all I hear is tormented screams.”
Doog: “Welp, I think I’m just going to turn around here and go back to your sauna lands.”

Ruth: “Hey Greeve!”
Greeve: “Hey, Ruth. I found someone that probably belongs to you.”
Doog: “Actually, I think this is the wrong place too. I’ll be going now.”
Ruth: “Greeve, did you fill his head with that ‘tormented screams’ nonsense?”
Greeve: “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You don’t see to many new people around here.”
Ruth: “Hehe.”
Doog: “Wait, you made that up?”
Greeve: “I might have exaggerated a bit. I have heard some weird stuff in there, but Ruth says its nothing to worry about.”
Ruth: “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Doog. Follow the ridge and meet me up here. I’ll show you.”
Doog: “Well, thanks for escort, Greeve.”
Greeve: “No problem. Sorry about the prank.”

Ruth: “Doog, welcome to Comm Station Alpha. I’m Ruth, an archeologist with the Meditor Institute.”
Doog: “I’ve met with a few of your fellow nerds…uh, I mean, colleagues. You study extinct cultures.”
Ruth: “More or less.”
Doog: “That temple below, is that from an extinct culture?”
Ruth: “An ancient culture. We can’t confirm that it is extinct. Not yet, anyway.”

Doog: “So, what can you tell me about this ancient culture?”
Ruth: “They called themselves the Kuzviuraya. We call them the Kuz for short.”
Doog: “That other name is a bit of a mouthful.”
Ruth: “The Kuz lived on Resurgo tens of thousands of years ago. We believe the planet was much different back then.”
Doog: “It wasn’t a muggy hellhole with burning hot geysers erupting?”
Ruth: “We don’t think so.”
Doog: “How do you know this stuff?”
Ruth: “We found a treasure trove of information within this ruin. In fact, why are we discussing this out here! Let’s go down and check it out.”

Doog: “Wait, I thought we were going into the ruins. Don’t we need to go through those big doors?”
Ruth: “Those old things don’t open anymore, and even if they did, we wouldn’t want to damage them. We drilled a shaft up here. We can enter the ruins from this elevator.”
Doog: “Fair enough.”

Doog: “This doesn’t look like ruins to me. This is just a sweltering steam cave.”
Ruth: “They’re just a little farther. We couldn’t drill directly into the structure – we couldn’t risk damaging it.”
Doog: “Ok. I guess that makes sense.”
Ruth: “Besides, there are discoveries out here as well.”
Doog: “Where? I don’t see anything other than this boiling creek.”
Ruth: “The fact that you can see anything down here is a huge discovery.”
Doog: “I don’t get it. I can see because of your flashlight robots.”
Ruth: “They’re not ours.”

Doog: “The Kuz had technology?”
Ruth: “Yes. Rather advanced technology too. Although, the only direct evidence we have are these automated lighting machines.”
Doog: “Are they intelligent? The robots?”
Ruth: “Nothing too advanced. They turn on automatically when you get close. They either have proximity sensors or they recognize sentient life.”
Doog: “Can’t you take them apart and find out?”
Ruth: “We’ve tried. We can’t quite figure out their technology yet. We’re hoping to one day, though.”

Doog: “They’re everywhere.”
Ruth: “There are a few dozen. They seemed to be positioned throughout the Kuz structure. I think they are sort of like beacons. They guide visitors towards the archive.”
Doog: “The archive?”
Ruth: “The room ahead. It’s where the knowledge of the Kuz race is stored.”

Doog: “It looks like a post office or mailroom.”
Ruth: “Ha, I guess, but trust me, it’s not. Each slot contains a scroll. Each scroll contains all the Kuz’s information on a subject.”
Doog: “Scrolls? I thought they had technology. Shouldn’t there be servers or hard drives or something.”
Ruth: “Technology tends to fail over time. Maybe the Kuz thought paper scrolls would last longer. Maybe the individual that built this archive didn’t have access to technology.”
Doog: “Wait, what do you mean? One person built this?”

Ruth: “We’ve deciphered dozens of scrolls and learned a lot about the Kuz. The most alarming bit we discovered was that the Kuz purposely ended their existence.”
Doog: “Wait, what?”
Ruth: “They purposely destroyed themselves and all other living things on this planet.”
Doog: “They killed themselves?”
Ruth: “Yes. Some of this archive is devoted to religious studies. At that end of their civilization, the primary religion was something that resembled existential nihilism.”
Doog: “What?”
Ruth: “Nihilism. A belief that life is without value or purpose. Some quotes from the scroll read something like, ‘death is the inevitable return to the status quo of the universe – all the pain and suffering of existence is made immediately meaningless.’ And ‘existence – or understanding the universe – is without merit; the universe forgets everything in the end.’”
Doog: “That’s dark.”
Ruth: “Yes. It seems they convinced themselves to end their civilization and all the other life on the planet. However, the presence of this archive indicates that at least one individual disagreed.”

Doog: “How do you know that?”
Ruth: “Among the many scrolls here, there is a history one. The events I described to you are from that scroll. The author of said scroll indicated that they stored the information here to preserve their races’ existence. To this individual, existence was not purposeless.”

Ruth: “Because of this individual’s work, we know a lot about the Kuz, but we don’t know everything. We’ve scanned hundreds of scrolls and translated many of them, but there are some things that we haven’t been able to translate.”
Doog: “Like what?”
Ruth: “The portions of the scroll that deals with math.”
Doog: “Math? Who cares about that!?”
Ruth: “Math is the key to many things. Without it, we can’t figure out the Kuz’s understanding of physics, chemistry, and biology. Without the understanding of those subjects, we can’t understand their technology.”
Doog: “I see.”
Ruth: “The LIU is adamant that we recover all Kuz technology, especially one bit of it.”
Doog: “The weapon they used to end their civilization…”
Ruth: “Unfortunately, yes.”

Doog: “What makes the math so difficult?”
Ruth: “There’s too many unknowns. Until recently, we struggled to figure out their numbering system. Things are improving slowly, though.”
Doog: “How?”

Ruth: “We resurrected the author.”
Doog: “What!?”
Ruth: “The author’s DNA is all over the archive.”
Doog: “You cloned it?”
Ruth: “We did.”

Ruth: “Each clone brings us new understanding of the Kuz. Knowing what they looked like helped with the numbering system. Based on their appendages, they used a Base-16 system. That helped a lot. Seeing and experimenting on their biology has helped back-translate the biology scrolls, leading to further advancements in their math.”
Doog: “How many have you made?”
Ruth: “I’ve lost track. Thirty maybe? They don’t last long.”
Doog: “What do you mean?”
Ruth: “The clones generally expire soon after we experiment on them. Sometimes due to shock, sometimes fear, sometimes because we cut them up into pieces.”
Doog: “Maybe the author’s buddies were right. Existence is pain.”
Ruth: “A little pain and suffering can be endured for the greater good. Besides, once we figure enough out, we can rebuild the Kuz race from scratch. The author suffers so his people can live again.”
Doog: “I guess. Well, good luck with all of that.”

​Doog: “Well folks, that’s not how I saw this ending. Resurgo might be a rocky, volcanic wasteland now, but it was once the habitable home of the Kuzviuraya race. This advanced species went through some dark emo stage and ended their existence. Scientists here are attempting to resurrect their species – mostly so the LIU can steal their world-ending technology. Makes sense, right? Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: The Meditor Institute in largely underfunded, but that is not the case on Resurgo. LIU executives have invested large amounts of cash into this archeological research. This funding was used to build cloning facilities, communication towers, sixty steam turbines, and a small maintenance staff.