"Jax?" Hix’s voice came over the speaker, sounding breathless. "We’re doing twelve knots over light speed. How?"

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."

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.

The ship bucked. A sound like a thousand glass bells shattering echoed through the hull. Then, the violent shaking smoothed into a low, melodic purr. The stars outside the viewport stretched into long, white ribbons.