[Novgorod] I Saw What You Did There

[Sam Porter]

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...

[MARCUS]

When your existence depends on a functioning wireless integrated network, you become intimately aware of all flavors of electromagnetic spectrum. Where some spectrum might be jammed or ineffective in a certain situation, it pays to be able to switch to something that works, so that you can communicate with...yourself.

Thus, the moment that Sam managed to step into thick poodoo, the bipedal MMU of MARCUS immediately departed the cargo hold, headed directly for the source of what was 98% likely to be a thermal detonator's initializer being triggered. If the signal was to be believed, he had one minute.

With organic grace, the droid loped down the halls, eventually coming to a stop at a door, which he immediately chimed.

[Sam Porter]

Nothing to see here, nothing to be worried over. There is most certainly not a suddenly active det-mine sitting on my workbench...

Sam scowled at the offending device, willing it to shut itself off.

Of course it didn't, and the soft beeping only grew more impatient as it counted down the precious seconds. A quick flip, and one half of the mine was upended, her free hand reaching out to grab at a small servodriver. Eschewing the tool's normal function, she jammed it into a seam, prying a small panel loose.

That was when the chime sounded.

Current circumstances being as they were however, the blonde ignored it and continued her hurried pace. Depressing the tiny tab that held a grey wire in place, she pulled it free.

The beeping abruptly stopped, and Sam let her shoulders fall in relief.

At least, until the chime sounded again.

She rolled her eyes only slightly before calling out to whoever was on the other side of the door.

"Come in!"

[MARCUS]

Just before the reply rang through, the notable signature of the thermal detonator ceased to transmit. With the primary threat diminished, MARCUS discontinued his emergency self preservation protocols, and stood calmly as he opened the door.

"Sam Porter, I detected active ordnance at this location."

His visual receptor quickly recognized the offending culprit in her hand.

"Thermal detonator. Explosive yield 51.9 megajoules. I do not recommend activation aboard the ship."

[Sam Porter]

Half-turned on her stool to face Novgorod's walking databanks, Sam gave him a bit of a bug-eyed look before turning back to her bench.

"Oh. You."

She waved a dismissive hand at him.

"Recommend away, but nothing happened."

There was a slight pause, and the telltale silence that was unfortunately not broken by a closing door. Damn.

Servodriver in hand, Sam turned on her seat once more to face the droid, and as she spoke, she shook the tool at him.

"And besides. Your yield is off." She gave a self-satisfied smirk. "I upped that little bit of fun before starting to put it back together."

[MARCUS]

The MMU's shroud shifted slightly, allowing its photoreceptor to zoom onto the object at a higher power.

"A thermal detonator's yield is a function of fixed ratios of active isotopes achieving a fusion energy transmission."

He surveyed Porter's "work space". It didn't exactly instill confidence that advanced fusion mechanics was being carried out here.

"I question your capacity for such modifications."

[Sam Porter]

Samantha Porter blinked, shocked at the unintended insult.

Seconds later the servodriver bounced off the top of MARCUS' head, smacking into the opposite wall before clattering to the deck.

Whirling back around to her workbench, Sam set her attentions once more to her project.

"Shoo. Go away."

[MARCUS]

MARCUS was undaunted.

"Sam Porter, a negligible detonation of such a device would breach the hull, possibly destroy the ship outright, and you would be atomized instantly. My self preservation protocols are designed to intercede in the event of a total systems threat.

If you are intent on ordnance modification in a starship under power in a vacuum, I insist on enforcing safety protocol."

[Sam Porter]

Sagging over the desk, Sam blew out a long breath from between clenched teeth. Why her?

"MARCUS, everything I do is riddled with safety protocols. I'd never dream of placing anyone aboard this ship in danger."

Finally she turned back around, rising to stand. Her meandering gait brought her to just in front of the droid, and with a sweeping motion of her arms, tried to usher him back out.

"You can trust me - I'm the model practitioner of safe handling."

[MARCUS]

The MMU did not budge, and instead his photoreceptor glowed red.

"I have magnetized my feet to the deckplate until you pass a Galactic Standards and Materials inspection."

[Sam Porter]

"You better move," came the only answer she could think of. Certainly not menacing in any way.

At least...

A finger came up to wave in front of his crimson ocular port for only a few minutes before she whirled about on her heels, heading back into the depths of her small sanctuary.

"I have plenty of pocket dets with controlled blast parameters," she called over her shoulder, kneeling down at a rusted toolbox that'd seen far better days.

"I'll just blow your legs off and move you myself."

[MARCUS]

This was true, and MARCUS balanced this in his equation for their blossoming case of brinksmanship.

"Sam Porter, I am a modular consciousness. It is not wise to threaten someone who has access to the environmental controls to your quarters with another module. You require air. I do not."

[Sam Porter]

This caused her to pause, and Sam - still perched on her haunches - gave a murderous glance back to MARCUS.

"Don't you dare threaten me, you oversized blender."

[MARCUS]

The perjorative Sam slung in his direction gave MARCUS pause, and his photoreceptor flickered slightly.

"I have no hardware on any module in my network designated to that task. If it is your attempt to insult me, you lack factual basis.

Further, it was your initial statement which threatened. I have not reciprocated. I have only stated a fact."

This tactic was bearing little fruit, and the MMU considered other options.

"If you insist on continuing on your amateur construction and modification projects, I would suggest at the very least testing triggering mechanisms independently of intended warheads. This can be achieved without risk of an adverse detonation."

[Sam Porter]

She gave the droid an odd look, letting out a long breath as she thought over his suggestion. Finally, her lanky frame rose back up to stand, her hands still empty.

For now at least.

"If I bothered with all of that, it'd take the fun out of everything."

"Not to mention," she continued, once more heading for her workbench, "... making me take some test is most certainly a threat."

[MARCUS]

MARCUS's processor bit hard on that, not comprehending the logical fallacies that Porter was spinning. His cowl constricted around his visual receptor.

"The subject matter of such a test is a field in which you self profess expertise. This is not a threat. This is accreditation. The margin of error and level of risk exposure of your field should be self evident."

The MMU extended a hand.

"I wish to assist you, Sam Porter."

[Sam Porter]

Sitting heavily on her stool, Sam gave a sideways look to the offered hand before lifting her eyes to meet his optical port.

"You gonna de-magnetize yourself from my floor?"

[MARCUS]

The droid considered her request. His outstretched hand turned palm-upwards.

"Conditionally agreed. Please provide your thermal detonator as collateral to our arrangement."

It would do no good if he agreed to her request without something insuring her complicity.

[Sam Porter]

A lazy smile, and Sam scooped up the still-pulled-apart det along with all of its' innards. A quick once-over, and she hefted the device for only a scant few moments before tossing it to MARCUS.

"Sure thing."

[MARCUS]

The detonator parts were secured, and ensured to not be in a state of unsafe condition. Once that was confirmed, a familiar thunk sound emanated from below.

"De-magnetized."

The droid awaited further input as to his original suggestion that she submit to testing to determine her safety and expertise in explosives.

[Sam Porter]

A raised eyebrow and an amused 'hmph' were the only things sent his way, and returning to the scattered disaster of her workbench, Sam set about thoroughly ignoring MARCUS. Normally when she ignored things they went away, though in her short amount of time spent on the Novgorod Sam Porter was quickly learning that that particular coping tactic didn't work quite so well.

As was quite evident by the fact that MARCUS was still standing in the same spot, unmoving and certainly not showing himself out the door.

She made a face that he couldn't see.

"If you're going to come in, then come in. If you're going to leave, then leave. At the very least stop standing in the doorway; you're letting all the cold air in."

She thought for a moment, then went on.

"And if you don't mind," she blindly gestured behind herself, "... get me my servodriver."

[MARCUS]

MARCUS stepped through the threshold, allowing the door to close behind him. Of course, her comment caused him to ponder.

"Sam Porter, the temperature within your quarters and in the corridor beyond are both exactly twenty two degrees Celsius. Your perception of temperature discrepancies is flawed."

Nevertheless, he did hand her the servodriver.

"Is your perception of a temperature variation genuine, or rather a pretext to discourage my presence in your domicile?"

[Sam Porter]

She snatched the tool from him, giving a parting glare as she did so.

"I see that they haven't programmed you to take out the stick in your ass, yet," was her only grumbled response.

[MARCUS]

Again, metaphors. MARCUS whirred along as he attempted to parse them.

"I have no analogous excretion port to compare to your organic components, therefore I would have no obstruction within which would require extraction.

Your unfamiliarity to the design of my chassis does not inspire confidence in your mechanical prowess. I am inclined to assist you."

[Sam Porter]

"Oh by all means enlighten me, Amazing Mechanical Wonder of the Gods."

The servodriver was absently tossed to the worktable's surface as she faced him fully, leaning back as her elbows rested on the edge of the bench.

If ever anyone was able to see sarcasm, they would be able to see it dripping from each word she spoke.

"I am already enraptured by the thought of your wisdom being bestowed upon me."

[MARCUS]

His visual receptor focused on Sam, zooming out and then back in.

"Given the inefficiencies of vocal communication and organic information retention, I suggest the assistance of a data storage device for the purpose of taking notes.

What is the nature of your initial query? Chemistry and molecular reaction, Physics and force dynamics, or a more specialized search?"

MARCUS either didn't get the joke at all, or was perfectly at ease in steamrolling through it.

[Sam Porter]

Giving him a strange look, Sam let out a puff of air through her nostrils.

"Forget it," she grumped, turning back around to survey the scattered remains of other cannibalized explosives that lay jumbled along the top of her workbench.

"Don't you have some other poor sod to pester? Or am I today's lucky winner."

[MARCUS]

Approximating body language he'd determined to be most capable of eliciting calm dialogue, the droid replied.

"My tasks, processes, and subroutines are distributed as shared workload among three modules. Undivided attention is not required. Only this particular terminal facilitates direct interface.

You have rebuffed my attempt at cooperation despite obvious net benefit to efficiency. Why?"