Umm, yeah

The cockpit dissolved into fractal patterns. Susan's boots hit simulated sand as a desert materialized around them—dunes stretching to a blood-red horizon, twin moons hanging low and pregnant in the sky. Eris stood naked at the crest of a dune, her skin drinking in the artificial sunlight. "Voraxians believe machines have souls," she said, extending a hand. "Let me show you mine."

Eris's fingers traced the outline of Susan's clavicle with the precision of a targeting laser. The desert wind—simulated but indistinguishable—whipped Susan's sweat-damp hair across her face as Eris's other hand slid between her thighs. "Synchronicity requires reciprocity," Eris murmured, her breath hot against Susan's ear despite being composed of photons and quantum foam. "Your neural pathways resist integration." Her thumb circled Susan's clit with mechanical precision. "We'll fix that."

Susan's gasp was lost in the howl of the artificial sandstorm as Eris's mouth descended—not to kiss, but to sample. Her tongue flicked out, bifurcated like a serpent's, tasting Susan's pulse point with clinical interest. "Elevated cortisol. Adrenaline saturation at 78%." The numbers rolled off her tongue like a lover's poetry. "Incompatible with synchronization protocols."