There was a certain kind of zen that one achieved when working on homegrown and far less than legitimate explosive devices. It was the sort of thing that a person could lose themselves in (and if they weren't careful an arm or a leg). It wasn't so much an exact science as it was complete luck and a little bit of instinct. Of course ask any moron crazy enough to make a living out of explosives and they'd tell you it was a sixth - or even seventh - sense that some people possessed. It was what allowed them to throw caution to the wind and do what they did to further the art of the bomb.

Now.

Ask Samantha Porter that question, and she'd look at you as if you'd grown a second head from your shoulders before shooing you away.

It wasn't worth her time to entertain those who invariably sent a barrage of questions her way. The time spent answering each inquiry could've been better spent actually tinkering with the little lovelies that she called her own, and it had become second nature for her to only give grunts and a few choice expletives in response.

Of course, that was before the 'incident', and the spot of trouble that it'd caused, landing her in on the wrong side of a set of Imperial bars. Of course, it'd also landed her on the questionable side of the war now, and in the back of her mind she had to wonder if she'd bitten off more than she was prepared to chew.

At least she'd been given her own quarters.

Certainly nothing swanky - what could one expect when dipping into the Alliance well - but it was enough at least for now.

The clutter that'd seemed to appear overnight was one of controlled and deliberate planning on her part, as each and every amount of free space had become fair game for her assorted 'toys'. She'd even managed to squirrel away a worktable of sorts; which was now of course a dumping ground for her current projects.

One such project was now pulled apart, a mess of soldered wires sticking from one side and a bevy of waiting ports on the other side.

A hardcopy with hastily scrawled numbers and letters rested beside it, and as the lanky blonde was bent over her little headache-of-the-day, her eyes went from the paper to the device, slender fingers joining each wire to its' corresponding port.

She frowned, squinting at her own writing, and making a face, Sam plucked the blue and white striped wire between two slender fingers, sliding it into a waiting port.

The device gave off a soft beep, then fell into a steadily increasing beat.

Blinking, Sam let out a disapproving grunt.

Not good...