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.  

​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.