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.
"Jax, if this blows, we won't even have time to scream," Hix replied from the bridge. "Just punch it, Cap." fantastic_mechanic.rar
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. Jax didn't answer
"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." To Jax, it was a symphony that had gone out of tune
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.
Captain Hix stood over the open access hatch, the red emergency lighting of the cargo bay making the scene look like a crime scene. "Tell me you can fix it, Jax," he sighed, looking at the figure submerged in the engine’s guts.
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."
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