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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting a rocky, desert planet called Vesica. Vesica is sparsely populated - only a few hundred people call this planet home. That’s because Vesica has very little water and no food. Why would anyone want to live here? Let’s find out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off outside of a walled complex on the surface of Vesica. The big walls and chained gate have me worried. Why are they needed? What’s out here? Hey! Someone let me in!”

Beckett: “Who da heck is making all this racket?”
Doog: “I am. Let me in!”
Beckett: “Who is you?”
Doog: “I’m Doog.”
Beckett: “I didn’t order no Doog’s.”
Doog: “What? I’m not selling Doog’s, I am Doog.”
Beckett: “Whatcha sellin’ then?”
Doog: “I’m not selling anything! I’m here to do a show about this planet.”
Beckett: “Ah, you’s the TV reporter.”
Doog: “Yes! Now let me in before something gets me!”
Beckett: “Is something out there? I aint openin’ da door if there’s something out there. My kinfolk’s in here.”
Doog: “There’s nothing out here at the moment, but I’m assuming the walls are in place for something.”
Beckett: “Well, stop all that panickin’ then. You’re worse than a cat on a hot tin roof. Let me get the key.”

Beckett: “Welcome to my homestead. I’m Beckett. That’s my ol’ lady, Patty, and my boy, Beckett Jr.”
Doog: “Phew. Thanks for letting me in. Nice to meet you all.”
Beckett: “You need a water or somethin’? You’re awfully sweaty.”
Doog: “No, I’m good now. I saw the walls and panicked. I’ve had too many close calls over the years. Speaking of which, we are safe now, right?”
Beckett: “Yeah. Nothing’s getting through these walls. That’s why we built them.”
Doog: “Phew. That’s good to hear.”

Beckett: “Unfortunately, the dang walls took up most of our startup credits. There wasn’t much left for an actual home.”
Doog: “I’m sure you’ll get a home eventually. You have to make some credits out here – why else would you move here?”
Beckett: “Make credits! Ha! That’s the biggest fib in this here galaxy!”
Doog: “What do you mean?”
Beckett: “We moved here cus’ they say there’s profit to be made on this here rock, but they sure didn’t tell us about all the costs.”
Doog: “Like the walls?”
Beckett: “Walls, water, food, fuel, ammo, and this big robot fella.”
Doog: “You need this robot?”
Beckett: “Well, I sure aint liftin’ no blob urchins on my own, if you catch my drift.”
Doog: “I don’t catch your drift. What’s a blob urchin?”
Beckett: “Part of our ‘profit’ on Vesica. I reckon I’ll grab my rifle and show ya.”

Doog: “Should we really head out? You spent all that money on these walls. Let’s not let them go to waste.”
Beckett: “Don’t be no scaredy-cat, boy. With this here rifle and big tin-head, we’ll be safer than a Plumbart eatin’ dreamfruit.”
Doog: “I have no idea what that means.”
Beckett: “I don’t either, to be honest. Sounded good though, right?”

Doog: “So, these blob things are the danger out here?”
Beckett: “Bless your heart, boy. Aint no danger in blob urchins. Heck, that’s what we’re out here lookin’ for.”
Doog: “I assumed they were dangerous because you said you needed a robot to handle them.”
Beckett: “I need a robot cus’ a blob urchin is heavy. Also, I don’t like their gross sticky slime. They smell kinda bad too.”
Doog: “If the blobs aren’t the danger…then what is?”
Beckett: “The predator that eats blob urchins…”

Beckett: “…like this one here.”
Doog: “Holy crap. It’s a giant scorpion. By giant, I mean it’s close to the size of a car.”
Beckett: “Not a scorpion. It doesn’t have claws. It’s a Dhadao.”
Doog: “This isn’t the time for semantics. It has a huge stinger tail.”

Beckett: “Yeah, that stinger is big enough to make a me and you kabob. Don’t stand so close.”
Doog: “You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m getting behind the robot.”
Beckett: “The mouth pinchers aint no walk in the park either. It can easily take a limb.”
Doog: How about less scary facts and more about how we’re dealing with this thing. We shouldn’t have left the walls!”

Beckett: “Boy, you’re about as worthless as a screen door on space station. Quit your fussin’. Dhadao are no match for the rifle.”

Doog: “Is it dead?”
Beckett: “Its brains are leakin’ out its mouth. I’m gonna say yes.”
Doog: “I understand the walls now.”
Beckett: “Yeah, you should have been here at the beginning – before the walls. I slept with my rifle for a few months.”
Doog: “Yikes.”
Beckett: “Well, we better get to movin’. I reckon there are more Dhadao in the area.”
Doog: “You’re just going to leave it out here?”
Beckett: “You wanna bury it and have a ceremony or somethin’?”
Doog: “No, but can’t you use any of this? Food or something?”
Beckett: “Heck no! Dhadao eat blob urchins, and blob urchins eat bacteria. Eat that, and you’ll be at death’s door in ten minutes.”
Doog: “Fair enough.”

Beckett: “That’s a sight for sore eyes. Two blob urchins.”
Doog: “They really are blobs, aren’t they?”
Beckett: “Well yeah, we aint calling them that for fun.”
Doog: “They’re all flabby and slimy. They have tentacles too.”
Beckett: “Yep. They’re slicker than Kaadu snot.”
Doog: “You said they eat bacteria, right?”
Beckett: “Yeah. They ooze around the dirt and rocks, scoopin’ up bacteria in their goop. The bacteria are then absorbed into the urchins using some type of science. What’s that thing again, robot?”
Robot: “INTERMOLECULAR CONSUMPTION.”
Beckett: “Yeah, that.”

Doog: “What do you collect from them? Slime?”
Beckett: “Urine.”
Doog: “Pardon me?”
Beckett: “Urine, pee, wizz…must I go on?”
Doog: “Why would you want blob urine?”
Beckett: “Those bacteria they eat are special. They are that one thing…robot, what are they?”
Robot: “CHEMOTROPHS.”
Beckett: “Yeah, that’s it. The bacteria eat the minerals in the soil. When the blob eats them, the blob picks-up them minerals too.”
Doog: “And…. they eventually pee those minerals out.”
Beckett: “Yep.”
Doog: “That leaves just one unanswered question. How does one collect urine from a blob?”

Beckett: “That’s where my pal, robot, comes in handy. He gets all up in their undersides and squeezes da forbidden lemonade straight from their bladders.”
Doog: “I don’t think I can show this on TV. Ugh, and that smells terrible too.”
Beckett: “That smell is the concentrated urine. Them blob urchins don’t be wasting no water.”

Doog: “What chemical is possibly worth this much trouble?”
Beckett: “Robot, do the thing.”
Robot: “THE URINE IS HIGH IN SODIUM HEXAFLUOROALUMINATE, ALSO KNOWN AS CRYOLITIC SALT.”
Beckett: “That’s the stuff.”
Doog: “You fight death-scorpions and violate blob creatures for SALT?”
Beckett: “Not the eatin’ kind. The crystal kind. Makes glass or something. Robot, tell um.”
Robot: “CRYLITIC SALT HAS A MODERATE MOHS HARDNESS AND LOW REFRACTIVE INDEX. WHEN IMMERSED IN WATER, CRYOLITIC SALTS ARE ESSENTIALLY INVISIBLE. THEY ARE AN INGREDIENT IN MAKING WINDOWS FOR SUBMARINES AND UNDERWATER HABITATS.”
Doog: “Remind to wash my hands when touching underwater glass. I didn’t know that stuff was made from blob pee.”

Doog: “Let’s just take a moment and appreciate these walls. Sweet security!”
Beckett: “It’s nice to be back, but the bunker aint my favorite spot in the homestead.”
Doog: “Bunker?”
Beckett: “Yeah, where processing gets done. Follow me”

Doog: “Ew, sick. It smells terrible down here.”
Beckett: “That there urine smells bad on its own, but it gets worse when you boil it.”
Doog: “Indeed. Why are you doing that?”
Beckett: “Gettin’ rid of the last little bits of water.”

Beckett: “Dry salt crystals gets packaged up and shipped out. Usually, we trade it for food, water, fuel, and ammo. The little that’s left gets sold for profit.”
Doog: “How much profit are we talking?”
Beckett: “I reckon I might be able to finish my home in thirty years or so.”
Doog: “Not a lot. Got it. Well, anything else to add?”
Beckett: “Nope, but I think we better get out of here. We left the door open. All the bad air is gettin’ out.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Vesica. Poor settlers on this world work in hard, dangerous conditions to make underwater glass. It’s sort of ironic, given the lack of water on this planet. Oh – I forgot the weirdest part – they make this glass from the urine of a blob-like creature. Yeah, you heard that right. Well, on to the next one. See ya!”
 
Note: Cryolitic salts are shipped to planets like Cicatrix, where they are processed into glass products.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting an extremely important planet called Halavi. Halavi is an industrial agriculture world, meaning that it grows crops for industrial purposes. Whatever this purpose is, it must be very important. I’m not allowed to land directly on Halavi.”

​Doog: “Instead, I’ve been dropped off on a quarantine station in orbit around the planet. I must stay here until I’m deemed 100% aseptic. I can’t have any traces of bacteria, viruses, or parasites. Hopefully, this won’t take long.”
​
 
Two Months Later…

Doog: “Well folks, that lasted a little longer than expected. Apparently, I had quite a few…uh… venereal diseases. I’ve literally been trapped on this station for almost two months. Finally, I’ve been given permission to land on Halavi. Let’s go.”

Doog: “Alright, I’m finally been dropped off on the surface of Halavi. It’s temperate, breezy, and sunny. There’s a nice aroma in the air, presumably from the planet’s plant life. Are these plants Halavi’s industrial export? Maybe. Let’s not speculate. I see my guide coming now. Oh great, he’s a Fornacin. That’s always a good time.”

Klopka: “Human male, I am Klopka. I have been tasked with showing you the LIU’s operation on Halavi.”
Doog: “Sounds good. My name’s Doog, if you were wondering.”
Klopka: “I was not.”
Doog: “Ok then. I should have known. So, what can you tell me about this place?”
Klopka: “Halavi’s export is breathable air.”
Doog: “So, in other words, oxygen?”
Klopka: “Breathable air is not pure oxygen, you dolt. Standard atmosphere only has about 20% oxygen.”
Doog: “You learn something new every day. So, what’s the other eighty percent made up of?”
Klopka: “Mostly nitrogen, but trace amounts of argon and carbon dioxide.”
Doog: “Got it. How do the plants figure in?”
Klopka: “They are able to convert chemicals in the air and soil into breathable air. And, once again, I don’t mean oxygen. I mean breathable standard atmosphere.”
Doog: “Got it. And you export breathable atmosphere?”
Klopka: “Yes.”

BOOM…CRACKLE
Doog: “Holy Kaadu! What was that?!”
Klopka: “Oxygen fixation. The machine uses powerful bursts of electricity to remove excess oxygen from the air. Bonds it into nitrogen dioxide.”
Doog: “Geez, a heads up would have been appreciated. Good thing I wore my brown pants!”
Klopka: “Sorry, next time we’ll allow the oxygen to skyrocket out of control for your comfort. It might make the whole sky burn and kill us all, but at least you’ll be in your safe space.”
Doog: “Hey! I’m no snowflake – I just don’t like surprise explosions of electricity behind my head.”

Doog: “Why remove oxygen? I thought you were making breathable air?”
Klopka: “For the LAST time, breathable air does not equal OXYGEN! Oxygen only makes up a small portion of standard atmosphere! We must retain the ratio – 80/20.”
Doog: “Oh yeah, I forgot about that part already. That ear-shattering bolt of lightning sort of blanked my mind. So, how does this very loud lightning machine work?”
Klopka: “When the sensors detect excess oxygen levels, they fire of bursts of energy – you know, the ones you’ve been whining about. The bursts fuse oxygen and nitrogen in the air into nitrogen dioxide.”
Doog: “Dioxide means two, right? So that means you remove two atoms of oxygen, but only one atom of nitrogen.”
Klopka: “Which lowers the oxygen in relation to the nitrogen, restoring the ideal ratio.”
Doog: “Got it. How often does this thing fire off?”
Klopka: “It depends. It could be once a day; it could be three times a minute.”
Doog: “Uh, maybe we should get moving.”

Doog: “How do these plants figure in? I don’t think we ever discussed that.”
Klopka: “The flora species of Halavi are efficient atmosphere scrubbers. Obviously, like most plant-species, they can convert carbon dioxide into oxygen, but these unique species can also convert other oxides into oxygen – like carbon monoxide and sulfur dioxide. They also have another useful ability – denitrification.”
Doog: “De-what?”
Klopka: Denitrification. They can convert nitrogen compounds stored in the soil into atmospheric nitrogen.”
Doog: “So, these plants are like perfect breathable-air factories.”
Klopka: “Yes. That is why Halavi is a sanctuary world. The flora here is precious.”
Doog: “That explains the quarantine station.”
Klopka: “Yes. The flora here must remain pristine. We can’t risk pests or disease.”

Doog: “You say pristine, yet we’re being passed by exhaust-spewing tanker trucks.”
Klopka: “Vehicle exhaust is mostly oxides. It’s easily converted back into oxygen by these plants.”
Doog: “Makes sense. Why are there trucks driving through here though?”
Klopka: “The native range of these plants was quite small. To make their ability useful on the industrial scale, we’ve artificially increased their range. That means trucking in water, soil, and nutrients.”

Doog: “Tell me this isn’t another – bigger – lightning machine.”
Klopka: “Don’t worry, Sally. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
Doog: “I’m not afraid, I just don’t think my pants can handle another load.”
Klopka: “Disgusting.”
Doog: “I kid, I kid. But seriously, what is this place?”
Klopka: “It’s a waste gas release station.”
Doog: “Waste gas release? Like, you’re releasing unbreathable air?”
Klopka: “Yes.”
Doog: “Why? I thought the plants are going through all this trouble to make the gas breathable.”

Klopka: “Like I mentioned earlier, we export breathable air. In order to maintain a proper atmosphere, we need to replace the air we’re shipping out. That means importing waste air from other worlds and tapping into underground pockets of gas on this planet.”
Doog: “So, this waste gas is stuff that can be filtered and converted by the plants here.”
Klopka: “Yes. It’s mostly carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide. It’s released in a controlled manner with stations like this.”
Doog: “Controlled manner?”
Klopka: “We don’t want to displace the natural atmosphere by releasing it all at once. It is slowly diffused into the atmosphere as determined by atmospheric pressure sensors.”
Doog: “The waste gases are released from here?”

Klopka: “No, moron. We can’t release it all in one spot. It’s diffused through pipelines like the one behind us.”
Doog: “I’m diffusing some waste gas of my own as we walk. Better stay upwind.”
Klopka: “I hope you’re kidding human male. Methane doesn’t fit into our atmospheric cycle.”
Doog: “People aren’t allowed to fart here? No wonder you’re so cranky.”
Klopka: “Grrr, idiot. I’m not even responding to that.”

Doog: “Where are we going now? This looks like a warehouse.”
Klopka: “It’s a train station.”
Doog: “A train station? Why are we going here?”
Klopka: “Why would we be going to a train station, hmm? Perhaps to catch an airplane. No, that can’t be right. That would be called an airport. Hmm, what a mystery!”
Doog: “I like mysteries.”
Klopka: “It’s NOT a mystery! Idiot! I was being ironic. We’re obviously here to catch a TRAIN!”

Doog: “I might be an ‘idiot’ as you say, but I feel like we’re doing this wrong. Why are we on top of the train and not inside it?”
Klopka: “This isn’t really meant to be a passenger train. It’s for moving cargo, chemicals, and fertilizer between the sanctuary fields and the city.”
Doog: “The city? There’s a city out here somewhere?”
Klopka: “Yes. It’s called Adhalo. Adhalo is the only major city on Halavi. It’s situated in the mountains, hundreds of miles away from the sanctuary fields. That way, the city and her industries don’t disturb the important natural flora.”
Doog: “Hundreds of miles?”
Klopka: “Yeah. Get comfortable. We won’t reach Adhalo till nightfall.”
​
 
Five hours later… 

Doog: “I dozed off for a bit there. Things look a lot different now.”
Klopka: “That’s because we’re in the city.”
Doog: “Well, that I understand. It’s the mass of people now riding this train with us that is confusing. Does Adhalo have a hobo problem or something?”
Klopka: “What! No, of course not! People here utilize the top of the cargo train to get around the city.”

Klopka: “It’s so commonplace that there are actually building exits at train height. Riding the top of this train is encouraged.”

Doog: “Are these buildings all atmosphere factories?”
Klopka: “No. Some make containers to hold atmosphere. Some produce filtering hardware. Some manufacture atmospheric additives for non-standard races. Some of these buildings house workers and their families as well.”

Klopka: “Atmocline, the breathable-air exporter, is the last stop. If we don’t exit here, we get crushed in the tunnel ahead. Actually, maybe you should try that.”
Doog: “Nice try, Klopka, but the only thing I’m getting crushed by is an overweight prostitute at the next brothel I see. I’ve been in quarantine for months.”
Klopka: “There aren’t any brothels in Adhalo.”
Doog: “And they call this place a sanctuary…”

Klopka: “Atmocline bottles breathable air, but, first, it needs to undergo some processing.”
Doog: “I’m guessing this freezing cold room is the processing.”
Klopka: “Yes. Cryogenic Air Distillation separates the captured air into its varying gases. Sensor readings determine if the air mixture is properly ratioed. The process also helps remove trace amounts of unwanted gas.”
Doog: “Like those methane farts I’ve been pumping out.”
Klopka: “Sigh. Yes.”
Doog: “Then what?”
Klopka: “Once the chamber equalizes to standard atmosphere, the mixture is reheated and bottled.”

Klopka: “Pressurized atmosphere containers are then shipped out across the galaxy.”
Doog: “What is it used for?”
Klopka: “Breathing, numbskull.”
Doog: “I know that, but where is it used.”
Klopka: “Places where people want to breathe?”
Doog: “Like?”
Klopka: “Spacecraft, space stations, and environmental suits.”
Doog: “That’s what I was looking for. Well, anything else to add?”

Doog: “I guess not. He’s walking away. Well folks, that’s Halavi. This episode might have taken a few months, but we did get a look at one of the more important worlds in the galaxy. Halavi and its rare plants make breathable gases for ships, space stations, and environmental suits. I’m dreading going back to my ship and facing the crew after a two-month delay. They might be a little upset that this took so long. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: To avoid contamination, non-standard atmospheres are bottled on different planets.

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting a Mid-Rim terrestrial planet called Hortulanus. Hortulanus is a cold, mountainous world. The planet can be divided into three geological categories: frozen polar regions, icy mountain plateaus, and semi-arid valleys. I’m told that there is a variety of unique life on Hortulanus – including a sentient species. I’m also told that some of this life is Hortulanus’ primary export. Let’s head down and figure it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in a settlement that appears to be on one of the planet’s icy plateaus. It’s cold, obviously, and the air seems a bit thinner than standard. That could be the elevation, though. There’s a spattering of building, here. Most seem to have support poles driven into the ice. I guess that’s the easiest way to secure a foundationless building on the ice sheet. I have no idea if that’s true, but it sounds good. I think I’m just rambling to stay warm at this point.”

Taiga: “Welcome to Research Post Alpha. I’m Taiga Kang, the Research Director.”
Doog: “Oh, that was fast. I’m Doog.”
Taiga: “Yeah, I figured. Well, where should we start?”
Doog: “I don’t know. Tell me about this place.”
Taiga: “Research Post Alpha is one of three LIU settlements on Hortulanus. Research Post is a bit of a misnomer, though. This place doesn’t do research these days.”
Doog: “Why is that?”
Taiga: “Well, this place has been around for over a decade. There’s nothing left to research, well, nothing profitable anyway.”
Doog: “So, why are you still here?”
Taiga: “Because we researched something that turned out to be profitable. Now, we focus on that.”
Doog: “And what’s that?”
Taiga: “Some of the native life. You won’t find any in our post, though. We’ll need to head out.”
Doog: “Lead the way.”

Taiga: “Luckily for us, the natives also live on the ice sheet. Their settlements are close by.”
Doog: “They live in little huts, but they seem to have some technology. Weird.”
Taiga: “The technology is ours. We gifted it to the Hortu to make them easier to find.”
Doog: “Easier to find? Are they your profitable export?”
Taiga: “Not at all, but they have their uses. They know this environment well. They are useful scouts.”

Doog: “They’re called the Hortu?”
Taiga: “Yes. The Hortu are a young race that has only recently began primitive agriculture.”
Doog: “Agriculture on the ice? How?”

Taiga: “They raise and herd another native species called Dramphas. Dramphas are very useful. They have meat, obviously. They also have thick furry hides – good for making clothing and leather. The Hortu depend on the Dramphas for survival.”
Doog: “So, they’re not the export, right? The natives would die without them.”
Taiga: “Correct.”
Doog: “That just leaves one question – what do the Drampa…Draffaa…what do the fluff-rats eat? I don’t see anything other than ice.”

Taiga: “The Dramphas are herbivores. They eat shrubbery found in the lower elevations.”
Doog: “Why herd the fluff-rats on the ice then? Why not keep them down there, in the lowlands?”
Taiga: “It would make sense on paper, but you don’t have the full picture, yet. The lower elevations are dangerous. There are predators there. The ice sheet is much, much safer.”
Doog: “Predators? And they don’t come up here on the ice?”
Taiga: “Correct. The predators have no method of piercing the ice, so they can never make it up here.”
Doog: “So, the Hortu collect the plants in the dangerous valleys. They feed it to the fluff-rats up here where they are safe.”
Taiga: “Exactly.”
Doog: “Why do I have the feeling that these predators are your export, and we’re heading down into this dangerous valley?”
Taiga: “Because you’re a mind reader?”

Doog: “Holy Kaadu…what is that?”
Taiga: “That is the aforementioned predator, Casoerus Furuus. We call them Mawguts. They’re essentially a giant mouth and a gullet.”
Doog: “Lots of tentacles too.”
Taiga: “Yep.”

Taiga: “Mawguts eat anything they can get their tentacles on – Dramphas, Hortu, Humans, etc. They’re typically ambush predators. They launch out of the loose regolith of the valley floor and grab any lifeforms nearby.”
Doog: “Are we safe?”
Taiga: “We’re fine up here. The mountain bedrock and ice prevent them from coming up here. They can’t burst through it like they can the valley floor.”
Doog: “Wait, are you telling me these things are mobile?”
Taiga: “Yes. Mawguts move underground via a series of tunnels. They pop out when they detect prey.”
Doog: “I won’t be going down there…ever.”
Taiga: “Me neither.”

Taiga: “Unfortunately, the Dramphas have to come down here to feed. This is where the shrubbery grows. As I said earlier, the Hortu come down here as well – to collect food for their herds. Many Dramphas and Hortu lose their lives to Mawguts every week.”
Doog: “It looks like one of those fluff-rats ventured too close.”
Taiga: “Yes, regrettably.”

Taiga: “Once a Mawgut gets you into its mouth, it’s game over. Their mouth and gullet are lined with razor sharp fangs. You’re shredded to bits before you reach the stomach.”
Doog: “Yikes. Why would you want to export these things? How do you export them without getting eaten?”
Taiga: “We’ll talk about that back at the Research Post, where it’s safer.”
Doog: “You’ll get no arguments from me.”

Doog: “Hortul-Green Anus-House? I don’t think I want to go in there.”
Taiga: “It says Hortulanus Greenhouse.”
Doog: “That makes more sense. Sort of. Why are we at a greenhouse? Are you guys growing plants to feed the fluff-rats?”
Taiga: “No, we’re growing…”

Taiga: “…Mawguts.”
Doog: “Growing them in a greenhouse? Like plants?”
Taiga: “Mawguts are plants, technically. Their ‘tentacles’ are modified roots. Their teeth are modified thorns.”
Doog: “But they eat stuff and move around.”
Taiga: “Yes. They are very advanced, very evolved plants. We believe that their species struggled as traditional plants. The valley floor lacks proper nutrition. They probably started to develop predatory features to supplement their nutrition. Through evolution, these supplemental features got better and better until they surpassed the plant’s ability to photosynthesize. They could get all the nutrition and energy through predation.”
Doog: “So, they’re plants that got so good at hunting that they no longer needed photosynthesis?”
Taiga: “That’s the theory. As you can see, they’re not green. There’s no chlorophyll anymore, but they still have a lot of chemical markers identical to plants.”

Doog: “The greenhouse thing makes some sense now – even though they are no longer remotely close to traditional plants.”
Taiga: “Ah, but they do have another holdover of plant biology. They still reproduce via pollination, and they still produce seeds.”
Doog: “The greenhouse is making more and more sense. You pollinate and grow young Mawguts from seeds.”
Taiga: “Yes.”
Doog: “That also explains how you are able to export them without being eaten.”
Taiga: “We can export their seeds or smaller, safer saplings.”
Doog: “I guess all that’s left is the why. Why export monstrous, killer plants?”

Taiga: “Mawguts are like biological garbage disposals. They can digest any type of biological material – even if it’s rotten or poisoned.”
Doog: “That makes them useful to people?”
Taiga: “Sure. Plant one in your garbage dump and watch it get rid of all the stinking food scraps. Plant one to throw all your dead into. Plant one in a hospital to safely get rid of biological medical waste Heck, the Mawguts have other uses too. Have a pest problem? Plant a Mawgut. Need to attack an enemy? Plant a Mawgut.”
Doog: “That all sounds good, but aren’t Mawguts mobile?”
Taiga: “Yes, precautions need to be taken. You’ll want to plant it within some type of barrier system so it can’t get away.”
Doog: “I see. Well, I don’t think I’ll be needing or wanting one anytime soon.”
Taiga: “Your loss.”

​Taiga: “Mawgut seeds and seedlings are shipped in special containers. They maintain the correct conditions for survival. They also help prevent ecological disasters.”
Doog: “What do you mean?”
Taiga: “They are code-locked. They can only be opened by the proper receiver. That way, if the transport carrying them crashes, they can’t get out. We learned that one the hard way.”
Doog: “I see. Say, if I wanted to buy one – and I really don’t – how much does one of these terrifying plants cost?”
Taiga: “They’re not cheap. Mawguts have a lifespan close to one-hundred years. Their voraciousness doesn’t vary throughout its lifespan either. Customers are buying a century of biological consumption.”
Doog: “So, like ten credits? Or what?”
Taiga: “What! No! Mawguts cost thousands of credits. Tens of thousands.”
Doog: “Oh, wow. I was way off. I really couldn’t afford one even if I wanted one. Well, anything else to add?”
Taiga: “Nope. We covered the basics.”

Doog: “Well folks, that’s Hortulanus. This icy world is home to crazy plant-like creatures called Mawguts. These horrifying creatures can eat any biological material. There’s also some sentient life and small fluff-rat creatures. Of course, out of three advanced lifeforms on this plant, the LIU exports the murderous ones. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: A Mawgut was released on the planet Abiit to help control the rodent and cat populations. The beast succeeded in eliminating both pests, but it also eliminated dozens of other species, including the sentient settlers. The incident spurred the creation of the Mawgut Act, which required purchasers to construct proper barriers before planting any Mawgut. The Act also requires Mawgut to be transported in code-locked containers. This portion of the law was prompted by the Ridgecrust Crash Incident. For more information, search ‘the Ridgecrust Massacre’ on your LIUpad.
​

Doog: “Welcome to another episode of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the planet, Hirsutus. Hirsutus is a temperate planet in the galaxy’s inner-rim. The majority of the planet consists of grasslands, but it does have some other features, like mountains, deserts, and tundras. We’ll be mainly focusing on Hirsutus’ grasslands – that’s where the action is. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “Alright folks, I’ve been dropped off in the city of Tonsio, the planet’s only major settlement. Tonsio is the export hub for all of Hirsutus. Everything produced, manufactured, or grown on this planet flows through Tonsio.”

Doog: “It looks like a pretty standard city. There are shops, restaurants, and apartment complexes. It isn’t as crowded as some of the other cities I’ve visited, but I’m not complaining.”

Caitlin: “Stop here.”
Taxi-Bot: “Sure.”
Caitlin: “I’ll be back, so don’t go anywhere.”
Taxi-Bot: “The meters running.”
Caitlin: “That’s fine.”
Taxi-Bot: “It’s your credits.”

Caitlin: “You’re Doog, right?”
Doog: “What gave it away? My looks? My uncanny sense of fashion?”
Caitlin: “Actually, it’s the hovercam following your every move.”
Doog: “Or that.”
Caitlin: “Either way, welcome to Hirsutus. I’m Caitlin, your planetary guide.”
Doog: “Nice to meet you, Caitlin.”
Caitlin: “Let’s keep the pleasantries short, we’re on the meter.”
Doog: “We get to take a taxi instead of walking? I think I’m in love with you.”
Caitlin: “Don’t make this weird.”

Doog: “So, what can you tell us about Tonsio?”
Caitlin: “Tonsio is port-town, most of our economy revolves around exporting Hirsutus’ goods. Companies, like D&H Shipping and Hirtus Freight, are some of our biggest employers.”
Doog: “What goods are they exporting?”
Caitlin: “Fur, mostly.”
Doog: “Fur?!”
Caitlin: “Yes, of course. Hirsutus is home to the Villosus, large grazing beasts with thick fur. This fur is collected and sent to Tonsio. Here, it is either shipped raw, processed into fabrics, or turned into garments.”
Doog: “So, there are factories here as well.”
Caitlin: “A few.”

Caitlin: “These large companies brought several hundred people here to work. Others followed – mostly in service roles.”
Doog: “Like the restaurants and stores.”
Caitlin: “Yes. And, believe it or not, we actually have a decent tourism industry. People like to come here to see the Villosus.”
Doog: “Speaking of which, I haven’t seen a single fur-beast-thingy. Where are they hiding? Do I have to pay to see them?”
Caitlin: “They are called Villosus, and no, we’re not hiding them. They just aren’t in the city.”
Doog: “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Caitlin: “The Villosus are voracious eaters; they’re practically insatiable. They eat all the time. They can only survive in large, uninterrupted grasslands. That’s why you won’t see them near the city.”
Doog: “How far out do we need to go?”
Caitlin: “Not too much further. We’re approaching their feeding range.”
Doog: “They need this much food?”
Caitlin: “They’re close to the size of a bus, if that means anything to you.”
Doog: “Geez.”

Doog: “What’s this?”
Caitlin: “These are the only buildings you’ll find outside of Tonsio. They’re called Shearing Shacks. The natives herd the Villosus here on occasion to be sheared or trimmed.”
Doog: “I don’t see any bus-sized animals.”
Caitlin: “Bad timing, I guess.”
Doog: “I usually attract large unruly beasts, if my dating record is any indication.”
Caitlin: “Uh…moving on. There’s a few thousand ‘Shearing Shacks’ positioned around Hirsutus. Some are a few miles away. Others are hundreds of miles away, but they all operate pretty similarly.”
Doog: “Hundreds of miles?”
Caitlin: “Yes, the feeding pastures of the Villosus are massive. They cover a large percentage of the planet.”
Doog: “Why not have multiple cities then?”
Caitlin: “And take up more pasture space? I think not. Fur is non-perishable good. The Villosus can be sheared thousands of miles away, and their fur delivered to Tonsio weeks after.”

Caitlin: “It looks like a Villosus has been recently trimmed. This shack has a lot of fur sitting around.”
Doog: “It reminds me of my ship’s shower drain.”
Caitlin: “Ugh. Thanks for that image.”

Caitlin: “Most of the shearing shacks are equipped to process Villosus fur at the basic level.”
Doog: “Like what?”
Caitlin: “Like combing machines. Simply put, they comb the fur for impurities, like dirt and waste. The raw fur textiles are shipped to Tonsio for more advanced processing.”

Caitlin: “The combed fur is weighed and shipped in bundles of a hundred pounds. Those hundred pounds translates loosely into a thousand miles of yarn. Of course, that process takes place in Tonsio, not the shack.”
Doog: “Let’s talk less about fabric math, and more about giant creatures.”
Caitlin: “You have zero patience, don’t you?”
Doog: “I just want to skip to the fun part.”
Caitlin: “Alright, let’s go find us a Villosus.”

Doog: “Holy Emperor…you weren’t kidding. These things are huge.”
Caitlin: “They’re roughly 5 meters tall at the shoulder, and they weigh about 7 tons.”
Doog: “That’s some of my ex-girlfriend’s stats right there.”
Caitlin: “I doubt it.”
Doog: “I’m obviously kidding, she’s way shorter.”

Doog: “I guess it makes sense that they need to eat a lot.”
Caitlin: “It does, especially when you consider the lack of nutrition in these grasses. They need to consume 150 kilograms of grass a day to maintain their massive bodies.”
Doog: “That’s a lot.”
Caitlin: “It is. This food requirement limits the amount of Villosus in any given area. It also forces the Villosus to be migratory. They need to keep moving to new areas if they want to continue grazing.”

Doog: “What about these guys with the spears?”
Caitlin: “They are this planet’s native race.”
Doog: “Hirsutus has native sentient life?”
Caitlin: “Yes. They are called the Vanofamba, which loosely translates to – the travelers.”
Doog: “The travelers? That’s an odd name.”
Caitlin: “Not when you consider their nomadic lifestyle. The Vanofamba follow the Villosus across the planet.”
Doog: “Why?”
Caitlin: “The Villosus are the natives’ only source of food.”
Doog: “The natives eat these huge beasts?!”

Caitlin: “They don’t eat their meat; they drink their milk.”
Doog: “Milk?”
Caitlin: “Yes, female Villosus produce a rich milk to feed their young. It’s practically fifty percent fat.”
Doog: “Gross. You guys don’t collect that too, do you?”
Caitlin: “No, there’s no market for milk that fattening. Besides, it’s the sole source of nutrition for the Vanofamba.”
Doog: “Gotcha. So, are the Fambojamos in on the fur trade?”
Caitlin: “Vanofamba, and yes – in a way. They are responsible for herding the Villosus towards the shearing shacks.”
Doog: “Are they paid for this duty?”
Caitlin: “Not with credits, no. They do get a benefit though. Sheared Villosus are less susceptible to disease. If they stay healthier, the natives get healthier milk.”
Doog: “I don’t think I’d work for milk, even if it was healthier. Well, Caitlin, anything else to add?”
Caitlin: “I think we’ve covered everything.”

Doog: “Well folks, Hirsutus is an interesting place. It’s home to these huge animals that wander the grasslands feeding. A race of sentient beings has coevolved with them. Both the natives and the creatures travel these grasslands together. It sounds like a whole lot of walking – not really my thing. Anyways, these beasts happen to have a lot of hair or fur that can be turned into textiles. Off-world workers shear and process this fur so it can be turned into yarn, fabric, and garments. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to get away from this massive hairball. It’s getting a little too close. Oh well, see ya!”
 
 
Note: Villosus fur is a great insulator and is extremely water resistant. This fibrous textile is often used for outerwear, like jackets, blazers, and cardigans.

Doog: “Welcome to Season Fourteen of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the moon, Unicus, which orbits the gas giant, Utut. Unicus is a carbon world, a moon or planet that is carbon-rich and oxygen-poor. The majority of the planet consists of carbon allotropes, like graphite, graphene, and various carbides. Even the atmosphere is made up of carbon gases, specifically carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide. There’s no water on carbon worlds due to the lack of oxygen, and Unicus is no exception. Why would anyone choose to live here? Mining. Worlds like Unicus are rich in important minerals. Let’s head down and check it out.”

Doog: “As I mentioned before, there’s no oxygen on carbon worlds. So, you can see that I’m wearing a respirator. There is an atmosphere though, so the temperature and atmospheric pressure are close to standard. I appear to be in the middle of some type of industrial complex. I presume it has something to do with mining. Let’s go find out.”

Doog: “Uh, hey little guy. Are you, my guide?”
Worker: “Are you crazy?! Don’t talk to me!”
Doog: “Why not? Hey! Where are you going? Whoa, no need to flip me off with all four hands. That’s a bit excessive. Alright, so much for that person being my guide.”

Naro: “What did he tell you?! Answer me, now!”
Doog: “He told me to F-off four times – simultaneously I might add.”
Naro: “Are you sure he said nothing else?”
Doog: “He asked if I’d stop talking to him, but that’s it.”
Naro: “Good. From now on, you speak to no one but me.”
Doog: “Uh…ok. Who are you?”
Naro: “I am Naro Soldato. I’m one of Unicus’ enforcers.”
Doog: “Enforcer?”
Naro: “Like, screw up, and I force a bullet through your head, enforcer.”
Doog: “I think I get the picture.”

Doog: “Whatever you’re mining here must be pretty expensive if you’re this strict.”
Naro: “This stuff here? Not really. Graphite is relatively common, even on non-carbon worlds.”
Doog: “Yeah, I guess it would be silly to shoot someone over pencils.”
Naro: “Graphite is used for much more than that. It’s used in battery production, to make lubricants, and as a component of metallurgical assembly. Advanced forms of graphite, like intercalated graphite, are used as super-conductors.”
Doog: “Oh. I guess that means it moderately valuable.”

Naro: “Graphite has some value, especially at the scales we are able to extract it. Unicus, and her sister worlds, have unimaginable quantities of the stuff.  This moon alone has a thousand mining stations. We sell almost fifty million metric tons of graphite every year.”
Doog: “That sounds like a lot. The gun is making some more sense, now.”
Naro: “Don’t be foolish. My enforcement duties have nothing to do with graphite.”
Doog: “Oh. Does it have something to do with the little, four-arms guys? Are they slaves or something?”
Naro: “The Quattuor are not slaves. They are paid fairly.”
Doog: “Do they originate from this planet?”
Naro: “Of course not. There is no life on carbon planets.”
Doog: “So, you brought them here?”
Naro: “Yes. The Quattuor are perfect for this line of work. They’re small enough to maneuver the mines, dexterous enough to handle all forms of mining tools, and extremely loyal. We have imported them to all our carbon worlds.”

Doog: “Wait, who is we?”
Naro: “The Adamas Cartel, obviously.”
Doog: “Don’t shoot me, but I’m going to need you to elaborate. I’ve never heard of this cartel.”
Naro: “You’ve never heard of Adamas Cartel? We’re you born in the outer-rim?”
Doog: “No, but I’m pretty naïve when it comes to galactic affairs.”
Naro: “The Adamas Cartel controls all the carbon worlds in the galaxy. It took several decades and lots of spilt blood, but the cartel is now one of the galaxy’s greatest industrial entities. By controlling all the carbon worlds, we’ve achieved a monopoly.”
Doog: “You have a pencil monopoly?”

Naro: “No! The Adamas Cartel has a diamond monopoly.”
Doog: “There’s diamonds on carbon worlds?”
Naro: “Of course. There are trillions of them. All this graphite and carbon gets compressed into diamonds under the surface.”
Doog: “Wow. So, the cartel purposely took control of all the carbon worlds so you’d have the galaxy’s largest supply of diamonds.”
Naro: “Correct. It wasn’t easy either – well, at first. Plenty of people had the same idea. Before the Unification War, my cartel was involved in multiple conflicts. Luckily, we won most of them. We attained a majority of the carbon worlds. After the Unification War and the rise of the LIU, our conquest changed. There was no longer physical violence, just economic violence. We used our majority to slowly take over the rest of the carbon worlds.”
Doog: “What kind of economic violence?”
Naro: “We flooded the market with diamonds and crashed their price. Our smaller competitors couldn’t keep up, and, one by one, they left the business. The more that left, the stronger our control of the market became. Eventually, we achieved a monopoly.”
Doog: “I see.”
Naro: “To reach the diamond mines, we need to descend. This shaft contains an elevator. Follow me.”

Doog: “Whoa, hey. I’m being scanned.”
Naro: “It is harmless unless you’ve brought weapons with you. It will, however, become very harmful if you try to take any diamonds out. Keep that in mind.”
Doog: “What if one gets stuck to my shoe on accident.”
Naro: “Then I shoot your foot off.”
Doog: “Yikes. I better drag my feet.”

Doog: “What am I looking at here?”
Naro: “A sifting device. Carbon regolith obtained from these depths contains diamonds. It is simply a matter of breaking away the more brittle graphite. Let’s pull out the tray.”

Naro: “Collection trays of varying sizes collect diamonds of differing sizes.”
Doog: “There’s so many…”
Naro: “It is but a fraction of a haul. We extract almost as many diamonds as we do graphite.”
Doog: “Your cartel must be filthy rich.”
Naro: “We are wealthy enough, but not near as rich as we could be.”

Doog: “What do you mean?”
Naro: “The monopoly has put us at odds with the LIU. They can’t break up our monopoly. It would tarnish their pure-capitalistic economic empire. But they can’t allow us to freely set market price either – too many other industries rely on diamonds. If we raise prices however we like, we risk destabilizing the whole galactic economy.”
Doog: “So, what did they do?”
Naro: “In exchange for keeping our pricing fair market value, the LIU has offered the cartel several perks.”
Doog: “Like what?”
Naro: “Elite citizenship for all cartel members, military protection of our worlds, and positions of power within the LIU. We may not be filthy rich, as you said, but we wield significant political power.”
Doog: “I see.”
Naro: “I enjoy many of these perks, but not all. Most of the perks are reserved for the cartel’s upper management. Speaking of which, it’s time to ascend and visit the palace.”

Doog: “I’m so nervous. What if I say something wrong and they send me to sleep with the fishes?”
Naro: “There’s no water on Unicus.”
Doog: “Oh yeah, I forgot. I guess I have that going for me. Hey, are these LIU soldiers?”
Naro: “Yes. They’re a military protection detail for the Capo.”
Doog: “The what? Capo?”
Naro: “Caporegime – the cartel leadership on Unicus.”

Naro: “Each carbon world has a caporegime assigned to them. They oversee the cartel’s operations on that planet or moon. They report to even higher members of the cartel.”
Doog: “I see.”
Naro: “This is Capo Enzo and his wife, Tarran. They are also my uncle and aunt.”
Doog: “Uh, hi there.”
Enzo: “Do you have any questions, TV reporter?”
Doog: “No, I think I have it figured out. Once you get past his gritty, enforcer persona, Naro is a real chatterbox.”
Naro: “No, I’m not! I only said what I was supposed to say, uncle!”
Enzo: “Really…”
Doog: “I didn’t mean it that way! Naro said the right amount! Don’t make us take a dirt nap – or a diamond nap for that matter!”
Enzo: “Ha, I like this guy.”
Naro: “Me, not so much.”
Enzo: “Ha. All is well, nephew. However, we are about to meet with the big boss. Perhaps you should keep your friend quiet.”
Naro: “Gladly.”

The Boss: “So many thrones, so little time. Where am I today?”
Enzo: “Unicus, my don.”
The Boss: “Unicus, Unicus. Ah, yes. Number twenty-three. Let’s see here…uh huh. Everything looks good. Production looks solid. Cashflow is within range. My cut is here. Very good, Capo Enzo.”
Enzo: “Thank you, don.”
The Boss: “That just leaves one question. Who is this human?”
Enzo: “He’s a representative of the LIU – part of an educational TV show.”
The Boss: “You allowed the LIU to film our operations?”
Enzo: “Don, I thought it might finally give us the respect we deserve.”
The Boss: “You thought? I don’t pay you to think. Enforcer, take care of the Capo after the human departs. Then call me back.”
Enzo: “Don! That’s not necessary! Nephew!”

Doog: “Well folks, I need to quickly wrap this up. I do believe there’s about to be a murder. Unicus is one of many carbon worlds controlled by the Adamas Cartel. By holding these planets, the cartel maintains a loose monopoly on several goods, chiefly diamonds. This has given the cartel significant economic and political power within the galaxy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of here. See ya!”
Naro: “Get out, Doog! Now!”
Doog: “I’m going! I’m going!”
 
 
Note: The colonization of carbon worlds and the subsequent diamond harvests have altered galactic culture. Diamonds, being in such abundance, are no longer sought out for jewelry. They have been replaced with rarer jewels, like hyper-rubies. 

Doog was abandoned by the crew on a planet full of empathic mind-readers. What did they reveal about his past?

​Note: This episode is presented in full screen. The corresponding dialogue is underneath each photo.

Oldie: “Hey! He’s back! How was your vacation, Doog?”
Doog: “Screw you guys. I can’t believe you left me on Misericors for two weeks. It’s literally the only hippie convent I’ve been to that doesn’t have drugs.”
Amaya: “It was for the best. You needed to work through some of your issues. They were affecting the rest of the crew.”
Doog: “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. It was a big waste of time, in my opinion. I’d rather have ‘worked through my issues’ by blowing last season’s salary on brothels and drugs.”
Amaya: “So, are you saying that you did work through some issues?”
Doog: “Maybe.”

Amaya: “And?”
Doog: “And what?”
Amaya: “Tell us about it!”
Mike: “Start with why you’re not wearing a shirt…”
Doog: “You guys didn’t leave me any of my wardrobe! My only shirt was a biohazard after two days!”
Amaya: “Enough about the shirt. What did you learn?”
Doog: “Well…”

Doog: “…the first couple days I just moped around in my room. I figured I wouldn’t give you guys the satisfaction of participating in therapy.

Doog: “But apparently, everyone staying at ‘Camp Heartsoul’ has to work. If you don’t work, you don’t eat…they said. When my hunger kicked in, I went out to the fields. I tried my best to look busy without actually participating, but I forgot those one alien-guys are mind-readers. That backfired.”
Amaya: “Keep going.”
Doog: “It was then that I realized that I could get out of work if I agreed to meet with the mind-reader guys. Therapy supersedes work. People going through therapy still get to eat.”
Amaya: “You only participated in therapy because you were lazy?”
Doog: “Well, yeah. Duh.”

Doog: “That mind-reader Graal came to my room…”

Doog: “…and did that head-touch-thingy. He helped me see my past.”

Amaya: “What did you see first?”
Doog: “Some of my earliest memories. Stuff I didn’t even remember.”

Doog: “My first memories are of my parents. Actually, of my parents fighting. I couldn’t see my dad’s face in any of the memories. I’m not sure if it’s because I never saw him or because he was always glued to the TV. Graal seems to think that I chose a career in TV because that was the only way I could get my dad to look at me.”
Amaya: “Aw.”
Doog: “But that’s not true.”
Amaya: “Are you sure?”
Doog: “I’m sure.”

Doog: “I'm sure because my dad left a few months after I was born. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”
Mike: “So, your problems are all related to daddy issues?”
Doog: “No! Shut it, Mike! You didn’t have a dad either.”
Mike: “I…uh…maybe I need therapy too.”
Doog: “Probably. Anyway, none of my issues seem to stem from my dad. He was never anything to me. I never knew him. All he ever gave me was my last name.”

Doog: “After my dad left, my mom and I went to stay with my grandma. She was happy to take us in.”

Doog: “Obviously, none of my problems are related to my grandma. If anyone says otherwise, I’ll punch their lights out.”
Mike: “We all love your grandma, Doog.”
Oldie: “She makes the best pony soup in the galaxy!”

Amaya: “Ok. What about your adolescent years?”
Doog: “There’s nothing too emotionally damaging for most of it.”

Doog: “I did normal kid stuff. I went to school.”

Doog: “I met my best friend, Mike.”

​Doog: “I went to jail.”

Amaya: “Whoa, whoa. Going to jail is NOT normal kid stuff.”
Doog: “It was pretty normal for Mike and I. Cunabula was a factory world. Our parents and grandparents had to work. It was just us a lot of the time.”
Mike: “We caused a lot of chaos.”
Amaya: “Being in jail at that early age could account for a lot of your problems.”
Doog: “Nah, it was a kid jail, not a drop-your-soap-and-get-raped-jail.”
Amaya: “Still.”
Mike: “Kid jail on Cunabula was sort of like a daycare.”
Doog: “The fines our parents paid to get us out were cheaper than a babysitter.”

Doog: “Right before my teenage years, I got some bad news. My mom was promoted.”
Amaya: “Wait, that’s good news, though.”
Doog: “In some respects, yes. But it meant she had to move off-world.”
Amaya: “Oh. So, you had to leave Cunabula, your grandma, and Mike?”
Doog: “No. She wanted me to stay on Cunabula with my grandma. She didn’t want to me to leave my school and my friends. She also said that wherever she was going was no place for a child.”
Amaya: “You don’t know where she went?”
Doog: “No.”

Amaya: “Sorry. I bet you didn’t take that well, especially since your dad had already left you.”
Doog: “At first, I blamed myself. I figured all the trouble Mike and I had gotten into had forced her to leave. That wasn’t true, of course.”

Doog: “After she left, I might have acted out a bit more as a ploy to get her to come back.”
Mike: “He did some tours in big-boy jail after that. I did NOT participate in that chaos.”
Doog: “Yeah, thanks bud. You abandoned me just like everyone else.”

Mike: “That’s not fair. This is the LIU. There are very few people in this galaxy that would go to jail for their own mothers, let alone their teenage best friend.”
Amaya: “Quit being insensitive Mike! Can’t you see what’s happening here. Doog has been feeling abandoned all his life. His dad left. His mom left. You left him. He’s now projecting his abandonment issues onto his current life. That’s why he always leaves the crew. That’s why he prefers prostitutes and brothels over real connections! He wants to abandon others before he gets abandoned! It’s so clear now!”
Doog: “Yeah! I’m damaged!”
Mike: “That’s some BS. Your mom didn’t even abandon you. Tell her about your microphone.”
Amaya: “The microphone?”
Doog: “Uh…”

Doog: “One time when I got back from a month stay in jail, I had a present waiting for me. It was from my mom.”

Doog: “She bought me this microphone.”
Amaya: “The one you never put down?”
Doog: “Yes. She also paid for my first few years of media university. Even though I eventually dropped out, the contacts I made led to this job. She’s the reason I’m here.”
Amaya: “So, she didn’t really abandon you.”

Doog: “Not really, I guess, but I haven’t seen or heard from her in a decade or so.”
Amaya: “Now that we know what happened, we can try to help. Maybe we can find your mom or something.”
Doog: “Now?”
Amaya: “Well, not right this minute. We still have to shoot episodes, but we’ll work on it.  In the meantime, just remember, we won’t abandon you.”
Doog: “Ok.”
Oldie: “In fact, I think we’re contractually obligated to not abandon you.”
Doog: “Gee, thanks, Nards.”
Oldie: “No problem.”

Note: Miseri telepathic empaths are known to be able to pull memories from individuals that they can't even recall themselves, like early-developmental memories.

Doog: “Welcome to the season finale of Season 13 of LIU Atlas. I’m your host, Terrance “Doog” McDoogal. Today, we’re visiting the tropical world of Misericors. Misericors is an agricultural world, specializing in fruit production. I guess Amaya chose this planet so we could grab some foods rich in vitamin C – we don’t want Oldie to get scurvy again. I’m glad she chose this route; I was worried she was going to send me to some hellhole after I made her mad on Nusquam.”

Doog: “Agricultural operations on Misericors are based out of this small landing-platform in the middle of the ocean. None of the actual farming takes place out here. It’s just a centralized location. Produce from several nearby islands come here to be shipped out to the rest of the galaxy. This station is manned, so let’s head inside and meet our guide.”

Notch: “Take a seat. The shipping platform is closed until after the game.”
Doog: “I don’t see any seats.”
Notch: “Then stand.”
Doog: “Uh, sure. What are we watching? Is that Ringball?”
Notch: “Yes.”
Doog: “Who’s playing?”
Notch: “Arsine and Diborane.”
Doog: “Cool. Cool. That’s the Devils and the Slugs, right.”
Notch: “Yes.”
Doog: “Oh, nice. I saw them play in person once.”
Notch: “Good for you.”
Doog: “What’s the score? Can we maybe share that seat? Mind if I grab some snacks for the game?”
Notch: “Are you going to talk the whole game?!”
Doog: “Probably.”

Notch: “TV, pause. I guess I’m not watching today’s game live. What do you want?”
Doog: “I’m Doog. I’m a reporter for a show…”
Notch: “You’re the guy that needs a ride.”
Doog: “Well, it’s more than that, you have to…”
Notch: “And you came at 10am on Ringball day.”
Doog: “Sorry. All the days are practically the same for me. “
Notch: “Lucky you. Let’s go.”

Notch: “I didn’t know I was hired to be a taxi driver, but here we are.”
Doog: “Like I was saying – it’s more than a ride. You’re supposed to tell me stuff too.”
Notch: “Like what?”
Doog: “Let’s start with your name.”
Notch: “Everyone here calls me Notch.”
Doog: “That’s an interesting name.”
Notch: “Not really. The locals started calling me it when I wouldn’t participate in their nonsense. I was too ‘business oriented’. I just wanted to get in, pick up their goods, and get out. They said all I was worried about is another notch in my belt.”
Doog: “Some people call me Notch too. They say all I’m worried about is another notch in my bedpost.”
Notch: “No they don’t. Now, get on the ship. You can call me business oriented if you want, but the truth is, I just want you out of my hair as soon as possible…”

Doog: “By your comments earlier, I’m guessing you don’t transport people often.”
Notch: “Never. This is a first.”
Doog: “So, what do you usually transport?”
Notch: “Fruit. I visit each island once a week. I grab their produce and transport it back to the platform. Once I’ve gathered enough, I call in a ship to export the produce out.”
Doog: “That doesn’t seem too efficient. Wouldn’t be easier to transport goods directly from the farms?”
Notch: “No one wants to deal with the locals.”

Doog: “Are the locals that bad? You said earlier that you didn’t want to deal with their nonsense.”
Notch: “It’s complicated. The natives are alright, I guess. But the natives attracted a bunch of free-spirited, hipster morons. They live here with the natives now. It’s them that no one wants to be around.”
Doog: “Some Hippie-types can be unbearable for sure, but are they really bad enough to alter farming operations.”
Notch: “You’ll see soon enough. We’re almost to Port Heartsoul on Cor Island.”
Doog: “Port Heartsoul? They really named it that? Yikes. Maybe we should turn around.”
Notch: “Too late.”

Doog: “Their waves are creepy. Turn around!”
Notch: “Not a chance. You wasted enough of my time today.”
Doog: “They’re too happy. No one in this galaxy is happy! Turn around!”
Notch: “Not happening.”

Ember: “Doog! We’ve been expecting you!”
Kiefer: “Welcome, buddy!”
Doog: “What are you waiting for Notch? Get out here and guide me – preferably somewhere away from the happy-people.”
Ember: “Old grumpy Notch isn’t your guide, Doog. We are.”
Kiefer: “Yep, bud. I’m Kiefer. This wonderful lady is Ember Ash Sage.”
Doog: “Notch! I know you can hear me! Help!!”

Ember: “Hehe. We’ll be all the help you’ll need on this journey. Let us be your guides.”
Kiefer: “Physically and spiritually.”
Doog: “Alright. I can do this. It’s just for a few minutes”
Ember: “You can do it!”
Kiefer: “You can do anything, buddy!”
Doog: “Must suppress vomit…ok. What can you tell me about this place?”
Ember: “This is Camp Heartsoul, a spiritual retreat for people like us.”
Doog: “People like what?”
Kiefer: “People in touch with their emotions.”

Kiefer: “We came here because of these guys, the Miseri.”
Ember: “The Miseri are wonderful beings.”
Kiefer: “They are empathetic telepaths. They can feel your pain, your hatred, and your fears.”
Ember: “They can share these feelings with you, and help you work through any issues.”
Kiefer: “With their help, you can achieve true happiness.”
Doog: “You guys came to Misericors to be with these empaths?”
Kiefer: “Yes.”
Doog: “And, you just hang out with them all day?”

Ember: “We don’t just hangout. We have fully integrated into their society. We live with the Miseri.”
Kiefer: “We also work with the Miseri.”
Doog: “You guys help harvest fruit?”
Ember: “Yes. Our combined labor makes the task easier and faster. The LIU stays happy, and the Miseri have more free time.”
Kiefer: “More time to help us.”
Ember: “Enough time to maybe help you.”
Doog: “No thanks. I’m good.”

Ember: “Don’t be afraid, Doog. The Miseri are gentle beings.”
Doog: “They are unusual, that’s for sure. They’re not a Progenitor race, are they?”
Graal: “We are not.”
Doog: “Oh, you speak basic.”
Graal: “I do, friend. Let me help you. I feel your pain.”
Doog: “That’s not necessary. I’m fine being how I am.”
Ember: “Amaya said he would be resistant.”
Doog: “Wait! Amaya sent me here on purpose?”
Kiefer: “You need help, buddy. She’s just trying to help.”
Doog: “I AM being punished! I should have known!”

Graal: “Working through your issues is not a punishment. It is a gift. Let me touch you.”
Doog: “No, I’m good. Hey! Stop!”

Doog: “No! Mom! Don’t go! I’ll be better!”
Gma: “It will be ok, Terrance. She’ll be back soon.”

Doog: “Get off me! I don’t want you in there!”
Graal: “I just want to help.”

Ember: “Doog! Come back, Doog!”
Kiefer: “It’s always hard at the beginning. You have to work through the pain.”
Doog: “I don’t have any pain! Notch! Where are you?! Where did you go?!”

Kiefer: “He’s gone, Doog. He won’t be back for a few weeks.”
Doog: “A few weeks!”
Ember: “Amaya thought it would be wise to spend your time between seasons working on yourself.”
Doog: “They’re leaving me here between seasons?! What about my time off?!”
Graal: “I sense your fear. Just relax. We won’t push too hard. We’ll start off slow.”
Doog: “I can’t believe they did this to me!”

Ember: “Doog! What are you doing?”
Doog: “I’m swimming back to the platform! I will not be denied…my…huff…my time…off…”
Graal: “I think he’s drowning.”
Ember: “He only swam a few meters.”
Kiefer: “I’ve got you, buddy! Take the preserver!”

​Doog: “Huff…there’s…there’s no escape. Is there?”
Ember: “No, Doog. The platform is miles away. There aren’t any ships that fly here directly.”
Kiefer: “Like it or not, you’re our guest for the next two weeks. You don’t have to work on yourself, but there’s not much else to do.”
Graal: “You know what you really can’t escape? Your past. Let me help you.”
Doog: “Well folks, I’m stuck on Misericors. I don’t know what to say. This is going to be the worst.”
 
Note:

Oldie: “Oh man, he’s going to be so mad.”
Amaya: “Don’t be concerned about Doog. Worry about yourself. Eat the fruit.”
Oldie: “I am. I am. This is like my third piece today.”
Amaya: “Better make it five.”
Mike: “Are we really leaving him there for two weeks?”
Amaya: “Doog needs this. His reckless behavior has cost us too many times. Maybe they can get to the root of his problems. Worst case scenario, we pick up the same old Doog in two weeks, but, this way, we know he isn’t getting into trouble in between seasons.”
Oldie: “Didn’t Mike screw up Also? Maybe he should be there too?”
Mike: “Shut it, Oldie!”
Amaya: “Mike is a follower. We fix Mike by fixing Doog.”
Mike: “I’m not a follower!”
Amaya: “We can take you back there, if you want, or you can come with us to Bulla Bulla. You decide.”
Mike: “I…uh…will go with you guys.”