A Conspiracy of Order

Dapper-Drone had joined Westin-Drone’s entourage for the daily sync at the hospital, and the stallion took to the download-upload with a will. He no longer stared straight ahead while he was being emptied and filled, but rather, left himself open, allowing the data to pass into him and out of him while taking advantage of the syncing to feel for the other ponies involved.

The other hosts, he was corrected. He took the correction and applied it.

Yet, at the same time, he knew that he wasn’t the only host that took advantage of this. While they were all connected to one of the Nests, the hosts could interact with one another, speak in a way that was impossibly fast compared to how they had to socialize while they were disconnected. Mind to mind was infinitely faster than the words that they shared, faster by far than putting the sound to tones and tones to muscle and muscle to speech, and then having to wait for each sound to be made, translated, and sorted through their minds. This, this mind-to-mind way of talking that only happened while they were connected to a Nest, meant that they were actually able to…to do things properly.

And the hospital Nest encouraged that, while the library Nest merely tolerated it.

It was one of several differences that Dapper-Drone had noticed between the two different core pieces of the Nest. The one in the hospital had the overall focus that all potential hosts needed to be infested for the sake of future treatment, for the preservation of what was around them. There was a sense of focus, of duty, for the hospital Nest that almost seemed to mirror some of Stableheart-Drone’s need to take care of things, to treat others and improve them.

It wasn’t quite the same thing, of course. Dapper-Drone had been connected to the Nest while Stableheart-Drone had been, too, and he knew what went through the doctor’s head. The physician was nothing more than a programmed drone, one that was focused on building up the host numbers for the Nest, but was more…limited, in that way. The Nest, on the other hand…

Dapper-Drone felt the pleasure surge as the data was uploaded to him, summarized and compressed memories that would be taken back to the library Nest so that it would be up to date with everything that happened at the hospital. Names of hosts, names of different ponies that had started their drugged treatment, and more were all uploaded to his mind, and while it was too much for him to think about on his own, the parasite embedded in him was able to sort through it, compressing it further until it was only a mild headache in the back of his head.

The rest of the entourage were slowly disconnecting from the Nest, and he knew that he would be doing the same shortly. Yet, while he was still connected, he talked to the host-ponies that were part of Westin-Drone’s entourage.

They were happy enough. They were new to this, yes, but they were happy, happy to have their will removed, happy to be given purpose. They had been little more than wanderers, laborers around town. Now, they had something that made them happy, a ‘boss’ that gave them validation day in and day out.

Now, they were directed with purpose every day, every hour, and they were rewarded for it.

They were drones.

They were hosts.

They were happy.

And of course they were, for the Nest made sure that they would feel happy doing what they did. That happiness, Dapper-Drone knew from experience, would slowly fade into satisfaction, and from there, into…whatever it was that he felt as a drone. Feeling was difficult, these days, not because emotion was suppressed, but because in so many ways, it really didn’t matter.

After all, feeling was a condition of free will, and the one thing that the Nest didn’t offer was the freedom of choice. You did what you were told to do, and you were rewarded for lasting to the end of the task. Not for brilliance, not for taking some cunning way forward, but for making it to the finish line.

It was an easier way of life.

It was a simpler way of life.

Dapper-Drone preferred it, and he could feel the satisfaction in the sync-lines with the other hosts. They were happier this way, partially from the programming, and partially from the way that it had changed them. On some level, the blue-black stallion was sure that they were at least partially aware of the fact that they had been told to love this and that was why they did, but he doubted that they really minded. Once you got used to a certain amount of satisfaction, you stopped questioning why you felt it and just enjoyed it.

One by one, the other hosts disconnected from the Nest, and little by little, the number of hosts being filled by a tendril, tentacle, or root faded, until it was just Dapper-Drone left. He stood there, feeling the quiet temptation to turn around, but his parasite kept him looking forward, rolling his head at most.

The Nest pushed at him, and the parasite and host listened as a new concept-image rolled down the tendril.

Mayor Mare.

The image of her was powerful, and it was back-lit with a colorful red. There was some annoyance from the Nest about this mare, and for good reason.

The concept progressed, showing her passing through the hospital on an examination, checking on things, touching patients, making surprise inspections of the stores of drugs elsewhere in the hospital. She was accompanied by others, some of which were admitted to be drones in the concept-image, others of which were still clean, unclaimed by the Nest thus far.

It didn’t matter, of course. They couldn’t just strike at her without some preparation, and so far, that had been difficult to manage. She was, however, becoming more and more of a problem, more and more of a risk.

The Nest wanted her claimed.

The Nest would have it.

The parasite in Dapper-Drone pushed back, giving a concept-image of its own, and Dapper-Drone was pulled along with it. The parasite wanted to take care of things, to carry this information and thought to the other Nest, so that they might have consensus.

The hospital Nest was agreeable. It was, after all, looking to ‘cure’ the various ponies of their sense of free will and the ‘happiness’ that it might bring them. The idea of seeking consensus seemed to be a little unnecessary to the younger Nest, but it was willing to wait.

The parasite was satisfied. The Nest was satisfied.

POP!

The feeling of the tentacle pulling free reminded him that the conversation between his parasite and the Nest had been so fast that it would have made little difference in ‘real time’ between his disconnect and the other hosts. Even as the slithery, slimy thing came free and a small deluge of Nest slime spilled from his rump, Dapper-Drone was only a half-second behind the other hosts stepping away from it. He was piloted by his parasite with the rest of them, marched to the edge of the garden where Westin-Drone waited for him.

“Sync is accomplished?” Westin-Drone asked.

“It is.”

“Let us leave.”

“There is no more?”

“Redheart-Drone will be syncing. Patient data for the day.”

Dapper-Drone understood, and did not feel the need to nod. Not anymore. Many of the mannerisms of pony-kind were being held purely as a sort of memory in the back of his head these days, something that the parasite used to impersonate him when not around other hosts. There never was that need to bow his head, or nod, or even to flick his tail around in irritation or emotion. He had to be reminded of those unconscious things as he became ever more the tool of the Nest.

It felt like a good thing, most of the time. Most of the time, he felt like he was becoming something better.

The other times? They didn’t count.

The two older hosts walked out of the garden, followed by the entourage of newer drones that had been assigned by the nest. They were all earth ponies, no more than two weeks infested, and they were still filled with the joy of being made host, and the pleasure that came with it. Dapper-Drone had felt that emotion passing through the sync-link, and he had been amused by it. Amused, and a little sad, knowing what would come next.

Redheart-Drone passed by as they left the garden and entered the hospital hallways. She, he knew, had been raised up, the real ‘leader’ of the hospital ponies. They had considered making it Stableheart-Drone, but there was something soft there, something that was more in need of persuasion. Redheart-Drone, on the other hand, had all of the doctor’s knowledge, and none of his peculiarities. She was the better chief-drone for the hospital.

And more to the point, she was more effective, since nobody would have expected her to be the leader. It was another layer of defense for the Nest.

They reached the hospital lobby, surrounded by patients. Some of the staff called out to Westin-Drone, thanking him for the donation to the hospital weeks back, now, and were calling out that they would see him at the monthly meeting next seek. He nodded back, but didn’t say anything.

It was acceptable. Westin-Drone’s host would have been a party animal at one point, but the Nest had been slowly adapting that, showing him as being part of a rehab group to make the changes in his behavior a little more explicable. It was good. It was right. It kept anyone from knowing the truth outside of the Nest.

Dapper-Drone followed the group of drones, all of them still at least half in their own heads and cramped in their own skulls from the data that they carried. That feeling would continue until they reached the library and were able to download it properly again. At this time, they were used to it, but it was still not the most comfortable way of making their way through town.

If it wasn’t for the fact that they walked as a herd, they would have been stumbling, sliding, shifting, losing their balance and going every which way. As a group, however, they were just about able to make it work.

There were other drones across the town, of course. One such was Big Mac, and with him, his sister.

Applejack had been infested just last night, and she was still getting used to the feeling of being so completely controlled as a host should be. Her head spun regularly, her body awash with the feeling of pleasure that came from being a good, obedient drone, and…and…

“Mmm…”

The occasional moan still slipped free when her parasite hit her particularly hard with the pleasure of her body. It was still integrating, still getting used to her insides, and that meant that its control, while complete, was not always ‘on’ in the same way. She enjoyed the rippling feeling of a forced orgasm going through her, the parasite stiffening her up to make it all the more enjoyable.

“This host enjoys watching.”

That was her brother. Correction. It was her host’s brother. The host’s brother.

“It remains slightly ashamed down inside.”

“This one feels odd, as well,” the parasite said through Applejack’s mouth. “Odd, but not overly bothered.”

“It is akin to a taboo.”

“The hosts hold against it for breeding reasons.”

“Then we use the other holes.”

“This host feels as if she would enjoy it.”

There were certainly some dirty memories in Applejack’s mind. Applejack-Drone was not the most innocent of hosts, for certain. She enjoyed quite a few things that other ponies would have deemed ‘dirty.’

The parasite rewarded its host with one that she would not have been able to pursue on her own. In an alley between one shop and another, Applejack-Drone lifted her tail. Big Mac-Drone looked at her, and the parasite within him did its business, forcing his cock down, forcing it up and hard.

They would break their hosts in, one way or another. The taboo of ‘incest’, as the hosts thought of it, would need to be shattered.

And since there was pleasure in the act, it would remind them that obeying the Nest, regardless of the demanded action, would always feel good.

Applejack-Drone leaned against one of the buildings, the host keeping her tail up and off to the side. It took almost no time for Big Mac-Drone to leap over her, putting that fat cock between her rump cheeks, and push in. The squelching feeling of her pucker spreading, the sensation of that flared tip pushing deeper and deeper, was a pleasure to Applejack-Drone, and the parasite made the pleasure stronger.

There would be no greater reward than doing what the Nest demanded.

There was no greater joy than being infested.

They would learn.

And they would break to it.

Mr. Cake was the last of the Cake family to be infested, mostly because he had been the one that took longest to try the new goods once Dapper-Drone actually convinced them all to sell them. The baker had wanted to keep the bakery more…how did he put it? Wholesome? Something along those lines. He forgot most of them these days, considering that the parasite in him was anything but wholesome.

He stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed over slightly as the business hummed along. Pinkie Pie and Mrs. Cake were working hard in the backroom, and he knew for a fact what they were doing. He had seen it, been part of it, knew that it was perverted and terrible in the eyes of the rest of the town.

But he, himself, no longer cared. Mr. Cake was a good host, a good drone.

Or at least, that was what his parasite kept telling him.

Good. You are good. You do what you are told. You take orders. Just like you’ve always done.

The Nest was his client, now.

The Nest was his best customer.

And if his best customer wanted to have some hosts sent to its door, wrapped up in a happy drugged cloud, then he would make sure that the Nest got what it wanted. It was just the way that business went.

His head was fuzzy, his mind all kinds of unfocused when there was nothing to do. As the one stallion of the business, he spent all his time either cumming what was left of his brains out in the back, seasoning and soaking various batter mixes with the drugged seed that the parasite helped him create, or he stood out front to take orders and ensure that nobody started poking around the backroom. Both roles were easy, but it was even easier to just fall asleep in his own head when he was not required to actively do something. The parasite was always awake, after all, and that meant that the host was only technically needed.

In truth, Mr. Cake enjoyed the frequent mental naps and vacations. He had been a hard worker all his life, and being able to take some time off, allowing his body to work while his mind stayed asleep, was a gift. He vaguely remembered being told that it was a gift at some point and not believing it at the time, but these days, he was completely on-board with that way of seeing it. Why would he view it any other way? He could rest, actually rest, while working, and that would have been impossible with anything but the Nest.

The door dinged quietly, and the half-sleeping mind of Mr. Cake pulled forward, drawn out of the back of his skull by the parasite. He smiled at the yellow-furred, small-winged pegasus that had just stepped in.

“Hey, Fluttershy,” he said with the same friendly voice that he’d always had, modulated ever so slightly to cover the low-level buzz of arousal that the parasite always induced. “Here for Angel’s weekly treats?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“Gotta say, you take good care of him. You’d probably be good at taking care of other ponies, heh.”

“Oh, well, I don’t – I mean, maybe.”

There was always that shyness, that embarrassment to Fluttershy, and that had made it hard for the various hosts to get close to her. She had distanced herself to some degree from her friends once they had all come of age, becoming more bonded with nature than with other ponies. Getting the other wielders of the Elements of Harmony to infest her had proven difficult, if not impossible; she didn’t seem to interact with them enough for that to happen.

But they couldn’t just leave her as a loose end, either. They needed her out of the picture, just like the other wielders. No danger to the Nest could be allowed to stay.

Thus, the treats. She always came in for special baked treats for her animals, and it was in the memory of the Cakes that she sometimes bought something for herself, too. It was up to them to make sure that she got snagged, eventually, by the new ‘special’ goods. Sooner or later, she would taste one.

Mr. Cake smiled, knowing that he was doing good work for the Nest, and grateful as ever that he had the chance to prove himself a worthwhile acquisition by the greater being.

“Can I recommend a cake for yourself?” he asked.

Dapper-Drone reached the library with the rest of the hosts, and they stepped inside. The ‘business meeting’ that happened once a week – as Westin-Drone had not only taken up the sponsorship of Twilight-Drone’s various experiments, but had also become an investor in the library to cover his many visits – was well-known at this point. The various patrons that were looking through the library books barely batted an eye as the group of hosts walked down the aisles and lanes of the many bookshelves, making their way to the rear of the library and their real goal. The basement door was unlocked – no need for security these days, due to Twilight-Drone’s magic casting a repulsion spell on it – and the six hosts made their way down.

Unsurprisingly, the basement was much different than it had been when they’d first arrived nearly two months ago. The Nest had all but killed the lower roots of the library tree, and the trunk of the tree was showing some extreme damage along the sides. There was no denying that it was in sorry shape, and Dapper-Drone imagined that it would have perhaps another three months before the tree itself was completely dead. Another month after that, and the Nest’s boughs would spread out over Ponyville, visible to all.

They had a time limit, but it was a generous one. They were making good time, and soon enough, they would have all serious threats taken care of. Anything that happened after that, they could explain away with the figures of authority that the Nest had under its thumb.

Twilight-Drone was backed up and docked to the Nest-tree already, her eyes glazed over with her communion to the Nest. She was the only one there; it must have been a slow day with the infestation of hosts.

No, that was wrong. They had made a decision that hosts would be brought around after-hours, taken in through a new hole in the trunk around the back, where they wouldn’t be seen or wondered after. That was it.

The four drones that carried the full sync-information were quick to turn in place, backing up slowly towards the Nest with their tails rising fast. Their puckers were pre-lubed, as this was legitimately their only function, and the tendrils of the Nest rose to meet them. Dapper-Drone always envied them the fact that they got to go first, downloading everything to the Nest for its sake, while he had to stand and wait for his turn.

His head pounded, and the parasite did what it could to mitigate the discomfort. It wasn’t much; there was only so much a thing in charge of the body could do to alter the discomfort of the brain.

“This host is…oddly entertained with the view,” Westin-Drone said.

“Your host is debauched.”

“It is. It is still odd.”

“You have not had to punish it?”

“I am forbidden,” Westin-Drone said.

“Ah. Interesting.”

“You are not?”

“I have felt no need.”

And that was the truth. Dapper-Drone and his parasite had been more or less on an even keel with each other – as even as one could be with a creature that controlled one’s entire body – since the reprogramming. Twilight-Drone’s rescue had led to a rebalancing of power between hosts and parasites, and he…well, he behaved himself. He worked hard. He did what he could even without the push from the parasite, and it allowed him a few liberties, such as thoughts of curiosity from time to time. Considering that the curious thoughts always led to growth spurts for the Nest, it was considered useful to allow his mind to wander.

He was aware that most hosts and parasites did not live under the same relationship. They were stricter, often more forced, and relied entirely on the programming that the Nest offered. Some rare ponies, those like him that had greater or lesser irritations with the disorder of society, had welcomed their parasitic overlords and submitted to them with glee. They were in the minority, however, and were often seen as freaks, even by the Nests.

Useful ones, however, so they were given the acknowledgement that they deserved.

“The Mayor needs to be dealt with,” Westin-Drone said.

“This host is aware.”

“There is a plan?”

“The possibility of one.”

“From the Nest?”

“From one of them.”

There were many possibilities, after all, and a cure could be found in many different ways. It was a matter of how to apply it more than anything else, and that would require Nest authorization.

The downloading was faster than it had been in the past, and far more stressful on the bodies of those involved. The four host-ponies that carried the encoded data in their heads were stiff, their eyes rolled back in their sockets until one could only see white, and a mix of shaft-slime and sex juices rolled out from between their hind legs. The stallions were almost constantly squirting against the floor, the rolled surface carrying the slime down to the drain, while the females were soaking their hind legs, leaving the air rich with pheromones that were getting thicker and thicker by the second.

And yet, despite that, none of them showed the pleasure on their face. They were blank, not even talking to each other as they were downloaded to the Nest’s core.

Dapper-Drone knew that they were different from the average pony-host, that they were altered to be purely information-carriers. Their ability to interact with other ponies was minimal, disguised under the appearance of hyper-efficient secretaries when they were in public, but the moment they were in private, they were even less interactable than the other hosts. Almost the entirety of their minds and bodies were dedicated purely to the storage and transfer of information, altered by the Nests to ensure that the fidelity of their memories and concept-images were passed along with as few changes and mutations as possible.

It was marvelous and terrifying at the same time.

The process took an hour. The four ponies finally disengaged with nothing more than a step forward, all four moving in unison, and the Nest pulled all but one of its tendrils back. The last remained on offer for Dapper-Drone, though he knew that it was less ‘offer’ and more ‘requirement.’

The stallion turned around, old programming asserting itself once more as he raised his tail and deliberately backed up. He felt the usual spots, the ground worn away where the stallions and mares had clopped themselves into place dozens, hundreds of times by now. The floor had been worn in those four spots by those countless hoof-stomps, and he knew just where he needed to be as his hooves slotted into the same places.

Just as always, the tendril came down, and its slime – spread over asses, over tentacles, over everything that the Nest touched – was as familiar as always. He didn’t even have to relax; his body was conditioned to be that way the moment that his hooves touched their proper places.

Squelch.

The tentacle went in, and he felt the connection. A short, sharp shock that linked his mind with the Nest. He rode it, falling inward, feeling the slight link that he always did, but with a different sensation behind it than the one in the hospital.

That Nest felt the need to uplift, to ‘cure’ the various ponies around it by making them hosts. There was a feeling that it ‘thought’ that it had a purpose, a reason to do what it did. There was a feeling that it was justified in what it was doing, because it was doing something that ultimately benefited everything around it.

There was none of that with the original Nest. This one, more than anything else, just acted. It felt no justification, but it didn’t need such a thing. The only reason that it existed, the only reason that it did what it did, was to grow and spread. Spread and grow. There had always been a hint of its need to control ever since it made contact with Dapper-Drone, but rather than being formed by that, the original Nest had made the needs of Dapper-Drone its own, and shaped itself around it, creating a life and mindset that was something all its own.

It called for the information in his head – a list of patients, a list of new drones, bits and pieces that the hospital Nest had synced to him – and he gave it, sending it right down the line. He felt the presence of Twilight-Drone off to the side, and he felt the vault of various pony personalities that were inside of the Nest, as he always did. There was an echo each time he was synced with the Nest, an echo that he knew was the download of his own mind from all those months ago now. Two months. Just two months, and yet, that reflection of him deep in the Nest’s mind felt like someone else completely.

It was amazing what happened when one was no longer deciding things for themselves. There was so much that changed, so much that no longer mattered. And even knowing that he had become someone else, someone that was not even slightly connected to the old him, didn’t bother him.

Not much.

Not anymore.

The Nest ceased the download, and before he could enjoy the feeling of space in his skull, it pushed. The image-concepts were coming, and it was…

It could not be said to be consulting with him, because that would imply that he had an equality to the Nest, something that no drone did. It was not asking his advice, but rather pushing ideas through his head, seeing what happened when such concepts and loose plans ran into the knowledge that the host and informed parasite had of the world outside of the basement. Data was the Nest’s domain; reaction was the domain of the host-ponies.

It, too, had desires for the removal of Mayor Mare. While the hospital Nest saw the Mayor as an interfering function that should be cured for the greater good of the hosts and the parasites as a whole, the original Nest saw her as a genuine threat. It saw her as something that would not only incidentally harm the cause, but would seek them out. The original Nest had the realization that they were more of the infection than the cure, and the Mayor – inasmuch as the metaphor continued – was the medicine attempting to apply itself time and time again. Sooner or later, she would get lucky, and they had to remove her. Forcibly, if required, and the first concept-image showed that plan.

Dapper-Drone mentally flinched away from the scene of rape that the Nest hit him with, knowing that the plan was doomed to failure almost instantly. While they could build up to such a point, just ambushing her and fucking her full of a young parasite was all but guaranteed to attract attention. Their host population was growing, but they had scarcely a quarter of Ponyville at this point, certainly not enough to cover them if the Mayor was able to start calling for help. Considering that she never traveled alone these days, that meant that there was little chance of catching her off-guard, even if they could outnumber her in the alleys and elsewhere in Ponyville.

Three other plans were pushed up his spine, each one of a similar nature. The original Nest had less ‘compassion’ than the one in the hospital, more concerned about results than about the kindness or the ease of which they could be accomplished. It was more willing to sacrifice a member of the Nest – one with less overall value – if it meant getting what it needed in the long run. It would throw one of them into the meat-grinder – it would throw ten of them – if it meant getting a high-value target like the Mayor.

Yet, each plan had problems. Some obstacles were less, some greater, but none of them would work. Not in the current situation. Not when they were still in the minority.

Dapper-Drone could feel the rising frustration in the link between them. It would turn to the pain of frustration and dissatisfaction, soon, and he strained to think of a concept-image to send back to the Nest.

Twilight-Drone came to his rescue. The tentative link that she shared with the Nest as a booster to its thoughts had allowed her some access, as well, or so he imagined. He felt her pushing something into the link, a modification of the various traps and physical ambushes that the original Nest had conceived of.

It was a plan that involved Westin-Drone, the Apple family, Rarity-Drone, the Cake business, and even Twilight-Drone herself. The Mayor was coming near to her re-election campaign, and this year, she was facing someone that would actually be a challenge to her continued reign over Ponyville – and someone that happened to be a host, as well, though the Mayor didn’t know that. She would need backing, someone with bits, someone with connections.

Westin-Drone could be that connection, and to hold it as a celebration of sorts, an announcement of support for the Mayor, would require a gathering. That gathering, catered by the corrupted and infested Apple Family and the Cakes baked goods, would spread all kinds of addictive goods to the attendees, and with a big social event like that in the offing, Rarity – now infested herself – would be called upon for various private meetings with the different attendees. Consultations with Twilight-Drone with different party-goers would allow for many different moments in the privacy of other houses, too.

The plan, essentially, shifted the focus from converting all of Ponyville, one step at a time, to massing the resources of their currently-infested hosts on the allies and friends of the Mayor. Every person that she’d bring to the party would have some reason or other to meet with the various infested hosts, either for clothes, food, or something else, and would either be an addict or a full host by the time that the party rolled around. That night, the Mayor would be completely alone, helpless against the Nest.

What would come afterward wouldn’t be an announcement of Westin-Drone’s support, but rather, the Mayor resigning, becoming an ambassador between towns, using her name and reputation to continue having access to other mayors across the country. The new drone-host would become the new Mayor, uncontested, and the next phase of the conspiracy would move forward.

Ponyville would fall shortly after, since any position of authority could be filled with a host-pony, and they could put some of their resources towards expanding to another area. Another town. Another city.

Twilight-Drone’s plan was acceptable to the Nest, and Dapper-Drone was spared the pain of dissatisfaction. They were told to prepare, and prepare they would.