Rainbow gazed out at the start line, and rolled her head back on her neck. The vertebrae in her spine clicked against one another, and when she spread her wings to stretch them out the muscles were almost too tight for her to complete the motion.
Arthritis was a bitch.
She looked back to the start line, then up at the stands. The crowd there, if crowd it could be called, was sparse and drab compared to the screaming masses that had once turned out to support her. Just a few ponies in an arena designed for thousands, scattered in dribs and drabs across the seats. Even if they all worked together to cheer for her, Rainbow doubted she would be able to hear them from the far side of the racetrack.
And many of them hadn’t even turned out to cheer for her. Lightning Dust’s fanbase was as frustratingly enduring as the green mare’s own health, while Rainbow Dash’s versions of both were quickly slipping away from her. These days she was more famous as a professor of flight theory and instructor for the Wonderbolts than she was as a racer. And Rainbow was grateful for both of her new callings, really, she was. But grading papers and yelling at newbies couldn’t match the electric thrill of competing. Pursuing your opponents like prey and surpassing them, one by one.
That was what bought Rainbow back, year after year, even as her senses dulled and her limbs grew stiffer. She wanted to hear them cheer her, all the ponies in the crowd, to scream for her at the top of their lungs, to inspire yet another new generation of racers. Even though the first set of foals she had inspired had grandfoals of their own now.
So Rainbow stretched as best she could and tried to rub her aching pinions into some semblance of readiness. Another glance over at the seats showed that no vast swathes of latecomers were arriving. Only a solitary mare in a long coat, half-stumbling her way over the bleachers.
But at least Applejack was still there, solid and dependable as ever, safely lathered up with Twilight’s old ointment and sitting comfortably on the cloud benches. When they were younger the needs of the farm had always seemed to come first, and Applejack could only make it to Rainbow’s very biggest races. But these days Applejack was more and more happy to let Big Mac and Apple Tart manage the orchards while she took off to support her wife. They had never discussed it, but Rainbow knew deep in her bones that it was because AJ feared each fresh race might be Rainbow’s last.
Over on the far side of the racecourse, Lightning Dust was trotting in a sprightly circle, as limber as a forty-year old. Rainbow gritted her teeth at the sight of it. Arrogant little bastard. She’d show her. Yeah. Rainbow Dash might be past her prime, but she still had it in her to beat a jumped-up little washout. Still had what it took to be awesome.
But all the determination in the world still couldn’t shake the nagging certainty that this time would be just like the last three. The Wonderbolts Legacy Races, the Past Champions Cup, the Glory Days Championship. They were all alike. Every one of them shared the lacklustre crowds, full of stallions and mares as grey as Rainbow herself was now. The pitiful turnouts, the paltry prizes. Rusty cups for rusty old fliers. And the key ingredient, the one that wounded Rainbow the most: Lightning Dust had beaten Rainbow Dash at every single one.
And Rainbow, who just last year had soared past Lightning Dust on the track five times out of seven, had been forced to hand her rusting trophies over, one by one. Glaring up into Lightning Dust’s smug smile and her repellent, wrinkled face.
What would make this time any different?
But all Rainbow could do was try.
The shaky mare in the long coat was still coming down the bleachers, having evidently not found a seat to her liking yet. Rainbow squinted at the yellow-grey shape, wondering if she knew her. At this distance, it was impossible to tell. Like her wings, Rainbow’s falcon-sharp vision was not what it had once been.
“Rainbow Dash!” called the figure suddenly, and Rainbow jumped.
That voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. But either way, she was already up and moving towards the mare. An encounter with a fan, no matter how old and jittery, might be just the boost she needed.
But as she got closer and the blurry yellow shape swam into vision, Rainbow’s eager steps slowed. She did know that face — or at least, she recognised what it had once been, before time and hard living had ravaged the pony beneath.
“Spitfire,” she said, guardedly. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
The older mare smiled at her, her misty eyes blinking too much and never looking quite at Rainbow. It seemed that the years had not been kind to Spitfire. Her mane was bleached entirely white, and her wings were curled close to her sides in arthritic claws even further gone than Rainbow’s own. One eye was filmy with cataracts, but the other squinted short-sightedly before finally coming to rest on Rainbow’s ear.
“Hey, rookie,” she said, that gravelly voice the same as it had always been. “It’s been a while.”
Rainbow shifted uncomfortably to see if she could get Spitfire to meet her gaze, but the other mare seemed somehow distracted, and Rainbow couldn’t quite manage to catch her eye.
“Y-yeah,” Rainbow stuttered. “First time I’ve seen you at one of my races. How long has it been since…?” She tailed off, not wanting to be the one to say it.
Spitfire suffered no such compunctions. “Since I was kicked out the ‘Bolts? I’m not ashamed of it, kid. Ain’t no shame in outgrowing a place.” She shrugged. “Been about thirteen years, I think. Sixteen? Dunno.”
Wide-eyed, Rainbow nodded along. She wouldn’t have exactly called getting kicked from the Wonderbolts for drunkenness during three consecutive shows ‘outgrowing it’, but if that was what made Spitfire comfortable, Rainbow wasn’t going to gainsay her.
The conversation sputtered to a halt, and Rainbow hastily tried to recover and keep it moving. “So, uh — what brings you out here? I didn’t know you were still interested in the racing circuit.”
“I’m not. Bunch of self-obsessed wankers circle-jerking together and each insisting they’re the best.” Spitfire laughed as though she had just made a witty joke.
Rainbow didn’t see the humour. “Then what…?”
“It’s you.” Abruptly, Spitfire shoved a hoof into Rainbow’s chest, hard enough to make Rainbow cough. That would leave a bruise.
“Me?”
“I still got friends who fly in these circles, and I heard — well, I suppose everypony’s heard, really — that Lightning Dust’s been kicking your ass all year.”
That stung. “She hasn’t,” snapped Rainbow. “I’m just…in a bit of a rough patch. I’m having a bad season.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Rough patches didn’t get worse, year after year after year. This was a downward slope, one she’d never climb back up from again.
Spitfire snorted. “Sure.”
“Well, what are you doing here, then?” Rainbow bridled. She didn’t need this. Not before a race. “You came all the way here just to tell me everypony knows I’m old and crap at racing?”
Spitfire’s bleary eyes widened in an exaggerated approximation of hurt, and she shook her head. “No way, rookie. You were a good friend to me after…after all that stuff. We met for drinks a few times. I haven’t forgotten. I didn’t come to piss on your parade — not that it’s much of one. I came because I want to help you.”
“Help me?” Rainbow was intrigued now. “How could you help me?”
It was true that Spitfire had always been pretty good at inspiring speeches and kicking some sense into the younger ‘Bolts. Maybe that was what she had in mind. Rainbow straightened herself in readiness and tried to ignore the ensuing pain in her spine. It had been decades since she had needed a coach, and nearly as long since she’d had a pep talk from anyone who wasn’t her wife. And much as she loved that sweet orange doofus, there were only so many times one could be inspired by some variation on: “As sure as apples is apples, yer gonna win this race, Rainbow Dash. You’re the fastest dang flier Ah ever did see.”
But Spitfire didn’t offer advice, or encouragement, or even the abuse she had once shouted at Rainbow to whip her into a fury before a particularly brutal race. She didn’t speak at all. She just fished inside her coat and offered a small pouch, sewed carelessly from rough homespun cloth.
Rainbow stared blankly at the little bag. “…What is it?”
Spitfire sighed impatiently and tugged the drawstring with her teeth, spilling three little yellow pills onto her outstretched hoof. “Here. They call it Chaser.”
Her brow furrowed with confusion, Rainbow examined the three little yellow circles. They didn’t look like anything much. “Chaser?”
“Ponies say it's distilled from raw lightning.” Spitfire leaned closer. “Makes you go like the wind. Faster even.”
It took a moment to sink in, but then Rainbow backed away, her muzzle wrinkled with distaste. “Drugs? You want me to take performance enhancers? What the hay, Spitfire!”
Spitfire glowered. “Don’t get all self-righteous with me, Rainbow Crash. I’m here as a favour to you. I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to have your body fail you.”
This was news to Rainbow. “What do you mean?”
“Back when I flunked out the ‘Bolts, I had…well, the start of this.” Spitfire twitched one barely-mobile wing. “Early stages. I…well, I did what I had to to dull the pain. And I wish to Celestia that somepony would have offered me the chance I’m offering you.”
Her breathing coming a little harder, Rainbow looked at those nondescript little yellow pills. It was true that she was slowing down. This could well be her last year racing. And if she wanted to beat Lightning Dust she needed something to give her an edge. Anything.
“I’m not forcing you,” Spitfire’s rough voice was an unwelcome intrusion on Rainbow’s racing thoughts. “But the option is there.”
Doping was unthinkable. Rainbow Dash was a sportsmare, and honour was everything in competitive sports. More than that, Rainbow had always taken pride in the fact she was effortlessly, naturally better than everypony else. Since she was a foal she had been able to beat all her competitors without even really trying. Obviously, she had trained and worked hard all her life, but she knew that it came easier to her than to other ponies. She had been proud of that all her life.
But…none of that was true any longer. Ten years ago Rainbow had still been at the top of her field, beating everypony in her age bracket with ease. Five years ago she had been slightly above average, winning by a hairsbreadth. Two years ago she had been an average performer. Nothing to write home about. Now…she didn’t even want to try to rank herself any more.
Those little yellow pills suddenly looked a whole lot more enticing.
After all, would it be so wrong? To take something, just once, after a lifetime of noble and honest service to the sport? To unlock her own natural speed one last time; to secure for herself one last beautiful, glorious victory. Perhaps after this she could retire, knowing that she had had the last laugh, that she had beaten Lightning Dust one last time, the time it really mattered. She could go out with a bang.
Rainbow imagined how it would feel. To be strong again, like she had been all her life. To be full of youth and vigour and be able to flap her wings without pain. To be able to soar past Lightning Dust and leave her in the dust.
To make a rainbow contrail once more. Perhaps even — though surely it was dangerous even to dream it — Rainbow’s own crowning glory, the sonic rainboom. The wondrous colours that Rainbow had not seen in so many years.
Applejack was a fan of graceful ageing. Said Rainbow should hang up her flightsuit and focus on enjoying their golden years together. But…Rainbow didn’t want to consign herself to desk work and coaching. She was the star. She was the racer. Graceful ageing — buck graceful ageing! Spitfire was offering her a way out, a rope thrown to a drowning pony, and Rainbow was bucking well going to take it.
Spitfire’s shaky hoof offered her the pills, and Rainbow made the only possible choice.
