Harley Tonstol docked himself at the charge point. The blue strip in the pavement underneath remained static. There was no pulse in the light like there used to be. No artificial representation of the process that was taking place within. Not since the Act of Parliament.
To the untrained eye he was just one of the many people arriving at, departing from, or convening outside Waterloo Station. But there were very few untrained eyes any more. Everyone knew how careful the Organics were to avoid stepping on the blue strips. None of them were foolish enough to bring their status into question so cheaply.
The discrimination, which the Act had been designed to eliminate, continued unabated.
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