Weapons Grade Matcha Latte

The Outlier

The railway station concourse was a sea of bodies - commuters hurrying from platform to platform, making their way past the shops and cafés dedicated to the passing trade. Advertising hoardings displayed animated messages to the passers-by, their content changing in response to the data harvested from a myriad mobile phones. Most of the commuters ignored these carefully tailored advertisements. Instead, their attentions were fixed on their phones: scrolling through endless notifications, listening to curated playlists or talking to distant friends and colleagues.

All except one.

Mr Carnegie was an infrequent visitor to the city. Unlike the others who had been recently disgorged from their trains, he paid attention to his surroundings. As he made his way along the concourse, Mr Carnegie paused to look up at the vaulted glass and steel roof of the engine shed, or - momentarily attracted by the flickering animations - at the advertising signs. The hoardings flickered momentarily then went blank, as if unsure what to do with this attentive stranger. Then they continued to deliver their messages, trying to entice someone else. Meanwhile, the mass of hurrying commuters passed around Mr Carnegie.

Somewhere, the interruption in the flow of bodies was observed and noted. As Mr Carnegie made his halting way through the station, a pair of uniformed policemen made their way unerringly through the crowd toward him, guided by data glyphs projected from their monocles and whispered instructions from their earpieces. It didn't take long for them to catch up with their quarry.

"Sir." One of the police officers placed himself in front of Mr Carnegie and held out his right hand to stop him. The other officer stood to one side, his right hand resting on the heavy holster attached to his belt.

Mr Carnegie stopped and blinked myopically at the policeman. "Can I help?" he asked eagerly. The policeman shifted his position so that Mr Carnegie was squarely in front of him, caught in the black lens of the camera attached to his jacket.

"Just a few questions, sir. May I ask your business here?"

"I've come down to visit my granddaughter," Mr Carnegie began. "She lives in the south of the city. I don't get to see her often."

The second policeman moved closer. "I think we might want to go somewhere less public." With a gentle but firm grip, he took hold of Mr Carnegie's wrist and guided him to an alcove at the side of the concourse. A few of the passers-by glanced at Mr Carnegie - his elderly form flanked by the padded bulk of the two police officers - then turned away. This was no business of theirs.

Away from the crowd, the first policemen - number 615 Mr Carnegie noted - continued with his questioning. "Do you know why we stopped you, sir?"

Mr Carnegie shook his head. "No, officer. But I'm sure you have a good reason."

"You have been flagged up by the algorithms as showing outlying behaviour patterns. Can you provide an explanation as to why this might be the case?"

"I'm on my way to see my granddaughter. I don't get to see her much, not with her living here, and I do miss her. Phone calls aren't as good as a visit."

The second policeman (the numbers on his collar identified him as 148) looked at his colleague. "There is significant vocal stress."

"Nervous, sir?" 615 asked Mr Carnegie. "Worried about something?"

"Well, yes." Mr Carnegie's voice went up in pitch. "I don't want to miss my connection, you see, and - ."

"Just a few more questions, sir. Do you have any identification."

Mr Carnegie looked sheepish. "Not really."

"Driving licence? Passport?"

"No. Not on me. I haven't driven in years - bad eyesight. And why would I need a passport?"

"Does he have a social profile?" This question was addressed to 148, who shook his head in response. The policeman turned his attention back to Mr Carnegie. "Do you have a social profile?" he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

"Social what?" Mr Carnegie looked baffled by the question. "Isn't that for young people? My granddaughter keeps asking when I'm going to join one of those network things, but I've never seen the point."

"May I see your phone, sir?"615 asked.

Mr Carnegie reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. The two policemen tensed then relaxed as the old man brought out a battered mobile phone, its keypad faded from years of use. "My granddaughter insisted that I get one so she could keep in touch with me."

148 took the phone from Mr Carnegie. The device looked pathetically small in his gloved hand. He examined it carefully, unable to hide his look of contempt. "A dumb phone," he said to his colleague. "We'll need to examine this at the station."

The first policeman spoke slowly and carefully, as if for the benefit of hidden listeners. "Sir, you have been identified as an outlier. When asked for identification, you were unable to produce appropriate documentation. We have not been able to verify your social profile. Consequently, we are taking you in charge - ."

"Am I being arrested?" Mr Carnegie asked.

"- Taking you in charge under Section 61 of the Public Accountability Act," the policeman continued. "Please come with us."

Once again, 148 took Mr Carnegie by the arm and guided him towards a nondescript door at the side of the concourse. Mr Carnegie looked hopefully at him. "Can I call my granddaughter, please? She'll be worried."

The two policemen escorted Mr Carnegie through the door, which closed silently behind them.