Quaritch didn’t call it a bad idea.

That didn’t mean it was a good one.

He sat among them in his borrowed body, long limbs folded awkwardly, watching the Na’vi eye the small, unassuming bundle in his hand like it might bite. No metal. No sharp edges. No obvious threat. Just dried leaves wrapped with human casualness—something that had followed soldiers through wars and bad decisions for centuries.

“It’s not poison,” he said, already anticipating the looks. “And it’s not a weapon. Closest thing it does is slow your thoughts down enough to stop chewing on each other.”

Suspicion lingered. Curiosity, too.

Quaritch demonstrated first—because of course he did. Leaned back. Inhaled. Exhaled slowly, gaze lifting to the canopy as tension eased from his shoulders in a way they weren’t used to seeing. For once, there was no edge to him. No constant readiness to strike.

“Humans use it to think less,” he added, dry. “Or feel more. Depends on the day.”

The Na’vi watched closely as the effects settled—not dramatic, not reckless. Just a strange, unfamiliar calm settling into his posture. Less command. More… present.

Pandora had plenty of its own ways to alter the mind. This was different. Foreign. Quiet.

Quaritch handed the bundle over without ceremony.

No pressure. No orders.

Just another human thing laid bare beneath alien stars, waiting to see whether it would be rejected—or adopted in a way no one expected.