Wild, Wild Red Planet 5

It was more than just a sword though.  A sheen of static passed over his heads up display.  All of Yellow’s firewalls were meaningless when he held the sword in his hand.  He didn’t know the full extent of what it could do, and he probably never would.  He’d figured out so far that it was an incredibly powerful computer as well as a weapon.  The sword was already aware of the mercs, their pistols, and the capabilities of both.  Apparently they were some kind of energy weapons.  That made sense.  He’d never met anyone who hadn’t wanted to take him alive.

The five men standing opposite him were eyeing the smoking sword uneasily.  They weren’t lowering their weapons though.  The one in charge pressed a button and a dozen bolts of electricity jumped around inside the wide barrel.  Duran didn’t waste his breath on any more warnings.  If a rocket propelled sword didn’t scare you off, pretty much nothing would.  He waited for them to make the first move.

As the thug pulled the trigger, the electricity ripped out of the pistol, arcing through the intervening space.  The sword had already begun moving when his finger started to twitch, its engines flaring as it pulled Duran’s hand along behind it.  The blade shortened and flared out wider as it moved parallel to his body.  He turned to the side as well, so the sword shielded him completely.  Electricity ran along the blade, but it didn’t jump to him or rise past the bottom edge of the handle.  The sword was already reconfiguring, absorbing the energy to eliminate the danger.

Lashing out, the sword extended in front of him, but not to its full length.  The huge blade moved like it was lighter than the air it was cutting through.  The slight resistance he felt as he cut through the merc leader’s weapon was a testament to its craftsmanship.  Most walls didn’t give his sword that much trouble.  Sparks splashed onto the pavement as about a third of the gun fell away.  The cut was unnaturally straight and glowed a faint orange.

The rest of the crew opened fire, and Duran spun around.  The sword reached out as it moved across his body, shifting its shape to catch the bolts of electricity he couldn’t dodge.  In the blink of an eye the sword reversed direction and two more guns were destroyed.  Driving the tip into the ground, Duran vaulted around the weapon with both hands on the grip and drove his feet into the leader’s chest.

Seeing their boss bounce across the road was too much for the gang.  They turned and fled.  Duran didn’t let up.  Racing after the two of them that were still armed, he ran as fast as he could.  Since that wasn’t fast enough, the sword flared to life, moving from where it was trailing behind him to jetting in front.  A hundred vents flared along the blade as it shot forward, dragging him in its wake.  He’d learned from experience that it was best to keep his legs pumping, and it felt like he was skipping as the ground shot away underneath him with every stride.

Leaping and letting the sword pull him up into the air, Duran sailed between the two mercenaries.  The blade flashed and their pistols clattered apart into ungrounded scrap heaps.  With that he stopped his pursuit, content to let his attackers get away.  He’d struck a very expensive blow against whoever was after him.  He was turning toward the nearest road out of town, the sword folding itself up to perch on his back, when he heard the roar of jet engines.

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