Jax swore, fervently, in several languages. He didn't even care if they were swear words.
Kuust poked his snout from his warren in the "manhole." "What is it? I haven't heard that kind of cursing since... Well, never!"
He hadn't said, "Since the prison." Jax's talent had actually begun as a prisoner. He'd been sent to a planet so remote it had no name. "The Jail" was all it was ever called.
He'd survived, but at a cost. Now he refused to leave the refuge of Ninth Galaxy. He could always be found with Kuust, who had been his best friend in the Jail.
"Kuust, Jax, it's supper time!" The cheerful voice of Jane Farway, another refugee, floated to them. She had always love the smell of oil, even if she had no mechanical ability.

