For the next six hours, Jax worked in a fever dream of sparks and profanity. He stripped the plating from the kitchen’s microwave emitter. He salvaged a crystal from a broken navigation buoy they’d picked up for scrap. He even used his own prosthetic finger—the one with the built-in screwdriver—as a permanent conductive bridge.
"We’re drifting in the Void, Jax. If we don’t get moving, the scavengers will find us before the oxygen runs out."
Hix slammed the lever forward. In the engine room, the improvised synchronizer groaned. The microwave emitter glowed a violent purple, and the scrap crystal began to vibrate so fast it blurred. Jax stood inches away, holding a heat shield made of a cafeteria tray, his eyes wide. fantastic_mechanic.rar
"Jax, if this blows, we won't even have time to scream," Hix replied from the bridge. "Just punch it, Cap."
"The hyper-drive's synchronizer is toasted, Cap," Jax said, his voice raspy from inhaling ion fumes. "And by toasted, I mean it’s currently a very expensive paperweight." For the next six hours, Jax worked in
Jax didn't answer. He was already diving back in. To anyone else, the engine was a mess of wires and gears. To Jax, it was a symphony that had gone out of tune. He closed his eyes, placing his oil-stained hands on the vibrating hull. He felt the rhythmic pulse of the auxiliary power, the stutter of the cooling fans, and the hollow silence where the drive should be humming.
He didn't have a spare synchronizer. No one carried spares for a Class-4 freighter out here. But he did have a locker full of "junk." He even used his own prosthetic finger—the one
Jax slumped against the bulkhead, his lungs burning, his prosthetic hand a melted ruin. He pulled a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, realized he had no lighter, and simply held it in his mouth.