Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the gas giant, Frendo. Frendo is a bit of an oddity, as it has more helium than it does hydrogen. This was probably caused by hydrogen evaporation, which is a byproduct of orbiting close to its star. Whatever the cause, this makes Frendo a great source of helium. Let’s head down and find out more.”

Doog: “Frendo doesn’t have any oxygen-rich, habitable layers. So, you won’t find people driving hover-boats, nor will there be open-air floating cities. The only survivable area within Frendo is Station N-A-2-H-E. I’m not sure if that spells something or if you are supposed to say every letter. From this point forward, I’m just going to call it, ‘the snowflake’, because it sort of looks like one.”

Doog: “The station’s new name immediately loses all validation as the Magellan approaches and the station’s profile changes. I can’t see a snowflake anymore. Screw it. N-A-2-H-E, it is.”

Barthold: “Welcome, Doog. I am Barthold Wehner, Chief Industrial Officer on Station N-A-2-H-E.”
Doog: “Well, that answers one thing, you do say the letters. Got it. One more thing, did you just say your name was butt-hole-wiener?  How much did your parents hate you?”
Barthold: “NO! Barthold Wehner! Barthold is my first name. Wehner, not wiener.”
Doog: “Maybe it’s your accent, but all I hear is…”
Barthold: “Just call me, Bart!”
Doog: “Will do. Well, we fixed your naming issue, now let’s move onto the station’s name. Why is it called N-A-2-H-E.”
Barthold: “It’s the chemical formula of Disodium Helide, our chief export.”
Doog: “That makes some sense. N-A-2-H-E is a mouthful, but it’s better than that other thing you said. What was that again?”
Barthold: “Disodium Helide.”
Doog: “Tell me more about that.”

Barthold: “Disodium Helide consists of the elements Sodium and Helium. So, to manufacture it, we need these elements.”
Doog: “The helium part should be easy.”
Barthold: “More or less. Frendo is obviously abundant in Helium, but it’s nearly impossible to pull only helium from the atmosphere. Any helium we grab from the atmosphere is tainted with the other elements present in the atmosphere, like hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, and methane.”

Barthold: “In labs, like this, we remove all contaminants.”
Doog: “How?”
Barthold: “Helium has an extremely low boiling point. We drop the temperature low enough that all remaining gases precipitate out.”
Doog: “Precipitate? You mean, like, rain?”
Barthold: “Yes. It gets so cold that all the other gases turn to liquid and drain away.”
Doog: “Seems simple enough.”
Barthold: “If achieving -255° Celsius is seen as easy.”

Barthold: “The sodium portion of production is a bit more difficult.”
Doog: “How? Isn’t sodium just salt?”
Barthold: “Salt is sodium and chlorine. Importing table salt would create even more work. We prefer to import sodium itself.”
Doog: “Import?”
Barthold: “There’s no accessible sodium on Frendo. We have to import it.”
Doog: “What’s all this then? And, why is it more difficult?”
Barthold: “Pure sodium is pretty reactive. It’s shipped in oxygen-free, anhydrous mineral oil to avoid reactions. These machines remove the oil and restore the pure sodium.”
Doog: “Once everything’s pure – sodium and helium – what happens?”
Barthold: “The pure helium and sodium are precisely combined. Two sodium atoms for every helium atom.”

Doog: “And that makes Disodium Helide?”
Barthold: “No. N-A-2-H-E can only be formed under extreme pressures. Helium is very inert. It doesn’t form compounds under normal conditions.”
Doog: “Helium doesn’t work well with others. Sounds like me. I finally have a tattoo idea.”
Barthold: “A helium atom?”
Doog: “No, a tattoo that says, ‘doesn’t work well with others.’”
Barthold: “Oh.”
Doog: “So, how is it made then?”
Barthold: “The containers of ratioed helium and sodium are loaded onto a Bobber.”
Doog: “Bobber?”
Barthold: “Yeah, that’s what we call them.”

Barthold: “The Bobber is then fired deep into Frendo. The extreme pressures, deep in the gas giant, force the elements to combine into Disodium Helide.”

Barthold: “Repulsion cranes pull the Bobber back into the facility. Workers then quickly collect the cannisters. Disodium Helide is not stable for long after it’s removed from pressure.”
Doog: “All I can think about right now is the giant hole in the floor that I’m standing way too close to.”
Barthold: “That’s the least of your worries. If the containers fall below 100 gigapascals, the Disodium Helide violently decompresses back into sodium and helium.”
Doog: “That’s…bad?”
Barthold: “Violently decompresses…yes, bad.”

Barthold: “The containers are built to stay pressurized for about twenty minutes. They must be moved to more secure containers quickly. We have a large crew of workers that unload the dangerous compound with EM Shield Handlers.”
Doog: “What if something happens and they can’t unload and secure the N-A-2-H-E?”
Barthold: “The Bobber can be relaunched and the timer restarts.”
Doog: “What about the removed containers?”
Barthold: “Once removed, the workers must deliver the compound. It should not be difficult with the Handlers. It’s less than a minute from the Bobber to the armory.”
Doog: “Armory?”
Barthold: “We won’t be touring there. We can’t get in the way of the time-sensitive workers and the storage is confidential.”

Doog: “So, these are the more permanent containers for the Disodium Helide?”
Barthold: “Yes. The casing’s machinery can keep the compound stable indefinitely…well, as long as there is a power source.”
Doog: “Judging by the armory comment earlier, are these bombs?”
Barthold: “Yes…very destructive ones at that. N-A-2-H-E, as I previously mentioned, violently decompresses. There’s no chemical reaction required; only depressurization.”
Doog: “Huh?”
Barthold: “When the weapon is dropped, the pressure stabilization can be turned off whenever you choose. The Disodium Helide decompresses about .0005 seconds after.”
Doog: “Essentially, you can control when these bombs explode.”
Barthold: “Yes, it will explode at whatever height, depth, or time you choose. It’s a very customizable munition.”
Doog: “I…think that’s all I need. Thanks for everything.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Frendo. This place makes bombs from the exotic material, Disodium Helide. This chemically volatile substance is made by launching pure sodium and helium into the extreme crushing depths of the gas giant. I wish I knew what was happening on this planet before I called my guide a butt-hole-wiener. I’m a little scared now. He’s probably not my ‘Frendo’. See what I did there? Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Disodium Helide bombs explode at roughly the same pressure they are created, 113 gigapascals. This is enough to level several city blocks, especially if depressurized as an air burst. Unlike similar munitions of its power, Disodium Helide bombs leave no radiation; only sodium and helium. 

Doog: “Welcome to another special edition episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Lavit. Like with most special edition episodes, we’ll be focusing on Lavit’s unique culture instead of its economy.”

Doog: “First things first, let’s quickly summarize Lavit’s industry. It mostly involves industrial husbandry. Apparently, that means farming animals for industrial purposes, and not making robotic spouses. You learn something new every day. Lavit has immense grasslands where creatures called Rhiess are grown and raised. Why are they raised? You’ll never guess, so let me tell you – because they have a lot of fat. Yes, fat.”

Doog: “Fats from the Rhiess are mixed with locally-produced sodium hydroxide to make Lavit’s biggest export…soap. Yeah, Lavit is a boring soap world. I hope their culture is cooler than their economy.”

Doog: “Alright folks, the crew and I have been dropped off in the city of Nabulsi. Nabulsi is the ‘soap hub’ of Lavit. It’s where the Rhiess are processed and the soap is manufactured. It’s also where the planet’s culture is located. So, what is this soap culture?”

Mike: “I’m guessing it’s something pun-related, like Lavit is home to the galaxy’s best soap opera.”
Amaya: “Not even close.”
Oldie: “I’m thinking soap stuff too, but I’m hoping Lavit is the home of Maddie and the Soap Buckets!”
Amaya: “Keep dreaming.”
Seitse: “I’m hoping it’s a soap fight, and all these stinky guys get clean for once.”
Amaya: “That’s more realistic – and favorable, but no.”

Doog: “What is it then?”
Amaya: “Soap is insanely cheap on Lavit, and we need it badly. I’m talking laundry detergent, dish soap, body wash, etc.”
Doog: “What does that have to do with culture?”
Amaya: “Nothing. That’s where you guys come in. Some of us will be shopping, and some of us will be looking for cultural stuff to film.”
Doog: “We stopped here for soap deals?!”
Amaya: “Maybe. Kinda. Mostly. But, I’m sure we’ll find something here. There could be brothels.”
Doog: “I call culture team!”

Doog: “Where does one find the ladies of the night…during the day? I might have to split off down an alley.”
Mike: “I want the culture team too!”
Amaya: “Actually, I have another plan for the rest of us. Remember that drill we discussed a few months back?”
Cam: “Operation Wardrobe Drop?”
Amaya: “No, Operation Toothskin.”
Oldie: “Toothskin? Is it finally happening?”
Amaya: “It is. ASSUME THE FORMATION!”

Doog: “Whoa! What’s happening?!”
Mike: “Don’t fight it, Doog!”
Doog: “Fight what?! Why is everyone grabbing me?!”
Cam: “Sorry bud, but we couldn’t take it anymore!”
Amaya: “You are going to the DENTIST!”
Doog: “HEY! That’s not culture!”
 
​
 
Dentist:

Doog: “The only reason I’m not fighting this is the drugs! Inject me with all the painkillers!”
Pulp: “Let’s not rush into anything, I’m Dr. Pulp. Let’s take a look in your mouth. Open wide.”

Pulp: “GAG! GAG! Holy Emperor! What is that smell?! I might need some drugs too!”

Pulp: “Let’s, um, start with some long-distance therapy where the air is purer…I mean, uh, safer. Yeah, safer. We can, um, gag, start with some x-rays. Computer, set x-ray to maximum.”
Computer: “That may cause injury to the patient.”
Pulp: “Yes, but it might injure the bacteria too!”
 
​
Shopping Crew:

Seitse: “Doog lucked out.”
Oldie: “How does a forced visit to the dentist equal luck?”
Seitse: “Operation Toothskin took effect at the first dentist we found. It could have been on a much more primitive world.”
Oldie: “True.”
Amaya: “Enough about Doog. Keep a look out for the cleaning supplies.”

Oldie: “Does it have to be cleaning supplies? They have pony soup!”
Amaya: “For the last time, we’re not getting food. We’re trying to save money by shopping near the source. When we’re near Horreum, we’ll restock on your soups.”
Oldie: “Buzzkill!”

Amaya: “I’m not a buzzkill. Lavit is a little off the beaten-path. Everything but the soap stuff is marked up. Heck, even water is three credits a bottle.”
Oldie: “Pony soup is only two credits more.”
Amaya: “That’s four more than anyone with tastebuds would pay.”
Oldie: “That cuts deep.”
 

Culture Crew:

Mike: “Doog was wrong about the alleys.”
Cam: “I figured. He’s almost never right. Besides, we don’t even know if there are brothels on Lavit.”
Mike: “I guess.”
Cam: “There’s more to culture than brothels.”
Mike: “There is?”
Cam: “Yeah, like food. Do you smell that?”
Mike: “I do.”

Mike: “Ovi’s serves Rhiess. I thought they were only good for soap.”
Cam: “Apparently, their extra-fatty bodies are good for something else. Best sausages I’ve had in a while.”
Mike: “They’re pretty greasy.”
Cam: “That’s the liquidated fat seeping out.”

Cam: “Delectable morsels of fat drippings are filling my soul.”
Mike: “And our arteries.”
 

​
Dentist:

Pulp: “Dang it! We need more power! Convert all available energy to the dental scaler!
Doog: “Convert more painkillers to my mouth while you’re at it! I feel everything!”
 


Shopping Crew:

Amaya: “We finally found it.”
Oldie: “We did! They have Hamster Puffs! How many should I get?”
Seitse: “I don’t think that’s what Amaya meant.”
Amaya: “It’s not. I’m not telling you again, Oldie, we’re not here for food.”

Seitse: “Is he having a tantrum or do we need a hospital?”
Oldie: “It’s made with real hamster lard! I want some! Give me some!”
Amaya: “A tantrum, but he’s going to need a hospital if he keeps embarrassing us.”
Oldie: “Please! Please! I’ll do anything for Hamster Puffs! I’ll be good!”
Seitse: “Just ignore him. Grab the powder.”

Oldie: “You can walk away, but I’m not leaving unless we get some Puffs or Pony Soup!”
Amaya: “See you on the ship, Bernard.”
 


Culture Crew:

Mike: “We’ve walked blocks and blocks, but there’s no sign of any culture other than food. There are no museums, art shows, sports, or concerts. It’s like this culture is only obsessed with food. If only we could figure out why?”
Cam: “Who knows, but I’m not complaining. Bring on the Rhiess sandwiches!”

Cam: “This sandwich is essentially solidified blubber.”
Mike: “I know. It’s making me a little queasy.”
Cam: “Really? I’m loving it. It melts into grease after a few chews.”
Mike: “Stop describing it to me. You’re going to make me sick. I can’t handle five Rhiess restaurants in one day.”
Cam: “Amateur.”
 


Dentist:

Pulp: “It’s ok, nurse. It’s over.”
Nurse: “Never…again…”
Doog: “You thwink it was bad for youf?! My mouf is on fire and numb at the same twime.”
Pulp: “It will get worse when the local anesthetics wear off. Sorry, we had to split the ‘actual’ pain meds 50-50.”
Doog: “Whatf?!”
Pulp: “I’ll try to prescribe something, but I think you ate through your crews whole dental plan these last few hours.”
Nurse: “Will I ever smell again, Dr. Pulp?”
Pulp: “We can hope, nurse. We can hope.”  
 


Back on the Magellan:

​Amaya: “That worked marvelously. We have washing powder for laundry, cleaning supplies, liquid dish soap, and body wash for only a tenth of this episode’s cost. If things worked out on your end, Cam, we are golden.”
Cam: “Oh, it worked out for me just fine. Lavit has some of the fattiest foods in this galaxy.”
Amaya: “Fatty foods is a culture, I guess. By the way, where’s Mike?”

Mike: “Do not go in there! Phew! Solid-fat sliders, lard tacos, and grease sausages does not pair well with my stomach. How about you, Cam?”
Cam: “I’m experiencing pure bliss, thank you.”

Doog: “I can’f believe you guys did that to meef!”
Oldie: “I can’t believe I didn’t smell you say that!”
Mike: “Hallelujah, it worked!”
Amaya: “Sorry, but it was a necessary evil. Also, we achieved it while fulfilling our contractual special-edition-episode.”
Doog: “Did youf find the broffels?”
Mike: “All we found were greasy sausages and lard tacos.”
Doog: “Is that a yes, or no? I neef to knowf.”
Amaya: “Sigh.”
 

 
Note: Lavit is the galaxy’s second largest producer of industrial tetrahydrocannabinol behind Obex.

​CLICK HERE FOR NEXT EPISODE - Season 15 - Episode 8 - Frendo

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, were visiting Squilla, a temperate planet in the Mid-Rim. From orbit, Squilla’s most notable feature is its sandy, reddish landmasses. Apparently, these red dunes are made up of the discarded exoskeletons of Squilla’s crustaceans. There must be a lot of them down there to turn the whole planet red. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’m on the surface of Squilla. It is, in fact, red and sandy. However, I see no signs of crustaceans or their exoskeletons. I thought this place was going to be littered with lobster claws and crab shells. It’s a bit disappointing.”

Benny: “Chitin is subject to erosion, same as rocks. It doesn’t stay in its original state too long out here.”
Doog: “Huh?”
Benny: “That’s why you don’t see claws, legs, or shells. All the chitin is smashed up into little sand-like particles.”
Doog: “Who’s Chitin?”
Benny: “It isn’t a person. It’s the main building material of crustacean exoskeletons.”
Doog: “Oh.”
Benny: “Yeah, chitin is one of the most abundant polysaccharides in the galaxy. A lot of lifeforms are made of this stuff - crustaceans, insects, fungi, et cetera. I bet you’re asking yourself, why is it red? Well, in this case, it’s because of the carotenoids.”
Doog: “Actually…I’m asking myself, who is this guy and why is he telling me all these science facts?”
Benny: “Ha, I guess I did just jump in. I’m Benjamin Hessel, but everyone calls me Benny. I’m your guide.”
Doog: “Ah, that makes sense. I’m Doog.”

Doog: “Before we jump into more crustacean facts, how about you tell me about this place?”
Benny: “Surely there are better things to discuss than the maintenance port.”
Doog: “Maintenance port?”
Benny: “Yeah, we use a lot of vehicles and mechs on Squilla. This is where they are stored, repaired, and maintained. It’s where we keep the fuel too.”
Doog: “Why do you need all these vehicles?”
Benny: “We cover lots of ground hunting and transporting Squill.”
Doog: “What’s a Squill?”
Benny: “It’s the huge – and delicious – crustacean we cultivate here on Squilla.”
Doog: “You had me at ‘delicious’. Proceed with the crustacean facts.”
Benny: “Yes! Finally! But – we better keep moving while I talk.”

Benny: “All lifeforms on Squilla are crustaceans – from the miniscule Squi to the massive Squill. Some, like the Squi, live in the planet’s shallow oceans, while others, like the Squill, live on land. The crustacean body plan and all their little legs just works well here. I’m not sure if you know about carcinization, but Squilla is a prime example.”
Doog: “I’ve been incarcerated a few times, so I know a bit.”
Benny: “Carcinization, not incarceration. Carcinization is the theory that everything eventually evolves into a crab.”
Doog: “I’ve never evolved into a crab, but I’ve had a few inhabiting my nether regions, if that counts.”
Benny: “I don’t think it does.”
Doog: “So, these giant crab-like things wandering around us are Squill?”
Benny: “These little guys? No.”

Benny: “These are Squib. They eat smaller terrestrial crustaceans, like Squik and Squim. Fun fact, Squik and Squim eat the protein in the chitin sand. They’re easy to find because they leave behind these red crystals of calcified carbons after they eat. Before you ask, the crystals are super abundant and worthless.”
Doog: “That really wasn’t going to be my question, but ok. I really want to know – what’s with the names on this planet? Squick, squack, squeeze, squip, what’s happening here?”
Benny: “Honestly, I’m not sure. I guess they are all variations of the planet’s name.”
Doog: “Obviously. So, why aren’t these ‘squibs or squabs’ valuable? They’re bigger than any crab I’ve seen.”
Benny: “I wouldn’t say Squibs are without value; it’s just that there are even bigger and more valuable crustaceans here…and, they eat Squib. If we harvested these guys, we’d starve the bigger catch.”
Doog: “Geez, how big are these Squill?”

Benny: “They’re big enough to be detected with Roaming Seismic Bots, or RSB’s.”
Doog: “They shake the ground when they move?!”
Benny: “Nothing detectable to you or I. Squill are not the size of skyscrapers or anything like that. The RSB’s are just ultra-sensitive.”
Doog: “Do you sense anything little robot?”
Benny: “There’s more AI in my microwave than there is in an RSB. It can’t answer.”
Doog: “Oh.”
Benny: “These bots meander around the dunes searching for minor seismic variations. When they find something of interest, they signal a team.”
Doog: “I’m guessing the Squill aren’t all that abundant, if you have to use machines like this to find them.”
Benny: “There’s quite a few, but they’re spread over dozens of miles. It’s easier to find them this way. Whoa! Looks like one is close. Let’s go!”

Doog: “Holy smokes. I wasn’t expecting to see a shrimp twice the size of a cow. Squill are pretty big.”
Benny: “They are. On average, they weigh about 2 tons.”
Doog: “Tons?!”
Benny: “Yeah. Their chitin armor is thick and heavy.” 

Benny: “Squill still need water to reproduce. They dig deep holes past the water line, allowing their burrows to fill up with water. Their size and the movements within the burrow trigger the seismic alarms.”
Doog: “Do you let them breed before harvesting them? You know, so there’s another generation to harvest later?”
Benny: “Actually, yes. Nice observation.”
Doog: “Sweet. I want to see four-thousand pounds of mating. It will remind me of my ex.”
Benny: “You’ll be waiting a while, then. This is a male. He’s already mated. I can see the clouds of semen in the pool.”
Doog: “Ew, gross. That’s not what I wanted to see.”
Benny: “Gross, but good. That means we can take this male now, and come back for the female in a few weeks.”

Benny: “Harvesting Squill is dangerous. Obviously, they weigh a lot. You can easily be crushed if you’re not careful. There are hidden dangers too. Squill can make very quick movements and they have very sharp mouth barbs.”
Doog: “The collector guys look like they have military-grade armor.”
Benny: “They do.”
Doog: “What are they attacking it with?”
Benny: “Pulse weapons. They’re firing electromagnetic rays into sensitive areas, like the brain and nerve clusters.”
Doog: “Wouldn’t a shotgun or laser rifle be easier?”
Benny: “In order to keep the meat pristine, the exoskeleton needs to stay intact. The meat can’t be exposed to oxygen. We are forced to use non-projectile weapons.”
Doog: “I see.”
Benny: “Their little brains fry pretty quick. As long as the hunters aim correctly, the hunt doesn’t last long.”
Doog: “I hope they aimed well – I don’t want my brain fried. I don’t have a lot to spare.”
Benny: “Ha, me too. No worries, though. The pulse waves are too far apart by the time they reach us.”

Benny: “When a Squill falls, a race begins. Even with pulse weapons and intact exoskeletons, the corpse begins to deteriorate. Squill are pulled into airlock containers with cables. They are then loaded onto Hover-Transports.”

Benny: “These speedy transports take the Squill to the nearest processing plant as soon as possible. Time is of the essence – Squill meat spoils fast, especially in oxygenated environments.”
Doog: “Does it have an armed escort?”
Benny: “It does. A Squill, minus its exoskeleton, has about eight-hundred pounds of meat. Squill meat typically goes for five-hundred credits per pound. So, this haul is worth about half-a-million credits.”
Doog: “Yikes. That’s some expensive meat.”
Benny: “It is. Because of this, we’ve had trouble with pirates and bandits in the past. While the LIU has eliminated a lot of these threats, we’re still pretty careful.”

Benny: “This shipment, like the thousands before it, made it safely. All that’s left is to lower the carcass into the processing center.”
Doog: “Lower?”
Benny: “Squill is processed in airtight underground facilities.”

Benny: “You’re going to have to borrow some gear, if you want to continue.”
Doog: “Because of my groin rashes?”
Benny: “Ew, no! Because there’s no oxygen in the processing center.”
Doog: “Oh.”

Benny: “Your…um…rashes aren’t contagious, are they?”
Doog: “Not unless you’re planning on raping me.”
Benny: “I most certainly am not. I wasn’t even worried about me. I’m worried about the Squill meat.”
Doog: “Oh, I don’t plan on engaging in necrophilia with the giant shrimp-thingies. They’re safe.”
Benny: “I’m not sure that makes me any less worried.”

Doog: “Why is oxygen bad for processing?”
Benny: “There are a few pathogens on Squilla that can make consumers sick if they are ingested. However, they can’t survive without oxygen. The only chance of contamination occurs during shipment. This is a minor problem, though. Our methods of non-ballistic hunting and prompt delivery has mostly eliminated this threat.”
Doog: “Why the trouble, then?”
Benny: “Oxygen browns the Squill meat. It sells for a lot more if it’s pristine.”
Doog: “Pink is more expensive than brown? That’s the opposite of Camana IV.”
Benny: “I don’t know what that means.”
Doog: “Pink being the…”
Benny: “Uh…let’s move on.”

Benny: “Mechs pull the heavy corpses from their containers. They are then sawed into smaller chunks. Workers then use a variety of tools to remove the attached exoskeleton. The meat is sent one direction, but the excess chitin is sent another.”

Benny: “The chitin, or shell, is grinded up and redistributed amongst the dunes. Squik and Squim feed off the chitin, Squib feed off them, and – eventually – Squill feed off the Squib.”
Doog: “Squid, squix, squiz, squinzy. Got it.”

Benny: “Any portion of Squill meat is great, but some parts are better than others. To keep the meat flavor more homogeneous and consistent, the blocks of Squill meat are processed. The meat blocks are sliced and then mixed in a blender. There’s the best bit of meat in every bite.”
Doog: “That would make a good tagline.”
Benny: “Maybe, but our advert guys already went with something else – ‘It’s not C-Food…It’s A-Food.’”
Doog: “I don’t get it.”
Benny: “It works better in print. Seafood versus ‘C’-Food. Like, it’s a grade of meat. Ours isn’t average…it’s the best.”
Doog: “Ah, I get it. Anything else to add?”
Benny: “No, we covered everything.”

Doog: “Well folks, that Squilla. There are identically named creatures here, like Squib, Squik, Squim, Squi, Squip, and so on. The most important creature here, though, is the giant shrimp-like Squill. They have lots of valuable meat. Every catch is worth, like, four-hundred thousand credits. I would give up my job and become a Squill hunter if it wasn’t so dangerous. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Squill meat is graded on its pinkness and sold accordingly. Squill may cause allergic reactions in consumers with shellfish allergies. Take proper precautions.  

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting a rocky, jungle planet called Rima. It’s easy to see what type of economy Rima supports, even from orbit. Massive mounds of tailings cover much of the planet, and pit mines the size of cities pockmark the surface. In case you skipped third grade, this is a mining planet. Don’t worry, they had to tell me too. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Most of the surface ore has been extracted from Rima. The last remaining bits sit under Rima’s few remaining jungles. In order to avoid environmental disaster – mostly through oxygen depletion – the native Rimans have stopped surface mining these regions. They’ve refined their mining methods, and now, they only dig down into huge, city-sized pits. The jungles must stay intact. It also means the Magellan must descend.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on a platform thousands of feet below the surface. I can just make out the circular opening above me, which means we’re pretty deep already. I’m too scared to go to the edge and see how much deeper it goes, so that’s going to remain a mystery. Viewers like mysteries, right? I don’t see any mining activity right now, but I can definitely hear something down below.”

Jihoo: “Ah, you must be the reporter. Welcome to Rima. I am Jihoo, supervisor of this pit mine.”
Doog: “Pleasure to meet you. So, what exactly are you mining?”
Jihoo: “Many things. Our largest exports are sodium, magnesium, and bromide, but our most profitable export is Rimanium.”
Doog: “Ree-what?”
Jihoo: “Rimanium, a mineral formed from condensed brine. It’s the remnants of ancient oceans on Rima.”
Doog: “I don’t remember seeing oceans on Rima.”
Jihoo: “They evaporated from the surface eons ago, but their minerals persist. Most were concentrated near the surface – which we exhausted – but we’ve since located huge deposits in the deep pits where the last fragments of ocean were concentrated.”
Doog: “How do jungles survive on an ocean-less planet?”
Jihoo: “Deep roots and pockets of ground water. We must be cautious not to disturb either.”
Doog: “I see.”
Jihoo: “There’s not much more I can explain from this maintenance hatch. I offer you my underling, Luu. She will take you deeper into the mines.”
Doog: “Sounds good, Luu. You jump first.”
Luu: “Jump? No thanks. Let’s wait for the elevators.”

Doog: “When you said we were taking an elevator down…I…uh…envisioned something with more walls. Four to be precise.”
Luu: “These hover-elevators are safer than traditional cable driven elevators. They can adjust to avoid falling debris and stabilize if accidentally struck. The cage above keeps he big stuff out.”
Doog: “I was more worried about falling out. I didn’t even think about falling debris.”
Luu: “Yes. It happens rarely, but with my species lack of a skull and boneless bodies, we take safety seriously. That’s why we wear these biomechanical suits.”
Doog: “I see, but I don’t have a suit, and my bones or skull can’t stop a boulder falling thousands of feet down.”
Luu: “It can’t? Why have them then?”
Doog: “Honestly…I don’t know.”
Luu: “Don’t worry, man-with-useless-bones. The hover-elevators will protect us both.”
Doog: “Good. By the way…my name is Doog.”

​Doog: “So, you said you’re boneless, right?”
Luu: “Yes.”
Doog: “So, are you, like, an insect or an arachnid?”
Luu: “No.”
Doog: “Phew. An octopus?”
Luu: “No.”
Doog: “Do I need to list all the invertebrate species, or are you going to tell us?”
Luu: “If one was going to group my fully sentient and advanced race into a broad clade, I’d say we were closer to the worm family.”
Doog: “You’re a worm?”
Luu: “We’re a distant cousin in the worm family – not worms. It is derogatory to refer to my species as such. Worms are considered lesser species throughout the galaxy. We prefer to be classified as Riman, nothing more.”
Doog: “Hey, no offense intended. I’ve had worms several times. I mean…nothing as advanced as you guys – imagine the pain – but, seriously, worms are cool. I lost fifteen pounds.”
Luu: “We’re Riman, not worms!”
Doog: “Uh, yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Luu: “This pit mine bottoms out at three miles deep.”
Doog: “I feel it in my ears. Yikes!”
Luu: “Air pressure at these depths is 1.74 atmospheres, nearly double galactic standard.”
Doog: “Breathing is a little more difficult too.”
Luu: “Your vulnerable vertebrate body isn’t so special here, but mine is. Oxygen diffuses into my skin just fine at these depths. My vacuum-free hearing sensors feel nothing.”
Doog: “It’s a good to be a worm, at least, down here.”
Luu: “AGAIN, we’re not worms!”
Doog: “Oh, right. 

Luu: “Do the worms in your body build machines like this?!”
Doog: “I hope not.”
Luu: “Riman mining machines are the envy of many mining worlds. Our slim frames prohibit other species from using our advanced machinery, but they wish they could. Nothing beats our Rima Wall Walker. It has the power to claw through osmium, but the precisive control to avoid water pockets. It can climb walls and maneuver around hollows.”
Doog: “My worms definitely can’t do that…thank the Emperor! I want nothing to maneuver MY hollows.”

Luu: “You jest at our appearance and compare us to the brainless parasites that infest your body, but we are much more. Our tech is the envy of the galaxy’s miners. Take our hardsuits, for example. They’re extremely durable and crush-proof, all while maintaining the dexterity to gently remove impurities from Rimanium.”
Doog: “I get it. You guys aren’t stupid worms or parasites. I was only joking around earlier.
You’re clearly smarter than me and have great mechs. You can stop with all the angry bragging.”
Luu: “I…uh…lost my temper. Sorry. You were joking, of course. I should have recognized that.”
Doog: “No need to be sorry. I get on everyone’s nerves…wait…do worms have nerves?”
Luu: “We’re NOT wor…”
Doog: “Ha, got you again.”
Luu: “Um, yes. Ha. Very funny.”

Luu: “Perhaps we should cease the jokes for a bit.”
Doog: “I’m exhausting you, aren’t I. That old worm metabolism can’t keep up.”
Luu: “…”
Doog: “Yeah, I’ll stop. So, what is this Rimanium stuff?”
Luu: “It’s a compound containing lithium, chlorine, and other trace elements. The most important parts being the lithium and chlorine.”
Doog: “That probably means something to people smarter than me.”
Luu: “Basically, after processing, Rimanium becomes Trilithium Dichloride, or Li3Cl2.”
Doog: “That’s even worse. Talk to me like I’m the worm.”
Luu: “Rimanium is a mineral formed from brine evaporation. Seawater goes bye-bye, Rimanium stays behind. You can take good elements from the Rimanium to make special chemical called Trilthium Dichloride – three lithium atoms and two chlorine atoms.”
Doog: “That might work…for now. What’s this stuff used for?”
Luu: “We used it as a source of Lithium, but it has more profitable galactic uses. Trilithium dichloride is an RNA precipitator.”
Doog: “I’m a worm.”
Luu: “Sigh. It purifies or cleans RNA. RNA is essentially how our DNA communicates.”
Doog: “Worm Doog no understand.”
Luu: “You’re not a WORM!”
Doog: “Ok, ok.”
Luu: “Sorry, I don’t know how to explain it better than that. In the trilithium dichloride form, it’s useless to my people. We only used the lithium. Races with more advanced biochemical technology crave the trilithium dichloride stuff, though. It’s valuable galactically.”

Doog: “Is that some type of ventilation system?”
Luu: “Yes. It’s good for bringing oxygen to the depths and removing our mech’s exhaust. More importantly, it serves as humidity control. Lithium reacts violently with water. Rimanium, while more stable, also reacts to water.”
Doog: “Do you think we can take a break? I want to talk into the giant fans and work on my robot voice.”
Luu: “Another joke?”
Doog: “I’m dead serious.”
Luu: “No!”
Doog: “Ok, ok.”

Luu: “We store collected Rimanium in the depths where it’s dryer and safer. Follow me.”
Doog: “Whoa. Slow down. I’m trying to make worm jokes on the fly and it isn’t easy. Dryer plus worms…I got nothing. Is there a fishing joke somewhere? No, not yet. Let’s table that one for now. Yeah, I got nothing. Let’s go.”
Luu: “Sigh.”

Doog: “What’s all this?”
Luu: “In order to make Rimanium safer and easier to ship, it undergoes some minor processing. First it is heated, then it is allowed to cool slowly. This removes any moisture and makes the Rimanium more malleable.”
Doog: “Wait are you shipping Rimanium or that other trilizard-chlorox-stuff?”
Luu: “Rimanium. It’s safer and more stable with its impurities.”
Doog: “I see.”

Luu: “The more pliable Rimanium is formed into bars, which helps with shipping.”
Doog: “Yes! I finally have one.”
Luu: “Have a what?”
Doog: “A worm walked into a bar…”
Luu: “…”
Doog: “The bartender asked him, ‘How did you do that?’”
Luu: “…”
Doog: “Get it? Because worms can’t walk!”
Luu: “Ahem, after boxing the Rimanium bars, our job is essentially done. The recipients purify the bar upon arrival. They get the impurities – like manganese and calcium – as a bonus. We ship out about 90% of our Rimanium haul. We use to the rest to make lithium, a key component of our mecha’s power systems.”
Doog: “Neat. Say, do you have anything else to add? Maybe something about early birds or inchworms?”
Luu: “What?! No!”
Doog: “Dang! Well, thanks for the tour.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Rima. It’s home to the galaxy’s smartest worms…ok…I shouldn’t say that. It’s home to a race, distantly related to worms, that is incredibly good at mining. They have lot of cool technology – biomechanical suits, wall walking mining mechs, and indestructible hardsuits. They mine lots of stuff. Some is useful to their advanced society, and some is valuable across the galaxy. I don’t really understand the whole Rimanium thing, but it’s important somehow. Oh well, see ya!”
 
Note: Trilithium dichloride (Li3Cl2) is an extremely powerful RNA precipitator used to cleanse contamination from genetic samples. It is used in several fields, like cloning, gene exchange, and uplifting.
 

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting Bannus. Bannus is a planet in the galaxy’s Inner Rim known for its export of large, slow-growing fruits called Glaeba. These nutritious fruits take between five to seven years to mature, and – only then – can they be cultivated.  To ensure steady production, the collection of these high-maintenance fruits must be regulated. One of these regulations essentially prohibits the natives from accessing the plants without LIU approval. This has made for an interesting living situation on Bannus. Let’s head down and learn more.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in a city called Gecekondu.  This large city sits in the hillsides just east of a Glaeba field. From the air, this walled-city essentially looks like a prison. I’m pretty sure that was intentional. The LIU must strictly control access to the Glaeba production.”

Doog: “Unfortunately, I have in-depth knowledge of LIU prisons, but this is my first time in a ‘prison city’. I don’t really know if it’s called that, but it certainly looks like one. Everything is rundown, and the buildings look decrepit. It’s almost like the residents here decided to live in a junkyard. There are small dilapidated buildings everywhere…some even look like converted shipping containers. The ‘houses’ are stacked on top of each other with little regard for any building codes. Gecekondu is more like a prison slum than an agricultural city. I better keep my head on a swivel and my wallet in my front pocket. I should probably find a shiv as soon as possible.”

Cleric: “Grace and wonder, visitor.”
Doog: “You can’t rob me! Well, mostly because I have zero credits, but you’re not getting my coupon for a free Kaadu steak! My wallet’s in my front pocket by my junk, so ha!”
Cleric: “Oh my, friend. Whatever do you mean?”
Doog: “You’re not mugging me?”
Cleric: “Of course not.”
Doog: “Oh…this is awkward. I just assumed the worse because of my surroundings.”
Cleric: “Bannus is nearly crime free. The flock adheres to the teachings. You are safe.”
Doog: “Oh. I see. Are you, like, some type of priest?”
Cleric: “I am a cleric. We are the guidance, the moderation, and the sustenance.”
Doog: “What should I call you?”
Cleric: “Upon donning the cloak, I forsook any identity. You may refer to me as Cleric – as you would my brethren.”
Doog: “Kleenex. Got it.”
Cleric: “It’s Cleric, actually.”
Doog: “Close enough. You don’t care about your identity anyway, right? I’m Doog, by the way.”

Doog: “So, am I right in guessing that this place is a prison?”
Cleric: “You are not.”
Doog: “What’s up with the walls around the entire city, then?”
Cleric: “Deterrents against spiritual failings. My flock is not perfect. No one is.”
Doog: “What does that even mean?”
Cleric: “Perhaps I can explain if I start from the beginning.”
Doog: “I guess that’s possible. Try to keep it quick, though. Don’t be afraid to throw in some humor and leave me plenty of opportunities to interject some useless statements or two-word questions. I have parameters to meet or I don’t get paid.”
Cleric: “I’ll try.”
Doog: “Great.”
Cleric: “My people have survived on Glaeba for time untold. The generously large fruits easily fed our small nomadic populations. New plants had time to mature between our wanderings and its regulation was never an issue. However, things changed upon the LIU’s arrival decades ago.”
Doog: “They always do.”

Cleric: “The LIU saw value in the fruit, and wanted to mass produce it. However, that would require many changes.”
Doog: “Like what?”
Cleric: “The fertile grounds where Glaeba thrived were converted into plantations. Competing species were eliminated, and the largest threat to production was eliminated.”
Doog: “Your people?”
Cleric: “Yes. My nomadic people were settled into static towns like Gecekondu. We would no longer roam the lush Glaeba environment.”
Doog: “That’s where the walls came in. Right?”
Cleric: “Not immediately. My people were needed for harvesting. The LIU paid them to reap the harvest, but also paid them yearly sums, if they allowed the Glaeba to mature another full cycle.”
Doog: “That sounds like a good deal. You get paid to work and then you get paid not to work. In fact, I WANT that deal!”
Cleric: “In theory, it sounds good, but the LIU paid little in between fruitages. It forced my people to pinch-credits between harvests. The troubles it caused also started our new religion, the Collective.”
Doog: “The Collective?”
Cleric: “The credits given in between harvests are collected or pooled by the clergy. With large sums of money and greater bargaining power, the clergy could secure resources easier. We made a guide that helps us moderate resources and provide sustenance to all. Guidance, moderation, and sustenance – the Collective.”
Doog: “That worked?”

Cleric: “It did. No one starves on Bannus. Kitchens, spread throughout the city, feed the masses. It doesn’t matter if the season lasts five years or seven, my people eat.”
Doog: “Eat what?”
Cleric: “A nourishing stew of weeds and supplements.”
Doog: “Weeds?”
Cleric: “Unwanted greenery removed from the Glaeba fields.”
Doog: “Ew. Couldn’t you collectively afford some steaks or something?”
Cleric: “No. Especially since the saved credits fund other social programs like schools and healthcare.”
Doog: “I rather remain uneducated and sick than eat green slop.”
Cleric: “Some of the flock agreed with you. They began to sin. They dipped into the Glaeba harvest.”
Doog: “That’s when the walls came in?”
Cleric: “Yes. The unfaithful would never be tempted again.”

Cleric: “Didn’t you just insult the stew? Why are you eating it?”
Doog: “Free is free.”
Cleric: “It’s free for collective members only.”
Doog: “Oh, well take it back then. It tastes like someone scraped the underside of a hover-mower’s blade deck. I don’t want it anyway. Worst soup ever!”

Doog: “One question remains, I guess. Where is all this junk coming from? Did your collective buy bulk trash?”
Cleric: “We’ve already covered the sustenance portion of the Collective.”
Doog: “The kitchens.”
Cleric: “Yes. This ‘junk’ – as you call it – is part of the moderation tenet.”
Doog: “Moderation? You moderately take things to the scrapyard? I don’t get it.”
Cleric: “No, the moderation tenet revolves around resourcefulness and frugality. Nothing can be wasted. There is use in all things.”
Doog: “You guys repurpose waste into homes and stuff?”
Cleric: “Exactly. By utilizing free, abandoned leftovers to make homes, clothes, and tools, we can save more money for food and social programs.”
Doog: “I see. Where did all this junk – or valuable resources – come from?”
Cleric: “The LIU left behind tons of waste after terraforming the Glaeba fields. Equipment, parts, shipping containers, and so on were abandoned here. Our people recover these neglected items and recycle them.”

Doog: “There’s a lot of off-worlders in this section of the town.”
Cleric: “Junkers and scrappers. They come here to find valuable parts for cheap.”
Doog: “You guys sell some of the trash?”
Cleric: “Yes. It’s the only thing keeping the coffers full these days. Automation has eaten into our harvest funds.”
Doog: “Wait…what?”
Cleric: “The LIU slowly replaced our labor with automated harvesting machines. We're no longer involved in the harvest.”
Doog: “How are you guys surviving!? Isn’t that like most of your credits?!”

Cleric: “It has been a challenge, but we make due. The LIU still pays us to stay out of the fields, and there’s plenty to scrap in the old automation factories.”
Doog: “What if they stop paying you to stay out of the fields? Or the junk runs out?”
Cleric: “The junk will eventually run out. This much is true. However, it is unlikely the LIU would ever suspend the between-harvest payments.”
Doog: “What makes you so sure? They could stop giving out money at any point.”
Cleric: “They could, but it wouldn’t be profitable. The starving masses of Gecekondu would breach the walls. We are, after all, resourceful. The loss of crops would be huge. Not to mention the military costs of getting the situation back under control. It’s cheaper to make the payments.”
Doog: “Perhaps. So, what am I looking at here? Some type of church or a big kitchen?”

Cleric: “A holy site, but not a church. It is not resourceful to waste time worshipping at a specific place. That would violate the moderation tenet. Our religion does not require attendance.”
Doog: “I see. Why is it holy, then?”
Cleric: “Temples like these are gateways in the walls. You can access the fields from within.”
Doog: “Whoa. What’s stopping your people from escaping to the Glaeba fields?”
Cleric: “Moderation and self-control.”
Doog: “Yeah, yeah. That tenet again.”
Cleric: “Yes, but also the first tenet – guidance. Temples house many clerics. Our presence and guidance deter anyone from exiting.”
Doog: “Don’t be bad in front of the teachers type-of-thing.”
Cleric: “I suppose. Well, are you ready to see the fields?”
Doog: “What! We can enter the fields!?”
Cleric: “The years of devoted moderation it takes to become a Cleric has given us leeway with the LIU. We are trusted.”
Doog: “What about me? I know the LIU doesn’t trust me.”
Cleric: “You may proceed under my guidance. Don’t touch anything.”
Doog: “Got it.”

Doog: “So, these are the fruits that cause all the chaos here. To be honest, they don’t look like much.”
Cleric: “This yield is young. From experience, I’d guess they were two years old. They have many more cycles before they are mature. They will triple in size and darken to a rich olive color by the time they are harvested.”
Doog: “Hmm. I wonder how they taste.”
Cleric: “It has been decades since I have tasted them, but I remember their taste like it was yesterday. They are gracefully tart, chalky, and astringent with a wonderful sweet aftertaste. Grace and wonder.”
Doog: “Hey, that’s the greeting you used earlier.”
Cleric: “An homage to the past.”

Doog: “This must be one of the automated harvesters.”
Cleric: “Yes. One of millions on Bannus.”
Doog: “Why are there harvesters out here when the Glaeba have years to mature?”
Cleric: “The robots are programmed to complete many tasks during the off-season, like pruning and removing diseased fruits. They also weed the fields to remove competing species.”
Doog: “Do these weeds go into that nasty weed stew you guys make?”
Cleric: “Yes.”
Doog: “So, the LIU pays you not to work, but you pay the LIU for its weed scraps?”
Cleric: “A large portion of the payment is returned to the LIU for sustenance. Yes.”
Doog: “You’re right, I don’t see the LIU stopping that payment anytime soon. They’re raking you guys over the coals.”
Cleric: “We are modest in our survival.”
Doog: “You’re something, alright.”

Doog: “Holy Emperor! That’s one heck of a harvester.”
Cleric: “The newest model, it was introduced a few years ago.”
Doog: “What can a twenty-foot-tall robot with four five-foot razor claws harvest? How big do these fruits get? Unless, it’s not for harvesting at all.”
Cleric: “What do you mean?”
Doog: “It looks armored and has spikes on its limbs.”
Cleric: “What are you inferring?”
Doog: “It’s just a conspiracy theory – and I’m often wrong – but, the between-harvest money might be coming to an end. These ‘harvesters’ are here for the eventual wall breaches.”
Cleric: “Blasphemy. The LIU would never.”
Doog: “They would. How many of these new harvesters were made?”
Cleric: “I will not answer such an irreverent question! You are banished from Gecekondu! Stay away from me. We will speak no longer!”
Doog: “Aren’t you supposed to be my guidance?”

Doog: “Well folks, I don’t think he’s coming back. How can I wrap up Bannus? Let’s see. There’s a slow-growing fruit here called Glaeba. To maximize the harvest, the LIU wrangled up the native Bannu and stuffed them into walled cities. They once paid the Bannu as harvesters, but robots stole their jobs. Their only ‘steady’ source of income comes from the LIU in the form of ‘between-harvest’ payments – a bribe to stay out of the Glaeba fields. They also make money sifting through abandoned LIU junk, but we all know that won’t last. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note:
 
To: The Office of Magistrates
From: LIU Information Control
Reference: LIU Atlas – Bannus
 
     Dejected TV reporter Terrance McDoogal might have caused image issues in his latest TV segment. McDoogal conjectured that the Mark II Defense Bots were not harvesters, but some type of genocidal death squad. This is untrue.
     The Mark II’s are a rudimentary defense force protecting assets in the event that the LIU staffed clergy is ever exposed.
     Cleric Jared Johnson feigned ignorance and disgust at McDoogal’s claim. With his rebuttal and McDoogal’s record of ineptitude, we believe his claims will be ignored. However, in an abundance of caution, we ask that the honorable Magistrates monitor all channels for the keywords: Bannus, genocide, false, clergy, tenets, religious, control, and hotdogs. (Hotdogs was an AI recommendation, we are unsure of its meaning.)
 
     Thanks,
LIU Information Control Officer #00G044062

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the Mid-Rim planet, Stercus.  Stercus is temperate with a standard atmosphere. The majority of the planet is covered in a large ocean, but it does have four major continents. These continents are inhabited by a sentient species known as the Steb. The Steb have a diverse economy, but I’m told their primary export is something unique. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in the coastal city, Sakaka, in the Jawf Province. This is one of the planet’s largest cities, and one of its major exporters. I still don’t know what they export, but I bet it’s something colorful. This place is vibrant.”

Doog: “It appears I’ve been dropped off in some type of market. There’s…”
BEEP
Doog: “…there’s plenty of people…
BEEP BEEP
Doog: “Hey! I’m trying to do a show here!”

Motorist: “Well, do it out of my way! I’m pinching pennies here.”
Doog: “What does that even mean?”
Motorist: “I’m dropping a dime as we speak! Move it!”
Doog: “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about. Something has clearly been lost in translation.”

Quan: “Mrhbann, Doog. I am Quan, son of Waftka, prince of Jawf Province.”
Doog: “Uh, hey. You seem a little more normal than the last local I met.”
Quan: “Oh, you’ve spoken to my subjects?”
Doog: “Not too much. Just some guy yelling about pinching pennies or something.”
Quan: “Wahaha. That’s funny.”
Doog: “I don’t get it.”
Quan: “Oh, it’s just a saying we have around here. Essentially, it means to never hold-up a man that’s tardy for a job.”
Doog: “I’m still lost. Perhaps it’s a language or culture thing.”
Quan: “Well, friend. Let’s get you up to speed.”

Quan: “Sakaka is the jewel of Jawf Province. Everything produced on this continent ends up here to be traded or sold. There are spices from the Nahr-lands. Fruits from the fog deserts. Linens from the coastal villages.”
Doog: “Are any of those things your special export?”
Quan: “No, no. These things are either consumed locally or traded to other provinces. To see our intergalactic export, we’ll need to venture further into the city. Come, join me for a ride.”

Quan: “Much of this planet is changing, especially in the large cities, like Sakaka. I fear the old ways will be lost soon.”
Doog: “What do you mean?”
Quan: “The arrival of off-worlders has permanently altered our culture. Gone are the days of spirituality, art, and workmanship. The era of consumerism is upon us.”

Quan: “The off-worlders brought new economic opportunities to Stercus, but they also brought new things to spend it on – motor vehicles, fuel, electronics, and various gadgets. Many of my subjects now relegate their time to these new material possessions instead of the old things.”
Doog: “You hate to see a culture disappear, but have you seen the new LIUpad! You can watch adult programming – I mean – educational programs in Mega-Ultra HD.”
Quan: “I see you have been bitten by the consumerism bug yourself.”
Doog: “Hey, porn is art. Kind of. Sort of.”

Doog: “Joking aside, some of these new goods must have been beneficial.”
Quan: “Yes. Of course. Quicker communications have increased trade and cooperation between provinces. Food production has doubled, meaning my subjects no longer go without food in the dry seasons. Surely there are other benefits, but I can’t think of any off the top of my head.”
Doog: “I bet this guy lugging around my fat-self would kill for a combustion engine.”
Quan: “Perhaps.”

Quan: “We’ve arrived in a residential district.”
Doog: “Your surprise export is in a residential area? What are you selling? People?”
Quan: “No, but my people produce this export.”

Doog: “This looks like a public bathroom. Why did we stop here?”
Quan: “You wanted to see our export, right?”
Doog: “You export bathrooms? Did you invent a better toilet or something?”
Quan: “Read the sign.”
Doog: “Wait…you export poop?!”
Quan: “Guano actually. The diet of my race makes our waste very mineral rich. It’s a big source of phosphorous, phosphorite, and potassium.”
Doog: “So, the LIU pays you to poop to collect these minerals.”
Quan: “Yes. They installed these fancy collection bathrooms in high populations areas. Want to see inside?”
Doog: “Not particularly, but I guess I have to.”

Doog: “It just dawned on me what ‘pinching pennies’ means. The man I was holding up was about to crap his pants.”
Quan: “Haha. Yes. On Stercus, it’s more than just an embarrassing affair, it’s a costly one as well.”
Doog: “I see that now. So, how does this work?”
Quan: “You scan your citizen ID chip, you get assigned a latrine, and you do your business. You get paid by volume.”
Doog: “How much are we talking?’
Quan: “A few credits per movement, typically.”
Doog: “Whoa! Count me in!”
Quan: “I’m not sure if that rate applies to humans, Doog.”

Guy: “I don’t care what you do, but get out of my way! I think I have some liquidity in my assets! I’m about five seconds from making in rain credits in here, if you catch my drift. Like, I’m in the ‘my wife’s not getting that new LIUpad if just one button on my pants gives me a hard time’ kind of hurry!”

Doog: “I’m having seconds thoughts. I thought there would be a little more privacy in here. I don’t want to make eye contact when I’m doing my business.”
Guy: “Speaking of privacy, can’t a guy do an honest day’s work without being filmed? Geez, some people have no work ethic.”

Guy: “Oh boy! Here she comes. Wifey’s getting a new fur coat! Oh yeah, that’s a twelve-credit deuce for sure. Wait, there’s more! Looks like the paychecks getting a little bonus. Forget that coat, we might be getting a yacht!”

Doog: “Ok, this is a bit much. I think I’m getting out of here.”
Quan: “Well, it was good to meet you Doog, but I’m staying. I have a little royal business to conduct myself.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Stercus. We officially visited a planet where a race of people get paid to poop. Can you imagine the paydays after taco night? If I was born here, I could have been a millionaire. Oh well, see ya!


​
Note:

Worker: “Get a geology degree, they said. Get into the mining industry, they said. Stupid guidance counsellors!”

​

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the moon, Lucernae, which orbits the gas giant Parma. Lucernae’s orbital velocity matches Parma’s orbital period, keeping the moon constantly in Parma’s shadow. In other words, Lucernae never receives direct sunlight. The little light that reaches Lucernae is diffused through Parma’s atmosphere. Despite being relatively dark, Lucernae is habitable. It has a breathable atmosphere and is moderately warm. I’m even told that the shadowed moon has life. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off on Lucernae’s surface near some type of habitat. There’s a lot to take in right off the bat. First, Parma dominates the moon’s sky. Secondly, the moon has tons of bioluminescent plants. Thirdly, there’s plenty of light here. Some light is coming from these eerie, glowing plants. Some is coming from the gas giant itself. I wonder what process makes Parma light up? I’d ask someone, but so far, I can’t find anybody. Where is my guide? Seriously, I’ve knocked like twenty times, and no one came to the door. I guess I’ll just head out and explore this creepy moon by myself.”

Doog: “I’m immediately regretting my decision. I know practically nothing about this moon. Are these plants safe? Are they glowing because of radiation? Is there other life here – like dangerous carnivore types? Most importantly, how far am I going to have to walk? I might have just doomed myself to unnecessary exercise.”

Doog: “Ok, dilemma time. There’s a very large creature just in front of me. It hasn’t tried to eat me – yet – so, I’m thinking it’s not a carnivore. That’s good. Now, I just have to figure out if it’s willing to let me ride him. I’m done with all this walking. However, his grunting and horn-shaking are giving me doubts. What’s worse – walking or being mauled by this creature? Alright, screw it, let me try…”

Molly: “That would be most unwise.”
Doog: “Did my conscience just speak out loud to me?”
Molly: “No. It’s your guide. I’m right behind you.”
Doog: “Where have you…”
Molly: “Shh. No sudden movements. Don’t turn around. Face the Septehorn. If you look away, it will charge.”
Doog: “Oh crap! Uh…ok. I’m staring right into the creature’s soul. I’m not even blinking.”
Molly: “Good. Now walk backwards slowly. Keep looking at the Septehorn as we retreat.”

Molly: “Alright. I think we’re safe now. Septehorns are extremely territorial, but they only defend their immediate surroundings.”
Doog: “Can I blink now?”
Molly: “Yes. We’re safe. I’m Amoullin, by the way. You can call me, Molly.”
Doog: “Molly, how thankful should I be? Like, how injured or dead would I have been if I tried to ride a Septic Horn?”
Molly: “Septehorn, or seven horn. And, you’d be very injured and likely killed if you attempted to approach it any further. It’s a matter of how many horns would have penetrated your body and where. Their kicks are no joke either.”
Doog: “I guess I should be thankful then. Of course, I wouldn’t have been in this mess if you would have been at the meeting place.”
Molly: “Sorry about that. My last session went over.”

Doog: “Session?”
Molly: “Yeah. I’m a tour guide. I show tourists around Lucernae. The last group ran over their time limit. They were taking selfies with everything. Something about social media clout.”
Doog: “Wait, are you telling me I have an actual professional guide for once?”
Molly: “Well, professional might be pushing it, but I’ve been doing this since Pulchra* fell about eight years ago. I know the planet pretty well.”
Doog: “Well then, let’s hear a quasi-professional fact about these glowing plants.”
Molly: “They use standard bioluminescent chemicals to fluoresce, like luciferin, luciferase, and photoproteins. They glow so they can attract the attention of the planet’s herbivores. They want to be eaten to distribute seeds. Speaking of which, this planet only has herbivores. There are Septehorns – which you met, Nilhorns, and the planet’s sentient species, the Lucern.”
Doog: “There’s sentient life here?”
Molly: “Yes.”

Molly: “Competition with the larger – and more dangerous – Septehorns caused the Lucern and the Nilhorns to form a mutually beneficial, symbiotic relationship. They always travel together these days. The Nilhorns get protection from the Lucern’s primitive weapons, and the Lucern get the benefit of riding Nilhorns as mounts.”
Doog: “I should have picked one of those to ride instead.”
Molly: “It might have been safer, but the Lucern might not have liked it.”
Doog: “Are the Lucern dangerous?”
Molly: “They are pretty mellow. I get along with them just fine. However, I generally don’t try to ride their symbiotic buddies.”
Doog: “Got it. Don’t try to ride anything on this planet.”

Molly: “There’s no economic value on Lucernae, so the locals haven’t been studied too much. The things we know about them come from tour guides, like me, who mingle with the Lucern daily.”
Doog: “Wait, this moon has no value?”
Molly: “There’s no minerals of note. The plants here are not nutritionally viable for farming. There’s obviously no technology of use to the LIU. The little money made here comes from tourism. Rich folks like to come here to see the glowing plants and planet-views.”
Doog: “I see. So, what have you learned about the locals with your time here.”
Molly: “Let’s see. They don’t speak Basic. Actually, they don’t really speak at all, per se. They communicate with rattles and clicks produced by vibrating the bony structures on their faces. Um, they are mostly colorblind. Coming from a darkened moon, they haven’t evolved to see much more than light and dark. That’s why everything is black in color, like their skin and clothing.”
Doog: “Makes sense.”
Molly: “Let’s see. Oh, the Lucern and the Nilhorns are nomadic. They wander the moon looking for fresh pastures of glowing plants. Yet, they don’t travel too far from a central point. Do you know why?”
Doog: “They’re scared of running into those seven-horn behemoths?”
Molly: “Good guess, but nope. They roam around a central point because of the Lucern’s religion.”
Doog: “Religion?”
Molly: “Yes. Follow me.”

Doog: “It’s some type of structure. It doesn’t look like your more modern habitat.”
Molly: “That’s because it was made by the Lucern.”
Doog: “These primitive herders made this?”
Molly: “Yes.”
Doog: “Why?”
Molly: “Religion. The Lucern seem to worship a certain material found on the moon.”
Doog: “A material? What? Gold? Diamonds? Hyper-rubies?”
Molly: “No. Nothing valuable to you or I. It’s just some random metallic compound.”
Doog: “Why do they worship worthless junk?”
Molly: “Given their astronomical situation, they don’t have much else to worship. There are no moon cycles to worship. No sun to adore. There’s Parma, I guess, but it stays the same throughout observable time. The only sense of wonder the Lucern have are these metallic materials.”
Doog: “But why are they wonderous?”
Molly: “Because they make sounds. Let’s head inside.”

Doog: “It’s some type of altar. Wait, is that a xylophone?”
Molly: “It’s an instrument created from metallic ore. Each bar of ore is a different size, and it produces a different sound when struck.”
Doog: “AKA, a xylophone.”
Molly: “If you’re being technical, it’s in the glockenspiel family, because it’s made of metal.”
Doog: “Brothels, bordellos – same thing. How does a race worship an instrument?”
Molly: “They don’t worship the instrument; they worship the sound it makes. The tones it produces sounds similar to the clicking and rattling the Lucern communicate with. Essentially, they believe that the moon is communicating with them when they play the instrument.”
Doog: “I guess it’s not anymore ridiculous than any other religion. What does the moon instrument tell them?”
Molly: “I have no idea. I don’t understand the clicking language.”
Doog: “I wonder what would happen if I played something on there. I could bang out a new dogma or something.”
Molly: “Don’t make the locals angry, Doog.”

Molly: “Look, they are playing a prayer now.”
Doog: “Yikes. Sounds like a garbage can falling down a set of stairs. I’m praying too – praying for it to stop.”
Molly: “Well, we don’t have to stay and listen. Let’s wrap up this tour.”
Doog: “You don’t have to ask me twice. This temple sounds like a wrench in a washing machine right now!”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Lucernae. The natives here are not the best musicians, at least, by galactic standards. It does something for them, though, as it’s part of their religion. There are better things to check out here, though, like the sky-views, glowing plants, and unique life. These things attract rich tourists which brings the moon its only economic value. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Lucernism is the 16,769,221,966th most popular religion in the LIU galaxy.
 
*Pulchra was one of several planets to break away from the LIU during the last major revolution. It has since been placed under the strictest of controls. Natives lucky enough to get off-planet come to worlds like Lucernae to avoid the LIU.

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.