I tip my glass in Shey’s direction and take another drink. Her lips tug upward, and she mirrors the gesture in a way that may or may not be mocking.

“A new Devan plant?” she asks.

“But of course.” I never get sick of the way her eyes light up. “Though, you know, I can bring you other stuff if you want. There are a lot of fascinating—”

“No, thank you,” she says before I can even finish. “I have no interest in other contraband.”

She sounds almost offended by the question. I shrug, downing half my glass of water, and after a moment her expression softens. She looks down at her lap.

“I… believe there’s a lot to be learned from them, that’s all.” She hesitates, and then blurts out, “And a blanket ban on Devan plants is just as absurd and illogical as Nibiru’s ban of all Primus technology.”

I laugh, setting my glass down.

“Well, at least we can agree on that.” As much as I’d love to pass the day talking to Shey, my time is running short, so I reach into the pocket of my jumpsuit and pull out the box. It isn’t impressive on its own, just a small, unadorned black cube, but Shey’s eyes are hungry the moment she spots it. She pushes her glass aside and places her hands on the table with her fingers splayed. I bite back a grin and tap a finger on the box.

“This,” I say, dropping my voice to an almost-whisper, “is a little something I found in the wild jungles of Deva, where human-eating plants threaten all those who stray from the civilized path.” I run my hand along the edge of the box and press on the first of the pressure pads, which opens with a faint hiss. Shey leans farther forward still, her eyes very round. “I have seen many things in my travels, but this… this is something the likes of which I had never laid eyes on.” I press the second of the four pads; another hiss; another inch of space closed between Shey and the box. “When I first saw it, I didn’t believe locals who said it was a plant. Surely, I said, no plant can act like that. No plant can move like that. And yet…” I press the third. “And yet this one did.”

I let the dramatic pause linger until Shey raises her eyes to meet mine. I press the last of the pads and move the lid aside.

Nothing happens. For a moment I fear I managed to kill the thing on the journey, but—slowly, very slowly—a slender, leafy black tendril extends above the edge and pokes at the air around it. Shey gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. I hold a finger out just above the plant. The tendril prods once, twice, and begins to wrap itself around it.