This time my ride was a larger, more elegant machine, reminiscent of Bancroft's limousine. There was already a driver in the forward cabin, liveried and shaven-headed with the bar code of his employer printed above his left ear. I'd seen quite a few of these on the streets of Bay City, and wondered why anyone would submit to it. On Harlan's World no one outside the military would be seen dead with authorisation stripes. It was too close to the serfdom of the Settlement years for comfort.