He shook his head. "Our unknown 'hosts'. Or 'captors'. Or… whatever they are." He hefted the multitool experimentally. Gave it a spin in his hand. Ran his fingers over several of its grooves. And decided not to push himself too hard. He'd see what functions it concealed later. For now, he slipped it into his pocket, the seeds into another. And also stood. Taking the boxes (with their final gift: a mercifully unambiguous teeth cleaning set) up with him.

"I get the feeling," he said, "we're either an experiment or pets. Maybe both. Maybe it's as simple as… them wanting to see how our kind survives without much tech. What we seek and build for ourselves when nothing is provided. I don't know. Since whatever had the power to bring us here must be at a technological level so far beyond ours…" He shrugged slightly, seeming simultaneously uncomfortable with the admission of willing defeat (he, an intelligence agent) yet also the slight relief of having been decommissioned. "They saved our lives," he said, "and brought us back together. And waited to do so until there was nothing else we would be able to contribute or experience where we came from. I consider that fair trade. I'll be their specimen to be so with you. In the absence of further facts… I'm choosing to assume benevolence." Choosing hope.