CHAPTER 6: Council of Panic
Scene 1 – They Overrode What?
-Councilor Sygg Tev
Councilor Sygg Tev adjusted his breathing valve, feeling it fog against his lower mandibles as he stared at the central holo.
It was playing again.
For the fifth time.
Footage, retrieved and verified by no fewer than seventeen independent sources: the creature—small, quadrupedal, approximately 0.72 meters in length—hopping onto a Galactic-class command console aboard the Nebula’s Grace. Calm. Purposeful.
Disabling the self-destruct sequence.
Without hesitation. Without panic.
Without even looking at the prompts.
The room buzzed in rising horror. Delegates whispered. Tentacles shifted, wings twitched, dorsal flanges flushed every shade of alarm.
At the central projection, the footage slowed—zoomed—in. High-definition focus on the creature’s beady, unblinking eyes.
It turned.
Faced the camera.
And winked.
Sygg Tev fainted.
Or, more accurately, he slumped sideways in his suspension cradle, clicking faintly as his motor responses froze. An aide scrambled forward, injecting a mild stimulant into one of his upper arms. Sygg twitched, blinked, and sat upright with the mechanical precision of a rebooted navigation drone.
“I’m fine,” he rasped. “I’m fine. I merely... recalibrated my perception intake.”
“Of course, Councilor,” the aide murmured, discreetly hiding the empty stimulant canister.
Across the amphitheater, the debate raged.
“Is that dominance behavior?” barked the Dravvian Defense Chair, antennae rigid with alarm.
“No, no, it’s a threat display—classic predatory signaling!” a M’til psychologist insisted, splaying all four of her arms in warning gestures.
A screen-flick of annotations appeared: Eye Contact Duration: 6.4 seconds. In Terran mammals, prolonged eye contact signals either trust... or imminent violence.
The uncertainty made it worse.
By the third replay, someone muttered it aloud:
“Biological uprising.”
Sygg’s mandibles clicked together in horror.
The phrase, picked up by the translator feeds, was immediately logged as an Emergency Motion for Discussion.
By law, that meant action had to be taken before the cycle ended.
He gripped the sides of his cradle with all four hands, trying to calm himself.
It didn’t work.
On the holoscreen, the creature—the honey badger, someone had whispered earlier in hushed tones, as if naming it summoned it—had just finished resetting command pathways aboard a Galactic ship.
With no tech.
No implants.
No words.
Just knowing.
Councilor Sygg Tev turned to his console, throat dry.
He keyed in a request:
SUBJECT: EARTH – BIOLOGICAL ASSETS – THREAT ANALYSIS, IMMEDIATE.
An error returned:
FILE TOO LARGE.
Sygg stared at it.
Too large?
Before he could process that, an urgent override flashed across the hall’s main display:
"Summon Earth's Representative. Immediate."
Earth's ambassador had some explaining to do.
The doors swung open.
And Marik Vonn, Earth’s emissary, walked in—briefcase under one arm, eyebrow slightly raised, wearing the weary expression of someone called to account for a thing he had absolutely no control over.
Sygg slumped a little lower in his seat.
The galaxy wasn’t ready.
And somehow, he knew—deep in whatever evolutionary instincts still lurked in his species’ ancient blood—that the small creature that winked at them wasn’t done.
Not even close.
Scene 2 – Exhibit: Earth Has Always Been Weird
-Ambassador Marik Vonn
The Defense Podium rose from the floor like a sacrificial altar.
Marik Vonn adjusted his jacket, slung his briefcase onto the podium’s surface, and tapped the mic once. It gave a sharp pop that echoed across the tiered chamber like a starter pistol.
Hundreds of alien eyes, eyestalks, thermal pits, and crystalline orbs locked onto him.
Above his head, a rotating hologram spun—footage of Stoffel disabling a self-destruct. Looping, pausing on the wink.
The subtext was clear: Explain your planet, Terran. Now.
Marik sighed quietly and smiled the thin, professional smile of a man who had been through too many meetings, too many misunderstandings, and now stood before the galactic equivalent of a panicking PTA.
“Councilors,” he began, voice steady, “I am here today to clarify misconceptions regarding Earth’s... fauna.”
A skeptical buzz ran through the chamber.
“First,” Marik continued, raising one finger, “the honey badger—Mellivora capensis—was not genetically engineered. Nor was it the product of any directed evolution project. It evolved naturally.”
The Dravvian Defense Chair shot up from his seat. “You expect us to believe you allowed such a... a weapon to evolve without intervention?!”
Marik shrugged. “We tried. It didn’t listen.”
Murmurs. Disbelief. Someone in the upper tiers fluttered all seven of their wings in exasperation.
“To assist your understanding,” Marik said, tapping a button on the podium, “I’ve prepared some additional exhibits.”
The chamber lights dimmed.
The first image flickered up: a cassowary—six feet tall, helmeted head, dagger-like claws, glaring straight into the camera.
Labeled simply: CASSOWARY – TROPICAL AMBUSH SPECIALIST
Footage played: a cassowary chasing a human at 45 kilometers per hour, disemboweling a decoy robot with a single kick.
There was a collective intake of breath across the council tiers.
Next: A blue-ringed octopus, flashing iridescent warnings as it floated across a reef.
BLUE-RINGED OCTOPUS – NEUROTOXIC ASSASSIN
Annotated: Venom lethal to twenty humans per gram. No known antidote.
Sygg Tev, still pale from earlier, whimpered audibly.
Then: The hippopotamus.
HIPPOPOTAMUS – TERRITORIAL RIVER TANK
Video feed: A hippo flipping a full-size motorboat with casual ease.
A low, horrified murmur filled the hall. A winged delegate dropped their data tablet. Someone else scribbled frantic notes.
Finally, Marik smiled slightly and queued up his final exhibit.
PLATYPUS – NATURE’S AFTERTHOUGHT
Footage: A waddling, duck-billed mammal, poison spur visible on its hind leg, gliding underwater with sonar navigation.
Annotations:
? Sweats poison.
? Has electroreception.
? Lays eggs but produces milk.
? Scientists still confused.
One councilor gagged and turned away.
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Marik folded his hands behind his back, perfectly composed.
“We tried to warn you,” he said, voice dry as a Martian salt plain. “You invited us anyway.”
Silence.
Utter, echoing silence.
Even the holo of Stoffel seemed to blink slower, as if pondering the weight of Earth's weirdness.
A blinking red light on the central dais indicated a formal question.
Marik nodded at the presiding Chair.
“Councilor Trelik of Arvis Prime requests clarification,” the Chair intoned.
Marik inclined his head.
Councilor Trelik leaned forward, all three of her compound eyes shining with cautious horror.
She spoke carefully:
“...Are there more?”
Marik smiled warmly.
“Oh yes,” he said. “We’re just getting started.”
Scene 3 – Deathworld Show and Tell
-Lyra Vonn
Lyra Vonn braced herself the moment she stepped through the classroom door.
Too late.
The swarm hit her instantly—dozens of excited alien students crowded around her, waving datapads, flashing holograms, bombarding her with questions that barely made sense even with the translator implants functioning at full capacity.
“Is it true your trees bleed?” demanded a crystalline being whose voice sounded like breaking glass.
“Does peanut butter sedate your enemies?” asked a reptilian student with earnest, blinking gold eyes.
“Do Earth spiders carry their children inside their heads until the young eat their way out?” a terrified, feathered quadruped yelped from the back.
Lyra backed up until her shoulders hit the wall.
One of her friends—a centauroid named Reeli—waved her four arms in frantic excitement. “Do your oceans actually attack people?”
Lyra opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“Uh,” she said brilliantly.
The teacher, Professor K’thall, tried to regain order by firing a quick succession of calming pheromones into the air. It barely helped. A small drone began buzzing overhead, recording everything for the academy’s public feed. Lyra glared at it. Betrayal.
One tentacle shot up from the crowd.
“Is it true humans eat badgers?!”
Lyra sputtered. “What? No! Well—probably someone somewhere—but no! We don’t eat badgers as a rule!”
The room murmured in alarm.
A Pluvian student leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“Do your badgers... eat you back?”
Lyra stared at her. Blinked.
Then sighed. “Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past them.”
Several datapads clattered to the floor as students recoiled in horror and fascination.
Professor K’thall attempted once again to bring the room back to order.
“Today’s lesson,” he intoned, “was supposed to cover planetary biomes... not interrogate Earth’s young representative.”
He shot Lyra a helpless look. She shrugged.
Not her fault Earth had become the galactic equivalent of a death cult myth.
Still, the questions kept coming.
“Can plants move if you make them angry?”
“Does chocolate work as a weapon?”
“Are your cows really bigger than our planetary defense drones?”
Lyra rubbed her temples.
The drone overhead zoomed in, the lens making a cheerful ping as it highlighted her growing expression of existential regret.
This would be all over the academy’s social channels by morning.
She exhaled through her nose.
Time to take control.
She slapped her hand onto the nearest desk and raised her voice loud enough to cut through the din.
“Okay! Listen up!
Yes, Earth is dangerous!
No, we’re not all homicidal mammals with stealth spiders riding sharks!
Yes, we have trees that bleed—sometimes it’s just sap, calm down—
No, peanut butter isn’t a sedative—it’s delicious!
And yes, badgers are real, terrifying, and smarter than half of you!”
Silence.
A stunned silence.
Until a small voice piped up from the back:
“What about raccoons?”
Lyra closed her eyes.
Oh no.
Oh no.
She plastered on her best fake smile and said sweetly:
“You really don’t want to know.”
From somewhere behind her, the drone beeped approvingly and uploaded the whole exchange to the Academy’s trending newsfeed.
#Deathworld101
#EarthlingsAreTerrifying
#SendMoreFootage
Lyra slumped into her seat as the teacher finally wrestled control of the class back to order.
Maybe, she thought, Earth’s reputation wasn’t so bad.
At least no one was asking about the emus.
Yet.
Scene 4 – The Sweetest Threat
-Dr. M’lin
Dr. M’lin, Chief Neurochemical Analyst for the Galactic Substance Regulation Division, had long prided himself on professionalism.
Today severely tested that pride.
“Proceed with your findings,” intoned Subcommittee Head Trexx, a serpentine being whose translucent scales flushed pink with impatience.
M’lin adjusted the holographic slides and cleared his throat—an act that sounded suspiciously like a soap bubble popping.
“With respect to recent... disturbances,” he began, “we have conducted full neurochemical analysis on the Earth-derived substance known colloquially as honey.”
A ripple of interest moved through the room.
Behind him, a massive display projected a cheerful Earth marketing image: a bear squeezing golden honey from a plastic bottle.
Someone in the second row hissed audibly.
M’lin switched the display to Brain Scans: Before and After Honey Exposure.
The first image: standard alien neuroflow. Smooth, predictable.
The second image: after a single microdose of raw Terran honey.
The cortex lit up like a fireworks display.
He tapped a data rod against the stand. “Subjects experienced intense euphoria, dissociative empathy, minor hallucinations, heightened song response, and—” he hesitated, flicking to the next slide— “in amphibioid species... spontaneous musical improvisation.”
A holo-clip played of a normally stoic frog-being, mid-session, bursting into an improvised jazz solo on a synth-lute. The footage was timestamped twenty minutes post-ingestion.
Several committee members gasped.
“Furthermore,” M’lin continued, deadpan, “subjects reported irresistible urges to ‘love everything,’ engage in interpretive dance, and—"
He paused again. "—attempt to pet security drones.”
Councilor Breek, a spindly crustacean-type, chittered loudly. "Pet them?"
M’lin nodded gravely. "With predictable results. Severe electrostatic backlash."
The slide changed again.
Proposed Classification: Level 2 Environmental Toxin.
Social Influence Risk: Category Red.
“In short,” M’lin concluded, folding his four hands behind his back, “Earth honey is not merely a nutritional compound. It is a psychoactive neurochemical destabilizer with cross-species susceptibility.”
A hushed silence fell.
Then a snicker.
Someone in the back—a sector diplomat’s aide, by the look of the uniform—was trying very, very hard to hide something behind his datapad.
M’lin narrowed his gaze.
The aide shifted guiltily.
And there, unmistakably, was a glint of golden liquid—honey—dripping from the edge of a smuggled cracker.
Caught mid-crime.
The aide noticed the attention and hastily stuffed the cracker into his mouth, crunching audibly, then saluted as if nothing had happened.
A slow, stunned silence followed.
Subcommittee Head Trexx turned magenta in fury.
M’lin sighed internally and resumed his clinical tone.
“In light of this,” he said dryly, “I recommend immediate embargo of all honey exports. Furthermore, I propose a galaxy-wide ban on live Earth bee transport, and mandatory detoxification protocols for any entities showing signs of honey-induced euphoria.”
Trexx snapped his frilled tail against the table.
“Motion carried.”
M’lin nodded and finalized the report.
“This is your brain.”
[Image: Normal neural pathways.]
“This is your brain on honey.”
[Image: A swirling nebula with a musical staff superimposed over it.]
A tiny footnote added:
Warning: Exposure to honey may result in sudden, irrational worship of small Earth mammals.
Behind him, the aide who ate the cracker leaned sideways in his chair, humming softly to himself.
A love song.
About a badger.
M’lin closed the file with grim finality.
The galaxy had just met its first viral narcotic.
And it tasted like sunshine.
Scene 5 – The First Sermon
-Nuvax-Xirr
The camera feed crackled to life, broadcasting across three hundred and seventeen entertainment channels simultaneously.
A face filled the frame—elegant, almost feline, with six limpid eyes and a speaking voice tuned to vibrate just slightly under the threshold of conscious resistance.
Nuvax-Xirr smiled.
Not the smile of a politician, nor the polished grin of a commercial actor. No, this was the smile of a prophet who smelled opportunity.
He leaned closer to the lens.
"You saw the footage," he whispered.
Behind him, a massive projection played on loop: the badger—the being—standing atop a command console, disabling a self-destruct with nothing but careful paw movements and steady, unblinking will.
"You saw how it moved. Not as a beast. Not as a pet."
Nuvax’s voice dropped, intimate.
"You saw how it forgave."
The camera widened, revealing Nuvax's makeshift temple—a rough hexagonal dais, surrounded by dripping wax candles and braided cords of shimmering gold.
At his feet: jars of raw honey, stacked in pyramids.
He lifted one, the viscous gold catching the light, and held it high.
"Honey is the memory of the stars," he said.
"It is not food. It is truth."
In the lower thirds of the screen, the feed’s sponsor flickered into view:
SPONSORED BY: HONEYPOP?
Now with Bee Venom Extract – For Maximum Clarity.
Thousands—no, millions—of viewers tuned in.
Comments scrolled faster than light particles on the feed:
#BadgerBlessed
#ClawBePraised
#HiveUsAll
Nuvax set the honey down and knelt before a towering mural behind him.
The mural showed Stoffel—not snarling, not leaping—but standing, paw raised toward a rising sun made of hexagons. His eyes were painted as molten gold. His fur gleamed with embedded stardust.
Beneath the mural, a single phrase:
The Forgotten Architect Returns.
Nuvax-Xirr spread his six arms wide.
"We do not follow a conqueror. We do not worship a destroyer," he said, voice thrumming deeper. "We follow the Architect. The First Builder. The Bringer of Memory."
Across dozens of worlds, initiates began carving hexagon symbols into their clothing, their skins, even the hulls of their ships.
HoneyPop stock prices tripled within the hour.
At local markets, imitation wax chalices sold out.
Tattoo parlors announced a month-long waitlist for “Official Claw Cult Seals.”
At the end of the broadcast, Nuvax raised his voice for the final time:
"The Hive rises. The wild returns.
Follow the pulse. Follow the Claw."
The screen faded to black.
The Cult of the Claw had begun.
And somewhere—deep aboard the Nebula’s Grace—Stoffel, utterly unaware of his growing divine status, was busy nudging a small reflective shard into perfect alignment.
Scene 6 – Directive Theta-7
-Councilor Sygg Tev
Councilor Sygg Tev had lived through budget collapses, border skirmishes, the Great Migration Scandal, and the Incident with the Voraxian Ambassador’s Fourth Wife.
He had never—never—seen a session like this.
The Voting Floor flickered in furious color: displays, urgent summons, emergency resolutions stacking faster than the monitors could refresh.
At the heart of it all:
The badger.
The tiny, unstoppable, impossible badger, frozen mid-wink in the holoscreen loop overhead, its paw still raised as if casually reprogramming the destiny of the galaxy.
Sygg swallowed hard, adjusting his breathing valves as a new resolution flashed up:
PROPOSED DIRECTIVE THETA-7
Emergency Regulation of Terran-Origin Fauna and Derivatives
- Honey Badgers: Class-4 Biological Weapon
- Bees: Class-4 Biological Weapon
- Squirrels: Class-4 Biological Weapon (pending behavioral review)
- Honey and Fermented Apian Products: Class-4 Controlled Substances
Immediate ban on transport, trade, or cultivation without Level Red security clearance.
The chamber erupted.
Arguments soared and crashed like burning debris in a windstorm.
“They build hives inside ships!”
“They turned me into a poet!”
“They seduced our navigators with sugar!”
Sygg steadied his hands and logged his vote: Aye.
Not because he truly believed Earth’s creatures were a deliberate threat.
But because, deep down, he knew this wasn’t about the badgers anymore.
It was about fear.
Fear that something so small, so utterly unconcerned with galactic laws, had rewritten their assumptions about survival, control, and meaning.
One by one, votes lit up across the amphitheater.
? Nayla System – Aye
? Drelkth Combine – Aye
? Vree Coalition – Aye
? Earth's Representative – No
A gasp fluttered through the hall.
Earth’s Ambassador, Marik Vonn, stood tall, arms crossed behind his back, face utterly unreadable.
He didn’t make a speech.
He didn’t protest.
He just pressed No and sat down again.
And somewhere in the lower observation levels, a goat—officially registered as the Independent Delegate for Graze-World—accidentally voted "Abstain" while attempting to chew its voting device.
The motion carried.
Directive Theta-7: Passed.
All across galactic space, officials were notified.
Honey—contraband.
Bees—illegal imports.
Honey badgers—lethal biological threats to civilization.
As the voting floor descended into celebratory chaos, Sygg Tev leaned back in his cradle, feeling nothing but a profound, sickening certainty:
They hadn’t outlawed badgers.
They had declared war on an idea.
Above him, the holoscreen looped once more—zooming in on the tiny, fearless creature standing alone against a world built by fear.
And smiling.