"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."
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 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. fantastic_mechanic.rar
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.
Jax looked at the glowing, jury-rigged monstrosity he’d built. "Don't ask me how it works, Cap," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Just don't turn it off." "The hyper-drive's synchronizer is toasted, Cap," Jax said,
"Jax, if this blows, we won't even have time to scream," Hix replied from the bridge. "Just punch it, Cap."
"We’re drifting in the Void, Jax. If we don’t get moving, the scavengers will find us before the oxygen runs out." To anyone else, the engine was a mess of wires and gears
Jax, a mechanic whose skin was more grease than cell tissue, pulled his head out of the manifold. He wasn't just a mechanic; he was a 'Fantastic Mechanic,' a title he’d earned by jump-starting a dying star with a handful of copper wire and a dare. He wiped his brow, leaving a black streak across his forehead.