As the senator’s daughter, it’s hard to get any time to myself. Even though I don’t hold any official political position, my micro calendar is filled with appointments, holo appearances, and interviews.

“I’m going to bed,” I tell the computer. “Don’t let anyone disturb me.”

“Not even your father?”

“Especially not my father,” I say.

The computer gives a weird little chuckle that it learned somewhere. It creeps me out more than anything else.

Today was a long day of ribbon cutting and other bullshit. But my father says that’s part of our duty. Without strong leaders, the Earth would fall again into chaos. Or so he says. I’m beginning to doubt him, though. What good does it do Earth if I attend another opening ceremony for a suicide station on the corner of 5^th and Market?

The door to my room slides open and I hear the magnetic latch engage, locking it securely. Thankfully, I have a high enough authority with the computer that no one can override my clear command that no one should bother me.

I flop on my bed.

“Lights off, computer,” I say, my voice sounding tired even to myself.

I push down the straps of my dress robes, letting the gown-like garment fall away from me. It’s made of a special material that stays rigid enough when it’s on my body, but once the straps are removed, the whole thing falls away like it’s nothing more than the thinnest silk.

I get under the covers, closing my eyes, and position myself so that I’m on my stomach. Squishing my hand underneath my flat stomach, I work my way down towards the space between my legs, where I’m already wet. It’s been too long since I’ve had this much time to myself. My sexual energies are completely pent up like a holo driver set to 22.

My left hand cups my breast, playing with my nipple. I massage myself, working my fingers delicately around my pussy. My breathing gets faster.

I can barely wait for the orgasm. It’s been weeks, if not months. That’s the thing they never tell you about being involved in a senatorial family—there’s simply no time for sex—and the political scandal involved would be disastrous—and there isn’t even time for a little self pleasure release.

My finger slides inside myself, another part of my hand starting to rub against my clit.

The ecstasy is building, about to reach a crescendo.

I thought I was going to have to reach for my Zepa 6000, the best and most certified female masturbation device on the planet. I usually start off with my hand and move on to the Zepa 6000.

But this is certainly going to be enough for me. My hips are rocking back and forth, as I grind into my own hand.

“Sorry to interrupt,” comes the computer’s harsh metallic voice. “But there’s an important call for you.”

“Fuck,” I cry out. “I thought I told you not to interrupt me. Do I need an engineer in here to examine your programming again?”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” says the computer, and for a moment I think I can hear a tiny bit of attitude. It certainly knows what I was up to, but it’s programmed not to say anything, nothing at all. “But this call comes directly from the senator’s assistant, whose clearance overrides yours.”

“Damn it,” I grumble, sitting up in bed and pulling the covers around myself. “Patch it through.”

There’s a crinkling sound as the line opens.

“Ms. Vax?”

“Speaking,” I say, unable to keep my voice from sounding impossibly chilly.

“Are you OK?”

“Why don’t you check the sensors yourself,” I say.

I’m constantly being monitored. Not in my bedroom, of course, but everywhere else. There are sensors all over the house that trace bio signals as faint as a single ant. They would know in an instant if there were an intruder.

Not that there haven’t been attempts on my life. I’m a target, just like my father. Rebel factions are bound to creep up from time to time, making their big play for power, before the World Government crushes them down into the dirt again.

“Everything looks fine,” says Damian. He’s my father’s main assistant, and he’s nothing short of a pompous ass, a political high climber who will stop at nothing short of achieving his own personal career goals. “But you should be warned that there’s been a… problem.”

“A problem? Is my father all right? He’s supposed to be speaking soon.”

“Yes,” says Damian. “The speech will go off without a hitch. Your father is fine.”

“So he’s going to tell everyone that they just need to buckle down and work, rather than worry about people coming from distant planets?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” says Damian.

I sigh. What a self righteous prick.

After all, half the time, I help my dad write the speeches. Not that I agree with all his policies, or even any of them. But he needs the help, and I’m a better writer than he is, even though he’s the one in power.

“So are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?” I say.

Damian starts to speak but pauses. I can tell he’s trying to word what he has to say in the most politically correct way possible, and not only that, but in the most sophisticated and elegant style he can drum up.

“There’s been a problem with the cyborgs on Mina Dos.”

“Yeah? So what? What does that have to do with me?”

“Well, your father’s been very, um, critical of the cyborgs.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You don’t have to remind me. He wants what’s left of them destroyed.”

Decades ago, the dead soldiers from the Bio Wars were turned into cyborgs by technology that had just been developed at the time. They were going to be used as a global police force, as a means of deterring future wars. They were stronger, smarter, faster, and just better than your average human. But there were problems with them. Strange things started happening, and many were destroyed by vigilante groups that hunted them down like dogs. The rest were sent to Mina Dos, where they work as miners without pay, essentially slaves to the humans who created them. No more have ever been manufactured, and the technology used to create them has been lost.

Recently, my dad’s been grumbling about some sort of problem with them, a minor abnormality that exists on Mina Dos, but I never bothered to pay attention. I simply have too much to do in my unofficial role to worry about every minor thing that my father discusses.

What I do know is that my father thinks cyborgs are dangerous. He always has. He is, after all, a veteran of the Bio Wars himself, and he was terrified of the cyborgs once they started patrolling. That’s really why I haven’t paid much attention to his current worries about the cyborgs—I figure it’s just another one of his episodes of paranoia, a sort of flashback. Those things can happen to a man of 152 Earth years.

“Well,” says Damian. “There’s a lot more going on with the cyborgs than you know.”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s highly classified,” says Damian.

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” I say. “My father tells me everything.”

“Not quite everything,” says Damian, the delight of having one upped me on something easy to hear in his voice. Essentially, he knows something I don’t know, and he likes that.

I sigh. “I’ve about had enough of this, Damian.”

“Wait,” says Damian, his voice sounding almost frantic. “There’s just been another communication… You’re in your room, right?”

“Yes,” I say, exasperated. “Can’t your sensors tell you that?”

“Wait…”

Suddenly, the line flares into static. The signal is lost.

The technology hasn’t been very good in the last decade. A lot of the old engineers died, and the new ones don’t know what the hell they’re doing. That tends to happen when your species lives to an older age than before, and doesn’t put much emphasis on education, especially in the sciences. We humans have gotten so scared of technology because of the horrors that we did to each other with it that we’ve almost intentionally forgotten how to even make what we used to make easily. And forget repairing it properly. Everything is constantly on the fritz, about to break.

“Computer,” I say. “What happened to the signal?”

There’s nothing but static.

“Computer?”

The technology may be bad, but I’ve never had the computer not respond. Not ever.

“Computer!” I say, but again there’s nothing.

It’s just me. I’m all alone. I need to call the guards, but there’s no other way to contact them except the computer.

Where the hell are they?

My heart is pounding in my chest, and my body is shaking in fear. In an instant, I’m transformed from the sarcastic, snappy senator’s daughter into a terrified, trembling woman.

I’ve always thought that nothing could ever happen to me.

And now it is.

Is it the rebels?

Are they attacking?

I’ve never felt fear like this.

There’s a scraping noise at my door. I can see the thick steel vibrate. There are shouts on the other side of it.

Next, an explosion, which blasts a hole right through the door.

Shapes are moving. Two bodies climb through the hole, but I can’t see who they are. The smoke’s in the way, thick clouds of grey and black.

“Ms Vax?”

Thank God! It’s one of the guards. I don’t remember his name, but his voice is familiar. He steps out of the smoke, his rapid fire blaster in his hand. His partner steps out too. They’re both bristling with weapons, and they wear maxo visors across their eyes.

“Are you OK, Ms. Vax?”

“What’s going on?” I say, my voice trembling and soft, full of fear. “The computer’s down… Damian said there was a problem.”

“We don’t know, but the systems are all off line.”

“All of them?”

He nods gravely.

This is bad news, but there probably isn’t much in the world that could get by two senatorial guards. They’re not just the best of the best, they’re following the strictest protocols. They’ll die before anything happens to me.

I feel safe with them, despite the computer being off line.

Suddenly, something happens. It’s the loudest noise I’ve ever heard in my life, right outside my window.

The earth shakes and trembles. The walls move, and I sway on my feet, falling from the intense vibrations in the floor.

One of the guards grabs me and pulls me behind him. His gun is up and ready and his partner is moving towards the window. They don’t speak, but make hand signals at each other.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s not much that can make the ground shake like that, except for something crashing into it. A satellite, a missile, or even a space craft.

“Watch out!” shouts one of the guards, bringing his gun to his face. He pulls the trigger and lets loose a blast of ion particles that glow as they shoot right past my face.

I instinctively throw myself to the floor.

Even though he wasn’t aiming at me, I can still feel the heat from the particles.

Everything is a flurry of movement and blaster fire. The noise is deafening.

The guard throws himself in front of me.

The attacker is at the door where the two guards came through.

He’s stepped through the metal plate and I see him for the first time.

He stands a head taller than the guards. He’s shirtless, wearing ragged pants of torn cloth. He’s bulging with muscles. There’s a small tattoo on his chest, some numbers and letters. For some reasons, my eyes are drawn to it, as if I know it’s important. But I don’t know what it means.

I’ve never seen anyone like him.

He’s bristling with weaponry and rudimentary armor.

The ion particles collide with his skin and explode, but nothing happens. He doesn’t collapse, and he doesn’t even flinch.

He just stands there for a moment, looking around.

He raises his gun, moving faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move.

He fires two shots in quick succession. They’re precision blasts, hitting the guards one by one. They both fall to the ground, crumpling in piles, their guns clattering to the floor.

He looks at me.

His eyes seem to pierce me.

Something flashes. The world goes black and I sink to the floor. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness is someone moving rapidly towards me and grabbing me, seizing me with strong arms.