An old, digital alarm clock shattered against the wall of the common room, followed by a frustrated, feral snarl from the explosives expert. She had many wires, chips, and other gadgets from nonessential electronics littered atop the pool table. Trish had been toiling for a few hours now, since the wee hours of the morning, at developing a proper trigger for her personal device. No matter which direction she led her creation, she ran into either of two problems. Either the trigger was too big to not be discovered should she be captured, or it was too small to program with her limited abilities. Her, and her father, preferred hard wired bombs and not anything with programming involved. Old school he called it. 

Even now she could hear his taunting laugh, felt the phantom bruises that were no longer there when his laughing turned to frustration toward her. She slumped down to the floor, trying to calm down, to vent, relax. Recalling an old supplier of hers, she sat with legs crossed, knees raised, wrists resting atop them. Slowly she breathed through her nose, out through her mouth, trying to push the memories away, to bring her focus to the here and now. However, this led her mind to recall every time she'd been captured, held against her will. Every single time, her arms had been restrained, and often all of her possessions confiscated. She would need an internal trigger. Exhaling once more, that left a single type of trigger. And it was going to hurt.

Moving quickly to the kitchen, she searched and searched until she found some powdered milk, hoping it would do. Mixing it with water, she put it in a shallow dish, and returned to the common room. Fetching a pair of pliers, she steeled herself for the pain soon to come. Opening her mouth as wide as she could, she reached the pliers in, and gripped them around one of her back molars. She began pulling, both down, and to the side, feeling spikes of pain shooting up her jaw. Eventually it ripped free, a single drop of blood staining the pool table's felt. Quickly she set it in the milk, ensuring the roots were submerged, as she quickly began taking measurements. 

Gathering up the various bits and pieces, she quickly assembled a tiny little device, consisting of a battery, a tracking chip, and a wireless chip. These all came to roughly twice the size of a grain of race. She knew it was already running, and could tested the matching wireless chip to see that it was receiving the signal. Finding that it was, she drilled into her tooth, and inserted the trigger. She then score a small fault in the tooth, not enough to break it, but enough to weaken it should she bite down really hard. She then sprayed a single layer of a weak signal blocking polymer. Testing the other chip once more, she found that it was no longer receiving a signal. She then went to a panel nearby, and checked to see if the ship could detect her tracking chip. It did, giving it a long serial number, that she renamed 'Trish'. Satisfied that this would work, she grabbed the tooth, jammed it back into her gums, and sealed it with some rather hot adhesive. She hoped the root would take and the tooth would continue to live, she'd only heard of this working. But she now had everything she needed, save the spare fuel. And, of course, the doctor to insert the device. 

Just as she finished, the captain's voice came over the intercoms. She definitely wasn't interested in being his enforcer, but had no reason to leave until she had the fuel. So now she just needed to occupy herself until then. Trish made her way to the cargo hold, plopping her rear on a crate of unknown, to her, contents. She eyeballed the captain nearby, and watched the pilot leave quickly. Sitting there, she found herself quickly growing bored and fidgeting, wanting to continue with her plan, seeing as it was already in motion. She had very few credits to her name, certainly not enough to get her a job, let alone anymore parts or fuel. Trish needed to move forward, and soon.