Free Lone Star 02 by Wesley Ellis

its master.
    â€œSomebody sic him!” Commissioner Smith groaned as he hurried away toward the gangplank.
    Ki stooped to snatch up and stuff in his pocket the duty sheet lying crumpled between the fallen Matty’s limply curled fingers. The other two crew supervisors were now closing in. One was armed with a baling hook, while the other flashed a glittering stiletto. The guard, Terry, was clawing for the revolver in his belt.
    The gun had to be disposed of first, Ki decided. Still facing the two crew supervisors, so as to slow them down, Ki crabbed sideways, toward the guard. The man’s outstretched arm was just bringing the pistol to bear on Ki when the samurai executed a yoko-geri-keage, or sideways foot strike. Ki had never even looked at Terry, but his foot still hit the guard’s wrist perfectly. The revolver went flying end over end, over the ship’s side, to land in the water with a satisfying splash.
    The gawking coolies who’d been watching all the action now laughed and applauded Ki’s prowess. Ki gave them a smile.
    â€œShut up! Shut up!” Terry screamed at the coolies in frustration. He circled around to charge Ki’s back as the other two—the crew supervisors—went for the samurai from the front, awkwardly waving their weapons.
    The barking dog darted to and fro in excitment. The animal gave Ki an idea. He had no wish to kill. The very clumsiness with which they handled their weapons revealed that they were not professional warriors. No, he would not kill them ...
    â€œBart!” Ki commanded in clear, firm tones, at the same time driving his elbow straight back in a devastating empi-uchi strike, catching Terry in the chest. The dog’s head instantly snapped upward in attention as its previous master crumpled, moaning, to the deck. “Bart!” Ki repeated, and pointed at the hook-wielding man. “Sic him!”
    â€œNo!” the man wailed. In utter panic, he dropped his hook and turned to run. The dog covered the space between them in one bound, to clamp its snarling jaws on the baggy seat of the longshoreman’s overalls. Screaming either in pain or fear—Ki wasn’t sure which—the man ran for the far side of the clipper, the dog right with him, its jaws chewing and mauling while a deep growl hummed from its throat. The unlucky crew supervisor threw himself overboard. The dog braced its front paws against the gunwale and held on.
    The man dangled for a moment before the suspenders of his overalls gave way. There was a sharp tearing sound, and then the man’s long, high-pitched wail as he plummeted the fifteen feet into the chilled waters of the bay. The dog turned and pranced back toward Ki, proudly displaying the torn and tattered overalls that it still held in its mouth.
    The stiletto man was so mesmerized by what had happened to his comrade that Ki was able to simply reach out and twist the man’s wrist. The stiletto fell, point-first, to stick into the wooden planking of the deck. The crew supervisor, his wrist still held by Ki, attempted a clumsy, roundhouse left at the samurai. Ki caught that wrist as well, and then bent both of the man’s wrists backward. The howling crew supervisor had no choice but to fall down in order to ease the excruciating agony in his wrists.
    Matty, the man Ki had earlier dropped with a stomach punch, was just now on his hands and knees, attempting to push himself into an upright position. Ki took a running start and leaped, to land with both feet on Matty’s back, pile-driving the fellow right back down onto his belly and chin. Ki used the man like a trampoline, to rise high into the air and somersault over the clipper’s side, landing on his feet, safely on the dock.
    Another scattering of applause came from the coolies. They were clearly happy to see their cruel taskmasters get their long-overdue comeuppance.
    Commissioner Smith was busy untangling the now semi-conscious foreman