Lower Class

"So you're telling us, Miss Brittle, that the entire purpose of your business was to find a way to attend classes for free?"

Brittle Horn glanced up at Dean White's interruption, blinking to refocus. "Out of everything I've told you, that's what caught your attention?"

The dean laced her fingers together. "That's what stretches the boundaries of credibility. For someone who says they're intent on acquiring an education, I can't believe you're going to such trouble to sporadically audit lectures, essentially at random."

Brittle shifted in her chair. "It's not just attending lectures, alright? It's the principle of the thing." A scowl flushed the carapace of her cheeks. "Some of us want to do this without taking any handouts."

White's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. That's exactly what Dark Wing said when we talked about the possibility of financial aid."

"That's not interesting, it's exactly why I'm here!" Brittle stood up, face fully flushed. "4.0 GPA, practically lives on campus, on a first-name basis with half the department heads—isn't Wing just your perfect golden girl? The one playing by the rules, the great shining example of an unredeemed changeling escaping through education. But how do you think she was able to afford tuition? Because she's a stars-damned fraud. Everything she accomplished has been secretly funded by the hive's money."

"What's shameful about that?" Bergmann asked from the side. "That's how humans do it. Something like two-thirds of students get a family ride through college."

"Actually, for full family coverage, that figure is around 30 percent," Dean White said, "with another 40 percent sharing costs. But his point stands. Not to mention, if you're avoiding handouts, why not just get a student loan?"

Brittle sighed. "Because the entire point of coming to Earth was showing we're capable of breaking free from our past. When you've spent your whole life as an unthinking extension of the queen's will, and then suddenly have a chance to define yourself without her, there's two ways you can go. Embrace the hive, and turn technicolor, and go join Thorax's candyland socialist bug dystopia. Or embrace individuality, and stay black, and be your own bug by overcoming your instincts. But when you're trying to make your own way, anyone having power over you just turns you into a drone again. Taking gifts mean accomplishing things with resources which aren't yours — which is a flashback straight to the days when everything belonged to the queen. And a debt is just another method of control, binding you with a contract until it's paid off."

"No being is an island, Miss Brittle. If you're trying to put yourself through college ethically, perhaps that's a concept you should learn from the ponies." White raised one eyebrow. "Or your hivemate."

Brittle's muzzle—which had been fading back to its normal color—flushed again. "No. Screw that. And screw Dark Wing. This is what actual principle looks like. No feeding from clients, and not a penny from anyone that I didn't directly earn. And you know what? I'm making it work. I'm late on my bills, and everything I earn from being Catalyst goes straight to rent, and thank the stars I get to eat love instead of ramen, but I'm actually making it work. The only way I can afford to learn anything is free, but I am learning." She winced. "Well, I was. Until…"