I was raised in an Antarctic Ice Cult, down in the South Seas, with all the chisels and chips and reconstitution machines. We raised some pretty crazy things back from their sub-zero slumber. Didn't really care much where they ended up afterward. We'd just bring 'em back to life on the giant Ice Altar and watch 'em wriggle away, or fold space, or book flights online. If they couldn't speak for themselves, we'd get out the Ouija Board and get an address out of 'em that way. Then we'd mail 'em off.