//------------------------------// // II — Quid Pro Quo // Story: The Collegiate Conundrum // by Divide //------------------------------// II — Quid Pro Quo When you and Rainbow Dash arrive at the dean's office, he politely informs you that he will speak to both you and her separately. Naturally, she gets to go first, and you're stuck waiting outside. With a sigh, you sit down in an uncomfortable waiting chair outside his office as both he and Rainbow sit in comfy, leather swivel chairs. You try to keep yourself occupied with the vulgar comments engraved into the plastic armrest, but there's only so many times you can read the f-word before you become bored. Your phone is plugged into your charger back in your dorm, so entertainment from that was thrown out the proverbial window. Honestly, you aren't even sure why you have a phone in the first place: the games became old really quick, your parents rarely call you, and if there was a soul remaining in Victus that could hold a decent conversation through text-messaging, you haven't found them yet. Your fingers tap a rhythm intelligible only to yourself as you try to find solace from the boredom in your thoughts. Fortunately, just as you start reciting pi just for the hell of it, the door opens and it's your turn for the sit-down with Mr. Teller. "See ya back at the dorm, Rainbow. That is, if you haven't decided to move out already," you say as you pass her. "You won't get rid of me that easily!" she calls from down the hallway. Unbidden, a smile appears on your face before you remember what you're about to do. With the same energy of a convict walking the green mile, you close the door behind you and sit down. The room smells of leather and shaving cream. Mister Teller looks about as comfortable in the seat as he would in a Volkswagen Beetle. The dean is quite tall and makes everything around him look small in comparison. "Good morning," he says plainly. "Please lock the door. I'd hate to be interrupted." You nod and press the push button lock. "At a loss for words? Surprising," he continues, pulling out a file from a stack, "considering the amount of complaints I've received from your instructors that the only time your mouth is closed is when you, and I quote, 'are preparing the next wise-ass comment.'" You shrug. "What can I say? When Misses Hopkins teaches something in class that I didn't learn from five minutes of Internet surfing in my spare time, I'll stop with the ubiquitous comments." Mister Teller smiles wryly and puts the file away. "I'll be sure to tell her that. But a professor's complaint isn't why you're here right now, is it?" You shake your head. "I figured. You're probably wondering why you're new roommate is an Equestrian—or something of the sort. Correct?" You nod. "From here on out, I need you to verbally communicate. Understand?" "Sure, but why?" you ask. He motions towards a small, unassuming device near the corner of his neatly organized desk. "This conversation is being recorded," he plainly states. "Nodding or shaking your head isn't picked up by audio recorders, now is it?" You swallow nervously. "No sir." He snorts. "Oh, is it 'sir' now? Sir Teller. That'll be the day." He snorts. "Don't bother. You never used it before, don't start now." "Can I ask why this is being recorded?" You're unsure why, but you're starting to sweat. You surreptitiously wipe your hands on your pant legs. "You certainly may, and I am obliged to answer any questions you may have, but only after you answer one more question from myself." "Alright. Shoot." "Why?" You don't understand. "Why what?" "Why what indeed." The dean leans back in his chair, eliciting a succession of plaintive squeaks from the leather. "Why are you here? At Victus College?" "To achieve a higher form of education." Mr. Teller smiles like he knows something you don't. "I know who you are. I've seen your aptitude scores. Tell me: Why are you here?" Your eyes narrow. "Who's this recording going to be heard by?" "That's classified, unfortunately. And before you ask, no, I don't know, either. It's classified to me as well." You bite the inside of your cheek before answering. What are you supposed to say? That the only reason you're enrolled in Victus College is because it's the only one you can afford? That your parents won't assist you in the slightest? That for some reason unbeknownst to you, your high school classmates were given scholarships to higher-end post-secondary establishments with lower SAT scores than yourself? Before long, your mouth tastes like blood. You decide to tell Mister Teller exactly why you're enrolled in Victus College. After you finish, he leans back while you grind your teeth together. You hate wearing your teeth down, but it was either that or you start digging into the armrest with your fingernails. "And that's why," you conclude, "I'm here." You look the dean in the eye, and he meets your gaze, although he seems to be looking at you a little bit differently. You're not entirely sure, but there appears to be... respect in his grey-green eyes. "I see. Since that's the case, I can almost guarantee that you'll appreciate the offer I'm about to present to you. But first, a little... exposition as to what situation we're in right now." The dean stands up, faces the wall, takes a deep breath, then faces you. "As anyone who hasn't been living under a rock can tell you, humanity isn't alone anymore. Six and a half years ago, give or take a month, the Way opened in the middle of the northern section of the Atlantic Ocean. It didn't go unnoticed very long. After the first drones went in and came out unharmed with pictures and video of an Earth-like world, the world's major powers were quick to declare that everything on the other side was accorded neutral territory to prevent another World War. "I'm sure you remember what happened next." A half-smile graces your lips. "Yeah. I remember. First contact." Mr. Teller nods. "First contact with an alien species. Of course, the Equestrians were nothing like what anyone was expecting. Humanoids that shared an almost eerie amount of similarities to Earth equines and were around a hundred and fifty years behind technologically? Ridiculous. But true, as has become painfully obvious to those that denied it." "Why are you telling me this?" you ask. "Not that I don't enjoy a history lesson, but you said there was an offer to be made...?" "Patience is a virtue," he chided. "When you realize that there's some crap in life you just have to sit through and deal with, you'll be glad that you practiced it in other places. Anyway... "Fast forward a couple of years. The massive hype centered around 'Equestria' as everyone has taken to calling it, has died down. A rather fitting name, wouldn't you say? Even though most of humanity only knows the basics about Equestria or its natives, you can bet that the world's governments know a lot more. But they still want to know more. Knowledge is power, as they say. "And now, the present. A... foreign exchange program of sorts is now in full effect. The world superpowers are sending gifted students to study in Equestria while the Equestrian government sends their own to take their place. It's an effort to strengthen our relations with our neighbours while simultaneously achieving a better grasp of how their society works. Makes a lot more sense now, doesn't it?" You nod slowly, then remember the recorder. "Yeah, it does. It explains why Fredric's gone. He's brighter than I am." You don't feel bad about admitting that. Fredric was a certified genius, and if you stuck out like a sore thumb in Victus, then he stuck out like a sore limb. It's no surprise that Fredric won that anthropology— Wait a second... "That anthropology study was a sham, wasn't it?" you ask, suddenly realizing. You run a hand through your hair. "I can't believe I didn't see that at first. Anthropology—but it wasn't a study about humans, was it? It was a study about the Equestrians. An anthropomorphic study." He smirked. "More or less. Fredric was being exchanged, and winning a trip was the simplest cover story that we could procure." You think you hear him mutter something about his boss not getting the reference while you did. You decide that's a compliment. "I suppose you want the offer now." After you nod, he continues. "Rainbow Dash is here via the good will of Princess Celestia—that's one of the two monarchs that make up Equestria's diarchy—and she, Rainbow Dash, will be attending Victus to 'learn and benefit from living amongst humans in their native environment'—Celestia's words, not mine. We figured that a college was the safest place to start her: closed campus, very little outside contact, a focus on sports excellence, etcetera. "All you have to do is be Miss Dash's chaperone during her stay here. That includes befriending her, escorting her, and essentially making sure that she enjoys her time at Victus. Naturally, the both of you will still have your courses to attend and assignments to complete. You will also in charge of tutoring Miss Dash should she require assistance. "In return, after she has returned to Equestria, we would gladly pay for the remainder of your post-secondary education—wherever it is that you wish to obtain such education." "Anywhere?" you ask, eyes agleam. Mr. Teller nods. "Anywhere," he confirms. "It's quid pro quo—you help us, we help you. What do you say?" You can hardly believe your luck. Who knew friends could be so valuable? There's just one thing you have to ask first... "Why me?" "You were picked for a number of reasons. Intelligence, personality traits, willingness to cooperate—don't look at me like that. If it's measurable, we measured it, and you were green-lighted on all required attributes. All of your less-desirable attributes were heavily countered by your desired ones." You mentally shake your head, barely able to comprehend the situation you find yourself in. Why the hell not, you decide. You doubt that you'll ever get a chance like this again. "I accept," you say without hesitation. "Where do I sign?" Wordlessly, Mr. Teller slides you a single sheet of paper with an 'X' where your signature belongs. You quickly sign it and hand it back. "A pleasure doing business with you." The dean is truly smiling for the first time. It makes him look somewhat like a wolf. "Likewise. Am I free to go now?" you ask. "Of course." As you open the door to leave, you stop before you exit. "Mister Teller—if that's even your name—you kept saying 'we' and 'our'. Who do you mean?" The dean's wolfish grin expands. "Who do you think? "The government, of course."