Tansie smiled, stood up from the control of the ship, and beckoned with her thumb. "You're the brilliant physicist," she said. "But I'll bet I can fry a non-existant egg better than you can."
"Mind if I ask where you get these imaginary eggs?"
The girl laughed and tossed her auburn hair at him. "Real hens lay real eggs. There's two possibilities—"
"I know," he said, joining in with her good spirits, "Either we have a gang of 'time-trapped' poultry, or the art of getting 'time-trapped'—along with an icebox full of provender—takes a firm stand somewhere along the line."
"There's means," she admitted.
"Okay," he said. "You cook—and also explain to me just why you seem to think I'm the brilliant one."
"We know you are," she said; "you bear the necessary knowledge to avert disaster."
"Me?"
"You." She pointed at him with a flapjack-flipper, then used it to fracture the shell of an egg. "But no explanation of that right now; it's too consarned complicated. Wait until you learn more about it, and it'll save us all a lot of time."
"But I'm curious."