Free Futuretrack 5 by Robert Westall Page B

straight at my head. I dodged; then found my foe had vanished. Only from the top of a steep grass slope came a faint repeat, “Lob off, lobo.” The voice sounded female, now it was safe.
    I wiped my brow. If this was a ritual exchange of greeting, it was a miracle so many razzling Techs survived; except Techs learn new techniques quickly.
    By now I could see the source of light and sound. Three geodesic domes loomed above the blocks of flats like triple rising suns. A random light show boiled across their surface, marbled pink, yellow, blue like the heart of an erupting volcano. The great heartbeat was the distant sound of music; a dozen sorts of music quarrelling savagely, rising occasionally to an unplanned crescendo. Amplified human voices, bells ringing, buzzers sounding;
    already too loud for comfort. Above the domes, a flashing neon said:
    LABOUR EXCHANGE
    As I entered the final street, light and sound hit me like a fist; sent me ducking back round the corner into the shadows. I fumbled in the top pocket of my denims. I’d found a pair of Polaroid sunglasses there, nearly thrown them away, thinking them some ridiculous pose of Sellers’s.
    I knew better now. But suppose real Unnems were used to the light and noise? The glasses would make me stick out like a sore thumb. … I lingered, behind some garbage skips. Somebody was already there, somebody soft, small, and timid. Somebody snuggled up to me confidingly.
    “I’m scared. Are you scared?” A girl’s voice, nervous and light. An Est voice…
    “What are you doing here?”
    “Pushed through the Wire, a year ago. God, it’s awful, isn’t it?”
    “How’ve you survived?”
    “Hiding, mainly.” She snuggled tighter. “Will you look after me?” Her hands dived through the top of my denim jacket, roved across my chest. “Hey… big muscles. Will you look after me?”
    I hesitated. She was the last thing I needed.
    “I was at school on the Island. Were you?” Her hands were roving further. Exciting little hands, if only I hadn’t been so tense, if my teeth hadn’t still ached. Still, soothing…
    “I know somewhere dark and safe,” she whispered. “I’ve got some Coke … no one’ll find us.” Her hands, busier than ever, were roaming across my backside.
    “You’re tired… come on, I’ll look after you. Till you get used to it. …” Her hands were really very clever. If only Sellers’s jeans hadn’t been a bit too tight, so that I felt her reach into the pocket with my Unnem credits…
    Her wrist was tiny; I was frightened I’d break it.
    “All right,” she said. “Yes, I am a pickpocket.”
    “You weren’t at school on the Island at all.” That lie seemed worse than stealing my money.
    “Oh, but I was. Shall I quote some Virgil? Daedalus, ut Jama es, Jugens Minoa regna …” The Latin flowed on and on, almost inaudible but totally accurate. Then she said, “I was deputy Head Girl.”
    “Thieving.”
    “Wait till you’ve been here three months.”
    “You didn’t have to steal.”
    “Look, I can’t sing, so Futuretrack One’s out. And imagine me trying to fight! I tried Futuretrack Three, but those pin tables nearly stoned me out of my mind.”
    “Futuretracks are… jobs?”
    “The only ways of staying alive there are. And I’m too small for motorbikes and I’m not going on Six.”
    “What’s that?”
    I felt the disgust in her shrug. “Look, I meant what I said. I’m a good pickpocket, the best of Futuretrack Four, but I need looking after. I steal a lot of credits, but I’m known. I’m usually robbed on the way home. I’ve got a really snug hole. I’d make it worth your while. With your muscles …”
    “No, thanks,” I said. It was all too sudden. “I’ve got to look around first. I haven’t even seen your face.”
    “You won’t now.” She slipped from my hand like a young eel. But she lingered on the corner, so I saw her silhouette.
    “Do you want a few credits?” I asked.
    “They’d only take