Another day, another obstacle.
Rainbow Dash woke up feeling tired, as tired as she had been when she had gone to sleep in fact. Steely grey light seeped in from behind the curtains, still tinged with purple from the light of dawn. It was early, earlier than any pony ought to wake up. What the Apple family did was unnatural.
Of course, Rainbow herself had become forced to be an early riser, now that she was a full-time Wonderbolt. The Acres were not quite as close to HQ as her old cloud-home had been, and whilst the difference in distance was not vast, it was significant enough for Rainbow to feel the difference every time she woke up.
Next to her, the thick, reverberating snoring emanating from under a dense layer of blankets and quilt came to a sudden stop. Rainbow almost wished it would continue; surely if Applejack failed to wake up, nopony would blame Rainbow for failing to get to HQ on time?
She slid her wing towards Applejack, hoping to gently send her back to sleep.
“That ain’t never worked,” Applejack told Rainbow.
Rainbow rapidly retracted her wing, her feathers sliding against the sheets with an audible ‘thwip’. “Wh-wha? Wasn’t me.”
“Uh-huh.” Applejack sighed. “You got to go to work sometime.”
“But I hate work.”
“Likewise, sugarcube.”
Rainbow knew that was a lie. Applejack loved working, otherwise why would she wake up so early for it?
“Ugh…” She rolled on her side, facing towards Applejack, letting her chin sink into the farmpony’s mane. “It was still worth a shot.” She buried her eyes into Applejack’s thick golden locks. “I wanna stay here, though.”
“Well, you have to go.”
“Ugh.” Rainbow rolled back out of Applejack’s mane, grumpy. “They’ll just make me fly around in circles again. What’s the point? Nopony cares.”
“Practice?”
“Pshh.” Rainbow turned away. Honey-coloured sunlight was beginning to replace the dour, iron grey with lively yellows. Still, Rainbow didn’t feel enthused. Every time she flew, these days it felt like she was just… making time pass. What, exactly, was she practising for any more?
A mental image of a frowning, scowling, snarling and roaring pair of sunglasses flashed across her mind’s eye. Oh, right. Because Spitfire.
Applejack slid out of bed, and the sheets all of a sudden became too cold for comfort. Rainbow reluctantly emerged out and got to work getting prepared.
She would rarely stick around for breakfast… Although this habit initially frustrated Applejack, and caused Rainbow to rein it in now and then, her and Applejack had become comfortable enough together that they didn’t really need to sit opposite a table, silently and stoically munching on toast. Rainbow’s conversation was never on-point before noon anyway.
The problem was the other Apples.
Rainbow, once her mane was somewhat flattened and presentable (though in Rainbow’s case, this term was relative), she tiptoed out of the bedroom.
“Bye, AJ!” she whispered, hoping to not wake up any of the other ponies she was decidedly less confident around.
“So long, sugarcube,” Applejack replied, smiling. How Applejack managed to be so perpetually awake, every single morning, frustrated Rainbow. By comparison, she was one big mess.
She tried puffing her chest out to try and look more professional and strong, but found she quickly deflated due to fatigue. Her eyes, bleary, were unable to maintain focus for that long.
“Nice try, sugar’,” Applejack told her.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever…” Rainbow muttered. She’d have to find some other way of looking cool to AJ. Sometimes it felt like the farmpony was simply better than her in every conceivable way, from her organisation to her courage.
“Wait!” Applejack trotted to Rainbow, and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Her hoof brushed against her neck as she pulled Rainbow’s mane out from under it. “Cloudsdale’s preparin’ for winter, right?”
Rainbow sighed. “You know pegasi don’t get cold in high altitudes?”
“Yup, but you get cold when you get snow blasted at ya’,” Applejack countered. “Besides, y’look cute in scarves.”
Rainbow glanced at the scarf. It was bright red and yellow. Somewhat garish, but whatever. If AJ said she looked cute in it…
“Okay, okay.” She turned to leave Applejack to get ready at her own pace. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Likewise, sugarcube.”
Rainbow slid around the corner, and came face to face with a large, titanic, strawberry red mountain of a pony.
She froze.
“... Good morning, Big Macintosh…” she said.
The huge pony turned around to face Rainbow, who was becoming increasingly self-conscious about being rather on the small side. To compensate, she subconsciously flared her wings, but this did nothing more than fold her feathers against the narrow corridor walls.
She tried to find a place to squeeze past the stallion, but predictably, he was roughly corridor shaped. A foolish endeavour.
“Howdy,” Big Mac said.
Oh no, don’t worry about following that up with some kind of nice conversation starter, Rainbow thought. Big Macintosh didn’t talk with Rainbow. Rainbow wasn’t sure he talked with anypony other than Applejack and Sugar Belle these days. Certainly not Rainbow. It wasn’t like they had much in common besides Applejack anyway. Well, that and muscles.
Rainbow gave up trying to get around Big Macintosh, who was unbearably slow. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll just take the window.”
She turned around and trotted towards the far end of the corridor.
“Ye don’t need t’sneak around no more!” came a sepulchral croak. Rainbow winced. She had trotted past Granny Smith’s room too loudly…
This is what Rainbow got for not waking up earlier than the rest of the Apples. Something about Granny Smith put her on edge. It was like she could read Rainbow’s mind, and whenever Rainbow was at the Acres, it always felt like her mind was thinking wrong things.
“Uh, course not!” she shot back.
“Ye can use th’door like everypony else!”
Rainbow looked at the window. One second to reach it, three seconds to lift the latch, five seconds to realise it was stuck, another four to unjam it… She looked back at Big Macintosh, who had reached the stairs. Or five forevers to wait until Big Mac had gotten out of her way.
“Ye been tryin’ to get out of work again, eh?”
There was also the uncanny ability Granny Smith had to, despite not hearing whatever Rainbow wanted her to hear, successfully hear literally everything Rainbow didn’t want her to, including private conversations with Applejack she had in the security of her room. Which was an alarming thought indeed, considering the context of Rainbow staying in the Acres. What else did Granny selectively hear?
Perhaps it was being an only child, but Rainbow had come to realise she was not very good at living with lots of ponies. She stared at Big Mac, slowly moving down the stairs, and then looked back at Granny Smith’s door, unhelpfully ajar and no protection at all against the mind-reading, bat-eared, elderly terror within.
Window it was.
She made a run for it. Her timing was precise and infallible, as usual. She gave herself a small pat on the back for that, at least. She shot out the window, and after a brief fall, landed on the grass below.
Like a ninja, Rainbow thought. Applejack would be so impressed!
She’d say it was a pegasus tradition later or something, the next time Granny caught her. Whenever that would be...
She flapped her wings and flew up into the sky.
What did she have to do that day? Prepare for something… or other… probably. It hardly mattered. Contests hadn’t been exciting for a while, now.
“Well, that was awkward,” she muttered to herself as she escaped the farmhouse and flew lazily towards Cloudsdale.
Another day, another obstacle.
Spitfire always knew that it was going to be a bad day when she woke up already looking forward to going to bed in the evening. She opened her eyes, gray sunlight pouring in through her window. She raised her hoof to block the light, blinking furiously. Ugh.
She slept in a single bed, which was plain and white. She liked her bedroom to be unadorned and simple, to better clear her mind as she slept. Having a strong mental state was an art and a science, and it required both delicate behaviour as well as proper management of one’s space. Rule number one was that other ponies couldn’t occupy her space. She could occupy their space, if she wanted, but the reverse simply did not happen.
Spitfire rolled out of bed, her hooves touching the ground. It was nearly due to be winter, and Cloudsdale was already beginning to chill as the factories began pumping out snowclouds and icy winds. Spitfire didn’t shiver; she never reacted to the cold, even if she could feel it.
She looked over at her clock. She had half an hour to fly to headquarters. Half an hour to get breakfast, sort out her mane, and most gruelling of all, mentally steel herself for the coming day. She could picture her in-tray already. Shudder.
Time was relative. To most, half an hour wouldn’t be a long time; for Spitfire, it was ten more minutes than she was used to. Time meant less when one was as fast as a Wonderbolt, the fastest things in the world short of teleportation.
Spitfire smirked as she considered that. Griffons? Sure, they were tough. Big wings, big muscles, and the stamina to match. Shoddy acceleration on average, though, and lacking in agility. Dragons? Damn, did they impress Spitfire. Spitfire wouldn’t have minded being born a dragon, would that not mean giving up being born Spitfire. The big ones could out-fly most of her Wonderbolts, herself included, but that didn’t mean that they were elegant, dexterous, or able to fly long distances without recharging for something like ten years in a cave on a pile of gemstones. Plus they flew like a trebuchet shot; pretty good in the one direction, so long as you didn’t feel the need to do things like turn, and their landing could be appropriately rough, considering the analogy.
Spitfire ran her hoof through her mane. She wished it would stay down like Rainbow Dash’s, even though she’d never admit as such to the cocky showpony. Unfortunately for Spitfire, years of flying with Equestria’s elite had caused her mane to be swept back permanently.
She opened her front door, and stepped outside. Her flat… a tiny, three room affair… was hovering high above the verdant fields of Equestria below. She thought she could spy Sweet Apple Acres, the specks of red nearly invisible amongst the green. Harvest season, by the looks of things. That was the great thing about living in Cloudsdale; as a mobile city, the view never got stale.
Didn’t Rainbow Dash live there now? Spitfire thought so. She had briefly flown by her old cloud home, a big fancy thing, but supposedly she had moved in with… with… what was her name? The fruity one.
There was no street outside her front door; she simply fell straight down into the sky, swallowed by gravity.
Spitfire’s wings spread, and she soared under the belly of Cloudsdale. Her wingbeats were efficient, tight, and crisp. She wasted no effort this early in the morning. She wasn’t the fastest Wonderbolt, nor the one with the most stamina, nor the most agile… but she was the most efficient.
On stage, she liked to play the act of the ‘explosive, energetic captain’, with big flashy moves like flying through rings of fire and daring tricks like folding her wings in and letting momentum carry her forwards. What ponies didn’t realise was that there was no recklessness in any of her tricks. Each one was practised, mastered, and then honed down to an efficient and repeatable formula. Spitfire flew like she was on fire, but inside her mind was as cold as ice, and always had been.
Analyse, plan, adapt, and win. The drumbeats of success.
She turned and flew beneath a cafe on her way to headquarters. With coordinated speed, she flew up to the front door and threw a hoofful of bits onto the counter.
“The usual,” she said.
The pony behind the counter, a mare whose name Spitfire never bothered to find out, passed her a cardboard cup full of steaming coffee and a heated pastry, as if rehearsed. Spitfire appreciated the businesslike exchange she enjoyed each day. No wasted time or effort; good.
She flew off, her speed dropping in order to allow her to eat and drink comfortably on the way. She drifted between clouds and surfed across a wind current leading her to her place of work, the breeze brushing up against her feathers and bending the base of her wings. It was a simple pleasure, but pleasure nonetheless. Complex feelings were not Spitfire’s jam; she preferred easy things, humble joys and basic treats. She liked being in control, she liked winning, and she liked flying easy. Nothing too outrageous, she thought. After all, didn’t everypony like these things?
Even flying gently, she was still twice as fast as any other pegasus in the sky that morning. Already, not five minutes after she had left the cafe, she could see Wonderbolts HQ, balanced on a the edge of a sheer cliff face and hidden between an altocumulus and cirrus. Spitfire breathed in, and finished her pastry as she approached, circling around the rock formation to buy her some time. As usual, she would be the first one of her team to arrive. Good. It was better if she played the role of a stoic captain. Ponies like Soarin and Misty didn’t like it when she wasn’t in charge.
She slowed, and when her hooves touched the ground, it was a seamless transition from flight to trot. She sauntered, her coffee temporarily stored in-between her feathers, towards the main building.
“Mornin’, Spitfire,” called one of the assistants, Tight Ship, a stoic stallion wearing a simple Wonderbolts staff regulation cap.
“Good morning,” Spitfire replied, and slowed as she passed the stallion. “I’m going to be reviewing documents in my office. If anypony needs me, send them there.”
“Will do.” Tight Ship adjusted his sunglasses. “Might be gettin’ a visit from Cloudsdale brass.”
Spitfire sighed. “I’ll be sure to prepare painkillers,” she said. “Thanks for the warning. Do you know why?”
“No, ma’am.”
Spitfire wasn’t surprised. They only ever bothered to complain to her, and seldom let anypony else know what they wanted to rant to her about no matter how convenient for them it would be for her to be forewarned of their intentions.
“Thanks anyway,” she replied, and continued on her way to her office. By the sounds of things, she wouldn’t be flying today; she’d be in her stiff, uncomfortable uniform and wearing her most businesslike and intimidating shades, playing the role of angry, stern Captain Spitfire. Maybe tomorrow she could be a flyer again.
She passed through the corridors of HQ, and spared a quick glance at the calendar. Upon it was listed all the major tasks the Wonderbolts had to perform; most of them training related, some of them competition related. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at a date circled in red. Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Equestria, had organised an interspecies flying contest between the changelings, dragons, ponies and griffons. Spitfire narrowed her eyes. She wanted to have her best flyer enter that contest, but the way things were going…
Spitfire trotted into her office and quickly changed into her uniform. The uniform helped. It was a mental weapon; it damaged the confidence of others and gave her an air of authority she could make use of.
She sat down in her office chair, and allowed herself to crack one-quarter of a smile. She had her defences up, she was now ready for any impromptu guests. She looked over at her in-tray, and her heart sank. It was as high as she had expected.
With lightning speed, she had a pen uncapped and a series of papers swiped from the top in a flash. Her eyes scanned with mechanical precision. Psychological evaluations. Naturally, stress was a factor for any world-leading athlete, and Spitfire intended to have full control over all things that could affect performance. That meant ensuring her ponies were assessed by professionals and proper recommendations given to Spitfire.
She flicked through each paper. Soarin; he was fine. Stable. Lazy and noncommittal, but no issue. No action required. Misty Fly? Stable, no action required. Fleetfoot? A moderate malice problem, but frankly, Spitfire could work with that. A little malice was healthy, Spitfire felt. Keep under observation, no further action required. Rainbow Dash? Spitfire frowned.
Rainbow Dash: lacking in motivation, distant and disconnected. Indications of depression. Immediate action required.
Spitfire scratched her head. She had been on-off keeping an eye on her former ace flyer for a few months now, as the problems had begun to set in. She had listened in on conversations, asked Soarin to probe her regarding her motivation, and had damn near asked Fleetfoot to spy on her. Fleetfoot would enjoy that. She did so enjoy cloak-and-dagger shenanigans.
Rainbow Dash was… struggling. Twilight leaving to live in Canterlot had been problematic, Spitfire was given to understand. Rainbow was not a stable pony on the best of days, but it seemed losing a good friend was all she needed to be pushed over the edge. She was wracked with self-doubt and hesitation, and that had just been the start of it...
Spitfire was interrupted by a knock on her door.
“Enter,” she said, her most commanding voice echoing in the small office. She brought her hooves together and hid her eyes behind her shade. Yes, maximum intimidation. Good, good.
The door opened, and a pegasus who looked like somepony had crossed a stallion with a can of condensed milk entered. He was wearing a tie, but it was crooked compared to Spitfire’s immaculate method of dress. He oozed of slimy faux professionalism, the kind that would be paraded to show a display of power, but with no commitment to actually doing the good job associated with such standing.
“Good morning, Captain Spitfire,” said the stallion, a familiar and unwelcome pegasus by the name of Clip Busy. “I’m afraid I am not the bringer of good news.”
Spitfire wasn’t even inclined to roll her eyes. This was no surprise; Clip never came bearing good news. In fact, Clip arriving was bad news in of itself, and very little good news could make his visits tip back towards being considered ‘good’.
“Take a seat,” Spitfire snapped. “I hope you can make this quick.”
The stallion pulled out a seat opposite Spitfire and sat down. “The office of Equestrian Image Affairs is very upset.”
Shocking. Spitfire despised the office of EIA more than any other organisation. Due to the Wonderbolts existing in an odd and uncomfortable landscape where they were part military, part bodyguard, part civilian sports team, and part privately funded, Spitfire had found herself beholden to a disturbingly large amount of ponies whether she liked it or not. The worst was the Cloudsdale office of Equestrian Image Affairs, though; overly protective of pegasus sovereignty in the sky and the powerful aura they inspired. This resulted in the most bizarre requests Spitfire had the misfortune of listening to, and worse, comply with.
To make things worse, they had become… volatile under Twilight’s more open, accepting and sharing-oriented reign. Clip had not enjoyed the concessions he had been forced to make under royal decree, and the Director was clearly feeling the pressure against his organisation as well.
“Are they not satisfied with my team’s performance?” Spitfire eyed her in-tray. “I expect you will send me a thorough report detailing areas for improvement, if it isn’t here already.”
“This time, it is not your substandard performance that is the issue,” Clip told her. “Though we must not forget that it was your predecessor’s errors of judgement that caused you to gain this position.”
Spitfire narrowed her eyes. “I am not my predecessor, and you are wasting my time by reminding me of things I already know.” She put her hoof on the table. “Explain why you’re here.”
“Do you recall the instructions Princess Twilight… her majesty… gave to the Wonderbolts three months earlier? To provide expert input to scientific endeavour?”
“Yes. We complied.”
“The Office sincerely wishes you had not… complied so thoroughly.”
“I expect you’ll want me to write a letter to her majesty, then?”
Clip tapped his hoof against the hardwood surface of Spitfire’s desk. “Your team… Soarin and Rainbow Dash, if I recall… were involved in a scientific exchange with a laboratory headed by a pegasus by the name of Professor Vector. Your team provided advice and feedback regarding the mechanics of flight.”
Spitfire tilted her head. “Yes. As instructed, we…”
“The laboratory is using that advice and feedback, Captain.”
“Oh no,” Spitfire sarcastically retorted. “What have they done? Built a parachute? Written a book that leaked all the pegasi secrets to the ‘common Earth ponies’?”
“Do not make fun of the situation. The sharing of science is, as Princess Twilight is now in charge, a fundamental cornerstone of our society, which I expect you to wholeheartedly respect, and must not be publicly mocked, even if the Earthies learn about superior flying mechanics as a result.” Clip leaned in. “They have constructed a machine.”
Spitfire leaned back. “A machine of what kind?”
“A flying machine.”
“The sort hobbyists make in their back yard?”
“The sort that could render the Wonderbolts extinct.”
Spitfire burst out laughing, quietly at first, letting the giggle build up in the back of her throat, before it exploded out into a throaty roar. “Clip, you never told me you had a sense of humour.”
“This is no laughing matter, Captain!” Clip’s eyes were wide. “It is like none other in existence. It is made of steel and metal, rivets and bolts. It is powered by bottled lightning and dragon bile, a concoction more powerful than any that have come before! It has a cockpit made of Crystal Empire glass and is piloted by none other than the famous Mach Maximum.”
“Mad Machs?” Spitfire raised her eyebrow. “That lunatic is still performing?”
“The machine threatens to be the fastest craft in all of Equestria and beyond,” Clip went on. “The engine… it was a rejected concept that could have been used to generate wind, but it was too inefficient for large scale production. Its power is immense, Spitfire.”
“Remind me who funded this laboratory?” Spitfire asked. “If it was a rejected wind generator, that implies that it was funded by…”
“The source of funding is irrelevant!”
“So, you were the ones funding it?” Spitfire guessed.
“It was not meant to be a serious affair. A… a science project, a publicity stunt is what it was supposed to be, one of many ill-advised concessions afforded to Canterlot's administration. Now they are a tumor the EIA has to deal with! If this machine proves itself to overwhelm pegasus flyers, pegasus flyers that you represent as part of your obligations to the EIA, then funding will have to go from the Wonderbolts to this laboratory in order for Cloudsdale to protect its interests.”
Spitfire smirked. “I don’t think that will happen.”
Clip shook his head. “It better not, Spitfire. You’re on the edge of being over-budget. One cut and you’ll lose your Wonderbolts.”
“Clip, when have you ever known me to lose?”
“When you let Rainbow Dash overtake you as Equestria’s fastest flyer?” Clip suggested.
“Key word there was ‘let’,” Spitfire said. “If you think that was me losing, then you’re an idiot. It was all part of the plan.” She picked another pile of papers from the in-tray. “If that is all, I have work to do. I will look into your little flying machine problem.”
Clip Busy got to his hooves. “I expect you will immediately,” he said. “Good day, Captain.”
The stallion left, and Spitfire was left alone to think.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Well, that sounds excruciating,” she muttered. And with Rainbow not at her best, either…
She swallowed. It was time for a change in tactics with regards to Rainbow’s mental state. If the Wonderbolts couldn’t help her focus, then something… somepony else had to.