Morning light broke slowly through the heavy gray clouds over the Thames estuary. Cold river mist drifted across the concrete piers of the Port of London, smelling of salt water, diesel exhaust, and wet stone.
Towering cargo cranes stood like silent metal giants against the pale dawn sky. Flocks of white seagulls circled over the gray water, crying out in the chilly breeze as fishing tugs puttered along the distant channels.
Along the main commercial dock, a crowd of two hundred private security guards and customs stewards blocked the access ramps. At the front stood Chief Dockmaster Higgins [Goodness: -28 / 100]. Higgins wore a greasy oilskin coat and held a clipboard wrapped in yellow waterproof tape. He chewed on a thick, unlit cigar, his squinting eyes scanning the long line of Taichu transport vehicles with greedy contempt.
“Hold it right there!” Higgins barked, waving his thick hand at Tie Niu’s lead bus. “Nobody loads a single crate onto the water without clearance from the Maritime Trade Syndicate!”
Tie Niu stepped down from the bus, his heavy boots ringing against the concrete dock. His massive chest filled his dark uniform, and his cold eyes looked down at Higgins as if inspecting an annoying insect.
