and sometimes in his mind. Doc regained his composure.
“Ricky, my young friend. Fight. Rage.”
The youth did not know what to say. “Doc?”
Doc’s eyes grew clear. His voice filled with the terrible gravitas of his message. “You must fight.”
Tears stung Ricky’s eyes for Doc and himself and the future that awaited him in the darkness belowdecks. “But how, Doc?”
Doc set the case he carried on the workbench. “With these.”
Ricky opened the ornate box. It contained two of the most beautiful handblasters he had ever seen. Their grips were lustrously polished fruitwood. Clouds of golds, blues and purples swept through the steel of the barrel and lock work in gorgeous swirls of case hardening. The triggers and bead front sights were gold plated. The weapons were perfectly identical. Separate slots held individual bullet molds and intricately tooled silver powder horns for each blaster. Ricky took out one of the weapons. It was heavy and well over .50 caliber. He turned the weapon about for several moments and found writing along the bottom of the barrel.
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