Okay, a jetpack would be pretty damn cool. Wash glances at York, then down at Delta, who does not seem at all contrite for his oversight. "I dunno, Delta," he says, almost singsong, "you don't want to end up like Georgia."

He still has no idea what that means, because he still has no idea what happened to Georgia. He's also not about to bring that up.

"You're welcome." He takes a seat at the table, snags a piece of (safe, non-toxic, non-hallucinogenic, still incredibly alien) fruit off York's plate, and shrugs. "So, what's with the egg?"