***

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle," muttered Tom as he tapped the Orang on the shoulder and nodded towards the twin in the kitchen. "Looks like you were right about her."

The orang started from his inspection of the new devices and turned to follow Tom's gaze. The unnamed twin seemed to have come to life, so to speak and was bustling around the kitchen, quite ablely, he thought. It was quite a change from her earlier demeanor.  

The silent twin caught Tom's eyes and gave him a big smile as she flipped another finished omelet onto a plate.  She hurried over to him and held it up in offering, once again with no utensils.  "Yum-O."  She nodded her head, matter of factly and waited patiently for him to take it.

"Thank you," Tom replied, accepting the plate. "Is it the box? Did it teach you to do this," he asked, blowing on the egg to cool it a bit. 

She cocked her head at him endearingly and allowed her gaze to stray to the picture box, her eyes lingering hungrily on the boxing match that was unfolding.  She nodded her head quietly and lowered herself into a crouch, both of her hands tightening into balled up fists.  She danced from side to side, a mirror image of the skilled athletes on the screen.  Then with lightning fast precision she jabbed her hand out towards Tom's middle, missing him, but only because she intended to.

Tom froze at the quick one-two, a handful of egg halfway to his mouth. He felt a chill run up his spine as he began to understand what it was he was seeing. What she might be. Were they all like her, blank slates waiting for the right trigger to activate them? 

After her demonstration, she reached out to caress his smooth head.  The texture seemed to puzzle her, so she entwined her fingers back into her own, soft golden tresses, and meandered back into the kitchen.  When she met the Asian's eyes, she smiled broadly.  Each time she saw him it was as if it was the first, her body always relaxed a little more and her eyes brightened with pleasure.

"Mr. Orangutan," Tom said slowly as he watched the girl move away. "Are we weapons?" 

The orang's eyes had narrowed as he watched their interaction. Things started to click into place, at least regarding the female. Her avid interest in the viewing device, the way she had immediately danced in synch with the children's show performers, the ease in understanding the function of the remote cintrol device, her sudden cooking abilities, now her obvious mimicry of the pugilists on display. She appeared to be able to mimic things she can see, and apparently with near perfection.

The orang shuddered softly, not with fear but with sudden glee. His idle thoughts earlier about experimentation now became much less idle. She could very well be the key to understanding their fate. He needed time, security and access to various levels of technology.  Tom's question registered, but it didn't provoke the concern that was evident in the older male's voice.

"Tom, that ith as good a theory as any, at thith point. Our little prodigy thertainly would lend credence to that argument." he replied thoughtfully. "The Athian's ability with thecurity devithes, her ability to mimic, and our friend Al's obviouth and leth obviouth endowmentth, would theem to be the foundation of a quite formidable group."

"And yet, you, myself... Bettty... nothing unusual from us at this point," Tom thought out loud. "Can you ask the data store about famous Orangutan's? From the images i've seen on that things screen, your people seem to be remarkably absent." Maybe that was a clue as well...? Tom sighed as he worked on the eggs, which were delicious. 

The orang chewed on Tom's insight, amazed that he hadn't recognized it as well. Before he realized it, his fingers were typing in the search parameters.

Another listing of subcreens appeared.

The second listing mentioned something called Wikipedia a free encyclopedia. He clicked open the subscreen and read. The information was sparse, but what he read angered him. He followed a few of the subscreen links and suddenly something became readily apparent. Where ever, when ever, they were, it was apparent that Orangs and Humans were not equals. Orangs were considered animals. Things, with less intelligence, less sophistication than their keepers.

Even their fiction subtly ridiculed his species. The orang became still, his eyes flashing indignation. He didn't say anything to his companions, he couldn't. His fingers had taken on an intelligence of their own as he ran search after search, Zoo's, Orangutans, delving deeper and deeper into the science behind this place's version of his species, trying desperately to figure out what was wrong, why he was different and why he was suddenly filled with anger.

Before he realized it, he was several subpages deep into a published discussion on the differences between human and ape genetic code. He followed the discussion easily, to the point of finding errors in the publisher's assumptions based on an inaccurate understanding of the subtle differences in mitochondrial DNA between the species, the primitiveness of the sequencing technology, and the absurd arrogance behind using the human sequence as the baseline for comparison. Everyone knew there was less genetic drift in the ape DNA than the human.  

It wasn't until he scoffed loudly at a reference to the actual historical timeline of the split between the two species did he realize something about himself. He realized that he knew significantly more about the science of Genetics than the so called experts he was reading. They had barely scratched the surface, while he had plumbed its depths.

He ran a few searches on other fields, Physics, Biology, Geology, Robotics, Engineering, among others, and found his understanding was again thorough, and most likely more advanced than what he was finding using this simple data store. However, he felt  particular pulled towards the science of Genetics, as if it was his area of expertise. Something about the breaking down of genetic sequencing, understanding the base components of life itself and manipulating said components excited him.

What did this mean? What did this knowledge make him? Not a necessarily a weapon himself, but the creator of said weapons? He remembered his reaction to the vehicle bay they had first enetered, and his feeling that he could manufacture just about anything they might need out of the base components present. Was that what he was? Some sort of scientist? Could their current predicament be his fault? If it was, was it accidental or purposeful? And why this particular group of individuals?

Again his head throbbed with the pressure of what he did not know. His anger at the portrayal of Orangs and the great Apes in general vanished in the frustration of simply not knowing what what going on. He slammed his fist on the table in frustration. "Why doesn't it make thenthe? Why can't I find the anthwer?" He growled, unaware he had spoken aloud.

The Asian cocked his head thoughtfully at the orang's words. "Because we do not yet know the right questions," he offered.

He finished his omelette and smiled again at the silent twin as he set his plate on the counter. "Very good," he said again. "Thank you."

Once she was back in the kitchen, the quiet twin poured another omelet and flipped the channel again on the magic device.  This time the channel she entered was one of the ones showing explicit scenes of naked people.  Her attention was completely devoured by the actions on picture box, as she continued to absorb the provocative scenes. As she watched the telling facial features, one of her hands reached behind her blindly and tilted the pan, and when it was done, she seemed to instinctively know it was time to flip her creation.

Having watched the silent twin check every cupboard the Asian was able to go to the proper cabinet and retrieve a cup. He opened the refrigerator and examined the contents. Some of the containers looked familiar but there was nothing that stood out. He mentally shrugged and turned to the sink, pausing briefly before testing the handle. When the water came out he filled his cup, drank it down, and refilled it.

"I am uncomfortable with the idea of meeting the security--the police," he said to the group. "I don't wish to make my choice that of everyone else, which is why I say again that if you choose to make contact with them I'll simply depart. But we must consider this; either we were a group already when we arrived, or we were placed together to become a group."

Al returned to the lounge clutching a handful of paper.

"I agree.  We are a group.  Our chances of finding out what is going on are increased by remaining together.  I found these in the hall - they all bear the same information.  I believe it is the address of our current location."  He passed them to the Orang.  "Could you find out where we are? "

The orang snatched the papers from Al's hands wordlessly, his lips pressed tightly together. It didn't matter where they were, because where they were, was not where they were supposed to be, at least where he was supposed to be. Of that he was sure. This 'internet' had confirmed at least that much. He knew in his bones that he was unique amongst his species in this place, this reality, as he was not in his own.

He opened up a new subscreen and typed the string of letters and numbers, '345 hillside avenue atlantic highlands new jersey' into the data field, taking care to duplicate the spacing and symbols. He hit the search button.  Several subpages came up, the first of which was a map. He opened the subscreen and spun the computer around so Al, Tom and the rest of the room could see it's readout. "There. Athuming that information is an addreth, that is the exact location of where we are currently are located." The orang's voice was strained, as if he was trying to hold back intense emotion.

"Great" Betty was enthusiastic, "at least we know where we are....now where are we going to go?"

"We go somewhere public.  There may be those who would recognise us.  See what you can find."  Al patted the Orang firmly on the shoulder.  "Good work."  

"I don't think we will come acroth any who recognize uth." The orang stated, bleakly. "A public plathe may cause more problems than it resolves"

***
In the kitchen the Asian set down his water glass. "I'm going to look around again." he said simply. He turned to the silent twin. "I'm going to look around," he repeated, making a twirling motion in the air with his finger. "I'm just looking around the house, okay?" Having given what assurances he was able, he began exploring on his own.

"No...no...no."  The quiet twin whimpered quietly as he spoke, not endorsing his decision to leave.  The light dimmed from her eyes and her lips fell into a pretty pout.  Her fascination with the picture box, though, and her task of making food for the group was just enough to keep her in the kitchen.  ...but it was very clear as he made his exit that she disapproved.

The now petulant twin flipped the picture box again from the provocative adult channel to an exciting action movie.  A man was running across the water and dodging bullets.  Two more omelets were completed in short order, which she laid on the counter, uninterested in delivering them to her companions any more.  Her mood seemed very morose now that the Asian had left her sight again.

Hearing her twin's distress, Betty headed back into the kitchen to grab the next available omelet and do what she could to placate the cook while the Asian explored.  Hopefully he would come back with a plan of action.  As she waited on her food, the still bare bottomed twin noticed the panties she had previously dismissed.  Picking them up for reconsideration, she slipped her legs in the holes and pulled them over her thighs, unfortunately the scant covering did very little to warm her chilled cheeks.  A loud sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against the counter.

The Asian man walked slowly around the inside of the house, looking at pictures, plants, furniture...everything, really. Some of it was perfectly normal to him, some of it seemed to hover on the edge of memory, as if he might know something LIKE it, but not quite. He peeked out the windows to the street beyond and, seeing nothing of immediate interest, continued his circuit.

As he came by the front door he noticed another door set inside. Opening revealed a small enclosed room with a variety of hanging garments of various styles and thickness. He pushed through them, taking one that seemed thick yet comfortable, and realized that he wouldn't be able to wear it. It was way too tight in the shoulder for him. He chose a smaller garmet of thick cloth and multi-colored stripe patterns and tried it on. It, too, was tight, but he noticed if he rolled up the sleeves it was serviceable. At least for now.

He smiled as he glanced down. There was a green canvas bag to be had. He picked it up; empty. Nodding, he continued his perusal and noticed a small plastic container on the shelf above the coats. He pulled it down and opened it to reveal an assortment of garments that appeared to go on the head, as well as gloves. He tried some on, taking a pair of thin leather gloves as well as a knit cap for his head. He put the box back, then put the gloves and hat in the bag.

As he closed the door he noticed the boots on the bottom step of the stairs. They were a sturdy and durable boot, but with soft leather or other animal hide. Comfortable looking, to be sure. He'd only glanced at them before, but now he sat down on the steps and tried them on. A little snug in some places, a little loose in others, but serviceable. Had they fit better he'd guess they were quite comfortable.

He stood, stomped his feet a couple of times. Nodding to himself he continued his circuit, ending up again in the main room with the others. He glanced around but didn't say anything as he headed toward the door by the television.

"Everyone should eat," he said, nodding toward the silent twin. "It really is good." He offered a brief smile, then opened the door.

The quiet twin gave a nod of approval as she slid another omelet onto a plate.  Her work there was almost done.

***

"Time," Tom said, noting the growing agitation within the Orang, "is passing. We need a plan of action, one that we all can agree on." He crossed the room and gazed out the large glass door, standing with his back to the others and his hands clasped behind his back. "We know this isn't our house. We know that some of us have abilities that seem to be outside the norm." He turned. "Did you find anything more about your people?" he asked the Orang.

"Yeth." The orang replied simply. there was a pregnant pause, as if he was through speaking, or struggling with himself. When he continued, his voice was again strained, but a little less so. There was more indignation than anger in his voice as he spoke. "In this world, my thpethieth are conthidered leth evolved than humans. Though they are granted a measure of protection because they are in danger of becoming extinct, they are credited with only a rudimentary intelligenthe, treated like animals and kept in public viewing areas called zoo's, things a little leth opprethive than a prison; or their population is carefully monitored on governementally protected preserves. I, it would theem, would probably be conthidered an anomoly in thith world, and probably thubjected to any number of rather barbaric tethtth, and exams, by barely competent people, in order to athertain why I am tho unique." The orang paused a moment, to regain his composure, his voice had started to escalate as his righteouos indignation bled through his forced calm. "I'm with the Asian. I have no desire to come to the notithe of these Po-Leeth. Tho a quick departure would thertainly be called for."

"Can you find the location of the nearest police?  If we know where they are likely to be coming from we can escape accordingly."  Al looked over the map.  "What about there?"

The orang pulled up another 'explorer' subscreen and typed in 'police atlantic highlands new jersey'. Another map came up. he clicked on it to open it larger then flipped back to the other map. It appeared close. "They appear to be fairly clothe by."  The orang flipped between the two maps. He wasn't sure of the scale, but it seemed a fairly straight path from their current location to the address given for these police. "Pothibly a matter of minuteth only for them to appear, if they are dithpatched from that location."

"I should be able to give us a little warning, then.  And we know which way not to go when we leave here."  Al glanced from the map on screen to the address, mentally tracing routes around the neighborhood.

"The address you found means nothing to me - does it mean anything to any of you?" Tom asked.

"It's the same as what is listed on some of the papers here in the kitchen, but other than that, no, no meaning to me." Betty answered old man.  "I agree that if we don't want to see the police we should get to moving.  I expect the woman I met with will be calling them soon, if she hasn't already, since I haven't returned as she was expecting."

"So go back and talk to her."  Al shrugged.  "Anything that could delay the Police is useful now."

"Understand that we are now thieves, if only of necessity. When the owners of this dwelling, or these police arrive, events will cease to be under our control, tenuous as that has been so far. I agree with the Orang - we go. We go someplace public, someplace with information... a library or larger datastore perhaps?"

"The book in the kitchen, it has a list of public places with addresses and other information.  Perhaps we can look up the address of one of these libraries there?"  Betty offered earnestly.

Tom rubbed his chin as he thought about this. The information on the Orang's people changed the equation considerably. "Ok," he said thoughtfully to the simian. "Is there a place you can remain concealed near the library? We need more information about our situation, and about this place," he waved a hand vaguely in the air, "and that would seem our best bet. I just hate the idea of you having to be hidden, as you seem to have a gift for information gathering."

The orang shrugged. "Whether I can find a plathe to remain conthealed would depend entirely on the approach and terrain around the building." he gestured towards the back door. "I could thertainly remain hidden among the foliage of theveral large trees, like what is thurrounding uth and could provide overwatch. It is getting to the location without creating a thene that bothers me. As for information gathering, it would depend on what form the tools take. Thimple page bound literature thould be easily thearchable by any of uth, exthepting of courth our mimic, who may not be able to comprehend the written word."

The orang paused a moment, before continuing, addressing the others. "Before we make thith venture, we thould dethide the purpothe behind exposing ourthelves. If we are thimply looking for help, in whatever form it may take, then perhapth thimply  waiting for the owners of thith property or the poleeth to thow up would be a thimple tholution. We have Betty's meeting with the neighboring female to corroborate our thtory, and if the Poleeth are a public thervant or thivil entity, as I believe they are, they would thertainly have rethourthes available to them to aid uth. I have already given you my thtanthe on that thubject, ath hath the Asian, but perhapth the retht of you would benefit from their involvement."

"Does the datastore offer any insight into modes of transport? Is there something we could find that could take us to the library? Something in which you could remain hidden?"

Something else the Orang had said earlier struck him then. "You mentioned before that you don't think we are in danger of anyone recognizing us." He peered down at the flickering windows on the device. "Why do you say that?"

The orang considered the two questions carefully, choosing to answer the second as it seemed more relevant. "I may have been thpeaking hathtily, and it is merely a theory, unthubthtantiated at betht." he began. "My main bathith for thith line of thought is my own exithtenth. According to the datathtore, Orangs here are animals. Intelligent, but conthidered leth tho than their human keepers. In dithcovering thith, I encountered theveral thientific thubthcreens, delving into the thienthe of Geneticth. A thubjec t I have no trouble following, in fact, I feel my knowledge is thuperior to anything that I've read. I have a thimiliar feeling about other main branches of the thienthes but Geneticth calls to me.

Thinth there is no mention of others of my thpecies carrying the the thame level of underthtanding and intelligenthe, I thurmise that I am unique. Couple that uniqueneth with the odd thircumthtanthe of our awakening, our little mimic's abilities, Al's exthepthional thenthes, and the Asian's thkillth, and you have clueth that lead me to believe that we are thtrangerth here, or at leatht I am. I do not believe it to be limited to geography, but I cannot thubthtantiate that. Thuth, it is my belief that we will not be recognized, and that our anthers lie elthwhere." The orang's tone had become pendantic, as if he were lecturing a class of students before him, or a lawyer giving his closing arguments.

Tom's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "But... animals, you say? Like, uh...." nothing there to grab, though he knew there should have been "what are those things called?" his hands gestured in the air. "You know, children have them... you're saying Orang's are that?"

"Pets?" The Orang asked. "Domethticated animals? Perhapth. I believe my thpethies to be more wild, with thome domethtication, primarily for conthervathion and entertainment value. Without more rethearch, I can't fully  anther that quethtion."

"Damn and double damn." A theory, the simian had said, but a damn good one given the circumstances. He looked back up at the Orang, concern in his eyes, his voice softer. "I hope you're wrong, and that you aren't the only one of your kind to be as we are..." The bald man seemed to pull himself together a bit then, his voice firmer and louder, so that everyone could hear him. "You also said the geography was wrong, and that perhaps we aren't from whatever this place is at all?" 

"Again, I'm making an athumption bathed on my presenthe and intelligenthe. Thinthe there is no mention of a nation of human-level intelligent Orangs, then I must athume that one does not exitht. If one doeth not exitht, then it is very likely that I, at least, am not from 'here'. One could argue that if I am not from here, then by extension, neither is the retht of the group."  The orang replied simply.

A lull in the conversation as the orangutan's logic was processed was punctuated by a loud trilling noise coming from a small black device situated on the end of the kitchen couter by the short hallway to the foyer.  It was a brief staccato beeping that repeated once, then again.

Tom jumped, startled at the noise. He looked almost instinctively at the Orang questioningly. "Did you do that?"

The Orang's facial expression in response could only have been labeled incredulous. He'd been sitting there, barely even fiddling with the devices he'd been examining as he discussed his pet theory. Of course he hadn't caused the sound. Why Tom made that assumption was beyond him. Instead of replying he shook his head in the negative and turned his attention back to the white plastic devices. He'd determined the one was basically a communications device with some added features, the other seemed to be some sort of mini data storage, primarily used to store and play music files.

He was unsure of their importance, but if he had time and tools, he was sure he could use their components to create something useful. He decided that they would go with them when they left, as would the portable computer.

Tom had picked up the beeping device and was studying it intently, noting the shape, the way the oddly glyphed keypad was inset upon upon it, with the green button or key being slightly larger than the rest. He suspected he knew what it might be, now that he'd had a chance to look at it, but was unsure about the wisdom of testing the theory.

"A communication device," he mumbled. "Perhaps. Perhaps."

The repetitive beeping stopped after a dozen more seconds.  Then there was a pause followed by a loud, sustained beep from the base unit.  Then the base unit started talking.

**Hey, guys, this is Vinnie.  John, I'm waiting to hear if I have to coach that weekend you want to go to Greg's for the draft.  I should know this week.  I'll call you when I do know something.  Hope everyone is great.  Later...**

"Definitely a communication device," Tom muttered.

"Did you find anything in the datastore about transport?" he called out to the Orang as he continued his examination of the sleek black object.

The orang shook his head. He hadn't looked, but he was pretty sure he'd need to narrow a search down further. "The thearch function is a bit unweildy. What kind of tranthport are you wanting information on? What particularly are you wanting? Please be more thpethific. If I do too broad of a thearch I'll end up wathting a lot of time."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "I'd have thought that would be obvious. Something big enough to hold us all, and with enough cover for you to remain concealed." He seemed bemused by something as he continued to examine the device in his hands. 

"Communications.  Data.  It's almost as though we have too much information."  Al thumped a hand against the wall in frustration.  This all looked so maddeningly familiar but the second he focussed on one thing it all swam away.  "Sorry.  Sorry.  That device has told us nothing about who we are, where we've come from, what we're doing here.  How can you plan for anything using that as a base?  We know where we are.  We know that if the police reach us, we're in trouble.  And we know that our friend here is pretty much unique and likely to draw attention.  We don't know how much longer we'll be safe here but we don't really have an alternative destination."  He let out a deep sigh, leant back against the wall.  "I'm open to suggestions here, folks.  Transport is good, but transport to where?"

Tom set the device back down upon the counter. "As I mentioned earlier, we go to the library. It should have significantly more information within its walls than we have access to here. Does the datastore tell you if special permissions are required to enter the place? You said it was called 'public', but do all members of this public have special keys or cards or passwords to enter it?" he added to the orangutan.

The orang was becoming quickly more and more impressed with Al. The large man proved to have a sharp mind to go along with his brawn, something very commendable in the orang's eyes. Tom was beginning to annoy him. The database, this internet, was a valuable tool, but the orang could tell the information was haphazardly organized, and most of it relied on a few basic assumptions that this group did not have. Things like geography, basic technology, even basic social customs. Without access to these basic assumption, searching through the vast information provided by the datastore was haphazard and almost pointless. He had tried to convey that information, however, judging by Tom's attitude and follow up question he had not done so adequately. It was time to try again.

"What we have here is a failure to communicate." The orang started his voice thoughtful. "The kind of information you're athking for is not thomething I think thith datathtore can provide, at leatht not in a utheful manner. We thimply have no bathith of comparithon. You're athking for cultural information, and thith datastore athumes a basthic unerthtanding possesed by it's reader. What we really need is a perthon, thomeone to quethtion, thomeone who has thith knowledge and can provide uth an underthtanding of it. Onthe we have that grounding, then thith datathtore will become more utheful. We are comparative newborns in thith place. I actually believe our mimic to be better equipped, the theeth thomething and does it uthing vithual cues to aid her. we are relying on our intelligenthe, which in order to operate needs a bathic underthtanding of our environs, thomething we don't have, and thith devithe can't give uth."

The orang paused a few moments, considering things. "Perhapth, we should go to thith woman, the one Betty met, and thee what information she can provide. Having thomeone familiar with thith plathe, thith world's, thith realities cuthtoms will go a lot farther than trying to search haphazardly through the information provided by thith or any datathtore."

***

The door opened to a small flight of stairs, maybe eight total, going up to a room set above the garage.  As he rose up into it, the Asian was surprised at how large it was.  It had a high celing that sloped upward with the roof's shape towards the wall he entered from.  Across the room was a large, very comfortable-looking dark leather couch.  From his point of view, to the left of the couch was a thick padded chair, and to the right were two more cushioned chairs of a different design, one of which had a matching ottoman.  A low, wide table fronted the couch, atop of which was another remote unit similar to the one that controlled the video unit downstairs.

He stepped up fully into the room to inspect the furniture.  But when he turned around he realized why the seating was all against the one short wall and in the corners.  The taller wall across from the couches was split.  The top third was set some six feet further back, making a very high and wide shelf.  On this shelf sat a giant video unit.  It was thin, maybe a foot and a half thick, but the flat screen was at least five feet on the diagonal. 

There was one window against the side wall of the house.  Beneath this was a large roll-top desk it's cover lowered into place.  The Asian could see a keyhole at the bottom of the roll top.  There was a low two-drawer cabinet adjacent to the desk with an odd device on top that was fed a stack of white paper (probably a printing device, he thought).  The desk chair was a black leather high-backed affair.

The walls were decorated with a mix of framed pictures, mostly depicting the heroics of some group known as the Boston Red Sox.  On a set of risers in the corner to the left of the stairs were several items in glass cases including a green bottle and cork and several balls.   The balls were of two varieties, either white with red stitching or larger brown oblong shaped.  Each of them had both machine-printed and hand-written writing on them.

As much as the Asian would have preferred to sit and study the cultural iconography surrounding him, information was his primary concern. The desk seemed the best place to start.

The Asian lowered himself to the chair--surprisingly comfortable--and sat facing the desk, letting his eyes roam over the visible characteristics before trying the drawers and the roll-top itself.

Downstairs the quiet twin had finished making food for everyone and moved back into the living area.  She seemed completely unconcerned about the important conversation that was going on around her, as she settled in front of the picture box.  She alternated between watching the television and the door way that the Asian had disappeared into.  As the time he was gone increased, she became more and more distracted and the door way was looking more and more inviting.

Finally, after about ten minutes had passed and the movie she was watching changed in tone to one of the short informercials, she stood up and headed towards the door that had taken her anchor.  She kept a hold of the remote device and drifted over to the slightly ajar entryway.  She pushed on it, somewhat timidly and looked up at the foreign stairs.  She took them one at a time, with great care and emerged into the upper room.

The Asian was safe and sound and that made the quiet twin much more content.  She started walking towards him when the giant picture box agains the wall caught her attention, and made her gasp with excitement.  She stopped midstride and pointed her remote device at it, pushing the sequence of buttons, in an attempt to activate it.  The video unit remained blank and mute despite her repeated attempts to call forth the imagry of the unit downstairs.

The Asian turned to look at her, flashing a brief smile and a single nod, before returning to his study of the desk.

Disappointed, she shook the controller in frustration and then walked up to the enormous picture box.  She shoved it with impatience and when it didn't respond, she stomped her foot and shoved it again.

At the desk, the roll-top slid upwards easily.  The desktop revealed beneath contained many small odd-sized drawers.  On it's flat surface was another clamshell-designed computer like the one downstairs, except that this one was a bit beefier in size and appearance.  A cup of writing implements was along the back wall of the desk.  There was a series of books on one side, all having to do with something referred to as the HERO system according to the spines.  There was also a bag made of strange crinkly paper or foil colored in garish red and yellow hues and labeled "Cheez Doodles".  It was open, but the the top was rolled down and held in place with a small metal clip.  Another remote unit identical to the one in the dancing twin's hand sat on top of the closed computer.

The Asian tapped the computer with his finger thoughtfully, making himself a reminder. His fingers brushed along the spines of the books but didn't move to take one. He picked up the back of Cheez Doodles and sniffed, crinkling his nose before setting it back down. He picked up the remote and glanced at the large screen in the room but again set the remote down without activating it.

As his hands took note of this and that, the Asian's foot bumped into something underneath the desk.  There was a small beige case, roughly one foot by one foot and half a foot thick.  A sturdy key-operated lock was front and center along the top of it under the handle.

With careful curiosity the Asian reached down and took hold of the case with both hands, bringing it gently to the surface of the desk. It was very heavy and made of strong material.  Whatever was inside was obviously to be treated with care.

Again the Asian's brow creased, this time in annoyance. He stared at the lock for several long seconds before his eyes again began to roam the desk, this time looking for....something. He wasn't sure what, but he was pretty sure he'd know when he saw it. If there wasn't something on the desk, maybe something in the desk...

His eyes alit upon the simplest of tools and he smiled. With deft movements he bent the first paper clip out of its original shape and into one of more use to his present needs, leaving one end at a ninety-degree angle. The second paper clip was straightened, then folded in half as much as his strong fingers could manage. He slipped that one into the lock first, then the first clip. He wiggled and jostled a few seconds before he heard the tell-tale click and the tumblers turned. With another smile he set the clips aside and opened the case.

Inside was a light stack of envelopes bearing official-looking markings.  There were two small blue booklets each bearing some seal or coat of arms involving an eagle and a shield. 

There was also a gun.  He knew it immediately to be a gun.  He knew he'd seen one before - not like this one, but the form and feel made the function obvious to him.  It was unexpected and unsettling, but perhaps more importantly right now it was something familiar.

There was one rectangular piece in the box that looked as though it contained ammunition of the metal slug variety.  Based on the shape of it and the matching hole in the butt of the pistol, he guessed that was where it went.

The Asian turned the gun over in his hands several times, eyeing each detail critically. After a moment he gripped the back with one hand and, holding it firmly by the grip with his other hand, pulled back. He was almost startled when the slide opened after a moment's resistance, but he quickly understood what had happened by noting the hammer. He pulled the trigger, giving a satisfied grunt when the hammer fell. He repeated the action several times, each one quicker than the last. At last he nodded and put the weapon in the messenger bag.

Taking the rectangular piece he studied it, too, before using his thumb and forefinger to pull out the top bullet. He examined it, smelled it, tasted it, then put it back. He placed the clip into the bag with the firearm.

He picked up the papers and sifted through them, scanning first the two small booklets. He made note of the pictures in them (same two adults in the pictures downstairs), the information that went along with them, and, after a moment's thought, he replaced them in the case. He then opened the envelopes.  Inside were more official-looking documents.  Two looked to be records of births.  Another four were records of some statistic called a Social Security number.  There were a series of numbered documents, W-9, W-8, 1040, and so on.

His eyes darting across each page, the Asian's face scrunched up in thought as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. The booklets seemed to be identification of some sort. Having one could prove useful, but he could tell by the paper, the marks within and the overall detailed construction that they were designed to reflect flaws and tampering. Thus, they wouldn't do him any good. Not yet, at least. He replaced those in the case.

The papers, on the other hand, told a different story. The birth certificates seemed official, but seemed to have no significance beyond their original date. Similarly, the Social Security numbers and associated papers seemed unconnected to anything else. That is, until he got to the other set of documents. He noted that they were records of 'wages' and 'earnings'--some sort of complex method of determining payment for a job or some such, he could only imagine. Yet he noted that the Social Security numbers on the earnings documents matched those on the other papers, and that the names generally matched throughout.

He frowned and grunted in disgust. Such a complex method of keeping track of people. Until he knew a great deal more about where they were and the actual specific significance of each piece of identification, he was lost. They were lost. He had to learn more about this.

He took the documents and laid them back in the case, then closed it. He paused for a moment, then tried to reverse his earlier method of opening the lock. If he could lock it again it might keep his theft from discovery that much longer.  He found it wasn't much harder than unlocking the box.

Lastly he picked up the clamshell computer and pushed it into the messenger bag, careful to keep the firearm and it's ammunition in easy reach from the opening.

That accomplished, he sat and stared at the desk for several long moments, hoping that something else might jump out at him in terms of significance or importance.

There were writing tools, a couple of notebooks, and a small flat pastic-encased metal key on a lanyard.  It was about as long as his thumb with a stubby business end made for something electronic, maybe a computer.

*****

"Tom.  Something you said a while ago."  Al looked up from reading the book of maps.    "Are we weapons.  If we aren't, we could certainly be precursors.  Experiments.  Think about it.  I've got phenomenal hearing, our Orang here appears far more intelligent than any of his species.  We've just had food prepared by someone who has never, to our knowledge, done anything like that before seeing it on that device.  So what can the rest of us do?  And if we're missing, won't someone be looking for us?"  He flashed a broad grin around the room.  "This is certainly an interesting situation, don't you think?"

"Just so," Tom agreed. "But," he held up a finger "I don't think we're missing. The situation doesn't say 'missing' so much as 'sent'." He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. "We are here, wherever that is, with no knowledge of who or, in some cases," he looked at the orang and Al specificaly "exactly what we are. If this was done voluntarily, you would think we would have been given a way to regain what was lost up here," he tapped his head. "If it was done involuntarily, you have to wonder why not just kill us?" 

"A good point.  Perhaps this is a way of disposing of us without killing us.  Perhaps this was an unexpected side-effect.  Perhaps...  Perhaps we are already considered dead.  This would be unfortunate for both us and for those who thought they had got rid of us.  Hmm.  If we have been sent, then we have been sent for a reason.  We need to find out what that reason is."  Al smiled and started pacing back and forth urgently.  "There would be a reason and there would be people who have sent us.  And they would have some way of knowing both where they sent us and of knowing what we're doing now.  And who's to say we haven't been given a way to regain our memories?  Maybe we just haven't found the trigger just yet...  It could be anything.  A picture, a sound, a smell.  Anything..."

Tom nodded agreement, surprised at this sudden outburst of speech from Al. But pleasantly so. "Al?" he said to the much larger man politely.

And then he punched him.

The surprise move caught the large black man squarely offguard.  Tom connected a half-strength blow to the bigger man's midsection, and then quickly withdrew his fist in pain.  It might have hurt less if he had punched the table top, so solid was the man's gut.

For his part, Al felt the blow but it didn't affect him adversely in the slightest.  He quickly squared off and took a long step backwards, however, as much from muscle memory as anything.  If the older man tried it again, there were several potential counters and other methods of physical response that came to mind.  He knew how to fight, he realized.  No, more than that - he knew how to fight well.
 
"Ow," Tom said simply, sucking at a knuckle that felt a bit bruised. "Well. That definitely hurt me more than it..." <- to be continued in the turn "Ding Dong"