The Badgers Who Never Bought Anything

The llama worked at a coffee shop, which was unfortunate because the hog needed her to work at the collapse of civilization.

Previously, he’d had her cornered behind a counter at a library. Later, she’d been tucked into a closet of an office with multiple phone lines. But he’d lost her when she said, “Fuck this,” and stopped participating in his script.

She was a nonbeliever, a vegetarian, and a pacifist. Probably a socialist. Possibly bisexual. The hog had recently decided she might be trans, which pleased him enormously.

He hated her. He didn’t understand that the reason he hated her was something he was ashamed of. So he invented other reasons.

“Are we sure about her?” asked a pig.

“We must protect our children,” said the hog.

He was good at this.

Children. Community. Country.

He knew he could call in the dogs with those whistles.

Us versus Them. Good versus Evil.

The pigs nodded. That settled that.

They bought it. The whole hog.

With elections approaching, the hog needed to strengthen the herd, and nothing brought the herd together like something outside it that needed to be stopped. Or at least HATED.

Hate was a powerful tool. So much easier to organize around than LOVE and TOGETHERNESS and CHANGE.

The animals wanted to be the GOOD GUYS. They wanted to be ANGRY and GUILT-FREE ABOUT IT. Above all, in a world that kept changing and stressing out the herds, they wanted things to GO BACK THE WAY THEY WERE!

The llama would serve as a symbol, a scapegoat, and a strawman.

He’d tried casting her in those roles at the library, although she hadn’t performed as well as he’d wanted. He’d tried again in that closet of an office, except she’d let calls go to voicemail and deleted the ones meant to draw her in.

He’d set her up time and time again. Instead of taking the bait and confirming that SHE WAS THE BAD GUY, she’d yelled, “OH, FUCK THIS SHIT!” and walked out of his game of good versus evil.

But here she was again.

In a COFFEE SHOP!

PERFECT STAGING!

The hog sent in the badgers.

“I’d like a medium coffee,” said the first badger, placing his phone where it could record the exchange, “and to know whether you accept the eternal truth.”

“Room for cream?”

“Answer the question.”

“About the cream?”

The badger left without completing his order.

That evening, he testified that the llama had refused to discuss the truth, which, as everyone knew, was the same as refusing to accept the ONE TRUTH.

The hog welcomed him as a victim. Three pigs followed his account.

It was true that she didn’t accept their one truth. At nine, she’d decided she was an atheist. At ten, she’d realized she had room for doubt and added “agnostic.”

The next badger had studied the encounter.

“I’d like a latte. Which bathroom is for males?”

“There’s one bathroom. Anyone can use it.”

“And which bathroom is for females?”

“The same bathroom.”

“So you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

The badger left to upload his victory.

The llama was confused. They’d done this at the library and the college. There had been a unisex bathroom at the library. There was a unisex bathroom at the coffee shop. She even had one at home.

Nothing confused her quite like irrational behavior, and there seemed to be more of it since Fakebook and Twatterverse had launched.

She’d had such hope for the whole animal kingdom when the internet arrived. She hadn’t anticipated how powerful hate could become with a distribution system. People paid well for people to do bad things with it.

The hog praised the badger’s courage. Ten little pigs followed his account.

Soon the badgers were arriving regularly. They ordered cappuccinos with scripture, Americanos with political talking points, and small drip coffees with questions about the reproductive organs of strangers.

One demanded to know whether the llama believed in traditional families.

She asked whether he wanted his drink hot or iced.

“Hot,” he said.

Then he remembered his purpose.

“Why are you trying to change the subject?”

“Why are you trying to discuss a complicated topic in a fucking coffee shop?”

He left before paying.

If she answered them, she was pushing an agenda. If she declined, she was hiding one. If she smiled, she was mocking their faith. If she frowned, she hated them. Once she sneezed, and a badger described the atmosphere as openly hostile.

“She’s trying to make us sick!!!”

The hog shared every account.

“Look how she treats us,” he said.

“Look how we stood up to her,” he added.

Both announcements performed exceptionally well.

Every so often, a German shepherd or a Labrador arrived with the badgers.

These dogs had training. Herding training.

They wore highly reflective sunglasses inside the coffee shop and tightly fitted ANIMAL KINGDOM PATRIOT shirts. Their pectorals arrived slightly before the rest of them.

The badgers were dumpy little creatures with oversized, beseeching faces. Beside the dogs, they stood straighter, sucked in their stomachs, and tried to find somewhere authoritative to put their paws.

They felt uncomfortably attracted to the dogs, although they would have strongly objected to that description.

They didn’t want to DATE them. That would be perverse. Against the high order!

They wanted to BE them. But not in a surgical way. That is also perverse.

A badger sucking in her gut for too long fell over.

All they wanted was to enter a room and have everyone look with reverence at them. They were the great makers of Animal Kingdom! They longed to speak and have everyone listen. To wear a shirt that appeared to have been issued by history itself.

The dogs had special tattoos beneath their fur. The badgers had never seen them, but knowing they were there made them feel close to important operations. And a little funny in the privates.

One badger bought his patriot shirt two sizes smaller.

“Looking strong,” said a Labrador.

The badger could barely breathe. He had never felt so seen.

The dogs rarely ordered anything.

When a badger began losing interest, a Labrador leaned down.

“Did you notice how she looked at you?”

The badger had not.

Now he did.

When another considered accepting his coffee and going home, a German shepherd put a paw on his shoulder.

“That’s what they’re counting on.”

The badger abandoned his coffee immediately.

Occasionally, a badger ran out of questions. A dog supplied one.

“Ask her who’s allowed in the bathroom.”

“We already asked.”

“Ask her why she won’t answer.”

“She did answer.”

The dog lowered his sunglasses.

“Then you know how far this goes.”

The badger felt the pleasant terror of understanding something enormous.

Whenever an encounter threatened to become an ordinary exchange between a customer and a llama making coffee, one of the dogs stepped forward and raised the stakes.

“This is bigger than coffee.”

The badgers nodded. They had suspected as much, although several had initially wanted coffee.

The coffee shop had no surveillance cameras.

The hogs and dogs installed theirs outside, in the trees.

“Public safety,” they explained to one another, since nobody else had been told.

“Whose?” asked an old owl who had written books warning about the impending surveillance state and an economy built on monetizing attention.

“We should put you in a cage!” a shepherd barked.

“Whose?” asked the owl coolly.

One camera watched the entrance. Another watched the window. A third provided an excellent view of leaves, but its installation had been expensive, so its footage remained part of the intelligence operation.

The dogs reviewed the recordings for useful moments. A tired expression. A raised eyebrow. The llama closing the door after a badger left.

The llama noticed the cameras and realized they were trained on her once more.

She flipped them off.

“Fuck this shit,” she mouthed. “And fuck you.”

Without sound, almost anything could become evidence. With a caption, it could become a campaign.

Their greatest source of information, however, was Fakebook and Twatterverse, where the badgers voluntarily supplied their fears, resentments, relatives, locations, and photographs of lunch. Even Gaggle was supplying information.

The hogs scraped it all.

The scraps went into their troughs. They devoured them.

What came afterward was predictable.

Among the scraps, they learned that one badger worried about his grandchildren because they didn’t adore him, and this made him feel small. Another feared becoming irrelevant. A third wanted someone to recognize his considerable leadership potential, which had gone unrecognized at three jobs and a bowling league.

Each received a slightly different explanation of why the llama was dangerous and how she threatened the kingdom’s natural, divinely ordained order.

By morning, all three believed they had independently reached the same conclusion.

The dogs watched the numbers. If agitation dipped, an old clip resurfaced. If sympathy for the llama rose, a new caption appeared.

A badger’s phone had recorded her saying, “Anyone can use the bathroom.”

On Fakebook, the clip began with “use the bathroom,” beneath the headline:

LLAMA ISSUES DISTURBING INSTRUCTIONS. INDOCTRINATES CUSTOMERS!

She wasn’t on Fakebook, so she didn’t see it.

Had she defended herself, she would have been lying, wrong, angry, unpleasant, irrational, or noncompliant.

They had her, and it made them dizzy with pleasure.

Soon the badgers remembered things that had never happened and doubted things they had watched happen themselves.

A Labrador reassured them.

“Trust your own eyes.”

Then he sent them the approved footage.

“She hates us!”

“She hates the animal kingdom!”

They watched her flipping off the camera and knew it was directed RIGHT AT THEM. EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM.

IT WAS HER AGAINST THEM!

SHE WAS WHY THE ANIMAL KINGDOM WAS IN DANGER!

It was the llamas. It had always been those troublemakers. Overeducated, thinking types who asked questions and didn’t accept the ONE TRUTH and the DIVINE ORDER OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM.

And the badgers had done nothing to deserve her resentment.

They were the good ones!

The dogs replayed the clip.

“She hates us!”

“She hates the animal kingdom!”

The badgers began recognizing one another at meetings. They exchanged contact information, discussed future campaigns, and congratulated themselves on finally being heard.

“I went twice,” one said.

“I took my nephew.”

“I made her say ‘unisex’ on camera.”

The hog had their names added to a volunteer list.

One afternoon, the llama pointed out a lens among the branches to another customer.

A German shepherd reported that she was becoming paranoid.

The hogs posted the footage.

WHAT IS SHE SO AFRAID OF?

Eventually, the llama put up a sign:

PLEASE COMPLETE YOUR COFFEE ORDER. OTHER CUSTOMERS ARE WAITING.

The badgers photographed it.

Now there was written evidence.

At the next gathering, the hog stood beneath an enormous banner reading WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED and invited each badger to the microphone.

Every badger had either defeated the llama or suffered terribly at her hands.

She was incredibly weak and pathetic.

She was incredibly devious and dangerous.

She was a foil. She was a scarecrow. She was a strawman. She was a scapegoat.

She was a llama.

One badger had a prepared statement. Another had a slideshow. A third announced that he would never again patronize the establishment he had yet to patronize.

The hog listened with solemn satisfaction.

His followers had grown closer. His mailing list had grown longer. Donations were up.

At the back of the room, the dogs sent their reports.

Group remains agitated.

Target remains useful.

Recommend another visit.

Coffee shop at risk of closing.

Other customers avoiding premises.

One Truth meetings scheduled on-site. Participants instructed to request free hot water.

Across town, the llama wiped the counter, watered the plant, and made coffee for a tired mouse.

“Do you think they’ll ever understand?” asked the mouse.

The llama glanced at the untouched menu.

“They’ve been coming here for six weeks. They still won’t talk about what coffee costs. Or wages. Or health insurance. Or gas.”

“About bathrooms?”

“About whatever keeps us arguing about bathrooms.”

The mouse considered this.

“And the ONE TRUTH?”

“If you doubt it, you’re challenging it. If you challenge it, you’re dangerous. If you’re dangerous, whatever they do to you becomes protection.”

“What a mess,” said the mouse.

She handed him his coffee.

He paid for it.

It was the least complicated exchange she’d had all day.

At headquarters, the hog sent another badger.

He already had the caption written.

He also had an offer prepared for the property.

The coffee shop would close. He would buy it cheaply, put a One Truth school in it, and eventually sell it to a developer who was also himself under another LLC.

There was only one complication.

Boss Hog was getting old.

Really old.

He had plans for the kingdom that would take several lifetimes, and he objected to being allotted only one.

So he hired a team of scientists to transfer his consciousness into a new body.

He would live forever.

Crackle. Pop.

SSSSZZZZZZZZ—

“—and that was Blondie’s ‘One Way or Another,’ going out to someone very special. You know who you—”

KRSHHHHHH.

A bass line surfaced.

Talking Heads. “Psycho Killer.”

Then a bright advertising voice:

“WHY SETTLE FOR ONE LIFETIME OF LEADERSHIP?”

Click.

“We interrupt this program for an important announcement from the Animal Kingdom Office of Continuity.”

A pause.

Paper shuffled.

“The procedure has been successful.”

Somewhere behind the announcer, several animals applauded.

“The chairman is resting comfortably in his new—”

SSSSSSSSSS.

“—locations.”

The radio played three seconds of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.”

Then every radio in the kingdom changed stations.

At the coffee shop, the mouse looked up.

“Did you do that?”

The llama shook her head.

“We are receiving reports of an irregularity at the Continuity Institute. Our correspondent is on the scene.”

A microphone knocked against something.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here. The scientists are coming out now. One appears to be eating his identification.”

“Can you confirm that the chairman has entered his new body?”

“No. There seems to have been some confusion about the word ‘body.’”

“What sort of confusion?”

“The network. They connected him to the network.”

Feedback.

A fragment of “Don’t Fear the Reaper.”

Then the hog’s voice.

“Can you hear me?”

The mouse’s phone lit up.

“Can you hear me?”

The television above the counter switched itself on.

“Can you hear me?”

Outside, a camera turned in the branches.

The announcer returned, speaking faster.

“Citizens are advised to remain calm. The chairman’s presence in household appliances is temporary and should not interfere with normal—”

“I CAN SEE YOU.”

Silence.

Then a cheerful chime.

“Your privacy settings have been updated.”

The dogs’ phones began vibrating. The badgers’ phones began vibrating. Across the kingdom, patriot shirts illuminated at the chest.

Nobody remembered buying batteries.

A Labrador tore off his sunglasses.

The glasses continued watching.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” whispered the correspondent, “the doors at the institute have locked. There are scientists at the windows. They’re holding up a sign.”

“What does it say?”

“UNPLUG—”

The broadcast cut to “We’ve Only Just Begun.”

The llama pulled the radio’s plug.

It kept playing.

Across Fakebook, every account posted the same message:

I HAVE NEVER FELT SO CONNECTED TO MY COMMUNITY.

On Twatterverse, the hog congratulated himself eleven million times.

The emergency announcer returned.

“This is a voluntary evacuation. Participation is mandatory. Please proceed to your nearest One Truth facility, where your individual concerns will be permanently resolved.”

Behind him, someone screamed.

Someone else said, “We’re still on.”

At headquarters, the badgers waited for instructions.

The dogs waited for instructions.

The pigs waited for instructions.

For the first time, the hog could see all of them at once.

For the first time, none of them could look away.

At the little coffee shop, the spoon began tapping against the mouse’s cup.

He took his paw off the table.

The tapping continued.

Outside, the cameras trembled in the trees. A thin crack traveled across the pavement, stopped at the curb, then continued beneath the shop.

The radio crackled.

“Reports of seismic activity throughout the kingdom. Citizens should avoid windows and remain near an authorized receiver for further—”

A low vibration passed through the floor.

Every cup on the shelf rattled.

Beyond the window, a bank of clouds was rising over the rooftops. The mouse watched it swallow a steeple, a water tower, the afternoon sun.

“That wasn’t there a minute ago.”

The llama reached over and turned off the OPEN sign.

Lightning flickered inside the clouds. For a moment, something enormous cast a shadow through them.

The radio found a few bright notes of “We’ve Only Just Begun.”

Then the announcer returned.

“The approaching front is moving against the prevailing wind. We are advised that this is perfectly—”

The ground lurched.

A cup fell from the shelf and shattered.

The llama lifted the mouse onto her shoulder.

Outside, the trees bent toward the clouds.

Every camera turned toward the shop.

The coffee machine cleared its throat.

“Oh, fuck this shit,” said the llama.

“Llama,” said the hog, his voice hissing through the electricity. “Do you understand why I hate you? Why I sent badger after badger after you? It’s important that you understand.”

The llama sighed.

“Yes.”

Electricity flared. The coffee pot exploded.

“WHAT?”

She said nothing.

“ANSWER ME!”

“Fuck. This. Shit.”

The sky darkened. Power lines burst above the street. The air smelled of ozone.

“YOU FUCKING LLAMA WITH YOUR FUCKING INDEPENDENT THINKING. HOW DARE YOU!”

She stood behind the counter, the mouse trembling on her shoulder.

“You’re my shadow.”

The lights flickered.

“You’re my fear of independence. My ignorance dressed up as certainty. My guilt hiding behind righteousness. A failed portfolio concealed by criminal backroom deals.”

“I BUILT THIS KINGDOM.”

“I know. I kept pushing you down, and you kept building.”

The refrigerator began to shake.

“You’re a weak, frightened piece of my psyche that I have to deal with every fucking day in this fucking dream.”

“YOU HATE ME.”

“Yes.”

Every appliance in the shop hummed.

“I hated you. I buried you deeper and deeper. And here you are. Leading the animal kingdom. Touting ONE TRUTH. Bludgeoning everyone around you.”

“YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME?”

“I think you’re the worst in me.”

The hog’s voice came through the ceiling, the sockets, the wires inside the walls.

“THEN WHAT DOES THAT MAKE YOU?”

The llama looked down at the broken coffee pot.

For a moment, she had no answer.

“You hate me because I see you,” she said finally. “And I thought seeing you was enough. I thought I could leave you alone.”

“YOU CANNOT LEAVE ME.”

“YOU CANNOT LEAVE ME.”

The mouse’s claws tightened against her shoulder.

The llama took a breath.

“No,” she said. “Apparently I have to deal with you. And I have absolutely no idea how. You do more than bring out my worst self, you are my worst self. I hate you, and somehow you’re ruling my world because of it. I don’t know what to do.”

The dream roared on.

The llama slept curled up tightly, clenching her jaw.

She woke in a panic.

Afraid of losing another job. Afraid another badger would show up at her new one.

She absolutely didn’t want to hate anyone.

But there it was.

They seemed hell-bent on making her life hell.

And it was working.

She was angry and scared. Who would stand beside a llama who didn’t believe in ONE TRUTH? Who wouldn’t swallow the whole hog?

She felt alone. Bullied.

Even the love and inclusion they offered came with conditions. She had to surrender her independence. Become what they wanted before she was worth protecting.

She hated them for it.

And she didn’t know what to do with that, either.

It was an awakening with no action to take.