Brad settled back into the cockpit, his home-away-from-home, and tapped away at the comm display.
PROTOCOL ESTABLISHED. Behind him, jammed somewhat-awkwardly into the gunnery seat, sat Dunne, his newly-assigned R7 astromech. It was communicating with him through the Batwing's comm gear.
"So your name is Donne," he began. "I don't get it."
IT IS AN IDENTIFIER. IT MEANS THIS UNIT.
"No, I mean, the other Rs have names like Mynock, Hyper, or Fate. Donne is just a name."
THAT WOULD APPEAR TO BE THE CASE.
"How long have you had this name?"
FOR A CONSIDERABLE PERIOD.
Brad began to grow suspicious. This wasn't normal droid behaviour. Normal droids delight in numerics. "How long is that?"
I AM UNABLE TO ANSWER THAT QUESTION.
Brad laughed, as it hit him. It was so obvious. This droid was a plant.
"Your answers are so evasive, I think I'm going to call you `Dunno`. Do you mind that?"
NO.
"Good. If you try to interface with the Batwing's sytems, I'll destroy you."
Brad wiped the sweat from his brow. This was the last one.
He looked at the proton torpedo. He looked at the weapons rack. He looked around. The Batcave was fairly empty at this time of morning. Brad was a night owl - nocturnal - a nightwing - and found he did his best work when normal people were asleep. Sure, he had a mission first thing in the morning, but a few stimulants would sort that out.
The torpedo didn't look very heavy to the external viewer, but Brad knew for a fact that it weighed a hell of a lot. The proton torpedo is a miracle of modern weapons technology, and it carries a lot of energy. That energy, of course, translates to weight. Brad was just thankful it didn't emit rads.
Gently he slid the torpedo from the munitions canister onto the loading cradle. His mind helpfully informed him that the destructive potential of this torpedo would wipe out the Batcave and everything in it several hundred times over if it went off. When the explosion set the other torpedoes off, half of Mendellia would collapse into the sea. And he would be one very pissed-off nifty-blue-ghost-body.
When the torpedo was safely loaded onto the cradle, he pulled a lever which started the cradle rising to the level of the weapon rack. As the cradle approached head height, a single screw popped off and bounced away into the darkness.
The cradle broke.
The torpedo fell.
Hypernuclear destruction, falling...
Falling...
Brad reached down and caught it. It wouldn't have gone off - it wasn't armed - but it was never a good idea to take chances with explosives.