It was the report that made Suzanne Waverly a household name.

The segment began with the standard WNN intro: a reporter's eyes opening onto a mirror. But when that reporter was Suzanne Waverly, only the intro was standard. Although she'd been in the business a mere three years, Suzanne's brand of open-mindedness had already made her a minor celebrity. Most of the planet was wetwired now, so no one thought twice about watching the news through the eyes and ears of a reporter. But taste and smell broadcasting were less common, and only the porn channels dabbled in touch. As for transmitting thoughts and emotions via wetware, that was reserved for only the most intimate situations...and for Suzanne. She was the fearless, full-spectrum wonder girl of WNN.

Suzanne's eyes opened onto the mirror, and her riders saw a tall, shapely woman with auburn hair and a copper-colored business suit, the skirt several inches shorter than reporter norm. She smiled, and her vast, vicarious audience felt her lips part to speak.

"This is Suzanne Waverly, reporting live from a WNN hovercraft a few miles north of the imperial palace. For the last five months our earth has been ruled by a shadow figure, a man seen only in stock footage, known only through interviews with distant relatives. Other than these scraps of information, and the fact that whatever he uses to dominate us was acquired on Mars, we've had very little information on John Dominic - until now."

Her heart picked up a beat. "Two hours ago World News Network received an extraordinary message from the Master. At last, he says, he is ready to meet his public; and he demands that a reporter be sent to him immediately. In fact, he demands that I be sent to him."

Now Suzanne opened the secondary channels in her wetware. A skein of microfilaments switched on in her skull and, tapping into her thoughts and emotions, beamed them into the heads of a billion strangers worldwide. Her riders felt the dryness of her mouth and tasted the tang of fear in her mind. The most impressionable of them felt corresponding sensations in their bodies. The less impressionable - or better coordinated - split their concentration between Suzanne's broadcast and secondary calls to friends, telling them to tune into WNN right now.

Until today, most of the world had felt only a flick of the Master's whip. Five months ago, on what should have been a perfectly ordinary day, they had all been struck with a simultaneous realization: "John Dominic rules the earth. I will always obey him. I will never rebel against him." They hadn't even known who John Dominic was then, but it didn't matter. Those three simple statements were as incontrovertible as gravity. When the man proclaimed himself Emperor of the planet and disbanded all other forms of government, not a single voice raised in protest.

In fact, 99.99% of the world considered themselves lucky; they'd seen what had happened to the other 0.01%. In the early days of the takeover, the newsnets were flooded with images of the ex-rich and powerful, now reduced to mindless sex toys. Some of them the Master turned loose on the public, apparently just for fun. Most he took with him when he withdrew behind the walls of the imperial palace; and the world, which had seen nothing of any of them since, breathed a sigh of relief. Human nature being what it was, they managed to convince themselves they were safe now. The Master had no use for peons, they said. As long as they did their jobs and kept their heads down, he'd leave them alone.

Of course, they still wondered what went on inside the palace; that was what made Suzanne's report so enticing. When she interviewed the Master, they'd see and hear and feel everything she did, but only secondhand; so if he decided to add her to his toy box, they'd almost certainly keep their own minds intact. Poor, brave, wetwired Suzanne. She'd be their sacrificial lamb.

The object of their gratitude sat quietly in her hovercraft, trying to calm herself with a simple, two-word mantra: Pulitzer Prize. She knew this was the assignment that would make her career...assuming she still had a career when it was all over with. No one who'd come out of the palace before her had been in any shape to hold down a job. But she couldn't let her fears affect the interview; that wouldn't be professional. No punches pulled, she told herself firmly.

She could see the imperial palace now, flashing like a diamond on a hilltop. The mansion had once belonged to a South American drug lord, but that was before the Master took over. Now its old owner was part of the unlucky 0.01%. Suzanne aimed for the hoverpad, a vast white bowl ringed with statues of alternating silver and gold. Although hairless, the figures was anatomically correct, and the reporter counted six males and six females. Each was identical, aside from gender and color, and each held the same pose: back arched, head up, arms raised as though in welcome.

Suzanne was almost on top of them before she realized they were human.

She stood, a little nervously, as the hovercraft touched down. Smoothing her skirt bought her a few more seconds of safety; but she couldn't keep her audience, much less her Master, waiting. She took a deep breath and started out the door. And there she froze.

The statues were converging on her. Their faces were expressionless, their movements robotic, their eyes shiny-blank as ball bearings. For a moment she pictured them seizing her and either remaking into one of them or simply tearing her limb from limb. She couldn't decide which fate would be worse. Her upper body twisted as she tried to climb back into the hovercraft, but her feet refused to cooperate.

That was what it meant to be summoned by the Master: she couldn't resist, and she couldn't run away. Even if he decided to turn her into one of these blank-faced clones, her only choice would be how loudly to scream.

If she did scream, that was. Suzanne reminded herself that she had another option - a nobler one, which would certainly play better with her audience. I'll be damned if I let myself be intimidated by a pack of pseudo-androids, she thought, then tried hard to make herself believe it. Squaring her jaw, she climbed cautiously out of the aircraft.

The robots halted, all except for one golden man who took another step and bowed. "Suzanne Waverly," he said in a flat, metallic voice, "the Master bids you welcome. He has assigned these units to meet your needs."

Her stomach unknotted as she realized she was in no danger... yet. "Units? Oh." She laughed, a trifle shakily. "You mean yourselves."

"Not 'selves,'" the golden man corrected her politely. "These units have no personal identities. They are robots, identical in all ways save that this one-" he pointed to his chest - "has been designated by the Master to speak to you."

Now that she felt safe, Suzanne's reporter instincts kicked into high gear. She took a long look at the robot, trying to see the man beneath the metal. Even from a few feet away, the illusion was almost perfect. Not a single hair grew anywhere on his body; not a single bump or pockmark marred its smoothness. His features were as blank and regular as a mannequin's, and his skin gleamed like molten gold. Her gaze flowed down his chest, taking in his taut nipples and flawless abs. Then she fetched up hard against his hairless penis.

The robot followed her gaze. "These units are programmed for maximum sexual satisfaction," he said, his member swinging instantly erect. "The Master has granted you use of them for the duration of the interview. Would you care to assess their performance?"

At last Suzanne was on familiar ground. She knew what her riders liked, and she'd never have gone full spectrum if she were easily embarrassed. Of course, there were limits to what she could do in a broadcast coded for the general public, but she always liked to push the envelope. It was part of what made her so popular.

She pinned her gaze to the robot's erection and let her mind drift. Here was a man, she thought, who'd obey her every command, and do it without complaint or hesitation. Better yet, here was a man who could erect on cue - her cue as well as his. And what else could he do with that magnificent golden body? Could he stay aroused for hours? Ejaculate endlessly? And what about his tongue - how limber was it, and how long could he use it without cramping? Was it gold, too - and what color was his come?

Suzanne felt herself growing wet. She clenched her innermost muscles and rubbed her thighs together, enjoying the thought of her audience's response to all this. It would be soooo much fun to indulge herself, and the Master had actually invited her to do just that.

But she was a professional, and there was more to this story than a man who thought he was a robot. She'd have to decline the invitation for now and hope Dominic reinstated it later. If he did, she'd shut down every broadcast channel she possessed and push this robot's programming to its limits.

Regretfully, she lifted her gaze to the sex slave's face. "I'd love to take you up on the offer," she sighed, "but I'm afraid it wouldn't be appropriate." She pouted prettily, though the effect seemed lost on its recipient. Never mind; her riders were the ones who really mattered. "Besides, it wouldn't do to keep the Master waiting. Will you take me to him now?"

"As you wish. Would you like additional accompaniment?"

She scanned the crowd of robots, wondering how much plastic surgery it had taken to make them so perfectly identical. Their bodies were beautifully formed: smooth, toned, rippling in all the right places. Their eyes were wide, their lips full, their cheeks and jaws perfectly chiseled. The only things they lacked were minds. Suzanne suspected their real eyes wouldn't look any less vacant than the ball bearings they showed the world.

For a moment she almost pitied them; then she remembered how they'd looked, swarming toward the hovercraft. "I'll just take you," she said quickly.

"As you wish." The gold man bowed. "Follow, please."

Suzanne fell in step behind him, lining up the questions as she went. Even though this robot wasn't the story she was assigned to cover, he was a story - and a juicy one, at that. "So," she said as they crossed the threshold into the palace, "what's it like, being a robot? What sort of thoughts run through your head? And please - when you answer, don't say 'this unit'; I've had enough of that shtick already. If the Master has given me any authority over you at all, then I command you to refer to yourself in the first person."

"As you wish," the robot murmured. "I think of obeying my Master, nothing else."

Now she was actually inside the Master's lair. White marble ceilings arched high overhead; black marble floors spread beneath their feet. And in between, along the broad white walls, hung paintings Suzanne had once seen in the Louvre. She doubted these were copies. Halls and stairwells branched around her, with here and there an alcove occupied by a statue. If she looked closely enough, she could see some of them breathing.

And Suzanne did look closely. Her hands reached out to brush silk, velvet, stone, flesh - passing on every sensation to her billion-plus riders. Although she had no way to count her audience, she was savvy enough to guess how fast it must be growing. "So, do you believe yourself to be a real robot, or do you have any memory of your human past?"

It was a loaded question, but he took it in stride. Probably nothing Suzanne said or did could faze a man so deeply enthralled. "I am indeed a robot. I have no memory of my human past."

"But you know you have a human past?"

"Yes."

"Then you're not a robot; you're a man who's been brainwashed."

"I am indeed a robot. I have no memory of my human past."

He'll probably give me the same answer a thousand times if he has to, she thought, and in the same emotionless voice. But that would bore her almost as much as it would her audience. Suzanne shifted mental gears just slightly.

"So you don't even remember your human name?" she asked, calling up a (mostly sincere) pang of pity.

"No."

"Do you wish you could?"

"I have no wish but to obey my Master."

Suzanne thought about Dominic's new openness and wondered how far she could push it. "Maybe he'd let us fingerprint you," she mused. If she had the robot's name, she could track down his relatives. It would make one hell of a human interest story.

And it would give her something to hope for, beyond today. She had to keep believing she'd make it out of here. It was the only way she could maintain her professionalism.

The robot halted and turned toward to her. "That would be impossible," he said, holding out his hand. She took it a little gingerly, then stared. Every line on the man's palm, every whorl on his fingertips, had been erased. The skin itself was as cool and slick as metal.

"Dental records?" she tried, although she guessed the answer even before he opened his mouth. The robot's teeth were blocky golden dentures. Still, Suzanne wasn't entirely disappointed, for the look behind his lips had confirmed another suspicion: everything inside his mouth - gums, tongue, tonsils, and all - gleamed the same rich gold as his skin.

"How did he do it?" she marveled. "How did he paint every inch of your body? Is it permanent?"

"Yes, the coloration is permanent," said the robot, reengaging his mechanical glide, "He uses a combination of techniques, as you will see for yourself shortly."

That answer was a little too ambiguous for her liking, and Suzanne quickly changed the subject. "So you don't remember your life before the Master took you. What's the first thing you do remember, then?"

"Opening my eyes at my Master's command."

"And what was the first thing he said to you?"

"He commanded me to fellate him."

The robot stopped before a heavy wooden door. "We have arrived."

Suzanne took a deep breath. On the other side of that door was the man who could give her all the fame and glory she'd ever wanted; the problem was, she couldn't decline if the price was too high. But whatever else happened, she reassured herself, she'd get a damn good interview out of it.

The robot opened the door, and she stepped into a room scattered with fountains, pillars, palm fronds, and the largest throne she had ever seen...though none of that really mattered. She was only here for the man on the throne.

John Dominic was in his late twenties or early thirties. His hair was honey brown and tousled, not much longer than he'd worn it as an astronaut. His face was unlined, with a straight nose and the most sensual pair of lips Suzanne had ever seen on a man. His eyes sparkled with blue-green fire. Even knowing that he held her mind in his hands, she felt a spark of pleasure. Pictures couldn't do justice to his handsomeness, or his virility.

The Master lounged indolently on his throne while a pair of female robots, one silver and one gold, stood at his elbows with trays of sweetmeats. He was dressed in a simple white shirt, unbuttoned, with black silk drawstring pants. At his feet crouched a man in a leather thong, diligently licking his toes.

This was the one part of the picture that didn't compute. Suzanne stared at the slave for a moment, noting his balding gray head and the way his love handles bulged above the leather. But the man's back was to her, and anyway, she wasn't here to interview him.

As she looked up again, Dominic smiled. "Suzanne Waverly, it's a pleasure to see you in the flesh. I've been following your work for some time."

"Master." She found herself bowing and wasn't sure if the decision had been her own or his. After all, no one really knew how he exerted his control. If he started to manipulate her, would she even realize it was happening? "Thank you for choosing me to interview you."

"I wouldn't think of using anyone else. Come in, have some wine and fruit. Robots, attend to my guest." The women stepped forward, each moving as mechanically as the man who'd brought her here.

And where had he gone? Suzanne glanced back and saw that he'd stationed himself by the door on a pedestal, in the stance of a classical Greek statue. He was completely immobile and seemed barely even to breathe. If she hadn't seen him walking and talking a moment before, Suzanne would have sworn he'd never moved. Again her stomach knotted, but the robot women were in front of her now, the silver one holding a grape to her lips.

"Let them feed you," said the Master from his throne. "It's much more enjoyable that way." Suzanne's mouth opened (she had no choice but to obey), and the robot slipped the grape between her teeth. Her lips closed over the silver fingers, and a familiar throb started at her clit. She stared into the mirrored eyes, looking for any flicker of a response. There was none, but somehow, this time, it only increased her arousal. She sucked gently at the fingers as they withdrew, teasing herself as well as her riders.

"There," said John Dominic. "Was I right?"

"Yes, Master."

"Have another grape and some wine, then come sit beside me. I have someone here you'd like to meet."

Suzanne obeyed, and got her first look at the human slave as she did so. His pupils were dilated, his mouth stretched wide in an idiot grin. Both nipples were pierced and he had a third ring through his nose, like a cow. "Harold," said the Master, removing his foot from the man's mouth, "say hello to my guest."

"Hello, guest," burbled the former President of the United States. Saliva dribbled between his lips. He beamed from Dominic to Suzanne and back, waiting for his next command. With a touch of impatience, the Master gestured him to his feet.

"I've had them all by now," Dominic told her offhandedly. "Presidents, Prime Ministers, Kings and Queens. Some, of course, are more stimulating than others. But it wouldn't be fair to leave anyone out." He shrugged. "As for Harold, he isn't the most stimulating of slaves, but I thought it would be fun to let him be the one to greet you. And you've done an admirable job, haven't you, Harold?"

"Yes, Master," grinned the ex-President.

"You may have your mind back now."

The slack face twisted as its owner reclaimed it; then it collapsed even further. From his stooped shoulders and downcast eyes, Suzanne saw that the man who'd ruled what had once been her country had lost all hope. Even when he noticed her stare, he barely found the will to cover his crotch.

"You may go, Harold," said the Master. "Prepare yourself for tonight."

"Yes, Master," sighed the ex-president. He trudged from the room without a second look.

Dominic turned to Suzanne and regarded her with cool interest. "You're afraid of me," he said: a statement, not a question.

"Yes, Master," she admitted. How could she not?

For a moment he looked almost fatherly. "That's all right," he soothed. "I won't take your fear from you. I've been enjoying your report from the moment you opened your eyes in the hovercraft."

Suzanne blinked. It had never occurred to her that the ruler of her world would do anything as mundane as watch the news. But he was wetwired like everyone else, and this report would hold a special interest for him. In fact, she realized, he could be riding her even now, watching himself through her frightened eyes. She searched his face for the signs even the sharpest rider couldn't hide: an unfocused gaze, a clumsy languor. He seemed perfectly alert, but still....

Dominic shifted, graceful as a cat, and grinned at her. "But still...." he mocked, and laughed to hear her gasp. "That's right, Suzanne. I am riding you, this very second. Can't you feel me in your head?"

This was insane. No one could follow a full-sensory report and the real world, not without some loss of function. His concentration must be phenomenal.

"It is," the Master agreed. Then he leaned forward to stroke her cheek. "But since you've let me in along with the rest of the world, why don't we begin the interview? And please, speak freely. As long as you keep broadcasting, I'll know your thoughts, anyway."

"Yes, Master." She pulled herself together, forcing herself to meet his not-quite-mocking gaze. Pulitzer Prize, she reminded herself.

"Very well. The question that's uppermost in everyone's mind, my own included, is, how did you do it? How did you take over the world?"

Dominic shook his head and chuckled. "Funny, I thought you'd try to butter me up first by asking about my childhood. But no punches pulled, eh? Very well. On the last Mars mission, a colleague and I were exploring an underground cavern when we became separated from the rest of the team. Suddenly the floor crumbled beneath us, and we dropped about twenty feet into a hidden chamber. My faceplate was shattered in the fall, but by luck we'd landed in an airtight chamber.

"At least, it had been airtight until we broke through; now the oxygen was whistling away quite rapidly. But I knew I had a couple of minutes to think before I suffocated, so while Roy called for help, I began to look around. Anything was better than just sitting there waiting to die." He paused and gestured to the gold attendant, who refilled his wineglass while he teased her nipples. Then he turned back to Suzanne.

"As it turned out, we'd fallen right into the object of our search: a First Dynasty Martian tomb. It was completely untouched, right down to the crown atop the sarcophagus. Well, really it was little more than a circlet, but it seemed just the right size for my head. And since my helmet was useless anyway, I decided to try it on."

He put a finger to his lips. "Actually, looking back on it now, I think it must have been calling me; I can't see any other reason for wasting what I thought were my last few minutes of life trying on a piece of silly alien headgear." He grinned, then shrugged. "But I'll never know for certain; and, honestly, I don't particularly care. All that matters is the outcome. I took off my helmet, put on the crown, and in one instant all the majesty and wisdom of the Martian civilization poured into my head. And all the power. The Emperors hadn't ruled their people by might alone; they'd found a way to manipulate them on a telepathic level. And now I could do the same."

Dominic leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "I started with Roy, of course. After all, I still needed a helmet to survive. Then I took over the rescue team, and later the group back at base camp. We left Mars with GASA none the wiser, and when I was close enough to earth, I commandeered the satellite system and used it to beam my control throughout the world." He sat back again. "Easy, really."

His grin was charming, but that somehow made it all the more unnerving. Suzanne swallowed.

"And what about the crown? Where is it now?"

"Right here." The Master tapped his forehead. "It sank into my skull almost instantly. Hurt like hell at the time, but I'm fine now."

Aha, here was something she could work with! This time it was Suzanne who leaned closer. "Are you sure? Maybe it's really controlling you, just as you're controlling us. From all I've gathered of your background, you weren't the type to kill or enslave or-" she glanced at the robots- "whatever it is you've done to these people. And GASA runs a psych profile on every recruit; they wouldn't have let a megalomaniac into the space program."

Her mind abruptly caught up with her tongue. Shit, she thought, and snapped her mouth closed. Not pulling punches was one thing; insulting a man who could liquefy her brain was another.

Dominic gave her plenty of time to squirm before he nodded. "True," he said easily enough, "but a smart enough megalomaniac could fool the profilers." He leaned forward again, allowing her to peer as deeply as she wanted into those amazing eyes.

They told her absolutely nothing.

"On the other hand," the Master continued, clearly enjoying her bafflement, "the crown has expanded my mind in ways you can't imagine. If the result is a change in my personality, that should surprise no one. Now, as for the Martians, the crown tells me they're extinct. But if it's lied and they come back one day to take over the world I conquered for them, at least I'll know they paid me well. Next question."

"Yes, Master." Suzanne felt as though she'd been dangled over a cliff and then suddenly pulled back. She took a moment to catch her breath, then fell back with relief on her list of prescripted topics.

"For the last five months, our world has been preoccupied with two chief questions: how you took it over, and what you plan to do with it. You've just answered the first, so how about the second? What do you have in store for us next?"

Dominic smiled lazily and traced wine circles on a robot's flank. "In other words, will I let you keep your minds?"

"Yes, Master." She licked her lips. And while you're at it, tell me whether or not I can keep mine.

Shit, she hadn't meant to let that thought get through. Of course, her riders would sympathize, which was a good thing; but Dominic's reaction could be a very bad thing. The last thing she wanted to do was draw his attention to her fear of enslavement.

The look on his face told her he was following her every tortured line of thought, and loving it.

"Hmm, your mouth is a bit dry, Suzanne. Have some more wine."

The gold woman refilled her glass, and Suzanne took an obedient swallow, a large one. It helped to steady her nerves. "Well, sir?" she pressed. "May we keep our minds?"

His eyes met hers for another long, fathomless moment. "Some of you...perhaps. But you'll find out more tonight, when I make my first address to the United Nations."

Suzanne's worry vanished for a moment in the face of this newest scoop. "I hope I'll be there to cover it."

"Oh, you will be. You will be."

"Thank you, Master." She bobbed her head, working hard to interpret his tone as reassuring. "Well then, perhaps you can give us a preview of what's to come?"

His lips curled in amusement. "What an impatient little reporter you are, Suzanne. I suppose you're just doing your job, but I've said everything I plan to say about tonight, so you'll have to find another topic on which to quiz me. Why don't you ask about my slaves? I've seen how they interest you."

Of course he had, and so had a billion others. She suppressed a smirk. "Yes, Master. Can you tell us how you make them?"

Once again their eyes locked, and she remembered him asking if she could feel him in her mind. "Well, that's a little better, Suzanne, but it's not the question you really want to ask. I felt your arousal on the hoverpad, and I know what caused it. You want to know how it feels to have absolute control over another human being."

There was no denying the throb between her legs. He felt it, she felt it, and so did a couple of billion strangers. Suzanne nodded mutely.

"Good girl. Fortunately for you, the easiest way to answer one question is to answer both." He flicked a hand at the statue by the door. "You, come here."

Like a windup toy, the robot rotated his head in their direction and then climbed off his pedestal. He moved with a stately, mechanical grace, gliding to the foot of the throne and bowing silently before his Master.

"Now," said Dominic, "I believe this unit interested you particularly. In fact, I believe you would have fucked him on the spot, if you hadn't been so worried about your professionalism."

The suddenness of the profanity startled her, as he'd meant it to. She squirmed in her seat and felt her panties shift against her swollen lower lips. "Yes, Master," she breathed, enjoying the heat that came from admitting to what they all already knew.

Dominic looked suddenly serious. "Think carefully now. I won't say 'Answer honestly,' because your thoughts will do that for you. You enjoy titillating your audience with thoughts of sex, you enjoy sharing the arousal you feel right now, and you hope you won't leave here without feeling this robot's tongue in your cunt. These are simple facts; I haven't done anything to sway your thoughts one way or the other. Is this true?"

"Yes, Master." Suzanne saw where this was heading, and her heartbeat quickened.

"But would you, of your own free will, actually fuck this man in the middle of a live report?"

"Absolutely not!" Suzanne marveled to feel her face grow hot. So, after all this time, she'd finally found something that embarrassed her: her own scruples.

Of course, the shame itself was a bit of a turn-on. And, having a good idea of what was about to happen and knowing how little responsibility she'd bear for it in the end, she allowed her pussy to clench in anticipation.

"Very good." Without changing at all, the Master's face managed somehow to suggest a smirk. "Then you'll appreciate this all the more."

Something flexed inside her head. To Suzanne it felt almost like a human hand, taking her brain in its grip and twisting it, just a little. She still remembered her riders and the pride she took in her professionalism, but all that really mattered now was humping the robot-man into a puddle of gold.

She never even thought about trying to resist; she just leapt from her chair and bore down on him, seizing his face in her hands. "Undress me," she snarled. "With your mouth."

The robot knelt instantly, wordlessly, and his lips closed over the button between her breasts, unfastening it with no effort at all. She drew him closer and felt his tongue flick into the widening part of her blouse, undoing button after button and laving her breasts with gold-tinged saliva.

Suzanne's eyes rolled up with pleasure. She ran her hands down the robot's back and over his buttocks, relishing the slickness of his skin and the knowledge that he was completely hers. His eyes were blank, his mind blanker, his body responsive to her every whim. He was completely hers: her mindless, man-shaped fuck toy. She grabbed his hardened cock and began to play with it, caressing its long, slick length and enjoying the pulse of human blood beneath the gold.

Once the robot had her shirt off, she put him to work on her bra. Her skirt should have been next, but the feel of those golden teeth was so incredible that she left him at her breasts and ripped the skirt off, herself. Then she pushed his head down. He found her clit instantly and she thrust herself on top of him, letting his tongue continue the work his fingers had begun.

When at last she let his cock in on the fun, it sent her howling.